“But I lived,” he agrees softly. He gives a gentle laugh. “I cannot tell you how many times I’ve cursed the other, clearly less capable versions of me.”
I’m silent, for once not responding to his efforts in lightening the morbid strangeness of our situation. The intensity of the days has meant I’ve barely had time to think about my own copies. About what they might be doing. The lives they might be leading.
Or not.
“Would I know? Straight away, I mean.” I ask it uneasily. “If one of my other selves …”
“Yes.” A long enough pause that I think he’s going to leave it at that. He’s said as much before. Clearly reluctant to go further. But then he takes an audible breath. “It feels like a part of you has been ripped away. Physically, and emotionally. All you can do is lie there and weep. I thought it was from coming through the Gate, the first time. It was only when it hit me a few weeks later again that I understood what it meant.” He admits it with his usual gentle, soft candour.
I lick my lips against the hot, acidic air. Say nothing.
“You’re a smart man, Vis. Assuming that’s not a recent development, your copies will be just fine.”
“Sure.” I give a bitter chuckle. “Four thousand years of people trying, but I’ll be the first.”
“You could be.” Caeror’s stern against my cynicism. “I don’t tell you this enough, but what you’re doing—what you’ve already achieved—isincredible. Truly. What has been asked of you and what I am still asking. The weight you not only bear but you are willing to bear, without complaint, withoutflinching. And to know what you’ve been through even before this …” He trails off. Faintly laughs. “Just … gods, man. At least let yourself admit you’re doing alright.”
I chew my lip, then shake my head and smile. Genuinely, this time. Caeror’s optimism is a lot sometimes.
But his exhortation still buoys me. Still matters.
“Thanks,” I say quietly.
The sun beats down, and we talk more as we wait for the Gleaners to return. In hushed tones and intermittently, returning often to my training, but even those interactions feel somehow more companionable than before. Our company had always been friendly, but there was still a wall. That has gone, now.
Three distant dots eventually disturb the endless horizon. We make note of the time, and hold our position until the relative cover of dusk.
And as we return, for the first time, I feel like I might be capable of doing what needs to be done.
THE GOLDEN DOOR FLICKERS AND FUZZES AND PRESSESon my mind. I stand at the end of the corridor and stare at its hazing glow. Motionless. I am here, not at the naumachia. I am here, not at the naumachia. I am surrounded only by obsidian. Clean and smooth black rock. I am here, not at the naumachia.
I breathe. Look away. Look back. Breathe.
It’s been hours since we got back, and I know I should be asleep. Resting in preparation for tomorrow’s training. But I do not want to waste today’s conversations. I do not want to wake having lost this new resolve.
I take a few hesitant steps. The sound creeps louder, still evoking a dread I can’t describe, weakening my knees in ways that are as frustrating as they are inevitable. Logic should overcome my fear. I am a rational person and this is not rational. My brain still struggles to make my legs move.
I take a step. Another. Another. I will do it, this time. Touch the golden surface through themutalis. Prove that I am Synchronous, and accept what needs to be done.
“Do not open it.”
I flinch around with a combination of shock and relief at the intrusion. It’s Nofret, the girl I caught sneaking food. I’ve seen her around a few times since, but always at a distance, as with most of the Qabrans.
A moment to recover from the breaking of my mantra, and then I realise she’s looking at me. Talking to me. Anxiety in her eyes, her stance, but there’s no one else here. The first person outside of Caeror to address me directly in nearly two months.
“Why?”
“It is dangerous.” Her Vetusian is simple and clean; combined with my constant lessons with Caeror, it’s easy to understand.
“I know.” I relax a little. Smile encouragingly. “I’m special. Probably,” I add, mostly to myself. “It won’t hurt me.”
“No.” She licks her lips. “It isdangerous. Cursed.” Her brow is furrowed, seeing I’m confused more than convinced. “Do you not know of this? To open this door is to unleash the end of all things.”
“Nofret?” Another voice above the thrumming. Male. Worried. A second later a man appears, immediately identifiable as Nofret’s family, probably an older brother given his relative youth. His eyes widen as he sees me, sees Nofret. He strides forward without looking at me again. Grabs the girl with a stream of Vetusian that’s both too low and too furious for me to make out.
Nofret struggles briefly and says something back I don’t quite catch, but the young man is stronger. He pulls her around the corner.
“Do not open it!”
