“My… thanks.”
The merchant pulled in a deep breath, finding that once again the air was foul. The heavy presence before him had vanished, leaving only the memory of an oppressive ocean. The man had also taken the booklet, but that was a small price for his life. Actually, it hadn’t felt like he’d been threatened? Truth be told… Braun felt pretty great. No, better than great. He felt amazing!
Braun’s aches were gone, his injuries were mended, and even his eyesight wasn’t blurry anymore! Forget the coin! Whatever had taken this booklet could keep it. He turned to tell his wife the news, and realized that perhaps he would have been happier half-blind.
Wind swirled around Artorian. He moved with such haste that a thundering whine filled the space he passed, the air rumbling to fill in the empty pockets he created just by running along the walls. Essence cycled in his eyes as he tried to find a combination that would let him find the specific trait he was looking for. Jiivra was a cleric; that meant somewhere in these walls there should be a concentration of celestial Essence. There weren’t going to be many false positives here, so all he had to do was locate the area that was rich in that Essence. Or find the spark that remained. That might be more likely.
There wasn’t much celestial about this place, but the process of finding the correct combination and using it as needed took him hours. Obviously, that was hours more than he would have liked. Sixty-four units of celestial, and twice that number in refined Essence allowed him to hit the jackpot. Everything else about the world became an indistinguishable mess, but the dot of celestial was found, hiding in a literal hole in the wall.
He was on scene a moment later, and Artorian wished he could unsee what awaited him as the Essence sight rolled back, revealing the mundane truth. His voice spoke as a hushed whisper. “Oh, my sweet. What happened to you?”
Jiivra was a malnourished, dying thing. Her skin was thin, dry, pale, and cold. A dirty grey blanket wrapped around her chest, and it was the only thing preventing him from seeing the sharp outcroppings of her ribs. The girl likely couldn’t even walk anymore. ‘Deathly’ was a poor description for the appalling state she was in.
He looked into her Center, and was devastated by what he saw. Her cultivation… it was just… gone. No spiral lived in her Center. No Essence ran through her veins. She was dying from Essence deprivation, and he had no idea how she’d been hanging on for so long.
Then the blanket twitched, and a tiny head raised from Jiivra’s bony shoulder and blinked at the old man. When realization and memory struck its mind, it attempted to flail, scream in excitement, and hop into the familiar old man’s arms. The Glider could not manage it, and fell.
The oversized Sugar Glider—easily the size of a large dog—was caught by arms it had very much missed. Starlight poured over its form, and its pains vanished; leaving only the hungers. It didn’t take more than a heartbeat for Artorian to produce a snack for the Sugar Glider to munch on. Honey from a vial: no chewing required.
While holding the hungry beast, Artorian eased into the wall and settled next to Jiivra. He started inspecting, and pushed out his Presence to include her. It would not sort out all the issues her body was having, but her immediate survival was ensured. He held her hand, and took a breath. “You taught me this. Remember?”
Celestial Essence poured into her through her hand. A free gift of Essence flooding her system. Dying, starving cells gorged themselves on the energy, providing enough life to the collapsing system for her to wake. Jiivra gasped in a sharp breath, opening her now dull grey eyes. Where had the color of her irises gone?
Her beautiful voice was nowhere to be found, but she tried to make a sound. Artorian pulled his waterskin free and eased it to her cracked, dry lips; slowly letting some water down. “Easy now. There’s plenty. Take your time.”
The half-corpse frowned, but didn’t have the slightest ability to fight back. A toddler could do more than her at this point. Her breaths came easier. The harsh air no longer befouled her lungs while within Artorian’s warm embrace, his loving presence. Slums or no, Artorian was the center in a world of his own, and he’d pulled his old friend right into it. He sat with her for a long time as she dipped into unconsciousness.
She had no Aura, no spiral, no cultivation mechanism present at all. Though she barely had any corruption, her Essence draw was also muted. The complete lack of defenses allowed Artorian to mend and repair her at leisure. Something or someone had ripped a vital part from Jiivra and done damage to her… what is it called? Her Essence-drawing circuit? Ah! Affinity channels, that was the proper name.
He was currently looking at something he’d not encountered before. How odd… it would have almost been required for him to come across this. Yet, there it was, laid bare for him to see: her celestial affinity channel. It looked damaged and bloated, like it had been forcibly closed.
Similar to his honeycomb webway, the channel occupied a space between unseen areas. The mysteries of cultivation kept eluding him, only to appear at inopportune moments. Could he heal that at all?
A wave of celestial energy washed over that piece of ‘space’, and the results were immediate. “Oh, thank the heavens that worked…!”
The wound on her channel mended, slowly restoring itself into a strong connection rather than a puffy, blocked off one. That’s what celestial was good at, after all; removing flaws and damage from a system. Artorian complimented the energy. “Good job, you!”
He’d also found some foreign celestial Essence in Jiivra’s center, but had swiftly discovered that it matched the Sugar Glider’s. The tiny beastie must have been sharing Essence with her, which is how she made it this long. It was interesting to him that such a thing was possible from beast-to-person.
Since it seemed not to be an issue from person to beast… a thought for another time. Jiivra must have treated this sweetling well, for it to care for her such a great deal. Truly, he’d not been wrong when he’d told Jiivra that she had a good heart. “We’ll get you back on your feet my dear. I promise.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Jiivra woke up thinking she had died, for one main reason: there was no pain. Everything felt good. Her surroundings were bright, and she was lying on something pillowy. Yup. Dead. She’d ascended to the heavens. It was time for her to sing in the eternal chorus!
A Sugar Glider used her face as a stepping stool, which popped that blissful thought and brought her back to reality. Jiivra’s hands squeezed together, and her fingers found a waterskin already present and waiting in her grip. She downed some, and raised her arm to rub her pained eyes. Wait. She could raise her arm?
“How are you feeling?” A calm, patient, and above all familiar tone reposed her.
Swallowing, Jiivra found her voice. “A… towian?”
Rolling her ‘r’s’ was still too hard. Given her health was making leaps of improvement, such a minor flub was, at worst, cute.
“Present and accounted for.” Artorian smiled and one-finger high-fived the Sugar Glider’s entire paw. She was awake and functional! Success! “Drink some water, dear.”
She did as directed, and tried to move more. It ached too much, so she stopped quickly. “How did you… find…”
He brushed his palm over her head and laid the small booklet on her chest. “I found your story, and figured that it was unfinished. So I found you.”
“Nothing left… to write.” Jiivra swallowed between words. It was still difficult to talk. “Vicar… ripped out my spiral. Said Paladin was a pipe dream. Given to me… make me see the stars. Said go be… a Keeper. Didn’t… agree. Got destroyed.”
Artorian scooped her up. Her face pressed into the side of his neck and shoulder, that little bit of talking fully drained her. Her limbs dangled, but Artorian safely tucked her arms against her chest. He’d heard all he needed, and decided that no good would come of staying down here any further. It was time to go. He bit back his anger, but Artorian let his Essence roil.
Respond
ing to his emotions, his body—tightly wrapped with his Presence—began to glow. Not the soft, gentle glow of soothing, but a brightness without distinction. His features became so obscured that it was impossible to look directly at him. Those in the vicinity suddenly found that they wanted to give the shiny man some extra space.
Iridescent beams of light broke through the gaps of the Oldwalls from below, exceedingly noticeable as the source moved. Artorian’s aura bloomed, and anyone within his vicinity was temporarily blinded even though they felt leaps and bounds healthier.
Unlike his normal Auric use, he allowed the effect to spill out without concern. He had often theorized that one’s opponents would gain more benefit out of indiscriminate Aura effects than the user, so he liked to have a hand in who did and did not benefit from his healing. Today… today he did not care for the consequences.
He would not detain his emotions for the sake of control. The area around him broiled. Scents were cleansed, and the surrounding muck began to bubble as the copious corruption suffered a case of identity erasure. Foulness was reduced to particulates, and only cleanliness remained behind as the old man’s Aura scrubbed over any area it touched with the wrath of a thousand angry janitors.
Rumors sparked that something had awoken within the foundations of the Oldwalls… and everyone was going to die. While something certainly died, it wasn’t the residents. The downtrodden had visible, near-tangible waves of healing wash over them. Old wounds mended and vigor replenished with even partial exposure to the human-shaped radiance that ascended from the bottom-most layer of the Oldwalls. ‘Human-shaped figure’ was as descriptive as any could get, since none could look at the lucent source directly.
Whispers turned to words, and words turned to screams. Both the guard and the raiders could do nothing as crowds blocked their paths, unable to approach the source of radiance. They were powerless in the wake of whatever was carrying a body into the… air?
New rumors sparked when onlookers figured out the figure wasn’t using the Oldwall stairs, instead stepping on pond water as it rose from the dredges; ripples of ever-clearer water were created as the being walked across the surface. Reaching the edge, it continued upward, making its own stairs. Higher and higher the being rose as the empty space between walls was just… waltzed across as if there had been solid ground!
In truth, Artorian was doing no such thing. He was forming temporary bricks of hard light beneath his feet, which needed to last only for a single step. The Sugar Glider clung to him, happy to spend all its efforts on downing food atop a passed out Jiivra.
Because the murky water beneath his feet was dismal no more, but crystal and clear after he passed, Artorian finally found where the raiders had been breeding their crystal cobras, and associated venom.
Numerous writhing forms lived there. The earth-corruption pits were warm, and it was easy to dump an easily missed person or two into them. The heat Artorian was putting out, however, enticed the cobras far more than any measly snack that had been offered. Wanting to be where the warm was, writhing serpentine masses spilled onto stone, forming a noodly pile beneath him that slithered along with the determined old man.
Refugees screamed, as one would expect when deadly cobras suddenly swarmed. Guards screamed, as one would expect when they suddenly had a crazed, uncontrollable population to deal with. Raiders screamed, as one would expect when they suddenly lost the one thing they were responsible for taking care of. Particularly when all of their venomous charges were leaving at the same time. Catching one snake? Sure. Catching hundreds? *no~o~o*!
The merchant background students were waiting at the gate, together with a few of the local scribes that had put two and two together and decided to increase their standing in life. Skyspear students had indeed figured out what was happening, or at least part of it. Not that their teacher becoming a living beacon to tell them it was time to head out could fall into the category of ‘subtle'.
Artorian had said ‘they’d know’. He wasn’t wrong.
They hustled up the steps when the horde of snakes was seen. The merchant party wanted none of that. In front of the swarm was the only place to be, and they made record time up those initial steps, even with coin-filled pockets.
Artorian passed through, but didn’t close, the gates. He instead went up the main steps then veered off to the first and largest resting ground, very near the base of the mountain. He remained there a while, Aura-purifying the local lake where the Koi fish population would soon see a sudden spike. The crystal cobras were herded en masse to the water. When it looked like the stragglers had found where to go, he released the heating shine of his Aura, dropping the allure he’d maintained for the Beasts.
That should keep people busy for a while. Starting the trek up the mountain, Artorian was none the wiser of the social devastation he’d left in his wake. It took maybe a day for the story to make it around the Oldwalls and the surrounding encampments.
“Did you hear?” A burdened captain was three bottles deep as he answered the query of yet another subordinate from a section of the walls. He was too drained for this, and so kept his head on the table.
“Hear what, cadet?”
The cadet beamed a broad smile; the Captain didn’t know! Brown-nose points for him! “It’s rumored that a Heavenly cultivator awoke below the Oldwalls, and ascended the mountain in seclusion! We’ve got reports from my region in southgate that a bright light cured them of ailments, restored their crops, cleaned their waters, purified their surroundings, and even scrubbed the filth from their homes! There’re heaps of reports that a shiny figure walked on the sky, and many verbal accounts that he was seen. None that really match up a proper description, but still. We’re going to be famous, Captain. Just think! Tourism!”
The captain lifted his head up only to scratch his forehead with the rim of the bottle. Now there was an idea that hadn’t been suggested before. Tourism? Here? In this bleak hole? Nah. Too much work.
“Some of the other cadets and I have put some plans together for how we could change things to receive guests and increase regional health. We can even put some of the refugees to work doing useful tasks! There is a large demand for crafts and farming, and with the plains no longer barred-off because of that Moro, all the long-grass we could possibly want!”
The Captain grunted, sat up, and downed the rest of his bottle. “Nah. Too much effort. Just leave it alone.”
The cadet didn’t budge. “We figured you’d say that.”
“Smart kid.” The Captain waved him off, bottle still in hand.
*Shink*.
A burning pain pierced his sensitive insides. It didn’t really hurt, more of a harsh throbbing sensation that dulled quickly from the alcohol. Speaking of, said alcohol was leaving him through a hole in his gut. “Don’t do that, alcohol! Get back in there, I need you so I can stay drunk!”
The captain blinked a few times, then hit the floor as the sound of further stabbing filled his little bottle repository of an office. Change was afoot. “Our first choice was a change in leadership. Goodbye, Captain.”
Back on the mountain, the students and scribes reached the academy with a new mascot. Sure, the Moro had been in the running, but the twitchy-nosed Sugar Glider—as a living bundle of excited snuggles—was passed from student to student and shared attention all the way around. The Glider loved it as much as the students did. He won the silent vote before an hour had passed, and plans were drawn up to make a statue of the school mascot within another.
Artorian placed Jiivra on a collection of bearskins, and found that her situation was worsening. Healing her Essence channel meant that she needed an influx of celestial Essence to live. While he’d been able to sustain her on the trip up, Artorian knew he wasn’t going to be able to fuel her well enough to still make progress on his own. This needed a permanent solution.
“Go fetch Cataphron! Tell him a new student is dying and we need his knowledge. I don’t care how fussy he is, don’t take no for
an answer!” The students didn’t particularly like that request, but a few of the more pragmatic ones left at a full sprint. The life of a student trumped discomfort. Cataphron was present minutes later, arriving in a whirlwind of speed and power as the ground itself buffed his travel momentum.
“Artorian this better not be a j—” He stopped yelling as soon as he saw the half-corpse. The ex-Headmaster even took a knee next to Jiivra, but innately sensed that something about touching the student was going to cause an unpleasant experience, even if he couldn’t put his finger on why. The man glared at Artorian. “What do you need?”
Death was good for his cultivation, but terrible for his image. He needed that goodwill right now, and there were droves of students watching. Artorian replied nigh instantly, “Tell me… everything you know about ‘echoing’ a cultivation technique. Hers was stripped, and if she doesn’t get a new one right away… Essence deprivation will eat her alive.”
Cataphron already disliked everything about this. Everything except one thing. Pulling someone into the E-ranks—the Echo ranks—was costly, and he wasn't going to be the one paying that price. This meant that… for a very long time, the old man wouldn’t be able to oppose him; Cataphron would be unrivaled on the mountain. The infernal warrior smiled and hesitated no further.
“Connect to her center.” Artorian swiftly eased close to Jiivra, holding both of her hands. The connection blipped to life easily, since he’d opened it to get celestial Essence into her for survival.
He responded with a curt, “Done.”
Cataphron rubbed his forehead and sat nearby, then turned to snap at the students. “We’re going to need water, food, and towels. Lots of all of that. Buckets if you can find them, to clean the towels from the filth that’s going to be pouring out of this student. What we’re doing isn’t a pretty ritual.”
He grit his jaw, having partially gone through this himself. “Trust me…”
Artorian's Archives Omnibus Page 68