A light had come on. A small bit of warmth. Something to anchor his eyes to. Ethos watched it and tried to focus, to feel his way through the mess of his mind. There were vast, echoing spaces, emptied of their usual clutter. Dust. Darkness.
Maybe the light had always been on. He couldn't remember. He couldn't even remember how he'd come to be wherever he was. But the floor was cold against his cheek, and he wasn't quite sure what he would do if the light beneath the door went out. To lose that small bit of warmth. Everything hurt, from the backs of his eyes to the soles of his feet. Somewhere deep in the void of his chest, there existed a feral, irrational fear that he wouldn't be able to hold in his entrails, should he make an attempt to sit up.
"Can you speak?"
The door had opened. Ethos had missed it. Someone was crouched beside him, head tilted to see him straight. A man, a shadow in the embracing darkness, as dark and black as the damnable birds, who came and went as they pleased. "You," Ethos said, sounding strange. "I know you."
"That's very good. Do you know where you are?"
Ethos stared up at him.
"You're in Oldden, remember?"
A town. A city. A wreckage. "My throat hurts."
The man had anticipated as much. He placed a cup on the floor and said, "Drink."
Ethos couldn't figure out how to reach for it. There was too much emptiness, too much pain. But his visitor seemed patient enough. A distorted sense of recognition clicked somewhere in the depths of his vacated mind. "I know you," Ethos repeated. "I'm not supposed to be near you."
The man flashed a smile. "Eadric," he replied. "You call me Eadric."
Eadric. It should have meant something more than it did. Ethos turned his attention back to the cup of water, giving it precedence. Remembering his hands, he tried to move them; one wouldn't do what he wanted it to, but the other twitched alive near his face. His fingers came away red from the floor. Lips clumsy, he asked, "Is this mine?"
Eadric's smile spread. "Do you see blood?"
Slowly at first, the memories came flooding back, each more hideous than the last. Ethos gagged, bile at the back of his throat, hand alive, twitching, trembling. Crows in his ears. He went to his knees and looked at the door, at the small bit of warmth, the light beyond.
"Terrifying, I know," Eadric mused, blandly, and he offered Ethos the water again. "Shame it only lasts two hours. It's a neat little trick."
Ethos drank, and it took every fiber of his being not to down the cup all at once. It was the greatest thing he'd ever tasted. Eadric might have said something more, but he didn't hear it. For a short while he just sat on his heels and tried very hard to steady his breathing.
"Do you remember what you're doing here?"
Eadric. The name should have meant something more than it did. There was history. Ethos heard him this time, but the words didn't make sense. He squeezed the cup with the hand that worked, hoping to suppress the violent tremor spreading throughout his body.
"I asked you a question, Ethos."
"I can't stop shaking."
"Do you remember why you're here?"
Ethos winced. "It was safer this way, to do it willingly."
"Yes, it was," Eadric agreed. "It was. What instructions did you leave for Peter?"
Another name that should have meant something. A good friend, he thought, until a tiny seed of uneasiness formed in the pit of his belly. He tried to rise. Eadric caught his arm.
"No." Eadric was warning him with his eyes. "Sit."
Ethos sat, feeling too ill to oppose anything very strongly. He leaned back against the nearest wall and stared out the open door, dazed. The light seemed dimmer than before.
Eadric joined him, sharing the modest view. "It'll come back to you shortly," he promised. "The memory only starts to seriously go after the third or fourth session." He deliberated, knees bobbing this way and that. "But I won't do that to you."
"I asked her to kill me."
Eadric glanced. After a moment, he looked back at the door. "Of course you did," he said. "They all do eventually."
"But I don't want to die."
"Everyone dies. You'll do well to embrace that future."
Ethos couldn't recognize his own voice. "I think I might hurt a lot of people."
The silence was all that answered. Ethos could feel the blood on his fingers beginning to cake. "A normal boy would complain," Eadric said. "He'd hate me and say that that the world wasn't fair."
Ethos didn't follow. He hadn't seen a boy around. "My throat hurts."
"I need you to remember Peter. He was the one who found you— the farmer."
"She did something to me."
"You're not concentrating."
"How long will I be weak like this?"
He sighed. "A day. Maybe two. But right now I need you to focus."
Peter, the farmer. The one who'd found him. "He said he'd fix me if I touched his sister."
"Try to remember the last time you spoke with him."
The seed of uneasiness returned. "He liked it better when I was new to the world," Ethos said. "He resents me for evolving into someone who doesn't need his protection."
"But you needed him this time, didn't you?"
Ethos covered his eyes. His head felt like it'd gone through a wall. "I knew I'd be caught," he murmured. "But I'd negotiated with the cousin to make use of her assets, so I arranged to have her extract Peter on her way up to Flint. She thought she'd be picking up both of us." Neutral land was the safest they'd find. "Better him than me, though," he continued. "Wolfgang's dead and my father has a challenging relationship with Tritan. Peter being who he is puts us at an advantage."
"As I thought," Eadric mused. "Must be a rebellious phase."
"His mother's a threat. She outranks him."
"What did you offer in return for the Battlefrost assets?"
"The north," Ethos said. "It's fair game with Wulfstead's men gone to war, and the Battlefrosts are due for expansion. It's a good plan."
A pause. "You agreed to seize Wulfstead for transport?"
"I knew it would appeal to Anouk. That and myself. I'd have agreed to anything."
"You took it quite far."
"It's worth it to keep Kacha safe." Ethos watched his breath dissolve in the darkness, still shaking from the tireless tremor. "She was the first person I ever saw," he remembered now, of the heat and the shade, how the sun had lit her up like beacon. "She found me. She named me."
"She didn't name you, she recognized you."
"She's beautiful."
"She's exceedingly pushy."
Ethos looked at him. "I might love her."
Eadric sighed. "I warned you not to get attached to anything."
The vast, echoing spaces, emptied of their usual clutter— gradually, they began to fill. The dust, the darkness. Ethos laughed. "Hans Redbeard," he realized. "That's who you are."
Eadric smiled with him, unconcerned. "You're funny in a stupor."
"It's an awful name. Did you come up with it?"
"Syan did."
Ethos let his head fall back against the wall. His eyes rolled low. "She's alive, you know," he said, quietly. "I had a vision of her."
Silence. Always silence. "That's a lie."
"Believe whatever you want. Her legs were all messed up."
Eadric forced Ethos look at him straight. He asked, "What did you see?"
"Hell, Eadric, you remember what it's like," he replied. "She came out of the ground and attacked me. It lasted seconds, if that."
"Then how do you know it was her?"
"She was with you and Sutter when you met Ludo all those centuries ago," he explained. "She was a blond thing, skin like snow."
Eadric glowered. "She's a lost cause."
"Then you have no cure." Ethos didn't return the glower. He was too exhausted. "You gave up on Syan," he guessed. "You gave up and left her to die somewhere."
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"Anouk resembles her."
Eadric stared a few seconds longer, almost as if he were looking for something. Finally, blissfully, he let Ethos go. "Syan couldn't bear children," he replied, annoyed, as usual. "The Battlefrosts are all descended from Daggeir, her brother."
"Where did you leave her?"
"It doesn't matter where I left her."
"She was screaming at me. She thought I was you."
Eadric rubbed at his eye with the heel of his hand. "I didn't plan for this."
Somehow, Ethos managed to laugh. "I thought you always had a plan for everything."
"Yes, but you were unexpected," Eadric said, curtly. "You shouldn't even exist. It's distracting."
Ethos assessed the distance to the door. "I could name all of my nightmares after you." Everything was different now, even the past. He'd been poisoned by knowledge and experience. "The kid that died in the war had it easy," he said. "He never had to know how much of a monster his father was."
Fragile silence breathed through the cell. Ethos knew that Eadric was looking at him long before he risked a glance, but knowing didn't lessen the weight of it. Together they shared a bitter stare. "You look exactly like I did when I was your age," Eadric sneered. "It irritates me."
Ethos looked away. "Forget I said anything."
"You're the one who said it."
"Fine, I take it back."
"It's too late. It's out there." Regardless, the terrible silence returned. Eadric's voice had lost its spark by the time he spoke again, inviting Ethos to look back. "Alyce is probably pacing upstairs."
Alyce. Ethos remembered sitting roadside with her, bumping shoulders, sharing secrets, laughing, teasing passersby. She cried a lot, in private. "She told me once that you had cat."
Eadric's eyebrows went up. "She told you about Gary?"
"She didn't know what his name was."
"I'm allowed to have pets."
"What'd you do to him?"
He frowned. "Meaning what?"
"She said he just disappeared one day."
A leer spread to Eadric's face. "What are you imagining?"
Ethos mildly glared at him. "I don't like it when you smile at me like that."
"But you obviously think that I tortured the poor thing." Still smiling, Eadric sighed and shrugged a little. "I put him down. That's why he disappeared."
"Why did you put him down?"
"Because he was suffering. It was his time." That said, Eadric's unsettling gaze returned, darkly reflecting the warm bit of light. He became unsmiling. Fearsome. Steady. "There's a lesson here, but from your expression it looks like you've already learned it," he said. "Tell me I'm right."
On the spot, Ethos bristled. "I get it."
"Good." Eadric's eyes abruptly narrowed on him, fascinated. "I still have no idea how she pulled it off," he said. "His ashes have been in my tomb for centuries."
"How unexpectedly sentimental of you."
"You almost sound jealous."
Ethos pushed off the wall to rise. "This is stupid."
Eadric forced him back, hard enough for it to hurt. "Stay down," he said. "You won't be given a third warning. Understood?"
Ethos glowered, cradling his injured hand. "Asshole."
"Don't think for a second that I'll make an exception for you just because of who you are." Eadric didn't back off until he seemed sure that Ethos would listen. "As promised, I'll bring you outside as a reward for giving me information," he said. "Tomorrow, when it's light."
"I didn't give you anything. Stop trying to confuse me."
Eadric sent him an amused sort of look.
"I didn't." Ethos felt like he was sinking. It was the same sense one got from traveling all alone at night, far into the wilderness, where there wasn't a single soul in sight however much one looked. "I wouldn't," he insisted, faintly. "I'd remember."
Eadric didn't respond. He just climbed to his feet, blocking out the light from the door. From the shadow he cast, it was harder for Ethos to see his face. His grin was gone. "I'll find you something to eat," he said. "You look like you're dying."
Ethos gave a start as he turned to go. "Don't hurt her."
"Kacha?" Eadric looked down at him. "Let's say I don't," he suggested. "Say I spare her alone as a small act of mercy, even give you a chance to deal with Alma on your own terms. Consider the outcome, should you fail." He paused there, perhaps to see if Ethos would try to interject. "She's a true monster," he said, quietly. "We have to be perfect."
Ethos couldn't let him leave. It was as simple as that. If Eadric left, his second blackhound would rally with Michael, and together they'd chart a new course to Flint. The Battlefrosts would be held responsible for trying to shelter the tono, who by all accounts were being blamed for the devastation in Oldden, and Peter would be caught in the middle, saddled with the choice of either going head-to-head with Eadric himself or admitting defeat and surrendering Flint. He would, perhaps wisely, choose the latter. If he was even still alive at that point.
Tension was what Ethos had wanted, but not in his absence. Not like this.
"Don't be a hero," Eadric warned, hands sliding out of his pockets. "Sit."
Ethos had risen into a crouch. "I can't let you out of here."
"You know what I'll do if you don't sit down."
Eadric was stronger. Faster. Smarter. Even if by some miracle Ethos were to incapacitate him, he could abandon his host in under a second and return with someone worse. Taking a loss meant nothing to him. Nothing. He was untouchable. Seeing him there in the open doorway, half-turned with a threat in his eyes, Ethos felt his confidence waver.
But then— Eadric abruptly dropped to a knee. He looked confused. Of course, he couldn't see that Alyce was behind him, bringing the dreaded fire iron down for a final attack. It landed hard, surprisingly soundless. Eadric hit the bloodied floor.
All was still. Ethos couldn't believe it. Alyce's expression was a terrifying thing, probably a result of her working herself up to do the unimaginable. She stood over Eadric, breathing heavy, paralyzed by either the violence itself or the fact that she was responsible for it.
Ethos quickly rolled the body over, searching through pockets. "I've got the keys," he said. "We'll lock it in here, buy us some time while he looks for another host nearby."
The fire iron fell from her fingers. "Do you think he can still possess this thing?"
"I don't want to find out." Ethos could see panic rising into her eyes. He said her name a few times to invite them away from the carnage. To calm her, he asked, "Are you with me?"
She nodded and embraced him, warm and trembling and clinging tight. "I'm sorry," she said, and it sounded like she might have been crying a little. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry, hero. You didn't run."
"You smell horrible."
He laughed, patting her back. "You would, too."
It hadn't gone at all like he'd planned, but they'd made it into the den of the beast. Ethos tied off his broken fingers and retrieved the fallen fire iron, a foul reminder of Gladius. It was heavier than it looked, almost enough to drag him down. He used it to stand.
The small bit of light met him at the door— sconces, along the cell block. Ethos quietly saw to the lock, avoiding eye contact as best he could. Alyce's panic had bled away, but he almost preferred it to the sympathy that had replaced it. He could feel her worry like ants on his skin.
But she didn't say anything. She was mindful like that. She led him deeper into the Keep, glancing back every now and again to see how well he was keeping up. He struggled with the stairwell, hugging the wall to keep himself steady, fire iron rasping over each step. Far below was a massive undercroft, vaulted and filled from the floor to the ceiling with junk of every single known sort. Everywhere there were beeswax candles, rooted to various foothills of books, some unlit and some gently flickering, some even carved and in white seas of shavings. Alyce took his hand in hers and guided him forward, into the maze, noticeably at ease in the space. Great shadows of rats danced on the walls.
A table emerged from the rubble ahead, alight and strewn with more of the same, some tankards and pitchers, a here-and-there plate. Beyond it, the passageway to the catacombs stood ajar. But seated upon the bench between, cultured and vile and lost in a book, was Norita in all of her sinister glory. She glanced up in surprise when she heard them approach, but a sickening smile spread fast to her lips. "Oh, good," she purred. "Something to do."
Ethos quickly stopped Alyce short. He greeted, "Norita."
Norita closed her book. She rose from the table, snakelike. "I'm sure he'd want me to nip this little mutiny in the bud," she said. "Shall I?"
"I wish you wouldn't."
"You certainly bounce back well."
Alyce's grip on him tightened. Ethos positioned her behind him, careful not to look away. "I don't want to hurt you," he warned. "Let us pass. Eadric needs to be stopped."
"Does he?" Norita slowed several paces away. "Eadric's protected this country for centuries," she said. "You're the danger to the system. You're the disease."
"Sure. A disease with the moral high ground."
With an offhand gesture, a bat at a fly, her power crashed into him all at once. He went airborne, and the inexcusable clutter of the undercroft caught him like a pile of rocks. Dazed, Ethos blinked at the vaulted ceiling until the sounds of a fight reached his ears. He extricated himself from the mess, hands sliding through eons of dust.
The girls had collided. It looked like Alyce might have struck first, leapt in a rage and caught the councilman fast by her hair. Norita landed several good hits, but Alyce clung with no sign of tiring, sinking her teeth into flesh, drawing blood. Tankards went toppling. Plates shattered.
Norita turned and bashed Alyce twice against the table, weakening her grip just enough to hold her down and snarl in her ear. Teeth red, Alyce tore out a clump of her hair. Norita shrieked. Alyce quickly rolled to the floor and scrambled under the table. Norita was immediately after her like a scalding wind, power clearing all in her path. The table upturned into the wall. The bench followed.
Regardless of rage, she must have heard Ethos coming, because she turned just in time to duck the first swing of the fire iron. She seized it when he swung again. They wrestled for it, white-knuckled, gaining and losing ground. His every muscle screamed in protest.
She spat, "I'll have you beg me to kill you again."
Ethos thrust the iron at her, broadside. It caught her in the bridge of the nose. Seeing her stunned, he took his chance and ran her through. She looked surprised.
He searched her eyes. He wasn't sure what he expected to find in them.
Norita's breath on his face smelled of ash. Her blood spilled warmly over his hands. She laughed at him. "Moral high ground," she leered. "You'll be one of us yet."
Ethos could tell that her legs were failing; her grip on his shoulders slid down his arms, off of his fingers, to open air. No slow death, but not quick, either. Like Gladius. He watched her sink to the floor, unmoved, and was struck by a curious sense of absence. He quickly identified it as a lack of remorse, of shame and all the tidings. And it shouldn't have startled him as much as it did. The universe wasn't interested in justification.
Alyce said his name, softly. She was beyond his periphery, a comforting presence by the catacomb entryway. "Are you okay?" she asked. "Are you hurt?"
A glance at her reminded him of how resilient she was. She'd seen it all before, he knew, more than he had. "I'm fine," he replied. "You?"
A lantern was slung from her fingers. She raised it. "Let's hurry."
The catacomb consumed them. It was a maze of frozen arteries, of cold, grey passageways strung with webs, urns, inscriptions, dirt and darkness. Ethos counted his heartbeats. He longed for the sky, the great Wide Open. Fresh air. Green grass. Sunlight. Stars.
"What's the plan for after he's dead?"
Alyce's voice leapt between the stone walls. "The coin," he replied, hollowly. "The one that gets him from place to place."
"You have it?"
"It was with his keys."
"Do you know how to use it?"
"I'm hoping it runs on Karnan wile." He hadn't had time to plan ahead. "Worst case scenario, we follow the tunnels into Oldden and cut through Iron Town," he said. "Calaster's up north in the Rift with the army. We can hole up at his place while he's gone, resupply and take off at first light."
They slowed. Six burial vaults awaited ahead, three on each side. "This is it," Alyce said, and she went to the nearest one on the left. "Help me out with the door."
Hans Redbeard, the stone slab read. Together they dragged it across the ground, stirring up untold ages of silence. Stagnant air rolled out of the darkness.
Alyce entered first with the lantern, holding it high to brighten the space, and even from the door, even at a glance, Ethos knew that something was off. There were bottles stacked atop the sarcophagus, some of them turned on their sides, all empty, blankets and books piled up on the floor.
An upended washbowl was marooned near the entrance; Ethos stooped to retrieve it and said, "It looks like he lived in here for a while."
Alyce gave a shudder. "In his own tomb?"
"Sure," he replied. "Quiet neighbors. I'll bet he loved it."
There were symbols painted in white on the floor, concentric rings, around the sarcophagus. Ethos circled the space, eyes low, expecting a trap or two in wait. Finding none, he swept the bottles onto the ground and worked to remove the lid; it was heavy— too heavy. Alyce helped. The lantern swung wide over the tomb's ancient contents.
Bones. Fabric. Pottery.
Alyce asked, "How do we know it's him?"
"We don't." Ethos scanned the vault. "But I'm betting it is."
"Then find something to burn," she said. "I don't want to stay here for long."
The blankets on the floor were dry, so he bent to tear them into strips. "We'll want to get ahead of the smoke," he said. "It'd be annoying to die of asphyxiation after everything."
"What are all these symbols on the floor?"
"I dunno." There was one at his feet; he paused to lightly run his fingers over it. It chipped. "He must've painted it himself."
"Ethos— "
Her voice had changed. He glanced.
Impossibly, the desiccated carcass was rising up out of its open sarcophagus, fingers curling over the sides. Flesh rushed over parched, exposed bones, kicking off clouds of dust in the firelight. It lifted its sable head from the darkness, swaying just once as it tried to stand. Within a matter of just a few seconds, it was steady and slowly rolling its shoulders. Silence fell heavy.
Hans Redbeard, alive. His eyes opened. He'd aged since his encounter with Ludo, but those eyes of his were unchanged. Calculating. Intelligent. They focused first on Alyce, who was backing away in abject horror, making noise, stumbling through bottles. They focused on Ethos next. They narrowed.
Ethos uneasily stood with the fire iron, pulse risen to grisly thunder. "You drove us to it," he said, fingers numb. "You wouldn't compromise."
Eadric neglected to answer. He emerged barefoot from the sarcophagus, and despite the obvious threat it posed, he came within striking distance of Ethos. They stood at identical heights. "You'd throw down that iron if you were more self-aware," he said. "You're in no condition to fight."
"Norita probably thought so, too. You'll find her corpse in the undercroft."
Eadric took another step closer. Ethos backed into a wall and lashed out, feeling too cornered for comfort. Eadric was faster. A complex whirling motion paved the way for an admittedly impressive counterattack, one which parked Ethos near to the door. Alyce was hiding there, eyes bright; she reached for him as if to help out, but Eadric snatched him first by the ankle and dragged him away, back into the vault. Ethos clawed at the ground, fingernails tearing and snapping through paint.
Above, Eadric said, "You've become an extraordinary inconvenience."
Ethos flipped himself over and savagely kicked until Eadric released him. But his freedom wasn't lasting. Eadric caught a fist of his hair, impeding a clumsy attempt at escape, and then stuffed him into the open sarcophagus, climbing in after to hold him still.
"Is this what you want?" Eadric demanded. "Do you want me to close you in here? Do you?"
There were a few small items in the confines with them. Ethos grabbed one and bashed it into the side of Eadric's head. It shattered to pieces on impact.
Ash clouded the air. Ethos froze, guarding his face, and Eadric stared back, tight-fisting shirt, eyes overwide; but then he seized Ethos by the throat and wrung.
Terrified, Ethos tried to break his grip. Alyce was shouting somewhere, but he couldn't make out the words, let alone find the strength to shout back. His vision spotted.
An out-of-place sort of intrusion saved him. A sound of soft combustion. It breathed through the growing madness, and Eadric immediately withdrew. Ethos gasped, starved for air, mind in a panic and racing ahead. But Eadric was motionless on his knees, eyes elsewhere. Golden light bounced off the walls, highlighting all that the darkness had hidden. It was like looking in a mirror.
"That's a fine expression, Hans."
Alma's voice. Ethos gave a lurch of alarm, but Eadric slapped a hand at his mouth, quieting him, hiding him. "Ali," he greeted. "You're here. Fantastic."
"We caught your stench from the far shore." Footsteps, faint. When she spoke again, her tone had gone dark. "We expected Sutter. No?"
"Sutter's dead."
She sneered, "Did you kill him, too?"
Eadric's eyes darted to the door. To Alyce, presumably, he said, "Run."
Something banged. Something crashed. Golden light spread over the ceiling, warming the stagnant air of the vault. "Oh, the terran," Alma said, delighted. "You were there the day Wyndemere fell."
Alyce let out a frightened scream. Ethos struggled again to escape, but Eadric violently forced him down. He spared Ethos a single glance, and in it was all of his hatred and fury.
Silence fell, and his eyes moved away. "There's nothing here for you, Ali," he said. "Our history is a legend that parents tell to their children at night."
"Ah, but the legends are lies."
"You completely lost your grip on reality. You murdered your own child."
"That was survival," she pouted. "We feared the death we foresaw at his hands."
"Then why bring him back?" he challenged. "Why, if you're so afraid?"
Ethos could feel his fingernails carving little half-moons into Eadric's wrist. The worrying silence didn't bode well. Voice soft, Alma said, "What a fascinating question."
Eadric glared, rigid with hatred. "The world moved on," he said. "You had no right to drag him back after all these years. There are other ways to die."
She sounded puzzled. "Ethos is gone."
"All for that vile prophecy."
"We broke that prophecy. We made sure of it."
Eadric bristled. Fiercely, he yanked Ethos up by his shirt and said, "Then explain this."
She was in the doorway, all black and gold contrasts. Her igneous flesh was mesmerizing. After a moment of honest surprise, a smile spread, and her fiery eyes slid back to Eadric. She began a leisurely, languid approach. "You named him after our son?" she asked, incredulous. "Were you that eager to have him back? Poor old Hans and his dead progeny."
Eadric's furious grip constricted. "I know it's not really him."
"Of course it's not." Alma sat on the edge of the sarcophagus. Ethos recoiled when she reached for him, back colliding with Eadric's chest. She said, "This boy wasn't made in his image, you see," and her gaze calmly moved to Eadric. "He was made in yours."
All was quiet and still in the vault. The sinking feeling consumed Ethos whole, sucked him in like a horse to a tar pit. "You didn't," Eadric said, behind him, uncertain. "You wouldn't."
"Well, the colors are a bit off," she admitted, and she studied Ethos, squinting. "But if you ignore the eyes and the skin, he's you. Born of a simple wish."
Ethos watched her, feeling distant. "Wish," he echoed. "What wish?"
She blinked at him like she'd thought he was deaf. But then she smirked. She reached once more for his face, fingers gleaming. "You've been mistreated," she noticed. "Did he do this to you?"
Ethos flinched away. He tore from the tomb, shoving off Eadric. Wine bottles clattered and rolled at his heels. "Stay back," he warned, a little unsteady. "Stay away from me."
"Oh, little man, to suffer like you do." Alma followed, circling the sarcophagus. "You'll be better this time around, won't you," she said, black hair slithering over her shoulders, heavy and slick as a nest of eels. "Stronger. Faster. Smarter."
She was teasing him, he realized. "Get out of my head."
"Terror and thirst, Hans. Terror and thirst. We in this land are equally cursed." Doubt slowed her measured pace. "Or shall we call you Eadric?" she asked. "Which do you identify with?"
Ethos backed up until he hit the wall again. He slid down the length of it, weighed by her eyes. He was breathing too shallowly. He swore at himself and at everyone else. "I'm not him," he said, and he hid his face in his hands, overwhelmed. "I'm not."
The air warmed. He knew without needing to look that she was crouched in front of him, waiting to see what he'd do. Gently, she urged, "What did the she-wolf say to the elk?"
Throat tight: " 'Won't you help me across this river?' "
"And what did the elk say?"
"I don't want to do this."
"Please. Tell us what he said."
Ethos swallowed, head falling forward. "The elk said no."
"No?" And she, the contemptible she-wolf, wounded by rejection. "I'll give you all that I have of worth, anything you like," she promised. "I just need someone to help me across."
"You're sure to tear my throat out before we reach the shore."
She chuckled, low, like so much gravel. "But that would doom us both to drown."
Ethos was silent, hands in his hair, eyes on the ground between his feet. Alma's very presence was smothering him. "I won't do this," he whispered, and he looked up at her. "You can't make me."
Her expression was childlike. She beamed for him, brightly, fondly, cruelly. "You're the shadow I cast," she explained, so simply. "When the time comes, you'll be ready. You'll see."
Her choice of host was a true beauty— Kooma, he knew, the poor tono woman who'd once loved Pathos. But the light in her eyes was entirely Alma, breathing just behind the glass. The leviathan. More creature than woman, more energy than entity. She was the swarm of flies in his ears, keeping him from a restful sleep. Those eyes of hers would be the last thing he saw.
"Are you angry?" She was speaking again, and he wasn't sure how long they'd been staring at one another. The small bit of light was growing dim, running like oil between his fingers. "Is it unfair?" she pressed. "Is the creator asking too much of her creation?"
He felt completely empty. "I don't even get my own name."
"But you do," she insisted, sincere. "You do. Don't you get it? You're the great Hans Redbeard, born again, more powerful than ever before. That name is as much a part of you now as it was when we were killing each other. More, even." She moved a stubborn bit of his hair. He could smell it burning between her fingers. "You're no longer bound by silly human restrictions," she said, and she dipped her head sideways to catch his eyes. "Together we'll take the great exhale and break through the deepest foundations of earth."
"I'm different from him."
Alma lightly lifted his face, hushing his hiss of surprised, mild pain. Gaze low, hooded, wandering, she leaned in and sang, " 'Won't you help me across this river?' "
His blood chilled. She was planning to kiss him, he realized. He wanted to stop her. But he spoke instead, without intending to, without even knowing the words. " 'I am the crow who follows below.' "
Alma smiled. "There you are."
He was about to ask who she'd been looking for, but Eadric appeared behind her. He hooked the fire iron under her jaw and brutally hauled her away by it, flesh searing up against hers. Together, writhing, they crashed back into the empty sarcophagus, raising dust and ash and darkness.
Ethos watched them struggle, too disoriented to make sense of what was happening. Alma slipped snakelike from Eadric's hold, taloned feet raking lines in the floor. She moved like she had sinuous muscles in places that she shouldn't have. It was like a strange, erratic dream.
Alyce suddenly rushed to Ethos, low to the ground. The entire right side of her face was masked in blood. "Ethos," she whispered, searching his eyes. "You need to get up."
A shallow cut on her forehead. That's where the blood was coming from. Ethos wiped a tear from her cheek. "Go hide," he said. "Now, please."
"Come with me."
"Don't argue. Go."
So she did, albeit tripping a couple of times. It was the best he could do with the vault revolving as rapidly as it was. Eadric backed into his field of vision as soon as she was out of sight; he was chucking empty wine bottles across the chamber, fending Alma off. The fire iron in her hand burned red.
"You're old and weak," she said, ducking throws. "You no longer serve a purpose."
Eadric put the tomb between them. "You can't just replace me."
" 'What did the blind frog say to the fly?' "
"The war wasn't my fault. You know it wasn't."
Alma flared, blinding. "You and that degenerate whore."
Eadric flung his old marooned washbowl and immediately launched himself over the sarcophagus, catching it as it glanced off her forehead. He had her on the floor in an instant. Over and over he took the basin hard to her face, driving its wooden edge home. It cracked and splintered to bits in his hands.
Ethos stared, privately stunned by the turnaround. Outwardly, he hadn't moved, but not for lack of trying. The desire to run was a powerful one. Eadric was catching his breath over Kooma's corpse, head hanging, breath misting. A fine spray of golden blood sizzled against his skin.
And then, beautifully, the igneous essence of Alma departed. Luminous energy, barely contained, fading away almost aurally, tangibly. There was no mistaking her departure, and everything else seemed dim in comparison. The chamber cooled.
Eadric was laughing. He had every right to. It was the weary laughter, the disbelief, the laughter one laughed as a last resort. Softly, Ethos laughed with him. Their voices jumped from wall to wall like clappers in a farm bell.
Eadric said, "This makes it twelve times I've personally killed her."
The reality wasn't lost on Ethos. "We need to warn Peter before she respawns."
Eadric nodded a couple of times, exhaustedly. "It's good that you think ahead like that," he said, and he collapsed back against the sarcophagus. "Unfortunately, my legs don't seem to be working."
The fire iron had impaled his midsection, metal steaming with residual heat. Eadric assessed it as if weighing his options. "She got you," Ethos agreed. "Does it hurt?"
"Alarmingly, no." Eadric mirrored him, legs akimbo. He jerked his thumb at the tomb. "There's paint in here," he said. "Get it for me."
"Get it yourself."
Unsurprised by his answer, Eadric smiled. He made a vague, incomplete gesture. "You were more obedient when you thought that I was your father."
"I tried to kill you when I thought that you were my father."
"True. But at least you had a healthy fear of me."
"I guess. Was it worth it?"
"You know it was. I have no illusions about my nature." Eadric calmly watched Ethos rise, blue eyes glittering in the darkness. His racing heartbeat betrayed his panic. " 'It's a wedge of itself that splits the oak,' " he said. "I can't conceive a more relevant proverb."
Ethos steadied on his feet, lightheaded. After searching his pockets, he held out the copper coin for Eadric to see. "You need to tell me how this works," he said. "Now."
Eadric leered up at him, head tilting back. "You really are me," he laughed. "I should've realized it the moment that I stopped looking forward to killing you, narcissist that I am."
"You're avoiding the question." Ethos glanced when movement at the door caught his eye. It was Alyce, awaiting permission to approach. He waved her forward and said, "It's alright."
Eadric craned his neck as she came around the sarcophagus. He smirked when he saw her. "Ho, peanut," he greeted, a strong front. "Any chance you can pass me my stash of paint?"
Alyce's eyes moved over the ghastly wound, and then higher, to his face. Her expression was all too easy to read. "Stupid," she whispered. "Just look at you."
"Yes, yes. Handsome, I know." A gleam of sweat had balmed Eadric's skin. It held the light like a wet city street. "Ethos," he said, and his gaze followed after. "Syan is in Mount Savage. Roheim."
Mount Savage. Ethos stared down at him, stony. "Why tell me now?"
"Because you were right," he answered. "I gave up on her when the ire got bad. Finish the job as a favor to me, but learn from it what you can. For Una."
"You don't give a shit about Una."
Eadric abruptly coughed up blood. It was the thick and syrupy sort, staining teeth. He spat aside on the floor with a grimace, but then laughed again when he saw Ethos watching. "You'll miss me when I'm gone," he teased, and he needed to clear his throat to go on. "Admit it."
Ethos squatted, elbows on his knees. "The coin, Eadric."
"Nebule," Eadric said. "I call it a nebule."
"Tell me how to use it."
"Get me my paint and I'll tell you."
"I'm not getting you anything. You're horrible."
"Still sore about the fingers?" Ethos must have looked at him darkly, because Eadric's indecorous smile went crooked. "The nebule can bring you to places you've been," he said. "Envision where you're going, down to the details. That's all there is to it."
"Thank you."
"And if you're resolved to let me die here, I have a request."
Ethos turned the coin in his hands; he pocketed it with a sigh. "Let's hear it."
Eadric studied him, no longer smiling. It was suddenly very easy to imagine him sitting there in the darkness of the vault, drinking alone as the hours went by. "I have over four centuries of experience under my belt," he said. "You're going to need every grain of it. Assimilate with me."
Ethos didn't so much as blink. "I don't assimilate with bad people."
"I've covered this island," Eadric pressed. "I've been to every nook, every cranny. Assimilate with me and the nebule will take you virtually anywhere."
"Rejected. I'd become someone else."
"You'd be great. You'd be us. We'd be unstoppable."
"I'd rather die as I am than with you breathing down my neck."
"This isn't about you and me. It's about Karna. It's always been about Karna."
"That's just your excuse to be soul crushing."
"Guardianship falls to you."
Ethos stood and said, "We're done here."
Something flashed in Eadric's hand— a shard of glass. He snared Alyce in and held it hard against her face, silencing her sound of surprise. "Let's skip the moral indecision," he said. "If you don't want to assimilate, fine. But I'll shortly be dead without a pother, and even if I force you to repaint the opus, my corpse will obviously be forfeit. I intend to persist in some manner."
Slowly, Ethos returned to his crouch. "What exactly are you asking me to do?"
"Take me in," Eadric said, adjusting his grip on the glass. "I remember what it was like when Oubi and Ludo were in there with you, Ethos. They could see through your eyes. They were alive."
Ethos gestured at Alyce, to calm her. "Not in the conventional sense."
"But they were. You even returned Oubi to his body."
"Oubi didn't recover. He couldn't."
"Oubi was my fault."
"It doesn't matter whose fault it was."
With his free hand, Eadric tore the fire iron clear of his rupturing midsection. He cast it aside, pale as a sheet, and then reached out for Ethos. "Keep me alive," he said, fingertips trembling. "Just until you find me a host. Assimilation will be minimal."
Ethos eyed his steaming hand. "That's not how it works. There's a process."
The jagged glass bit into Alyce's cheek, drawing blood. Eadric blinked rapidly. "You're running out of time," he said. "If I die, she dies with me. I suggest you get over here and do as I say."
Ethos exchanged a glance with Alyce. Eyes wide, she dared not move.