A grunt was his reply: the affirming kind. Ooh, goodie! “Then the art is not lost. You carry it with you, as knowledge of an age I wish had never been forgotten. Never in my time at the academy did I encounter scrolls containing the details you continue to casually espouse, and dazzle this academic with.”
Ember felt… nice. She didn’t know why, but she did. A snappy comeback followed all the same. “You seem to despise me. Why do you treat me with reverence?”
At risk of instant death, Artorian turned around and pressed his fists to his hips.
“Young Lady. I may be one opinionated, mouthy, set-in-my-ways codger with enough baggage to sink a boat. Yet never, not once, have I despised you. Just as I do not revere you. I am giving you the due you deserve for knowledge you have, and the wonder such knowledge brings. That you continue to beat yourself up like you’re on the losing end of a war is your perspective on the matter.”
“Personally, I see a lovely lady who has had it rough, could use a friend as badly as I need one, and keeps putting herself down about things one shouldn’t. For all your doing to uphold the shtick of efficiency, you seem to me as a warrior who has forgotten the other half of what being a warrior is all about.” The old man splashed some water in her direction, getting a grip on his irritation mid-vent.
“I am an Academic. While, yes, my personal losses haunt me, and they always will, they are also not something that I can do anything about. It’s done. They’re over. I live, and I have to live with it. No amount of feeling sorry for myself, whining, wishing things were otherwise, or putzing around will make it so. I’m not trying to forgive you for past transgressions because I’m the fool who just forgives people; I’m trying to forgive you because I think you abyss-well deserve it.”
He threw his robe into the water at the end of his words, heated from needing to explain himself. He of course quickly scrambled after it when it started floating away, and held it to his chest. Glancing at Ember with a look of ‘that didn’t happen. You didn’t see that’. “That wasn’t at all embarrassing.”
Ember smiled. An honest-to-goodness smile. It has been eons since someone had been that straight with her. Without fearing the retribution someone armed with the immense power of her caliber could bring. Everyone tipped on their toes around her, and then this… human just explodes all over the place. He couldn’t begin to bring her harm, and even though he knew, had seen, and had memories of what she could do… he still spoke his mind.
She despised politics. Outright could not stand the tap dancing it required. If it was to be done, it should be done directly. They could either tell her the issue to her face, or they could tell it to her fist. Somehow her fist ended up being the gentler of the options. “Do that again.”
Artorian raised an eyebrow at the request. “Be an upset, annoying old man?”
The Mage shook her head. “Speak your mind. Directly. Without filter or fancy words. Your spirit, in that moment. It blazed. I found it… beautiful.”
Artorian froze. The warmth in his cheeks did otherwise and puffed them pink. “Oh. Well now… don’t say that. You’re making me flush.”
Ember had forgotten what it was like. The feeling of having a ‘good moment’. Everything had been dumped in the void for the duration of history she could easily recall. Her apathy was strong and vast, and it ate chunks out of her well-being. The presence of blight had only made that worse. “When you are clean, eat and cultivate. You will do little else until your external Presence begins to have an effect on the world around you. I will explain Essence combinations shortly thereafter.”
Artorian perked up. “Hmm? Combinations? I believe I’m aware of a few of those already. Stacking increases effects, and mixing certain Essence types—in rather specific amounts mind you—produces entirely unique effects. It is even possible to skew the intent of the effect, based on deliberation of identity, and…”
He trailed off hard as the stare he was getting from the Mage felt like it was digging right through his body. Her irises burned orange and red, rather than their ordinary si… ah. That’s what their normal color was. Iridium. His momentary distraction didn’t save him, as he felt a terrible pain in his cultivation technique. The pain vanished as soon as he clamped hands to his chest, Ember’s gazing eyes returning back to normal. “What did…”
“I just had a look. You’re using the Bernoulli principle of containment, seventh tier binding, rotary gyroscope purification, and have the beginning of a gathering webway. A strange mixture of options. I didn’t expect to see them attempted in that combination. It functions… barely. But it clearly does.”
The Mage frowned; her shoulders pressed together in discomfort. “I do have one… question.”
Artorian just heard a lot of things he wanted full months of lecture on, but decided it best to press the immediate issue. “That is…?”
Ember nodded with grave concern. “Your gathering webway. Why is it… sticky?”
Chapter Ten
“You don’t just ask someone why they are sticky.” Uncomfortable questions should receive uncomfortable answers. Leaning forwards, Artorian made a face as if he was about to speak of the world’s most hidden secrets. He pressed the back of his hand next to his mouth, and conspiratorially whispered. “Spiders.”
Ember’s expression went from interested, to concerned, to aggrieved, to horrified. “I hate those things.”
She squirm-shuddered in the stream, causing great banks of steam to roll off her body as the water touched her. Her hands flexed opened and closed as she scrunched her nose up and went ‘ewww’ on the inside. “All crawly, and multi-legged, and just…”
*Nnnjjj*.
The old man was elated! “Me too!”
How surprising to find something in common with the overpowered Fire Mage. An intense dislike of spiders! Who knew it would make her skin crawl so much, but honestly he was pleased as punch to have gotten such a human response out of her. The stoic, stone sentinel shell was crumbling. Perhaps all she’d needed was some lively company that wasn’t all bite or bark.
He didn’t get to enjoy it much longer. Noticing his good mood, she took exception to his enjoyment of her discomfort. The stony demeanor returned in a landslide, and she was gone from the stream with a burning trail. He could slap himself for idiocy. Back to square one...
Done with washing, he worried about drying off since his robe was soaking. Artorian shouldn’t have. The moment he stepped onto the bank, a flaring field of Mana left him dry as a cork. All the water in the vicinity puffed into a hazy cloud as the heatwave flashed through. The steaming Elder dunked his head right into the stream to immediately rehydrate while the Mage watched in bemusement; her mood tempered as she settled an imaginary score.
After gulping down whole mouthfuls of spring water. Artorian spent the next hour taking mini-lessons on which parts of ‘bear’ were not only edible, but genuinely tasty when properly prepared. Since cooking was just a measure of heat over time, Ember was the picture of a chef. If it involved fire or heat of any kind, this lady was Queen.
She had encapsulated chunks of meat in overlapping bubbles of thin Mana. The inner bubble formed a vacuum seal around now seasoned steaks, while the space between the inner and outer bubble filled with spring water. Ember raised the water temperature to the boiling point, only to keep it there so that the meat would be perfect to eat at any time.
Ember had a name for it, but Artorian just didn’t understand when she kept repeating ‘Sous-Vide’ at him. All he knew was that it was delicious. He nodded at her attempts to explain fine dining, swallowing down another chunk as he did his best to feign attention. With the clothing cleaned, dried, and once again donned, Artorian saw Ember pull a fresh full outfit from her tiny satchel. She changed on the spot without a shred of thought to her decency. The old man gave her some anyway, suddenly even more interested in the piece of meat he was chewing on. He was really engrossed by thoughts of the… err. Texture. Sure.
After dinner,
he got cozy against a tree. It was finally time to relax and sink into active cultivation. It got warmer a moment before he did, and he opened an eye to see a palisade of fire surrounding them. That’d keep the dark out. “Show me your process.”
His eyes opened fully at the mention, eyebrow raised. This time he noted that Ember had copied his way of sitting, facing directly in front of him when she sat. He blinked at her, not understanding what she meant. “I mean, surely, you can see as you did earlier? Refined Essence cycling?”
She shook her head ‘no’. “Not without injuring you further. The gap between us is too vast, and you have no control over the passive Aura protection you’re putting up. Anything more than a glance and I’ll burn a hole right through you. In terms you know, I am cycling Mana, not Essence. It would only hurt you, like before.”
She extended her hands towards him. “Unless you let me see.”
Was this a test? “Ah, Center connecting? That’s not terribly safe, but if you’re certain we’ll be alright… then I’ll leave it in your hands.”
Without another word, he placed his hands into hers. What a metaphor for his life that currently was, as even a slightly miscalculated nudge would make him go up like an oil-soaked torch. It was the first time he’d felt more than just his own consciousness present in his Center as he worked it. He could ‘glance’ over and notice the very distinct orange Mana fireball with a mind in it. It was no bigger than a mote, but it had a luminosity to it that was difficult to ignore. At least he was unharmed.
He’d expected the connection to be more dangerous. With someone that lacked the control this Mage had in spades, it likely would have been his death. As it was, she prevented any influx of Mana from leaking into the D-ranked cultivator’s system. Only the mote of her thoughts made it in, and Artorian was glad for it. Some innate sense of danger screamed at him that adding Mana to his Essence system would have ripped him apart like a rock crashing through rice paper. He worked through his nervousness by trying something new. Conversation always made him feel better. “Can we… speak here?”
He could swear the round mote of fire turned to face him. He’d made no physical sound, rather had done the equivalent of think out loud with Essence as a medium.
Letters of flame appeared in front of the mote. He still heard no sound, and figured she wasn’t speaking. Yet found he could ‘read’ what was written regardless of where he was floating about in his Center. A bonus perk for home field advantage, perhaps? He’d certainly take it, and noted that interactions within one’s Center were peculiar. How did something manage to be aware of everything happening in a given area, all at the same time? He shelved the question as he read the reply.
“This will work.” The letters were clear, defined, and easily legible. They disappeared a few seconds after they’d come into existence, but that was more than enough.
“Indeed, it will! I don’t quite know how this all works. I’m hoping you’ve quite the explanations for me. Bernoulli, and tiers, and… the sticky place.”
The mote of light buzzed in irritation, burning words carved into empty space. “I’ll try language you know. Your cultivation technique is a mess. Half of these mechanisms are unfinished, and are only applying part of what they’re meant to do. You’ve augmented the parts you’re missing with incomplete chunks of entirely different methods. I have no idea how you made this jumble of a webway, why you even thought you needed one, or why… why are there random hexagons in here?”
He shrugged mentally, pushing his thumbs together while mumbling. “I was… y’know. Improvements. Things were working, and I’ve been trying to make them work better.”
The mote of light stopped its irritated glowing, mulling something over. “I’m approaching this… poorly. Let me try again. What is it you are trying to do?”
Ah! Now this conversation was something he could put some real backbone into! “Keep it short.”
Crackers. Killjoy. “Well. The original cultivation technique I saw was a spiral. Lots of pull and separation power, but didn’t allow me to remove corruption. Having no other way to get rid of it, I wanted to put something together that would not only fulfill the basic function of the cultivation technique, but one that removed more non-malleable Essence that I gained. Err… corruption.”
The mote was irritated again. “Cultivation techniques don’t work that way. There is no safe method to remove corruption from a system without external purging. Such as messy techniques or Beast Core idiocy.”
Artorian frowned at her, mental hands on his hips. “Yes, there is! I’ve been doing it for years!”
The mote ceased its irritating color, instead glowing a curious gold. “Show me.”
It took a few hours, but Artorian showed her exactly what he’d been doing. He didn't know if Ember’s mote had been quiet because he’d shut her up by showing her up, or because she was silently raging and preparing to punt him across the sea when he came out of active cultivation. Fifty-fifty?
“I understand now what Hawthorn meant. Though it is not ‘sear.’ It is ‘lance’.
The old man shrugged. “I don’t grasp the difference, but I’m listening.”
Ember considered how to word her new understanding. “Searing is a reference to burning. Something is left behind, usually the substance that has been burned. Lancing is the lethal version of gently moving over something with a brush, if that brush was made of light. That which is touched has its top layer removed. Nothing is left behind. Had those beams been more intense, they could easily be mistaken for a disintegration effect. Be glad your internal starlight does not shine with such… intensity.”
The mote built in size a moment, a great quantity of scribing spilling forth. She’d understood a few things, and needed to explain. “Starlight is highly treasured by the Wood Elves for several of its rather… unique properties. Unlike most combined Essences—also named Compound Essence—starlight does not have a particular thing that it does beyond expectation. Starlight—depending on the identity infused—or maybe even which star is held in regard, does a multitude of things only well.”
The mote wandered in a straight line, bobbing up and down like a lecturing line-sergeant. “I’m sensitive to even the most minute fluctuations in ambient Essence, and have a great understanding of how your cultivation works now that I’ve seen and felt it firsthand. If your starlight has a unique property—or rather, one of the unique properties that stood out—it is that it can break something down back to a more primal or uncertain state.”
Artorian was momentarily distracted by the consideration that he did do that rather often, Essence or no. He didn’t interrupt when Ember kept blaze-scribing. “When you ‘lanced’ beams of starlight-compound Essence across your corruption containment, energy flaked off. That corruption reverted to motes of Essence that has no idea what it’s doing. Those starlight lances have taken the identity of something certain, then erased, eliminated, and obliterated the identity completely. Reducing it to something uncertain.”
The words ‘clap clap clap’ appeared in front of the mote after the tidy explanation. She must have been making that action, and the mote translated it directly.
“I now understand when you spoke of identity earlier, and feel I might have a grasp on the kind of knowledge you are working with. It also shows very clearly where you are lacking.” Ember’s mote paused as it thought of something.
“Also, I was incorrect before. This technique is perfectly fine for the ground-level purposes you need, but it could be better. As it is not solid, you have the chance to improve it before it does so. With your Essence influx, that time may come sooner than you might wish. Ordinarily, I would place solidification between three to five decades. Given what you’ve got here, and what we can do to it… I’d estimate three to five years instead.”
The mote seemed terribly pleased with itself. Like it had a project. Artorian didn’t know if he liked feeling like a project, but also considered that his choice in the matter had lo
ng been revoked. The academic was just going to have to deal with it, but who complained about improvements with the help of a veteran Mage?
“When you are able to work with your Presence well enough to hold the correct combination of starlight Essence, I will show you how lancing can be useful. Particularly with the blight this forest faces, though it may do less than you’d like against physical threats. My fire cannot destroy identity or the mind. It can only face and abate the physical threat. This is what Alder meant by you being able to ‘kill’ the phantoms. This also means that when you are ready, your Aura will be more helpful than my pyron palisade.”
Artorian felt like a kid in a candy shop, and he wanted to try all the flavors. There was just so much to do! He’d half-forgotten the threat of the phantoms was ever-present. Focused on the inner workings of his cultivation technique, he didn’t know where to start. “That sounds exciting! What’s first?”
The mote moved around in his technique, inspecting things while it was able to do so. “First is gathering Essence, and repairing this… messy hobby shop of a technique. Once that is settled, we can work on your Presence, since we’re going to need to take the long way around when it comes to body infusion. It looks like you’ve managed to do your eyes, but I don’t need to ask to know you don’t want to do that again. So, don’t. First, you have to decide which type of primary cultivation technique you want your Center to turn into. We’re limited to only two or three that would work with what you’re trying to do.”
He was jumping with joy, and the perspective in his Center bounced up and down, bubbly as it could be. “Please, do tell!”
Ember’s mote created four rough diagrams in front of it. Each diagram focused on a specific piece of the existing technique he had, taken to its finalized endpoint.
“Combining these isn’t feasible, they clash too badly once they’re taken far along their individual path. You’re fine since you’ve nicked bits and pieces, but it’s all going to fall apart if you try to build up one without sacrificing the other.”
Artorian's Archives Omnibus Page 45