Yerin shut the door and Lindon sent his spiritual perception through the ship, making sure the scripts protecting them were active.
“We shouldn’t be overheard here,” Lindon said.
“We wouldn’t have been overheard back at the Tomb,” Whisper pointed out, and Yerin glanced at Lindon.
“As I said, I’m not the only one that needs to hear this.”
Little Blue chimed out, asking about Eithan. Her name for him sounded like a cheery whistle.
“Does anyone know where Eithan is?” When no one responded, Lindon went on. “Then he’ll have to catch up.”
Eithan would catch up, Lindon was certain. Usually, it was Lindon trying to catch up to him.
Whisper settled onto his haunches. “This story would go a lot easier if we had some fish…”
“Apologies, but I’m not sure Ziel has had time to restock.” It had been only a day since an all-out battle against the Dreadgods, and they had ferried a number of refugees from Sacred Valley in that time. Many of them had been hungry.
Even if Ziel did have food left, Lindon didn’t know where to find it.
“Then I suppose I must go without.” Five white tails lashed at the air, and Elder Whisper looked from Lindon to Little Blue to Yerin as though doubting their credentials. “As I told young Lindon here, I can lead you toward one of the truths of this world: how to kill the Dreadgods.”
There was a stretch of silence before Yerin audibly scoffed. She waited longer than Lindon had expected.
“You a Monarch in disguise, are you?” Yerin asked.
“I am old, and I have lived above the labyrinth for almost my entire life. There are secrets within that make the Monarchs tremble.”
Lindon wanted to bring out the canister marked with the symbol of House Arelius, but even behind their scripts, he worried it would attract distant attention.
“The maze beneath us is the birthplace of the Dreadgods,” Elder Whisper went on, “but it is far more ancient even than they. Secrets creep out from time to time, where those with insight can collect them.”
Lindon wanted details, but first he had to see if Whisper’s knowledge was worth anything. “How do we kill the Dreadgods?”
“You cannot simply disassemble them physically. You must destroy them on a fundamental level. Sever the origin of their existence.”
Lindon looked to Yerin, whose scowl was melting into a thoughtful expression. They’d heard terms like this before: when the Abidan was describing Penance.
A weapon that had instantly slain a Monarch.
“I do not understand the mechanics well myself,” Whisper said. “These are ideas I have stitched together from fractured memories and broken whispers. But as I see it, any who could kill the Dreadgods directly have already moved on from this world. Even the Monarchs combined could not do it.
“However, there is something anchoring the Dreadgods to life. If you remove it, they will be made mortal.” One tail pointed to Lindon. “No weaker, you understand. But mortal.”
“What is this anchor?” Lindon asked.
“And where is it?” Yerin followed, with a tone as though she already knew.
Little Blue gave a chime expressing her reluctance to fight another Dreadgod whether it was mortal or not.
Elder Whisper looked to Yerin. “He waits at the bottom of the labyrinth, deeper than anyone has gone in years uncounted. Your master contended with his will, and it was that which weakened him beyond even the field suppressing his power.”
Yerin stiffened, but Whisper had already moved on to Lindon. “He is the first product of the experiments that resulted in the creation of the Dreadgods. In the myths that tell of his existence, he is sometimes called the fifth Dreadgod, and sometimes the first. The Father of Hunger, some call him. The Slumbering Wraith. But I have seen notes from his observers calling him Subject One.”
Lindon’s mind flicked back to the old notes he’d once studied with Fisher Gesha, wishing Dross was here to help him sort his thoughts.
He had questions, but the elder had turned to Little Blue. “No one should look forward to fighting Dreadgods. It is not a pleasant task, but they cannot be allowed to rampage forever.”
Lindon and the others had done battle with the Wandering Titan at its weakest, and it had taken everything they had just to convince it to trample someone else. It was the equivalent of curling up and letting an opponent whale on you with their fists in the hopes that they tired themselves out and walked away.
For the moment it had worked, in the sense that the Titan had chosen not to bother with them anymore. It could come back at any time.
But there wasn’t much left in Sacred Valley to defend.
“Can we get into the labyrinth?” Lindon asked.
“There is a way inside. The Sage of the Endless Sword took advantage of it, and so can you.”
Lindon stared into the distant clouds outside the window and thought. His arm could use repairs, and there were countless people from Sacred Valley that lacked protection and guidance. He was concerned about Orthos, the whole team needed rest, and he needed to get his family—and his own cloud fortress—back from Moongrave.
From his pocket, he pulled out a clear marble with a single blue candle-flame burning at its center. He turned it in his fingers.
It seemed forever ago that Suriel had given him that marble, but at the same time, like almost no time had passed at all. He had expected his task to take him the rest of his life.
Now it was over. Sacred Valley, or what was left of it, was saved.
He wasn’t sure whether to consider it a success or a failure, but either way his mission was done. He had started to climb a mountain, expecting it to take decades, only to suddenly find himself at the peak.
Maybe it was that realization that helped him feel how tired he really was.
He had time now. Time to rest, time to spend with Yerin, time to practice Soulsmithing, time to learn what it meant to be a Sage. Time to get to know his family again, though he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that.
But there was one concern that outweighed the rest.
Dross.
Eithan had said that Dross might come back on his own, but Lindon couldn’t sit by and wait to see what happened. He would learn as much as he could.
At least now he had the time.
“There should be plenty of Soulsmithing records inside the labyrinth, right?” Lindon asked Elder Whisper.
The fox shot him a look. “It is a repository of ancient truths, as well as the home and workplace of the greatest Soulsmiths in history. You could study there for the next five hundred years and never reach the depths of their understanding.”
“Gratitude. Then I intend to learn whatever I can from the labyrinth, but we still need to discuss our next actions. Together.”
Elder Whisper raised his eyebrows in an expression that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a human face. “I expected more commitment from you.”
“There are too many questions left. For one thing, if you know about this, why haven’t the Monarchs taken action?”
“I have had…dreams.”
Lindon blinked at the fox’s abrupt change in topic, but Elder Whisper only continued. “Once in a long while, when the heavens allow, I can catch a glimpse of Fate in my dreams. And when I dream of seeking out Monarchs, I see death. My death, always. Sometimes also the death of our home.”