Re-Awakening: I Ascend with a Legendary class

Ainen picked the seed out of the bowl.

It was small and gray, no bigger than a pea, and it was cold. He held it in his open palm and looked at it. Then he looked at the hard brown crust of bread in his other hand.

He did not say anything for a while. Neither did Rudra.

Rudra took his hand off the gatekeeper’s flesh at last. He looked down at his own fingers. The debt was still there inside him. Four hundred and twelve from the Shelf. Twenty-six hundred from Duskspire. All of it owed, all of it held.

He opened his hand, slowly, the way a man lets go of a rope.

”There’s nobody left to collect from,” he said.

”No,” Ainen said quietly.

”I don’t know if that’s fair.”

”It isn’t,” Ainen said. ”I don’t think it’s meant to be.”

Rudra was quiet. Then he crouched beside the cloth and put his hand on Ainen’s shoulder, and left it there.

The heart beat.

It came slow and deep and even. Rudra did not count it this time. He did not need to. It sounded the way it had sounded when they first crossed, the day after they killed the fourth shape. Easy. Like something breathing after a long fever.

The gatekeeper’s great gold eye turned down toward them.

”Host,” it said.

Its voice filled the hollow again. It was not the faint, faraway bell. It was the voice that had once asked a kingdom what it would carry.

”You have done it again,” the gatekeeper said. ”Twice now, you have come to the bottom of the world when I was being eaten. Twice now, you have come with nothing in your hands but food.”

”It’s all I know how to bring,” Ainen said.

”It was enough. Both times.” The great eye moved to Rudra. ”And you. Brother of the host. You gave back what was taken, and then you did not take your due.”

Rudra shrugged one shoulder.

”He asked me to wait,” he said. ”I waited.”

”Yes,” said the gatekeeper. ”I saw.”

Ainen held up the gray seed.

”What is it?” he asked. ”You’ve been alive longer than anything. Do you know?”

The gatekeeper looked at it for a long while.

”In every world, what you carry becomes a seed,” it said slowly. ”That is the rule of the layer above you.”

It paused. ”A home. A city. A people.” The eye narrowed a little. ”The small gray thing never carried anything. It was empty. There was nothing in it to become a seed.”

”Until it ate,” Ainen said.

”Until it ate,” the gatekeeper agreed. ”Two bowls of stew and half a loaf of old bread. That is all it ever carried.” It paused. ”I do not know what that grows into. I have never seen it before. No one has.”

Ainen closed his hand around the seed.

”Then I’ll keep it,” he said. ”Somewhere warm. And we’ll find out.”

John had not come closer to the cloth. He was standing where he had stood the whole time, a little apart, with his hands in his pockets.

The gatekeeper’s eye found him.

”Walker,” it said.

”Hello,” said John.

”It has been a very long time since you walked beside my road.”

”It has.”

”You did not fall, when the others fell. I remember. I was young then.”

”We were all young then,” John said.

Rudra looked at John. Then at the gatekeeper. Then at John again.

”How old are you?” he asked.

John smiled. It was the first time he had smiled since they came down into the nothing.

”Ask me in Brightwater,” he said. ”With Big D at the table. He keeps everybody’s names. I suppose it’s time he kept mine.”

Rudra stared at him.

”That’s not an answer.”

”No,” John agreed. ”It’s a promise. Those are better.”

The gatekeeper made the low, rolling sound again, the one Almond had once realized was laughter.

”Go home, host,” it said. ”The door is strong again. The four still waiting can cross when they are ready. Tell them they will not walk the road alone.” The eye softened. ”And thank the old man in Brightwater, for the bowl.”

”I will,” said Ainen.

He folded the white cloth with the blue edges and put it back in his pack, with the two empty bowls. He put the crust of bread in his coat pocket. He put the gray seed in the other one, by itself.

Then he took hold of John’s left arm. Rudra took the right.

”Same as before,” John said. ”Don’t let go.”

The way up felt shorter than the way down.

It was the same nothing, the same pale line of the road running along beside them.

John walked in the same old footprints. The things that moved out in the dark were still there, the huge slow shape and the whispering and the pale watching face. But Rudra found he was not afraid of them now.

”Why aren’t they coming closer?” he asked.

”They never do,” John said. ”They’re not hungry. They’re just lost.”

”Can you bring them back? Like you did for Duskspire?”

John was quiet for a few steps.

”Not these,” he said. ”Not yet. They’ve been out there too long. They’ve forgotten there’s a road at all.” He glanced at Ainen. ”But your cook just fed the hungriest thing in every world. I’m not going to say what can’t be done anymore.”

Ainen did not answer. He had one hand pressed flat against the pocket with the seed in it, and he was looking at nothing.

They came out of the Door at dusk on the second day.

The light was the color nobody had a name for. It poured down the great Door steady and bright, the way it had when Regalon first crossed. It was not thin and not black. It was strong.

The ring of frosted stones was full of people. Twenty thousand of Frosthold and Duskspire were standing in the cold, waiting. They had been waiting, Rudra learned later, for two whole days. Most of them had not gone back to their tents.

Almond was at the front.

He saw them come out of the light, and he did not run. He stood still for a moment with his hands at his sides. Then he crossed the frosted grass in about five steps and pulled Ainen into his arms.

”You kept your promise,” Ainen said into his shoulder.

”You didn’t let me break it,” said Almond.

Saffa reached them next. She hit Ainen on the arm, hard, the way she had after the Blight. Then she held on to him and would not let go. Fraisea held his other side, and did not try to stop crying.

Clovelle hung back for a moment. She was standing by the walled fire at the foot of the Door, where Ainen had first lit a light for strangers. There was a pot on it.

The smell reached Ainen even through Saffa’s hair.

He lifted his head.

”Is that onion soup?” he asked.

”You said I’d have to cook something,” Clovelle said. Her voice was unsteady. ”And you’d come running.”

”I’m not running,” Ainen said. ”My legs don’t work. I’ve been walking on nothing for days.”

”Then come and limp,” said Clovelle.

He limped.

He sat down by the fire, and Clovelle put a bowl in his hands. He ate the whole thing without saying a word.

His three wives sat around him and did not let go of him. Almond sat on the other side of the fire with Rudra. Corvin stood over them all with his arms crossed, pretending he had not been worried.

”Well?” Corvin said at last. ”Is it done?”

”It’s done,” Rudra said. ”The gatekeeper’s healing. The Door’s strong again. The four waiting can cross.”

”And the gray thing?”

Rudra looked at Ainen.

Ainen put down his empty bowl. He reached into his pocket and took out the seed. He held it up in the firelight so they could all see it, small and gray and plain.

”It ate,” he said. ”And then it wasn’t hungry anymore. And then it wasn’t anything anymore.” He turned the seed over in his fingers. ”This is what was left.”

Nobody spoke.

”What are you going to do with it?” Almond asked quietly.

”I don’t know yet.” Ainen closed his hand around it. ”Keep it warm. See what happens.” He looked into the fire. ”It gave me something, at the end. It said it had never given anyone anything before.”

Rudra leaned over to Almond while the others talked.

”John knows the gray thing,” he said, low. ”From before. A long time before. They talked like old neighbors.”

Almond looked across the fire. John was sitting on a stone a little way off, watching the flames.

”Did he say how?”

”He said to ask him in Brightwater. With Big D at the table.” Rudra shook his head. ”He said it’s time Big D kept his name.”

Almond was quiet. Then he nodded once.

”Then we’ll set a table,” he said.

Behind them, the great Door brightened.

Everyone turned. The light was running down it from far above, the way it always did when someone was coming through. It was the right color. It was strong and clear and steady.

Corvin straightened his back.

”That’ll be the next lot,” he said. He started walking toward the foot of the Door, rolling his stiff hand at the wrist. ”Somebody has to tell them to wipe their feet.”

Almond watched him go. Then he looked back at Ainen.

Ainen was still holding the gray seed. He had both hands cupped around it now, close to his chest, the way you shield a candle from the wind.

”Almond,” he said quietly.

”What?”

Ainen opened his hands a little. The seed lay in his palm in the firelight.

”It’s warm,” he said.