Chapter Twenty-Three Cat #2
None of those relationships have been made any easier or stronger by being a Reaper.
It has hurt and it has been painful from the moment their interactions began.
But that has always been beyond him, beyond his ability to control.
Their initial reactions were a result of their prejudice towards his kind.
But what about to his existence, on its own?
He cannot imagine the person he would have been had he not changed.
He could imagine that life: his father, the Blue Palace, perhaps even a place at court.
But he could not see himself in any of it.
That person is not him anymore. He is…a catalyst for possibility, one way or another.
And though his life has been hard, he can’t wish it was different.
So, Cat does not care what Death thinks of him or what Death wants of him.
He cannot begin to contemplate her plan, her method or her intentions.
She has given him something, and he will make the best of it.
He will love it, even if all the world despises it, because it is his.
But as for her desires or inclinations…those are hers to wish for, and he will only adhere to them if they align with his own.
‘Shall I tell you a secret?’ Elician asks him. ‘I have never prayed to our Sun God, Life.’
‘Never?’ Cat cannot imagine it. There are rituals and celebrations and grand temples.
As a prince, Elician had to attend all of those.
The people of Soleb are not shy in begging Life to continue their good fortunes, to keep all the good things in the world exactly as they are.
And Elician…he would have been looked upon to do the same.
‘Never in earnest,’ Elician agrees. ‘I never asked for his guidance…his wisdom, his blessing. I never wanted his eye on me or his restraining hand keeping me safe from Death’s will to change.
Clerics and devotees insist that Life can hear you when you pray, that Life is all around, constantly listening to us like he has a million ears and nothing better to do.
And when I think of Life, all I can think of is that I have nothing at all to say to him.
And even if I did say something to him, would it even matter?
Everything dies eventually. So why bother arguing with the progenitor when his stay of grace is only ever temporary?
’ His answer is, unfortunately, unsatisfactory.
I cannot tell you what you will need to know when you meet Death,
Marina had written to him.
You will meet her and you will need to speak with her about what you are and what you want.
But I cannot tell you how to answer, or what the truth is that she wants you to seek.
You have to find that out for yourself. It’s a vow that I made long ago, to ensure that the answers of Life and Death are discovered on their own.
But you need to think about what you really want, Alest, and you need to believe it with all your heart.
Marina had told him the story of Life and Death. It is a story he already knew. But perhaps he did not know it well enough. ‘How would you do it?’ Cat asks. ‘Talk to a god? Pray?’
Elician is quiet – as quiet as the city. He sits and he holds Cat close, and when he speaks it is with resignation. ‘The only god I’ve prayed to is Death,’ he admits. ‘And it was to ask that…people I cared about died well. That their passings were gentle and that their souls were at peace.’
There is an undercurrent of something in Elician’s voice.
‘You prayed after I died,’ Cat guesses. It feels presumptuous.
They had not met back then, but when they did, Cat remembers all too well the subtle thread of shame that wove through Elician at the memory of Cat’s first death.
Elician had watched his family and kingdom celebrate Stello Alest of Alelune’s drowning, and it fractured something in Elician’s soul.
It shook loose some of his faith in his father and for their kingdom.
‘Everyone was so happy,’ Elician murmurs. ‘You deserved more than that.’ Perhaps he did. Cat cannot quite say for certain. He survived, if being a Reaper counts as surviving. And he eventually met the only person who has ever admitted to mourning for him. That counts for far more in his opinion.
‘So, you prayed to Death. How?’
‘It’s…I just thought the words in my head, I suppose.’
‘How would she hear that?’
‘Maybe she didn’t. But I hoped she did.’
‘So, I just…think at her?’
‘Why do you want to pray to Death, Alest?’ Elician sounds tired. Worn. The sound of his given name on Elician’s tongue feels strange, familiar and comforting yet stiff and formal at the same time.
‘I think I need to talk to her.’
‘Praying and talking are two very different things.’
‘So how do I talk to her?’ Every time he heard her voice in the past, it was always on her terms. Her appearing before him, and never him seeking her out.
Elician shrugs. He sits up. He rubs his eyes. He is still so tired; after all those lives he saved, a weariness clings to him and will not fully let him go. ‘Is this about your bid for the throne, your…challenge?’
‘Yes.’
‘Cat, I asked around. Everyone I could who was willing to talk. Leferge is right. Everyone who’s challenged the reigning monarch has died.’
‘I told you one day I would disappoint you,’ Cat murmurs.
‘Perhaps you have given me your love too soon.’ He never meant to break Elician’s heart.
He had thought, truly, deeply, that he could stand at Elician’s side for ever.
And Elician would never need to fear being abandoned as a result of losing him to Death while Life forced Elician to always, always, live on.
‘It’s too late now.’ Elician’s voice breaks. He cups Cat’s cheeks between his palms. He pulls their brows together. Cat sets Marina’s journal to the side. He clings to Elician’s wrists. ‘There has to be another way,’ Elician tries.
‘Death’s already chosen me, Elician,’ Cat says. ‘She chose me…to be her Reaper. Just as she chose Marina. A Reaper on the throne of Alelune – she chose us. I have to believe…I have to believe she wants me there.’
‘And if you’re wrong?’
‘I don’t know…but…I need to talk to her.’
‘You don’t need to go through with the ritual to talk to her.’
‘How else would I do it?’
‘I don’t know – pray, like I said, and hope it works, but—’
‘And when it doesn’t? If…if I had no other obligations, I would not do this.
I have never wanted or needed to know her mind, hear her voice.
I don’t care what she does or why. And it is comforting, to be Cat alone.
But I’m not. I cannot be Cat alone. And…
these are my people. All of them, whether they are Reapers or not.
Aren’t they?’ Stello Alest asks the King of Soleb.
‘And so…I need to talk to her. Truly speak with her…and hope she will listen. For what I want here…it is more than a crown. And I have to try.’
Elician’s fingers curl into Cat’s hair. Their lips touch, the kiss soft and filled with despair. Grieving before the body takes its last breath. ‘I hate this,’ Elician says, holding him as if he were something truly too precious to lose.
‘I know,’ Cat says. ‘Please help me anyway?’
Another kiss, firmer, stronger, one that ends with Elician shifting to hold Cat close. ‘Of course I will,’ he promises. ‘Even if it hurts.’
It will hurt, Cat thinks, wrapping his arms around Elician’s body and letting himself be held. But it will hurt less with you there.
The first day Cat arrived in Crowen, all those many months ago, Elena did what she could to make him and Fen comfortable.
She welcomed them to her home, and she gave them rooms to sleep in and whatever comforts they desired.
Cat sat at the kitchen table and watched Elena cook.
He ate the food she offered him, listened to her tell him about an experiment she had left behind when she had first gone to Himmelsheim to teach them, and soaked in the simple comfort of her familiarity.
She took him to her study that night and showed him a specially made glass microscope that was too delicate to bring to Himmelsheim, then recreated their first experiment.
‘Look here,’ she said, pointing to the eyepiece.
Then she took his gloved hands and set them on small dials and knobs, so much bigger than the little screw of her first design.
‘This one for larger adjustments, this one for smaller. Keep turning until you see it.’
‘See what?’ he asked. She hadn’t put a leaf out for inspection this time. Instead, she’d placed a sliver of glass down over a reflected light.
‘Keep turning it,’ she said. She never liked to tell him the answers he could find out on his own. He turned the knobs and dials and he squinted down the tube where light reflected up through a mirror at the bottom.
And then he saw it.
His breath caught in his throat. He stared at the twitching things on the glass.
‘It’s life,’ Elena told him. But that wasn’t what he was looking at.
The twitching things broke apart. They crumbled into nothingness and then were reabsorbed by other twitching things.
One thing eating another over and over again, and he could feel it if he focused on the point of contact between his eye and the glass plate and the tube.
He could feel it burning behind his sclera.
‘It’s death too,’ he said, watching microscopic creatures living and dying one by one. A warm hand touched his shoulder.
‘Do you see?’ she asked him.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, I see.’