Chương 50

Do not trust in the mercy of the strong. Harker slid his hand to his waist, where his vine and dagger hung.

"So you know." Adhira gave a small, embarrassed smile.

"I do." He adjusted his stance, turning one shoulder toward her by slow inches. If she decided to use this information against him…

"For how long?" Where Adhira stood upslope, she was almost as tall as him—a detail that did not escape Harker's notice. If she decided to attack him he had few options.

"The morning after we saw the leaderboard, when you had gone off into the woods alone. I felt you moving your water around, and it felt off." Abyss. Others can feel that?

"I suppose I'm not as sneaky as I hoped." He forced a chuckle, trying to keep it light. Harker wasn't sure he succeeded. A sour pit had opened up in his stomach, one that couldn't be accounted for by kaffa sprouts.

"It's bad luck really." She shrugged, though her hands didn't leave her axe.

"I'm more sensitive than most."

"Luck hasn't been much of a factor in my life." His hand closed around his ring dagger.

"So what now?" In the Vale, Harker's weakness kept him apart. Not just distant, but despised. Talents were passed down, parents to children, and no one wanted a Knack in their family. It didn't matter that Harker had been five years old—weakness knew no age, and neither did derision. Adhira shrugged, a confused smile on her face.

"We keep climbing? I'm sorry for spoiling your secret—Ancestors know I have my own—but this doesn't change anything. We still need to get to the Travelspire." She turned and kept walking. Harker was left staring at her swishing cloak. What? That was it?

"What do you mean 'it doesn't change anything?'" he called after her. Adhira turned back, seemingly more confused than ever.

"Should it? You hid a weakness. That's what Talented do, Harker."

"No," he muttered.

"No, Talented take and if you're too weak to stop them, then—""Some Talented, sure." Adhira hesitated.

"Alright, most do. But what exactly am I taking here? You're already traveling with me, which was supposed to push my ranking higher, except you're more capable than an unrefined Talent has any right to be. I get injured and you heal me. Tides, you brought a lady back from the verge of death!" Adhira laughed. It wasn't bitter or resentful at all.

"At this point, I'm wondering if I'm dragging you down."

"That's pushing it a bit far."

"Perhaps. But don't deny that you're more able than you let on."

"I am what I am." Harker steadied his breathing, nearly overcome by a sense of familiarity. He'd said something similar to Denar only hours before.

"Exactly." She grinned triumphantly.

"Hiding strengths is what Talented do, too." She returned to walking and Harker could only stare after her. Stillwater stopped by his side, staring in equal confusion.

"So she isn't going to lord her strength over you?" Big yellow eyes looked up at him, a sneer on his lips.

"What is wrong with you humans?" Harker frowned. The Eidhrin agreed with him. That wasn't a good sign. He dropped his hand from his weapon. It wasn't that he thought Adhira would kill him, but he expected… something worse. No matter how kind she pretended to be, that was an attitude for a peer. An equal. Yet she was acting like nothing had changed. Harker understood he wasn't a Knack anymore. No one knew him as anything but a Minor Talent… but lacking refinement was a severe issue as he headed toward the Academy.

Did Adhira not care because it meant he wasn't competition? That would make far more sense. Or she's simply kind. He hated how much he doubted that. Harker scrubbed his face with a hand. At his side, Stillwater tucked his claws behind his suspenders.

"Her worries wear her down. I could always make a Bargain with her—""No."

"It would be easy—" Stillwater sucked in a sharp breath as the tip of a dagger pressed against his gills.

"No," Harker repeated. He left the blade there a moment longer before sheathing it at his waist. He walked off, leaving the Gilken to rub his neck and mutter several choice curses. A tingle cut across Harker's left arm. His steps slowed and he lifted his Chartermark—only to see the gold glimmer from wrist to elbow. The Ordeal Of Blackwake's Descent - The Trial Of Truth - 0% > 1% The Ordeal of Deep Lantern - The Trial Of Harmony - 5% > 7% He stopped. You can't be serious.

Harmony had jumped up almost as much as it had after fighting an entire battle with Adhira, and Truth… Had it progressed because he revealed his secrets? That couldn't be it. Like she'd said, Talented had a plethora of secrets—most related to how their Talents functioned and what the limitations might be. To reveal those to other Aspirants would hobble anyone. If that's how it works, then I'd almost rather take the Ordeal when I arrive. No doubt the Ordeals were harder once they entered the Travelspires.

Having to perform in front of this Tribunal would be less than ideal, though. Harker groaned. Step after step, Harker kept his eyes firmly fixed on the wet trail. Adhira said nothing, but that didn't help the uneasy tilt of his innards. Yet the slow minutes passed regardless, taking with them the rougher edges of their interaction. Adhira still walked ahead and Harker could only stare at her back and worry for so long. He sought distraction and his tributaries stung through both hands and feet.

He shuffled his arms, trying to find a comfortable position as the rain sprinkled across the mountaintop in light waves. He shoved his hands into his pockets, and blinked. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Oh. The gift from Denar. The wrapped object was roughly square-shaped and the size of his palm. Layers of scrap cloth bound it shut, and when he'd finally unravelled the gift it was fully a half inch thinner. A tiny book?

Thin as his pinky finger, the miniature tome was bound by wooden boards clad in a mottled leather. It wasn't smooth, but had a tooth to it that gripped the pads of his fingers. Bound in shark skin? He opened it with a flick of a finger. Directly inside the cover was a small note scribbled across a blank page. Dearest Colin. Let these words hold you fast as you Descend. Love, Ma, and Pa. Harker's steps slowed and his heat sped up. It was a book for Denar and Lydia's son—the one who died.

He flipped to the first page, and was confronted by a nearly indecipherable wall of script. The book was handwritten, but whoever had penned it had taken up every stretch of available space on the page. From corner to corner, a cramped, looping script bled dark ink like blood—until each page was nothing more than a wall of scribbles. It was impossible to read. For most.

"Sovereign Sight." He pulsed his Talent, keeping the wave of Water focused only on his palm. His awareness swept over the small book. The feel of the shark skin cover grated against every inch of his skin. The thin pages crinkled in his ears. The acidic taste of dried ink danced across his tongue. Too much. He adjusted. Less Water this time, faint droplets that skimmed across the outside of the book. All it fed back to him was the impression of its outline.

He adjusted a third time, and Water sank deep before immediately springing back outward. Got it! The feel of the very first page pressed against his thoughts, details beyond sight. The inky script sprawled out before him, each letter a distinct stroke he could identify all at once. Perfectly legible. Before one can Descend into the Infinite Sea, one must first seize its power for your own. Harker grinned. Now this is useful. He got to reading. Some time later, Harker closed the book with a frustrated sigh.

It was too simple. Whoever had compiled this information had crammed everything they could onto its pages, but even then it was nothing but a basic primer on refinement and Descending to the First Depth. If this had been useful to Colin, then he hadn't known much at all. I suppose it confirms some things for me. Growing up, Harker had relied on his mother as the authority on all things. Kept away from general schooling in Vale for… unfortunate reasons… Harker had little extra input.

The book detailed the first few steps into the Infinite Sea, though it was with the broadest of strokes. The Surface of the Sea is where your soul touches upon the Infinite. The Scope of your Talent defines the breadth of your power, both in what your Talent can manifest and in how much Water you may draw into your soul. When your Talent is weakest it also has the most potential. Talents at the Surface stage are generally restricted to affecting yourself and your immediate area.

The greater your Scope, the more a Talent can deviate from that rule. Once you Descend into the Sea, you must face your first Tribulation. Its shape is different for all, but just know that ducking beneath the waves will scour your soul and body alike. Prepare yourself through refinement. Beyond the Tribulation, the potency of the Sea increases by an order of magnitude. By holding tight to your Talent and enduring the agony of Descent, you will emerge changed.

Talents that reach First Depth will gain the capacity to reach beyond your immediate area/self, often directly impacting distant targets. If range was already an asset, you will find it doubled at a minimum. Yet none of these changes come without cost. You must hone yourself, refining your mind as much as your body, for without a clear vision you will find yourself sundered and your corpse a home to Aberrant teeth. It covered the basics, though it did not Descend further than First Depth.

Harker was aware of another Tribulation between the First and Second Depths, though not much beyond that. What he did know, and what the little book emphasized over and over again, was the vast increase in danger with every Depth. The solution presented at length in the book was body refinement. It ignored the carving of tributaries and the foundation of a Current—much to Harker's annoyance—focusing instead on the general process of infusing one's skin with refined Water.

After that it suggested focusing on the muscles, then bones, organs, and finally blood. Much like a thaumist or smith who infuse their creations with Talents, you must infuse your own flesh with your power. Once refined, the Water that courses through your tributaries is filled with the stamp of your soul. Much like how all Currents are motivated by one's Talent, so it is with the nature of your Water. A word of advice: refine each part of your body completely in one go. To do less is to invite calamity.

All Talents must change, and change brings with it a new shape that might be contrary to the rest of your body's refinement. One cannot wade in the same waters twice. Harker shoved the book into his pocket again. All Currents are motivated by one's Talent. How does that work? Establishing a Current was a secretive process—it laid the foundation for every Descent, after all. His mother had explained the basics of it, but she'd never gone into details.

In his moodier, more bitter adolescence, Harker had suggested she was keeping him weak on purpose. After she'd beaten the tar out of him during training, his mother had told him the true reason.

"You aren't strong enough. I cannot give a knife to a toddler, son." The words had hurt more than the welts he'd earned that day, but they were necessary. Harker would have injured himself trying to do more than he could handle—and he would have tried, at least once. Yet now that very caution had turned against him. He was no longer a toddler but his hands were bound. A knife would have come in handy. As far as gifts went, it was well intentioned.

His fingers returned to his pocket, trailing across the shark skin cover. Harker couldn't fault Denar for trying to help. At the very least, the final page of the book gave him some hope. Notations sourced from A Talented Overview in the Pellus Lighthouse, with permission. Pellus Lighthouse. That's in the Sunken City. He'd never been to a lighthouse, though the Keepers had mentioned them as a sort of large Shrine to the Ancestors. There were supposedly at least one lighthouse in every major city across the isles.

If he were lucky, he could find one on the other side of the Gnarl and find another manual. Surely there were more complete instructions on establishing a Current… even if he had to pay for one.

"We'll stop here for the night." Harker blinked rapidly, suddenly realizing that the light of day had long since faded into a smear of hues on the horizon. Purples soaked stone and shrub alike, and Adhira stood no more than ten feet away, chewing her lip.

"What?"

"Nothing." She glanced away.

"There's a small trailhouse here. It'll keep the rain off us if it decided to storm in the night again." Harker could see it, tucked into the mountain itself. Slabs of shadowed rock, cut evenly out of the cliff face by someone's potent Talent. A door hung off rusted hinges, but the windows looked to have solid shutters, and a small metal pipe stuck up out of the roof. Most interesting of all, however, was the large slab of stone that laid slantwise across the whole thing.

Vines had crawled up and around it, covering it and securing it to the trail's dirt at the same time, but Stillwater wasn't fooled." Humans." The Gilken said it like a curse.

"You cannot hold to anything, can you?" Harker hadn't a clue what the creature meant—not until he took two steps closer to the vine-shrouded rock. It felt as if worms made of frozen light crawled across his skin and spine together, as every piece of his Stature writhed. Before him, broken in half, was a Charterstone.