She took a deep breath.
“It’s not like there’s much we can do. We can’t bring anyone back.”
That was a safe bet. Now that they were here, Lindon could carve a device with the corresponding script to the anchor beneath them, so they had a route back to Moongrave.
But he wasn’t sure he could make it all the way to Sacred Valley, much less come back. And there was no way he could bring back more people than he started with.
Which meant there would be only one reason to go back.
To stall the Titan.
His mother was breathing heavily, a notepad clutched to her chest. “Going back?” A general stir of terrified confusion passed through the Sacred Valley residents in the room.
“Don’t be stupid,” Jaran said, rapping his cane on the floor.
Kelsa slumped into a chair. She looked exhausted, and tears had run tracks in the ash and dust caking her face, but her voice was firm. “It wouldn’t be fair to you to go back. You owe them nothing. In fact, everyone who escaped owes you all their lives.”
Lindon’s sister turned to him, straightened her back in the chair, and dipped her head. “Gratitude.”
Repeated bows and murmurs of “Gratitude” passed through the room.
They weren’t bowing just to him, but to all the outsiders: Eithan, Mercy, Yerin, and Orthos. But those four looked to Lindon.
This was his home. They were only here because of him. And they would go back if he asked them to.
But what was he going to do? Fight a Dreadgod to buy time in the hopes that a few more people might get away? It might already be too late; the Titan may have crashed through Mount Samara and killed everyone by now.
Lindon could theoretically affect a Dreadgod, but theoretically a child with a sharpened stick could kill a tiger.
He had never stopped rolling Suriel’s marble between his fingers, and now he held it up. All this power, he had gained to protect Sacred Valley.
Now, he didn’t know what to do.
For the second time in a day, he gripped the marble and prayed.
I don’t know what to do. Help me.
Unknown Location
The Way
[Report complete,] Suriel’s Presence said.
As Suriel drifted along the blue rivers that made up the basis of all existence, she caught up on the diversion that she had allowed to distract her for the last few standard years: the journey of Wei Shi Lindon.
He had grown faster than she had expected. Faster than most models of him had predicted, though at the time, she hadn’t realized how much Ozriel’s meddling had changed things. Or how Makiel’s alterations would speed Cradle’s destiny.
By all odds, Lindon should have been dead by now, but here he was, debating whether to go back and face down a Dreadgod. She looked forward to his choice.
[The battle with the Vroshir might make it difficult to get further news from Cradle,] her Presence reminded her. [Probability of future delay is very high.]
She considered that. As always, her Presence didn’t speak solely in words, but also in thoughts and impressions, meaning conveyed directly into her mind.
It was reminding her that, the next time she got news from Cradle, there was every chance that Lindon would be dead.
Cradle would be protected even in the most extreme circumstances of the war, so she didn’t fear for the world itself too much. The Vroshir would have to extend themselves on several fronts and sacrifice valuable worlds to penetrate Sector Eleven.
They didn’t work that way. They were bandits, after as much bounty as they could with as little risk to themselves as possible.
The one exception was the Mad King, and Suriel went to face him now.
And she didn’t need her Presence to remind her that it might not be Wei Shi Lindon who died first. Despite all odds and projections, it was a possibility that he might outlive her.
Do you have a suggestion? Suriel asked.
Her Presence had its personality tuned down—she liked conversation, and would have enjoyed a more expressive companion, but she found chatty Presences unprofessional. Still, that didn’t mean the construct had nothing to say.
[Beacon located,] the Presence said, transmitting the image of the sealed marble containing Suriel’s power. Lindon was currently rolling it in his hands, trying to make a decision. [Temporal synchronization possible. Communication possible. Expected delay to final destination: point-zero-four-three seconds.]
Suriel had given Lindon the marble so that she could find him again if and when he ascended. Or possibly when he faced the choice of whether or not to ascend. This was too early, and her Presence knew that.
Then again, that was only something she had decided herself. She hadn’t spoken any sort of oath.
And Lindon had manifested an Icon, even brushing against the Way at a rudimentary level. Technically, he could ascend now, far ahead of schedule.
That should be rewarded.
Begin transmission, Suriel commanded.
[Excellent decision,] her Presence said.
Suriel began to wonder if its personality might be set too high after all.
As Lindon stared into the blue flame of Suriel’s marble, Dross began to panic.
[What is this? What’s happening? Hey, get out of here! Shoo! No, you can’t kick me out! I live h—]
A cool, distant, female voice replaced his. One that Lindon recognized. [Prepare to receive transmission.]
Before Lindon could “prepare” anything, he found himself sitting in a simple, wooden room.
It was primitive, but comfortable. The ceiling, walls, and floor were all polished wood, and each seemed to be made of one piece rather than planks bound together. There were no windows, but a fire burned in a hearth, the smoke carried up the chimney. Even the hearth and the chimney looked like they had been grown out of the same wood that made up the rest of the room.
He sat in a smooth wooden chair, though it was darker than the walls, and faced a similar chair a few feet away from him. That one was empty.
Other than the fireplace, the only features of the room were trophies hanging on the wall. Bunches of herbs, with flowers that radiated life aura. A red potion spinning in a sealed bottle, sitting on a tiny shelf. A dagger with a long handle and tiny, razor-sharp blade was mounted on a ceramic plaque on the wall. That weapon felt heavy to his Sage senses, like the attacks he’d sensed from Malice.
A structure emerged from one wall like moss-colored antlers, though he was certain they had not been taken from any dead animal. They felt alive in their own right, even then. They hung next to a drifting oval of pure strands of light and a few tiny winged spirits in a glass cage.
Lindon took in all the objects with his eyes and perception in one brief moment, but none caught his attention fully.
He was focused on figuring out what this was.
He could still use his spiritual perception, which implied that his spirit was here, and his body felt physically present. He moved with no problems, and the room smelled of woodsmoke and flowers, so his senses were working.
But Dross was gone, and the voice had told him to prepare for transmission. Either he had been transmitted somewhere else, or someone was transmitting a message directly into his mind. Or some other, stranger method that he had no frame of reference to understand.
Still, he felt excitement rather than fear. His clothes had come with him, but not his void keys or his badge. The one object that had followed him was Suriel’s marble, still burning steadily in his hand.
And he was certain he recognized that ghostly voice.
A moment later, he was proven right.