Chapter 46: Seeing Further (Patreon)

Breka upended the pouch in her hand onto the bed, pouring a variety of small objects out on the mattress. A small red stone, a wooden ring, three interlinked metal hooks, a feather; there were at least a dozen items. Is that…?

The object that had caught his attention was the jet black stone—Aelstone?—that Breka had used to test [Detailed Appraisal] before she first offered him the chance to travel with her and Hadrian. Its surface was slightly rough, like basalt, but otherwise unremarkable. 

“Here,” she said, handing him the small red stone. “Use the skill. Don’t fuss about with your vortex, just the base ability.”

Elliot took the stone and activated [Eye of Niamh], taking care to not use the vortex at all.

Immediately, he could sense a flow of energy that mirrored the process of [Detailed Appraisal]. It lasted a second or so, and then suddenly he knew that the stone was ruby, and it had been carved for someone important. “It feels just like [Detailed Appraisal], except somehow…rougher. It’s hard to describe, but it’s like how [Detailed Appraisal] felt when I first got it, not as natural.”

She shrugged. “Usually competency carries over fairly linearly to an upgraded skill, but it can vary. Try your vortex. Slowly. Barely any effort.”

Looking back down at the ruby, Elliot used [Eye of Niamh] again, the information flowing like sludge. It felt exactly like using his old skill, but clunkier. He pulled at the vortex with a fragment of his will, trying to ease it into motion as lightly as possible.

It spun into a furious whirl, racing like he’d slammed it.

Knowledge flooded his brain. The stone was a ruby mined in Andaluse and carved by a royal jewelsmith for one of the queen’s handmaidens. It had rested in the socket of her armband for over a year, until it was stolen by one of the palace guards. Breka had retrieved it, along with a bundle of other stolen goods, and the handmaiden had offered it to her as a gift of thanks rather than accepting its return. Elliot’s eyes widened. “Oh, okay. I think I see the difference now.”

“What happened?”

“It’s way more in-tune with the vortex than [Detailed Appraisal]. I tried to barely use it, but it was like the new skill gave the vortex a huge extra kick, and I got a ton more information than I ever would have before. Also, what were you doing retrieving stolen goods for the royal court? That’s a strange task for someone as powerful as you.”

An expression of shock flickered across Breka’s face. “Excuse me?”

“You got this from one of the royal handmaidens as a reward for retrieving a bunch of stolen goods. From—“ he refocused on the ruby, using [Eye of Niamh] again, and this time incorporating the vortex more normally, feeling its powerful spin. “From Emilia.”

“How…” Breka’s voice trailed off. “That’s not possible. A fourth-circle ability in the hands of a skilled user would have struggled to track the chain of events back that far.” She sat on the edge of the bed, scowling at Elliot. “Why does nothing about you make any sense, boy? At every turn I am surprised, I adjust, and then you do something even stranger. Your past is no excuse.” She stood again, and tossed him the wooden ring. “This one.”

Activating the skill, he tried to let the same mental command trigger the vortex as well, finding that it was simple to let [Eye of Niamh]’s natural progression spin the thing at the back of his skull into motion. The vortex became so sensitive the minute he used the ability, with barely anything setting it off.

“It’s something you bought back in Bastogne from one of the other merchants, and it has an enchantment. Wearing it lets you hide things in that hand better. Oh, that’s interesting. If you’re holding something, anyone who looks at it will be more likely to look away and not pay attention. Sort of like the Ghost Eye, right?”

“Similar, yes,” Breka said, still sounding slightly testy. “Can you tell me what it’s made from?”

“Normal wood, hickory,” Elliot said, frowning. “But there is something…oh! The enchanter added Dust of the Dreamer. I feel like I don’t see many products using it even though it’s Tular’s special export, this is actually the first one.”

“You’ve seen things that use it,” Breka said, sighing. “It’s hard to identify once it’s been mixed into an enchantment. Three or four of the things I’ve given you to train with use it as a material.”

“This is good, right?” Elliot said brightly. “I don’t even need to ask, actually, you look shocked. I’ve never seen you look shocked because of me using an ability. It’s great.”

“Well it’s certainly not a weak skill,” she said, frowning. “It improves our chances of success in terms of your future strength. I don’t, however, love that you received this right after your mark changed. I don’t know what it means, or how it’s connected, but I don’t love it.”

That was true. His stomach dropped. How had he not thought of that? And it was worse than she thought. All Breka knew was that the mark had changed unexpectedly, but in the dream it had been connected to the vortex, just like [Eye of Niamh] seemed to be. Was he drawing power from the Titan? Was he waking it up?

“Niamh doesn’t mean anything to you at all, right?” He asked. “It’s not a name that’s associated with…anything?”

“I’ve never heard it before in my life. Certainly I’ve never seen it crop up having anything to do with the Titan That Sleeps.”

“Gotcha,” Elliot said, still feeling slightly nauseous. “That’s good, I guess.”

“Let’s continue testing.”

The pattern repeated itself with every new item he examined. Information flowed more smoothly, reached farther, and was easier to guide. With a thought, he could focus his efforts on something’s origins, its uses, its components, really anything he could think of. When he opened the Book of Eyes, it was like playing checkers after months of chess.

Unfortunately, the increase in utility came with a price. [Detailed Appraisal] had been almost free to use, its ethera cost minimal enough for Elliot to have started using it on practically everything. [Eye of Niamh] took a toll.

“I don’t think I can go again,” Elliot said, panting. “Just give me a few minutes.”

“At least the ethera draw is commensurate with strength,” Breka muttered. “Some piece of this is still sensible. Take one minute, then back to it.”

Feeling drained from a visual skill was a new experience for Elliot. [Combative Bartering] was the first ability to really push his ethera limits, and even that was new enough he’d never tested it to exhaustion. Using [Eye of Niamh] seven, or was it eight times? Either way, only a few uses had emptied his core.

When they resumed, Breka handed him the Aelstone, looking almost hesitant. “I want you to use the skill once, but give it everything you have. There’s one fact to learn which is clearly more valuable, and more basic, than any other. You’ll know it if you draw it out. One try, no more.”

Elliot focused. The act of spinning the vortex had almost become folded into activating the skill even with his brief practice, but this time he actively pushed on it as hard as he could. He remembered Aelstone was some kind of bone; that had been the discovery which impressed Breka the first time. Tell me what’s secret. What’s hidden that I shouldn’t be able to know.

For the first time since acquiring [Eye of Niamh], he felt significant resistance. The thread of energy running from the black bone was sluggish, and stuttery. But there was something there, he could sense it. Something resisted his pull. He yanked.

“What,” he practically spat, eyebrows shooting up. “This is bone from a dragon? You have dragons here?”

The expression on Breka’s face was grim. “Yes. Real, though extinct. You should have never been able to learn that. Something isn’t right. Stay in Tular, and don’t use that ability until I get back. I need to make an assessment.”

“What assessment?” Elliot asked. “About the Titan?”

“Something significant has shifted with the Talessi over the last few days. They have a major push planned, somewhere. I haven’t had time to dig up exactly what the target is, but this changes that. I need to make sure they haven’t found the Titan. I need you to stay out of trouble. Relax, have some lunch. I’ll be back soon.”

“Relax? How am I supposed to relax?”

“Go have some tea.” With that parting wisdom, Breka was already striding for the door.

In the wake of her departure, Elliot tried to make a plan. He sat at the desk with his pad of paper and charcoal pencil, staring at the top page. How did one go about making a plan for a potentially disastrous connection to a threat like the Titan? Not that he had an intimate understanding of exactly what it could do, but he’d seen Breka, and she talked about beings on that level like they would erase her with a twitch.

Frustratingly, as the minutes dragged on, the only thing he could think of was to let Breka do whatever she was going to do, and to follow her advice.

He rose to his feet and left.

The Overlook was quieter than usual for such a pleasant evening, soft glowstone lighting just bright enough to let guests function without obscuring their view of the falls in the distance, or the sweep of the forest beyond. There was a brisk wind that kept the immense leaves above in constant motion, their whispers almost like music.

Elliot was sitting at his corner table, right by the railing that separated the guests from the three thousand foot drop to the river below. There was a cup of green tea with notes of rosehip and cherry on the table in front of him. The soft sound of crashing water in the distance had, over the past half hour or so, finally managed to dull his anxiety. Nothing seemed to be going catastrophically wrong in the world. He lifted his cup and took a sip.

Reaching down into his pack, he drew out his bestiary and a parcel of pages that he’d used for notes on his abilities and their potential future paths, laying it all out on the table. There was plenty to organize, and then he’d do some work with his spatial pocket. It was possible for him to manipulate the shape of the extradimensional space in real time now, although not in the blink of an eye. One of these days he’d get an upgrade to the size of the space, and it would really start to be useful. Being big enough to store rations for longer trips would be a life saver.

“Here’s your biscuit,” a voice spoke briskly over his shoulder. Elliot turned to see Holly, one of the waitresses. Her red hair was tied back in a tight bun, and her eyes held the manic gleam of someone who’d worked several hours past their expectations for the day.

“Thanks,” he replied. “You okay?” They weren’t friends, but he came often enough to maintain a cordial relationship with most of the waitstaff.

“Fine,” she said, bordering on curt, then she huffed. “Sorry, it’s been a day. There’s an angry customer inside who doesn’t speak Common, and he’s giving us a hell of a time.” She turned and marched back towards the main building, then paused. “Actually, you speak some weird languages, don’t you?”

Elliot had turned back to his papers, but glanced back up as she spoke again. About a month ago, a customer who’d travelled from the far south had been sitting at the table next to Elliot, and she’d struggled with the process of ordering in Common. Clearly it was a problem she was well used to, and she managed a few words, but he’d internalized the language after hearing her mutter a few phrases to herself in frustration.

The decision to help had been an impulsive one, but with no one he knew present and no connection to the woman, it had seemed relatively harmless. Speaking a language other than Common couldn’t be that rare. The staff had seemed vaguely impressed, but no more than that.

“I speak a few,” he replied, trying to decide how many languages it was reasonable to claim.

“The man up front has been poking his nose into every restaurant, inn, and tavern in Tular. I have friends all around, and he’s been to them all. He seems desperate for a translator. Would you just come and see if you recognize the language?”

“Sure,” he said, eyeing the biscuit longingly for an instant before rising.

As they stepped inside, the foreigner was immediately apparent. Tall, with short golden hair and a neat beard, his tunic and trousers were both a vibrant scarlet that would have drawn eyes at a parade. His arms were exposed to the shoulder and covered with linear black tattoos. 

“Faa, duraida!” The stranger said, watching them approach with a glower on his face. “Tova da’an. Nietka al’tor ven, can etcha.”

A little bit more, please. Didn’t quite get that.

“Sir,” Holly said firmly, “raising your voice won’t make it any easier to understand what you’re saying.”

“Quer’en fas ilumeen, coros,” he replied, eyeing Elliot. “Fahaal bura, desidera. Quee’es terreth an attempt to remove me from the premises, or does this man claim skill as a speaker of tongues?”

Gotcha. Elliot smiled. “I believe I can help. What’s the trouble you’re facing?”

The man in red’s eyes shot wide open. “Gods above man, you speak like a native! Where have you been hiding? I have been running around like an idiot.”

“Oh, you know, just living my life,” Elliot replied, summoning up his old customer service smile. Where had he been? As if it was his job to spare this guy inconvenience.

“I need you to come with me, now. I have information that is vital to the safety of this city, and no one is listening to me, because I cannot make myself understood. I will pay this farce of a bill if needed to expedite the matter,” he added, waving what was clearly a list of food he’d purchased while waiting.

“What do you mean? What information?”

“A Talessi attack is imminent,” the man replied. “They aim to cripple Tular, and unless I am able to convince the council of the risk, they will succeed.”