The sun was in Alma's eyes as she woke.
Tree branches clattered like forced applause, bare. She watched them from a damp bed of leaves, thrown in the battle paint of their shadow. There was no sound other; no birdsong, no hoppers. Just faint, forced applause. Aural validation.
"Stay awake."
She turned her face toward the voice. She said his name, but it wasn't his name. "Hans."
Hands in his pockets, he stood watching her with a smile. "You should probably stop calling me that," he said. "Don't you think?"
"Eadric, then." It sounded foreign on her lips, seldom uttered. The sun fed the unearthly glow of her eyes. "I thought you'd gone ahead."
"I have."
"Is this forest the next world?"
He shrugged, casual, like it didn't matter. "It's a bridge."
Alma rolled forward onto her feet. She stood in front of him, head tilted back, and stared until he glanced away. "You're old," she told him, sternly. "You have wrinkles all around your eyes."
Eadric made a face. "I think I look rather spry for four hundred."
"Has it been that long?"
"Longer."
A moment more, and she snaked at his arms, urging his hands out from their pockets. "Dance with me," she said, now beaming. "Like we used to."
He was carefully quiet, blue eyes hooded and difficult to decipher. "Why did you bother with the princess, Ali?" he asked her. "There wasn't any need to. She was unloved."
She playfully spun from his unenthused hand, twirling her clothes like a child. "No reason, really," she mused. "I sensed an upset, and she was the source."
"So it was a whim?"
She paused. She inspected the flesh that slung loose from her arms. "Look at this, Hans," she said, showing him. "Look at how I hang off the bone."
"Stop playing with yourself."
"He loved this woman. The other you." She thoughtfully moved her face with her hands, crafting expressions with tawny clay. "Such a hideous woman," she said. "So strange."
"Not everybody agrees with your notion of beauty."
She quieted, suddenly calmer, more lucid. An in-between moment. "Is he dead?" she asked, eyes quickly rising, almost fearful. "Did I kill him?"
"Isn't that what you wanted?"
"I don't feel like myself." She frowned, as if she'd just noticed that something was off. "A bridge," she whispered. "An upset."
Eadric's quiet laughter was loud in the silence. "It's over now, Ali," he said. "Merciful death, as desired. And all it took was a little harmless sacrilege."
A twist of confusion deepened her wrinkles. "What sacrilege?"
"Acute misapplication of power," he explained. "Negligence. Slaughter. Desperation and remorse culminating in divine taboo with intent to die."
"I committed no divine taboo."
"Creation, fueled by selfishness. Divine taboo. You deliberately modified the programming of a living being as you wished it into existence." A cloud passed, chilling the naked terrain. Alma's glare burned bright in contrast. "Part of me pities you," Eadric said. "You were born to carry the dreams of your people, to light the way from their crumbling world. Nobody meant for your life to take eternal precedence over theirs. I pity that side of you."
Her lips pared back in a sneer. "I wasn't supposed to die in the first place."
He didn't argue, didn't seem to feel any need to. He instead looked out at the lake behind her, eyes moving away from her face. "What you said in the crypt," he remarked. "About me wishing he'd been mine. You were right. I was proud he'd inherited some of my traits, and I was relieved for the ones he didn't. For the first time, I…" He trailed off. His eyes returned. "Acute misapplication of power," he said again. "You created something to die for you. You're not allowed to regret it."
"I didn't create him to die for me. We die together."
"But I don't want to die with you, Alma. I don't want to die at all."
She'd been seeing what Ethos had wanted her to see— the facet of Hans that she remembered, now a part of a larger unit. Alma glowered, hackles risen, now that she could see him in truth. "I can't die without you," she said, voice low. "I'll just come back. It's not by choice."
Ethos stopped her by stepping in close. But he didn't speak roughly. He gently took her hands in his, head bent to speak in her ear. "You could have chosen any one of those women," he knew. "But you chose Kacha. Was it to anger me?"
"Nothing else would. You were passive."
He studied the side of her face. "She was more beautiful than you ever were."
Alma shoved him back, staggering him. "So be angry!" she snarled. "Hate me! Kill me! It's what I designed you for! It's your purpose!"
"I know."
"So get on with it!"
"You were like this the last time, too. In the water." He reached for her. "Be still," he said, when she flinched away. "The only pace here is mine."
She looked like she wanted the distance between them, but she didn't fight him off. She just stared at him, wild-eyed. "Water?" she asked. "What water?"
"When you took her from me. You healed my hands." Ethos gave her a moment to think, thumb catching a rogue tear. "You're afraid," he said. "It's okay to be afraid. Death is frightening. There's no shame in letting it show."
"Fool. It's all I've wanted."
"That's a lie," he said, with a very small smile. "You were once eager to show off the world, like a little kid showing her room to new friends. Constantly dragging me out to new places, where the stars were brightest and the grass was greenest. 'This next one will blow you away,' you'd say, and you'd whisk me off to some place special, some place new. There was something magical about it." His smile grew, almost sheepish. "Other than you, of course."
Her fear had begun to bleed out. "You were the only one who loved it like I did," she said. "I could see it in your eyes. I knew you would help me protect it."
"And I have."
"But not with me."
"No." Subtle dejection thinned his smile. "It was my fault," he admitted. "You caught a glimpse of who I was when I begged for Syan's life. You saw past the lie. You saw Eadric." He searched her eyes, back and forth. "It changed you," he said. "And you never stopped changing. I knew I would need to remove you somehow."
Alma stared at him. Guarded. Uncertain.
His small, private smile revived. "You provided all the excuse I needed when you tried to murder Ethos at birth," he said. "Thanks for that. It won over some of your people, all of whom would have thrown in against me if I'd killed you outright and gotten caught."
Anger was brewing behind her eyes. Hands fisted, she spoke not a word.
Ethos backed off. His hands returned to his pockets. "Passive," he echoed, smile gone. "I'm not passive. I'm restrained. Unlike you, I hold myself up to a certain standard. Maybe you didn't design that part, I don't know. I don't care. My concern is that I'm not empty enough to moderate the insane amount of energy I'm sensing from you." His head tilted, birdlike. Maybe he was gauging her. "So much hate," he said. "For me, obviously. Hate. Rage. Shame. That's all there is. You have nothing that I want, yet you expect me to take it in just to kill you. It's a stupid design. Acute misapplication of power. Sacrilege with intent to die, creation fueled by divine infirmity. It's laughable. I keep rolling it around in my head and there's really no nice way to put it. You're a monster."
Alma had gone stiff. "So just end it."
Ethos just watched her, unreadable, pleasant, and for the first time in a long time— a new sound arose from the lifeless forest. Crowsong, somewhere distant. "I want you to feel the full weight of what you've done," he said. "Feel the anguish of everyone you've hurt. The people you've killed. The ones left to grieve. The wake of sheer mindless violence you've left. Feel it all."
And since he'd told her to do so, she did. Gradual, gruesome recognition, sheets being thrown in slow succession, exposing each misremembered cruelty. Genuine horror. Incomprehension. Tears rolled down her face for each wrongdoing, sizzling as they fell from her chin.
"I'm not Eadric," he went on, evenly. "You and I share no history prior to my creation. If you gave me a name, it was probably crow. So feel my weight, as well; to be given life for no reason other than to have it taken away, and to know it. To see it coming. To give in to it. To try to make something good out of it. And to carry the weight of countless others. Feel all of us."
"Stop it!" she cried, and she clutched at her heart, as if it had caused her physical pain. She sank to the dirt and hid her face. "Please. Please, stop."
"Some people don't deserve absolution. Say it."
She made a small sound of anguish. "Some people don't deserve absolution."
"Some things are unforgivable. Say it."
"Some things are unforgivable."
"Very good. Do you have any regrets?"
"All of it," she croaked. "I regret all of it."
Ethos watched, unmoved. "You understand why I'm doing this."
Silently, she nodded. She looked very small.
"Look at me and use your words."
Again, she did. Her eyes were wounded. "I'm sorry."
Ethos calmly joined her there, fingertips brushing the earth as he crouched. "Some of it's personal, some of it isn't," he said. "Either way, you should die with an awareness of what you've done. You're wrong if you think I enjoy making you cry."
Her hand returned to her heart. "It hurts."
"It's supposed to hurt."
"Come with me. Please. I'm so afraid."
He didn't answer. He smoothed back her mane of snowy hair. "On your feet."
She stood with him, gaze locked on his face. "You must hate me."
"I want you to walk out into the lake." Ethos indicated the murky Heed, its contents as still as the air, glasslike. "I don't want you to stop, understand?"
"You're not forcing me?"
"No. I'd prefer you do it to yourself."
Her eyes shone brightly, open kilns to a damaged soul. And after a moment, she went downshore, nine-toed feet lightly picking their way, footprints marking the sand. She didn't stop until she reached the water, at which point she turned, just to smile and say, "You're not a stupid design."
And that was all. She continued forward and didn't return.
Ethos stared for eternities, expression troubled. He must have understood the gravity of the event, but it wasn't registering as panic, which meant he was probably trying to think of solution. But however deep in thought that he was, he was attentive enough to hazard a glance when he heard his name being softly spoken. His eyes went wide in disbelief, letting in light and dread alike.
Shima asked, "Am I still allowed to call you that?"
Light and dread, and disbelief. But then he just looked sad, and he smiled. "Yeah," he said. "Ethos is what my mother called me."
"That's a relief." She admired him, fondly. "Nice eyes, little bird."
The sad smile quickly turned for the worse. She could hear the change in his voice when his throat closed up. "Thanks," he said. "They're Ludo's."
"I should say so."
He turned forward again, a kneejerk reaction to losing composure. Holding himself to that certain standard, hiding weakness. True to form, it was as he was turned that he cleared his throat, far shoulder rising and falling just once to privately wipe at his face.
It was cute. Shima said, "I'm sorry, too."
"I hate this place."
"Why?"
He glanced back, glaring a little. "You're not really here," he said. "You're only here because I was thinking about you."
"You were thinking about me?"
"I always think about you." Looking irritated with himself, he shook his head and withdrew from the rocky shore. "Get away from me, please."
Shima started after him. "Wait just a second."
"I have no use for ghosts."
"Ethos, please— "
He leapt atop a felled tree ahead, ever sure of foot. It put them at eye level. Ethos thrust a finger at the ground and hissed, "You're some sick manifestation of guilt."
"We would have died with or without you protecting yourself like you did."
"That doesn't make any difference!"
"But it does. It's thanks to you that we died with purpose."
"No," he said, back to shaking his head. "Don't try to justify it. I'm a fake. A monster." He flung a disgusted hand at the lake. "Like her. All I'm good for is getting people killed."
He was so full of strangled rage. "You're wrong, Ethos."
"I'm not wrong!" Abruptly he calmed, like he'd startled himself. Ethos heavily sat on the tree, legs dangling. He rubbed distractedly at his chest. "Anouk was right," he said. "I'm a dumb seacalf."
"You still have your friends to rely on."
"They're crazy," he grunted. "And I don't deserve them. I'm sitting here having a chat with myself while they're fighting in the real world."
"Maybe you should have listened to them."
"All I ever do is listen," he retorted, sulking. "I listen and mimic the wisdom of others. I'm like a demented parrot. If I ever have an original thought I'll probably vomit out of my eyes."
Shima chuckled. "So dramatic."
He threw another glare at her. "I'm not dramatic."
"How long has it been since you vented?"
"I don't vent. It's bad form."
"Bad form," she scoffed. "Bad form is slouching and cursing. You do both. Though I blame Peter for the cursing bit." She pulled up a stump from the dirt and joined him. He was holding his head in his hands. "You have to return," she told him. "Your friends are putting themselves in danger just to keep you alive. You have to take responsibility for that."
Ethos didn't answer. He looked content to stay where he was.
"Little bird." She lightly touched his hair, persuading the eyes from behind his fingers. "It's tough, yes," she said. "And yes, it's unfair. But you must."
"I'm tired, Shima."
"The Ethos I knew would find a way."
"Maybe he would. But the Ethos you knew is gone."
"People change," she insisted. "It's in our nature. We all change from day to day, growing in little ways with the world. This is no different."
His hands parted in resignation. "I'm a god of death, Shima," he said, softly, eyes pleading for her to get it. "I change because I kill things. It's definitely different."
Shima gave him her sternest, most motherist glower. "You've let Peter get to you, little bird," she told him. "You're looking at it too negatively."
He smirked. "Oh, am I?"
"You are."
"So what's the positive?"
"Death wouldn't exist without life," she answered. "And neither would life exist without death. So while your nature is closely tied to death, it's also closely tied to life. It's not good or evil. It's nature. It manifested violently because you've been in a hostile environment."
Confusion had faintly furrowed his brow.
Shima leaned in and asked, "What do you want, Ethos?"
"Want is a luxury. I should be grateful enough to see my needs met."
"I know you wish. I know you dream. I know you're not completely unselfish."
He smiled wryly at her, like she'd said something silly. "But I can't have what I want."
Again, she brandished her motherist glare. "I find that hard to believe."
He shrugged, still smiling crookedly. "But you're dead."
If hearts could break. "And if I wasn't?"
"I guess I'd just want you to be proud of me." Ethos laughed it off before she could answer, and it sounded too much like the founder, derisive. "Pathetic, even for me," he said. "This must be what they call a mental collapse."
Shima assessed the lifeless forest, his stunning replication of home. Everywhere there was dust and darkness. "Look at this place," she muttered. "This heart used to thrive. You're on edge because you've allowed yourself to deteriorate from the inside out."
"What exactly do you want me to do?"
"When this is all done with, let it heal. Give it time. Let it grow back. You've been running around without catching your breath, flying without coming down." She shook her head. "Frankly, I don't know how you've kept it up for so long."
"I'm overstimulated."
"Then you're due for a crash." She saw something stir in his eyes. "I'm not asking you to hole up somewhere," she told him. "Just take it easy for a while. If someone serves you a plate of glass, for once maybe don't try to lick it clean."
Ethos conceded a flicker of mild amusement. When it passed, he was looking strangely at her, like she'd surprised him in a good way somehow.
"I'm sorry for what's happened to you," she said. "I'm glad you found Ludo early on. He was able to help in your darker times, give you strength in ways that I couldn't. I wanted to be there."
"If you were really her you'd be ashamed of me."
"Ashamed? I'm not ashamed. You've become a fine man. You care for your neighbor without the expectation of reward. It's a simple ethos." His expression slipped. In it, she could see the honest boy that she remembered so well. She reached out and playfully rubbed at his cheek. "See, there you are," she teased. "I knew you were somewhere under that grime."
The clouds parted. A breeze picked up. Ethos just asked, "It's you?"
She could hear the violent outside world, the ringing steel, the screaming, the howling. His friends were shouting out to each other, cooperating to protect him. She sighed, "You're going to die if you stay here much longer."
Ethos was still staring at her. "I know."
"You don't care?"
"Of course I care."
"Then you should go."
"You can't just make an appearance and expect it to have no impact on me."
She came close to laughing at that. "I didn't think you'd hear me."
Such fierce intelligence in his eyes, memorizing the turns of her face. It had been difficult to watch him change, but being watched back was an even more challenging experience. "I have to thank you," he said, suddenly. "I have to apologize."
"Please don't," she chuckled. "There's nothing you haven't said out there that didn't also resound in here. The good and the bad, I've heard it all. And I've felt it, here." She tapped his heart, the poor staggered thing, and then chuckled again at his expression. "It exists, of course," she said. "Fragile, guarded. I know you're thankful. I know you're sorry. There's no need to say it."
His gaze fell to her hand. "But you're still afraid of me."
"Yes. You're fearsome."
"I'd never intentionally hurt you."
"I know. But I'll die for you twice all the same."
His eyes jumped back, holding hers. "What do you mean?"
Ringing steel. Screaming. Howling. A shout— for Ethos. A girl. Shima appraised the lake's black waters, the way it now hugged the shoreline, thick. "You knew what you were doing," she said. "All the hate and the rage. You'll suffer the full weight you gave her."
"She needed to know. It would have been pointless if she didn't."
"But you put yourself at greater risk."
"I can handle it."
"You're more powerful here than you are in Karna," she cautioned, speaking over him. "Out there, you're still vulnerable. She'll drag you with her into the void. And I can't let that happen, not after all the effort you put into coming this far. Use me."
He was beginning to understand, to let it show in the whites of his eyes. He glanced at the lake and then back again. "No," he said, as if repulsed. "Absolutely not."
"Together we have a better chance at suppressing her than you do alone."
He bared his teeth at her, brief, doglike. "You don't know that."
"I've been dead for years," she said, with a laugh. "And besides, it would be morally irresponsible of me not to try. So I'll try. You get no say."
He bristled. "I could— "
"You can't."
"But I— "
"Butt out."
"But, mom, I— "
She stood. "God of death my foot."
Ethos scowled, back hunched. "But I just found you."
She was reminded of how afraid she'd been to break him when he was a child. He tilted his head back to see her, in shadow. "I've overstayed my welcome, Ethos," she said. "And I belong in the next world with the others, so please. Let me do this for you. Even if it yields no results."
He just glared at her and didn't respond, torn between easily getting his way and years of parental conditioning. But she didn't wait for his permission, and she knew she probably wouldn't get it. She'd almost made it back to the rocky shore when he stepped in her path, arms extended to either side as if to make a great wall of himself.
"I won't let you," he said. "I can't."
She found it hard not to smile at such an angry attempt at gallantry. "Be good," she told him. "Be smart. Be simple. Try to bury the hatchet with Peter, if you can."
He mirrored her as she tried to go around him. "Please," he pressed. "Don't go."
The lake was a dark, uninviting pit, squirming alive at his heels. So rather than argue, she pushed him aside and forced him out of the way, hard. He went down, kicking up sand.
The water was warm. Waist-deep, she turned to shout back, but stopped at the sight of him. On his knees, he was watching her go, heartache incarnate. Raw, unspoken refusal. Surrender and grief.
The darkness was calm and inviting.