REAPER'S CAVE. SEVENTY-SIX YEARS AFTER THE GREAT WAR. 5AM.

Liv dropped the knife instantly. There were tears streaming down her face. Vurc just looked on, totally stunned at her devotion. Luk broke down and jumped forward to try and save Dye, but as Liv turned away she swept both her arms around him too, holding him tightly away from Dye.

Luk burst into tears himself, and the surviving members of that family gathered in that dusty place stood and wept and mourned the necessity of Dye's death.

Between them, now, they knew it all. How the last Great Age had ended, and with it much of the culture of the two lost nations: the Kingdom, which had been largely eradicated, and the Aisorbmii, largely enslaved.

The public school system would have the people believe that the nations were destroyed by fearsome beasts created by dark sorceries, which were in turn hunted down and destroyed by the arrival of the Blood Lords, who came from an island across the north sea. These Blood Lords rebuilt society, giving them new knowledge, technologies, and a new sense of civilisation. This history would have the people believe that the ancient ways of rice pudding were archaic and false, and that custard was the true gift of the gods.

The three here tonight knew now that the Blood Lords had not been named for their genetic superiority, or their ability to heal, regenerate wounds, provide strength, and even enhance the physical form. They were named for prices paid, sacrifices made, blood spilt.

Seventy-six years ago they had conquered. There had been many Beasts, but initially there were three. One had destroyed the Kingdom. One had failed against the Aisorbmii. The last, now known to be Paladin-Reaper Torosanifeya, had been sent to the Reaper's Cave to destroy their ancient records of the past, and all the knowledge they possessed.

It had been a great battle. Almost all the Reapers had been killed. The Cave only survived because of the timely arrival of Cafialerasun, who wielded the Sword of the Stone. As the eldest surviving Reaper, she made the decision to close the Cave, and hide its secrets. She warned them all not to seek it out again.

But then, these four had rarely obeyed their grandmother.

Livoferihopa – literally, 'live for hope', named in the Aisorbmii male fashion because of the convenience of her parents' names – was the image of her grandmother, and most dedicated to The Cause.

Vurcoferihopa was a follower, not a leader. Perhaps it was in the nature of good-natured strong men to be followers, lest others become afraid of them, Vurc didn't know, but others also assumed for the same reason that he was stupid, for reasons that Vurc – an intelligent man – couldn't fathom.

Lukoferihopa was the youngest, at fifty-four, and the most genuine. Again, others took him for a fool, but he wasn't. He was far more emotionally open than any of them, and consequently had a much greater capacity for reading deeply into others' feelings as a Reaper. Such a trait might have led one to believe he was ideal for their mission, but he was not. No... Dye was the best choice.

Dyeoferihopa had always been grim. It had been said, many times, sometimes to his face, that he might be one of those few Reapers who was attuned to their own deaths, and therefore might even have known the circumstances of his death. Who knew?

Well, they would, soon enough. Vurc realised he was staring at the brain on the floor again. He moved forward, and carefully picked it up...

...and put it back into the preservative-filled jar where it belonged...

...and put the jar back on the shelf of the cave, next to...

...the others. Rows of jars on stacks of shelves. Each preserving a brain.

This one was the memory and remains of Warolanimasa, the Great War. Beside it, the last remains of Rekowarilara, and then Fyendodas himself, and then Sazogenirica and King Arit fre Togr... and all the rest stretching back in order to Marquis Endam ar Berrito.

Fifty-four brains. Some, like Tekowariaura's and Baroness Erica del Erica's, removed after their funerals. Some, like Lord General Manus iw Elbirt's and Prime Minister Terovaniceti's, had just been lying around. Silomenituda had been killed in the name of research. So many, so many...

There were absences which might have made the record complete. Prime Minister Galomanisula, whose remains had been cremated. Queen Srindra del Bou, whose ashes presumably still lay on the ground near the Psyolpalace. None of the wielders of the Sword of the Stone – Sunder pi Yeonan, Setovarinesa, Cafialerasun – had been reaped like the mind of Commander Reglan ar Crestis; perhaps an extension of the magic sword's protection, in that the wielder could not be seen magically or psychically.

Kadocasitari the Reaper was also among these collected minds. Their grandfather, for whom Dye had wept as he reaped.

So many... so many. And for what?

For The Cause, perhaps. This was the rebel movement founded by the last Iron Jamtin, Paladin Genokefirica. A simple name, for a simple goal: remove the Blood Lords from power. Sadly, no longer a simple task. The people had learned to live with the advanced technology the Blood Lords offered.

Hence the project entitled Next to the Custard. A documentary of their true nature, told from the perspectives of actual eye-witnesses, to be broadcast directly into the minds of the populace. A simple, innocent title; all references to the Reapers preferably removed; and not an incriminating document in sight.

All that remained now was to reap the documentary from Dye's mind, and keep it presentable for a large audience...

Liv and Luk knelt by Dye. Liv took his right hand, and Luk his left, and they joined their remaining hands. They'd been through the instructions several times... Luk was to reap it, Liv was to ensure it was a clean reap. Vurc was to be the first viewer. He stood back and watched.

'We work for the cause,' he decided to say.

'We live for the cause,' Liv said.

There was a pause. ''We'll die for the cause,'' would've been Dye's statement. Not to keep picking on him, or anything morbid like that, but this was how they were named.

After allowing the sentence to be unsaid in time, Luk finished: 'We're searching for the cause.'

Then he spoke again: 'It was in the last days of that great age, when the Kingdom and Aisorbma faced each other across their forested border...'

'It's working,' Vurc murmured. Luk stopped saying the words, now that he had the beginning of the first episode; he just reaped. His mouth still moved at times. Liv clutched his fingers tighter when Lidhamedocafi died, and when Mirella zrey Tabitha was assaulted; Luk could add great depths of emotion to a reaping, but there were limits to the length that could be preserved in a recording. They had to get to the end.

Vurc kept back, and felt a swell of pride at this significant moment: the quest coming to fruition. He looked around the room again, admiring the effort that went into keeping these archives in pristine condition for three-quarters of a century.

There were cabinets where many documents had been written and filed, describing how and where and when each record had been found. There were racks of old weapons, and armour, and tools, and plates, each of them a priceless relic from centuries past. There were bookshelves containing volumes recording themes of the centuries, and folders containing documents waiting to be recorded and sorted and placed efficiently where it could be found.

Vurc had been careful to make sure this folder had been put back they way they had found it, because Luk had wanted to be very untidy when they entered this treasure trove. They had researched it carefully, because they had needed to piece together a framework of events while constructing Dye's narration. One document, it seemed, had never seen the light of day. It was a door to a whole other realm of possibilities.

It was a letter written by Galomanisula, haltingly written in the Kingdom dialect with the assistance of the exiled prince, hoping for peace.

Vurc smiled at these words. In his time, the people were discriminated by whether they liked their custard runny or lumpy.

Vurc's abilities were limited, but he could feel in the last drops of ink on the paper the interruption of the traitor who slew the Prime Minister at that time.

What might life be like now, had that war not taken place, and Galomanisula continued his work to bring peace to a nation which did not want it?

Who knew?

'This was,' said Luk, 'this was...'

'This was the story of the last Great Age,' said Liv.

'Narrator...' they said together, 'Dyeoferihopa,' another pause, 'signing off.'

Vurc approached them then. 'You did it,' he said. 'You did it.'

He helped them both climb to their feet, and they smiled a little, recognising their own achievement. Then they shared with him the complete vision of the documentary.

'This will make a difference,' he assured them afterwards.

Together they carried Dyeoferihopa's body from the Cave, shielding their eyes as they moved into the dawning sunlight blinding them from the horizon. They buried Dyeoferihopa some fifty yards from the Cave, and committed his soul to the heavens.

Vurc watched the sun rise. Today was going to be a good day, he decided. A day of hope, when things would get better for them all.

The three mounted their horses, and, with Liv leading Dye's by the reins, began to make their way to the north, to spread the news.

It would be a day to remember. A day to feel alive. A day of light.

The Next to the Custard
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