Reaper (Cradle Book 10) Page 14

  Beginning record…

  The Abidan didn’t know what to do with Ozmanthus Arelius.

  Even his initial compatibility tests came back with unprecedented results. He had maximum potential in six of the seven Divisions. It quickly became clear that he could inherit the Mantle of any Judge.

  Except one: Suriel. He had no compatibility with the Phoenix at all, as though his very existence was in opposition to the concept of restoration.

  Naturally, Ozmanthus was not satisfied with these results.

  He dedicated himself to fixing, building, creating, healing, and restoring. He couldn’t join the Phoenix Division, but he worked with them as closely as possible. He thought that surely his skill in crafting and engineering would be his pathway forward, but when that never worked, he branched out.

  He learned the arts of many worlds, took on ancient riddles, repaired governments and relationships. He lived for a time as a pacifist monk wandering the streets of Sanctum, though he quickly grew bored with that.

  No matter what he did, the nature of his origin didn’t change.

  Not that anyone else from the Abidan minded. Warriors and killers could both be put to work in the service of order, and if Ozmanthus didn’t want to bring death, there was always his other great talent of detection.

  The Spider of the Abidan works to find instances of chaos and disruption among the Iterations, and to bind the Abidan together with communication. Ozmanthus joined his Third Division and was declared the successor to Telariel in record time.

  In this capacity, he continued to have a special fascination with the Phoenix Division, as they were those who could do what he could not. He struck up a friendship with a woman expected to succeed the Mantle of Suriel.

  She advised him not to ignore his talents. A true Phoenix would contribute to the greater cause of restoration however they could.

  He kept that in mind when he and his fellow Spiders encountered a Vroshir trap.

  It was an ambush intended to wipe them out. The enemy had taken over an entire Iteration, then cut it off from the Way when the Abidan arrived to investigate. Upon entry into the world, his entire team was eradicated.

  Except him.

  He escaped, but the disparity bothered him. With a weapon on the level of a Judge, he would have been able to defend his team, but such weapons were highly restricted and forbidden to create.

  Ozmanthus began to gather materials.

  He stole, unearthed, or recovered weapons of absolute destructive authority. Obsolete Judge weapons, like the prototype Razor of Suriel, and the Shears of a previous Makiel that had once snipped threads from Fate. Weapons that had been used against Judges, like the Bane of the Titan—made by the Vroshir to kill the second-generation Gadrael. Even the greatest weapons used by the Vroshir: Sha’irik, the absolute curse, and Auctarius, the Blade that Sundered Heaven.

  Finally, he added his own original creation. An improved version of Penance, his old creation, the arrowhead of absolute death.

  He bound these together in the depths of the Void, so far from the Way that even Fiends could not last long, in a zone of pure nonexistence and annihilation.

  He forged them in the energy of a stolen Worldseed, with enough power that it could have birthed an entire Iteration.

  By doing so, he indeed created a peerless weapon: a Scythe that would let him fight like a Judge. But he did not expect the recognition of the Way.

  He became the avatar of true Destruction, the opposite of lost Creation. And when he was taken into custody by the Court of Seven for his creation of the Scythe, the Court was in awe.

  Unwittingly, Ozmanthus had achieved a goal that the Court of Seven had pursued since antiquity. He had manifested another absolute aspect of reality. He had become the Judge of Destruction.

  With the exception of Makiel, who urged that Ozmanthus be executed, the other Judges agreed that Ozmanthus should be given the mantle of the Reaper and raised up as their peer.

  He was even granted a new name: Ozriel.

  Record complete.

  Back in the Ancestor’s Tomb, Lindon faced the door marked with the symbols of the four Dreadgods. He still had a headache, but his vision and spiritual sense had largely returned. In fact, this was the clearest his perception had ever been in Sacred Valley, now that the suppression field was gone.

  He could sense panic all over the Valley. Their spirits were weak, and their populations were depleted, but they scurried everywhere. He could sense techniques of every aspect and Path used from here all the way to the remainder of Mount Venture in the west.

  Including a presence cloaked in light and dreams. Lindon turned from the door to face Elder Whisper as the fox dashed up, five tails lashing.

  “What have you done?” Elder Whisper demanded.

  Mercy, Yerin, Eithan, and Ziel stared at the fox. Even Orthos and Little Blue, on Lindon’s shoulders, faced him down.

  None of them were intentionally threatening—Eithan was unsurprised at Whisper’s appearance, while Little Blue gave a little gasp, and Mercy waved—but Lindon could see the realization dawn over Elder Whisper as the sacred beast realized he was facing down a group of sacred artists far more advanced than he was.

  That must have been a serious adjustment to make, after centuries of being the strongest in many miles.

  “Apologies,” Elder Whisper said quietly. “If you don’t mind telling me, I would be grateful to learn what happened to the suppression field.”

  He was holding back his urgency, but he still gave a little dip of his forelegs in what could be considered a bow.

  Dross manifested on Lindon’s shoulder and spoke to everyone. [This is Akura clan territory. Legally, you are not obliged to answer him. In fact, with Akura Mercy here, execution would be within your rights as a Lord.]

  “Why would I execute him, Dross?”

  Dross gave a long, slow blink with his one eye. [That was a joke. Ha ha.]

  Elder Whisper sank lower into the stones.

  “Apologies, Elder Whisper. My mind-spirit is not himself right now. We believe someone has tampered with the structure of the labyrinth, and we’re going to investigate now. But we don’t expect to return until we’ve found Subject One.”

  Whisper’s tails began to drift back and forth again. “That’s…good. Very good. Gratitude. You have the key I gave you?”

  Lindon produced the silver box containing the shriveled hand.

  Elder Whisper looked from the case to Eithan’s clothes, which bore the Arelius clan symbol. “I notice this one has the same symbol on his robes.”

  Only then did Lindon realize they had never told Elder Whisper about House Arelius. Before he could explain, Eithan swept a bow.

  “Eithan Arelius, at your service,” he said, though he’d met Elder Whisper before. “I am a humble scion of the ancient House Arelius, which is the symbol I bear. This key that you have shared with Lindon was once the property of my clan’s leader and Monarch, Tiberian.”

  “Elder Whisper, we believe there may be someone else in the labyrinth,” Lindon said.

  Elder Whisper watched the door carefully. “I saw no one enter or leave this labyrinth since the attack of the Dreadgod. And several of these too-curious children have tried. But I cannot guard every entrance, especially now.”

  “Do we have time for this?” Ziel demanded. He had been dragged back from going off on his own, but every second he seemed more and more likely to walk away again.

  “We don’t!” Mercy said.

  “Then I will leave it to you,” Whisper said. “Please do what I could not.”

  Lindon focused on the door. “I will try. Open.”

  He felt weaker as his will passed out of him, but the stone carving slid inward. Ziel entered without hesitation, though the power emanating from within caused everyone else to hesitate. It was the same all-consuming hunger that reminded him of the Void Icon. Identical to the aura that had flooded out the night before.

  Hunger aura.
br />   As Ziel walked inside, Yerin drew her black sword. “Oi, fox. How long does it take for a trip down there?”

  “The labyrinth constantly shifts. The hand can allow you to reach the center, and it is said that those who mastered its patterns could reach the heart in a day. Those I have known spent months or even years down there, and never reached the heart. If they made it out at all.”

  Yerin nodded briefly. “That’s about what I would have bet.” She followed Ziel inside.

  [The Sword Sage made it out,] Dross pointed out to Lindon. [But based on his records, he must not have gone very deep. He was also weakened severely enough to be killed by Jades.]

  The suppression field is gone now, Lindon said.

  [For now. And how much of his weakness was the suppression versus the constant effects of being fed upon by hunger madra?]

  The yawning mouth of the labyrinth was more ominous now than it had been a moment before. Mercy took a deep breath and dove in.

  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. Under these imprecise conditions, I would say that we have better than fifty-fifty odds of making it out alive as long as we retreat before we reach the bottom.]

  This isn’t cheering me up.

  [Was that the goal? Then cheer up.]

  The complete absence of mirth in Dross’ voice did not help Lindon’s spirits.

  Eithan threw an arm around Lindon and began to walk with him into the labyrinth. “I believe we have all been appropriately cautioned against leaving this door open for too long. Even more so since the field is down, I think.”

  Orthos glanced down at Eithan’s arm. “You were eager to dive into this madness. What kind of plan do you have?”

  “Plan? My plan is the same as it has always been. I planned to build up a team of those who can walk into situations like this, together, and solve the problems that no one else could.” Eithan took a deep breath as they crossed the threshold into the musty air of the labyrinth, then released Lindon. “As long as we all survive this, no matter the outcome, I will consider this a successful team-building exercise.”

  Lindon pulled the door shut behind them. The stone slammed into place, completing a script that suddenly flared white.

  Now they were sealed in.

  Little Blue burbled that she didn’t feel well, and even Orthos grunted. “I think these waters may be too deep for the two of us.”

  “Nonsense!” Eithan said. “Lindon, protect them.”

  Lindon had been about to open up the Dawn Sky Palace void key and hide them away when he paused. “How?”

  “The same way you learned to veil them. Let your will flow along the connection of your contract, and extend it to them. Simply intending to protect them should focus the spiritual pressure of this place on you.”

  Lindon did as directed, and to his surprise, found it easy. Little Blue gave a relieved whistle, and Orthos examined one of his feet as though looking for signs of damage.

  “That’s amazing,” Lindon said, sincerely impressed. “How does that work?”

  “You three are bound together on an existential level. In essence, the universe considers you connected. You can work your will through them almost as easily as you could through yourself.”

  Lindon noted the implications of that, but the others were moving deeper into the labyrinth, so he simply nodded his thanks and moved deeper.

  This room was a long hallway with rows and rows of polished wooden cupboards. All of those Lindon could see were closed and locked, but he felt nothing inside.

  He still investigated a few, finding nothing useful. Some had copper rings or wooden hilts, but whatever they had once been attached to had dissolved long ago. Lindon recognized the pieces of what had once been sacred instruments; swords or spears or other devices that had rotted away.

  Mercy kept her voice low, so it wouldn’t echo in the long space. “We have some records of the outer layers of the labyrinth. This looks like one of the armories where the Lord-level weapons were kept.”

  Lindon’s heart clenched at the thought of what they might have found, and even Yerin gave a disappointed sigh as she pulled off one of the doors and found nothing within.

  “Too bad about that field,” Yerin said in regret. “One Underlord spear would have ruled Sacred Valley for generations.”

  Lindon suspected that the few good things that had made it to the Heaven’s Glory school had come from inside this place in some way. Even if they hadn’t once been hidden in these cupboards, random junk from the people who built the labyrinth would be treasures in Sacred Valley.

  “We should be deep enough to try the key,” Eithan pointed out.

  Lindon wasn’t quite as optimistic. “Let’s get into the next room.” He wanted at least one more layer between them and the outside world before they revealed Subject One’s hand.

  He had to use his authority once again when they reached the end of the long hallway, and another door swung open to allow them to pass.

  This time, the room more closely resembled what Lindon had expected of the labyrinth. They entered a huge sphere of smooth stone, with only three exits: the door they’d come from and two others.

  Over the door they’d come from, a symbol of a sun was carved into the rock. The other two entrances also had a symbol above them. One was a hammer, identical to the one on the Forger badges. And the other…

  Upon seeing it, Lindon’s eyes shot to Eithan. So did Yerin’s. Mercy gasped as she, too, looked to Eithan.

  Only Ziel didn’t immediately spin to Eithan, because he had been the first through the doorway and had been staring at Eithan the entire time.

  The symbol over the second hallway was a curved crescent and the ancient characters indicating great power, just like the Arelius family crest. But there were two key differences.

  For one thing, the crescent was over the words, instead of to the side. For another, the crescent was connected to a line running down the side. Now, it didn’t look like a crescent moon at all.

  It looked like the blade of a scythe.

  Eithan’s brow furrowed. “How unexpected,” he said, in a tone that suggested it wasn’t unexpected at all.

  Lindon looked to the silver cube he held, which was marked with the symbol of the modern House Arelius. “Eithan. Did the Arelius clan build this labyrinth?”

  [Unlikely,] Dross responded. [The ancient foundation of this facility predates the founding of the Arelius line by at least several centuries.]

  “That it does,” Eithan said. He drew something from his pocket and flipped it into the air so that it caught the light, which shone down from a script on the ceiling of the circular room.

  It was his own marble, which contained darkness just as Suriel’s contained light. It had been passed down through generations of the Arelius family.

  From Ozriel. Their founder.

  “Ozmanthus Arelius, the original Patriarch of our clan, was known as the greatest Soulsmith of his day,” Eithan explained. “Perhaps in history. That was his personal crest, which was eventually adapted into the symbol of our House.”

  “Did you know he’d signed his name down here?” Yerin asked.

  “I had hoped we’d see something of his, though I’m surprised we came across it so soon. It’s my understanding that he left his mark on most Soulsmith relics of his era all over the world. He was a busy man.”

  And Lindon knew that he’d stayed busy even after ascending, becoming the Abidan known as Ozriel. Judging by the message he’d left in Eithan’s marble, Ozriel at least seemed to be an ally to Suriel, though Lindon couldn’t be sure about their relative ranks.

  “Let’s see what he left,” Mercy said, but Lindon stopped her by speaking.

  “We should check with our key first. Prepare yourselves.”

  He had to calm his own spirit as he focused on the case he held. Exposing
the hand before had been an overwhelming experience, and he was frightened to do it here in the labyrinth.

  Yerin’s red-tinted sword-arms spread out behind her, and Mercy shifted Suu into the form of a bow. Ziel opened his void key—which, strangely, seemed to take longer than usual—and withdrew his massive steel hammer. Eithan began playing with his pair of dark fabric scissors.

  Orthos cycled Blackflame, and Little Blue punched her left palm.

  “Open,” Lindon commanded once again.

  The silver metal bloomed like a steel flower, revealing a gruesome, mummified left hand of chalk-white flesh.

  Worse was the aura that boiled out. It made Lindon feel like he was starving, like he was empty, lacking in every sense. The air warped, twisting like they were at the center of an invisible whirlpool. Even the walls bent inward.

  Everything faded, leaving the hand as the only real thing in the world. It was a fragment of another will, the strongest existence here, the pulsing heart at the center of the labyrinth. Subject One.

  Lindon forced his will against the hand, controlling it as he would a construct. But unlike a construct, the hand fought back.

  Its fingers squirmed and lunged, trying to escape his grip, and a high-pitched howl echoed through the stone halls. The hand tried to command the labyrinth to take it away, to escape.

  But Lindon was in charge.

  If it were the full Dreadgod, he would have stood no chance. Over a long-separated hand, though, Lindon’s willpower won out. The fingers went limp as the hand gave up…and then Lindon felt his authority expand.

  It wasn’t the same as his relationship with an Icon; it felt more like his bond with his Remnant arm. Like a new part grafted onto his spirit. Except instead of a prosthetic limb, it was a piece of the labyrinth.

  He could feel this hallway, and the rooms ahead. He sensed the flows of power, and which way led forward.

  “This way,” Lindon said.

  Then Subject One’s anger crashed into him, and he staggered. The imprisoned Dreadgod was distant and weakened, but Lindon felt its will. It was furious that someone had dared to usurp its authority…and now it wanted to make them prey.