The afternoon sun turned Ember's Rest into an oven. Heat radiated from the concrete walls, shimmered off the metal roofs, made the air thick enough to chew. Jiko sat in the shade of their rented room's awning, watching the market below wind down for the midday rest. Most people had retreated indoors. The smart ones, anyway.
The Cartographer had left an hour ago to meet with contacts, leaving Jiko with instructions to stay out of sight and avoid drawing attention. Simple enough. Jiko was good at being invisible when he needed to be.
But invisibility, he was learning, had its limits.
"You there. Blank."
The voice came from the street below. Jiko looked down to see three men in mismatched armor, the kind cobbled together from pre-Severance riot gear and scavenged plate. Militia, probably. Local enforcers for whichever warlord claimed this stretch of the Wastes.
The one who'd spoken was broad-shouldered and scarred, with black Marks running up his neck in patterns that suggested violence had been a regular companion. His two companions flanked him, hands resting on weapons but not yet drawn.
"I'm talking to you," the scarred man said. "Come down here."
Jiko considered his options. He could ignore them, but that would escalate things. He could run, but he didn't know the settlement well enough to lose them. He could comply and see what they wanted, which was probably the most efficient choice.
He stood and descended the external stairs to street level.
The three men waited, spreading out slightly as he approached. Classic intimidation formation. They wanted him nervous, off-balance. Jiko felt neither, but he understood the social script well enough to recognize what was happening.
"You're the blank traveling with the old man," the scarred leader said. Not a question.
"Yes."
"Word travels fast in a place like this. People are saying you can absorb Marks. That you took forty off Marik the carrier this morning and didn't break." The man stepped closer. "That true?"
Jiko saw no benefit in lying. "Yes."
"Interesting." The leader smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "See, we work for Warden Kross. He runs the outer quarter, keeps the peace, makes sure traders pay their protection fees. And the Warden, he's got a problem."
"Which is?"
"Guilt." The man tapped his own neck, where his Marks clustered thickest. "We all got it. Comes with the job. You enforce order in a place like this, you do things. Hard things. Things that mark you." He paused. "But marks make you weak. Make you hesitate. And hesitation gets you killed."
Jiko understood where this was going. "You want me to take your guilt."
"Smart blank." The leader glanced at his companions. "Warden says if you can do what people claim, he'll pay. Good pay. White Shards, food, protection. All you gotta do is take our Marks. Make us clean."
"And if I refuse?"
The man's smile faded. "Then you're interfering with Warden business. And people who interfere tend to disappear in the outer quarter. No one asks questions about blanks."
A threat. Clear and simple. Jiko ran the calculations. Three armed men, probably experienced fighters given their Marks. He was unarmed and alone. Fighting would be inefficient and likely fatal. But complying meant becoming a tool for a local warlord, which would complicate things with the Cartographer.
"I'll need to consult with my employer," Jiko said.
"No." The leader's hand moved to his blade. "You come now, or we make you come. Your choice."
Before Jiko could respond, a fourth voice cut through the tension.
"I believe the gentleman said he needs to consult with his employer."
The Cartographer emerged from a side alley, moving with the careful ease of someone who'd walked into tense situations before. His hands were empty and visible, but something in his posture suggested he wasn't as defenseless as he appeared.
The scarred leader's eyes narrowed. "This doesn't concern you, old man."
"On the contrary. He's under my employ, which makes it very much my concern." The Cartographer stopped a few paces away. "And I'm afraid he's not available for outside contracts at this time. We have prior commitments."
"Warden Kross doesn't take no for an answer."
"Then perhaps the Warden should learn new habits." The Cartographer's tone remained pleasant, almost conversational. "Tell him that Jiko's services are currently retained by the Archive Collective. If he has business with the Archive, he can submit a formal request through the proper channels."
The mention of the Archive made all three militia men tense. Even Jiko, with his limited understanding of the Dominions' politics, knew that name carried weight. The Archive of Selves was one of the major factions, powerful enough that even warlords thought twice before crossing them.
"You're Archive?" the leader asked, suspicious.
"I have credentials, if you'd like to see them." The Cartographer produced a medallion from inside his robe, some kind of crystalline seal that caught the light strangely. "I can also provide you with the contact information for my superiors, should your Warden wish to lodge a complaint."
The three men exchanged glances. Whatever authority they had in the outer quarter, it clearly didn't extend to picking fights with Archive agents. The leader's jaw tightened, but he stepped back.
"We'll relay your message to the Warden," he said. "But this isn't over. He wants the blank, he'll get the blank. One way or another."
"I'm certain he'll make the sensible choice." The Cartographer smiled. "Good afternoon, gentlemen."
The militia left, but the scarred leader looked back once, his expression promising future complications. When they were out of sight, the Cartographer's smile faded.
"Inside," he said quietly. "Now."
They climbed back to the room in silence. Once the door was closed and locked, the Cartographer rounded on Jiko.
"What did they want?"
"To take my guilt-absorbing services to their warlord. I was attempting to decline when you arrived."
"Attempting to decline." The Cartographer laughed, but it was sharp with stress. "Jiko, you can't simply decline people like that. They don't operate on polite refusal. They operate on force and fear."
"I understood that. I was calculating my options when you intervened."
"Your options were die or comply. Those are the only options men like that understand." The old man sat heavily on one of the mats. "We need to leave Ember's Rest. Tonight. Before the Warden decides that Archive credentials aren't worth respecting."
"You lied about the Archive."
"Of course I lied. The medallion is a forgery, and I haven't worked for the Archive in fifteen years." The Cartographer rubbed his face. "But the lie bought us time. Unfortunately, not much. We need to move before they verify my claims."
Jiko processed this. "Where will we go?"
"The Forgetting Depths. Marik's sister has information we need, and it's far enough from here that the Warden's reach won't extend." He looked at Jiko. "But we have a problem. The Depths are three weeks' travel on foot, through territories held by various factions. And now that you've demonstrated your abilities publicly, every warlord, merchant prince, and desperate carrier between here and there will want you."
"You're saying I've become valuable."
"I'm saying you've become a target." The Cartographer stood and began packing his belongings. "Start gathering your things. We leave at sunset, through the east gate. And Jiko, from now on, you don't demonstrate your abilities to anyone unless I explicitly tell you to. Understood?"
"Understood."
They worked in silence for several minutes, packing supplies and preparing for a hasty departure. Jiko was rolling up his sleeping mat when the Cartographer spoke again.
"You handled yourself well down there. Many people would have panicked."
"Panic seems inefficient."
"It is. But it's also human." The old man paused. "Does that ever bother you? Being unable to feel what others feel?"
Jiko considered the question honestly. "No. Should it?"
"I don't know." The Cartographer looked at him with an expression Jiko couldn't quite parse. "That's what we're trying to figure out, isn't it? Whether you're missing something essential, or whether you're the only one who's truly free."
Before Jiko could respond, someone knocked on the door. Three sharp raps, deliberate and measured.
The Cartographer froze. "You expecting anyone?"
"No."
"Stay quiet." The old man moved to the door, his hand slipping into his robe where Jiko assumed he kept a weapon. "Who is it?"
"Marik." The voice was muffled but recognizable. "And my sister. We need to talk."
The Cartographer relaxed slightly and opened the door. Marik entered first, his face tight with worry, followed by a young woman Jiko hadn't met before. She was small and sharp-featured, with intelligent eyes that took in the room's contents in a single sweep. Her arms were unmarked, but not blank. Golden Marks ran up her left forearm, Honesty and Clarity, while a single black Mark stained her right wrist.
"Ven," the Cartographer said. "I was planning to seek you out in the Depths."
"Change of plans." Ven moved to the window and checked the street below before turning back. "Word's spreading faster than I expected. Half the outer quarter knows about Jiko by now, and the other half will know by nightfall. Warden Kross isn't the only one interested."
"Who else?" the Cartographer asked.
"Iron Testimony scouts were spotted entering the settlement an hour ago. Two of them, asking questions about blanks." Ven's expression was grim. "And there's worse. One of them had a Mark-detector, the kind the Testimony uses to hunt heretics. If they scan Jiko..."
"They'll know exactly what he is," the Cartographer finished. "How long do we have?"
"Hours at most. They're working their way through the market quarter now. When they reach the outer ring, they'll find him." Ven looked at Jiko directly. "Unless you can somehow fake Marks, which I'm guessing you can't."
"I cannot," Jiko confirmed.
Marik spoke up. "There's another option. Ven knows a smuggler's route out of the settlement. Goes through the old sewers, comes out past the guard checkpoints. We could get you out before the Testimony reaches this quarter."
"In exchange for?" the Cartographer asked, because nothing in the Wastes was free.
"Take us with you," Ven said simply. "Marik wants to help you, and I want access to whatever you're researching. Information is my trade, and you're sitting on the biggest secret in the Dominions." She gestured at Jiko. "A blank who can absorb guilt indefinitely? That information is worth more than everything in my collection combined."
"And the Testimony?" the Cartographer pressed.
"Will kill all of us if they find us helping a heretic." Ven shrugged. "But they'll kill Marik anyway for getting his Marks removed illegally, and they'll probably kill me for trafficking in forbidden knowledge. We're dead either way if we stay. Might as well run with the interesting people."
The Cartographer looked at Jiko. "Your thoughts?"
It was the first time anyone had asked Jiko for his opinion on something like this. He considered the variables. Two more people meant slower travel but greater skills. Ven's knowledge of smuggler routes and Marik's experience with the carrier networks would be valuable. And the Testimony was a threat that wouldn't disappear whether they accepted this offer or not.
"Efficient," Jiko said. "We should accept."
"Efficient." Ven smiled. "I like him already." She moved away from the window. "Good. We leave in thirty minutes. Pack light, move fast, and for the love of whatever gods are left, don't get caught. The Testimony doesn't execute heretics quickly."
"What do they do?" Jiko asked.
Ven's smile faded. "They brand you. Force guilt-Marks onto your skin until your body can't hold anymore and you crystallize. Takes days. You're conscious for all of it." She met his eyes. "They want you to suffer. To prove that everyone, even blanks, can be made to feel."
"But I can't feel guilt," Jiko said.
"Which means you'd stay conscious while they covered you in Marks, trying to find the limit. You'd live through the whole process, feeling nothing, while they got more and more desperate." Ven's expression was unreadable. "I honestly don't know if that's better or worse."
Neither did Jiko. But he understood that he didn't want to find out.
They spent the next twenty minutes preparing. Ven left to finalize the smuggler route, while Marik helped them pack. The Cartographer moved with practiced efficiency, selecting only essential items and hiding the rest in a cache he'd apparently prepared earlier.
"Paranoid?" Marik asked.
"Experienced," the Cartographer replied.
When Ven returned, she brought supplies: dark cloaks to hide their features, a map sketched on cloth that showed the sewer routes, and a small vial of something that smelled caustic.
"For the locks," she explained. "The smuggler gates are chained. This will eat through them quietly."
They left the room one at a time, spacing out their departure to avoid drawing attention. Jiko went last, following Ven's directions to a narrow alley three streets over. The others were waiting in the shadows, huddled against a wall that marked the boundary between the outer quarter and the settlement's old infrastructure.
Ven knelt beside a rusted grate set into the ground. "This is it. The sewers are dry, mostly. Pre-Severance drainage system that hasn't seen water in decades. Goes under the walls and comes out near the old highway." She applied the caustic liquid to the lock. It hissed and smoked, metal dissolving. "Stay close, stay quiet. And don't touch the walls. Some sections are unstable."
The lock fell away. Ven lifted the grate, revealing a ladder descending into darkness.
"I'll go first," she said. "Marik, you're last. Make sure no one sees us enter."
She descended. The Cartographer followed, then Jiko. The ladder rungs were cold and slick with decades of grime. The smell was overwhelming: rot and rust and something organic that had died long ago and never fully decayed.
They reached the bottom. Ven produced a small memory-light, a Shard trapped in a glass housing that gave off a pale blue glow. By its light, Jiko could see a tunnel stretching into darkness, its walls covered in pre-Severance graffiti and post-Severance claw marks.
"Echoes use these tunnels sometimes," Ven murmured. "Stay together. If something comes, don't run. They hunt runners."
Above them, Marik descended and pulled the grate closed. The sound of metal settling was final, like a door closing on the world above.
They walked.
The tunnel was narrow enough that they had to move single-file. Ven led with the memory-light, its glow casting strange shadows that made the graffiti seem to move. Jiko found himself reading the messages as they passed: warnings, prayers, names of the dead. Human history written in spray paint and desperation.
"How far?" the Cartographer asked quietly.
"Two miles to the outlet. Maybe an hour at this pace." Ven paused at an intersection, checking her mental map before choosing the left path. "There are checkpoints built in, places where the Testimony sometimes sets up detection grids. We'll need to be careful."
They continued in silence. Jiko's feet splashed through something wet, and he tried not to think about what it might be. The darkness pressed in from all sides, broken only by Ven's small light. In this lightless place, Jiko realized, everyone was blind except for the one holding illumination.
A thought occurred to him. "If the Testimony uses these tunnels, why don't they patrol them?"
"They do," Ven said. "Just not regularly enough. The tunnel system is massive, and they don't have the manpower to cover it all. We're gambling that tonight isn't a patrol night."
"And if it is?"
"Then we improvise."
The tunnel opened into a larger chamber, some kind of junction point where multiple passages converged. Ven's light didn't reach the far walls. The darkness beyond was absolute.
They were halfway across when Jiko heard it: a sound like breathing, but wrong. Too wet, too rhythmic, coming from multiple directions at once.
Ven stopped. "Don't move."
The breathing grew louder. Closer. And then, at the edge of their light's reach, something moved.
It looked almost human. Almost. But its proportions were wrong, limbs too long and joints bending in impossible directions. Its skin was translucent, showing the shadow of bones beneath. When it opened its mouth, there were too many teeth.
"Echo," Marik whispered.
"Grief Walker," Ven corrected, her voice tight. "The same kind that hit your caravan, Jiko. And it's not alone."
More shapes emerged from the darkness. Three, four, five. All with that same wrong-human appearance, all moving with the jerky grace of things that had forgotten how bodies worked.
The lead Grief Walker tilted its head, studying them with eyes that reflected their light like mirrors. When it spoke, its voice was a chorus of whispers, dozens of stolen voices layered into one.
"Guilt," it said. "We smell guilt. Give us guilt. Let us feed."
The Cartographer stepped forward. "We're just passing through. We don't want trouble."
"Guilt," the creature repeated. "You carry it. We smell it." Its gaze swept over them, lingering on each person before settling on Jiko. "But you. You smell wrong. Hollow. Empty."
Jiko met its reflected gaze. "I don't have what you want."
"No," the Grief Walker agreed. "You don't." It moved closer, its companions following. "But they do. Your companions. They reek of guilt. The old man, thick with it. The woman, touched by it. The carrier..." It laughed, a sound like breaking glass. "The carrier is delicious. So much guilt, absorbed but not processed. We could feed for days."
Marik went pale. His hand moved to a blade at his belt, but Ven grabbed his wrist.
"Don't," she hissed. "Violence excites them."
"Then what do we do?" Marik asked.
The Grief Walker answered before anyone else could. "You feed us. Give us the guilty ones, and we let the hollow one pass. Fair trade."
The Cartographer's hand slipped into his robe. "That's not an option."
"Then we take them." The Grief Walkers moved forward as one, spreading out to surround them. "And you, hollow one, we will study. See what makes you empty. Maybe eat that too."
Jiko felt the others tensing, preparing to fight. It would be pointless. The Echoes were faster, more numerous, and fed on the very thing that made his companions human. They would lose.
Unless.
"Wait," Jiko said.
The Grief Walkers paused. The lead one tilted its head again. "The hollow one speaks."
"You want to feed on guilt," Jiko said. "I'm carrying sixty Marks worth. Absorbed from carriers and sinners. More guilt than all of them combined."
Behind him, the Cartographer sucked in a breath. "Jiko, don't."
Jiko ignored him. "I can't feel it. But it's there. Inside me. If you want guilt to feed on, take mine."
The Grief Walker moved closer, its wrong-jointed limbs bringing it face to face with Jiko. It breathed deeply, as if tasting the air around him.
"Yes," it whispered. "Yes, we smell it now. Hidden. Buried. So much guilt, compressed and stored. A feast." Its teeth glinted in the memory-light. "But how do we extract it? You don't feel. We can't draw it out the normal way."
"Physical contact," Jiko said, gambling on half-understood mechanics. "Like how carriers transfer Marks. Touch me, and you should be able to pull the guilt out."
"Should?"
"I've never done this before."
The Grief Walker laughed again. "Honest. We appreciate honesty." It extended one translucent hand, fingers too long and tipped with something that might have been nails once. "Very well, hollow one. Let us eat your nothing."
Its hand touched Jiko's forehead.
The sensation was immediate and violent. Not painful, but invasive. Jiko felt the guilt inside him being pulled, drawn out through the point of contact like poison being sucked from a wound. The sixty Marks he'd absorbed from Marik, each sin distinct and screaming, were torn from whatever void held them and fed into the Grief Walker.
The creature's eyes widened. Its mouth opened in something between ecstasy and agony. The other Grief Walkers pressed closer, hungry.
"So much," the lead one whispered. "So much suffering. So many regrets. All compressed. All stored." It shuddered. "How do you hold this and not break?"
"I don't feel it," Jiko said again.
"Lucky." The creature's hand pressed harder, drawing more. "Unlucky. Not sure which."
The guilt continued to flow out of him. Jiko watched, detached, as the Marks he'd taken were consumed. He felt lighter, somehow, as if a weight he hadn't consciously registered was being removed. It took perhaps five minutes. When it was done, the Grief Walker stepped back, its body subtly more solid, more real than it had been before.
"Empty now," it said. "Truly empty. Nothing left to feed on."
Jiko nodded. "Do we have a deal? You fed, we pass?"
The creature considered. Then, slowly, it moved aside. The other Grief Walkers followed, clearing a path through the chamber.
"Pass, hollow one. And your guilty companions." It paused. "But know this: you are marked now. Not with guilt, but with our attention. The Echoes will remember you. The hollow one who carries what he cannot feel. We will watch your progress with great interest."
"Why?"
"Because you are new. Different. And we are old and hungry for novelty." The Grief Walker smiled with too many teeth. "Go. Before we change our minds."
They didn't need to be told twice.
Ven led them quickly through the passage the Echoes had cleared, moving faster now despite the danger of unstable floors. No one spoke until they were three chambers away, and even then it was Marik who broke the silence.
"You gave them the guilt. All of it."
"It was efficient," Jiko said.
"Efficient." Marik laughed, a bit hysterical. "You just fed a Grief Walker sixty Marks worth of compressed sin, and you call it efficient."
"We're alive," Jiko pointed out.
"He's right," the Cartographer said quietly. "It was the correct choice, even if it was terrifying to watch."
Ven glanced back at Jiko. "Do you understand what you just did? Grief Walkers are supposed to drain people to feed. They're predators. But you negotiated with one. Traded with it. Made it thank you for the meal."
"So?"
"So that's not how Echoes work. They're not rational. They're emotion made manifest, they operate on instinct and hunger." She shook her head. "But that one treated you like an equal. Like you were the same kind of thing it was."
Jiko thought about that. "Am I?"
No one had an answer.
They continued through the tunnels, faster now, driven by the need to put distance between themselves and the Echoes. The journey passed in tense silence, broken only by Ven's occasional directions and the sound of their footsteps echoing off ancient concrete.
When they finally reached the outlet, a grate looking out onto moonlit wasteland, Ven stopped and turned to face them.
"Before we go up there," she said, "I need to know: is this going to be a regular thing? Jiko casually negotiating with supernatural horrors?"
Jiko considered. "I don't know."
"That's what I was afraid of." Ven sighed. "Right. Well, at least things won't be boring."
She opened the grate and they climbed out into the night air, leaving Ember's Rest and its complications behind. Above them, stars scattered across the sky like Shards, and ahead the Wastes stretched endlessly toward new dangers.
Jiko took a breath of free air and found it tasted like dust and possibility.
Behind them, in the darkness of the tunnels, the Grief Walkers settled down to digest their unexpected feast. And in the deepest shadows, something that wasn't quite a Grief Walker watched the hollow one disappear into the Wastes and smiled.
Syla had learned something important tonight.
Jiko couldn't feel.
But he could give.
And that made him so much more interesting than she'd hoped.