Chapter 10 #2
“Good. That’s all I could ask for. I’m glad that the future is in your hands, and not that man’s. He signed his name across the Expanse in blood, hoping to leave a legacy. But blood can only leave a stain.”
Sam moved then, wrapping his arms around me and tucking his head against my chest. And though I knew not what magic had summoned him, whether from the Ether itself or from the depths of my mind, I hoped that he would remember the difference the strength of his kindness made for our people.
“Someone’s looking for you,” he said, lifting his chin from my chest to gaze up at me. “I’m not supposed to let them find you.”
“Cirian,” I muttered, the moments before the darkness crashed around us taking hold of my thoughts. “That’ll be him. He said that he would come for me. Are you going to try and stop him?”
Sam’s gaze drifted over my shoulder, back towards the wooded area at the base of the hill. “I don’t know if I’ll have a choice.”
“What is this place?” I asked, fighting the urge to follow the direction of his stare. “Do you know?”
“It’s a piece of you,” Sam answered, his sights set on something in the distance. “And a lot of something else. Something dark.”
“A piece of me? Are you saying that it’s using my memories to make this place?”
His gaze returned to me then, his eyes wide and wet at the edges. His hands pressed against my chest till I stumbled back from him. “He’s close. Once he breaks through, I don’t know what will happen. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You could never hurt me, Sam.”
It was a piss poor attempt at comfort, years too late. But I needed him to know how much his kindness had changed the course of my life. Overhead, the clouds seemed to draw closer by the second, the rumble of thunder coming at regular intervals now.
“Can you grant me one more question, Azrael?”
The yellow-haired boy was so small now, his body frail enough that I thought he’d blow away if the wind whipped past. But his eyes stayed the same, holding me with a murky depth that I’d long forgotten.
“Anything you wish.”
“You made it through the Gauntlet. You played Rudderkin’s game. Was it worth all the pain, in the end?”
My chest squeezed, as if Sam himself had wrapped his nimble fingers around my heart.
“I’ve done terrible things in the name of our Rebellion, Sam.
A lot of them under the orders of the monster who made us.
And when I’d killed him with my own hands, I wept.
I wept not because he was dead, but because I’d taken away any chance of him knowing the power that comes from kindness.
So, I took on that mantle. I confiscated his name, because I would not allow the hero of our people to be remembered as the blood-soaked tyrant who took your life. ”
“What will they remember you for, Rudderkin?”
The gruff voice drew my attention back. The original Rudderkin stood beside Sam now, arms crossed over his broad chest as he scowled in my direction.
“I don’t know,” I admitted, a small smile creeping across my face. “I’ve done what I could to salvage a reputation stained, but no amount of scrubbing will make that name clean again. When history looks back on the Unseen Rebellion, they will see a story of two sides of a coin.”
“They will see the man who had the courage to take action,” Rudderkin sneered.
“And the boy who knew that violence could only take us so far.”
The man snorted a cruel laugh. “Yet you’re ready to give it all up, aren’t you? You’re just as weak now as when I pulled you off the streets, boy. Only a fool would give up that power. You’ve proven yourself the unceasing fool.”
Another rumble of thunder and the dark canopy above began to part, a shadow moving amongst the clouds.
“You’re right,” I said, a laugh bubbling up from my chest. “I am a fool. The time of Rudderkin is done. Our people are no longer served by the stained name. I’ll prune it, just as I pruned myself of you all those years ago.
Let the legend die alongside the name. I’ll show them that they need not a hero clad in bloodied armor, but a boy from a garden of roses who only wants the best for his people. ”
Rudderkin moved then, charging at me with a wail of pain and grief that echoed through my mind.
I braced myself for the impact, planting my feet in the smooth earth, but before Rudderkin could even reach an arm’s length from me, a massive shadowy hand erupted from the clouds, reaching down to wrap me up in fingers crafted from umber and soot.
The hand lifted me from the ground, pulling me with blinding speed away from the hill where Rudderkin stood, glowering after me.
I cast one last glance down at my mentor before I slipped into the haze of the clouds and the eerie silence that followed.
“He’s coming round,” a muffled voice dripped through my subconscious like the gentle patter of rain falling from a canopy of leaves.
The first thing I noticed was the cold stone beneath me. The base of my tail throbbed, and I let out a groan as I shifted my weight from that spot, allowing temporary relief.
“That was quick. You’re getting better at navigating, Cirian.”
My eyes fluttered open at the mention of his name, and a familiar head of scarlet hair came into view. He offered me a shy grin, followed by a wave of his hand.
“You’re going to feel woozy for a bit, but it’ll pass.”
I sat up, the dull throb in my head intensifying till the dimly-lit room around me swirled like two streams meeting.
“Where are we?” I managed through gritted teeth.
“That’s a difficult distinction as it were. Physically, we’re inside the Cradle. Of that I’m almost certain. As for our consciousnesses….”
He didn’t elaborate further.
There were others in the space. No more than ten.
Their movements in the background of my steadying vision drew my focus.
Rows of candles lined the ground on either side, moving away from the spot on the floor where I rested.
Rows of stone benches—about half a dozen on either side—faced towards the small altar at the far end of the space.
Above it, a single window of stained glass, glowing in multifaceted brilliance against the dark backdrop.
“It’s a sanctuary,” Cirian said after a moment, his head turning to follow my gaze. “Sancha said it was the one she was raised in as a child.”
“The Cardinal is here?”
He nodded, pointing to one of the figures seated in the front row. “I’m not sure how much longer she’s going to be able to hold out. The strength of her magic alone is keeping the shadows from overtaking this place. If she falters, then we’ll be lost once more.”
“And Bast? Is he here as well?”
Cirian’s smile faded. “No. Not yet, I mean. I haven’t been able to find him, out there in the dark. But I’ve found others. Dragged them back here where it’s safe. There are dozens more, Azrael. I can’t possibly get to all of them, and I fear the wick has almost burned to its end.”
As if they’d heard Cirian’s words, the candles flickered around us, their warm light faltering just long enough for the shadows to lurk closer from the corners of the room.
I braced myself on the nearby bench, pulling myself onto my feet. “Then we will put an end to this madness.”
Cirian stood alongside me, his brow furrowed. “I can appreciate your confidence, Azrael, but do you have any idea how to go about that?”
“No,” I admitted, stretching to alleviate the stiffness in my back. “But the most brilliant Magi I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting is here in the Cradle. All we need to do is find him, and he’ll be able to guide us.”
Cirian sank onto the bench, running pale fingers through scarlet hair. “I’ve looked for him. Every time I go out into the dark, it’s him I’m searching for. But I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of him in all this time.”
I’d never heard Cirian sound so defeated. The shadows closest to him seemed to thicken, as if they craved the despair in his voice. It must have taken a great toll on him to dive into the dark as much as he had. The strain was evident.
“It’s my fault he’s here in the first place,” he said after a moment, his head downcast and eyes distant.
“How do you mean?”
Cirian told me of an agent from the Church named Malachi and the strange ailment that befell him after the time spent amongst the Converts.
About how he and Bastien helped him recover his voice and their interaction with the Sleeper, and finally how Malachi had tried to kill the Cardinal, only to have his body turned into the strange darkness that filled the Cradle, and the irresistible call that brought so many to that terrible fate.
“I let him walk right into it, Az. Let him get swept away in the crowd. He was there in my arms one second and the next—” his voice broke as he tucked his chin, a curtain of hair obscuring his face from me.
“There was nothing that could have been done,” I assured him. “Even the Cardinal was trapped in this mire. It would have taken you all either way.”
“Maybe,” Cirian replied, wiping at his face. “It doesn’t make it hurt any less.”
“You care a great deal for him,” I said, speaking my suspicions aloud. “Something has shifted between the two of you.”
Cirian huffed a broken laugh. “I guess that’s true, yeah. Nothing has been the same since Tobias wove these blasted threads between us. Bastien is still the insufferable stick in the mud he’s always been, but over the last few months….”
“He’s become something more.”
Cirian nodded, lifting his gaze to meet mine, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks.
“He walked away from me, Az. I was right there, holding onto him, and he ran. He left, just like Tobias. Just like everyone I’ve loved.”
I took the space next to him on the bench, resting my arm around his shoulder and pulling him close to me. He lay his head on my shoulder, quiet sobs rolling through him.
I didn’t speak. I’d never been good with comforting words. But I could hold onto him. Support him with the sturdy frame I’d been given. And as he quieted once more, I reached over to brush the hair from his eyes.