Siris froze, water gushing out over his arm. She’d killed him to save him. He should have realized it before, but all of this was coming at him so quickly.
“I knew I couldn’t fight through to you,” she said. “And I didn’t know if a crossbow bolt would stop him. I didn’t know if you were . . . what I thought . . . Well, I didn’t know what to think any longer. I gambled. I do that. Father always said it was a bad habit.”
He continued washing, disturbed.
“You should be grateful,” she said. “I won’t even mention the chase I had to go through to get away from his minions. When I finally got back, they’d burned your corpse. Gathering you was not a pleasant experience-for me, or for Nams, who carried you here.
“This place seemed the best choice. I knew . . . well, I assumed that some of the facts I’d heard were true. If you’d been left alone, your soul would have sought out a new body. However, if your corpse is placed in one of these things, the soul will seek it instead. The tub repaired your corpse and started it breathing again, and your soul returned. It took a couple of weeks.”
“Weeks?” he said. “You’ve been waiting here with me for weeks?”
She said nothing, so he finished washing and started dressing. Isa sat in silence, staring forward again. This entire experience seemed to have disturbed her greatly. She wasn’t the only one.
As he was stomping on the boots, Isa slid something across the floor toward him. A sword. “I took it from one of the champions you killed,” she said.
Siris affixed the sword’s sheath to his belt.
“You said your ancestors fought the God King,” Isa said. “That your father, your grandfather, went to fight and died. Have you considered that you didn’t have a father or a grandfather? At least, if you did, they’ve been dead for thousands upon thousands of years?”
“But . . . the Sacrifice . . .”
She shrugged. “Something in there is a lie. Something big. You weren’t born, Siris.”
“I grew up as a child. I remember it.”
“I . . . I don’t know how to explain that.”
Questions for another time. “I need armor.”
“You might be able to take some off one of the fallen daerils,” Isa said. “Saydhi’s guards. I think the God King’s minions left them behind.”
He nodded, then looked to her. He was stunned by the coldness he saw in her eyes.
“Isa . . .” he said.
“You’re one of them, Siris,” she said softly. “I just . . . I’m having trouble with this. One of them, Siris. Shemsta macorabi natornith na . . .” She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered visibly. She looked sick.
Kill her, the Dark Thoughts said. She knows too much about you.
He found himself gripping the side of the reincarnation tub, knuckles white. She was right. He was a monster.
“What will you do?” she asked.
“Before she died, Saydhi answered my question. I know where to find the Worker of Secrets.”
“But he’s your enemy,” she said. “He created a weapon to kill the Deathless. He wanted to overthrow you.”
“I’m not one of them,” Siris said firmly. “I won’t let myself be.”
“And what would you give the Worker?” she asked. “You can’t deliver him the Infinity Blade, now. So why go?
“You wanted freedom, Siris. Well, the God King has his weapon back, and he doesn’t know where to find you-if he even cared to. I think he won’t bother, focusing on Deathless with armies, lands, and influence. You can disappear. You’re free.”
The realization hit him like a clap of thunder.
No expectations. No responsibilities. He could escape, live his life. “Will you come with me?” he found himself asking. He held out his hand.
Isa regarded that hand, then looked up at his eyes. Finally, she turned away.
“Isa . . .” he began again.
“I don’t know what I think, Siris,” she said. “You’re one of them. I know that’s not fair, but . . . it’s complicated.”
“I’m still me, Isa.”
“Are you?” she asked. “Are you completely?”
Not completely, he admitted. The Dark Thoughts prowled inside of him, stronger than ever. He tried to say otherwise to Isa, but the words wouldn’t come out.
“I came for the Infinity Blade,” she said. “I’m going to follow after it. That’s . . . that’s where I need to be, right now. I’m sorry.”
She walked toward the exit.
“Isa,” he said.
She paused.
“I release you from your oath.”
“My oath?”
“Not to kill me,” he said. “If when we meet next, I’m not myself . . . if I’ve become one of them, truly . . . I want you to do what you need to.”
She stood in the doorway, and he hoped for a wisecrack. Something like, “I’ve killed you once already. Don’t you think I have better things to do?” He smiled.
No jokes came.
“All right,” she said. “It’s a promise.”
He felt cold, and she left him, walking down the hallway. He heard a door open, and faint sunlight shone into the metallic tunnel.
Siris sat down on the steel floor, then lay back.
Everything I’ve been, he thought. Everything that I am . . . is a lie. If this was true, then he was ancient, a thing no longer truly human.
His mother wasn’t really his mother.
His home wasn’t his real home.
He could remember some things, fragments. Those hadn’t been there before he’d died, but he could see them now. Shadows within his memory.
They showed fragments of a life-a very, very long life-that he’d led.
Sounds came at the doorway. He stood up, hopeful. Isa, returning? He heard a voice, getting closer. Soon he recognized it.
“. . . bad, bad, bad! Oh dear. Oh dear!” TEL scrambled into the small cavelike room. He wore his stick body and robe, blue gemstone eyes searching about nervously. He froze as he saw Siris, then he looked at the tub and screeched in what sounded like horror.
The little golem fell to his knees. “Bad, so bad! Oh, this is bad. I’m supposed to destroy the body! Orders! My commands! You must be reborn as a child! Oh, terrible day!”
“TEL,” Siris said in a commanding voice. “Stop!”
The golem fell silent.
“I am your master, aren’t I,” Siris said. “The Deathless you spy for. It’s me. Before my memories went away, I ordered you to watch over me, didn’t I?”
“Oh, very bad,” the golem said, quivering. “Master, I tried! I tried. I followed her here, but she locked the door! I hid outside for weeks. I could not get small enough to slip in. She locked the door each time she went out. She watched for me. I tried. I promise, I tried.”
“Tell me about my births as a child,” Siris said, feeling numb. Detached from himself.
“I did as commanded, master! Each rebirth, I brought you as a baby to young women, finding you a home so you could grow up from childhood! I altered the woman’s memory to think you her son, and to think herself married to the former Sacrifice-just as you ordered! I made her move to a new town where she would not be known. But this is wrong, so wrong! You . . . will have memories . . .” The golem hushed. “Terrible memories, master. Terrible, terrible.”
“I know,” Siris said softly. He looked over the sword Isa had found him. It was of good make. He’d need armor; perhaps, as Isa suggested, he could recover some from the fallen Aegis he had killed in the gardens below. If the God King had left the bodies, the armor would be gruesome to recover, but not as gruesome as going into combat without it. If he did that, he’d likely end up . . .
Dead. Hell take me, he thought. That doesn’t really matter anymore, does it? The realization was surreal. Was this how the Deathless felt? If he couldn’t die . . . so many things no longer had a cost.