I raced back to the house, though the sun was setting by the time I got there. The streets of Terminus were not usually difficult to navigate, but I was in such anguish and frenzy that I made several wrong turns. Finally, I arrived at the door, breathless and exhausted.

  Argos, the pitiable guard dog, raised his head at my approach. I do not know what made me pause and crouch over the sickly mutt. Scratching his neck, I then hugged the hound close.

  “Take leave of your charge,” I whispered under my breath. “All you have loved is gone to ruin, and your master no longer wants you.”

  Argos licked me. He pulled from my grasp and, whimperingly, rested his head on the snow. He did not budge from his post. I smiled, dejected as I was. I was glad I had met someone who could remain faithful in these final days.

  I turned to the door and knocked, the wood splintering under the force of my strikes. I suppose I could’ve tried to break into the house, but that seemed cowardly. Messalina was to know my rage face to face, and I would not have it any other way. Charon opened the door immediately as if he had been waiting for me. His sword was not drawn, but I knew it was hidden somewhere beneath his white robes. He bowed and lifted his arm, already knowing my intent.

  “Messalina is this way.”

  As much as I wanted to charge towards the woman, I held myself back. Desperate as I was, sense had not completely departed me. “Before that, I must ask you one thing, mannequin. If we are to cross swords, are you to fight me unabated? I am deeply sympathetic to you and Berenice’s position, and I would spare your life if you were to give up the battle.”

  Charon gave a gracious nod. “That is very kind of you, but us mannequins are bound to our service. Unlike those of flesh, I cannot take back an utterance nor betray a command. If we are to duel, then you must spare no mercy, for neither can I.”

  I didn’t expect a different answer, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping for another one. Charon turned, and I followed the mannequin through the forum and down an unfamiliar hall. Despite my stay, there were many parts of the household that I had never entered. This one, however, seemed the most cared for. For once, my boots did not leave footprints in dust, and the stone walls were still splashed with color.

  Walking behind the mannequin, I briefly considered drawing my sword and stabbing him in the back. That would probably be my only chance to kill him.

  But truthfully, I did not want to resort to murder. Or, more shamefully, I knew myself enough to know that the prospect of murder would cause me to hesitate—and then that would be my death. I have realized a man finds many reasons for his deeds, and while oft contradictory, they can both be true. But which one was true and truer, I do not know. I suppose I’ll have to wait until my heart is placed on the golden scales, and I stand in judgement before the Potentate’s throne. Only then will I know the measure of my soul.

  Until that day, I can only say that I did not seize the chance.

  Perhaps Charon was aware of this temptation, and that was why he walked so freely. Later, I never received a straight answer to that question.

  Charon took me to a door of varnished wood, which I took to be Messalina’s chambers. “I will warn you this much. You will not be able to kill her without me unawares. I do not see or hear as you do. There is nothing in this house that is hidden from me.”

  It is strange to hear a threat posed in the kindest way possible.

  “I have one last question,” I slowly asked. “Why didn’t you or Berenice warn me of this treachery?”

  “Did she not tell you to keep your possessions close?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I beg you, do not slander Berenice. The more she involved you in this house’s affairs, the more the Master’s eye would’ve noticed you. She did all that she could while still subject to Messalina’s authority. And as for the child, do you regret your part in that?”

  I nodded my head deep in thought, and considering his answer, I smiled. “So be it. Good fortune to you, Charon.”

  The white-robed mannequin opened the door. “Do not be afraid, for there is no such thing as fortune,” he assured me.

  I entered Messalina’s bed chamber, and at once, my nostrils burned with heavy perfume. My first thought was that I had stepped through some portal back into the lavish rooms of Zodiak. The bed chamber wrapped around the garden, with one wall as an open colonnade overlooking the lush greenery below. A small stream chortled through the room and fell over the side as a waterfall. It was strange to me that I had not noticed this massive chamber from the garden, and I could think of no obstruction that would’ve occluded it.

  Surrounding me were the kind of accommodations befitting a noblewoman long past the grace of temporary embarrassment. I counted three separate sets of dining tables whose surfaces were flaking and heavily chipped in their old age. There were ornate chairs and cushioned recliners aplenty, though they were all faded and tattered. The bookcases sat ashamedly empty, while the room was cluttered with the kind of trinkets one might find in a thrift market.

  Messalina’s collection of gaudy contraptions was quite impressive, so much so that I wondered about her strange obsession. I tapped my finger on a swiveling hourglass filled with golden sand. The contraption spun and began counting down its invisible interval.

  Not seeing Messalina, I slowly wandered through this mausoleum of oddities. I saw a tripod device for inducing light onto paper, several types of thinking cubes, and an oscillating globe for turning gas into liquids. I was starting to think Messalina styled herself as an erudite, but I saw no rhyme nor reason for this collection of instruments. It was clear they were for amusement—or show—not for their actual use.

  I stopped when I noticed movement in the dim afternoon light. Although the passing sun had left this room in a dark twilight, it was still bright enough to see without obstacle.

  Among her collection, Messalina sat on a cushioned chair next to a low table. She was wearing a revealing silk dress and reading a thin book. Her eyes glanced up at me.

  I could not find the words to express my anger, so I opened my satchel and pulled out the children’s book. I threw it to the floor, and it flopped in front of her. The pages opened to some crude illustration.

  Messalina set aside her reading and looked delighted at the scrawled mess of paper on the floor. “The Dog and the Spider! It was my childhood favorite! However did you find it?”

  I was not in the mood for games. “You used your own sister’s distress to distract me. You threw out the corpse of an infant. And for what? Because you imagined some grudge against me, I presume? Even after I saved your life?”

  “A grudge?” Messalina clicked her teeth disappointedly, waving a lock of hair with her finger. “I never held any grudge. Quite the opposite! I was trying to save your life!”

  Of all the possible reasons I was expecting, this was not it. “If you wish to do well by me, you would return my tome, and I would take me leave.”

  Messalina stared at me as if I was crazy. “For what? So you can go out and die on the Great Ice Plain—or worse—Myz? You are a good man, and you do not deserve that fate. I would see you remain in Terminus and grow old.”

  My eyes widened in horror as I realized her devious intent. “I cannot stay here. I am oath-bound to journey to Calrathia and… to never take a wife.”

  “Then we need not be so formal. And since I don’t intend to have any children, you need not worry about your oaths forswearing family either.”

  “You twist the letter of the law to suit your convenience.

  “And so what if I do?” Messalina cried out. “Tell me, will they send any Astronomers to check on you? Will anyone come to Terminus looking for you? Will so much as another courier cross paths with you?”

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  My tongue caught in my mouth, as I knew there would be none. No one would ever know if I succeeded in my journey or not. The point was to deliver a tome and never come back. And worse, I knew many Astronomers who had secret affairs or even children. I would be breaking a rule none bothered to follow anymore.

  “You have proven your valor! Your test is over! No one expected you to ever succeed in your journey. That you made it to Terminus was a miracle in itself! All I ask is that you don’t sacrifice your life for nothing!”

  Messalina got up from her chair, and I took a step back. “Give me back what is mine.” I still demanded of her.

  “If you are so determined.” Messalina shrugged her shoulders. “Then I shall ask only one thing of you. Lie with me tonight and consider my offer. Do this, and I shall hand your tome to you in the morning.”

  I could hear Master Algol’s cackling laughter in the room. So this is where it had all been leading. Break one oath to fulfill another or abandon everything. Cruelty! If there is a will that guides the path of men, it must be cruelty! I knew no other way to describe this deceitful trick.

  Master Algol’s hand fell on my shoulder. Earlier, I felt his preternatural presence, but now I could believe the man himself stood behind me. He whispered treachery and bitterness and heartbreak in my ear. He teased that which should not be, and he bade me forward. I confess, so broken was I, that I felt myself lose control of my body, and I did step forward.

  Messalina smiled and bared more skin, nodding towards a secluded bed near the back, hidden with thick, heavy drapes. It is here that I hesitate to recount further. There are certain crude aspects of one’s nature that are best kept private for the sake of dignity. We often choose to pretend that we remain as untainted as we were when we first departed paradise, and I believe there is merit in that pretense. Yet, for the sake of honesty in this account, I must admit that I experience the same passions as any other man. Even so, I have always remained steadfast in my oath to my School above all.

  Many may dispute the veracity of my claim, but by the whims of fate, I no longer have to answer to them. I’ll leave my judgement in better hands.

  And as I took that step forward, a dog’s howl broke my trance. I glanced over behind me. The only dog I knew close by was Argos, and yet he was far too old to call as he did when he was a young hound. Something had taken in him to spend the last of his strength and to choose now of all times…

  It is a good thing men are given a second, a third, and even fourth chance. Our wills are weak, and our minds are weaker. It was intervention then. I remembered how I wept when Master Rigel handed me my charge. I remembered how I felt when the Anemoi left me. I remembered everything that had brought me here, to this moment.

  Whenever a man makes a decision, a true decision, there is always a crossing of the threshold. And here it was before me. I was grateful then that fate had not left me alone. That dog, that humble animal, had stayed true. He had stayed true for years of torment, and how was I supposed to comport myself in his mighty presence?

  Messalina saw my change in expression, and she knew in that instant she had lost me. In a desperate bid, she bared herself and threw herself towards me. But my sword leapt from its sheath, and she fell upon cold steel, carving a wicked scratch along her cheek.

  Recoiling, she screeched, “You maddened dog!”

  I heard the door slam open, and I was scarcely able to turn when Charon swung his sword downward. Steel met steel, and the force alone made me drop to a knee.

  “What shall I do with him?” the mannequin asked.

  “Delay him,” Messalina quickly said, rushing out the door.

  I wish I could’ve stopped her from what evil designs she had next, but Charon was so strong that I could do nothing but watch as she left the room. When she shut the door behind her, the mask of an elderly man turned to me.

  “Put down your sword. I do not wish to harm you.”

  “It is all well then,” I responded, “because I have no intention of losing.”

  Charon drew his sword back for another strike, and I parried. Our weapons clashed again and again, neither of us giving any ground. Finally, the mannequin heaved a mighty swing, crashing a row of little devices and gadgets towards me. I raised an arm to shield myself from the clatter. Stepping back, I had little time to react as Charon rushed forward and plunged his sword downwards to my shoulder.

  With not a breath to spare, I threw up my sword, and Charon’s weapon screeched hideously as steel scraped against steel. I looked into those dark eye sockets, bereft of the spark of men. However, upon closer inspection, I realized they were not without their own strange light.

  “You will have to do better,” Charon told me, as a dear friend might encourage another. “If you are to win this battle, you must remove my head from my shoulders. I do not have organs you can pierce.”

  I grunted under the weight of his sword arm, and remembering my training, I attempted to sweep Charon’s legs under him with a well-aimed strike from my own. However, the mannequin may as well have been made from rock. I stumbled. Charon pushed me back, knocking me off balance and falling back onto a table behind me. I had yet another instant to roll out of the way as Charon plunged his sword through the wood, impaling his weapon in the table. This delayed him as I backed away to gain distance.

  Breathing heavily, I tried to regain my strength with time. Moving through the clutter of Messalina’s collection, I made sure that Charon had no quick path to advance on me. “Advice to your enemy?” I asked. “Do I detect pity?”

  “Far from it.” Charon pulled his sword from the shattered wood and repositioned, ensuring he was always between me and the exit. “You were already a worthy adversary when you blocked my first blow. But I suppose I am alone of all who have found a vocation on the battlefield. I have never once wished for victory, and yet I can’t seem to escape it.”

  “Then I suppose I have to be the first,” I said, although I felt a wet trickle run down my cheek. I then realized Charon had indeed grazed me, and I wiped the blood away with my gloved hand.

  However, I noticed I was not panting because I was out of breath. In fact, I never felt stronger. All that rage and anguish that was inside me found their purpose, and I suddenly felt as though I had been overestimating the mannequin, hesitating from fear.

  We closed the distance once more, stopping just out of sword’s reach.

  “She said delay me. Does that mean you cannot kill?” I questioned my allied adversary.

  “Though mannequins are often mistaken for them, I am not an automaton, Sirius. I must act in self-defense.”

  I nodded and smiled as one does in their last moments. “Very well then,” and I rushed the mannequin.

  In my humbling with Crixus, I realized I had slowed myself with Charon. I allowed the defeat to cloud my mind and slow my sword. Indeed, a misstep is worse than simply being bested, as the former will erode your confidence more surely than a master at arms. But to take that risk is to ply your trade as a warrior, and only in accepting that, can you climb to ever higher feats of skill.

  As I fought with Charon, I happily discovered that my original assumption was imprecise. While it is true a righteous man may fight doubly hard, a righteous man doomed to die fought harder still.

  Sword rang against sword in chorus. Weaving and ducking and parrying, I kept up with what was beyond flesh. If the mannequin was shocked at this development, he did not show it. However, even I knew Charon was at his limit when he fell back. The mannequin retreated one step, then another, and another. I could only imagine his bitter shock as I deflected one of his strikes and turned into a riposte of my own, my sword thrusting towards his chest.

  Charon allowed the strike to pass, my weapon biting into his innards. However, I had heeded his warning, and I was not done. Jumping forward and drawing my sword back, I slammed the hilt into his mask with all my strength. A terrible crack went up the side of the mask, and Charon quickly retreated, falling away until his back hit the door.

  He slowly glanced behind and then to me. “That was well fought, but you have lost. Surrender, and I may attend to your injury.”

  I had no idea what the mannequin was referring to until I felt a damp warmth near my neck leeching onto my shoulder. I touched my fingers to the spot, and they came back red. Charon had aimed the stroke expertly. He hadn’t cut any arteries, but I was losing a decent amount of blood. In a few minutes, I wouldn’t have the strength to fight him anymore.

  “I am going through that door,” I told him, grunting from the pain that blossomed from the wound.

  Charon lifted his sword and readied himself, and I lunged forward.

  The final duel between man and mannequin should’ve been writ in song. I had never known what the poets spoke of when they proclaimed glory in battle. It was then I realized that mastery transforms any task into art.

  Knowingly or not, men spend their lives in pursuing perfection, whether in love, war, or craft. Nothing else will satisfy. And at that final clash of arms, I approached what so many had longed for in all their days of labor. The Astronomers had always been regarded as mighty warriors, setting foot on uncharted lands no one dared to travel, but I had never felt triumph. I had always been a lesser son of lesser sons, but at that moment, I felt I could vanquish anyone who stood in my way.

  My sword chipped. Flecks of metal broke off, and I still pressed on. I threw him back against the wall again, striking his sword so hard that he slammed against the brickwork. I thrust forward to skewer his head, but he dodged to the right. He lifted his weapon to swing down at me, but I dodged in turn.

  Then the final moment came, strike came upon strike. I aimed to sever his neck, and he aimed for my side. It was all over before I knew what happened. The dance had reached its conclusion. Charon’s sword buried into my side, while I could only swipe away his mask. The image of an elderly man fell away and shattered into a thousand pieces on the floor.

  For myself, I felt nothing except the ground rushing up to meet me. I could not help but grin. It was always fated to end prematurely, but I had ended it well. From the beginning, it was a fool’s errand to reach Calrathia. But I had at least kept my oaths, and when I died, I would not greet my forebears in shame.

  Charon stood over me, dropping his sword to the floor. “No human has ever sparred me as you have. I doubt any man has matched one of my kind like you did.”

  I coughed blood and grinned. “It was as I said, good fortune to you, Charon.”

  The mannequin, who once bore the mask of an old man, now bore the image of a young boy. One mask had revealed another, and I was not disappointed by the one who would kill me. Death’s proper face was never an old man but a young one because death only punishes the young.

  The mannequin kneeled over me as I drowned in a pool of my blood.

  “No, it was as I told you, Sirius. Do not be afraid, for fortune does not exist.”