EPILOGUE
BOOK #2
***
The clouds of Thrass et Yunum darkened the sky above, and threatened to rain.
Beneath the red leafed canopy, sitting on the gnarled root of a black-barked tree, Agraneia was rubbing some kind of jungle poultice on Kirine’s wounds. She had already cut away his scales that could not be saved, and now she was trying to stave off infection.
They had left the sounds of battle far behind. Now, all they could hear was the rumble of a distant explosion, and the trickling of a nearby creek. Out here, even the insects were buzzing and chirping again.
Kirine was quiet while Agraneia worked. Back on Cyre, the politician had been so lively and full of fire. Now, his face was a grim mask, and he made not a sound, not even when Agraneia jabbed at his wound with one of her knives, digging out the last of the broken bullet.
If it had been him, Eolh would’ve screamed. But Kirine seemed used to this, and even Agraneia seemed begrudgingly impressed with his silent tolerance.
Only when she finished tying the strips of cloth cut from her own uniform, only when she finished tying the last knot, did Kirine say anything.
“Thank you, Lieutenant.”
“Don’t call me that,” Agraneia said, “I’m no one’s lieutenant anymore.”
Kirine barked a laugh, though Agraneia hadn’t said anything funny. “Understood. Still, you have my thanks.”
But Eolh could see it, in her eyes. In the stiffness of her response. Agraneia didn’t trust him. Didn’t like the politician at all, because of what he represented.
Eolh understood that feeling all too well. It was the same feeling he’d had, for all cyrans, for a very long time now. He was still trying to get over it, too.
“I didn’t come for you,” Agra said coldly. “Give your thanks to the avian.”
The smile, however, did not slip from Kirine’s lips. Out here, in the middle of nowhere, with a near-mortal wound in his leg, with all his connections to the Empire cut off - the politician seemed to thrive. As if he had never been happier.
“You’re right to hate me. Nobody likes politicians,” He said. “Least of all, other politicians.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. Suspecting an insult hidden behind his words. But the tribune only winked at her.
In response, Agraneia tugged on his bandages once more, securing the knot. She pulled harder than she needed to, eliciting a wince and a gasp from the politician. And another laugh.
Eolh checked his canteen, and found it was empty. He took the others, and went down to the banks of the muddy creek. The water was dark, but fast-moving. Probably cleaner than any public duct back on the Cauldron. The thought of his home sent a complicated pang through his chest. Guilt, and longing, at the same time.
One by one, Eolh dipped the canteens into the water. Rinsing them out. Filling them up.
He wondered if Ryke was furious with him, if he ever made it back. He wondered if she would even let him back in...
“Hey,” a voice called to him. The scribe’s meek voice almost drowned out by the rush of water. He was standing high up on the bank, like he was afraid to move any closer to Eolh.
There it is again, he thought, feeling his own crest feathers rising. The old cyran prejudice. Is he seriously that afraid of a xeno?
“Contrary to what they teach you back on Cyre,” Eolh said, “Avians don’t bite.”
“What?”
“Yeah, we’re more the claw-your-eyes-out type.”
“Oh... What?”
The Scribe shook his head. “No, look. You shouldn’t get so close to the water. Agraneia says there are things that live in the mud.”
“Relax, cyran. I know what I’m doing.”
The scribe hesitated. Pressed his silvery lips into a frown.
Eolh was about to return to the stream, when the scribe shouted, “No! Get away from the water, now!”
Eolh eyed his suspiciously. But he capped the last canteen, and took a step back saying, “Alright, alright-”
Something huge splashed in the stream. Dunking under the surface before he could turn around to see it. A bite had been taken out of the muddy bank, right where Eolh’s talons had been.
Huh.
Eolh scrambled to climb back up the bank, awkwardly hobbling up the slope, wincing at the pain in his ribs.
“Thanks,” Eolh said, as the scribe held out his hand to haul Eolh up. “Lucas, right? Guess I still have some work to do. Not used to trusting you people — uh, your kind. Cyrans. You know what I mean.”
Back at their camp, Kirine was leaning on a makeshift crutch, saying there wasn’t time to rest. Agraneia, begrudgingly, agreed.
Eolh found his own walking stick, given that his legs and ribs still felt like they were being stabbed with every step. But he would be damned if he was going to utter a single complaint when Kirine wasn’t making a peep.
Up the hill, and down. Each time they climbed, the curtain of smoke that hung over Sseran Thay City seemed to grow larger. Closer, maybe. The gray haze wandered along the horizon, but the clouds were beginning to break, and the rain started to fall.
The scribe was on point, when they crested the top of one hill. He stopped and turned, his eyes settling on Eolh. A question written in the furrows of his brow.
“Eolh. This god of yours. You said he’s a child?”
“Older than that. He’s a fledgling. I don’t know what you people call them.”
“What does he look like? I mean, how are we going to know when we’ve found him?”
Eolh leaned on his walking stick as he pondered Lucas’s question.
“Usually, I just look for the most out of place thing I can find…”
Beneath the clouds, through all that drizzling rain, there was a glow. Not from any moon, but from the planet itself. It bloomed over the horizon, as bright as any sun.
“Like that?” the scribe asked.
“Yeah. Something like that.”
***
Poire put his hands to the gate. She heard him utter a single word:
“Open.”
It was as though all the energy stored in the grid was awakened, all at once. Laykis turned around to see a surge, rushing out from the panels. A great flood of light. Millions of streams of bluish white, draining in towards the gate.
They ran under her feet, ignoring her. But when they reached Poire, the light seemed to change. Become, somehow, solid. It wrapped around his ankles, spiraling up his legs. Rushing up, running through him, so that his whole body shone with such brightness that the air shimmered and pulsed. Gathering in brilliance.
Her wonder turned to uncertainty.
It looked as if he was standing on the tips of his toes. And when he threw back his head, and gasped, light erupted from his lips. Shooting high into the air.
Uncertainty, to fear.
She could not see him any longer. This was wrong. This wasn’t supposed to happen. The opening of a gate was a mechanical thing. The arms were supposed to revolve over the disc, and the light was channeled along with the motion. Taking the occupant of one disc, and transporting them to another.
So what was this?
What was happening to her Savior?
Laykis took a step forward, her hands reaching out. Intending to grab him - and do what?
But the Keeper’s voice rang out over the platform, a distant shout almost swallowed by the howling of the wind. “Connection complete!”
The mist that surrounded this place swirled in a white wall, like the eye of some great storm. All at once, the light seemed to release him. Or he, it. And the walls of mist stopped their chaotic revolution.
And all the light in the panels?
Gone.
“Divine One,” she ran forward now, catching him as he collapsed. “What did you do?”
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There were still wisps of vapor leaving his mouth, and the whites of his eyes still shone a faint blue. Steam rose from his skin, and the liquid armor writhed over him, as if it was trying to extinguish the light.
Poire squeezed his eyes shut. And opened them.
“Oh. It’s you,” he said. And he seemed to sag into her arms.
“What did you do?” she whispered again. Almost cradling him, like she had done when she first carried his body out of that cold chamber.
It took him a long time to answer. And when he did, his voice was weak.
“She means to kill me, Laykis. So I sent her to Kaya.”
“Why?”
“I want her to be safe.”
“She won’t stay there, Divine One. She will come for you.”
“I know.”
Truly, she was in the presence of the most foolish, naive god who had ever been born. Was that blasphemy to think that?
“Divine One,” she said sternly. “She is your enemy. And you sent her to your friends.”
He was sitting up now, his back against the metal of the terminal. “They won’t hurt her.”
What if you’re wrong? Her core was spinning as she struggled to hold back the words that threatened to spill out. Perhaps you should risk the sacrilege.
“Divine One,” her voice clicked slowly. “It is not her I am concerned with. You sent a god who wants to kill you to be with your friends, with no warning at all. What if she kills them?”
Poire looked at Laykis, curiously. “She’s won’t.”
He said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Impossible to know that. You have only become acquainted. Do you even know what she looks like? Divine One, forgive me, but I fear you have made a grave mistake-”
He touched her arm, and it sent a jolt of calming, coolness through her integrations. Deep into her core. Laykis let her hands unlench. She hadn’t even realized her joints had tensed.
There was an understanding in the Savior’s eyes. As if he knew what Laykis was thinking. And when he spoke, he sounded older than she remembered.
“I could feel her through the grid.”
“What do you mean?”
Poire sighed, and he sounded so small and young again. “Back in my conclave, they used to make us perform tests. Tests of the mind. Of sight and reaction. I was… I was never very good at them. The others were always- well, nevermind. But when she spoke, Laykis, I could hear her. I could feel something about her. Just like I can feel something about you.”
But Laykis still felt the creeping doubt in her mind.
“Divine One, you cannot know this from a single meeting. She is an unknown. She may still try to kill you.”
“No,” Poire’s pressed his hands to his scalp, sliding his fingers through the tight curls of his hair. “She’s definitely going to try to kill me.”
“You could have let her die.”
“What would that make me, Laykis?” His mouth was twisted in frustration. “What am I? You call me Savior. She calls me destroyer. Why do I have to be either one?”
She didn’t know how to answer that. She didn’t know what she was supposed to say, when the Savior of all existence was questioning his purpose.
Laykis looked down at her body. No fewer than thirty visible joints and connective materials were showing signs of rust, or were already beginning to scrape against each other again. Just the sight of it sent her core spinning with demands of maintenance.
She looked back up at Poire, and his eyes were waiting for hers. Daring her to disagree with him. Even his eyes could send a jolt into her core, energizing her thoughts.
You have to help him, Laykis. Help him see how wrong he is. She had always assumed the Savior would know exactly what to do. Which path to take. Even when she met him, this young human, she had assumed that some deep, ancient wisdom must be stored inside him. Ready to change the universe.
Who is the most naive between us, then?
So, Laykis bowed her head. And kneeled before him. “I will kill her for you.”
“No!” Poire shouted. And then, more softly, “No.”
He put a hand on the metal plate of her shoulder. “You cannot harm her. Even if she tries to kill me.”
“A terrible change is coming, Divine One. You cannot let this distract you. The Historians have seen the future.”
“So have I. But whatever is written can be rewritten. I need her help.”
Every logical corner of her core disagreed with him. Wanted to scream at him that he was wrong.
But he was the Savior. His jaw was set. His mouth a hard line, his nostrils flaring like some beast, ready to breathe fire.
And I’m supposed to be dead. It was written.
“I need you, Laykis. I’m not doing this alone. I need all the help I can get.”
“Even from those who intend to kill you?”
“Especially them. There are too many questions. Too much has already been lost. Nobody knows the full story, and I’m not sure if anyone ever can. But I’m going to do anything I can to find out. I saw someone out there, out in the mists. Someone came to the Heart, a long time ago. Why did they wipe it clean?”
Laykis had been wondering much the same. Everything about this place - the Heart of the old grid - spoke of some other purpose that had been left unfulfilled. Or tracks that had been covered.
But whose tracks?
She made a sigh, an emulation of the emotion she felt deep inside. It came out as a metallic rasp from her voice control.
“I left Kaya to find answers,” Poire said. “Everywhere I look, there are only half-truths. Nobody has the full story. Not you. Not Vorpei. Not the Emperor, nor Eolh, nor any Historian. But someone came through here. Someone knows the questions we should be asking. I intend to find them.”
It was like her core was grinding against itself. Jittering and frozen and pushing too hard not to move. She looked down at the rust on her hands.
And clenched her hands into fists.
Laykis stood up. And looked down on the human, the Savior Divine. He came up to her shoulder, but he was growing. Yes, almost an inch or so taller than when they’d first met. And one day, he would be a full-grown god.
“Madness.” She said. “Folly. Reckless and absurd, your actions may be. But your purpose is true, and I would follow you to the ends of the universe, oh, Child of the Stars. If,” she bowed her head, “If you would have me.”
“Laykis,” he said. And swallowed, as the words got caught in his throat. He tried again, “I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad I don’t have to do this alone.”
Just then, a light flashed along the terminal. The Keeper’s face unfolded from the terminal’s surface.
“Administrator,” it said. “Intruders are coming.”
***
Every hill they crested, they could see the light. And at night, its glow cast a strange twilight, even from the low valleys they huddled in.
The corvani seemed to think it was a good thing. He smiled, every time he saw it.
But he didn’t know this world, not like Agraneia did. He didn’t know what lurked beyond the jungles…
And the further they walked, the more Agraneia’s heart sank. It was coming from the one place she never wanted to see again: the templelands. But the corvani would not listen to reason. He pushed their group forward, and that idiot politician happily obliged him.
Only Lucas seemed to understand their peril. How low we have fallen, that the scribe is the shining example of good sense.
A god. A living god. That’s what he thought they would find.
Madness. To think that at the end of all this, that they would find anything other than death.
And then, they reached the end of the forest.
The trees, endlessly thick and hanging with vines, just disappeared. Leaving only rocky soil and the hard, jagged stone of the cliff. And, of course, the mist.
Agraneia stood at the edge. Eolh sidled up next to her, letting out a low whistle.
“It’s beautiful up here. Why didn’t you tell me this place was so damn beautiful?”
In a way, she guessed it was. If you could ignore the gouges along the cliff walls, and that poisonous vapor spewing up from the stone temples. The cliffs went on for miles, and if she squinted, she thought she could even see the other side. Fog gathered in swirling pools down in the valley.
But something was out of place. She shouldn’t be able to see this far. It was too clear. Instead of rolling typhoons of mist, charging through the valley, the temples sprayed only a thin stream that evaporated almost as quickly as it formed.
What did that mean? Perhaps it was a good thing, that they would be able to see further. Perhaps none of them would hallucinate too deeply.
Or, perhaps not. Luck was a powerful blindfold, and she wasn’t about to put her guard down. She would keep her eyes open.
But it was the scribe found the body first.
A cyran soldier. Agraneia recognized Vorpei’s special insignia on the shoulders of her uniform. There was a bullet in her skull, and bloody bandages on her foot. Something had been eating at her flesh, chewing on the bandage.
“There might be others,” Agraneia warned. “Stick together. And stay quiet. No more talking, after this.”
“Agra-”
“No,” she whirled on Eolh. Locked eyes with him. “Be silent, or be seen.”
He must’ve seen the anxiety in her face, because instead of arguing, he only nodded. And closed his beak.
Another day of hiking, before they came to the switch backs - massive ramps that zigzagged down the cliff face, into the templelands. They had been carved long ago, by ancient hands. The lassertane? Maybe. Maybe not.
“Stick together. Do not stand more than three feet apart. If you can’t see the person ahead of you, do not call out. I’ll stop and check every twenty paces, to make sure we’re together. And whatever you do, don’t. Touch. Anything.”
“You don’t think you’re being too cautious?” Kirine asked. Even he had a hint of fear in his voice. But it’s not enough. They still don’t understand.
“No,” It was the scribe who answered. “Whatever she says, you need to listen.”
Agraneia, surprised, inclined her head at the scribe. Thanks. He nodded back.
Then, she turned her attention to Eolh.
“Last chance, corvani. We can still turn back.”
“He’s in there.”
Agraneia hummed her disappointment. She pulled him aside, out of earshot of the others who were setting down their gear. The scribe was attempting to redress the politician’s wound, and the politician was saying, “No. Tighter. Like this.”
Eolh spoke first. “You still don’t believe me about the human, do you?”
She shook her head. Of course, I don’t believe you.
Even the scribe could tell the avian was out of his mind, which was a bad thing to be out of, in the templelands.
“I have to go,” Eolh said, “If Poire is in there, then I must follow. You don’t know what he is, Agra. I made the mistake of letting him go. Again. I have to fix this. You’ve gotten me this far, and I can’t thank you enough. But you don’t have to come with me.”
Agraneia said nothing. She looked down the switchback, where the mist was curling and playing and twisting around the lowest ramp. Waiting. Alive.
Remembering.
“Corvani. You told me that I had a choice. Back in that cell… You told me that my future belonged to me. If that’s true, then so does yours.”
“This is my choice.” He nodded, his face filled with too much confidence. Poor, dumb bastard.
“Then it is mine, too.”
And she thought, at least we won’t live long enough to regret it.
Together, the four of them descended into the valley.
Despite the sparse mist, the whole world down here was wet. Riverlets streamed through the rocks and gravel and loose sand, filling in the holes, and gathering around the stones. Pooling in their empty footsteps.
The scribe hadn’t said a word since they’d left the forest. Good. At least he was taking this seriously. The others crunched a little too loud on the gravel, going too easy with their footsteps.
A shape rose out of the mist.
Like one of the stone statues, only it was so much taller. And as the mist billowed around its legs, she saw bark growing over rusted metal.
She froze. Held up her hand, to stop the others.
And waited to die.
But it didn’t move.
Is it dead? She’d never seen one so close. Not for long, anyway. The breeze pulled away more of the mist, and she could see shaggy moss hanging from its numerous limbs. Ancient bark melded into scales of metal, and she couldn’t tell where the wires ended and vines began. Leafy green fronds, dripping with water, hung over a rust-stained carapace that had been cannibalized from too many machines. This thing wasn’t shaped like any animal nor construct she’d ever seen - there was no natural symmetry to it. Every angle was new, every limb served its own purpose. Made neither by person nor nature.
Tough plant fibers and flexible roots bound the mechanical joints together, and its armor was stained brown with plant grease, or orange with rust, or dark red fungus. Branches drooped down from its highest limbs, and mechanical claws and grippers protruted from the ends of boughs. No part of this thing made sense, and yet, she knew what it could do. Had seen first hand.
But at least this one wasn’t moving. Not until Eolh walked up to it, and said one stupid word.
“Hello?”
Oaken cracks and groans and the shriek of metal erupted as it moved, lifting its bulk higher and turning to face them. Part of its body dislocated, and pushed a sphere-shaped bodypart at them, covered in red fungus. Agraneia dove towards the avian, yanking him back by the arm. Throwing him down into the gravel, and covering his body with her own.
Again, she did not die.
Impossible.
Instead, the thing aimed itself at them again.
Out of the fungus-covered sphere, sprung a light. Bright and red, and somehow solid.
The light collapsed together, into a human face. Like the statues back on Cyre. Like the faces carved into the walls of the lassertane temples.
And the face spoke. “Welcome. The administrator has been expecting you.”
Agraneia opened her mouth, but disbelief made her mute.
“I told you, Agraneia,” Eolh said, “He’s a human.”