AS THE CRADLE continued its descent, circling spirally several times over, Maze began to behold the view below with greater clarity. Indeed, there were floating lanterns there, yet they were not suspended by any manner of cord. Rather, by some sorcery, they drifted in the air. It bore a spooky quality, for one could perceive the presence of mists. If these were a variation of the Watchful Mists, then perhaps they were being observed, though such a thing seemed unlikely.
The Chamber was truly vast, comparable to the expanse of the living room within the Tower of the Widower upon the ground floor. Yet from his vantage point above, the style of this chamber was most striking. In truth, it could no longer be called a mere chamber. In the eyes of Maze, it appeared more as a townsquare.
But that was merely his perspective.
Nevertheless, that was the Chamber of Everything.
In his observation, he did not realize that his discourse with Mr. Croakley had already ceased. After the frog had mentioned matters beyond Maze's knowledge, there remained a weight and emphasis upon the stories carried behind them. It was evident that even with only four years as a conductor, Mr. Croakley had become experienced.
Naturally, Maze viewed him much as he had Vaelstrom. Although the latter had only dwelt within the Tower of the Widower for a single year as an Orphan, he had gathered a vast wealth of information — matters that sufficed for his hungry desire for truths. Indeed, it would soon be proven how great an effect this Camp would have upon him.
Perhaps that was one of the reasons why his fellow Siblings in the Tower had shared only a meager amount with him.
Yet, for now, it is well.
The path they traversed grew brighter, just as he was becoming enlightened regarding the things hidden from him as a commoner in Welfanshelm and a novice Child.
He did not notice that a crow had perched upon the edge of the Cradle before him, near the conductor, who seemed not to perceive it.
The crow watched the silent Maze, who at first did not heed its presence — not until it emitted a raucous cah.
At that noise, Maze recognized its existence and turned his gaze toward it slowly.
At first, he contended with its stare, even as his eyes remained hidden behind his blindfold.
It galloped several times as the Cradle rotated once more; Maze noted that only two complete rotations remained before they reached the bottom.
Click, croak, caw!
Maze looked toward the conductor, who appeared indifferent to the crow.
Did he truly not perceive its presence?
It was striking how the Frogslings at the surface had banished such a bird, for it carried an ill omen unsuited for the festival. Yet this crow before him now was perhaps a second attempt by whoever was behind it to speak with him. It could be what was deemed as . . . a Director.
The surroundings suddenly grew heavy, as the Cradle seemed to slow its pace.
Until the noise vanished.
And the only sound he heard was the scratching of the crow's feet as it sought to scratch its own head.
Kraa!
"It seems this is the second time you have visited me." Maze guessed that whoever was behind this crow was the same as the one who had failed before. "You may as well reveal your purpose, should you not?"
It croaked again. "How . . . did . . . you . . . Kraa!" It cast a side-eye toward him before continuing. "Know?"
Maze offered a slight shrug of his shoulders. "Hmm, how indeed?" He pretended to ponder. "Perhaps because your behavior mirrors that of the crow that was driven away earlier?"
That was a lie.
But if there was one thing he knew, it was what he wished to lay upon the table.
"Then . . . you . . . know. — croak — that . . . I . . . am . . . not . . . alone?"
Whatever does that mean? He almost asked the question, but he restrained himself. He gathered that there were different people behind these crows.
That must be the case after all.
"Correct, there are truly many like you, are there not?" He confirmed his realization. "Thus, anyone would realize that your kind is the means to be the Eyes that watch. It does not only apply to the Ceremony, does it? Even here, that is the truth."
It was the reality. At first, it was strange for him to think his theory was false, but since they did not only feast in the skies during the Ceremony, he had also seen them pursue Athelstan. That woman, she was definitely hiding something.
One, that crow perched upon Gareth's shoulder.
Its way of approach to Maze was different.
While some appeared childish and reckless, others were terrifyingly ominous.
Like this crow.
Which at some point could hide its presence from the conductor and veil itself.
But the error in that was: why was the crow driven away earlier by Mrs. Toadellia if it were capable of such a feat?
Perhaps he was overlooking something.
But what could it be?
"Either way, I know your purpose is different and not to entertain my guesses."
Click, croak, caw!
"Excellent." The bird croaked again. "I . . . come . . . to . . . tell—kraa!" It leaped. "You . . . will . . . be . . . having . . . a . . . choice."
Maze could only release a sigh. "It seems you find difficulty in your speech. You may shorten your words so that you do not struggle so much."
Maze was becoming uncomfortable listening to it speak in such a manner. It was simply too uncanny. He wished only to shoo it away, yet that was merely a result of its uncomfortable sound. In fact, he did not truly mean to banish it.
"But what are the choices?"
It croaked. "Hide . . . Eidolon . . . Defeat . . . " This was the first choice presented. "Claim . . . " This was likely the second.
"As I understand it, the choices you present are either that I hide that I was the one who defeated the Eidolon, or I claim it openly."
The silence of the crow likely denoted that his understanding was correct.
"Then, what is the difference between my hiding it and my claiming it?"
"You . . . will . . . know . . . " The bird uttered those words with a cryptic resonance, yet Maze could sense the underlying implication.
The questions he sought to illuminate only grew more pressing. He could not yet fathom the true depth of the Directors' intent. According to Athelstan, these Directors desired his demise, yet it seemed they wished to convey something else entirely. It appeared he was being turned into their pawn, perhaps even their centerpiece. Was that the reason a feeble being such as he had been permitted to live?
"Then," he felt the hammering of his heart against his ribs, "I choose to hide it."
In truth, he harbored no desire for the spotlight.
"Let others possess it, for all I care."
There was no harm if another were to claim the deed. Even Stavros had offered great aid, as had Gareth. He did not question how such a truth could be concealed, for the sixteen Heirs were bare witnesses to the event. Perhaps they, too, would be amenable. As they were Heirs, it was unlikely they would refuse such an arrangement.
Regardless, he had accomplished what was required: he had survived.
He, too, clearly possessed the sword.
Certainly, he needed to speak of it before the opportunity vanished.
"I have but one request," he said to the creature, which was on the verge of flight.
Kraa!
"I shall keep the sword."
With that, the bird departed. The heavy atmosphere that had slowed the world resumed its natural pace until they reached the circular platform where the Cradle came to rest with a sudden, unnerving halt. Clink, clink!
Before he descended, the conductor, Mr. Croakley, turned his gaze toward him.
"I have but one counsel for you, Mr. Mizmaze," a note of trepidation colored his voice, born perhaps of hesitation. "If you wish to survive here, ensure that you know everyone and their motives. That is the hidden rule of the Camp for an Orphan."
Maze offered a nod in response.
He was grateful for the reminder.
Indeed, as Vaelstrom had once said: 'Never trust anyone from Yonder.'