“ Y ou know the answer to that,” Kyver said. “ And you know what both we and the Shadow Lords seek. It’s called t he Obelisk of Dreams.”
Cross’ s heart went cold. He saw his sister, burning on the train. No matter how deep he tried to bury that pain it was there. There was no escaping it.
“I’ve never heard it called that,” he said quietly. He looked at them, hesitated, and realized he had little left to lose. “Why do you want it?”
“We don’t,” Kyver said. “And we never have. But we can’t let the Shadow Lords have it.”
Cross studied the man. He appeared young, even with his speckled grey-green skin and fading white blonde hair. His eyes were pale blue, almost like ice. The shirt he wore had upturned collars and loose sleeves; he looked like he should have been in a library instead of out there in the shadow y wilderness. The aspects of hi s reptilian nature were subtle, just faint scales and glittering shards of snake skin on the backs of his hands and on his neck.
“How do you know about it?” Cross asked.
“That’s…complicated. We are not from your world…”
“No. Way,” Cross said.
Vala glared at him, but Kyver laughed.
“This is actually difficult to explain,” he said. “The world we come from…originally… well, we gave you the obelisk. We gave you magic. Or our ancestors did, at any rate.”
Cross nodded, and listened. He wasn’t sure why he should believe anything they said, except for one simple fact.
Why would he make this up?
“The ritual performed by you humans opened up a channel,” Kyver said. “A gateway. It allowed our dead to flow into your world, bu t the nature of the ritual you in voked ensured that those dead wouldn ’ t be free to roam about on their own.”
“Your people…your dead…a re the spirits we use for magic? ” Cross said. “Jesus.”
“ Don’t feel bad about it,” Kyver said. “ It ’ s always been better this way. Things were different where we lived. The dead were harvested there. They were burned as fuel, consumed by those who used them. It’ s similar to what happens here, but…they didn’t survive.”
“You said ‘lived’,” Cross said. “Your world…”
“Is still there. But w e aren’t.” Kyver shrugged. “We knew that the connection was in danger. It was in danger when you humans first had cause to seek it out. After the Obelisk was buried in your Carrion Rift, we knew we had to act, so we crossed over. ” There was an unmistakable note of regret in his voice.
He misses his home, Cross thought. I never knew. I never had any idea that our spirits were any one’s dead but our own, or that they came from anywhere except our own world.
“Even once we made the voyage to your world,” Kyver continued, “we still couldn’t reach the Obelisk, because it doesn’t actually lie in your world. It hangs halfway between there and the Whisperlands, trapped on the boundary because of the Rift’s unstable nature. The Obelisk can only be reached from this side, in the realm of shadows.”
“How did you get here?” Cross asked.
“ Only the spirits humans use can make the trip directly,” he said. “For us to travel to your world, w e had to…occupy, I think you would say…lives on your side. We had to have vessels that we could reside in once we got here.” He looked up at Vala, and she nodded, as if encouraging him to finish. “We couldn’t just pass through. We needed to replace other living creatures with ourselves.”
“Desh,” Cross breathed. “You replaced the people of Desh. Christ…” He felt himself wanting to rise, but he knew his leg was in no state to do so. “How? What happened to them?”
Kyver’s grim nod told him all he needed to know. Cross felt his insides go cold.
“There really wasn’t any choice,” Vala said. “We had to make sure that our dead were safe. And we all know what would happen to your Southern Claw without the aid of magic.”
“So Desh’s people are dead?” Cross said. There was a touch more anger in his tone than he’d intended.
“Yes, they’re dead,” Vala said. “Our presences occupy their bodies, and what was inside those bodies has gone. Over time, some of the host bodies take on the physical aspects of our native forms.”
“But Desh vanished a long time ago,” Cross said. “ Years before the Obelisk fell into the Rift…”
This is a waste of time, a voice said in Cross’ head. It took him a moment to realize it wasn’t his own, but one of the reptilians.
That must be how they communicate in their native tongue, he thought, not entirely convinced the thought was his own, or that it was even safe to have thoughts, less they be detected. He looked around, but he couldn’t tell which of the reptilians had addressed him in his own voice. Several of them were quite bestial, and had only vaguely humanoid limbs. Their eyes glowed green and yellow in the dusky light, and their weapons were made from jagged bones and ironwood.
The smell of the campfire grew stronger as the wind pushed the smoke back in their direction. The small conglomerate watched him, waiting.
“All right,” Cross said with a nod. “So was the Eidolos right?” he asked. “Will you help me stop the Shadow Lords?”
“Why do you think you’re still alive?” Vala asked.
“You’re not the friendliest person, you know that?” Cross said.
“All right, all right,” Kyver smiled. “Relax, Vala.” He looked at Cross. “Yes. We’ll help you secure the Obelisk and keep it out of the Shadow Lord’s hands. We’re not keen on the notion of helping that Eidolos, but if doing so help s keep our dead safe then it’s worth the risk.” He narrowed his reptile eyes and smiled. “I take it the Eidolos ga ve you some insight or information that will prove useful.”
Cross pursed his lips, and nodded.
“Well?” Vala said.
“No,” Cross said. “ If I tell you, you have no use for me after that.”
“Not true,” Kyver said. “Because you’re the only one, I think, who can use that.” He pointed behind Cross.
One of the reptilians — a tall and scaly creature with a cobra-like head and thick muscular arms covered in green scales — opened his armor coat and revealed Soulrazor/Avenger, which dangled from a cord tied around the hilt. The harlequin blade shone dully in the autumnal light.
“That,” Kyver said, “may be the only chance we have. It’s strong enough to combat the Shadow Lord’s magic. And it should prove useful in battling the creatures down in the Carrion Rift, should we wind up there.”
Cross looked at it for long, silent moments.
“What do you know about it?” he asked.
“I know it can heal you,” Kyver said. “We’ve been watching you for a while, Eric. We know that even without magic you’re very resourceful, and very capable.”
Cross snickered.
“I haven’t been feeling much of either lately,” he laughed. “What do you know about the Shadow Lords?”
To his relief, the Grey Clan started to disperse. They moved back to their tents and campfires and returned to sharpening weapons and arranging supplies, walking the shadow-drenched perimeter and staring out into the vast and surrounding dark. Kyver, Vala and a few others remained. To his surprise, the reptilian handed him his sword, and his wounded leg started to knit itself back together almost the moment he touched the weapon. It worked with the rapidity of a spirit, even if it lacked a spirit’s subtle touch.
It had never healed him with such speed before, and it wasn’t a peasant experience. He felt like hot knives pushed in to hi m as his skin laced back together, and he had to clench his teeth and struggle against the pain. Tears came to his eyes, and his fingers dug into the muddy ground.
He already knew the blade had a mind of its own. H e just wasn’t sure if he was happy about it.
Kyver sat down cross-legged in the dirt. Vala watched with some interest as Cross’s leg healed.
I feel like a pig on display out here, he thought bitterly.
“The Shadow Lords are all warlocks,” Kyver said. “A couple of them are supposedly Southern Claw defectors, but no one is sure about tha t. The rest are from the wild: fringe settlements, border towns, cannibal tribes, things
