Despite their best efforts, the howling scourge had overwhelmed the field of battle. Peter took it in with a detached sense of horror, as if he were off in the distance somewhere, rather than at the vanguard itself. He knew he was moving, diving and ducking, fighting on despite his exhaustion, but his mind was elsewhere, hopelessly revolving over everything that he might have done differently. Ethos would have told him to focus, maybe heaved a small sigh and rubbed at his forehead, pointed out something that should have been obvious.
"Oi, princess!" Anouk snarled, aft again. "You're mutt meat if that blast hits me!"
Una threw her a nasty look from the fore, but otherwise kept to herself. She'd been steadfast, the princess, a bit like she'd been before the ire. Maybe she'd been shaken by seeing Ethos get hurt. Being reminded of one's mortality was always a sobering experience. Whatever the case, she'd quickly joined them in clearing the main, taken direction and stuck to position, blasting through howlings, often several at once. Her unique abilities were gravely needed.
Anouk must have glanced at his position, because she hurled another shout across the deck. Her voice had grown ragged. "Don't let up!" she barked. "On your right!"
A howling had cleared the bulwark. He flinched in surprise and took it out. "Shut up!" he growled, mortified. "Mind your own business!"
"Pay attention!"
Another— too soon, too close. His strength was sapped. His grip was untrue. The weapon missed and bit at timber, slipping away with a crash and a clatter. Beneath a sky bruised orange and black, he tripped and tumbled headlong after it.
A jarring collision with the fore hardly registered. He wiped his palms down the front of his pants, desperate to have off the blood and sweat, and then noticed with a swell of revulsion that Syan was alive and unwell, dragging her carcass toward Alma and Ethos.
Anouk was busy with her own fine frenzy, adrenaline-driven and clearly liking it, blond hair filled with rising sun, beautiful angry ghosts in her eyes. Like a field mouse, she spryly ran along ramparts and lunged at an offending howling, fearless. He shouted for her. Once. Twice.
A shaft of light smothered his voice, and Syan's shoulder went up in a rain of white splinters. Shell or bone, it was hard to say. Her flesh had become a hard exterior, porcelain-like. She rolled as Una came upon her, snapping at air, the both of them, mad. Syan rattled dangerously.
Peter clambered to his feet, walled in by the insanity of it. The world tottered. He felt drunk. But he saw Una rise and take enraged aim, and he saw Syan dive to change its course. Blinding light flared up between them, too far charged to be put out, the women throwing out elbows and knees and whatever else they had to deliver. Una was vying to point it at Syan, but Syan was stronger; she reversed Una's hand with a backwise snap and instead turned the blast on Alma, on Ethos.
When Peter was a little older, people would tell the story differently. They'd say he made it just in time. They'd say that he bravely tore them apart, that he'd seized Una's broken wrist and redirected the blast at the heavens. They'd call him hero and he'd like it too much to correct them.
He threw a savage kick into Una, enough behind it to knock her off Syan, and her power exploded violently skyward, tearing the lingering rainclouds to ribbons. She screamed, clutching her hand.
Detachment; it was all Peter felt, a sense of being off in the distance somewhere. Autopilot, Ethos defined it as, a state of being reduced to reflex, a separation of mind and body. An apt description. For Peter was elsewhere, revolving, unfeeling, and while he could see Anouk charging at him, he'd already raised his cutlass high and driven it downward, into Syan. She exploded in a column of fire.
Howling shrieks filled the Rift, so tremendous in volume that the sound evoked similar cries from the infantry. Blue fire lit up the darkness, revealing their losses, the grisly reality. Syan was the first to die out, but Peter would only learn that later. Anouk had taken alarming priority.
The blow to his ribs was paralyzing, and she followed through with a punch to the face. She was on him when his eyes refocused, a vein in her neck, bloodshot in one eye, but he couldn't hear what she was shouting. A second punch landed, feral and rough. His vision went.
Stillness, suddenly. A welcome change, however worrying. Peter reminded himself to breathe as he waited to regain his bearings. He found Anouk sitting on him, shoulders back, fists still balled in his clothes, looking elsewhere. Cobalt embers were adrift all around her, weightless, like fireflies from a thicket. And then cheering— faint, at first. Steel banging against chipped bucklers.
Dawn broke the shield wall and spilled over the battle wreckage. The only thing saving Peter from being blinded was Anouk, whose back was to it. She glanced down at him, cast in shadow, eyes still filled with rounded fury. He guarded his face.
But her voice was terribly quiet. "There's still seabird."
Something clattered hollowly to the deck. The arrow, he realized, as it came to a stop by the stump of the main mast. Anouk immediately returned to her feet, a little unsteady. She lent a hand when Peter stood with her, the both of them just tired enough to not mind having the other's support.
Ethos turned as they approached, and he smiled politely at the sight of them. "You two seem to be getting along," he greeted. "That's good, I guess."
Alma was dead in his arms, her hair turned red from his arrow wound. "Sit," Peter said. "I'll have a pother brought up. Just sit."
"Aye, slow like," Anouk agreed, and she broke away to advance on him, reaching, to get a look at the damage done. "Let's see it, seabird."
Ethos took an apologetic step away from her. "Careful."
Peter saw the look in his eyes, the vigilance conveyed in his stance. He caught Anouk's arm before she could touch him for fear she'd lose the hand. "I'll skip the part where I ask if something's wrong," he said, hushing her snarl of protest. "What can we do?"
Ethos shrugged, but neglected to answer. Alma's skin was blackening rapidly, crumbling into a hot stream of ash. He sighed and watched her dissolve, impassive. "I don't think she really wanted to die," he said. "She just might not have known how to live."
There was a visible distortion in the air surrounding him. Heat. Peter could feel it expand and suck all the moisture out of the air. "You need to get out of here," he said, firmly. "There's no telling how you'll respond to her. These people are in danger."
Ethos looked at him. He was smiling again, wretchedly, like he'd heard a bad joke. "I'm actually finding it kind of difficult to move properly."
"Then we'll evacuate the area."
Alma's remains whispered away. His hands saw her off. And as the last of her took to the breeze and vanished, a golden glow spread from the tips of his fingers, swallowing him by the knuckle. "I don't know if it can be stopped," he said, staring at it, unsurprised. "I don't think it's up to me."
A glossy texture, like bottled sunlight. Peter professed a loss for words while Anouk salvaged her fallen sword. "I'm here to stay, seabird," she said, cleaning the blade with a bit of her shirt. "No ifs or ands or buts belike. I've got to see you go or I'll wonder."
Ethos grinned at that, and it seemed genuine in spite of everything. But it quickly dissolved, giving way to the grim reality. He looked back at Peter. "Leave me in a remote area," he instructed. "You don't have time to round everyone up."
Peter's pulse was in his ears. He replayed the apologetic sidestep, the misleading poise, the word of caution. "Alright," he said. "But I shouldn't touch you, right?"
"No. Clear the ship and use it as a vessel."
Clever. Obvious. Peter knew what dwelled beneath that infuriating mask of neutrality. "I can tell it's bad without you saying so," he said. "How much does it hurt?"
"I'm exceedingly overwarm, Peter. Do as I say."
Peter traded a glance with Anouk, who nodded once and set out for the nearest hatchway. She was in a finer state than him, able to move with greater ease. She proved it by leaping away in disgust when she came close to stepping on Una. The princess groaned; she rolled to her side and coughed up blood, wrist turned askew like a snapped chicken wing.
"Still alive," Ethos noted, privately. "That's disappointing."
Peter glared over at him. "Shut up."
"I meant for her. She'll turn into something like Syan if she survives long enough." He met Peter's eyes, but then quickly pretended like he hadn't. "There's no cure," he confessed. "I'm sorry. And I'm sorry about everything else."
Peter could, on occasion, be patient. He continued to glare until Ethos stopped being shifty. "Aye, be sorry," he grunted. "You shit on my toast."
Ethos bullied a smirk. With a wince, he said, "Yeah."
"I'm more than a farmer, Ethos. I'm not just some guy who found you."
His wry amusement was quick to fade. "I know."
"I want you to say it."
"Why?"
"Because fuck you."
They'd exchanged similar words before. Ethos smiled thinly, reminded. "You're not just some guy who found me," he conceded. "Happy?"
"Thrilled. Now stay put while I go check on Una."
Ethos just shrugged at him. "It's not like I have much choice."
It was a casual response, slightly annoyed, but Ethos was far from relaxed. Rather than point it out again, Peter carefully made way to Una, boots squeaking loudly over wet planks. There were shouts among the infantry, one or two brassy voices in particular that he might've recognized if he'd had a moment to stop and listen, but to him it was his boots that were loudest, each squeak bringing him closer to Una. She'd curled up there amid the debris, thinning hair damply stuck to her cheek. She opened her eyes as his shadow fell over her.
"Ho, princess. Can you stand?"
"Is she dead?"
"Aye, can you stand?"
"I think so." She grimaced and struggled to rise, exposing a set of sharp, pointed teeth. "I'm hurt somewhere," she seethed. "Lower back."
Peter helped her sit. "Lean forward," he said. "Let me see."
A gash, it was, not too deep to mend. He was sure it was very painful, though maybe not as bad as the break. Her voice was in his ear. "His hands," she noticed. "Is it because of Alma?"
Peter glanced behind him, at Ethos. He was watching on from afar, inexpressive, swallowed up to his wrists by the gleam. His hands made fists of themselves at his sides. "He can hear you," he told her, turning back. "Put your arm around my neck and try to stand up with me."
She complied, lightly gasping in pain. "It hurts."
"You did well. You held your own."
"You kicked me really hard."
"Ethos would be dead if I hadn't." Peter felt for her good hand. "That's it," he said. "Easy. Let me know when you're ready."
"What for?"
"I'm taking you to a pother."
Una pushed him away, precariously upright. "No," she hissed. "Leave me."
Anouk noisily reemerged from the cabins below, spitting an oath when the hatchway door cleared from its hinges and crashed to the deck. She took a step forward, readjusted her belt, and began to climb back up from the fore. "It's clear," she said, on approach. "Two dead."
"Sorry," Peter replied. "Anyone you were fond of?"
"Aye." Anouk straightened, a hand on her hip. She gestured exhaustedly at Una. "What's the plan with the princess?"
"She doesn't want a pother."
"She's bleeding out like a stuck pig."
Una sneered. "Don't talk like I'm not here."
So Anouk squinted up at Ethos and indicated the Rift as a whole. "Oi, seabird," she called. "What do you want us to do? We're clear below deck. Should we go?"
Ethos was crouching now, head hanging forward. His shoulders moved with a sigh. "Disembark," he instructed. "Take Una and Alyce with you. Quickly, please."
A plank groaned underfoot, inviting their eyes. Alyce was creeping from the bulwark behind them, frozen in their crosshairs, caught. There were scrapes on her face, some more serious than others. And as Peter watched blood drip from her chin, he came to a terrible realization.
He'd completely forgotten about her.
"You sprog," Anouk scoffed. "I sent Sei to get you out of here."
"Yeah, he found me." Alyce shielded her eyes from the sun. "You guys look terrible."
Ethos cut their reunion short by saying Peter's name. They glanced up the main. He hadn't moved so much as a muscle. "You're running out of time," he said. "Please do something constructive."
Peter glanced at the girls and back. "How long do I have?"
"Not long enough to be asking me about it." Ethos made a low sort of sound. When he continued, he did so very quietly, guardedly. "This is why I sent you to Wulfstead," he muttered. "You're in the way. You're all in danger."
Una quickly cut in, "You can contain it."
He looked directly at her then, eyes undecided between green and gold. They flickered brightly in shadow. "Don't do that, Una," he said. "Don't use me to commit suicide."
A peculiar smile played at her lips. "You have to admit there's a certain romance in it," she teased, baiting him like she always did. "All of us dying together."
"If you want me to kill you, just ask."
Peter was beginning to feel the heat even from a distance. He turned to Alyce and found her close, openly staring at Ethos. He smoothed back her hair to get her attention. "Somewhere remote," he said to her, trusting her. "Somewhere safe."
She nodded, unease in her eyes. "Okay."
crack
With that, they were in the hilly midlands again, its gray skies violently orange for once. The ship tossed about for a fearsome moment, settling. Afterdeck dregs collapsed on the stern.
A breeze transformed the vista to motion, grass as alive as the deadly Dire. And with the Echo in the state that it was, its keel near snapped, its hull collapsed, its lone mast broken and missing entirely, it gradually steadied and beached there for the ruin that it had become.
"Good," Ethos muttered. "Now the rest of you. Go."
Una stood portside and admired the land. Her vagrant gaze was tricky to interpret. "I've been here before," she said, softly. "I'd forgotten."
"Yes, yes, poor Olba," he grunted, sounding uninterested, flexing hands. "I deterred her for days before you intruded."
"So it was a future environment."
"It was a final environment. Presently present. Soon to be past." The gleam had churned its way to his elbows, ceaseless and roiling. He took a deep breath. "Leave," he ordered. "All of you."
There was a distinctive lack of response from the gathering. "Look around," Peter suggested. "I won't force them away."
Ethos ventured a glance, flashing gold. There was rage there, thinly veiled, and Peter was clearly a source of it. "You know me too well to think that I'm okay with this," he insisted. "They'll live to see tomorrow, and that's all that matters."
"Could be it won't turn for the worse," Anouk said. "Could be it blows over."
His flickering eyes moved to her, and he didn't speak immediately. Some of the rage faded. "Come here," he said, with a small, tired gesture. "You're all blurry and I can't see you. Come closer."
Anouk approached him, cursing the footing. "You're a good egg, seabird," she grumbled. "You'll make a good chicken. You'll power through. I'll sit it out with you."
Ethos smiled at that, head rolling back the closer she neared. When she stopped beside him, he gestured again and said, "Down here."
"Why should I?"
"I can't stand back up."
She laughed. She knelt to fuss with the tongue of her boot: her excuse to grant his request. When their eyes met, the fondness between them was matched. "The Ruddy Revival, tottery as a common foal," she leered. "If only the masses could see you now."
"Gladius was the Ruddy Revival."
"Gladius was a charlatan. You're the real deal, seabird. You know it."
He sent her a look. "Please don't die here with me."
"But I don't want to abandon you."
"That's very sweet, but— "
"You wouldn't leave if we were reversed."
"I could. I wouldn't like it, but I could. You can, too."
She gave a happy, lopsided shrug. "I don't think I can, seabird. Sorry."
They subsided into silence. Peter joined them and hunkered down, hands clasped. "That's the gist of it," he said. "You're going to have to beat this if you don't want us dead."
Ethos glanced at him. Up close, it was easier to see what the distance had masked. Sweat, tension, pain— still, he smiled in surprise. "Is that an ultimatum?"
"Aye, it's everybody on the raft."
Puzzlement. "What raft?"
"From the riddle," Peter said. "The day we met, I gave you a riddle about a raft with a safety limit of two. You were supposed to either save yourself and one of the three people drowning around you, or two at the sacrifice of yourself. Remember?"
Slowly, he nodded and said, "I chose neither."
"You looked at me like I had three heads and asked what a safety limit was," Peter said. "It was all or none for you, just like this. Everybody on the raft."
His gaze became gradually lambent, alive, and Peter felt a spike in his pulse— a chilling urge to defend himself. Ethos was unmoving. "The elk always dies, Peter," he said. "I'm supposed to drown in this river. And if I somehow manage not to, I'll more than likely turn on you. Don't think that I'm the same person I was when we met."
"I want to help."
"I've heard that before."
"Aye, enough. We're friends, after all."
"But you just make it worse," Ethos said. "It's like you can't help it. You call it help, but you make everything more challenging for me. It's exhausting. You're exhausting."
It landed like an insult, though it didn't quite have the bite of one. And while the spike in Peter's pulse had passed, the shock of it lingered, spreading electric to fingers and toes. "I'm sorry it feels that way," he said. "But sometimes it pays to be the bad guy. Your words."
Ethos didn't have a retort to that. He just sat on his heels stared for a moment, and then straight up at the clouds overhead. Like he was trying somehow to decipher the heavens. When he finally spoke, his throat was so curved that it rendered him hoarse. "It's started."
Peter glanced at Anouk, who asked, "Alma?"
"Shima." As if she'd heard his voice from afar, his golden fingertips, ribboning steam, darkened to rich, gleaming amber. Reddish. Saplike. Shima. She was fighting for him. "You knew," Ethos said, and he'd said it to Peter, eyes sliding first, head shortly following. "You knew that I killed her."
Peter held his ground. "She asked me to look out for you."
"She's seen what I've done."
"What you've done is on you, brother."
A sudden wince of pain prevented Ethos from answering. He collapsed forward and caught himself there, hands flat on the timber, stunned. But his surprise wasn't lasting; his arms buckled, and he strangled down a high sound of anguish, back rounding, forehead to deck.
True silence swallowed the countryside. No bird or insect dared to speak with such a terrible cry in the air. Because once it had finally freed itself of him, shattered his horrible mask of neutrality, it escalated, intensified, and filled the whole Wide Open with him.
It ended, blissfully, none too soon. Ethos was as still as his laboring lungs allowed, head bent while he struggled to breathe; a private affair.
"Ride it out," Peter pressed. "Keep it contained."
Ash began to rise off of him, a million miniscule particles, skybound. "Please," Ethos said, voice rough as dirt. "Let me die in peace."
"You're no dog, Ethos. You don't get to crawl under the porch."
"A porch, a ditch, a cellar…" Ethos tensed. He made a small, guttural noise, and gasped for breath when it passed. He swore, softly. He hissed, "Just go."
"We can't. You don't get it."
Ethos threw out a slanted glare, fully curdled to gold. "You're like an incurable disease," he said, flashing teeth. "Giving yourself the position of handler, like I'd sooner fall off the face of the earth than ask someone for directions. How you chew your food. How you follow me everywhere."
Peter almost smiled. "What's wrong with how I chew?"
"Everything you do is annoying."
"Easy, seabird," Anouk said. "Your eyes have gone."
Ethos turned his head her way, glare faltering into confusion. "Gone?"
She unsheathed a knife and showed him the flat. He stared at his reflection. "They've changed, is all," she said. "Not gone. But I'm worried you're not yourself."
Ethos continued to stare at the knife. It was still his face looking back at him, but the light in his eyes was something else. He suddenly laughed, a miserable sound dressed up in a grin. It ended like it had never begun. "I'm feeling violent," he said, gaze averting. "You really should go."
"It'll pass," Peter said. "You don't want to hurt anyone."
Ethos didn't form a retort, but neither did his expression improve. He glanced instead to something downdeck beyond their periphery. Alyce. "Peter," she murmured. "Listen to him."
Peter angrily turned on his heel and demanded, "What for?"
She was only a few short paces away, hands loose at her sides. Her hair was turned orange, holding dawnlight. "He's not in control," she said. "It's not safe."
"Don't be stupid. He just needs to ride it out."
Alyce's age was showing, as it often did in times of unease. Wisdom shone in her eyes. "He won't be Ethos," she explained. "And he won't be Eadric. And he won't be the nameless one Kacha loved, either. What he'll be is them and the rest that he took. All at once." She must have noticed Ethos looking at her, because she glanced at him and sighed, "Ho, monster."
Voice quiet, Ethos replied, "Ho, peanut."
"The grumpy Leviathan gobbled you up, huh. Cleared the crumbling seawall for you." Alyce came and knelt beside him, tilting her head this way and that to see how far the glow had spread. "Not long," she said. "You'll feel it soon. I'll feel it with you."
He smiled tiredly at her. "When did you get so small?"
She sat and smiled back at him, heartbroken. "You're always confused."
The pain returned to his eyes, insidious. He gave an angry shake of his head. "You go, too," he settled, clearing his throat. "The distance will help."
He was obviously rattled, unable to rely on himself for clarity. The deep reddish glow was partway up his neck. "But I love you, monster," Alyce told him. "You're a great broken blend of my two favorite people. A twofer. I can't leave you."
"Alyce, I'm— "
"You're worried about me, right?"
Ethos shook his head. "You're in the way."
"Yeah, you're worried. You love me because Eadric loves me. Sucker."
"I don't love you. I enjoy you. There's a difference."
She grinned at him. "You enjoy me?"
"I'm allowed." Another unexpected wave seemed to hit. Ethos hunched forward, hair in his eyes, and abruptly expelled a roar of frustration. He ground his fists against the deck. "Get away from me!" he shouted, eyes wide and blazing, afraid. "Just go! I don't want this!"
Peter was tired of squatting. He took a knee. "Don't be selfish, brother," he said. "Like it or not, your life has an impact on us. You matter."
"I'm shit!" Ethos countered. "Everything I am is stolen!"
"I know you would rather see yourself through this awful lens you've created, but you're the only one looking through it," Peter swore. "Nobody here thinks you're shit."
Una appeared over them. She was nursing her hand, standing tall despite her wounds. "Speak for yourself," she mused. "I'm hoping he'll explode into bits."
Ethos met her eyes from below, a far cry from their last exchange. "Use it," he growled. "Compel them to see reason. Stay behind, if it's what you want. I can't cure you."
" 'Use it?' " She dropped beside him, quietly intense. "Like I'd lift a finger to make this any easier for you," she whispered. "All you've ever done is lie."
"I didn't lie," he seethed. "It's not my fault you're completely insane."
"Insane, the both of us, devising secret evil plans to expose each other for what we are." A smile spread to her lips. "Success on all fronts, darling," she said. "Look at us now. Forcing those who think the world of us to witness our terrible nature."
Someone suddenly yanked Peter back by the hood of his coat— Anouk. And he knew why. Like her, he'd seen Una reach for his wrist, but he'd been a hair slower to dodge it. He reeled backward and landed hard, nearly colliding with Alyce.
Anouk quickly moved in to defend him, knife flashing. Without tearing her eyes from Una, she snarled, "Exercise some fucking caution, Peter!"
"Stop!" The last had come from Ethos, who so rarely shouted. He was clearly in the throes of his internal struggle, teeth clenched and rigid as rawhide. "Leave!" he barked at Peter, voice breaking. "Just leave us and go! Now!"
Beside him, Una had her good hand in the slow rise of ash. It streamed through her fingers like so much black sand. "You were so sweet," she mourned, of him. "Shameless, false advertising. Like the vibrant swamp salamanders of Cai, toxic to all who dare to touch them." She snorted in derision. "A god, of all things," she chuckled. "And of death. How unlucky. Small wonder why we ended up here."
Ethos wouldn't look at her. His eyes were round and nomadic, low-darting.
Curious, she tilted her head to see him. "I was sure you'd deny it."
Nomadic. Darting. He glanced. "Kill me."
"Kill you? Nice try, darling."
"I know you want to. I would, too."
The dark laughter dissolved on her lips. "No," she replied. "I wish life upon you, Ethos, so that you might live on after killing us all. Monster, so called. Mad and alone." She made a soft noise, as if to alleviate the returning pain in his expression. "Breathe," she hushed. "Give it room to grow."
Anouk lunged at her with a loud, wordless shout. Impact. Flailing. A blur of metal. Peter didn't remember standing, but he was. He watched the fight progress to the fore. "Don't let her touch you," he called after Anouk, too exhausted to follow. "There's a gash round her back."
It sounded like Anouk almost tried to respond, but certainly not with words. It didn't matter. Alyce had gotten as close to Ethos as she could endure, there for him while he rode out a wave. She looked up at Peter like she'd felt him staring, skin bright with sweat.
"It's not stopping," she said. "You should make your decision."
Peter returned to a crouch, heart heavy. "It sounds like you've already made yours."
"Course I have. He's all I got."
"Aren't you afraid?"
"Being afraid is the easy part."
She was a brave kid. As an adult, she was braver still. Peter tried to get a look at Ethos, but he'd curled forward into a ball. Head tucked, he was all hair and ears and back of his neck. "Oi, Ethos," Peter murmured. "Talk to me, please. Realistically. Tell me what's going on in there."
"I can't beat it," Ethos replied. "I can't."
The hot rise of ash thickened and heaved. Peter traded a quick glance with Alyce before taking a breath and continuing. "Alyce won't go," he said. "You'll have to convince her."
And just as the ash had thickened and heaved, it just as easily wisped away, thinly in threads and into the sky. The heat intensified. Quietly, Ethos said, "I was wrong."
"Wrong?" Peter asked. "Wrong about what?"
"The truth." Ethos slowly returned to his knees. His unfocused eyes were dark, reddish gold. "It's not a tool," he said. "It's just a horrible, endless cave."
The invasive glow crept at his face, the last of him, little by little. "You can do this," Peter pressed, the hole in his gut growing deeper and blacker. "Don't do something lame like give up."
"She was confused," Ethos said, and those unfocused eyes tried hard to find him. "She feared the death she foresaw at my hands. She killed her child for nothing."
Peter searched his haunted, twenty-league stare. "But then you— "
"She created the very thing that she prophesied." Ethos lowered his gaze and murmured, " 'When the time comes, let him die.' "
"What?"
"Your mom said it." Ethos had gone very still, like the pain had stopped altogether. It didn't look like he felt much of anything. "She said it to you when she met me," he continued, numbly. " 'When the time comes, let him die.' "
"She doesn't know you like I do."
A cool breeze passed through, and Ethos closed his eyes, savoring it. Anouk went soaring by as he did, loudly colliding with the afterdeck dregs. He turned his face and addressed her by name, otherwise nonreactive. "Come stand by Peter," he instructed. "We're out of time."
She salvaged her knife from the rubble, coughing, and shook the splinters out of her hair. Una did the same from the fore, a lumbering mirror of wounded exhaustion. "We'd be on par, were I undead," Anouk grumbled, lacking all fire and woozily gesturing between them. "Unfair, says I."
"Anouk," Ethos repeated, and he opened his eyes. "Come here, please."
His tone had the desired effect; Anouk complied, albeit sulking, but she sobered and slowed at the sight of him. "Wow, seabird," she said, very softly. "Can you see anything?"
"Some." Alma's glow, tempered by Shima, had finished its steady, miasmic spread. Peter could scarcely recognize him. "The three of you are going to leave now," Ethos explained. "It's not a moral dilemma. It's survival. And it's not up for discussion."
Alyce climbed to her feet. They shared a long, intimate look. "You'll make it out," she said. "You just will. I'll find you for sure."
He smiled a little. "My hero."
"So try not to forget about me, okay?"
Ethos didn't respond to that, but his fading smile was answer enough. He looked up at Peter with uneasy eyes. "If I survive and I'm not myself— "
"I'll fix you," Peter promised. "Whatever needs fixing."
Ethos gave him a look. He turned instead to Anouk. "If I survive and I'm not myself— "
"Aye," she harrumphed, arms folded. "Stuff you for a figurehead."
He sighed and said, "The two of you are useless."
The deep, igneous glow was intensifying. Dangerous. Unstable. Peter gently pulled Alyce away by her shoulder, feeling as if his hand dwarfed her size. "Come off," he urged, firm of voice. "You'll lose your eyebrows. Let's go."
Ethos watched on. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me. This goes against all of it."
Another small smile, pleasantly neutral. "All and the rest?"
"Aye, and the rest." Peter thrust a finger at the ground. "I'm still pissed, by the way," he said. "So don't go off and die to get out of it. You'll get yours when I'm good and done."
"Forgive me for not being more terrified while I obligatorily burn myself alive."
Peter nearly laughed in surprise at him, and he was sure it showed on his face. Because in spite of everything Ethos had been through, his incomprehensible evolution, seeing him there so blandly expressioned it was like he'd hardly changed at all from when they'd run into Kacha downriver. Up to his waist in the water, forbearing, a little annoyed but mostly just wet and privately eager to get warm again. The only real difference was that he was truly afraid this time. Peter could hear it in his voice.
"It's okay," Ethos said, expertly selling it with his eyes. "Go."
Una rejoined them, and she, too, had lost her vigor. She glanced at Peter and shrugged, somewhere between amusement and despair. She forced a small, refined smile. "I suppose it'd be rude to just leave him for dead," she admitted. "And I suppose there are worse ends I could meet."
Ethos turned to her. "I could do with the company."
"I thought you weren't for suicide."
"I've changed my mind."
"Fine. I could do with a sit. May I?"
"It's warm by me. Peter's poufy hair can attest."
Una took a dutiful seat beside him, wincing as she did. "A lie, as expected," she said. "It's dreadful hot and you smell of ash. I hate it."
He smirked, hollowly. "I won't describe how you smell."
"Oh, quite," she crooned. "May your great exhale be peaceless and off-putting."
He studied her, sidelong, and said, "I'm sorry it turned out this way."
Something in his voice made her glance. Her chin was all black with her dried, putrid blood, pupils floating alone in her eyes. She looked away swiftly, nose in the air. "I ate a raw fish from the water this morning," she said. "Bones and all."
"I'm sorry."
She was quiet a moment. When she decided to speak, it wasn't in anger. "I remember it now," she said. "My life, before. How unkind I was. How selfish I was." Her eerie gaze ascended to Peter. "And you," she added. "You're right to begrudge and call me unchanged. I delighted in seeing your friendship fail, and in having played a part in it. I treasure the blame."
She was being deliberately cruel to make it easier for him to leave. Peter spotted it quickly; it was hard not to after spending so much time with Ethos, to whom the gambit came naturally.
"That's what I love about you, Una." Ethos himself had spoken, eyes low. "No heart."
"Unchanged enough," Peter agreed, quietly surprising them both. "The pretty midland girl and the woodling, keeping me from home."
Una smiled at him, gently, like she used to. Her eyes shone with fondness. "The coastlander," she greeted, in turn. "Loyal, and good with his hands. And more than just traditionally handsome."
She'd said the last in good humor, smile playfully crooked, teasing. It should have seemed strange, but it didn't. Humbled in her last moments of life, Peter could see the good still in her, the ghost of herself that she'd smothered with ambition. He'd seen it before, when she'd been newly risen, filling his head with hopes and ideals.
"It wasn't all bad," she whispered. "Right?"
A soft sound of combustion. A warm brush of air. Peter immediately felt a threatening shift in the atmosphere. Alyce hid her face against him as Anouk's hand blindly ventured for his. A glance yielded Ethos, unmoving, the space around him warped with heat. He hadn't even heard them. And just like that, Peter knew it was over. They were out of time.
Una knew, too. "Go," she said, and she smiled for him. "He's right. It's okay."
Peter nodded, throat tight. "Bye, princess."
"Bye, Peter."
crack
The midland runoff, water bubbling around their ankles from Redbeard's familiar endless Throat. Ethos had banged his head farther down, clumsy from their descent through the darkness. The hills to the west were visible there from over the woodsy Whitestar land, just near enough that they could make out the speck of the Echo against all the green.
No one spoke. Just quiet breathing.
And then light— a flare, briefly, before fast expansion. Soundless and fierce. It rolled out in all directions at once, too bright to look at directly. It stopped at the tree line. A violent wind hit them next, pushing them back, spitting up water. They turned from it to shield themselves, huddled together until it passed, which, after an infinite minute, it did.
Peter would never know how he caught Alyce in time. She collapsed like all of her strings at been cut, eyes sliding into the back of her head.
But Anouk just stood there, staring out. A young crater stared back.