A Boy Named Eto
Disclaimer: All characters and places, other than Eto and Cren, belong to
Garth Nix and whichever company that also owns this material.
Author's Note: This tale takes place after the death of the Disreputable
Dog and the binding of the Destroyer.
Prologue
He wanted to live, yet he could not. He wanted to love, yet he could only hate. He wanted freedom, yet he was destined to be a lowly pawn...
"Eto...you have failed me," a dark figure, vaguely human in shape, stated. It wasn't a question, nor was it an accusation. Just a fact that Eto realized as he hung his head in silence and shame. "I gave to you a task that could so easily be carried out by even the lowest of my servants. And you still managed to fail," the figure sneered. Eto's blank, lifeless eyes glanced at the imposing creature before him.
"I...I'm...sorry..." the boy managed to stammer, his voice barely audible. He suddenly found a new interest in the details of his small shoes as he said this. The creature raised its eyebrows at him.
"I see. It seems that I have underestimated you, for you have managed to break your bonds of silence," it mused. A small beacon of hope flickered to life in Eto. Perhaps his freedom would come today. However, that beacon was blown out when a grin, if it could even be called that, slithered its way across the figure's face. The figure before the boy never did have a proper name, nor had it ever bothered to create one; however, his followers had always called him Cren. Why, none know. But the creature liked this name and kept it as a reminder to others of his power. He wished all the quiver at his name, whatever it may be. For so great that power was that he destroyed Eto's larynx with a mere glance.
Eto clasped his hands about his throat; eyes bulging and mouth gaping open in a silent scream of pain. Cren grinned nastily as he left the boy in the Sixth Precinct of Death, heading for the Fifth Gate and, eventually, Life. As he walked through the gray flatness of Death, other spirits who had, at some point, been jettisoned from their bodies followed closely behind. They all hoped for a chance to be used as a Hand by one of the Greater Dead, for it was their only chance to return to Life. So desperate were they that they flung themselves onto him, grasping at the dark shadow he was made of. Cren merely shoved them aside as he spoke the words to open the gate; the intense acrid tinge of Free Magic in his breath permeating through the air around him.
Eto curled into a ball and wept in all his misery. A living boy left in the realm of Death. He did not stop to think of how fortunate he was to still be alive in the Sixth Precinct surrounded by spirits thirsty for living flesh.
Disclaimer: All characters and places, other than Eto and Cren, belong to
Garth Nix and whichever company that also owns this material.
Author's Note: This tale takes place after the death of the Disreputable
Dog and the binding of the Destroyer.
Prologue
He wanted to live, yet he could not. He wanted to love, yet he could only hate. He wanted freedom, yet he was destined to be a lowly pawn...
"Eto...you have failed me," a dark figure, vaguely human in shape, stated. It wasn't a question, nor was it an accusation. Just a fact that Eto realized as he hung his head in silence and shame. "I gave to you a task that could so easily be carried out by even the lowest of my servants. And you still managed to fail," the figure sneered. Eto's blank, lifeless eyes glanced at the imposing creature before him.
"I...I'm...sorry..." the boy managed to stammer, his voice barely audible. He suddenly found a new interest in the details of his small shoes as he said this. The creature raised its eyebrows at him.
"I see. It seems that I have underestimated you, for you have managed to break your bonds of silence," it mused. A small beacon of hope flickered to life in Eto. Perhaps his freedom would come today. However, that beacon was blown out when a grin, if it could even be called that, slithered its way across the figure's face. The figure before the boy never did have a proper name, nor had it ever bothered to create one; however, his followers had always called him Cren. Why, none know. But the creature liked this name and kept it as a reminder to others of his power. He wished all the quiver at his name, whatever it may be. For so great that power was that he destroyed Eto's larynx with a mere glance.
Eto clasped his hands about his throat; eyes bulging and mouth gaping open in a silent scream of pain. Cren grinned nastily as he left the boy in the Sixth Precinct of Death, heading for the Fifth Gate and, eventually, Life. As he walked through the gray flatness of Death, other spirits who had, at some point, been jettisoned from their bodies followed closely behind. They all hoped for a chance to be used as a Hand by one of the Greater Dead, for it was their only chance to return to Life. So desperate were they that they flung themselves onto him, grasping at the dark shadow he was made of. Cren merely shoved them aside as he spoke the words to open the gate; the intense acrid tinge of Free Magic in his breath permeating through the air around him.
Eto curled into a ball and wept in all his misery. A living boy left in the realm of Death. He did not stop to think of how fortunate he was to still be alive in the Sixth Precinct surrounded by spirits thirsty for living flesh.