He had a daughter. His daughter was coming even now. As the power flooded into him, finding its own way through new scars that wrote themselves across his newly forging body, he saw everything terrible his future self had done, and begged for forgiveness.
"It's forgiven," Alam answered, "now stand up and fight, Saint Ignifer, for us all."
He couldn't breathe but he didn't need to. The air was nothing to him, regrets and suffering were nothing because he was here now and so were they, all these lost armies of his world, all his greatest heroes from the stars he'd looked up to so often for guidance, courage, and succor, and now it was his turn to take his place amongst them.
The Saint blew outward from him like Lonnigan's bombe on the white vault of heaven, and the Rot was blown away. He needed no armor for this, no spikes. Now he was not only Sen or any amalgam of the city he'd grown up in; he was the whole of the Corpse World, a bigger version of Saint Ignifer born from its darkest and brightest times, leader of a defeated army larger than any ever fielded before.
His bare arms moved like lightning, large enough to encompass the whole of the sky and strong enough to squeeze.
The Rot screamed. Its open black throat wailed and he squeezed it tighter, pressing it between his arms like a vice. The tighter he squeezed the more of it furled in, peeling back its tongues from the sky and the land, from the Aigle palace and the Drazi vats in Grammaton Square, from HellWest and the Levi where Lonnigan's armada was docking, crushing it down.
An image came to him of his days as a boy in the Abbey, playing with Sister Henderson and running to catch snowflakes on his tongue, while always the black mouth of the Rot hung in the sky overhead, a dark shadow of the sun, a threat that hung over everything. It seemed like he had forgotten those moments, but now they were back and he was whole again. He remembered Craley and Leander and Awa Babo, remembered every step that he had lost and made a vow that he would never lose them again.
He squeezed tighter and the sound from the Rot became a squeak, wailing out into a world that had shucked it off. He squeezed more and its mouth became a dimple in the air, strangled so tightly between the Saint's great palms he could scarcely feel it. He pinched and it became a speck of dust, a seed caught in the grip of a god, grinding steadily down to nothing, until it was gone, and closed off, and every bit of it was vanished from the world.
So the Rot was destroyed.
Saint Ignifer looked out over the Corpse with new eyes. The night sky was clearing now, and from his vantage point far above the mountain he could see the line of dawn up creeping over the world. His fight was finally over and he felt glad. He felt the breeze of a fresh wind blow over his cheeks, as the eruption behind him slowed. Shining lights in the sky called to him. Mountains, oceans, and land spread out in every direction. The world was a beautiful place, and he wanted to live in it for himself. He wanted to experience everything it had to offer. The thrill of anticipation suffused him completely, amongst these people who had made him, living by their sides.
Then he began to die. Too soon, he thought, I want to see more, but the power that had built him was now drawing him apart at the seams.
"Thank you," came one voice from within, a man named Sen who stood in the place of his heart. "Thank you for all of this."
At that, Saint Ignifer accepted it. He bowed his head to accept their grace. The thanks of a world poured into him. This would do.
Then he was gone, dissipated to the wind.
* * *
Atop their tower across the city Alam and Feyon dropped to their knees. Gellick sagged, Mare and Daveron fell unconscious side by side. Throughout the city the fighting halted as light filled the sky.
Atop the mountain Sen fell.
He had done it. He could feel the difference as the world began to grow again and the sun rose over the Sunsmelters wall. Both the Rot and the Darkness were gone from his world, perhaps not forever, but for now they were truly gone.
Cool air whipped around him as he fell, and he laughed. It didn't matter if he died now, falling to earth to smash on the mountain, because in fable this was where Saint Ignifer had fallen. This was where his father fell.
Then his father came. Wing beats thumped through the air and claws dug into his shoulders, halting his descent. He looked up and saw King Seem/Sharachus, and through his touch knew that all this had happened before.
"You did it," Seem/Sharachus bellowed down to him. "My son."
"We did," he answered.
Together they descended from the heights to the cooling caldera, where the revenant arch still stood, its blue gateway glowing, and a young woman named Craley Shark was looking up as her father came down.
CRALEY SHARK III
Craley watched them descend. It was strange, because this was her father but it wasn't. This was a version of Sen that hadn't lost everything, and hadn't done the things to Craley her actual father had, even if he now remembered them.
The revenant arch glowed blue nearby, though it was darkening now as the energy died. Through that doorway lay other worlds, other places where the Rot would bite down.
Craley surveyed the world from the mountaintop, lit by a new dawn. The clouds of ash were falling from the sky and the long white expanse of the Gutrock was becoming clear. Beyond it lay the city and the world.
But it wasn't hers. She'd grown up here, in the buried remnants of Aradabar's library, but nothing beyond that belonged to her. She'd met Sen's friends and she'd liked them, but they weren't her friends. She didn't know anyone in this world, and even the Sen above was not her true father. Her true father had been a broken drug addict, leveraging everything he had left so he could forget what he'd lost, and Craley had just been a hindrance along the way.
Now the lost had been saved, and her second father was gone too, all used up. He was the only one Craley had ever loved, and ever hated. Now she missed him. She wanted to speak with her Sen again, and show him what they'd done. Together they would remember the life they'd lived through.
The man coming down couldn't do that. He wouldn't understand even if he tried, because he hadn't lived it. He was the Sen who won, not the failure who'd lost everything, who'd misused a forgotten orphan in the hopes he might somehow bring it back.
It was a victory, but it didn't feel like Craley's. She'd chosen all the lost armies, she'd orchestrated the Rot's War and built it up to this, but now she didn't want any of it. Instead she wanted her father back. She wanted to rescue him from wherever he'd disappeared to, and show him what they'd achieved, but that wasn't possible now.
She watched them for a few moments more. They were closer now, this Sen and the King, two generations swooping down, but what would she say to them? The revenant was dying, and this was her mission now, not because she wanted it but because she didn't want anything else. It made her briefly sad, to turn her back so completely on everything, like a failure of a kind, but a long time ago she'd learned her tears were useless. There was no one in her cage, no one in her Gloam Hallows Abbey, no one in all the ruins of Aradabar to hear them.
It was simple. As she thought back on it she realized this was why she'd come. Not only to help guide the flow of power into Sen, but also to step through this revenant and save a thousand other worlds, each filled with experiences that would surpass anything she would see here. The Corpse Worlds were the greatest library of all, all waiting to be seen first-hand. Out there she could truly earn the title 'Saint'.
She looked at the fading revenant.
This world would fare well with this Sen in it. It needed the kind of man he would become now, not one who had sacrificed everything just to survive, but one who understood what the true wages of sacrifice were. It needed a Sen who would grow and nurture it unafraid, who could find a place for all the armies to belong. It didn't need the half-mad Appomatox who'd lurked in the shadows all her life, known to none, loved by none still alive, a footnote really, who knew nothing at all about living with others.
It was simple, a
nd there was nothing to say, no goodbyes for these people she'd never even met. She strode up to the revenant and passed through without looking back, taking the last scraps of the Saint's power with her, enough to open doors that had never been opened before.
* * *
Sen and Seem/Sharachus reached the islet breasting the caldera as the glow from the revenant faded fully away. The Bat-King rested Sen on the rocky ground, then landed by his side.
Sen rubbed his shoulders, and gazed through the arch of the revenant to the other side, where the crater top was scaling over with a black crust. Craley was gone, and now the revenant was closed.
"It's over," he said.
Seem/Sharachus grunted by his side.
"She didn't want to see me."
"I think she does," Seem/Sharachus said. "But not this you. She wants her father."
They stood silently for a long time, and a lot of new thoughts clashed in Sen's head. It felt like he'd been there at every stage; picking Craley up at the Levi bank, carrying her through time, crushing her into the mold he'd needed her to grown into. He felt the shame and the pride, while at the same time, he knew it had not been him.
That was some other Sen that he would never now become, and that made him happy and sad at the same time.
"I would have gone instead," he said. "It's my role. It's what Avia prepared me for."
Seem/Sharachus rested a long claw on his shoulder. "You already did, Sen. You already went and you gathered us in. You brought me with you, you gave me back Aradabar, and you gave the world back to all these lost peoples."
Sen turned to the great King, the shy Spider from the sewer. His eyes were part Sectile now, his mandibles fully formed, and tall horns sprouted from his collars. Where once Sharachus had been meek and sallow, half his legs only stubs hidden beneath his long mocking coat, Seem/Sharachus was resplendent and strong. His eight legs were sleek and black. His bat wings hung sharply folded at his back, much like the Abbess had always held hers.
Craley Shark. The name meant something to him, and came with so much fresh knowledge. Perhaps one day he would see her again, this erstwhile daughter of a sort.
"The Rot will come back," he said. "That's where she's gone."
"It will," agreed the King. "This is the first world to ever truly defeat it, and I have no doubt it will come back in force. Craley is on that path now. She's the seed for the Saint, and you're like Avia. You set her on the wind, and you have to hope she finds her way."
Sen laughed, a sharp, brief sound.
"I hated my mother for that. I loved her too, but I could never forgive her for leaving me, or asking for so much."
Seem/Sharachus smiled. "She was only a child, Sen, when she first dreamed of Saint Ignifer. She started on her path so young, and had so little time with you. She wanted to be a better mother, I know, as I longed to be a father. Perhaps you can forgive us both now."
Sen rubbed his eyes. His left arm, reformed by the Saint, now had a bright pattern of different scars traced across it in sharp blue lines. That was new. "Perhaps. But I had no time with her at all. At least you both had that."
"You will. Across the Corpse you will, even if you never see her again. This is how it works. Rewards come, Sen, as the Heart looks on."
They stood there a time longer, gazing through the arch as though it were a grave. Beyond that door Craley was beginning her new quest. Rallying heroes. Rallying worlds, just like his mother.
Steadily the sun rose high, burning the last dust of ash out of the sky.
"What now?" Sen said at last. "I never thought about a life beyond this."
"Now we return," Seem/Sharachus said. "I'm sure they're waiting for you. The King is dead, and their Saint is a man incarnate. There's an armada of three-hundred-year-old navvies to think of, and a Drazi infection, and Gnomics and citizens of my Aradabar too. The Balasts are out of their Calk for good, I think, and the Indurans are out of their sewers, so all the laws of caste will have to change. You can do that. You can lead us, not as King, but as something else."
Sen nodded absently. It was a new dawn, that was true. They could write a new law and a new order across the city. He laid his hand on Seem/Sharachus' claws.
"The greatest King that ever lived. Father. I'll need your help."
"You'll have it. We'll make Ignifer shine greater than Aradabar ever did. We'll be ready, when the Rot comes again."
Sen smiled. He thought of Feyon, waiting for him in the King's tower top. He thought of all the Molemen in the city, transformed now by the ability to feel pain. He thought of the Balasts and the Indurans and all the peoples he'd called upon, who had risen to the call.
The world was already changing.
"Let's go."
Seem/Sharachus flapped into the air. He took hold of Sen, and together father and son flew back toward the city at the center of the world.
FREEMANTLE V
Life continued for Freemantle. In his long, featureless days he worked on Sen's book, though he wasn't sure it mattered anymore. He sat at times by the body Sen had left behind when he passed into the veil for the final time, when he hadn't even been Sen but a machine called Awa Babo.
The figure was waxy, with a sallow stomach and missing eye, withered limbs and milk-pale skin. It slumped in the white chair like a lifeless doll. At times he spoke with it, though of course it never spoke back. He told it stories from his own life, about his Kelly and their children and all the funny things his descendants ever did.
It passed the time.
Once a day in each of his daily sleep/wake cycles, he tried to enter the veil himself, hoping Sen/Awa Babo had succeeded. It made him sick and miserable to see only the same empty blackness. Still every day, he tried once. He fought with the excitement and disappointment every time, training himself to expect nothing. Patience was a virtue.
Then one day the veil opened.
He gasped as the world spread again before him, bright and golden with a new dawn. His city was there, and shudders ran through his body. He raced closer and saw Sen, impossibly whole and standing with all his generals atop the tallest tower of the King's Aigle palace.
Freemantle wept to see Sen and Feyon embrace within the shattered chamber of skins. He laughed to see Gellick tossing scraps of mortar off the edge of the tower, making bets with a pale-looking Alam about whose would land on which of the many palace roofs first.
"You win," Alam murmured, barely able to keep his eyes open. "You can win every game from now on, Gellick."
The Balast boomed with laughter, though each boom ended abruptly as one of his glazed-over wounds caught.
Daveron and Mare lay side by side, huddled in blankets and bandages while Gnomics tended to them both, holding hands as the sun came up. Freemantle watched as Sen knelt beside them.
"You did OK," Mare told him, her lips sagging. "Not bad at all."
"And you," Sen said. "You killed the King."
Mare smiled and closed her eyes, basking in the new sun.
"I killed a lot of my own people," Daveron said. His eyes didn't meet Sen's, rather he was looking out to the yellow horizon. He clasped Mare's hand so hard her knuckles had turned white, but she didn't flinch or pull away. Rather she clutched him back, as though he might fall away if she didn't.
Sen laid his hand on the Moleman's shoulder. Freemantle could feel the pain shared between them.
"We did what we had to," said Daveron.
"I'm sorry for it. Did your father survive?"
A tear beaded in Daveron's eye. "I don't know."
"Awa Babo will find out. Things will be different now, I promise."
Daveron wept quietly in Mare's lap. Mare patted Sen's hand, and he rose silently.
He went to Alam next, as Feyon watched on with tears in her eyes. Sen stood before the Spindle, a head shorter, as ever. "You saved me, Alam," he said, "when I needed you most."
"We all did," Alam answered, "and you asked us to, "or at least your daughter did. How could I not?"
Sen pulled him into a tight embrace. Alam winced, but patted the smaller man gently on the back. "Watch it. My lashes are still tender."
Sen pulled away, smiling. "That's right, I forgot. It was only a week ago, wasn't it?"
"Only a week," Alam tilted his head to the side. "And so much changed. Your daughter called me 'gearmaster'."
Sen smiled. "I never got to speak to her. She went through the arch before I could. What was she like?"
Alam smiled broadly. "Like you. Driven, arrogant, fixated. Only I think she was having more fun."
Sen laughed.
"She winked a lot. I think she was having a great time, actually. And she moved like a demon, felling Adjunc and Molemen constantly, so skilled with her spikes."
"Chip off the old block," Sen said.
Feyon came to stand beside him, weaving her fingers in with his. "She was good," she said. "But so sad. I think she's happier away from this world, running the Corpse, searching for something she's lost."
Sen nodded. "Like I searched for my mother."
Feyon touched his cheek gently. "Exactly."
"I never found her. I never even saw her, except in memories."
From his recumbent position on the floor Gellick spoke up. "You'll be all right. You've got us."
Freemantle felt his heart fill up to see them all like that.
He pulled out wider. There were Aigle skyships berthed around the palace, while others were landing in the lower foothills of the Roy, in gardens and lawns of the rich and upmost classes. There were Ator landships trawling up to the Fallowlands past Afric, halting in the gray dust beside Groan, the debtor's prison. An armada of wing-sailed ships had clogged up the Levi and docked alongside the Haversham, where the orange-clawed Albatross Cray was leading his crew toward Grammaton Square, carrying goods on their backs for the hundreds of castes gathering there.
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