Chương 24

The Surface misleads. Truth lies in darker Depths. Harker emerged from the alley at an easy pace, a pleased Stillwater at his heels. The straps of his pack weighed at his shoulders, but he felt lighter than ever. The long night was over and the day had truly begun. Clouds scudded over rare blue skies and the sun was warm enough to dispell the chill that lingered near the ground. Morning was well underway, and the thin stream of villagers had turned into a raging river as they funneled toward the market square.

Harker took a deep breath. Despite the poison-wrought ache, it was the breath of freedom. He found himself curiously absent of guilt. There was only relief. For the first time in his life, he'd stopped someone from holding their power over him. Harker wasn't happy to have killed a person—only the mad would be—but he was happy to have the threat removed and his pack heavier as a reward.

"Headed to the market?" Stillwater hummed to himself, as unseen by the crowds as ever.

"Are you sure you don't want to throttle the innkeep? Perhaps gut the net-mender?" Harker shot him a look that put the Gilken's little claws up in the air.

"I'm simply offerin' suggestions. I found this foray quite amusin', not to mention profitable." He patted his round belly, smearing blood across his waistcoat.

"Not sure if my pack can hold much more," Harker muttered beneath his breath, mindful of those that passed by.

"Shouldn't let that stop a little healthy greed," Stillwater crunched the last bit of bone, bits flinging from his lips.

"But fine. Go see the stone. It'll help your soul." He started walking away and Harker stopped, staring after him.

"Where are you going?" Someone in the crowd turned but shook their head when they realized Harker wasn't talking to them. Stillwater was already stepping sideways through the growing throng.

"I'll be back." Harker wasn't aware that Stillwater could leave his side. He'd always felt tethered. What had changed?

"Your visit to the murderous shopkeep inspired me, human." He flicked his fingers toward the Charterstone.

"Go, bask in your unwise Bargain, and I'll return." Harker glanced at the Charterstone, and when he looked back, the Eidhrin had vanished into the crowd. He took another breath, bracing his aching lungs. That can't bode well. He could have followed the creature, but the persistent ache in his chest suggested otherwise. It was time to see if the Eidhrin's solution would work. The Charterstone was hard to miss.

It peaked over the top of the thatched buildings, standing at least forty feet tall and made of near-black rock polished to a dull sheen. It dominated the center of the market square, which was only now starting to bustle with activity. The debris from the storm and Threllsnacht festivities had been cleaned up, and eight stalls populated the crowded space, attended to by a bevy of villagers eager for fresh foods and small goods.

Harker eyed some of it, thinking a bit bitterly on the dried rations he'd only just acquired. The shopkeep's storeroom hadn't had much in the way of fresh produce, and while his dried rations would last far longer and be more of use, something fresh would have been delightful. I do have a great deal of silver… that I can't spend. The bars he'd taken from Miriam could buy out the entire market, but that was too much money for someone like him to have in a place like this.

It would bring undue attention on him as well. I'd rather they'd forgotten my face by the time they find Miriam's body. He sighed and put it from his mind. Going without wasn't anything new, and Harker was certain he'd be doing a lot of that in the coming months. A fountain ringed the middle of the market, shaped like three interconnected circles, with the Charterstone rising up out of the very center.

The fountain burbled from spigots carved into fishy Aberrant maws, and more than a few people walked up and dipped wooden buckets into its clear depths. It was fed by an underground spring, no doubt, the same one that fueled the minor stream that cut through the far portion of the village. Vale had fountains like it, but they were larger, owing to the Gallant being so close. Vale's Charterstones were also greater, at least in number, but this one stood out. For a moment, Harker couldn't place why. The lines.

They were different. Harker wasn't sure how he could tell, but the certainty was too strong to ignore. He stepped closer at an angle for a better look, but as he did so, his left arm trembled. Alarmed, he slid up his sleeve, only to see the gold of his Chartermark gleam. It pulsed once, loosing a faint, sonorous ping, and he shoved his sleeve down quickly, glancing around the crowd. No one gave a hint that they'd noticed. Stranger still was the pressure in his chest.

It tugged at his center in time with the rythmic pinging from his arm. Harker put a hand to his sternum, focusing on it. The clay around his reservoir, his Stature, felt as if it were being compressed. It was almost identical to when Stillwater was trying to compel him to action, only this time it was far more passive. A pat on the back as opposed to a shove. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"Sovereign Sight," he whispered. Water gushed through him, scouring against his aching tributary. Harker focused on the flow of it, much as he had with maintaining his three-foot radius, only this time he barely let it leave his palm Lock. Instead, the Water rolled back, across his own body in a wash that tingled his skin. It was almost soothing as it sunk deeper, spreading through muscle and blood like rain-starved soil. Far from an effort, holding his Talent was as easy as breathing.

Manual breathing, perhaps, but it filled him in near instants. His perception expanded. All at once he became aware of the stretch of his skin where scars puckered its surface. The break in his muscles where they'd been torn. The thrum of his heartbeat and gush of blood just beneath. His innards squelched, moist from the eternal wet within him, as his hunger gnawed away at his spine. Bruises and wounds, each swollen as they healed. His unwashed funk. He grimaced. A bath was necessary, and soon. Focus on my Stature.

Finding it was easier than ever. It clung around his reservoir like a inch-thick ring, and he swiftly gathered that he'd been right: it had compressed, but it was also denser. Thicker. Where before it was a resilient clay now it was more like the toughened flex of sinew. He watched as the Charterstone pinged once again, and a shudder rippled through it all, deforming it only slightly before it bounced back. It's… communicating with the Chartermark?

He watched longer as the pings continued to decrease in intensity, each bringing less ripples to his Stature. If this is a Bargain as Stillwater insists, then is it saying it's complete? No, he knew that wasn't true. If it were, the mark should vanish, right? Yet it wasn't compelling Harker to do anything, not like Stillwater had. If the clay analogy holds, then compelling is like molding someone's Stature to the shape you desire. This isn't doing that. Am I too strong, or is that not the intention?

A final ping rattled across his center, faint as a whisper, and Harker was filled with a certainty that the Chartermark was simply reacting to his presence. As if it were noting him passing by. If that is true, then it stands to reason every Charterstone will do this. It must be some sort of tracking function for the Academy. Harker sneered at the idea of being traced, but there was little he could do about it now. He shifted his attention away from his center, focusing instead on how the rest of his body fared.

His tributary was strained and wearing thinner than ever. It was spilling further over the jagged banks between reservoir and palm, wearing at his shoulder, bicep, and wrist in equal measure. His reservoir itself seemed in better condition. It wasn't as full as usual, almost certainly because he'd been using his Talent far more freely than he should. Currently, it was a little less than half full and draining fast. His time was short. He moved on.

The rest of his body had aches and bruises all over from his duels and the poison that had rocked his system. Most of all, though, he noticed his Chartermark. Much like the lines on the Charterstone before him, pieces of the mark had shifted. Harker narrowed his gaze, frowning down at his concealed forearm. He saw through it, deeper than ever as he hunted down the change, flickering through what might have been altered. The countdown was still there, as was the identification information he'd stolen from Jeren.

But all of that was on the surface, easily seen even without his Talent. Beneath them was where the true changes hid. There. A twisting piece of light stretched lengthwise across golden lines, layered deep beneath the rest. It was a metallic gold plane folded onto itself in strange geometries that bent outward and inward at the same time, as if the golden light were bouncing off a thousand facets. It drilled deeper into his flesh and Harker followed, pressing far enough to pass through his arm a dozen times.

Yet no matter how incredulous he grew, it continued onward. Inward. Until the folding twist sprang forth with a sudden, unyielding meaning. There were no words, only an ineffable and perfectly legible understanding spat directly into his soul. The Nine Ordeals. Those… those are the tests to enter the Spires. Every prospective student was to pass the Nine Ordeals. Fail and they were turned away from the Academy, never to be allowed entry as long as they lived. Why would the Chartermark have this? Yet there was more.

Beneath those twisting lines were a series of interlocked points. Knots of gold where the metal folded atop itself, lines intersecting to make points of gleaming light that burned like small stars. They were scattered about around him, suspended in a net of carved gold. Nine of them, each with a piece of something attached—a knotwork of that cradled within it a vision that flickered into existence. New meaning bloomed in Harker, rising through him like a trumpet call. Ordeals In Progress…

The Ordeal of Maelstrom's Passage. The Ordeal of Mist And Foam. The Ordeal of Blackwake's Descent… Nine in total. Small, transparent bars appeared beneath each folded knot and words. Some were partially filled, like sideways reservoirs, only instead of Water it was that same gold. What is this?

"It's you!" A scent accosted him. At first, he took it for Miriam's Talent and panic took hold—but sense kicked in soon after. This is different. That had cut at him even as it numbed. This was heady. His pulse quickened, and Harker's attention wavered like the air of a hot stone. He cut off his Talent. That strange inner realm vanished, the Ordeals replaced by a too bright sun and bubbling fountain. He blinked, and shapes around him resolved into a familiar young woman.

She pointed at Harker with one hand and with the other cradled the largest ax he had ever seen.

"You," he croaked. Adhira Demir. Noble. Talented. Vestige hunter.