But she remembered the figure she’d seen. The one who dominated the future with his broad smile.
“That was Eithan Arelius,” she said with certainty.
Mercy sat on the floor at her feet, trembling. “No, it can’t be. Eithan’s not…he isn’t…terrifying.”
Malice begged to differ. And it made her take a closer look at those Eithan Arelius had chosen while he was here.
That thing had been close to her daughter.
“What about Lindon and Yerin?” Mercy asked suddenly. She paled. “Are they still…they’re not hurt, are they?”
Malice swept out her spiritual perception. She had gone blind during that brief apocalypse, but now she could feel everything she usually did.
Those under her authority were easy to sense, and Lindon and Yerin had fought in her name for a long time. They were easy to find.
“They are unharmed,” Malice said, and Mercy let out a relieved breath. Malice was not so pleased. “It’s enough to make you wonder: why?”
Reigan Shen sweated so much that his mane was matted to his skin.
“That was Eithan Arelius.”
“That was Death himself,” the Sage of Calling Storms said in awe. “We have seen the divine!”
“That was Eithan Arelius.”
Reigan shuddered with his whole body. He had plotted against Eithan, had taunted him, had slain his mentor. No, he now realized, he had slain Eithan’s descendant. Or rather, descendants.
Only recently, Reigan Shen had merged with the Soulsmith inheritance of Ozmanthus Arelius, and he knew how that man would respond to such treatment.
If Reigan Shen had been allowed to live now, it was only for some more gruesome death later.
“His students,” Reigan suddenly realized. He felt another chill as he thought of the boy with the Void Icon and the hungry arm. “He left them behind…for us.”
The Sage of Calling Storms wore a crazed smile. “Then I will meet Death on my feet!”
The Monarch was less eager to meet his fate than the Sage. If Eithan’s students really had been left behind by their master, he would have to force them to ascend.
Reigan Shen looked at the hunger binding in his hand. By any means necessary, he had to get those Lords out of Cradle.
Or he was dead.
THE END
Cradle: Volume Ten
Reaper
Bloopers
“Eithan…this is it for us,” Lindon said. “We’re all gone.”
Eithan brushed off his hands and wiped his face clean with a cloth. He let the cloth fall, and all trace of his tears was gone. He held out his right hand, and revealed that he had been holding something else.
A black marble.
“No,” Eithan said, “just her.”
He dropped the marble.
Little Blue caught it in both hands. “Remove restraints and release authority,” she chimed. “Authorization zero-zero-eight…Ozriel.”
The marble cracked, and the darkness within formed a teeny-tiny scythe.
Reigan Shen beckoned to Lindon. “Come here, Wei Shi Lindon Arelius. Let’s talk.”
Lindon summoned a device from his soulspace. The weapon he’d crafted for this very battle.
He squeezed the trigger of his spray bottle and spritzed water onto the Monarch’s face. “Down! Bad kitty!”
Reigan Shen hissed and ran.
Reigan Shen hissed and ran.
Where do you put our odds of survival? Lindon asked Dross.
[It’s impossible to accurately calculate odds of survival without a statistically significant number of prior examples.]
This isn’t cheering me up.
[Was that the goal? Then kick Eithan.]
Lindon did. Eithan let out a yelp as he was booted out the door of the Ancestor’s Tomb, rolling to a halt outside.
Naru Gwei, Captain of the Skysworn, appeared out of nowhere. “My turn next.”
“Now hold on just a second,” Eithan protested. He was cut off by the soft sound of a portal opening, and Yan Shoumei walked out, shrouded in her Blood Shadow.
“I’m after him,” she whispered.
Eithan looked in all directions. “Who’s bringing all these people?”
“Me,” Northstrider said. He reached out a hand and showed a line of people stretching off into the horizon. “And I’m first.”
“Why haven’t you advanced yet?” Lindon asked Jai Long.
Jai Long stopped himself from saying something he would regret. Lindon could talk like advancing to Underlord was so easy, but it was a barrier that stopped virtually every sacred artist in the entire Blackflame Empire.
“I have not received the necessary insight,” he said stiffly.
Lindon rubbed his chin. “Hmmm…well, for me, part of what spurred my advancement was pressure. What are you doing in about a year?”
Jai Long began to sweat.
“Is your calendar open for a duel to the death, do you think? It does wonders for motivation.”
Jai Long licked his lips. “Uh, Lindon…”
Lindon eyed one of Jai Long’s arms, then the other. “Which hand would you say you like the most?”
Eithan blinked. “That may have been the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“Don’t let it swell your head,” Yerin muttered.
“This inspires me to compose a poem!”
“Can I pay you to stop?”
“There once was a man from Iceflower—”
“Wait a second,” Lindon interrupted. “That reminds me. I found this in Ozmanthus’ workshop.” He held up a small black book. “I thought they might be Soulsmithing secrets, but they seem to just be poems.”
Eithan made a choking sound.
“Might be it runs in the family,” Yerin said. “You read any?”
“I don’t see what good that would do. This one says his pain is ‘a bottomless hole in the night sky of the soul,’ which…I’m no poet, but that can’t be very good.”
“May I see that?” Eithan’s voice was strangled.
Yerin took the book before Eithan could. “This is mud and rot. Did nobody teach him about meter?”
“Did you see the one that says, ‘My Remnant aches with longing to see your face’?”
Eithan slapped the book out of Yerin’s hand and set it on fire.
Elder Whisper sat on his haunches, tails waving as he regarded Lindon and Yerin.
“So how do we kill the Dreadgods?” Lindon asked.
Whisper leaned forward. “Attend me closely, for this is ancient knowledge. There is only one thing that can kill the Dreadgods: points.”
Lindon gasped. “I knew it!”
“Ozmanthus Arelius, the original Patriarch of our clan, was known as the greatest Soulsmith of his day,” Eithan explained. “Perhaps in history. Famous for his great power, his wisdom, and his long, flowing hair. I’m no expert, of course, but from what I hear, he sounds like a wonderful fellow. Kind-hearted, keen-eyed, with flawless skin and the most spectacular clothes.”