Chương 20

Crowds are uncertain animals. Harker slept a bit during the night, but not nearly enough. The leaden exhaustion which plagued him the past few days had lessened only by the slightest of shades. He was tired, and his mood was foul, especially after his fight. Willow bark and yarrow root sufficed for his bandaged wounds and bruises, though their healing was not swift and did nothing for the tax the Aberrants had put on his tributary. Stillwater hung close during the few times Harker tried to get shut-eye.

Staring at him. If the little creature was trying to be upsetting, he was exceptionally skilled at it. He subsisted now on sheer grit and mule-headedness. The Gilken would not catch him with his guard down. Harker stretched, his aching body relishing the movement only until it turned into a cramp. With a wince, he lowered his arms and regarded the village. It was dawn, and the buttered light gilded the thatched roofs of the village of Creston.

It sat behind low walls perhaps a half-mile away, nestled deep into a valley between two bluffs and the distant mountain. From his vantage point, even so far away, Harker could see quite a bit of the bustling crowds inside. It was a surprising amount of people for a village, but he could also spy the remains of a festival draped across buildings and streets. Threllsnoct is almost three days gone. Why do the decorations linger?

That confused Harker, and things that didn't line up with expectations were by their very nature hazardous. He swept his gaze across the village, attempting to pick out some reasoning, but there was nothing else to tell. Not from this distance. It was a small place, at least half the size of Vale, but it was sizable enough to bear a single Charterstone. Harker spotted it at the center of town, draped in rain-soaked banners and ribbons.

"Ah, yes. Another human hovel," Stillwater said, stopping at the cliff's edge beside him.

"Filthy as they are, at least your cities hold my interest. This is just pathetic."

"Why are we here?" Harker asked again.

"At first I thought it was that Bargain on your arm that bested me. It couldn't be, though. It's passive at best, save a few bits. No, it had to be something else." Bargain? Harker looked at his arm.

"You mean my Chartermark?"

"What else?"

"This isn't—" Harker trailed off. He realized he truly didn't know what the Chartermark was supposed to be. Stillwater groaned.

"You took an oath on a Sea-touched chunk of Primordial Stone, human. Do you think that wouldn't have consequences?" Technically, Harker had done no such thing. He wasn't sure how he'd stolen Jeren's mark, but he'd never sworn a word.

"Does it matter if nothing was said during the Bargain?"

"Depends on the strength and purpose. That," Stillwater sneered at the golden lines.

"That is older than most, and backed by a great deal of Stature. Just accepting it out to your flesh is enough to bind you." Of course. Harker sighed.

"What's your point, then?" Stillwater struggled to speak on that, as if he were searching for the right words. Eventually, he gave a grunt of annoyance.

"That Sea in you is pulling you apart. I saw it when you were vomiting up all that Water. Quite the trick, by the way. I enjoyed how you soiled all your clothing with salt." Wistfully, Harker contemplated the Gilkens broad back. One kick. It would be so easy. As much as he had tried to hold it back, Harker had experienced two bouts of reflux during the night. The first had been rough. Despite his attempts at pushing and pulling his Water, it had gushed from every part of him, as usual.

Stillwater had been fascinated, though he hadn't asked a single question. His rapt attention was enough, though, and Harker practiced all the harder as the small hours grew light. Perhaps that was why the second reflux was more of a success. He managed to keep the Water spraying through his entire face and neck, like vomiting instead of a full body deluge. It hurt his guts, wore on his muscles, and generally made everything awful. But it was an improvement.

"That Chartermark is helping to anchor you, but it's too weak. Our Bargain…" Stillwater said, teeth clenched.

"It's doing more to patch up your soul, but it'll be gone soon."

"How does that work? What does our Bargain have to do with my soul?" Harker hesitated, before realizing the answer.

"My Stature."

"Just so. Humans don't usually have it, but you're an unusual one. Just my luck." Harker recalled feeling better after tricking Stillwater into his triple life debts. Was that when it had grown?

"So are you saying my Stature was activated by our Bargain?"

"More likely it was activated by that," Stillwater said, jabbed a small claw at Harker's arm.

"But our Bargain enhanced it."

"So you build Stature by making Bargains," Harker mused aloud. Stillwater clenched his teeth and nodded.

"Interesting. And if I build up my Stature, I'll last longer with the Sea raging inside of me."

"You're a true genius, human. The height of your generation. Shout it from the mountain tops: he can make basic leaps of logic!" The Eidhrin's voice echoed across the valley and Harker flinched, stepping back from the cliff. Stillwater was unfazed.

"Whatever broke your soul is dangerous. Stature is a bandage, not a cure." He raised his stubby claw again, shaking it at Harker's face.

"And it will count towards my first debt!" Harker regarded the creature, staring at him until he lowered his quivering claw.

"And Creston plays a part, somehow?" Stillwater tapped his nose.

"And my Current?"

"One step at a time, human." The little monster refused to explain further. He strutted off, winding his way down the cliff, ignoring any attempt by Harker to start the conversation back up again. Yet another game. Harker was far from a fool. Stillwater delighted in keeping him in the dark, and it was clear the creature was working on several angles to escape his Bargain. Harker had to be ready.

Stillwater may not have been able to harm him directly, but he could easily lead him into danger—their encounter with the Aberrants was evidence of that. Yet just knowing that he was working against him gave Harker a measure of calm. Law 2—Trust Others To Act In Their Own Best Interest. Stillwater was such a perfect example of the maxim that it was almost a comfort. Expected betrayal was just another piece to play. The sun was well above the cliffs by the time the pair of them walked through the gates of Creston.

If the village had a militia, they weren't present, and the gates themselves were wide open as if the town had nothing to worry about. Yet Harker immediately spotted damage to their walls. Claw marks. The eight-foot walls were five feet thick and made of fieldstone, but they were sturdy. The claw marks slashed across the entire northern side of it, as if dozens of beasts had tried to scale the walls. Recently too, judging by the lack of weathering on the sharp-edged markings. The people inside seemed unconcerned.

They strolled casually, focused on their own business. While it was true that beasts and Aberrants plagued the northern isles, Harker found their easy attitude troubling. He was missing something. Dozens hustled about the streets, wrapping up rain-logged banners and cleaning up debris. Roofing tiles, small bits of timber, and no end of broken sticks littered the rutted road. A storm had clearly come through, but there was little evidence of any attack inside the walls.

Harker passed through, earning glances from the villagers with every step. A small place like Creston would not enjoy many strangers. He cringed inwardly at the attention, but offered a polite nod.

"Hello young sir!" The man was older, perhaps in his early fifties and weathered by the sun. His broom bent as he leaned against it and tipped his flat-brimmed hat up.

"Out traveling a bit early this morning?"

"Yes," Harker managed after an uncomfortable pause. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

"Exceptional response," Stillwater chuckled.

"Gets the blood flowin', don't it? Always happy to see a new face." He started sweeping again.

"If you've come for the market, it's delayed until midday. The festival and storm has all our schedules turned around."

"Was there an attack?"

"Hmm?" the old man looked up, glancing at the open gates.

"Ah, you saw the wall. There were a few vicious beasties knocking on our doors during the storm…but the Aspirant took care of them." Harker perked up. Aspirant meant a student of the Nine Spires.

"They're here?"

"Oh yes, somewhere toward the inn, last I knew."

"Thank you, sir." Harker inclined his head slightly and started moving. For his part, the old man waved happily and got back to cleaning his shopfront. He moved through the growing crowd, exchanging pleasantries with every other step. His guts clenched and his neck was struck by a flop sweat, but each interaction was exceedingly calm. It was unnatural; no one was nice to Harker. It has to be a trick. A trap. Something… Harker forced himself to take a breath.

The attention made his skin crawl, but it wasn't malicious. For the first time, he realized that he was far enough away from the Vale that folks didn't know the Knack healer on sight. If they find out though… He buried the thought. They wouldn't. And besides, he would be gone soon enough.

"Noisy for such a runt settlement," Stillwater groused from Harker's side.

"And these old creatures…Untalented all. Fah."

"Shut it," Harker snapped.

"Excuse me?" A woman stopped nearby, hand clutching at her chest.

"Sorry, I was—I wasn't talking to you." The woman paused a long moment, letting her eyes rove down to his boots and back before she dismissed him with a sniff. Stillwater grinned.

"They'll brand you as crazy if you talk to yourself, human." Harker scowled but hustled forward. Stillwater followed. It was odd seeing the Gilken move through the crowds, thin as they were. People seemed to instinctively avoid him, taking extra steps to walk around. Even if they were in conversation with others, none of them noticed in the slightest.

"Can no one see you?" Harker asked as the crowds vanished.

"Not unless I allow them to." Stillwater pursed his lips.

"Few are as strange as you." Harker decided to take that as a compliment. Stillwater chuckled.

"Make your way to the center of town. We'll find what we need there." The paths of Creston were not complicated. Like Vale, they followed the flow of the land, curving around hills and a stream that formed an oxbow across the southernmost point of the village. The rutted road brought him past shops and quieter residences, until it approached the town square and market, where a monolith loomed. Before it, however, was the village's lone inn.

A beaten and weathered sign depicted a bear resting with flowers and mushrooms growing off his back. Script spelled out the obvious name: Sleeping Bear Inn. He said the Aspirant was staying here. Harker had many questions and he couldn't help a certain anxiety about encountering a true student of the Spires. Knowledge, however, was power. He stepped closer. The inn was quiet. There was no sign of anyone inside and the fireplace was unlit.

It was doubtless rare for travelers to stay in the place, but Harker had been hoping— A clatter of metal caught his ear and Harker stepped off the porch. It was coming from behind the inn.

"You'll never make it to the Travelspire like that!"

"Hah! I'll be first in line!"

"Wrong way," Stillwater growled. Harker ignored him, peering around the inn's corner, and found what could be generously described as a training ground. A set of fresh wooden fences had been erected beside the inn and filled with a heaping load of hay. It was forty feet to a side at least, and held enough space for the folks inside to maneuver around a single stickjak. That caught Harker's attention more than anything else.

Jacks were rare, and though this one appeared at least a century old, its cracked joints were still moving smoothly. Its body was made of hundreds of bundled sticks, hence its name, bound together with some nameless pieces of thaumistry and Water. Some of the sticks were broken and moss grew across its blank head, but it nimbly avoided the trio of people that fought it with spears.

"Dodge! Airstep!" one boy called, before their body flushed with Water and they stepped directly into the air. The stickjak missed them by inches.

"Worry about yourself. Firebreath!" Fire roared from the young man's lips searing the construct and setting the hay around it aflame.

"Sven! You'll burn the whole village down!" The lone girl swept in, hands pressing to the ground and pouring Water through her palms.

"Eruption!" A geyser of water burst from the earth only two feet away, spraying into the air and soaking the hay in all directions. The stickjak faltered before running after the youngest boy. Harker swallowed, rubbing at the skin of his forearms. They always prickled when someone used their Talent nearby. Each of them bore impressive Talents, and knew how to use them better than most folks in the Vale. The trio were all around his age, and quite comfortable with the spears they wielded.

Most interestingly, their forearms gleamed with silver lines. They're all Chartermarked. Harker started as his own forearm warmed in distinct lines. That's new. The gold shimmered and something gave way, until words populated the air around each of the trio. Talent: Firebreath Scope: Minor Depth: Surface Talent: Eruption Scope: Minor Depth: Surface Talent: Airstep Scope: Major Depth: Surface All Minor Talents except the last. And air at that. Stillwater snorted at his side.

"Fire Talent. Bah! Useless in the Sea." Harker agreed. Fire was strong against the Untalented of course; everyone feared an inferno. However, it was famously hard to Descend past Third Depth. Unlike water, shadow, or even cold, fire was scarce beneath the Surface. The Infinite Sea carried all things within it, but you would have to carry your Talent with you and flames would not last long in the Depths. Still, only days ago he'd have begged for the flame if it meant he'd have a proper Talent.

The girl with Eruption stopped, her hair flinging in her face as she faced the inn.

"Oh! You're new." Behind her, the old stickjak wound down, its movements stuttering to a halt as all three fixed eyes on Harker.

"Hello." He slid into an easy smile.

"I enjoyed seeing your training. You've all taken the mark?"

"Of course." The boy with Firebreath held up his hand triumphantly. Silver gleamed wrist to elbow.

"We have been chosen."

"Anyone can take the mark, Sven."

"Well, sure, Anita. But only the best make it to the Travelspire." The other boy, the one with Airstep, rolled his eyes. Harker agreed, though he didn't let his affable expression waver. There was no need to make enemies here.

"If you've taken the mark, why haven't you left yet? Threllsnacht was days ago." Anita groaned, almost as dramatic as Sven.

"It was, but these salted storms kept us stuck here."

"That and the Aberrants," Airstep added.

"They have been stirred up, and the mountain's not as safe as it once was. We are waiting on an escort."

"Which I think is ridiculous." Sven put his fists on his hips.

"We can handle a few Aberrants, and"A few Tide-touched, sure. But Sea-maddened? Not even my Talent could reliably escape an Aberrant of that caliber."

"There's only been a single report of that."

"I'll not risk it," Anita said.

"I'd like to reach the Travelspire with all my pieces still attached, thank you."

"Where are you from?" Sven asked, clearly eager to escape getting ganged up on by the others.

"Haven't seen you around here before. Runnel?" Anita smiled and shook her head.

"Can't be. We know everyone from Runnel around our age. What's your name? I'm Anita Kell. This is Johan Riskle and Sven Yor."

"Harker. I'm from up north."

"Oh! Haver Hill? I've never been that far north. What's it like?" Anita blinked and her smile brightened.

"You're marked too!" Harker's smile stiffened, and he tucked his hand into a pocket, attempting to be casual, but it was too late.

"Yes. I've been traveling since yesterday."

"Through the storm?"

"Storm must have passed over. It's been cold but pleasant enough."

"Lucky."

"What is your Talent?" Airstep asked. Harker hesitated only an instant.

"My mark says Accuracy."

"Oh that sounds like an esoteric focus." Anita nodded to herself.

"Those can be quite strong."

"Not like an elemental focus," Sven said, clearing his throat.

"All Talents can be strong." Airstep cut in.

"It is entirely about how they are utilized."

"Says the Major Talent," Sven muttered. Anita leaned closer, a smile on her lips.

"Accuracy sounds strange though. Can I see it?" What is this? Harker was confused as the girl batted her eyes. Is she flirting? Of course she wasn't. That didn't happen to him.

"No, I'd rather save my Water for the journey—""You can wait for our escort," Airstep offered.

"You'd make five heading toward the Travelspire. Our escort could easily guard that few, and they're set to be here by evening. It would be far safer that way…and would give you plenty of time to refine more Water." Harker shut his mouth. His instinct was to refuse, but that could be considered suspicious at best. He'd rather not entertain piercing questions. I shouldn't have stopped here.

"Well, fellow Aspirant," Sven tipped his chin up.

"Since you got to see our Talents in action, I think it's only fair we get to see yours." Harker glanced back to the inn and spied Stillwater's annoyed expression. There was only one way out.

"Very well." Anita cheered.