Chapter 105: Forgotten Memories

He studied Mara for several seconds. "So, you’re the new Reaper."

Mara kept one hand beneath Rook’s head while the other closed around her dagger.

The manager stood between them. "You walked into a ruined Bastion beside a Seventh Rank and fed it a soul. You’ll have to offer something better than ’passerby’ when I ask who you are."

"Passerby would still be accurate. I simply found something interesting enough to make me stop."

His attention shifted toward Rook. Before Mara could prevent it, he pressed two fingers against the translucent patch along Rook’s throat.

Something moved beneath the skin.

Rook released a broken gasp, and Mara brought the dagger against the old man’s throat. "Touch him again without explaining yourself, and I’ll find out whether you’re as harmless as you look."

The old man withdrew his hand. "If you would prefer to watch him die without interference, you are free to do so. I would consider it wasteful, but he is your injured man."

"You just said he was alive."

"He is. Dying and living are conditions that frequently overlap."

Mara wanted to drive the blade forward simply to wipe the mild expression from his face. Then she looked down.

The translucent damage had spread beyond Rook’s throat. Part of his jaw shimmered with the same faint light, while the edges of the wounds across his chest were losing their shape instead of closing.

His remembered flesh was not merely failing to heal. It was forgetting him.

Mara lowered the dagger slightly. "If you know what is happening, tell me how to stop it."

"I can stop it myself, if you allow me. Whether I choose to do so depends upon what happens during the next few minutes."

The Manager stepped closer, her boots grinding across broken stone. "Before you make conditions, tell us who you are."

The old man looked up at her, then turned his attention toward the Beacon.

Its light poured through the shattered ceiling in a steady column. Around its base, foreign pieces of stone and metal supported sections that should have collapsed years ago. Lines had been carved through the repairs in patterns no one from the Forty-Second had recognized.

The old man pointed toward them with his cane. "I am the reason that Beacon is functioning."

The Manager’s expression changed as she glanced between him and the repaired structure. "You rebuilt the Seventy-Second?"

"Most of it. Several sections were buried too deeply to be worth the effort."

"How did you restore a dead Beacon? Why did you repair the Bastion, and how did the entire structure move from its original location? Those patterns around the foundation aren’t used by any Reaper corps I recognize."

The old man raised a hand before she could continue. "No. Deals do not begin with one side demanding every answer of value, and negotiations certainly do not begin with orders."

"This is not a negotiation," the Manager said.

"Then I have no reason to answer your questions."

She moved close enough for her shadow to fall across him. Stone shifted beneath the old man’s boots as her Death Imprint spread through the courtyard, gathering around his ankles.

The feline rose behind him without growling. Most of its wounds had already closed, leaving only a few pale lines beneath the dark fur. Its head towered above the surrounding Reapers, and the sight of it silenced several people who had been ready to speak.

The old man showed no concern for the stone climbing around his boots. "I have something you want, and you possess something that interests me. That makes this a negotiation whether you enjoy calling it one or not."

The Manager followed his gaze toward Mara. "What do you want?"

"I want the girl to come with me."

The stone around his feet tightened before he finished lowering his hand.

"You are not taking her," the Manager said. "I don’t know who you are, what you did to this Bastion or why that creature obeys you. None of it gives you the right to claim one of my Reapers."

"I claimed nothing. I proposed an exchange, though honesty does tend to sound impolite when people dislike what is being requested."

The Manager’s eyes shifted toward the feline. "And what happens when we refuse your exchange?"

The old man reached up and ran his fingers beneath the creature’s jaw. Its eyes narrowed at the touch.

"I control this Abomination," he said. "Allow me to leave with the woman and the injured Reaper. In return, I will tell you how to repair your Beacon before the stampede on the Hollow Road destroys the Forty-Second."

The courtyard fell quiet. Even the Reapers who did not understand his warning recognized the change in the Manager’s face.

She looked toward the Beacon. "The Forty-Second has stood for decades. Its beacons are stable."

"So were the beacons on this one," the old man replied. He tapped his cane against the repaired floor. "Then this happened."

The Manager’s gaze snapped back to him. "You moved the Seventy-Second?"

"Not intentionally."

"That explains nothing."

"It explains as much as you receive without accepting a bargain."

She looked toward Mara and Rook. "You expect me to surrender two Reapers because you offered an unproven warning?"

"One Reaper," the old man corrected, glancing toward Rook, "and whatever he is."

Mara pressed the edge of her dagger against his throat. The feline’s lips pulled back, exposing the teeth that had nearly swallowed a Reaper moments earlier, but the old man remained still.

"That was not meant as an insult," he told Mara. "Though your reaction suggests you already know he is not quite the same as the people surrounding him."

"You’re talking about us as though we’re objects you can trade."

"I am asking you to come with me. You may refuse, in which case your companion may die and the Forty-Second may discover what happens when a Beacon’s foundation forgets the Bastion built around it. Everyone involved retains the freedom to make regrettable choices."

The Manager stepped closer. "Why Mara? If the Beacon is your concern, what does a newly formed Reaper have to do with it?"

The old man’s attention settled upon her dagger. A faint residue of Mara’s Death Imprint remained along its edge, causing the metal to waver wherever it touched the air.

"The feline noticed something unusual when your new Reaper cut into the Pale one," he said. "I noticed the result."

"She has a Death Imprint," Frederick replied from behind him. "So does every Reaper in this courtyard."

"Most Death Imprints obey Rank. A newly formed Reaper should not be able to drive a common dagger through the remembered flesh of a Seventh Rank, much less open one from its belly to its throat."

Mara remembered the resistance disappearing beneath her weapon. Bone, muscle and condensed memories had separated as though the dagger were passing through water. At the time, she had believed desperation allowed her to force more power through the Imprint.

The old man watched the realization cross her face. "You didn’t understand what happened."

"I understood what I wanted the blade to do," Mara said.

"That is precisely my point. You knew the intended result without knowing why a weapon in your hands could produce it."

The Manager moved between them, forcing the old man to look at her instead. "Whatever you think you discovered, you are not experimenting on her."

"Investigating would be more accurate."

"You are not investigating her either."

"Observing, then, if that word causes less distress."

"It doesn’t. You’re not taking either of them."

More Reapers gathered behind the Manager. Frederick reclaimed his position beside Mara, while the anchor wielder raised her weapon on the opposite side. The others tightened their formation until the old man and his creature faced enough Death Imprints to tear apart anything below the highest Ranks.

The feline leaned forward.

Before it could advance, the old man pressed the end of his cane against its chest. The creature stopped, though its narrowed eyes continued moving from one weapon to the next.

For several seconds, the old man studied the people surrounding him. He did not appear frightened by the growing formation. If anything, he seemed inconvenienced.

"If I intended to take her by force," he said, "we would not still be discussing whether you approved."

The Manager’s expression hardened. "You have a remarkable talent for making threats sound like reasonable statements."

"That was meant as reassurance."

The old man looked past her toward Mara. Her dagger remained raised, but her attention had returned to Rook. His breathing had grown so shallow that the movement beneath his ruined coat was almost impossible to see.

When the old man spoke again, the amusement had left his voice.

"I can bring back his memories."

Mara looked up sharply. "The memories the Pale Abomination damaged?"

"Those as well, provided we act before they are entirely digested. The damage done today is not the only thing missing from him."

He nodded toward Rook’s ruined body.

"There are holes far older than those wounds. Memories lost through injury, memories taken from him and others he buried so deeply that even he no longer knows whether he forgot them or chose to forget."

Mara studied the old man’s face, searching for any sign that he was lying. "How could you possibly know that?"

"Because I know what he is."

The dagger lowered another inch. The old man leaned upon his cane and looked down at Rook, whose body was slowly losing the strength to remember its own shape.

"I can return all of them," he said. "Every memory he lost, every memory taken from him and every memory he abandoned."

His eyes returned to Mara.

"If he comes with me, Rook can remember who he was."