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I lied. The last cut hurts just as much. Golden knots rose up, unwinding before Harker's eyes. Ordeals In Progress…

The Ordeal Of Maelstrom's Passage - The Trial Of Power - 0 > 5% The Ordeal Of Blackwake's Descent - The Trial Of Truth - 0% The Ordeal Of Breaking Reef - The Trial Of Change - 8 > 10% The Ordeal Of Tidal Climb - The Trial Of Resilience - 8 > 15% The Ordeal of Deep Lantern - The Trial Of Harmony - 1% The Ordeal of Drowning Sky - The Trial Of Vigilance - 8 > 9% The Ordeal of Mist and Foam - The Trial Of Stillness - 8 > 15% The Ordeal of Siren's Undertow - The Trial Of Judgment - 2 > 3% The Ordeal of Abyssal Plunge - The Trial Of Ambition - 2 > 8% Nearly every single Ordeal had gone up, save Truth and Harmony.

He still wasn't sure what the Trial of Truth was supposed to be quantifying, but he imagined he'd figure it out eventually. Apparently it had nothing to do with opening tributaries. The other Ordeals, however, did. Harker loosed a heavy breath, his smile spreading wider. It was exactly what he'd hoped for—the effort gone into cutting his tributaries had been… a lot. He swallowed, grin fading. If it that struggle hadn't been reflected in at least some of his Ordeals, he would've rioted.

Trial of Power only went up by 5%, though. Vague as the name of it was, his first thought had been that it measured how much destruction one could cause with one's Talent. If that were the case, his would have never climbed above zero. Yet it had. The only conclusion he could make, then, was that the Ordeal was focused on capacity and capability. He could move much more Water now that he wasn't restricted to holding it all in his reservoir. Power measures how much Water I can draw.

If I can complete my tributaries and establish a Current… How much would the Ordeal increase by then? Rolling his shoulders, Harker sat back on his stump. He was getting carried away, concerning himself with Ordeals when he needed to confirm that he'd completed the job.

"Sovereign Sight." Starting at his reservoir, he traced the looping tributaries branch by branch. The further he went, the more satisfied Harker became. He'd done a commendable job, all things considered, and he couldn't see any areas that seemed weak. Improvements can be made, but that is for another time. The initial carving of tributaries was the most important, but often they were a simple outline of what they would become in the future. Once I start refining my body, I'll be able to expand them, bit by bit.

That giddy excitement bubbled up in Harker's chest again. Harker had spent so much of his life learning to live with his lack of Talent that now, faced with the possibility of further growth… Joy was not foreign to him. He had loved his life in the northwoods, learning herbals with his mother, reading old books, and laughing at jokes he'd heard too many times. Now, though, it felt like he was floating. He'd left the ground, and the sky was opening up. He wasn't quite sure what to do with it all.

Harker ran a hand up his throat, his awareness settling on the tributary leading into his head. Of the five primaries, it was the one that had worried him the most to cut. The process split flesh and spirit alike, and there were a great many things to navigate through the chest and neck. Arteries, the spinal column, his lungs, and heart. Worst of all was his brain, which Harker was half convinced he'd crack if he cut too close.

It hadn't happened, seeing as he wasn't dead on the ground, but that didn't stop Harker from triple checking. The Lock in his throat was intact, though the loop of his primary did stretch upward into the base of his skull. Small thorns populated the branch, scraping against bone and muscle alike, but no further. Harker let out a careful breath. Sovereign Sight bent, his focus arcing back downward to— What is that? At the top of his skull he felt a strange pressure. A familiar one, too. It was… Another Lock?

It wasn't the strange stone shape of his others, instead being formed of some sort of ephemera. Gauzy and liquid, it swirled a hairsbreadth above the crown of his skull. Out of reach of his tributaries, even if he'd extended it through his brain.

"A word of warning, human." Stillwater got up from his inelegant slumber with a groan.

"Don't go touchin' that Lock."

"So it is a Lock. Why not?"

"Because if you open that and you're not ready, you'll be deader than your hometown." Harker clenched his jaw, but he reeled in his awareness. Stillwater knew about Vale. He wasn't even around when Adhira had mentioned it.

"What? You think these beauties are just to get the ladies?" Stillwater waggled his finned ears.

"I hear everything."

"Why would it kill me?" Harker asked under his breath.

"That's knowledge you ain't ready for. And it has nothing to do with my debt. In fact," he stretched.

"Ooh yeah. Not telling you is already paying off a touch." Harker could feel that too. A new strengthening between them. Not a full debt paid, but at least partially.

"Huh," Stillwater grunted.

"All that studyin' and helpful advice and it still didn't count as a full payment?" he groaned.

"How long am I gonna be stuck with you?"

"I…appreciate the help, regardless."

"Do you?" Stillwater eyed him.

"Maybe so. No matter, you—""Stature." Stillwater paused.

"What?"

"I've got questions about it." He looked at Adhira. She was sweating, but seemed completely unaware of her surroundings.

"We'll talk later."

"You think so?" The Gilken snorted.

"You got more important things to worry about. For instance: you cut your tributaries, but you left your Locks unopened. Maybe that's why I didn't get full credit for the debt. Complete the rippin' job!" Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. Harker considered Adhira again. She was still swirling with a faint radiance, but either the rising sun had dimmed it, or she was nearing completion. Perhaps he should wait rather than risk—"You've got time. I'll keep the girl distracted."

Harker frowned.

"How." Stillwater stood close to her now, peering at her sweaty face.

"Don't worry. I won't hurt her." He shrugged.

"Probably."

"Back off." The last thing he needed was an injured or dead noble. And Adhira…she didn't deserve that.

"Just warn me if she wakes." Stillwater groaned, but backed off.

"Fine." Harker watched him a bit longer, but the Gilken had sat down again and fiddled with something in his waistcoat pocket. Stillwater grinned.

"Well? Go on, then."

"I'll do one." A sour bite in his belly cut through the last of his joy. Slowly, however, Harker closed his eyes.

"Sovereign Sight." The first Lock he checked was the one he'd already opened. Just past the wrist, on his palm, the Lock had been opened a long time ago. Unlike Eidhrin—or Gilken specifically, he supposed—Locks in humans were more like chunks of stone. Not true stone, of course, because an object like that embedded in the skin would cause all sorts of harm. It was like his tributaries: half in the flesh and half in the spirit. The left palm was cut through.

Not split in half or anything, as that would break the Lock entirely, but drilled through the center. It was rough, and the opening was relatively small, but it gave Harker a bit of confidence. He'd done this before. He could do it again. He switched to his right palm. It was very similar, save for the fact that no jagged hole had been bored through it. Looks solid. Was my left Lock this big too? Harker believed it was, but the task before him felt a bit more monumental.

Previously, he'd battered his meager Water into his Lock until it burst. The process had taken nearly a week and it had strained his sole tributary so badly he'd taken a month to recover. It was among the many reasons he'd never tried to open any more Locks. It's different this time. I'm different. With a grunt, Harker flexed internally, and the Water that spiraled his center surged outward to crash into his right palm. The untempered Sea hit the rough stone, and it shook under the deluge. So did he.

Harker grimaced at the familiar agony. Breaking open Locks was a brutal process with even the greatest of Talents. He'd heard tales of special treasures that could reduce or even eliminate the pain, but that wasn't the sort of thing rural Talents could grasp. At best they got Vestiges that tried to kill them. If I die… at least I'll die with power. Harker stopped, pulling his Water back toward his reservoir. The damage was minimal, but I can see—yes. A fissure.

A few more strikes like that and he'd— Harker hesitated. The fissure he'd spotted had an angle to it that he hadn't noticed before. Deeper cracks spread around the Lock, enough that if he squinted it almost looked like a clenched fist. And at its center, he caught the faintest of glimmers. He sent Sovereign Sight deeper. The Lock wasn't a rock any more than his tributaries were rivers, but the similarities were there.

Gritty sediment filled a craggy stone that, in his preternatural attention, seemed big as a boulder. Its edges were hazy, pieces of it floating strangely before fading entirely. The center though, was all too physical. Harker felt around it, each questing touch delivering the bland taste of it and the deep smell of uncovered earth. He couldn't find the glimmer again, but when he got close enough he did hear a distinct trickle. The fissure.

Water couldn't pass through the Lock, but it was gathering inside of the fissure and then… He looked down. This close, he could perceive the near-transparent seepage around the Lock's base, back into his tributary. It's draining back out. Harker sniffed, tasting salt crystals that clung tightly to the inner portions. Remnants of the pooling Water. Impurities. Normally such things traveled through Water into the body, but Harker supposed that weakness was not inherent in the Sea. Humans had plenty of their own.

But he could use this. Harker flexed, pulling more untempered Sea into the Lock. He didn't ram it, though, instead clenching to slow its passage. It splashed into his Lock, pooling against the boulder until that very small trickle funneled in. The impurities went with it, filling the fissure surely as anything else. Slowly, the Water drained, leaving only the salt and silt behind. Again. There was no painful smash or terrible breaking. Only a slow and steady pressure, applied to the weakest point.

Salt and silt gathered inside the Lock, filling it up until the fissure seemed like it would accept nothing else. Harker didn't relent. Thirty passes and still the Lock absorbed Water—well past the point where he was starting to question this method entirely. Harker had long since learned to endure pain and he did not shy from it now. Instead, it was his age-old nemesis to blame. I want to see where this goes. Curiosity drove him, and Harker continued to add Water.

Stream after stream filled the Lock, each one taking longer to drain. Until finally— A crackling snap echoed through him. The Lock broke open. Harker panted, sweat on his brow, but no pain in his wrist or palm at all. Before him, the pressure of salt and silt had blown apart the boulder. The Lock remained, but now it was a craggy stone husk with a perfect circle cut through the middle. As if it had been there the whole time, and only the right touch had revealed it.

A distinct but almost unnoticed pressure vanished from his chest. Harker gasped, Water burbling from his right hand before evaporating into the air in blue-green streamers. A buoyant joy returned, bubbling up from the Depths. The fissure was a fault line, and Harker was willing to bet his other Locks bore something similar. The Lock on his right foot was just past the heel, where the fleshy arc bends the foot upward.

This boulder was flatter, shaped almost like a blade, and had several rocky layers that formed an impenetrable slab. There was no fissure on its surface, but after careful investigations, Harker found the sharp taste of brine within its sediment. Water funneled into the Lock, and soon it had split apart as well. Another perfect circle chipped from the slab's center. His left foot was the same, which brought him upward. To the throat.

Just behind his voicebox, it clung like a triangular obelisk at the end of his thorned primary. It was larger than the others, and that wasn't its only difference. It bore no significant fissure or build up of impurities at all. For a moment, Harker was stymied. He could, of course, return to bashing through the Lock. It was a tried and true method. Thinking on his jagged left plam Lock, however, Harker would rather try anything else.

Flexing internally, Water surged up his primary, slowing down enough to pool around the throat Lock. With Sovereign Sight, Harker sorted through the sensations rippling through him. His eyes were filled with blue-green, his ears thundering with a gurgling rush, and his smell and taste were choked by brine. One by one, he discarded them, throwing them onto the mental pyre. Until there was only touch. Slowly, he inspected every inch of the Lock. He found nothing, so he tried again.

He pushed away the eddying flows trying to pull him back, and ignored the roll of waves that shoved him down. Sovereign Sight held the stone close, every nerve alive to— There! Near where the triangular monolith faded into spirit, he felt a string of bubbles. A hole existed at the very edge, and Water was pouring in. Except it wasn't pouring out. Perfect. Harker clenched, and his unrefined Water surged toward the edge, crowding the burbling gap as it slowly filled. And filled.

Until a deep groan came from within the Lock. Harker pressed harder, pulling his Water closer and closer, until the river very nearly ran dry— It shattered. Harker fell back, his awareness buzzing and ears ringing. When it cleared, he beheld exactly what he'd hoped: a perfect circle broken through the triangular Lock. Water already passed through, and Harker coughed, only choking a little before he stopped the flow.

Distantly and uncomfortably close, a gurgling crash announced the arrival of more Water from the Sea. It poured into his reservoir, stretching its capacity—only to slip out into his tributaries. That pressure he'd been feeling had been cut apart, and relief flowed through Harker as much as Water. He returned to his senses, only to peer at his Chartermark. He was too curious. There was only a single change. The Ordeal Of Maelstrom's Passage - The Trial Of Power - 10% Harker grinned.

"Now that's more like it."