Chương 57

Allow yourself to feel. It's not a crime. Hours had passed, and the fire had long since gone out. Even the embers faded into lifeless gray, and that had plunged the interior of the trailhouse into an unremitting black. Gone were the tables and chairs, gone was the bed beside him, and even the pack near his head was all but invisible to Harker's eyes. Adhira was on the bed, no doubt enjoying the plush comfort of it, but Harker preferred the hard ground.

He'd spent more than his fair share on root and rock in the northwoods—there was nothing quite so bracing as discomfort to make you ready to fight off a surprise boar. Harker adjusted himself for the tenth time that hour. Comfort mired the senses and reflexes. Who needed it? The storm had raged unabated all night. It washed against the trailhouse's walls in unceasing waves, and despite being almost completely sunk into the mountain face, the sound of it filled the great chamber.

Thunder growled overhead, not so much heard as felt in the back of his belly. Stillwater was out there and Harker wasn't sure whether to be concerned about it or not. Clearly, the Eidhrin could take care of himself, but leaving the devious little creature to his own devices felt dangerous. What am I worried about? He's likely bamboozling some poor squirrel into a soul-binding Bargain. Sleep was… elusive.

Even if the kaffa sprout wasn't still scalding his veins, Harker's mind was moving far too swiftly to allow slumber any purchase. Adhira clearly had no such problem. She slept like a throw rug, arms and legs flung in all directions. Had he been on the cusp of actual sleep, the rasp of her snores would have driven him to madness. Crocus somnulus. The primary ingredient in her ointment. It not only relaxed her muscles, it also induced a strong drowsiness to aid the natural healing process.

With her refinement, she'll feel a great deal better in the morning. Harker was happy that he hadn't lost his touch with herbals. Being of use… Despite everything, he found a certain comfort in putting things to rights. He glanced up to the edge of the bed—at her—and while he couldn't see anything in the dark, every sawing breath brought him a strange sense of calm. It made little sense, but then everything about the girl was confusing. He liked her well enough—he couldn't deny that.

She was brash and solved all her problems with violence, but she had an incongruous kindness. A noble, born with salt-steel in her hand and the Sea at her feet, Adhira was rich and powerful. Her upbringing, her training, everything she knew was a secret that her family had paid a fortune to seize—and yet she'd let him witness her Current with barely any hesitation. She'd claimed it was in repayment, but that was a flimsy justification. Not even the poorest of families back home would have allowed such a thing.

Had Harker saved her life? Absolutely. But when had that ever mattered? He'd reduced killer fevers, mended shattered bones, and even helped deliver children all across Vale. All he'd ever gotten for his efforts were a few coins and a demand that he get out. Adhira never knew me as a Knack. She'd do the same if she had. Harker reined himself in. He'd given up some of his secrets today, but he couldn't make it a habit. The Laws exist for a reason, he reminded himself. Don't ignore them now.

At the end of the day, the only person he could trust was himself. Thunder rattled his back teeth. Dust rained down from the ceiling, as if the storm had settled directly on top of them. Perhaps it had. They were quite high up in the Gnarl, if not anywhere near the summit, and it was a rare few clouds that actually managed to skirt over the peak. Most skimmed through the passes, collecting force as they hurtled down the northward slopes. Harker reached out, touching a few more dribbling streams of stone dust.

The mountain shielded the trailhouse, but how much was uncertain. He glanced in the direction of the lone exit—it was still blocked by a Water-infused Bulwark, but his confidence in Adhira's Talent was finite. The storm's fury was growing. Thunder growled again, deep and almost vicious. It called to mind uncomfortable memories, things too recent to ignore. They crawled across his skin, a slithering presence he doubted he'd ever forget. Something creaked. Harker froze.

He listened, stilling himself as he'd been trained. A long moment stretched taut across the blind dark—broken only by the rasping saw of Adhira's deep slumber. Foolish. Nothing had moved, because there was nothing there. A wariness of the dark was wise when the shadows had teeth… but this was not the place. The Horizon was firm. All he sensed were phantoms. Those mad minds tugged at him.

Harker barely remembered them, but they carried an intensity that cut him to the quick teeth and claws beneath the heaving surface. Visceral hunger. Harker shook himself, shoving the memory of sensation away And in its place was the other thing that kept that occupied his mind. Far more wondrous, but just as intense, it was the experience of seeing Adhira's Current play out live before him. He couldn't forget, unlike the aberance below the sea, he could not forget a piece of this, of that.

The swirls, an elegant pattern, the layout, so unlike still waters, the vortexes Harker knew he was close, that he was just about to grasp an important piece of it, but then it was gone. Snatched from his grip by Adhira's own fatigue. He set up with a grunt. I'm not getting to sleep, he thought. Better to make myself useful. Folding his knees under him, he started to breathe. Just as before Adhira's breathing pattern was uncomfortable. Four seconds. Inhale, seven second hold in an eight-second release.

Over and over, he breathed in that manner, never deviating by even the smallest interval. Time passed. Was it five minutes or ten? Harker wasn't certain, but he found a center of calm inside of himself. A place where his mind withdrew, distancing himself from the whirling surface of his thoughts. It focused him in a way that was intimately familiar. Just like how he cast aside distractions when using his Talent, the breathing shunted away anything that wasn't here and now. There was only Harker.

As everything fell away, all that remained was a sharpened edge. His awareness stood upon it, a precipice as precarious as any blade. In one direction was his body and the roil of his reservoir, and in the other was the call of the deep Sea. It would be so easy to dive down. The churning aperture at his center—his Soul Lock—was a lake beneath the cliff. An ocean. Too vast to miss. He only had to step off… and fall. The heaving Sea crashed far below, threaded by flickers of gold.

The edge of his Scope, his Soul Lock, all of it teemed with power and threat alike. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Not today. Harker would visit the Sea once he'd begun refinement, and not a moment before. He stepped off, toward his body. No time or distance passed. Immediately, Harker stood among his reservoir and tributaries, his awareness spreading outward effortlessly.

Even without his Talent, he could sense so much more of his spiritual pathways—and he realized why. His breathing continued apace. Four. Seven. Eight. The breathwork expanded his attention while also honing it, until he felt every rush and crash of the untempered Sea in his body. It thundered through Harker, pulling at him in every direction at once. Harker gritted his teeth. His insides were a wild mess.

His primaries were wide and deep, cut in the fashion of Stillwater's, but their sides were scaled with impurities. Salt and silt encrusted vast swaths of his tributaries, far much more than even a day ago. He followed them out—his primaries extended from his center in a thorned spiral, each one splitting into smaller conduits that dug deep. At every curve and intersection there were buildups that narrowed the channels until Water squeezed through them with a high-pitched spray. Abyss.

His left arm was the worst of it all, worn as it was for the longest. The damage had increased, but not nearly as much as he'd feared. Opening his other tributaries had truly proven to weaken the effect of the Sea on him—but it was still there. It was still eroding where it wasn't building up towards a blockage. Joint ached, his muscles had contusions deep in their fibers, and his organs… seemed fine. Though who knew for how long.

Harker thanked the Ancestors for that, but he couldn't deny that his system was being taxed far beyond what it could handle. He was running out of time. A Current is just the push and pull of Water through me. I have the tributaries now, as simple as they might be—surely I can mimic something of what Adhira's done. Harker flexed those unnamed muscles inside of him, pushing Water forward from his reservoir. It gushed forth, pouring through the spiral of his primaries.

Then he reversed it, clenching and pulling the Water back in the other direction. He knew human anatomy extensively. He'd read the books and done the work. These muscles, whatever they were, had nothing to do with his body and everything to do with his spirit. And he knew far less about his spirit. So he set about learning. Push. The unrefined Water inside of him sloshed into sloppy waves. Pull. The tide reversed, yanked back down his primaries toward his reservoir. Push.

He heaved, forcing the majority of the Water down toward his left leg. It spread out, soaking through his thorned tributaries and leaving behind a glut of silt. Harker pulled it back, letting the coil of Water spool through his center before pushing it all up into his right arm. A gurgling rush was the only warning he had before his reservoir spat out another deluge of the Sea. Stormy waves crashed in his center, his Stature just barely holding.

Water flooded into all his tributaries at once, nearly pressing him to full. Harker glanced back at the sleeping girl. He had to be careful. Quiet. He'd given up enough of his secrets today. Sovereign Sight. Something coiled inside of him and for a moment, Harker thought he'd done it. Much to his disappointment, however, nothing happened. The coiling faded, tension dissolving without result. Being able to silently manifest his Talent would be an incredible advantage.

He had managed it in the Sea, so Harker knew it was possible. He just had to find the right path. Sovereign Sight. The coiling returned, tightening ever further until the tension all but vibrated his chest. Yet there was no movement—no rush of Water as it poured through his tributaries. The impetus, whatever it was, dissolved again. Harker bit off his curse.

"Sovereign Sight," he whispered. His awareness rolled through the trailhouse. In the Sea, it had felt easy. Disorienting and sickening, yes, but easy. Now, it spread three feet with barely a whisper… and Harker pushed it further. He hit four feet and the darkness danced around him. The world was illuminated. Without light, the four foot radius around Harker was still scribed into his mind with indelible detail. The bed, Adhira, a spindle chair, even half of a toppled table—all lay within his range.

Adhira's snores were like thunder, undercut by the real thing just beyond the stone walls. There was no movement of creatures, no creaking of timbers, just the rush of the rain outside beating against the mountain. It pounded in waves guided by the rain and the unknowable vagaries of the skies. Lightning flashed. He couldn't see it—he could hear it against his skin and taste the sharp pang of burning metal in the air. The soft susseration reminded him of nothing so much as the Infinite Sea. Not Adhira's, of course.

Her sunset expanse was calm and mastered. No, he thought instead of the storm that raged in his Scope—the waves that crashed, trying to drown him whenever he'd presented himself to that place. The skies that were filled with black clouds and arcing lightning. Find a path forward. Currents were motivated by one's Talent—that's what Colin's book said.

Harker's mother had always insisted that the first 80% of all Currents were the same, that no matter who you went to, they all bore a similar pattern within their tributaries. Anyone who suggested otherwise, who offered a special route to infinite power, was selling something. The difference lay in the 20%. There was a uniqueness to everyone's Current, one that paired with their Talent and their soul, an element that was not shared by anyone else, even members of the same House.

This was developed over time, only growing with age and Depth. Then there were the rare few. Folks that discovered some potent secret inherent to the Sea, their Talent, or some other hidden aspect. Those were changed well beyond 20%. Perhaps with his Vestige, if he knew more about how it worked, Harker could find some avenue there. For now, it was beyond him. For now, he simply had to get his Water moving. Everything else was a bonus. I saw the Current in Adhira.

It flowed through her nonstop and the pattern shifted between her limbs. I can't seem to kickstart that. He knew why. In her reservoir, those dual vortexes were drawing two separate patterns through her body. They worked seemingly in tandem creating a unique flow to her Water. He had no doubt that multiple vortexes made a stronger Current, but he hadn't a clue how he could even create one, let alone two. He could only try.

Again and again, Harker pushed and pulled, but all he achieved was a dense, hollow feeling in his chest, as if he were trying to take a breath with his mouth and nose stoppered up. The storm outside intensified, beating against the mountain and trailhouse alike. The waves of precipitation dropped down again and again, accompanied by something harder. Hail, his Talent told him. He couldn't see it, but the hard, almost metallic impacts were unmistakable to a boy who grew up in the northwoods. Four. Seven. Eight.

Harker breathed. Outside was chaos. A thousand drops, a gust of wind and hail, it made for a howling beyond the stone. A pattern. One that called to him. When the wind gusted, he pushed. The rain washed he pulled, timing the pulsing of each pull with the ebbing wave of raindrops. Lightning crashed and Harker stopped altogether for four long seconds, only to push with the rattle of hail. Erratic. Chaotic. It felt awful, like digging into his spine through his stomach, but the Water within him was moving.

The sloshing had long since faded into a flow that spread through his spiraling center and limbs with an uncertain regularity. Harker kept going, no matter the pain it caused, never once stopping as the storm guided his hand. The thorned ends of his tributaries dug into his flesh with every roll of the tide, while his Locks tingled with pressure as the Water approached and receded. The hollow ache tore at him, and his lungs drew inward so hard that they scalded like fire.

The impurities alongside his tributaries rattled, grating as water passed over their jagged surfaces. They built up, piece by piece as salt and silt clung to their edges. Kaffa sprout burned in his gut, his limbs were leaden, and his mind fuzzed. Four. Seven. Eight. He breathed steadily. Pain is a smothering cloak. Cast it off. Nothing could stop him. At his center, amid gold and foam-flecked waves, the Aberrants thought otherwise.