Chương 31

Once they were back on the road, Outer Maester Oswald barked orders for immediate departure. Most were both exhausted and aching; several had slipped while climbing down Peakhold's ridge in the lavender dusk. But the Maester's word was law. The two Troops the Maester commandeered for the return held torches aloft. The servants scurried to hitch the horses to the abandoned carts. The Maester pointed for Mallow to lead, then beckoned for one of the Hidden to join him inside the cart.

"What happened?" Outer Maester Oswald leaned forward and whispered. The unassuming Hidden, assigned to him by the Maester Council, shook his head.

"The Rune landed. Yet that boy endured. His Archetype was not suppressed."

"Then the Albions-" Like a furious kettle, the Maester released a hiss. He punched the cushion seat next to him.

"By the Great Wound. I knew Sylvaester Albion has been plotting; so, it's already developed up to this point."

"If they have a countermeasure to the Maester Council…" The Hidden grimaced.

"This takes precedence, even over the possibility of an Imperial Defector." Oswald said.

"Change course. We don't have time to visit the duchy- we return to the capital."

In the quiet time before dawn, Kirk hauled the bucket up from the well and drank deeply. After wiping his mouth and yawning, he ascended the ladder. Perched on the edge of the wall, he looked across Peakhold's ridge and toward the hilly east. Ray by ray, the sun illuminated it all. The meadows of bluebells. The granite outcroppings. The pale dust of the roads, both high and low. Above, the clouds had a churned and discarded look, like flotsam lining a creek. Kirk just observed.

He had been here before, only a month ago, lost and without a history. Every new sight and phrase lodged in his thirsty brain. Even now, they bubbled up in ways Kirk didn't expect. Kirk reached up and rubbed his eyes.

"Now, I know what I'm looking at. But why does it still not make sense?" His thoughts turned to the tribunal yesterday. The Maester's heedless actions. The Administrator's bubbling fury. Margery's thanks. Did I help? After Kirk had revealed the crux of the issue, the shock and surge in excited whisperings made him realize it had been purposefully kept a secret. Yet now he could only shrug. They keep so many secrets. They withhold so much information. For a few seconds, Kirk closed his eyes.

The sun felt warm and welcome on his skin. Overnight, the weakness in his Archetypes had vanished. Yet even more alarming than the farcical tribunal was the mysterious attack, which he had asked Michaels about. But the Healer hadn't seen it. Even though it had crossed the one clear area of the Tribunal. The projectile that had been intercepted by his Beast Archetype and left it lifeless and blurred.

"The day's beginning, Kirk." Kirk pivoted. Along the base of the wall, past the line of tents, he could see Healer Michaels beckoning.

"Most Conduits got caught up in the trial, so they didn't wound themselves in the Rift. We have a real shot today of getting through the backlog. Don't daydream." Rolling his shoulders, Kirk stood and prepared to descend. Before he did so, he glanced once more out along the ridge. For a moment, he paused and frowned. Most of the waiting tents of the Imperial Sanctum had vanished overnight; only a single one remained.

Kirk made a note of it, even if it was one more bit of information he couldn't quite fit into the picture of the world. Healer Michaels drained Kirk dry, setting one Conduit's leg right and helping a woman heal a persistent gash in her side. Which left him gasping and staring up at those same dirty-looking clouds. Even as he could hear another score of individuals waiting for healing, breathing heavily and groaning from their individual pains. After blowing out a stream of air, Kirk said.

"I wonder if I can earn a Feat for giving away my energy like this."

"Of course you can't." Healer Michaels sniffed. He looked over at Kirk, practically beaming at his misery; it was quite disconcerting how much enjoyment the man derived from Kirk's suffering.

"Well, theoretically, you could. But donations slow your Accumulation. You are sabotaging your Feats." Kirk propped himself up onto his elbows.

"But it's a specific, repeated action. Surely, that matters?"

"The world is indifferent to you and your opinions." Michaels moved to a stone bowl. Kirk watched him wash blood off his hands. Something about that didn't sit right with Kirk. But with all the sounds of suffering, with a line of people begging for healing, how could he disagree?

"In the afternoon, I'll be back," Kirk finally said as he leveraged himself to his feet. Even now, having all his energy spent was a miserable experience.

"But tomorrow and the day after, I'll be in the Rift." If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

"You'd do more good here," The Healer muttered. He dried his now-clean hands by flicking away the water.

"Don't get dragged back to me as ground meat." Kirk countered with a shrug.

"Maybe, but just like you said, if I'm here all the time, I'm slowing my growth." For the first time, the Healer looked up and met Kirk's eyes directly. He clicked his tongue.

"Maybe. You have as much sense as an unoccupied, leaky Rift. Be safe, kid. And send your friends my way." Kirk's skin prickled as he walked up to the line of wounded waiting to be healed. A few glanced his way and made awkward bows, greeting him as Young Master Albion. He felt somewhat sick as he approached Clara and Rufus. And now, with his help, they would jump the line. As he walked over, spiritually starving and one breeze away from collapsing, Kirk knew he had paid for this privilege.

But it didn't escape him that he was adding just a little bit of unfairness to the world by doing so. I need to be stronger, Kirk gritted his teeth. That's the only way this world changes.

"Oh, so you remembered us?" Rufus' lip curled. Kirk frowned, but he didn't say anything. It had been a hectic few days; their three's patrol had been attacked by that mysterious assailant, and it was only while Kirk was getting healed that the Maester had arrived. But it was also true he hadn't checked in on them yesterday.

"Rufus." The more wounded Clara jabbed into Rufus's side with her fingers. The golden-haired girl offered Kirk a soft smile.

"He had to stand up to the Maester. It was a great thing you did, Kirk; they were publicly humiliating that poor woman."

"The only reason they listened was that he is an Albion," Rufus muttered. Kirk privately agreed and resented that fact. But he just said.

"You two can go on in. The Healer will patch you up." As Kirk walked away, he was prepared for bitterness and envy to be directed toward him for being unfair. Yet his Enhanced Senses were very clear. Although a few of the waiting wounded spared him glances, it was toward those two that the venomous eyes were directed.

"To live is to accumulate debts," Kirk muttered. He paused by the entrance to the Healer's Quarter to suppress a tremor in his legs. Then he walked toward the merchant area and purchased supplies. Kirk had a private theory he wanted to check, which was why he gave away his energy in the morning. But his optimism waned as, with the Larian Saber on his back, he began to sweat and stumble just walking to the Rift. With a few trickles of sweat down his back, Kirk tried his best to hide his Archetype-deep exhaustion.

Which, of course, meant that as he walked up to the two guards in front of the Rift, he tripped and almost fell on his face. The two guards exchanged a glance. The armored woman cleared her throat.

"Young Master Albion, have you been drinking?"

"No," Kirk croaked. The stumble had bent him partially over and the weight of the Larian Saber held him there. Shuddering, Kirk could only solve this by reaching up with his arm, gripping the handle of the saber, and using that to help him straighten. The guards exchanged another glance. This time, the man spoke.

"You were quite brave, standing up to the Outer Maester. And I'm sure- considering your family- it puts you under a lot of pressure. But you must still…" The guard couldn't find a word. Kirk grimaced, but needed to test his theory.

"Believe me, I haven't been drinking. Let me through to the Rift." For a few minutes, they went back and forth. Each moment was torture. Each breath forced Kirk's body, which wanted nothing more than to collapse, to endure. In the end, as Kirk just bit his lip and requested to be allowed through, the guards relented. Kirk licked his lips and touched the undulating wound in the world. After a lurching moment, he appeared on the slope. Despite his exhaustion, he forced his body into a state of vigilance.

His eyes swept back and forth. Currents of air brushed against his skin, whispering of the constant danger of the alien world. The last time he had come through, he had been dropped directly next to the mustard layer and been struck by a geo-4. But a smile broke out on Kirk's face as he looked down at the bare slope around him, with the indigo layer slightly below, fully two layers up from his previous landing. Groaning, he set down his pack.

"The more energy in your body, the deeper you land," Kirk muttered.

"Now, the other half of the experiment." Kirk sucked in a deep breath. So with the mouth, too with the body, and the starved Runic Battery II inside of him. Even a dozen meters away, the indigo mist began to bulge as Kirk drew in the surrounding energy, first a little at a time, then with more gusto as the Archetypes realized they could recharge themselves here. For a half hour, Kirk sat on his haunches next to his bag and absorbed the energy.

The ache, the lack, that lingered in the wake of Michael's taking his energy, eased and vanished. Unable to help himself, Kirk released a groan of pleasure. He felt practically spritely. So Kirk swaggered down through the indigo mist, avoided a few tall and strange vein trees, and stalked across the slope. Kirk pressed his lips together and tucked himself behind a boulder-- the air currents were… strange. Wild and inconsistent, compared to the previous tides.

But mystifying as it was, it was less important than Kirk's own improvement. His ears twitched as he caught the sound of geo-3s scrabbling forward. As the heedless creature burst out in front of him, Kirk gripped the Larian Saber on his back, loped a short distance forward, and then chopped off its head. The body took several steps before collapsing. With a little more confidence, he began circling on the slope, exploring the area.

It took Kirk about an hour to find a likely place, the second hiding spot he had discovered within the Rift. Yet his Bestial Senses gave him a warning; other Conduits were already huddled within. Kirk slowed down, wondering what to do. The wind whistled in his ears, churning in the pattern of a maelstrom, laterally along the slope. In the end, he shrugged and kept moving. Bestial Strength at 3 still hadn't given him the edge he needed to truly wield the Larian Saber, but his endurance felt noticeably deeper.

After another hour and a half, with two more brief stints to kill geo-3s, Kirk finally found his favorite and first hiding spot. His smile was almost fond when he went to the entrance to the cave and a geo-3 growled and squirmed out to attack him. He bashed it in the face with the saber, then, demonstrating his improved control, twisted the Larian weapon around to thrust it directly through the geo's body. He moved inside and set down his pack and weapon with a sigh.

"Knowledge can be its own sort of power. Even on days I donate my energy in the morning, I can recover inside the Rift." Kirk took some time to allow his body to relax. His attention turned inward. A quick note of his Archetypes made Kirk wonder if Healer Michaels was more correct than he knew; he could feel the difference in his Archetypes, as they pulled more aggressively at the ambient energy in the air. To the point that his Runic Battery II gradually refilled.

Kirk looked toward the small pool of liquid in the corner. I'll quench my thirst, then back to Eira.