Chapter 12: A View of the Future (Patreon)

“What idea?” Elliot asked cautiously.

“I think I could do something with you that would make an old enemy of mine incredibly angry.”

“Old enemy?” he replied, feeling like the conversation had just taken a hard left turn, and he’d been left behind. 

“Tell me what you want to do next.”

“What I want to do next? Besides leave? I think—”

“No. I’m not worried about what the Sunsguard said. We’ll be keeping to our schedule. What do you want to do next in life? I know, I know,” she said, forestalling him with a look, “the answer is find your sister, but what does that look like over the next few months?”

Elliot stayed silent. That same question had been eating at him ever since he’d been spat out in the woods, and outside of some very basic principles, he really had no idea how to answer it. “I have to get south. As far south as I can. I know I need supplies, and information, but that’s as far as I’ve gotten.”

“As far south as you can? What do you mean, Solt?”

“Is Solt at the southern tip of the continent?”

“The southern tip of Condyn?” Breka let out a snort. “I think you’ve misunderstood something. Why in the name of all the hells would your sister be at the southern tip of the continent?”

“Don’t ask me,” Elliot replied, mouth tightening. “That’s what the thing said when it sent me here.”

Breka leaned back, looking at Elliot intently. “You intend to make that journey?”

“Yes,” he said. “It’s what has to be done.”

“Do you have any idea what that entails?”

“None whatsoever.”

She narrowed her eyes. “The north of Condyn is well connected, to some degree. You could make it ten thousand miles south with enough money for an escort, or the skills to join a long-haul caravan. At that point you hit the Crowns, which are nearly impassable. Say you pass them. Your next stretch will cross the Empire of Kell, and they are exceedingly prejudiced against humans. No one in the north has much knowledge of what goes on there, and past their empire, it gets worse. If you cross the lands of the Domitan Horde, evade the Kau’irim, skate by the warring states of Dhum, and manage not to die in any of the countless tracts of dangerous wilds between these threats, you would find yourself two-thirds of the way through your journey. I have no idea what would wait for you past that point. This all with a weak advancement and a profession that is useless for combat. I’m sorry to say this, but you would be better off mourning your loss, hoping she lives a long and happy life, and moving on with your own.”

Elliot’s mouth had fallen open. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am extremely serious. How confident are you that your sister is there?”

His head was spinning, and his legs were starting to tremble. He let himself fold down slowly till he was sitting on the floor. “It's all I have. I don’t think the thing was lying. But I don’t really know, I—“ he felt a sudden tightness in his throat. “It’s so far,” he whispered. “How can I make it so far?”

“I’m sorry, boy,” she replied, her tone unusually gentle. “You aren’t the first to lose someone, but that makes it no easier. Trust me, I know.”

His heart was hammering in his chest. “No.”

She tilted her head. “No, what?”

“I haven’t lost her. Not the way you mean.” He took a breath, and rose. “That’s not happening. I’ve got a merchant profession, so I’ll make money. I’ll hire people strong enough to take me. Surely becoming filthy rich is still its own power in this part of reality.”

“Merchants don’t get filthy rich,” Breka replied bluntly. “They can be very well off, but they make their patrons filthy rich, who are the people with personal power. Nothing matters more than that.”

“I don’t care,” he said, setting his jaw. “I’ll beg, steal, cheat, whatever it takes. I’m finding Rowan.”

Breka stared at him for a solid half-minute, frowning. “You’ll do whatever it takes? Even if that means significant risk? Real chance of death?”

“Whatever it takes.” He’d never been more confident in anything. Rowan was all alone.

“You’re in an interesting place, with your fresh core,” she said slowly. “It’s possible that I could present you with a route to power.”

“Power, like fighting power? I’m a [Merchant of Antiquities], I thought that was off the table.”

“A profession doesn’t have to be forever, although I’ll admit, the merchant archetype will never allow a truly combat-focused option. Power is never completely off the table, though, if you have the will, and the creativity.”

“No offense,” Elliot replied, “but why would you be the person who could turn my profession into something powerful?”

Breka sighed. “Do you know what I started with?”

Elliot eyed her warily, not bothering to guess.

“It was [Merchant of Coin]. As peaceful a profession as they come.” 

Before Elliot could reply, Breka darted to her feet like she was twenty years old, spun to the wall, and flicked out a punch. It seemed like a tap, but the resulting crack made Elliot jump, and a spiderweb of fractures appeared at the spot she’d hit. “Power has many paths, and a merchant core only limits those who allow it to.”

“You can change from a merchant to a combat profession?” Elliot asked, eyes wide, staring at the cracked wall. It looked like someone had taken a jackhammer to it. Her punch had seemed so gentle, how was that possible?

“I’m still a merchant, boy, just not a [Merchant of Coin]. If you were to inspect my core you’d see it’s as orange as yours.”

“Then how...?”

Breka snorted. “The world is vast, and things are never as simple as they seem. There are a fair few who picked a merchant profession in their youth and then found reason to seek another road. I’ve travelled farther that way than most. It's not easy. You’d have to work ten times as hard as an idiot farm boy who took a soldier profession, and that’s to break even. You’d need grit, you’d need to take significant risks, and you’d need natural talent. But you have an interesting advantage in your unique beginning, and if you succeeded, if you were willing to practically kill yourself to move forward, I think you could become something quite ferocious in the end.”

Elliot frowned. “How strong do you think I’d have to be, to make the journey?”

She didn’t answer immediately, blowing out a puff of smoke and tapping her pipe against the stone floor. “I can’t know with certainty, but based on my understanding of the areas you would have to cross, I think it could be possible at the fifth circle—if my ideas for your development work the way I expect. That’s also if you focus on keeping a low profile, rather than blazing through. Even with my help, constant risk of death, and non-stop work, the fifth circle is extremely challenging to achieve. You’d need something more. Talent.”

His jaw tensed. He would accept any risk and work necessary, but talent was out of his hands.

“Hadrian told me you’ve been practicing your inspection skill,” she asked, “is that true?”

“Yes,” Elliot replied, thinking of the glowing spot on the stairway.

“Then inspect this, and tell me what you learn.” Breka handed over a shard of black stone, as dark as obsidian but less faceted.

Gripping it firmly, Elliot took a deep breath, and used [Detailed Appraisal].

The first fact he received was simply a name: Aelstone. He turned it over in his hands, trying to gather information from his senses. It was rough to the touch, almost like basalt, but less overtly bumpy. It was light, low density for a stone, but he couldn’t rub or chip off any dust or fragments. 

He turned his entire focus to its origin, and used his ability again. At first it seemed like just the name was coming through, but then he got a flash of something else, something he had a hard time pinning down.

Taking another long breath, he inspected it again, this time trying to sense the vortex at the back of his head. It spun, gathering energy from the stone, and he willed it to pull harder. For an agonizing moment nothing changed, but then he hit a threshold.

“It’s bone, isn’t it?” he asked. “It’s called Aelstone, but it’s bone. From something powerful.”

There was a pause, and when he glanced over he saw a look of real surprise on Breka’s face, quickly snuffed out as he turned. 

“Well, well,” she said slowly, “that’s actually somewhat impressive. Do you have any bound items or abilities you haven’t mentioned?”

“No,” he responded, frowning slightly. Was it so surprising? Finding origins was central to his skill.

“And It’s [Detailed Appraisal] you use, yes?”

“That’s right.”

“Alright.” She looked more serious now. “Here’s my offer to you. You travel with us for the near future, specifics to be determined based on how it goes. I will work you to the bone, demand constant improvement, and I will never be satisfied. You’ll work for me, same as Hadrian. If I’m able to twist your unique status in the way I imagine, I think you’ll be an asset. In return I will help you improve. Tortuously, with an unreasonable amount of effort required, but I promise you power if you’re able to keep up. When the time comes that you feel strong enough to set out after your sister, then I will send you off with my blessing.”

Elliot forced down the immediate acceptance that tried to rush from his mouth. He was still shell shocked from the end of the world, and compared to his own plan of ‘try to find food and walk south’ this offer seemed like a miraculous stroke of good luck. Possibly too good to be true. “I’m grateful, and I would love to accept, but I have to ask why. You barely know me.”

“Mmmm,” Breka replied, sitting back down into a cross-legged position on the floor. “Because you came to me with the new information when you could have left us to the wolves. Because you knew there was a chance we were enemies, but decided to trust us anyway. Because your strange background has put you in a position I think could be made quite advantageous with the right preparation. Because your spatial ability could be particularly valuable in the hands of someone who doesn’t look like they should have it. Because I think I can mold you into something that would be useful to me, and dangerous for my enemies. Because the future I see for you holds a strange similarity to the path I followed—in some key respects. And perhaps because I feel slightly bad for you and your sister, though I won’t pretend that’s the core of it.”

A part of Elliot tried to think rationally, to weigh the pros and cons, but it was a small part. Learning about the distance he would have to travel had been crushing, and he needed some hope. And, for better or worse, he got a good feeling from both Breka and Hadrian.

“That would be amazing,” he said, smiling hesitantly. “I would really appreciate the help. I promise, I’ll work hard.”

Breka cackled. “Oh I don’t need your promise to know that, boy. Under my tender ministrations we’ll have you whipped into something wonderful in no time.”

There was a knock at the front door, and Elliot twitched so hard his feet almost left the ground.

“Interesting,” Breka said, taking a puff from her pipe. “It’s for you.”

“For me?” He turned to look at the door apprehensively. “How do you know?”

“Go answer.”

Elliot approached apprehensively, pulling the door open and squinting into the sudden daylight. His eyes widened.

“Hello, goodman,” Royce said, his expression awkwardly stiff. “I apologize for disturbing you. I prepared your supplies.” He used his foot to nudge a large canvas pack lying on the ground.

“Oh,” Elliot replied, equally stiff. “Thanks.”

“Also,” the knight took a deep breath. “I know there is no apology I could make that is sufficient to the situation, and I am not searching for forgiveness. My road of redress will be long, though I aim to walk it to the end. I wanted to give you this, though. As a beginning.”

He pulled a book from inside his cloak, its thick leather cover embossed with the outline of a cityscape in gold filigree. “You said you had an inspection skill. The Sunsguard are adept at inspection and appraisal. Half the fell things we hunt are deceptive by nature, and our spellsmiths make excellent tools of training. This, though, is my family’s personal property. It will help you improve your ability as far as you wish to take it.”

“What is it?” Elliot asked, reaching out to touch the raised metal.

“It is called a Tome of Eyes. It was passed down to me from my father, as it was from his father to him.” The knight’s expression fell for a moment before returning to stiff courtesy. “It holds significant value to me.”

“It’s a useful gift,” Breka interjected, eyeing the knight with curiosity. “I’d accept.”

Something inside Elliot twisted at the thought of accepting something from the man who’d just had his soul raked over the coals. Forgiving him legally was one thing, carrying around his family heirloom was another. He shifted his feet.

“I know it must make you uncomfortable to see me, and perhaps to have this offered as well,” Royce said, seeing Elliot hesitate. “It is entirely alright if you do not wish to accept it. Please know that I do not see this as clearing any debt between us. I simply wish to start the process of making amends with a personal sacrifice, and if it can aid the person I injured then all the better.”

Elliot took a breath. If Breka thought it was useful, then he needed to put the rest aside. Knowing what he did now, it seemed like he’d need all the help he could get. “Thank you. I accept.” He reached out and grabbed the book gingerly, metal cold on his skin.

Royce stepped back and bowed. “I wish you the best of luck in your quest to find your sister. May the Gods favor your journey, and your troubles be light.” He spun and walked away before Elliot could formulate an appropriate reply.

“Well, well,” Breka said from behind. “How useful. Bring me that, I want to take a look.”