After a few moments, Cynosure asked, "What do you propose to do, Raidon?"
"I know one thing, golem; I hunger. I need food."
"And after you find sustenance? What will you do?"
The monk shook his head in negation. "Nothing. I propose to exist. That is all. My deeds and past struggles have all yielded nothing. My greatest act of kindness concluded with the death of a child all alone. I'll not make such an error again. Misguided efforts to improve the world only deepen its imperfections. My masters had the right of it: be in the moment; do not shape it."
A high, white cloud edged a limb over the sun, throwing a cooling shadow across the hillside.
Cynosure spoke again, "You have the Cerulean Sign-"
"I would cast it away, for all that it was a gift from my mother, if I could. It has brought nothing but trouble. And the Traitor of Stardeep is released, you tell me. The Sign scars my flesh only to remind me it is a worthless symbol of a failed cause."
"The cause has not yet failed."
"No?"
"The threats the Keepers of the Cerulean Sign formed to fight remain active, perhaps closer to the surface than ever before. In the Dawn Age, monstrosities slipped into the world from sanity-shredding realms. These creatures, great and small, instinctively work toward the day when Faerыn itself is consumed and made anew in their own mad image. As a Keeper, it is your duty to oppose this."
"I am not a Keeper."
"Raidon, though I may be wrong, it is possible you remain the sole, mobile Keeper in all Toril."
"I did not choose that role. I am not a Keeper."
"You fought aberrations whenever you came upon them.
Though you took no oath, you acted as one sworn to the cause. For ten years you did so, nearly without respite, prior to the Spellplague."
Raidon frowned, then he ventured, "What of the other Keepers-Kiril and Delphe? And what about yourself? You are of the Sign, and a potent defender of it, as I remember it."
"Delphe ventured into Sildeyuir fifteen years ago and never returned. With that realm's fall, I do not know her fate or the fate of any of her kind."
Raidon queried, "And the swordswoman?"
"Kiril and the sword Angul left Stardeep. They reentered Faerыn, and continued on much as they had before. Kiril sold her sword arm to anyone with sufficient coin to keep her in drink and lodging. Eventually, she met up with a previous employer, a dwarf named Thormud. I lost track of her in the change-ravaged Vilhon Wilds. She survived the Year of Blue Fire, but afterward plunged into the heart of an active pocket of spellplague, from which she never returned."
The monk grunted. Though not definitive, the construct implied the only two pledged Keepers were missing and likely dead.
Raidon persisted, "You survive."
"At this time, I am cut off from the world. I can only interact with Faerыn through you and your Sign. I can provide you support, advice, and even transportation on occasion, but I cannot personally enter the war."
"A war, you say."
"The conflict has begun. Only skirmishes now, but soon, a wholesale slaughter, when the ancient buried city of Xxiphu emerges."
The monk walked the perimeter of the boulder's weedy edge, one hand trailing along the rough stone. He was not being impolite, walking away from the golem; its attention was always centered on him. He wondered if he could sever the link. But the name Xxiphu sparked alarm somewhere in his memory.
"Cynosure, I recall that name, but neither you, Kiril, Delphe, or anyone else properly described the nature of Xxiphu and this 'Abolethic Sovereignty' to me. Aboleths have long slunk below the world. What, really, is more terrible about Xxiphu?"
"Two things. First and least, regular aboleth colonies are safely ensconced below the earth, immovable. Xxiphu is different. It is mobile. It may indeed breach to Faerыn's surface, as previous divination revealed."
The monk nodded. That was certainly a worry. "And second?"
"Second, Xxiphu contains the original aboleths. These are the progenitors of the race who personally squirmed into the world before it cooled from its creation fires. These aboleths were old when the sun was still young. Xxiphu is the seat of the Abolethic Sovereignty, possessed of a malignancy inconceivable, and ruled by the Eldest, an aboleth of such size its age is incalculable. Certainly it is older than when Abeir-Toril split asunder. If Xxiphu rises and the Eldest wakes, then Faerыn will face yet another catastrophe, this one directed by alien, unfeeling minds that do not perceive the world as you do, or even I."
The monk didn't respond. Instead, he looked to the southern horizon, his pose noncommittal.
"If that occurs, Raidon," Cynosure continued, ''many more children than Ailyn will perish in fear."
The monk sucked in his breath as if a mighty kick had caught him in the stomach. His eyes darkened, and his fists clenched. With no target other than the boulder, the monk balled his hand and assailed it with a thundering strike. The stone cracked, and splinters of rock winged away. His knuckles stung, then went numb.
Raidon hissed, took a lung-filling breath, then dropped both hands back to his sides, outwardly back in control. The pity he earlier felt for the construct was gone. Cynosure was a manipulator first and last, he saw. It said only what it calculated would be most likely to induce the actions it desired. Very well, he would treat it as it deserved.
"You seek to shame me into action, Cynosure?"
"I merely speak the truth."
"Indeed. I wonder. But, for the sake of argument, let us imagine that I do take up this challenge. What can I do to prevent the rise of the Abolethic Sovereignty?"
"You must meditate upon the Sign that is now part of you. You are not trained in its use, but I can guide you. It can show you that which transpires across the land, what threats now gather, and what you can best do to counter them."
"You claim much authority."
Cynosure was silent.
Finally Raidon asked, "Is the Sign I carry up to this task?" The monk dropped into a lotus position, one suited for meditation.
"The Sign is only as potent as its holder."
"Then let us hope my training does not desert me."
The monk supposed the construct attempted a new stratagem with its last statement. As if he were shallow enough to respond heatedly to such an obvious ploy. But Raidon wondered. Regardless of Cynosure's tactics, if anything the sentient effigy said was true, wouldn't it behoove him to help? Unless Raidon chose death rather than continued existence, didn't his honor demand he do as the construct requested? Perhaps he required more information, if only to make a more informed decision.
"Cynosure, I would know more. Tell me how to proceed."
The golem of Stardeep didn't hesitate in its response. "Meditate on the Sign. Wake it with your will. Ask it to show you the danger that gathers."
No novice to meditation, Raidon called upon his focus. He stifled his surprise on discovering his inability to immediately find it. Much had occurred since he'd lost himself in the harmony of a single thought. So he sat awhile, remembering the sensation. A tickle in his brain, becoming smoothness. Distractions dropping away, one by one…
His focus returned. He imagined it as a crystalline lens. He directed its attention upon the unwanted design that blazoned his chest.
He could just discern the symbol's treelike outline, blurry like half-recalled faces of friends long absent. With single-minded deliberation, he compelled it to reveal its secrets.
It revealed nothing.
He was not impatient; he had nothing but time. He continued to observe the image. As they used to say in Xiang Temple, Raidon could stare the paint off the walls, if given the time.