Chapter 55: True Face

Chapter 55: True Face
That face was Rendell's face, but it was not him.

I knew him so well I could trace the contours of his brow bone with my eyes closed, could identify him by footsteps alone. But at this height, in the instant he bent forward and took a step toward the cliff's edge, that slight upward curve at the corner of his mouth made me understand something completely.

I had been utterly fooled.

That was not a smile Rendell would ever wear. Rendell's smiles always carried a measured warmth, or perhaps the slight press of his lips when he felt helpless. Never this—a smile filled with malice, as if savoring the death throes of prey. Especially not in these circumstances, not directed at me with such an expression.

He crouched down, his knees pressing against the rough stone at the cliff's edge. He was barely half a step from the rock my hand gripped. That half step now felt like the chasm between life and death.

"Do you want to reach out?" he said.

His voice was Rendell's too. Even the phrasing and intonation were identical.

I couldn't answer him. My entire right hand had gone white at the knuckles, my nails digging deep into the crevices of the rock, the sharp pain in my fingertips the only thing keeping me conscious. Wind surged up from the abyss hundreds of meters below, carrying bone-cutting cold that poured into my collar like countless icy hands pulling at my body.

"I thought you would have figured it out by now," he said, his eyes showing a trace of disappointment, as if looking at a dull student. "That map. That cloak. The way I killed the Grand Prophet. I thought with your judgment, you would have started questioning at least by the time we left Aethon."

The mocking smile on his face deepened slightly.

"But you never questioned it. You chose trust, or rather, you chose self-deception."

My breathing became rapid from pain and exhaustion, the air in my lungs feeling drained. "Rendell," I said. I still used that name. My voice was so hoarse it sounded foreign even to myself. I wanted to gamble one more time.

He was right—I was still assuming he was merely under some magical compulsion, or possessed by a ghost. I hoped that after this single utterance of "Rendell," that layer of familiarity in his eyes would return, even if only for an instant of wavering.

He laughed, low and sinister.

Then something horrifying happened. The muscles in his face first twitched strangely, then from his forehead downward, a thin, nearly transparent black substance began flowing along his skin. The layer moved like a living thing, flowing over his brow bone, his cheekbones, following the line of his jaw, finally withdrawing back into his neck and disappearing beneath his collar.

After that layer flowed away, the contours of that face changed. The once gentle jawline became sharp and rigid. The bridge of his nose collapsed slightly. The brow bone became more prominent.

I had seen that substance in Sevan's basement. That layer peeling away from Rendell's face was the same material as what covered the creature imprisoned for fifteen years, the same as what coated the dark wizard's face in the swamp. It was some kind of advanced mimicry magic, or perhaps the secretion of some parasitic organism.

After that liquid-like substance peeled away, it revealed a face completely unfamiliar to me. The age of that face was difficult to determine. The skin was a grayish-white color from prolonged absence of light, like a specimen preserved in formalin. The eyes were light brown, the pupils a circle smaller than normal, radiating the indifference of a cold-blooded creature. Black tattoos covered his body, seemingly alive as they flowed slowly across his skin.

Anyone who saw this face would instinctively feel disgust and fear.

"Your father sent me to follow you," he said, still using Rendell's voice. This combination of voice and face created a nauseating sense of disconnect.

"He's fake," he said, as if stating an inconsequential fact. "That Rendell wanted to come after you, but he's been trapped, thanks to your father."

My entire right hand began to shake. Not just from exhaustion, but from a coldness seeping from my marrow. He knew too much about Rendell, too much about me. Throughout this journey, I couldn't distinguish which of his words were true and which were false.

"When," my throat was raw, as if I'd swallowed a handful of gravel. "What did you... what did you do to Rendell?"

He tilted his head. "After you left," he said, his tone as casual as discussing the weather, "he tracked us down to our residence in Aldenmere. We didn't want to deal with him, but he started becoming troublesome."

My right hand slipped another inch. Debris tumbled into the abyss without echo.

"Where is he?"

"The sewers," he said. "Buried."

I hung there against that rock, hearing my heartbeat drown out the wind—thump, thump, thump—like war drums, like a death knell.

I made myself look at that unfamiliar face. In all the years I'd known Rendell, he had never disappointed me in anything. He was my sword, my shield, my shadow. He took punishment for me, covered for me, was even willing to indulge my recklessness. When I made him drink that tea, he hadn't hesitated for a second—in that moment he understood everything.

I thought he would be safe in Aldenmere. I believed that the entire journey. I thought I'd made the right decision, that we were supporting each other from different places, fighting together.

It turned out the real Rendell had long since died in some filthy sewer. I had been completely wrong. And all my dependence, trust, even the unspoken gratitude throughout this journey—I had given it all to the wrong person. I had given it to a monster wearing human skin, a murderer who had killed him, replaced him, and now meant to send me to my death.

The impostor lifted his foot. "I've brought you here already," he said. "The rest doesn't require you. Once you're dead, no one can close the rift. As for those elves... once you're dead, you'll naturally ascend to heaven and join them."

His foot came down, stomping hard on my right hand's knuckles. Pain exploded instantly, but I didn't even have time to scream. In that instant my right hand released. The rough texture of rock vanished from my fingertips. I had no time to react.

Gravity took over everything. My entire body separated from the cliff edge, falling toward the bottomless void. Wind rushed upward past me, so fierce I couldn't keep my eyes open. In that final glimpse, I saw that unfamiliar face leaning over the cliff's edge, watching me fall. That face still wore its mocking smile. He watched me like this, as if watching a falling leaf, as if watching a speck of dust.