Artorian's Archives Omnibus

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Artorian's Archives Omnibus Page 67

by Dennis Vanderkerken


  He raised the hand not containing a book, and an orb of light slowly constructed itself. The bright glow strengthened as more of the orb wove itself into being, adopting a steady hum of light. The students *ooohed*, wide-eyed.

  “This is formed from my understanding. Can anyone tell me what I’ve done? Something that I’ve taught you recently?”

  Some mumbles went between the multicolor-robed masses and a few hands shot up. Artorian was starting to see a pattern in those who had quick answers. He motioned at a repeat offender in the smarty category. “It looked like that orb wove together, like the baskets we made.”

  The orb shifted from a *hmm* of light to a pulsating swirl of fire at the answer. “Correct!”

  The students gasped out loud. Some shuffled away, while those in the front pressed forwards to make sure their eyes weren't playing tricks on them. “Nothing I teach you will ever be without purpose. Many abilities you’re currently calling ‘magic’ simply require a great deal of knowledge regarding things you’d learn through study and practice. It took me an uncountable number of baskets. Weaving. Unweaving. Weaving again. Unweaving again… all in order to grasp the nature of a weave.”

  The ball in his hand extinguished as a watery blue aurora coalesced around it. The reflective orb looked like a contained puddle hovering above an open hand. “People who can do what you’re seeing are called Cultivators. Frankly, most of them are unpleasant. I dearly hope those same horrors won’t befall the students at this academy. It’s a lonely, tiresome path. Yet I shan’t stop you if you wish it. I find myself to be a poor teacher; if anything, I am a decent administrator. So if you need me to repeat something, go ahead and ask; I shan’t be offended.”

  The watery orb spun faster and faster until the reflective glow turned etheric. Visible wafts of snowy mist swirled in place as he cycled through the elements. This particular orb he motioned towards a few people. “You will find that not all of you are gifted with the same skills. What comes easy to some, will be hard for others. This holds true both in cultivation, and in learning. Many of you that reside here have the gift of air lurking within you.

  “Specifically, waiting for you to have the needed preparation to unlock it. Others have fire. Some water. When it comes closer to showing fruition, and you have learned my lesson on why trees grow, I shall sit with you each to uncover your actual affinities. I will say up front that I am not well-versed in all affinities.” He put down the book, offhandedly splitting the orb into several smaller ones that hovered over a finger. His four affinities were presented on outstretched fingers.

  “There are six affinities, and there are two I do not possess. Earth and infernal are affinities for which you may need to seek out the old Master of this place. He carries those.” Artorian gave a solid stare at two young male students in particular. Jacobsen and Makkah. “You two are the only ones I’ve seen at a glance, so far, that have earth affinities. I will apologize that I may have a difficult time teaching you. If you wish me to do so regardless, I will do my best.”

  They showed their understanding with the hand to fist motion. He’d get that behavior out of them eventually. “What I would like to see is all of you helping one another. I will be judging your progress based on your environment. If your youngest sister sleeps in misery, I shall be disappointed. If your youngest sister sleeps in health, stories will be read and new lessons given. If you have not grasped the old, I shall not teach the new.”

  A round of bowing went around, and Artorian released his control-practice orbs. “I will warn you all not to haphazardly accept cultivation advice. Even with the knowledge I shall help you with, your bodies are not ready. You are filled with energy preventing you from even starting, and I can provide you the means to get around that. It will require a sound and strong mind.”

  The philosopher smiled to himself with a chuckle and looked to the sky. “Oh Bernoulli, how would you have felt if you’d known your containment technique would one day be used to trap corruption and allow a new generation to become cultivators?”

  He shook his head, finding that the students were giving him odd looks. “Just talking to myself a moment. You’ll find I have many little oddities. Please forgive my eccentricity.”

  Artorian motioned for another hand with a question. “What do you want us to do now? What we have been doing?”

  The old man winked back in response. “Exactly that. Well done. We’re going to improve the basic area, clean up the entire academy, and rebuild it where we can. New plants and flowers will grace the halls and walkways. New fruits and vegetables will populate the hanging gardens. At the end of the week, I’d like to gather those with an interest in mercantilism. We’re going down the mountain to sell the materials from the Moro. The meat was tasty, but there are some things we really do need to buy.”

  “For that we need coin. I am going to leave the task to the most skilled among you. I seem to recall that some of you have merchant family backgrounds?” The pointed mention caused those in question to perk up, and they rose their hands up to designate themselves. Going down the mountain wasn’t great, but their new Master had just said that nothing he taught was without reason. The chance for unique lessons they could explain to the others was enticing.

  Artorian clapped his hands together. “Time for a good night’s rest. We all have much to do. I’ll be handing out some things to eat, since we don’t have the facilities up and running to grow our own quite yet. I’ve seen what’s been used to keep you all fed so far, and it’s not going to be enough, especially when new students arrive. I want to get those mountain rest stops renovated quickly.”

  “We’re going to get new students?”

  Artorian raised a brow at the outburst. “Why, yes. This is an Academy, and I will be opening the mountain to any who have the courage to make the climb. By the time it happens, I expect any single one of you to be able to find them lodging, meals, robes, and to teach lessons. When the new wave reaches our peak, it will be all of you who are the teachers… rather than me.”

  Nervousness ran like a shiver through the group. Them? Masters? It was too soon! They couldn’t do that!

  The old man just smiled at them as they fretted. “I’ll be here to guide you, my dears. Now, off to sleep with you. The stars are bright tonight, and I must think deeply of your well-being.”

  Easing himself into a lotus position, a straight-backed Artorian didn’t fit the old-man profile as he sat upon his meditative rock. Gentle glowing poured from his frame as the area around him increased in Essence density as he spun up his Center into active cultivation. A soft luminance soon filled the area, and tiny fireflies filled the welcoming Essence-rich space around the starlight cultivator.

  Not all the students left right away. Some remained to enjoy the serenity of it all.

  Bright-eyed hopefuls, the lot of them.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Artorian made it about halfway down the mountain with his pack of students before the complaints started; he wasn’t surprised. No, that wasn’t accurate. He was surprised, but complaints had been expected near the quarter mark. They had made it all the way to Woah’s head on the stairs, and then only because they stubbed their toe against it.

  “Aiiii!” The pelt of the Moro dropped from their collective hands, and a pained student hopped about on one leg while holding the afflicted foot. Why did something so minor hurt so bad! It gave the other students a good laugh, and the head of Woah the Wise was returned to the previously overgrown resting spot. The rest of the statue was still crumbled, but a crater existed where overgrowth had been. Plenty of sitting space for a snack and a break.

  “Could I ask something?” Artorian passed around the waterskin as he started the conversation. Given he was usually asked the questions, he found that he desired a change of pace. The looks of ‘what could we possibly tell you’ bored into him. “When I first arrived, you all appeared like you’d been digging. I highly doubt that it was just to clear a path.”


  Java stopped chewing on a set of flavorful beans and spit them out. Always full of twitchy energy, he pulled a piece of raw metal from his pocket and nearly dropped it in his haste. When he spoke, it was a torrent without pauses. “It’s the academy’s original source of income, or it used to be before we had to stop digging the ore up; this mountain is full of metals for weapon making; sells better than a well-carved charm; they used to buy food with the coin back when they could; we didn’t hear why but food stopped being for sale down there; we haven’t seen Oldwalls in a long time; most of us only ever made the trip up.”

  Their teacher brushed the dust from his hips, but stopped when he heard the name reference. “Oldwalls. Not Xi’an?”

  Java popped another bean into his mouth and got to crunching; shivering with more jitters. “Shian? No Master; never heard of it.”

  Artorian noted that pronunciation of the city name was difficult. Perhaps they’d change the name to something that rolled more easily off the tongue after affairs were sorted. That entire town needed an overhaul, starting from the base of the million steps. Thinking of the base, he considered that gatekeeper. That swindler took goods from people to enter the academy, and yet never made the trip up to deliver them.

  He scowled but shook his head to wave off his student’s concern. “I had a thought; it wasn’t about you. When I made my way up here. I saw some things in the Oldwalls that need to be… rectified. Wrap cloth around your noses before we get down there. Merchants, you all go right to finding the best price you can for the goods we’re bringing in. Don’t buy anything today. Not a single thing. I want you to spend the whole time nosing around and discovering the market price for everything, just to make sure we’re not being swindled. If I had to make an educated guess, there are many petulant peddlers who are ready for us.”

  He motioned to the city, though he wasn’t exactly sure what he would be doing in there. Fighting raiders, attacking poverty, or healing people. “I will be handling… other affairs. If you see people getting tossed to the sky, just… ignore it and keep at it.”

  Vividly recalling the old man tossing their prior abusive Masters off the mountain, the students nodded with small smiles. They weren’t about to intervene when justice was being done. “When will we know when to go back up?”

  Artorian scratched his beard, pondering what would work. He realized there was really only one way it was going to go. He had a point to make. “Oh, I have a feeling you’ll know.”

  The puzzled students asked no further questions. Descending a mountain was easy. Plenty of food, rest, and water went a long way even while hauling cargo. Their new teacher approved the workout, saying it would be excellent for tempering their bodies. He was even likely to add it to the curriculum! Students groaned, and their complaint only solidified that it would happen.

  They arrived at the base of the mountain near the start of the next morning. Early enough that the sun still bounced light between the two moons. Each of the students hurriedly wrapped their faces to deter the abhorrent, vicious stench. Artorian felt just peachy, wrapped in his purifying multi-purpose Presence. Compound Essence was a marvel.

  He considered letting his Presence roll over into an Auric effect, possibly even an indiscriminate one that radiated past the boundaries of his zone in order to mitigate the unpleasantry of his youngsters. After all, normal, uncontrolled Auras defaulted to such settings. Bu~u~ut, this was a lesson his students needed to learn: find measures to work through the smell. So he decided against mitigating it for them. Overcoming adversity builds character. That’s what he would tell them. Yes.

  The large double doors were closed as they reached the base. The droning voice of the smiling thief in stolen academy robes was easily overheard as he attempted to entice people into giving up their valuables for a trip that took them up the wrong stairway. The academic knocked loudly from the back side, and the harping words ceased. Keys clinked, and locks were undone, the *chink* of a massive bolt unlatched. Added security? That seemed unnecessary. The door creaked open and a familiar face peered through.

  The low-rank swindler came face to face with a tensed mid-finger held back by a thumb, poised to *flick*.

  Heron’s head shot backwards several feet. His forehead careening away from the parted door. The supposed low-ranked instructor’s body twisted through the sky, struck by what turned out to be a harmless blow. His head felt like it had just been rung like a town gong, not that he had the time to indulge in the thought for long as he flew right over the far wall. Tumbling into the murky brown waters with a nasty *splutch*.

  “That’s one.” Artorian pushed the rest of the door open with a powerful swing, and the heavy door crashed into the side of the mountain pass with a *wham*!

  Passersby stopped what they were doing, startled by the noise. Neither the merchants, refugees, guards, nor lingering raiders knew what to do, or what to think about the colorfully dressed entourage. Their eyes instead skipped past the people, settling right on the valuable prizes they carried. Artorian had refused to put the Moro components in his holding pouches. More opportunities for student development.

  Artorian made a sharp nodding motion with his head, sending all eight of the students off to ply their mercantilism skills. He watched them go and made a mental checkmark on his long-term progress list. First things had to get up and running; he couldn’t get the information network in place if the foundation wasn’t built, and he needed that network more than a Noble needed gold.

  The Oldwalls were horrendously crowded; worse than they had been a week ago even though streams of refugees had been escorted away by raiders. The Skyspear Merchant Troupe had documented it all while resting on their outcrop. Raider flags littered the cobble paths that twisted all the way to the Eldani hills. What the raiders wanted with all these people, Artorian did not know.

  He continued straight while his students veered off. Bouncing onto the parapet as before, Artorian hopped directly across the crenellations. As before, those were devoid of people regardless of the thick crowds, allowing him to speed through without interruption. If anything, he was the interruption. An old man in a bright sage and cerulean set of robes dancing from outcrop to outcrop? He was pointed and laughed at, but didn’t pay the mockery any heed.

  The Oldwalls had several layers to them. He ignored the top layer since those had devolved into pleasure centers, bounced right by the middle layer since that was nothing but housing, and landed on the bottom layer where stalls sold knick-knacks and other assorted goods. How quaint.

  It would have been great sightseeing had the smell not doubled in intensity with every layer he descended. On the bottom rung, he could actually feel his Presence working overtime to cleanse and eradicate the impurities.

  As he started moving, an object on a blanket-rug caught his eye, only because it was… familiar. He dropped down from the crenellation of this level and smoothly landed in front of the ‘stall’. Artorian considered becoming a living bug-zapper just to get rid of all the flies that were swarming said ‘stall’, but unfortunately that would drop his cleaning efforts. That wasn’t worth his sanity.

  With that thought in mind, he shifted his Auric effect, allowing his Presence to indiscriminately scrub the world around him. For some reason, this removed the drain on his Essence. He didn’t quite know how far the indiscriminate effect reached, but entertained the thought that surroundings as dirty as this would offer all the data he could ever ask for.

  He picked up a small ruffled pocketbook, and read the title. ‘Jiivra’s Fate’.

  Oh. Oh no. Of course he was familiar with this scrap paper. It was his piece of scrap paper. One he’d given away to a good lass with a good heart. Why was this here? “Excuse me… where did you get this?”

  Artorian’s tone was sharp, demanding attention. The dilapidated peddler who didn’t remember what fresh air smelled like seemed to come back to life. He felt… good. Was he getting cleaner by sheer proximity to this customer? “I… eh. Oh. Some sta
rving lass traded it to me for a few coins. Could barely walk, that one. Didn't ask why she wanted to let it go, but I saw a good trade and took it. Maybe… oh, a few moons ago?”

  Braun the merchant pressed his grubby hands together now that they no longer ached. “Are you interested in…”

  His words cut off as air refused to escape his throat. Color bled away from his face, which bleached pale in response to the complete turnaround he felt in his gut. Hadn’t he been talking to a flowery person just a moment ago? His eyes were deceiving him. He knew they were. The shape before him wasn’t a person… it was a monster.

  Braun could feel pressure holding him like the deep waters from his days diving for clams. An all-encompassing force squeezing his skin and innards. Something larger than life, and certainly larger than the man seething in front of his stall.

  Whatever it was, it was vivaciously angered. Gravity-laden words made Braun tense up, and it didn’t really feel like the words were being spoken. Rumbling sounds filled the air around them, Artorian’s Essence-infused voice washing over the merchant as he did his best to keep it together. “Where. Is. She.”

  It wasn’t the merchant Artorian was angry at; it was the conditions of this place as a whole. The turn of events required for this situation to come to pass… scenario after scenario roiled through his thoughts. It consumed him, and Artorian’s burning eyes held those of a thoroughly intimidated peddler.

  Shivering madly, Braun pointed a shaky finger down a level. The dredges level. The vast majority of people here were homeless, so that wasn’t a qualifier to measure living conditions. Neither was cleanliness, nor the ability to feed oneself. Everyone in the Oldwalls was struggling. But the dredges… they were a place anyone with a spark of hope remaining avoided like the plague. It’s where those who had nothing went to die.

 

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