“It won’t be.” He gives a strained chuckle. “Gods. Birds. What wouldn’t I give.”
An uneasy silence as I process that. “So what happens if I see one of these Gleaners?”
“We hope we’re still high enough that the fall kills us.” A pause, and then he grunts. “Sorry. That wasn’t very tactful. I’m just a little busy.”
I shudder and nod, though I know he can’t see it.
“So you know my brother. And you’re here because of me.” The glassy-smooth dark stone beneath us quivers, sending a panicked jolt through me. Caeror growls. “I … should probably focus on this. Why don’t you tell me how in the hells you got here, while we’re on the way down. And then I can fill in the gaps of what you need to know after. The very, very large gaps,” he mutters to himself.
I heed the tension of his voice and don’t argue, giving him the most straightforward possible outline of my past year as we descend, excruciatingly slow, toward the arid ground. Ulciscor finding me, charging me with investigating what he believed to be Caeror’s murder at Veridius’s hands. My discovery of the ruins, and then the Labyrinth. Ulciscor’s insistence that I run it. It’s easy enough to tell the story without having to reveal my past—another world or not, Caeror was once as Hierarchy as they come, so there’s no reason to risk complete honesty—but I don’t otherwise try to obfuscate. There doesn’t seem to be much need, here.
As I talk, I continue vainly scanning the horizon. The day is clear and unsettlingly empty. No movement higher than the towering, glittering waves in the distance. I don’t dare glance downward.
Our platform shivers again only once, when I first mention Lanistia.
“You knew Lani?”
I regain command of my briefly terror-locked muscles, heart pounding, as the obsidian resumes its smooth downward motion. “She trained me. I can tell you all about—”
“No.” Soft, even through the tension of what he’s doing. “Thanks, but … not right now.”
And then, finally, the grey-brown of the earth is close enough for me to touch. I slide off the glinting circle with a relieved exhalation, luxuriating in the feeling of solid ground beneath my feet. Our platform thuds to the dirt behind me.
I turn. Caeror’s still sitting on it, head bowed. His entire body is trembling. The black stone at the nape of his neck still there.
“Give me a minute,” he mutters between laboured breaths, sensing my concern.
I nod mutely, scrutiny moving on to our surrounds. We’ve descended into an enormous crater of blasted rock and dirt, at least five miles wide and completely devoid of life or landmarks. Its surrounding edges peak at least a hundred feet above us, concealing what lies beyond from view.
The great shadow at the upper edge of my vision soon drags my gaze higher, though.
Blotting out near half the sky above us—its lowest point a hundred feet in the air—hovers an impossible, gargantuan red glass sphere.
I take a half step back. It’s at least … three thousand feet in diameter? More? Nothing supporting it in the air, nothing suspending it as far as I can see. It’s staggering. Disorienting to the senses.
“You didn’t see anything?” Caeror has recovered enough to stand. Wan in the early morning light, the triangular stone still affixed to the back of his neck.
“Nothing.”
Caeror kicks dirt and stone over the glinting circle on the ground until it’s concealed. Some of his former, irrepressible excitement returning as he inspects his handiwork, then beams at me. Cheeks dimpled as he claps me on the shoulder. “Almost there. You’re doing better than I did, when I came through.”
“You had to go through this by yourself?”
“Gods’ graves, no. I had help too.” His expression twists into something sad, so brief I almost miss it, and then he’s moving on.
“How did you know I was coming through today?”
“I didn’t. I’ve been here for … almost two weeks? Had supplies in there for at least another month. A holiday I get to take every year and a half,” he adds with a weak grin.
I consider. “The window for when the Academy runs the Iudicium?”
“Exactly.” He stretches, then beckons. “We just need to reach the ridge over there. Still as quickly as we can, though.”
Our footsteps crunch and shale skitters as we set off westward. Caeror casts a sidelong glance at me. “So what did Ulciscor threaten you with?”
“Sapper.”
His step hitches. “Rotting gods.” He exhales. Eyes wide as he continues, staring ahead in horrified introspection. “Rotting gods-damnedgods. Vis. I am so sorry.” Honest apology in his voice, in the slump of his shoulders.
