by Brandon Mull
“Nazeem must be a bright echo,” Cole said. “How else would he break free and return to the five kingdoms to lead the shapecrafters?”
Sando leaned toward Cole and lowered his voice. “Where did you hear that?”
Cole appreciated that Sando took him seriously. But he worried about revealing too much. “Just rumors.”
Sando studied him closely. “Few know of shapecraft. Fewer still know Nazeem believes he can escape confinement in the near future. Where have you learned such rumors?”
“I don’t know how much to tell you,” Cole said frankly.
Sando fixed him with a searching gaze. “I would like to help you, young sir. But some of what I know could be hazardous. I do not wish to endanger you. How can I gauge how much to share without understanding what you already know?”
“You don’t work for Nazeem?” Cole asked.
“Like many echoes, I trade in information,” Sando said. “My affiliations and loyalties vary. Had you wanted harmless knowledge, I would have been as free with it as you were with your silver. Nazeem is another matter. We all must speak of him with caution. Are you a shapecrafter?”
Cole blinked. “No.”
Sando narrowed his gaze. “I can perceive your shaping power. It writhes like a dozen tangled serpents trying to devour one another. It is maimed. I have observed shapecrafters who tampered with their abilities to achieve unique results.”
“My power is a mess,” Cole admitted. “Shapecraft was involved. But it was an attack. I can’t use my power anymore.” He remembered the time in Junction when contact with the Founding Stone had temporarily reawakened his abilities, but he didn’t want to get that specific with Sando.
The beggar winced. “Ruthless and foul. Who had the power to do such a thing?”
“She was called Morgassa,” Cole said.
Sando’s eyes widened. “You faced Morgassa? And lived?”
“You believe me?” Cole asked.
“I can plainly see that you believe it,” Sando said. “I suppose you could be insane or deluded. I had an aunt who held long conversations with her flowers.”
“I helped defeat Morgassa,” Cole said. “She damaged my shaping power.”
“To have challenged Morgassa and lived, you must know the Pemberton girls,” Sando said with awe. “You are helping them, I take it?”
“Trying,” Cole said.
“I have discovered a young celebrity,” Sando said. “You must have some connection to Honor. You’re aware that she came here not long ago?”
Cole decided he might as well come clean. “I’m looking for Destiny and Honor.”
“Honor is kept, not found,” Sando said with a sly grin. “And need we search for destiny? It tends to find us whether we like it or not.”
“I’m talking about the princesses,” Cole clarified patiently.
“You want to help the Pemberton girls?” Sando asked.
“Yeah,” Cole said.
“How did you become involved?”
“Long story.”
“You were not born in the Outskirts,” Sando said. “You came from Outside.”
“You can tell?”
“Experience.”
“I hope to get home someday.”
Sando hooted with laughter. “No small tasks for you, young sir.”
Cole felt his cheeks warm up. “It won’t be easy.”
Sando pointed at him. “That puts it mildly. You interest me. You are no ordinary boy. Tell me your name.”
“Cole.”
“You must sleep lightly these days,” Sando said. “A knife under your pillow, and a rope by the window. I discern that Stafford Pemberton is not your friend. Nor is Owandell or Nazeem. Who do you serve?”
“The princesses,” Cole said. “I got involved with them directly.”
“I see now why you desire knowledge of Nazeem,” Sando said. “A shadowy subject. His precise origin remains unknown. We’re aware that in mortality he was a shaper of extraordinary power. From his place of confinement in the Fallen Temple, he has reached out to humans and taught them shapecraft and has recruited many echoes as well. For an imprisoned being, he wields considerable influence in the echolands and across the five kingdoms. Like you, he intently wishes to find Destiny Pemberton, and her sister Honor as well. He is also searching for a young man who fits your description. Are you aware?”
Cole’s mouth was dry. “Yeah,” he managed, sick dread coiling in his gut.
Sando held up a hand. “Do not be alarmed, giver of silver. I trade in information but am happy to guard your secret. Others may not extend the same courtesy. You cannot hide for long. Not in Necronum, where so many echoes prowl. They will notice your deformed shaping power.”
“How can I avoid Nazeem?” Cole asked.
“The real question is how to avoid the mortals and echoes who serve him,” Sando said. “Nazeem is trapped in the Fallen Temple. You are beyond his physical reach.”
“Unless he gets free,” Cole said. “Can he come back from the echolands?”
Sando’s eyes flashed with interest. “How? It would defy nature. But Nazeem seems convinced he has found a way, and so do his followers. Who am I to name anything impossible? The whispers suggest he expects freedom in the near future. But what does that mean to a being who has been imprisoned for so long? Is the near future later this century? Or next week?”
“From what I heard, it sounded closer to next week,” Cole said.
“This could be,” Sando said. “I know little more about Nazeem. I suspect you have more intimate knowledge of him than I do.”
“Is the Fallen Temple far from here?” Cole asked.
“Very far,” Sando said. “If you desire a long and prosperous life, may I suggest you keep it that way? In fact, you might consider departing Necronum. I understand Zeropolis has many conveniences.”
Cole shook his head. “I can’t. There are things I have to do here.”
Sando considered him intently. “What information do you most desire?”
“You can probably guess,” Cole said. “Do you know where I can find the princesses? Destiny or Honor?”
“Of course this would be your priority,” Sando said, rubbing his hands. “I cannot tell you the present location of either sister. But I do know a place where Destiny has been. You could acquire her trail there. There would be risk involved.”
“Everything is a risk these days,” Cole said. “Lots of people are after me. The sooner I find the princesses, the less time they’ll have to catch me.”
Squinting intently, Sando lowered his voice to a whisper. “This is one of my most guarded nuggets of information. I survive by trading knowledge. Would you grant me a favor in exchange for the knowledge you seek?”
Cole fell silent. Hunter had warned him to be very careful bargaining with echoes and to make no binding oaths. What might Sando want? Had everything until now been a setup?
Sando smiled, wrinkles gathering at the corners of his mouth and eyes. “Do not fear a trade! I have not yet spoken my terms. They are very lenient.”
“What’s the deal?” Cole asked warily.
“I could not keep your silver,” Sando said. “Instead, favor me with a different offering. Maintain the silver ringer in your custody, on my behalf, until you give it to the person I designate. While you retain the ringer, I will serve you as best I can from the echolands.”
“How will I know who gets the ringer?” Cole asked.
“I’ll bind the ringer to both of us,” Sando said. “That way, while you retain the ringer, I’ll be able to reach your mind.”
“I was warned to avoid binding oaths,” Cole said uneasily.
Sando waved his hands. “I don’t mean a binding oath. Avoiding those is a good policy. Under a bound oath, you would owe me a particular service, with a punishment attached should you fail. This is not my proposal. Not all bindings involve punishments. Some can simply help echoes and mortals find and trust one another. I would bind the ri
nger to us so I can help you avoid losing it by accident, and so I can tell you who I want to have it.”
“Isn’t that a lot of trouble just to give somebody a ringer?” Cole asked.
“Donating the ringer will bring me joy,” Sando said. “But my motives go beyond generosity. Echoes spend our existence resisting the call of the Other.”
“The other what?”
“Just the Other, young sir. The unnamed realms beyond the echolands. They summon us. At first the invitation is easy to resist. But the pull increases over time. I have withstood the call for many long decades. Interaction with the material world helps us resist. Some echoes collaborate with mortals to resolve matters of personal concern. For others, it is a question of survival. In short, having a ringer to give in Necronum will help keep my echo alive.”
That seemed like a fair reason to Cole, but he had just met Sando and didn’t want to be reckless. “How do I know you’re not tricking me?”
“Young sir, what have I to gain from deceit?” Sando asked with a chiding smile. “The binding depends on the quality of my information. If my tip fails to lead you to Destiny’s trail, the binding will unravel, as if it never happened. I’m trading a platinum for a copper. Your task is easy, but this knowledge will be most difficult to uncover elsewhere.”
“What if you lead Nazeem’s people to me?” Cole said.
“As a token of good faith, and to give you maximum assurance of my worthy intentions, I will pledge to serve you and only you until I instruct you to deliver the ringer.”
“You can’t break that pledge?”
“Absolutely not,” Sando said. “I’ll bind it. But in return you will need to keep our arrangement secret.”
“Wait a minute,” Cole said. “That seems weird. I want to check with my friends before I make any deals.”
Sando shook his head. “This bargain is not with a group. That gets hazy. This offer is for you and only you, good now or never. The secrecy protects me. Some unscrupulous death weavers use their power to bind and command echoes. You are no death weaver. If you can’t talk about me to anyone, no death weavers will interfere with our bargain. Just like you, I deserve to protect myself.”
“Will you give me a minute to think?”
“Be my guest, young sir. No need to rush.”
Cole folded his arms. Mira and his friends had come here to find information that might lead them to Destiny, and this was a chance to get it. What if one of the others had already learned what Sando would tell him? Or worse, what if somebody else already had a better lead?
Then again, what if the others had learned nothing? Delivering a ringer didn’t sound too bad, especially since Sando pledged to serve only him until it happened. The echo seemed knowledgeable and friendly. Who knew when his help might come in handy?
Hunter had warned not to make binding oaths and to be careful about striking bargains. This wasn’t a binding oath, and the bargain seemed innocent. Even if one of the others discovered a better lead, Sando’s requirement was simple, and the echo could prove useful in other ways.
“All right,” Cole said. “How do we make it official?”
“Very good, young sir,” Sando said, his head bobbing. “We will make quite a team—I’m sure of it. You still have the ringer you tried to give me?”
Cole hadn’t returned it to his pocket yet. He held it up.
“Set it down and tell me that it belongs to me,” Sando said.
Cole placed the small silver hoop on the dirt in front of Sando. “This ringer is now yours.”
Leaning forward, the beggar waved his hands over the silver ringer, fingers fluttering. “If you take up the ringer again, Cole, you will hold it on my behalf. You will keep the ringer until I designate a recipient. In return, I will tell you about a place Destiny Pemberton visited where you can pick up her trail, though doing so is your task, not mine. You will keep our arrangement secret, including my identity, and I pledge to serve you and only you until I ask you to deliver the ringer. While the ringer is in your possession, it will be bound to you, and to me, so as not to go missing before the conclusion of our arrangement.”
Sando stopped speaking but kept stirring the air with his hands.
“What now?” Cole asked.
“If you agree to these terms, pick up the ringer,” Sando said.
“What if we don’t find Destiny’s trail?” Cole asked.
“Then you owe me nothing for flawed information. The binding will not hold.”
“What if I mess up?” Cole asked. “What happens if I tell about you?”
“If I hold up my end, you won’t be able to dispose of the ringer until I say so, and you won’t be able to tell anyone about me.”
Cole hesitated. “That sounds like I’ll be bound. Are you sure this isn’t a bound oath?”
“A bound oath would have a punishment for breaking your word,” Sando said. “This binding will simply hold you to what you promised if I keep up my end. And it holds me to what I promised if you keep up yours.”
“Sounds like it will control me.”
“Control you?” Sando cried with a laugh. “You will have to keep the ringer, and you won’t be able to tell my secret. Otherwise, you will be in full control of yourself. If you don’t mean to keep the agreement, you shouldn’t make it. I intend to fulfill my part and hold you to your promise.”
“I don’t know,” Cole said, wondering how the deal could backfire.
“This is simple,” Sando said calmly. “If I ask too much, walk away. You are under no obligation. I see this as a generous offer. I require a minor favor in exchange for very valuable information. If you see it otherwise, good day to you, young sir. May you travel prosperous roads.”
“Can’t you just tell me?” Cole begged.
“It was my pleasure to provide free information about Nazeem,” Sando said. “We could discuss other matters. But I cannot tell you about Destiny for free. I can’t divulge such precious knowledge without some form of recompense. Binding myself to the material world is how I survive.”
Cole waited.
Sando placed his hands on his knees, as if to rise.
Cole picked up the silver ringer.
CHAPTER
4
KNOWLEDGE
A faint tremor rippled through Cole. Not a physical vibration—more a disturbance of his emotions, intangible but unmistakable. The sensation briefly allowed him to feel his shaping power.
“Good choice, young sir,” Sando approved, rocking happily. “Destiny Pemberton visited the Cave of Memory not many months ago.”
“Is that nearby?” Cole asked.
“Three days by horse or coach,” Sando said. “You seem unfazed. I expected more excitement. How much do you know about the Cave of Memory?”
“Nothing,” Cole said.
Sando grinned, gums gleaming wetly. “Certain places in Necronum are woven differently from others. No echoes can enter the Cave of Memory. The interior has no parallel in the echolands. After entering, any mortal who departs the cave leaves behind a lasting impression that functions like a dead echo.”
“An echo forms?” Cole asked.
“Not a true echo,” Sando said. “An echo only forms once for each person. No second chances. It happens upon death, or earlier if a death weaver crosses to our side and becomes a bright echo. Such echoes remain bright for as long as they can return to their physical bodies. The constructs inside the Cave of Memory are not true echoes. Most call them imprints. They have no physical substance. But they retain the form and memories of whoever they represent.”
Cole had gotten used to encountering the impossible in the Outskirts, but this was still hard to process. “Are you saying I can talk to Destiny’s memories?”
“In essence, yes,” Sando said. “The imprint you meet will look like Destiny and will have the same memories and personality Destiny had when she exited the cave. But the imprint cannot learn or change.”
“She’ll be like a figme
nt,” Cole said. “A semblance made of illusion.”
“Similar,” Sando said. “Finding Destiny’s imprint could be a challenge. The cave is not small. Many imprints have accumulated over the years. All who enter pay the same price.”
“I’ll leave behind an imprint,” Cole realized.
Sando tapped his temple and pointed at Cole. “At minimum, proof you were there. At worst, your imprint could impart secrets to others.”
“If I wouldn’t tell a secret, would my imprint?” Cole asked.
“Depends,” Sando said. “Can you be tricked?”
“I guess.”
“If so, your imprint could be fooled as well. An imprint is intangible, so it can’t be tortured or threatened. But your imprint also can’t learn new concepts. Its only tools would be everything you knew and believed when you left the cave. The imprint can’t alter an opinion, develop a skill, or entertain a fresh thought. There is no inspiration for imprints. No new memories. Their nature tends to cause exploitable weaknesses.”
“Makes me wonder how much I trust myself,” Cole said.
“A sensible concern, young sir,” Sando said. “But if you truly wish to find Destiny, the cave will offer you a chance.”
“I could probably learn a lot about what led to her current problems,” Cole said. “You told me that dead echoes can go crazy over time. Does the same happen to imprints?”
“I understand that it can,” Sando said. “The reaction would partly depend on the person imprinted. The imprint would have no physical needs or appetites, but it will be no happier to remain trapped inside the Cave of Memory than you would be. If such a fate would drive you mad, your imprint will have the same response.”
“The imprint would have no hope of escape,” Cole said. He tried to picture how it would feel to be stuck forever in some cave. “Does the imprint suffer?”
Sando gave a light chuckle. “An imprint might seem to suffer. It could act distressed. But the imprint has no life. No will. It only imitates something that was alive. It’s a replica. The imprint can convey information. It can mimic emotion. But its feelings are no more real than those of a puppet or a footprint.”