The short man continued to deflate as he saw his dreams caving in. Artorian was the one who sat up with straight-backed composure. “Oh? How curious. A Fringe land transfer takes three full rotations of all seasons, which is about three years. It’s a shame that I’ll likely pass before then. Had you been here that full length of time, I would have been able to confer on to you the required name that would grant official land benefits in the Fringe. Of course, I’d sign any documents at that point if another country or some such was involved and needed their own version of proof.”
The heavenly light of hope filled the Head Cleric’s eyes as the old man threw him a lifeline. Then his dreams went a little sideways as he realized the other end of this bargain. “Do you believe you could live for three years?”
Artorian noisily hummed out a sonorous thought. *Hmm*. Ponderously running hand down his beard, Artorian listed the requirements, “With attentive care, solid bed rest, nutritious food, and pleasant stories about this cultivation stuff to keep my nightmares at bay… I believe three years is quite doable. Besides, I heard the Master Cleric was quite knowledgeable, and I would adore hearing some of your stories and experiences. My love for knowing things has always kept me alive. May I ask what you plan to do with the land?”
Artorian leaned forwards, pressing the matter. Tarrean, feeling crammed into quite the corner, decided to explain fully, “It’s… I would love to say it’s for a forward operating base for the Church. Unfortunately… that’s not true. It’s for my… son. He’s a good lad but thin and slow to cultivate. He lacks any shred of ambition, and the smallest, dumbest thing makes him happy. As his quite driven father, I must see that I can keep my boy in a safe corner of the world—at whatever cost I must pay to have that done… even my own pride.”
Artorian let free a long, relieved exhale. “Jin is a very good boy.”
“He is, if only…” The Head Cleric nodded in agreement. A dangerous, razor-sharp look stabbed straight into the old man. “How did you know Jin was my son?”
“Before or after you confirmed it for me?” Artorian chuckled. The fox’s smile came and swiftly went, along with his answer, “You’re a shrewd, zealous, and guarded man, Master Cleric. You’re harsh, distant, and keep a militaristic relationship with all but two people. For a person so devout in not showing favoritism, your boy receives an awful amount of care to always be at the forefront of cultivation during each chant and prayer. If someone would have blocked him from being able to have full attendance, they suddenly and inexplicably receive additional tasks.”
Artorian brushed himself off and rose. He slowly turned to leave. “I’m at about the end of what I can handle for a day. So, let me say it simply, Master Cleric.”
For an old man, he took an indomitable stance, rising straight with all the poise one expected of a military commander addressing a well-organized Legion. “I offer you this deal. Keep me alive for three years and indulge an old man his fancies. Then you’ll have your wish. Do we have an accord?”
Tarrean felt his heart stop for just a moment as the old man rose up. For that half a twinge of a second, he was reminded of being in the same room as a Vicar, a monster of influence. His voice was confident, but it betrayed him at that moment. “We have an accord.”
Artorian turned to leave, but before he opened the flap, the Head Cleric quick-fired a voiced worry, “Who was the second person?”
Stopping short, Artorian’s expression and attitude turned caustic. He didn’t turn to address the Head Cleric and merely spoke with controlled rage, “It would be ideal, Master Cleric… if the treatment of Keeper Irene was in proper standing of what she deserved. She works hard, and she…”
The tent flap fluttered, and Artorian left without finishing his thought… leaving Tarrean to pick up the shattered pieces of his pride.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Good morning, old man! How are you feeling today?” Yvessa carried the steaming bowl into the ‘medical tent’, the flap pushed aside by her elbow. The full-raiment-wearing priestess nicked the bowl against the side of the improvised nightstand before setting it down to rest. A whining set of groans were the reply from a man-shaped lump swaddled in thick blankets on the cot.
Pillows surrounded Artorian on all sides like some elaborate funeral casket. A small gathering of fresh flowers sat in the window, the falling-apart wooden cup of his used as a stand-in for a vase. If nothing else, it held water well enough. Yvessa was glad that she didn’t need to use such an ugly thing and took care to always leave it alone. Wriggling movements came from the swaddle as she pulled up a chair and sat it next to his bedside.
“I am going to insist you eat the full bowl today,” she demanded. “Now that there’s no prying eyes and ears, you also better tell me why we needed to swaddle you up, you old codger. Don’t pretend to be asleep. I know you’ve been awake the whole time I’ve been here.”
A single eye opened on the old man that was doing his darndest to appear asleep. The weary eye looked around and closed again. Maybe, just maybe, she’d pretend he wasn’t awake yet. If he was quiet enough.
“Up with you!” Yvessa threw his covers off and snapped at the lazy, old man who never wanted to go along with anyone else’s wishes. “Delighting in being stubborn again? I suppose I’ll have to let you eat by yourself in that case.”
Artorian opened both eyes with a squint. Blast. His bluff got called.
With a long and drawn out stretch of arms above his head, he rumbled incoherent grunts and pushed away the cloth keeping him swaddled. Kicking it out and away, his arms trembled while gradually easing himself upright. There wasn't a hint of sleepiness in his voice, betraying that he had been awake for quite some time after all. “A pleasant day to you as well, my dear. Must you yell so brutishly at an old man in the morning?”
Yvessa lowered the wooden spoon, pointing it right at his nose. “I’ll show you how brutish I can be with this spoon if you don’t saddle up and behave, you big troublemaker. We have to be in full dress to come attend to you now, Mister Official Charge.”
*Pap*. She rapped the spoon on top of his head. “Ow!”
With pouty lips, Artorian rubbed the top of his head and sat up in the full and proper resting position against the wall of pillows. He had a lovely look outside as the sunlight bathed over him. “Ah, that’s much better.”
Yvessa’s spoon returned to the front of Artorian’s’ mouth, except this time, it was filled to the brim with finely cut venison. It was even lathered in sauce—Tibbins’ work, no doubt.
Another week had seamlessly gone by, and events in the camp had stabilized after the Head Cleric had gone on a noisy tirade where many things were thrown. Artorian had been referred to with numerous expletives. When the meeting was called, Tarrean attended in full regalia. With surprising clarity and poise, the Head Cleric announced a change of operational plans. Everyone was now excused from tasks when prayer time came, incentives for good performance were laid on the table, and a care project was announced for the old man.
Filed under hospice care practice, to smooth any issues with the accountants. The priests already knew the real reason and shelved the ones Tarrean provided away under political guise. Acolyte Tibbins had not thrown Artorian out when he entered the tent. Instead, he’d pretended to leaf through his pages as the old-timer listened in on the whole thing, the gossip was too juicy not to play with. Keeper Irene was considerably less miserable since she didn’t need to pretend not to be in a relationship with Tarrean, and Jin was afforded actual time with his father instead of a superior ecclesiarch. You could not hide something in plain sight after everyone knew about it.
“That’s quite good,” Artorian managed to say between inhaled bites, quickly blowing air in and out of his open mouth to cool the meat after he’d gotten it in too hastily. It was just so hot, and waving a hand at his face didn’t actually help.
Yvessa just blew on the spoon some before shoving the next portion into her charge’s mouth. “If you can talk, then you can
explain. Quit being such a sneak.”
Artorian noisily swallowed, using a full-sized towel to dab at the edges of his mouth. “I was poking around in my corruption again.”
The fiery look she stabbed into him could have put the big, bright sky orb to shame. “You what?”
Artorian failed to repeat himself as the rapid-fire barrage from Yvessa hit him with such velocity that he couldn’t keep up or even grasp what she was saying.
“It’s fine, it’s fine!” He waved her words away as she continued to go off on him.
“No. It. Is. Not.”
“It is! You even helped swaddle me!”
“What does that have to do with anything, you fool!” Yvessa was fuming. Her anger bubbled as this infuriating, old man coolly smiled back at her. She squeezed the utensil and threateningly shook it at him.
“Not a spoon!” Some laughter erupted from the old man as he held both hands to his chest. “Very well, very well! Do you remember all those moons ago when I’d mentioned you saved my life?”
“You never explained that either.” The wooden utensil didn’t budge. Yvessa’s entire body language screamed that she was quite fed up with being left in the dark.
Artorian settled and parroted her words, “Everything needs Essence to live. For every open affinity channel, an influx of that particular kind of Essence is required. People were all surprised to see me alive, and you helped me puzzle out why! While I am not a cultivator and have no method for preventing or purging corruption from my body or my Center, I passively take in Essence.”
He waited a moment for her to consider her own words. “This, rather than make me stronger as it normally would, instead goes to keeping me sustained and alive. I am quite stuffed with the malaise. Therefore, if I was not already receiving all the right types of Essence… I would be dead. As you’ve likely heard, I don’t simply just have one open affinity channel.”
“Yes. Four,” she groaned out the words incredulously, still not believing it. The Head Cleric would rage about it for hours if he found out. He’d been lording his double affinity channel superiority over them since day one. The caretaker’s expression grew grim. “We also heard your corruption is… ugly. After one of the Initiates threw up from accidentally glancing in the direction of the medical tent with Essence sight, everyone outright avoids looking at your Center if at all possible.”
“So, to my continued annoyance, I don’t know what you’re up to either or why under the heaven-blessed sky you’re prodding at corruption of all things. How do you even… such filth. I just… ugh.” The shuddering young lady had to hold her stomach and turn away. Nausea struck her just thinking about it.
“I’ve had a particularly… eventful life, my dear. Unfortunately, I am so jaded to trudging around face deep in all sorts of unpleasant situations that I barely even notice that aspect. I instead notice the pain, where it is, what it does. I’ve puzzled together some interesting facts and interactions. If you’re at all able to acquire me some parchment, vellum, or something to scribble on, I would like to compile a treatise and send it up to the Skyspear Academy. I believe I owe them both for my madness in being able to handle this and recompense for the sheer vocabulary they left at my disposal.”
The priestess didn’t quite understand that but didn’t need to. “We can get you something to write on. Now, out with it!”
Artorian waved the white flag and started talking, “Since I am very much still alive, it means that whatever Essence I need, I am getting. So, even if I need four specific types, which I hear is demanding, something in my daily activities has been providing it. Not only do I believe that I’ve figured out what, but I may have a bead on why… though I lack some much-needed information to puzzle everything together.”
Yvessa’s face was fully deadpan. “Well?”
Artorian beamed and pointed at the sky. “I believe your scripture calls it the provision of Heavens.”
The woman knew that was the name of the chant to one of the prayers. “The above provides for me. I just have not puzzled together exactly what up there does it. However, it’s the only consistent source that has been in my life.”
“Old man… if you’re about to convert, I want the credit.” Yvessa pushed her finger hard into his chest. Her arms crossed, and a knee shortly followed to slide over the other as she leaned back.
Artorian burst out in a solid laugh. “Oh. Oho! No. No, my dear. I’m not being spiritual about this. I’m being quite literal.”
Yvessa was lost, and it showed in her frown.
“The stars, my dear. It’s the stars!” Artorian appeared truly content. He brimmed with confidence and enthusiasm. “It’s going to be an upward struggle these next few years, but I’ll make it. Even if I’m bound to this cot and can only wander out for a little bit… it’s enough, and I’ll make it.”
Yvessa was taken aback by the pure determination that filled Artorian’s posture. His body language was exuding that he fully and absolutely believed this. “Awful confident for someone the rest of us believe might fall over any day now. Please tell me you’ve got some reasoning for this.”
“Very well!” He chimed quite the enthusiastic tone in retort to her request, “It’s the corruption!”
Yvessa’s breath intake was tense and severely displeased, her response startling some passing Initiates outside as the wooden spoon snapped in her hand. “Ar. Tor. I. An!”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Truly, I mean it! It’s the corruption. Allow me to explain.” Beginning his breakdown of the next topic, Artorian took another bite of his meal, “I’m deteriorating because I’m playing with corruption, and to be honest… it’s terrible for me. I don’t require a lecture or to be told not to do so. I’m very much aware that I am spending my vitality on tackling the issue. It’s honestly why my ability to roam dropped like a rock in a pond. Now, I will say one thing—worry not; I’ve not done this without some greater gain. My confidence doesn’t stem from confusion, rather from requirement.”
Artorian then trailed off, took a breath, and launched into full grandfather lecture mode. “When I am in my Center, corruption behaves differently. There is a notable feeling that can be discerned when I am actively engaging or observing it in comparison to when I am not. When it is not under observation, it’s just corruption. It’s annoying, it prevents cultivation, and it has a slew of terrible effects. All of this you know. As to what you don’t know, I asked to be swaddled because I found a method to isolate my various corruptions!”
To Yvessa’s silent lament, Artorian’s enthusiasm was intoxicating. She was absolutely enraptured by Artorian’s ramblings, and a spark of hope bloomed in Yvessa’s chest for the man. Her wavering attention snapped back to him as Artorian continued speaking, “After isolation, I then interact with each individually! I ‘touch’ it, so to say. See, corruption is a poorly applied word. I prefer ‘immutable’ instead, as that’s the main property of what it is. Corruption doesn’t accept change. The identity of what it is has become so strong, so certain of itself, so absolute in how it perceives itself.”
“Corruption, instead of being afflicted, forces its properties on whatever engages with it.” He paused to wiggle his hands in a so-so manner. “Pretty sure about that. As Essence is fed to corruption, the corruption spreads like a disease. This means corruption is—by itself—an aspect of change. Specifically, an aspect that makes all things it comes in contact with change in order to better suit the properties of that particular type of corruption!”
“When I touched water corruption, I was immediately whisked from my Center with a great dread. All activity was suspect, and I wished to do nothing. Nothing at all. I was lethargic to a fault, and rather than just feeling it with my body, this was an outlook forced upon my mind. I did this several times after recovering, just to ensure that this was a constant and not simply my mind playing tricks on me. Sure enough, similar veins of lethargy struck me.”
The old man had a few more bites of off
ered venison to stave off Yvessa’s wrath. “I asked to be swaddled since it would confine me. I requested this pillow fortress of entrapment since I could not be sure what sort of effects the other corruptions would have on my mind, but my dear… I found out.”
“Fire corruption makes me angry. Raging fury, wild clashes that make me abandon all rational thought. I lose myself to fury and curse all that comes to my mind. All is to be hated, and anything not aligned with single-minded focus burns away at the fringes of my thoughts.”
“Berserker–” Yvessa obviously wanted to chime in with something more, and her eyes were flashing with the fury he had just described.
Artorian quickly cut her off, “Air corruption made me… flighty. I’m ashamed to say my testing of that particular corruption has been responsible for my displays of… *ahem*… uncouth behavior. I simply didn’t feel any social pressure and did whatever I pleased in the moment, free as a leaf roaming on the wind. Everything was activity. Things require doing, need doing. Need doing now. Quickly. Swiftly. Impatiently. Only action. My attention span shattered upon all the things my mind jumped on to, all the things that it could do. I could lay in the grass! No, I could lay in that grass over there! No, I could be in the stream. Let’s run to it!”
Several calming breaths were needed for the old man to even out, but even so, he was smiling. “The celestial corruption, however. Oh… that… that’s a frightening thing. I became full of myself, an unstoppable force. I utterly believed that anything which might challenge that truth was wrong in the worst way possible. I was imbued with haughtiness. I was above anything and anyone else, a paragon of my kind. I was the tip of the spear that led the charge into the future, the bringer of all that is righteous!”
“My confidence exploded into arrogance at the cost of caring for anything else. In truth, it made me understand many of the clerics I have met in my life. Your Head Cleric was a textbook example once I understood the perspective forced by the corruption. I found, with startling clarity, that corruption doesn’t merely affect you physically. The identity of the corruption reflects on to you. Sometimes as slowly as a trickle, sometimes in a large amount. It’s much worse when actively engaging with it.”
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