Reaper(Cradle #10)(3)
From his pocket, he pulled out a clear marble with a single blue candle-flame burning at its center. He turned it in his fingers.
It seemed forever ago that Suriel had given him that marble, but at the same time, like almost no time had passed at all. He had expected his task to take him the rest of his life.
Now it was over. Sacred Valley, or what was left of it, was saved.
He wasn’t sure whether to consider it a success or a failure, but either way his mission was done. He had started to climb a mountain, expecting it to take decades, only to suddenly find himself at the peak.
Maybe it was that realization that helped him feel how tired he really was.
He had time now. Time to rest, time to spend with Yerin, time to practice Soulsmithing, time to learn what it meant to be a Sage. Time to get to know his family again, though he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that.
But there was one concern that outweighed the rest.
Dross.
Eithan had said that Dross might come back on his own, but Lindon couldn’t sit by and wait to see what happened. He would learn as much as he could.
At least now he had the time.
“There should be plenty of Soulsmithing records inside the labyrinth, right?” Lindon asked Elder Whisper.
The fox shot him a look. “It is a repository of ancient truths, as well as the home and workplace of the greatest Soulsmiths in history. You could study there for the next five hundred years and never reach the depths of their understanding.”
“Gratitude. Then I intend to learn whatever I can from the labyrinth, but we still need to discuss our next actions. Together.”
Elder Whisper raised his eyebrows in an expression that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a human face. “I expected more commitment from you.”
“There are too many questions left. For one thing, if you know about this, why haven’t the Monarchs taken action?”
“I have had…dreams.”
Lindon blinked at the fox’s abrupt change in topic, but Elder Whisper only continued. “Once in a long while, when the heavens allow, I can catch a glimpse of Fate in my dreams. And when I dream of seeking out Monarchs, I see death. My death, always. Sometimes also the death of our home.”
“What causes it?” Lindon asked. “Which Monarchs?”
“I regret to say I cannot tell, but much is unclear to me. The Monarchs should not need me to petition them in any case. They should know much more about the contents of the labyrinth than I do, and yet they have refused to move. This is one of the answers you should seek in the depths.”
“I will,” Lindon said. “But I’m not going by myself.”
Yerin gave him a decisive nod.
“Numbers are of limited use in the labyrinth. You may…”
Elder Whisper continued speaking, but his words faded to the back of Lindon’s awareness. Something invaded his consciousness—a message, but deeper and softer than words. Impossibly distant.
He felt regret. Apology. Someone urging him to do his best, and to survive at all costs. If he had to interpret the message in words, he would have bet it said “I’m sorry. Hold on.”
He stretched out his spiritual perception, looking for the source of the message, and Yerin noticed. Her spirit sharpened as she prepared herself for battle.
“We about to bleed somebody?”
“No, I…I’m sorry, did you sense something a minute ago?”
“Before you jumped like a dog trying to fly?” She raised an eyebrow. “If there’s anything here, I’m blind to it. And I’m not leaping to fight invisible enemies today, I’ll tell you that. Ask me tomorrow.”
He shook his head. It had only been a vague impression, and it had passed anyway. “Apologies, I think I’m on edge.”
“Can’t imagine why.”
Lindon rolled Suriel’s marble in his fingers again. Somehow, the message had felt like the feelings that radiated from the blue flame. And the comfort that usually came off the transparent orb seemed somehow weaker than usual.
Another sign of his own anxiety, surely. Unless…
There came a thunk as the door on the first floor swung open, interrupting Lindon’s thoughts. A voice echoed up from below.
“Oh no, I missed something!” Eithan cried. “Quickly, repeat your entire conversation before you forget a word!”
Deep in the labyrinth, Reigan Shen withdrew a drudge from a pouch at his belt and set it free. He had cobbled this one together specifically for this mission, and it was made to exist in this low-energy environment.
The construct unfolded from a pocket-sized rectangle of compressed madra into something resembling a mechanical dog, then began to sniff around an ancient laboratory.
The room was large enough to contain a flight of dragons, but was decorated like an expensive study. Lots of polished wood and plush cushions, with empty windows that would probably once have displayed illusionary scenery of the outside.
Around the center of this laboratory were empty cages of scripted glass, which would certainly once have contained experimental subjects. Time-shriveled husks that had once been dreadbeasts remained in some, while others had been broken from the outside. Or from the inside.
The laboratory had long waited in disarray, with desks destroyed, papers scattered, and holes scorched in the walls. There were preservation scripts on everything, but most of them had failed, leaving odd scenarios where one half of a sheet of paper might have been aged and yellowed into illegibility while the other half looked as though it had been scribed that morning.