“Hyperbole. Sort of.” Caeror leans into his climbing of a dune. Sand cascades back down behind him where his feet dig in, an almost luminescent white series of waves in the last of dusk. “Most people here believe Ka is a god. I can’t really blame them given that he’s ruled the cities, controlled every inch ofvaguely liveable ground in this world for thousands of years. Not to mention has complete command of the iunctii.” He shakes his head wryly. “It wasn’t a leap to realise he must be the Concurrence.”
I’m quiet for a few steps. The desert is rapidly becoming chilly. The grit that wormed its way inside my clothes while hiding sticks to my cooling sweat, every movement chafing. “You’re saying all of this—the Cataclysms, the way this world is—it’s because ofone man?” No hiding my incredulity.
“One man and alotof dead people, I suspect.” He sees me still struggling with the concept. “Those ruins you went to on Solivagus. The ones Veridius and I found, with all the iunctii pinned with Instruction Blades?” He taps the obsidian blade on his belt. “Those people were put in there to become a kind of interconnected machine, built to try and circumvent the security measures on Res that kill anyone who goes through the Gate. And based on what we translated, those measures were put in place by one man. A man who would remain untouchable so long as he alone was present in all three worlds, because it meant he had dominion over Will. Would be the only one who could control it as it had been before the Rending.” He glances at me. Assessing. “Synchronism, they called it.”
I try to swallow my unease. “I’ve heard that before.” The darkness is almost complete now; stars have begun to shimmer in the east. “The husks—the iunctii—who had the control bracers for the Labyrinth. They said they were being punished because they attempted to ‘gain synchronism and remove the seal to Obiteum.’” I don’t have to work to dredge up the words. That eerie mantra is burned into my memory.
“I still don’t know what the last bit means. But, yes. People have been trying to access the Gate for centuries.”
“And I’m the first to succeed?” I know the answer as soon as it’s out of my mouth.
He gives me a look, eyebrows pointedly raised.
I snort. At least he’s not trying to coddle me. “Fine. But you think I have this ability. Synchronism.” I don’tfeelany different. “And the plan is for me to … what?Killsomeone with it?”
“Theplanis to stop Ka, no matter what it takes. Veridius will undoubtedly be trying to do the same to his counterpart in Res—and perhaps if he realises you’ve made it through, the version of you there will end up succeeding before you ever have to do anything here. But we can affect only what we have in frontof us. If we remove the Concurrence from this world, he is no longer Synchronous in Res. It stops the Cataclysm. And that is all that matters.”
I give a soft, bitter laugh. “‘Remove’ him. You make it sound so easy.”
“I know what I’m asking, Vis. Iknow. But if we’re right, it’s the life of an evil man who has lived millennia past his time. One life, in order to save millions. And you may be the only one who can take it.”
“What if you’re wrong? What if killing this Ka doesn’t stop the Cataclysm?”
“Then we will have saved one world rather than two. You saw the Gleaners. What we had to do to Djedef. Life here is a nightmare, and at worst, we help people finally wake up from it. Give them a chance at something else. Something better.” Caeror glances at me. Compassionate, firm conviction in his voice. “I can’t force you. This has to be your decision. But I do need you to at least hear me out before you make it. Please.”
The last of the sun is gone from the sky. Beneath starlight, I can see the black pyramid of Duat down in the distant valley, an ocean of undulating white in between. I’ve never wanted, let alone planned to kill someone before. I revile the idea. Resist it with every fibre of my being.
But if Caeror is telling the truth—if there’s even a chance that he’s right—then … I don’t know.
I don’t know.
I breathe in the stinging air, and shiver against the abrupt chill of the coming night.
“I’m listening,” I say quietly.
VII
A FIRM HAND SHAKES MY SHOULDER, STIRRING ME FROMa deep, dreamless slumber. I move to swat it away. Nothing happens.
Heavy remembrance comes, and I open my eyes.
Ruddy torchlight illuminates a thatched roof above the face of the burly stranger staring down at me. His nose is squashed, blond hair worn up and spiked like the warriors from the boat, though this man is unfamiliar. He grunts as he sees I’m awake, then straightens from his crouched position by the fur-covered bench I’m lying on.
“Tar.” He jerks his head toward the door, where another warrior waits, spear in hand. No need to guess what he’s saying.
I struggle upright, bracing for pain but pleasantly surprised to find it largely gone. My shoulder is freshly bandaged. I’m in clean clothes, a simple tunic covered with a green cloak. Parched, but the feebleness I felt when I arrived has completely receded. How long have I been asleep? It was mere minutes after Cian left that I closed my eyes, dawn barely on its way. Now only torches break a blacker darkness outside the door.
Vek. Anxiety races through my veins as the memories return. Cian said tonight was our only chance to get away.
“Do you have anything to drink?” I make the appropriate motion, though the rasp of my voice probably conveys what I want just as well. Delaying in order to gather my wits, as much as anything else. The blond man tosses me a waterskin that I only barely manage to catch. I slake my thirst as slowly as I can, thinking furiously.
“Tar.” Impatient. Cian also said not to cause trouble. I reluctantly nod, take a quick last mouthful, and hand the skin back before trailing after him.
The blond man retrieves his spear from by the door and prods me out into the darkness. It’s raining. A steady, miserable drizzle. The other warrior, lithe and dark-haired, watches me warily as I pass and then takes up position behind me too. Neither man’s weapon is raised, but there’s no mistaking their role.
We walk in silence. Torches placed at regular intervals fizz and hiss as drops of water hit. The muddy paths between huts squelch underfoot, treacherouslyslippery at points as I try to adapt to my missing arm. There’s nobody around but there are voices in the distance. Laughter. Faint strains of music. Some way farther up the gentle slope I can see a wooden structure that’s much taller and longer than any of the others, torches on poles arrayed around it, light spilling from within. A barn, next to any of the towering architectural wonders of Caten, but notable in its current surrounds. I think that’s the source of the merriment.
We’re heading obliquely to it, though. I don’t know whether to be pleased about that or not.
