by Will Wight
But some had made it.
And some were still trying to leave. Still trying to escape.
Even so, Lindon felt the burden on himself lighten. Akura Charity had been a Sage before he was born—before his father was born, probably—and even she couldn’t have taken him across the continent in one trip. There was nothing he could do. The battle was over.
[Ooh, that’s what I said! I said that! Focus on the victory and not, you know, the failure. All that failure.]
Lindon did, and he found the lack of responsibility a welcome relief. He would be wrestling with himself for the rest of his life, he knew, looking to find every little detail he should have done differently to save more lives.
But right now, he couldn’t save more than he already had.
Only then did he notice Mercy, standing against the windows. She held her dragon-headed staff loosely in one hand, and the wind from outside stirred glass shards around her feet and whipped her ponytail into her face.
She had turned around, but otherwise stood exactly where she’d reached when she’d lunged for her mother’s hand. Now she chewed on her lip so strongly that blood welled up.
As Lindon met her eyes, she spoke, as reluctantly as if he’d pulled the words out of her.
“Does anyone want to go back?”
A buzz passed through Lindon’s body. At the same time, he and Dross remembered the item she’d left buried outside of Sacred Valley’s suppression field.
I was right, Lindon thought, and he himself didn’t know if the words were excited or hollow.
[I was way off,] Dross said.
From her void key, Mercy pulled out a stone carved with script. It looked as though she’d etched the scripts herself, and Lindon knew what it was even without inspecting it closely.
The stone itself wouldn’t do anything. Neither did the script, when it was powered. It only linked to a teleportation anchor.
Like the one Mercy had taken from Daji. The one she’d left buried in Sacred Valley when she’d seen her mother show up.
She had known Malice might send her away, and had prepared herself a way back.
That same anchor had allowed the Blood Sage to transport a group of Overlords halfway across the world in one trip. Such small teleportation anchors were disposable—permanent ones were huge, like the tower beneath them that Malice had used to send them here to Moongrave—but this one had been made by Reigan Shen. It would last another trip.
“We’ll need you to carry us there, if you can,” Mercy went on. They all knew it would be difficult for Lindon to move so many people, even if the anchor made it possible. “But…do we…”
She took a deep breath.
“It’s not like there’s much we can do. We can’t bring anyone back.”
That was a safe bet. Now that they were here, Lindon could carve a device with the corresponding script to the anchor beneath them, so they had a route back to Moongrave.
But he wasn’t sure he could make it all the way to Sacred Valley, much less come back. And there was no way he could bring back more people than he started with.
Which meant there would be only one reason to go back.
To stall the Titan.
His mother was breathing heavily, a notepad clutched to her chest. “Going back?” A general stir of terrified confusion passed through the Sacred Valley residents in the room.
“Don’t be stupid,” Jaran said, rapping his cane on the floor.
Kelsa slumped into a chair. She looked exhausted, and tears had run tracks in the ash and dust caking her face, but her voice was firm. “It wouldn’t be fair to you to go back. You owe them nothing. In fact, everyone who escaped owes you all their lives.”
Lindon’s sister turned to him, straightened her back in the chair, and dipped her head. “Gratitude.”
Repeated bows and murmurs of “Gratitude” passed through the room.
They weren’t bowing just to him, but to all the outsiders: Eithan, Mercy, Yerin, and Orthos. But those four looked to Lindon.
This was his home. They were only here because of him. And they would go back if he asked them to.
But what was he going to do? Fight a Dreadgod to buy time in the hopes that a few more people might get away? It might already be too late; the Titan may have crashed through Mount Samara and killed everyone by now.
Lindon could theoretically affect a Dreadgod, but theoretically a child with a sharpened stick could kill a tiger.
He had never stopped rolling Suriel’s marble between his fingers, and now he held it up. All this power, he had gained to protect Sacred Valley.
Now, he didn’t know what to do.
For the second time in a day, he gripped the marble and prayed.
I don’t know what to do. Help me.
Unknown Location
The Way
[Report complete,] Suriel’s Presence said.
As Suriel drifted along the blue rivers that made up the basis of all existence, she caught up on the diversion that she had allowed to distract her for the last few standard years: the journey of Wei Shi Lindon.
He had grown faster than she had expected. Faster than most models of him had predicted, though at the time, she hadn’t realized how much Ozriel’s meddling had changed things. Or how Makiel’s alterations would speed Cradle’s destiny.
By all odds, Lindon should have been dead by now, but here he was, debating whether to go back and face down a Dreadgod. She looked forward to his choice.
[The battle with the Vroshir might make it difficult to get further news from Cradle,] her Presence reminded her. [Probability of future delay is very high.]
She considered that. As always, her Presence didn’t speak solely in words, but also in thoughts and impressions, meaning conveyed directly into her mind.
It was reminding her that, the next time she got news from Cradle, there was every chance that Lindon would be dead.
Cradle would be protected even in the most extreme circumstances of the war, so she didn’t fear for the world itself too much. The Vroshir would have to extend themselves on several fronts and sacrifice valuable worlds to penetrate Sector Eleven.
They didn’t work that way. They were bandits, after as much bounty as they could with as little risk to themselves as possible.
The one exception was the Mad King, and Suriel went to face him now.
And she didn’t need her Presence to remind her that it might not be Wei Shi Lindon who died first. Despite all odds and projections, it was a possibility that he might outlive her.
Do you have a suggestion? Suriel asked.
Her Presence had its personality tuned down—she liked conversation, and would have enjoyed a more expressive companion, but she found chatty Presences unprofessional. Still, that didn’t mean the construct had nothing to say.
[Beacon located,] the Presence said, transmitting the image of the sealed marble containing Suriel’s power. Lindon was currently rolling it in his hands, trying to make a decision. [Temporal synchronization possible. Communication possible. Expected delay to final destination: point-zero-four-three seconds.]
Suriel had given Lindon the marble so that she could find him again if and when he ascended. Or possibly when he faced the choice of whether or not to ascend. This was too early, and her Presence knew that.
Then again, that was only something she had decided herself. She hadn’t spoken any sort of oath.
And Lindon had manifested an Icon, even brushing against the Way at a rudimentary level. Technically, he could ascend now, far ahead of schedule.
That should be rewarded.
Begin transmission, Suriel commanded.
[Excellent decision,] her Presence said.
Suriel began to wonder if its personality might be set too high after all.
As Lindon stared into the blue flame of Suriel’s marble, Dross began to panic.
[What is this? What’s happening? Hey, get out of here! Shoo! No, you can’t kick me out! I live h—]
A cool, distant, female voice replaced his. One that Lindon recognized. [Prepare to receive transmission.]
Before Lindon could “prepare” anything, he found himself sitting in a simple, wooden room.
It was primitive, but comfortable. The ceiling, walls, and floor were all polished wood, and each seemed to be made of one piece rather than planks bound together. There were no windows, but a fire burned in a hearth, the smoke carried up the chimney. Even the hearth and the chimney looked like they had been grown out of the same wood that made up the rest of the room.
He sat in a smooth wooden chair, though it was darker than the walls, and faced a similar chair a few feet away from him. That one was empty.
Other than the fireplace, the only features of the room were trophies hanging on the wall. Bunches of herbs, with flowers that radiated life aura. A red potion spinning in a sealed bottle, sitting on a tiny shelf. A dagger with a long handle and tiny, razor-sharp blade was mounted on a ceramic plaque on the wall. That weapon felt heavy to his Sage senses, like the attacks he’d sensed from Malice.
A structure emerged from one wall like moss-colored antlers, though he was certain they had not been taken from any dead animal. They felt alive in their own right, even then. They hung next to a drifting oval of pure strands of light and a few tiny winged spirits in a glass cage.
Lindon took in all the objects with his eyes and perception in one brief moment, but none caught his attention fully.
He was focused on figuring out what this was.
He could still use his spiritual perception, which implied that his spirit was here, and his body felt physically present. He moved with no problems, and the room smelled of woodsmoke and flowers, so his senses were working.
But Dross was gone, and the voice had told him to prepare for transmission. Either he had been transmitted somewhere else, or someone was transmitting a message directly into his mind. Or some other, stranger method that he had no frame of reference to understand.
Still, he felt excitement rather than fear. His clothes had come with him, but not his void keys or his badge. The one object that had followed him was Suriel’s marble, still burning steadily in his hand.
And he was certain he recognized that ghostly voice.
A moment later, he was proven right.
Suriel materialized in the far corner of the room, smiling gently.
She looked different than he remembered her, and he didn’t know if his memory had faded with time or if she had dulled her appearance before. Rather than a deep, muddy green, her hair was now a bright and vivid emerald. Her eyes were purple, but brighter and less human than Mercy’s, and symbols swirled in the iris.
His immediate instinct was to lean closer and try to figure out those runes, but it was a fleeting thought.
She wore seamless white armor, as she had before, which flowed like a liquid rather than having any sort of visible joints. Lines of gray smoke snaked up from her fingertips on one arm, terminating at the back of her skull.
And Suriel herself was flawless, like she had been perfected. She stood out in this wooden room like a shining jewel sitting on a dirty kitchen counter.
He hurriedly stood and bowed, but she strolled around to the second chair, pulling it back and sliding in. She sat comfortably, one leg crossed over the other, and spoke softly.
“Wei Shi Lindon. It’s good to speak with you directly again.”
“The honor and pleasure are mine. I had never thought that I would have the great fortune to meet you again until I left my world behind.”
“I hadn’t expected that either. There are circumstances in the greater realms of existence that have changed much of what we thought would come to pass.” She waved a hand. “You can sit. This space is modeled on a house that I’ve always liked. My old home, back in my world.”
As Lindon sat, Suriel chuckled. “The reality is much cozier than this. I have so many treasures and trophies that it can be difficult for visitors to walk.”
Lindon glanced to the walls. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, are these illusions? Or are they copies? They feel so real.”
If they were copies, perhaps he could take one. Even the crude imitation of something that Suriel would collect might turn his situation entirely around.
“They are real, but they aren’t precisely here. These are just the projections of those treasures I’ve collected that are so significant they intrude even on depictions of the place.”
Lindon leaned forward, looking earnestly into her eyes.
If he paid close enough attention, he was certain he could draw some of those runes. They seemed to shift, as though multiple symbols occupied the same space at the same time.
“Gratitude. I need your help now more than ever. The Wandering Titan has come to Sacred Valley.”
He wasn’t sure if he would have to explain the situation further—honestly, he expected that she was more familiar with Cradle than he was—but she nodded along.
“I know. I’ve been keeping my eye on you.”
That was comforting, on one level. He had always somewhat hoped that Suriel was watching over him from above.
But to be told that in person was unexpectedly embarrassing.
He was suddenly flooded with all the memories she might have seen. Had she seen him fail over and over again, learning Soulsmithing? Several of those constructs had blown up. Had she heard the awkward words he’d stumbled over as he tried to express his feelings to Yerin?
Heavens above, had she been reading his thoughts?
He had to put a stop to that before the shame overcame him, so he bowed his head. “Gratitude. I am…relieved to have such a reliable ally.”
“I would have watched you die,” Suriel said, in the same gentle, kindly tone as before. “I expected I would, more than once. It would sadden me, and I hoped for your success, but I could not guarantee it. As I told you before, we have rules restricting the degree to which we can interfere.”
Lindon squeezed the marble in his hand. “I know,” he said, “but please accept my gratitude regardless. You have helped me…”
He had been about to say “You have helped me more than you know,” but that surely wasn’t true. And was probably insulting to someone who could read thoughts and the future.
“…more than I deserve,” he finished. “But, if you’ll forgive my curiosity, how are you able to contact me now? Is this not interference?”
Her expression grew more serious. “I spoke of dire circumstances before. We are fighting battles outside of your world, battles that shouldn’t affect you…but they might anyway. Cradle may begin experiencing minor corruption. It’s possible that those in your world may begin to encounter spaces or beings for whom the rules of reality no longer consistently apply. Strange apparitions, monsters, locations where nightmares crawl from your mind or the sacred arts no longer function.
“If you see these things, know that you will never be abandoned. My organization considers Cradle one of our core worlds, meaning that we will defend you to our last breath.”
Lindon felt a chill.
If there was something going on outside Cradle that required so much attention from not just Suriel, but the others at her level, then how much danger were they in?
Lindon remembered the projection from Ozriel’s marble, where he had seen the Abidan spread out in white-armored legions, each with abilities beyond the Monarchs. And Suriel had been among the seven—or eight; Lindon didn’t understand exactly where Ozriel fit into the structure—at the forefront of them all.
Then again, if they were dealing with threats on that scope, surely one little Dreadgod would be nothing to her.
“There are very few advantages to such a situation,” Suriel continued. “One is that I have some more leeway in how I am permitted to act. As they say: when your boat already has a hole in the bottom, no one cares if you chip the paint.”
Lindon seized on that. “I know this is shameless for me to ask, when you’ve alre
ady done so much, but if you can intervene…please, save Sacred Valley.”
Her smile returned. “I already did.”
“Yes, I’m sorry, I know you’ve descended to save us once already. It’s asking too much for you to—”
She looked nothing like his actual mother, but he felt motherly kindness radiating from her. “You are my solution. Fate has been accelerated so this day arrived sooner than it ever should have. But now it’s here, and you are in position.”
Lindon’s stomach twisted as he realized she was relying on him to go back and face the Dreadgod…because she thought he could do something. Her estimation of him was too high.
“Apologies, but I’m afraid I might be weaker than you think.” He was afraid to look her in the eyes. “I’m not…I don’t mean to argue with you, but I am not ready.”
He would do what he could, would strain himself to his limit, but he understood where his limits lay. He wasn’t powerful enough to save everyone.
“Ready?” She leaned forward and tapped him on the forehead with two fingers.
Suddenly, he was seeing through someone else’s eyes. Crouched, shivering, on the deck of a cloudship as men and women in Akura colors passed out hot food.
The deck wasn’t full, but it was crowded. The people from Sacred Valley had divided themselves—clans and Schools sticking with their own kind—but there were at least a few dozen visible, and he saw a few heading downstairs, suggesting more on a lower deck.
Her fingers released, and the vision faded.
“Lindon, when I said I already saved them, I meant I already did.” She leaned back in her chair, satisfied. “Or should I say, you already did.”
He remembered the sight of the crowds squeezing out of the exit on Mount Samara. “There are so many people still back there.”
“You don’t have to save everyone,” Suriel said. “It’s a lesson you learn and learn. I wasn’t the one who told you to save Sacred Valley. You decided to do that, so you decide when you’ve succeeded.”
She moved until her scripted eyes had his full attention. “And you decide who you’re going to be after that.”
