XI.

Tend to the grieving and the dead. Freeman's words transmitted a clear message through the tapestry of the Vortessence: his purpose, to deliver that message.

He had committed to this path.

And now, the reaping.

Uriah entered the room where Kleiner once slumbered, having fallen unconscious after the rites in the mountains. Rain ceased some time ago, allowing insect chatter to arise in the soft, wet world outside.

He found Magnusson scanning White Forest through loosely-drawn blinds. Watery rays of sunlight seeped under the slats, puddling hazy pools over the carpet.

Confused human chatter joined the insects in a low murmur. Accompanied by a restless Dog, rebels combed over the base grounds, splashing fresh mud around their boots in search of ones who refused to be found.

"Maria's staff have picked the premises clean," Magnusson began, "and they've yet to find a trace of Sokolai or Dushan." He cleared his throat. "I suppose you wouldn't know anything about that."

Uriah rumbled, a noise not quite contrition, but sympathy. "They have gone north to accompany their brethren."

"You didn't go with them."

"My place is here, beside the Magnusson."

The blinds dropped as he retreated from them. "Is that so?"

Halting as he turned, he stopped to touch his stained blazer. His hands wandered unconscious patterns over the rust-colored splotches stiffening his lapels.

"What did you force him into?" He buried whitened knuckles in the folds. "What was so important it warranted his blood?"

"The life of the Freeman."

"A murderer." He scrunched a tighter hold, afraid to release this last remnant of Kleiner's existence. "You discarded the life of an innocent man to protect a murderer."

"So it would seem—"

Magnusson stabbed him with a sharp glare. "Kleiner did nothing but support that boy, do you understand? God knows why, he would have walked on coals for that ungrateful son of a bitch. And this is how he repays him. By killing him and making off with his life's work."

In the damp skies honked migrant geese, relieved that the rain had dissolved to grant them passage. Wincing at their noise, he clamped a hand to his ruddy temple.

"Magnusson… "

"What?" he snapped.

"The hands that shed Kleiner's blood did not belong to the Freeman."

"Well, either he killed him to get the suit, or else he went insane. Which is it?"

"Neither."

Labored exhalations shivered through his clenched teeth. "Don't you dare think about giving me that nonsense."

"I neither jest nor deceive," Uriah said. "He chose to save the Freeman. What appears to your eyes a senseless tragedy was an act of love."

Magnusson rebuked the talon he extended.

"Our hearts ache with he whose grief embraces him. This is a path few are given to understand. But you must know that Kleiner did not suffer at his last. He has become one with the Vortessence, which has accepted him unto an immeasurable peace. Terrible though his burdens, he is the reason hope survives."

Uriah waited for his human compatriot to process his words and, he knew, inevitably reject them. They perched a delicate balance on an emotional fulcrum threatening to teeter.

"Perhaps it's different where you're from," said Magnusson, "but here, on Earth, when we suffer a death, the least the bereaved expect is the chance to say goodbye." He continued to cup his temple, bleary eyes lingering on the worn sofa cushions bearing wrinkles from Kleiner's body. "Freeman stole that from us. He's not just a murderer, he's a thief to boot. So forgive me if I don't indulge your talk of All-in-Ones, because right now this base is missing the one man we couldn't afford to lose."

He sank onto the couch, brow pressed in his knotted fists, cursing under his breath of the pitiless migraine drilling his skull.

It was in his suffering silence that Uriah decided the time had come.

"Long ago," he said, "in Black Mesa, the Eli Vance was approached by a creature." He hesitated, doubtful of the wisdom in speaking such a long-concealed truth. His lack of forthcoming had lured Kleiner onto a dark path. What merit held it now? Would it lighten what must come next, or would the creature use these words to entangle them further in its web of deceits? "What it truly desires, we do not know. It conceals a dark heart within a shroud of human flesh."

Magnusson raised his sluggish head. "My God, Uriah." Incredulity diminished his voice to a hoarse whisper. "You've cracked."

"The Alyx Vance had passed on. Her small form had given up its essence. It knew this, and restored her in exchange for the life and freedom of the Freeman, weaving together their Vortessence in a binding most vile. Through Eli Vance, it raised the Resistance. These walls stand because of it. But now, it seeks to reap what it has created."

"Was this what you told Kleiner?"

"Hear me, Magnusson: the one that wears the flesh of a man is trying to summon the Alyx Vance. It manipulates the threads of Freeman's life to draw her into its snare. If it captures her, we will suffer a darkness unlike any other. Thus, we have chosen to extend the Freeman's life through the performance of these rites. I have since prayed we would see no more need of them."

"Was this what you told him to get him to climb the mountain? This… inane fairy tale you're babbling on about?"

"That is the truth as Eli Vance has told Alyx Vance," he said. "The fate Isaac Kleiner surrendered his essence to prevent. I have neither beautified it with softer words, nor sullied it by making light the vicissitudes it has inflicted upon us. I have asked a terrible burden, and for it I shall pay," he said. "For the blood you wear soils my hands, not those of the Freeman."

Magnusson, who he considered as unassailable as a storm, absorbed it all in a roiling quiet. His eyes flicked from the floor to his cohort; a cold sheen of sweat glossed his flushed cheeks. Sorrow at what had transpired, or horror at what was about to occur?

"Whatever the Magnusson decides, this one soundly accepts the consequences."

"Enough."

"I see you," Uriah said. "Your mind storms, consumed by treacherous thoughts that your loss persists into eternity. Though you cry it nonsense, the Vortessence heals what has broken, and in time shall mend it whole. One day you will accept these truths, as did Kleiner."

"Damn it, I said that's enough." He stood abruptly, pointed to the card clipped to his breast pocket. "Give it to me."

He snatched the card out of Uriah's furtive claws. Rather than taking time to slide the plastic from its laminate, he cracked the two in half before proceeding to crush and grind smaller and smaller pieces.

"From here on in, your clearance is hereby revoked." The pieces scattered around the carpet, insignificant shards rendered trash. "If you wish to tell tales, it can be around a fire with your friends in the mountains."

So it was.

Uriah bowed his head. "It has been an honor to serve at the Magnusson's side."

As the door clicked on its hinges, Magnusson crushed a fist against his mouth, unable to dam the welling of tears.