Victor of Tucson-Chapter 38Book 10: : A Guiding Hand

38 – A Guiding Hand

Arona looked from the sealed vault door to Kynna. She stood with arms folded, one hand under her chin, lips pressed into a thin line. Her eyes were narrowed, and the white flames that burned in their crystal orbs were dim. Arona turned to Bryn, whose expression was anything but guarded. She, too, had crossed her arms, but in her case, it was more like she was hugging herself. Her lips trembled, and her eyes were red from the tears she’d cried.

Arona stepped closer and gently grasped Bryn’s wrist. “His words, Bryn—tell them to me again.”

She sniffed and, with a quavering voice, replied, “He said to tell the queen he’d do his best. He said he wouldn’t give up. He told me to tell you that he’d try to the end.”

Kynna stepped forward, resting her palm on the cold, glyph-inscribed metal of Victor’s vault. “Can we open this, Arona?”

“You could ask Trobban his opinion, but I think not. It’s Fae-craft—true elder magic. I don’t know where Victor found it, but it’s far beyond my ability to breach. I think the Energy required would destroy this palace and anything inside.”

“Trobban?”

“The Artificer Victor employed. I’m sorry; I thought you knew him.” Arona could see the queen was struggling to maintain her even demeanor. She could see the cracks along the edges of her veneer—a hastily made fist to quiet trembling fingers, eyes blinking just a touch too rapidly, an inability to maintain eye contact, and, most of all, a refusal to look at or question Bryn further about Victor’s condition.

“Ah, yes. I remember now.” The queen didn’t say more but leaned her forehead against the vault and closed her eyes. “Why did he lock himself in?”

“My Queen,” Bryn blurted. “You should have seen him. He was barely alive, he—”

“Hush,” Arona said, tightening her grasp on the woman’s wrist. “Victor might have looked terrible, but he’s a very hard man to kill.” She looked toward Kynna. “I can think of a few reasons he might have sealed the vault.” When the monarch didn’t respond, she continued. “He may believe that what he’s doing will take a while. He knows we might come under attack and wouldn’t want us to expend resources protecting him. There’s also the possibility that whatever he's doing in there is dangerous. Perhaps he doesn’t want to expose us to it.”

“What could he be doing?”

“He had treasures in there—things I only glimpsed in their containers. Perhaps there was something he was saving as a last resort. Something he thought would be better not to use.”

Again, the queen didn’t respond, but Arona could see her lips moving as she continued to press her forehead against the cold vault door. Was she praying? Did the people here pray to gods? Arona scraped her memory but couldn’t recall any worship—just the old curses, the muttered names of dead powers. She cleared her throat. “Queen Kynna, we must continue as planned. There’s naught else for us to do. We cannot flee this world. If Victor said he would fight to the end, then we must do so as well.”

She turned to Bryn, pulling her wrist to unfold her arms. “You must be strong for Victor now. You’re a warrior, Bryn, and we’ll need you to inspire the troops. Do you remember Victor’s words to you when we met in the queen’s study?”

Bryn blinked her eyes and looked down at Arona. In her current state of distress, the fighter looked softer than usual, more delicate. Arona knew better, though; Bryn was a strong woman. Perhaps Victor had made a mistake granting her so many titles and lands—so many privileges. She had much to lose now, and she could feel everything slipping through her fingers. It was a weighty thing, responsibility. She smiled and said as much, “Things were easier when you were a simple member of the Queensguard, weren’t they?”

Bryn sniffed, set her lips into a firm line, and shook her head. “I’m up to this, if that’s what you’re asking.” She cleared her throat and spoke more forcefully. “My Queen, I’ve drafted the missives, and the messengers are set. Shall I put things in motion?”

The queen was silent for a while, still pressing her forehead to the vault. Arona began to wonder if she should prod her to action again, but then Kynna stirred and stood up straight. She turned, reaching up to adjust her crown. Her face was set in a stern glower as she nodded to Bryn. “Go. Gather our heroes. Gather our loved ones. We’ll make our stand here, and, with luck and the love of the fates, Victor will emerge to join us against our foes.” With that, she walked around the vault and toward the exit. She paused and said, “Arona, please find me in my study this afternoon. We’ve many plans to discuss.”

“I will, Your Majesty.” Arona listened as her steps receded, then turned to Bryn. “You can do this. We must.”

“You could hide. You could go to another city. The—” She stopped speaking, knowing she couldn’t name their foes without Kynna’s crown to shield their conversation. “People don’t even know you exist.” freewebnøvel.coɱ

Arona smiled and shook her head. “I’d never do that to Victor. I promised I would help, and so I shall. My life has been long and dark, Bryn. These last months on Ruhn have been bright enough to outshine a hundred years of darkness. I owe that to Victor, and I won’t deny that I’ve grown fond of some of the folk here.” She held out a hand, and Bryn took it. Her palms were warm and a little clammy—stress would do that to a person. “Come. I’ll keep you company while you speak to your envoys. My preparations will take some planning, and you can help me with that when you’re done.”

Bryn nodded, forcing a smile as she gripped Arona’s hand. Together, they departed the workshop, leaving Victor’s vault to brood there in silence. It was like an egg—full of potential, but also bearing a distinct possibility of failure. Would it open, or would it fade into myth, buried in the ruins of a once mighty kingdom?

###

Victor sat in his vault, his back to the wall. A streak of blood ran from the door to where his feet twitched, his muscles spasming regularly thanks to the sorry state of his body. In his lap was a silk-wrapped package, impossibly small considering the power that dwelt within it. He remembered it being bigger—heavier—but then, he’d been smaller the last time he held it. He closed his eyes and tried to remember the moment Crystal, the queen of the ivid, gave it to him.

He remembered her eyes—iridescent like pools of rainbow—and how her voice, like crystalline chimes, had sounded in his mind. What had she said? He racked his memory, and her voice came back to him, clear as the day he’d first heard it:

“My gift is potent and, outside our hive, something that would be nigh impossible to acquire. I’m giving you a sample of the royal jelly my attendants fed to me in order to make me a queen. It’s the same substance they will feed to my replacement. I do not feel it will threaten our hive at all to give you this small sample. You will take it away to your world, and soon, we will be separated from your universe. For this reason, I’m willing to risk the unknown effects it will have upon you. It will be up to you to decide if you are willing to take that same risk.”

The idea of “unknown effects” and “risk” had once been enough to make Victor wonder if he’d ever eat the jelly. Now, though, as a roiling void sought to consume him, they seemed like trivial concerns. Of course, he’d hoped to save the jelly for a greater need. Hadn’t Tes impressed upon him how valuable and potent it was? Would it have made the jump to steel seeker, or perhaps to veil walker, trivial? He had no idea. Maybe it wouldn’t help him much at all. Maybe it would destroy him.

Carefully, he unfolded the silk that encased the crystalline globe. He’d struggled to look at the stuff back when he’d first found it, but now, despite his pain and weakness, he found he could stare at the strange, golden, gelatinous substance inside the crystal. It was heavy for its size, but he wasn’t sure if that was the magical container or the jelly. It looked tiny in his massive palm—only about the size of a baseball. He could see a nearly invisible seam near the top of the globe, and he figured he was meant to unscrew it.

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He didn’t do so, though; despite his mental assertion that he could withstand the jelly’s pull, he found himself staring, unable to move. His mind was caught up in the weird, reflective swirls of the substance. It wasn’t all a consistent golden color. Parts of it were amber, tinting toward red. If his throat wasn’t constantly filling with blood, he would have realized he was salivating madly. It was that blood that broke him from his trance; he began to choke, and he jerked his head to the side, coughing out a gout of foamy red liquid.

He put his hand over the globe to save his mind from slipping away again, and then he had a disturbing thought: what if, when he swallowed the jelly, the void consumed it? The damn curse was right at the center of his chest and was clearly devouring at least part of his esophagus on a continual basis. He resolved that he’d have to simply hold the jelly in his mouth, hoping it could find its way into his blood if he held it under his tongue. Would it make it less potent? He’d have to hope not.

Squeezing his eyes shut, lest he lose himself to the jelly’s pull again, he took a deep breath and held it—he didn’t want to be sent into a coma or something when he smelled it. Then, he gripped the top of the crystal sphere and twisted. The ivid were clearly more clever craftsfolk than he’d anticipated. The top came away instantly, without any effort, as though it knew he wanted to open it. Victor didn’t hesitate; the time for that was past. He lifted the little orb to his lips and turned it, pouring the stuff into his mouth.

It didn’t pour, exactly. It kind of flopped out like a hunk of semi-solid jelly. When it touched his tongue, Victor could no longer hide from its potency. His eyes sprang open, every vein in his body dilated, and stars exploded in his vision. A sound like a tornado rushed through his ears, deafening him. Then, as the ivid royal jelly dissolved in his saliva and sank through the pores of his flesh and into the tiny vessels of his mouth, Victor felt a rapid expansion of tingling, fiery euphoria spread through his body. Before he could savor the feeling, his mind was ripped free of its physical bonds.

If Victor had been conscious to watch what happened to his body, he would have seen golden steam erupt from every pore in his body. He would have watched as it gathered in a cloud around him, obscuring his figure. Then, he would have seen that steam solidify, encasing him in a golden, crystalline cocoon. He wasn’t cognizant, though, and even if he had been, his eyes were obscured. He couldn’t see or taste or breathe; he couldn’t hear or even wonder how the cocoon wasn’t affected by the void that it had encased.

Victor drifted on a cloud of Energy. Unlike other times when he’d been swept away for a vision of this ancestor or that, or sent hurtling into the void, bodiless and unaware, he felt very much like he knew who and what he was. He knew he was Victor, and he knew he’d just consumed something incredibly potent. What he wasn’t sure of was whether or not he was alive. He felt a lot like he did when he performed a Spirit Walk.

He could see his body, somewhat ethereal and luminescent, and he could see that he stood on…something. He wasn’t sure what, however. All around him was a dense fog of Energy so rich that when he tried to quantify or categorize it by shape or color, he couldn’t. It escaped his attempts, slipping from conscious thought just when he thought he had a grasp on it.

He tried walking, and that worked, but it took him nowhere. He tried sitting on that strange surface, and his body complied, though, again, it accomplished nothing. Was he meant to do something? Was he just meant to wait? Was he transitioning through the veil? “Hah,” he muttered, surprised to find that his voice worked though it traveled nowhere. Wouldn’t it be ironic if his attempt to continue fighting had been an elaborate way to kill himself?

As that bitterly humorous thought passed through his mind, Victor was sent down a spiraling mental trip of regrets. Valla and Tes featured prominently. Deyni and Cora, Chala and Chandri. Of course, his other friends paraded by: Thayla, Tellen, Kethelket, Olivia, Edeya, Lam, Lesh, and even Darren. He thought of Kynna and Bryn and the thousands of people depending on him to defend them. He thought of Arona and hoped she’d win free. If anyone could escape to tell his loved ones what became of him, she would be the one.

Eventually, he stood up and continued walking…nowhere. He had no other plans and nothing else to do, so he figured it was better than sitting around sulking. Maybe he was worried about nothing. Maybe the royal jelly was just doing its thing, and he’d wake up healed and powerful. He shook his head. Why, then, would he be conscious? Why wasn’t he dreaming? He wished he had someone to guide him, some person he could seek counsel from—Dar or Kuhl Bach, or even Azforath. No, he decided, if he could have anyone to help him in that moment, it would be Chantico. He liked her and the way she called him “little brother.”

He sat down again, bored with his endless trip to nowhere. He thought again about Chantico and the advice she’d given him regarding his curse. Hadn’t she said to make himself like a fortress? She’d said he should contemplate what he feared, what had kept him floating for six months in the void. He’d vastly improved his control over his fear, hadn’t he? He’d built up his Core by draining enough terror-attuned Energy to grant him two levels. He’d reached level ninety and gained a far more powerful aura.

Was his aura not an extension of him and everything that made him up—his Core, his affinities, his accomplishments, his spirit, and his will? That had been his understanding—so many of his feats affected his aura, and apparently, so did his Class. Were those just parts of his history? Was his aura like the rings on a tree? Again, he found himself wishing he had someone to ask.

Dar had spoken to him about those topics over the months Victor had prepared for his trip to Ruhn, but the man was cagey and often spoke in riddles. Didn’t they all, though? Khul Bach, Azforath—even Old Mother. Victor smiled, remembering her and the love she’d shared with him. She really had been a wonderful person, and he’d found her at just the right time in his life. Naturally, that thought made him think of his abuela, and he longed for her voice and her gentle pats on his cheek when she’d say something like, “Qué bueno eres, mijito.”

Victor’s eyes were suddenly moist, and his chest heaved for breath. Was she really gone? The idea was so gut-wrenching that he realized he’d been avoiding really thinking about it for ages. He’d kept his mind busy with just about any other kind of worry or thought. Sitting there, in a cloud of potent Energy, he closed his eyes and remembered his grandma. He remembered her voice, her eyes, and how she’d been his rock when everything in his life turned upside down.

Hours or days could have passed; he didn’t know. He was lost in his contemplations, savoring the rich fragrance of his abuela’s cooking, the songs she would sing to wake him up for school, and the way she would scold him and tell him to be proud of himself when he felt like giving up. When his melancholy ran its course and he found himself smiling at the memories, he opened his eyes to find he wasn’t alone.

Chantico sat cross-legged in front of him, her golden-brown skin glistening in the strange shimmer of the Energy around them. Her eyes were like polished amber gems, but their depths were wells that could absorb a person’s soul. To his utter disbelief, Victor realized that Chantico’s cheeks were moist with tears. Her dark brows, sharply angled and severe, tilted upward as she said, “What a strange place you’ve summoned me to, little brother. It was wonderful to relive some of your memories with you. That kindly woman reminded me of my own great-grandmother.”

“Chantico?”

“Has whatever ails you stolen your wits?” She smiled to soften the words.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Pull me from my reveries? Disturb a hundred years of meditation? Worry not, little brother; I’m interested in this affair.” She looked around, narrowing her eyes. “You’ve done something foolish, haven’t you?”

“Um—” Victor shrugged. “I don’t think I had a choice.”

She smiled, pulling her lips back to reveal perfect, white teeth with canines too sharp to be human. Was that what a pure Quinametzin’s teeth were like? “I will give you some guidance, Victor, but I can feel something building between us—what once was a simple karmic tie is becoming a karmic burden. It will weigh on your spirit if I continue to aid you without some reciprocity. Will you promise to do me a favor in exchange for my aid?”

Victor didn’t hesitate, and if she knew him well, she would have known the question was redundant to his nature. “Of course.”

Her brilliant eyes twinkled as she nodded, continuing to smile at him. “Okay, little brother, let’s see what’s going on in here.” As she spoke, she stretched out her long, sharp-nailed fingers to rest her fingertips on his forehead. Her touch was gentle, but it felt like someone had connected a high-voltage line to his skull. Victor stared into her eyes as the electric waves continued to pulse through his skull.

Perhaps because of the connection she’d made, Victor thought he saw glimpses of her thoughts and memories in those eyes. He saw her standing over a battlefield that spanned a continent. He saw her charging into the arms of not one, but a dozen lovers over the span of an eon. He saw her transform into a tremendous golden-feathered eagle and soar into space. More memories were there, waiting for his gaze, but then Chantico took her fingers away from his head and folded her hands in her lap.

“I see what’s happening. I can guide you through this process, little brother, and protect you from much of the worst of it, but I have to warn you: this will not solve the riddle of your curse. It remains and will eventually destroy you, even with the reprieve this treasure has granted you. Perhaps, if we talk further, we can discover the weakness that allows it to gain such a foothold on your spirit.”

“I—"

She smiled and reached out to take his hand. “Don’t worry about the advice you were given. I won’t fight this fight for you, but I might help you understand how you should fight it.”

“Thank you—” Victor smiled as he grasped her hand with his. “—big sister.”