Chapter 51: Persimmons and White Wine (Patreon)

Elliot was dreaming again. The shale plain, the black clouds with their rare flashes of light, and the statue with its hairline crack. He released a hard sigh and lowered himself to the ground.

What was happening in these dreams? Was the Titan trying to use him to escape? Did it want to eat his soul? Was it still sleeping peacefully, and the mark meant nothing at all? Being constantly at the mercy of things beyond his understanding was really starting to suck.

He ordered his thoughts. The statue represented the Titan That Sleeps, a bound power of incredible strength. There was a connection between him and the Titan triggered by his appraisal of the figurine, then solidified by something about the vortex, or whatever the thing in his head was that the vortex represented.

Actually—he hadn’t been able to target the figurine with [Detailed Appraisal] at first. It wasn’t like it had seen him and decided he was the one. It had taken heavy effort, with the vortex. Elliot squinted up at the statue’s faces, all three still staring off into the distance, long, thin horns curved threateningly towards an unknown focus. It all came back to whatever that thing was at the back of his head.

The dreams always took a turn for the worse when he used [Detailed Appraisal], or [Eye of Niamh]. The first several times he’d manifested here, confused and alarmed, he’d used no skills at all and had eventually woken up without any significant changes.

But what should he do tonight?

It was important to keep the Titan sleeping. Anything Breka worried about that much had to be awful, and unleashing a massive catastrophe wasn’t a fair price to pay for his freedom, or even his life.

It was so tempting, though. Last time he'd used his ability, the memories had led to the mark catching fire with power, and that had made [Combative Bartering] strong enough to overcome a husk. If it happened again, it wouldn’t be crazy to think he could surprise a guard, demand freedom in exchange for some concession like letting them live, and lead everyone out of this mess.

The cost though…it was too hard to know the cost.

What if he inspected it again, got the power he needed, and this time the whole statue fractured—letting the Titan run wild? What if he set the Titan free, and didn’t even get the power? It wasn’t worth the risk. Elliot snorted. Even putting morality aside, he’d be just as likely to die from the Titan as from a blood sacrifice.

It was almost peaceful here, compared to the cell. No Talessi about to descend to do God-knows-what, no frightened children. Just the black clouds, the shale, and the figurine on its plinth. 

He let his eyes wander over the dark gray stone, careful not to linger too long on the statue. It had the classic thin, sheet-like texture of all shale, with irregular breaks and fragmentation as if it had been exposed to normal weathering. Strange for a dreamscape. The sky was a clear expanse of stars, and the idea of harsh weather seemed out of place.

The ground surrounding the plinth became even more irregular. In fact, there were four distinct points Elliot could see, each a tiny mound of fractured stone barely an inch high. They wouldn’t have caught his attention if not for the fact that he could draw lines between them in his mind and create a perfect square.

Something about them tickled Elliot’s brain, but he suppressed any desire to use [Eye of Niamh]. No need to be stupid.

Standing up, he began to circle the statue, peering down at the barely perceptible bumps. There was a clear pattern, which became more obvious the longer he looked. The distances were identical, the angles too sharp for it to be anything else.

It was almost like they’d been formed by something shooting out of the ground, like the hillocks left by moles.

The world tilted sharply.

“Wake up.”

Elliot’s eyes snapped open. Yolena was crouched over him, shaking his arm. It was still dark, with only the faint white light from the glowstones in the corridor outside their cell to see by.

“You said you have a powerful appraisal skill. Does it work on people?”

“No, it—” he paused, trying to blink the sleep from his eyes. Did it? [Detailed Appraisal] didn’t, but he only barely understood [Eye of Niamh]. Turning to Yolena, he pulled himself more upright and activated the ability, vortex turning of its own volition. The more he used it, the more the skill felt like an extension of the vortex itself, with no effort needed to mix them.

Information arrived. Yolena was a fourth-circle [Greenguard Ranger], and her last name was Whitfield. His eyes widened. Fourth-circle was strong. "Yes, actually. Sorry. Had a recent upgrade."

“Good. Gather yourself.”

“For what?”

"They're coming. Soon. If I touch my neck, appraise whoever is speaking."

The entire right side of Elliot’s body ached from the angle he'd been laying on the rough stone, and he tried to shake off his persistent fatigue. Talessi are coming. Focus.

Glancing to the right, he started. The girl from the back corner had scooted closer to him as he slept, now asleep herself just a few feet away. Poor kid. Had she been taken alone because she'd been away from home, or had her family died right in front of her first? Either way, it was a horrible thing. Elliot's jaw tightened. All this, for what?

Footsteps became audible shortly, and he tried to control his breathing. Yolena had settled into a cross-legged position on the floor, eyes half closed. He couldn't make out any noise from the other cells, not even frightened murmurs.

As the ringing steps drew closer a yellow light began to grow, providing sharper illumination.

Four figures walked through the doorway to the hall of cells. The first, a tall man with white-blond hair and a deeply green cloak, stopped directly in front of the bars to Elliot's cage. The other three—two men and one woman—fell in line along the wall behind him.

"Which one was the irregularity?" the leader asked, his voice a rich baritone.

The woman behind him, who Elliot thought might have been the person who'd seen his arrival, stepped forward. "It was the boy, against the wall."

"So?” the man said, eyes coming to rest on Elliot. They were disturbingly calm, green to match his cloak, without a hint of anger or distress. “Is that true, young man? How did you come to be in my dungeon?”

Elliot drew back, pressing into the stone. “I was dragged here by one of your husks, and I don’t know what you mean.” He didn’t have to work to appear afraid.

“Yes, I do think you came by way of the Mindless. But we have no record of you coming through. That’s quite unusual.”

“Sorry to add to your administrative burden,” Elliot replied before he could catch himself. Timid, Elliot. Timid and meek. Don’t think about all the families that died tonight.

The man smiled. “That’s kind of you to say. You’re young, for an infiltrator. If that’s what you are. And surprisingly weak, even for your age. Not past the early second circle, and a merchant. I think you either slipped through in an accident of fate, or you’re quite a bit more dangerous than you look.”

“I’m not an infiltrator,” Elliot replied softly. Other people with inspection skills were so disconcerting.

“You would be a strange choice, I’ll admit.” He looked over at Yolena. “Your people wouldn’t send someone so young, would they?”

“No,” she replied, her expression calm. “I would like to negotiate our release. Are you the authority here?”

“Hush,” he replied, flapping a hand gently. “We’re speaking of more interesting things. What’s your name, young man?”

Elliot froze, trying to think if that would somehow be dangerous to share.

“Don’t worry, I won’t curse you.” The man’s eyes sparkled.

“How many innocent people do you think died tonight?” Damnit Elliot, timid! But he didn’t feel timid. He felt furious. How dare this bastard make this into a joke?

“A fair question.” The man crossed his arms behind his back. “Hundreds, at least.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Not for pleasure, if that brings you any peace.”

“It doesn’t. Not at all.”

“Well that’s probably for the best,” the man said. “I don’t think much of those who value intention over impact. It’s a lazy philosophy.”

“My name is Elliot Field,” he said. “I’m not an infiltrator, or a warrior at all, but I think I’d like to kill you if I could.”

One corner of the man’s lips quirked up. “And who could blame you? No matter how many times this cycle plays out, it never changes. I remember when I was young and deeply wronged, burning with rage. Now I seek to move the world and achieve my own redress, but here you are, unfairly wronged in turn. And regardless of the righteousness of my own cause, your anger burns all the same. Perhaps someday you’ll twist the wheels of power to bring me down, laying your own innocents low as you drive forward.”

“The ends justify the means, no gray area? Where I’m from, that would be considered the real lazy philosophy."

“Oh my,” the man said, breaking into a real smile. “You wound me. But I understand why it would feel that way from your perspective. Let's go up to another room, somewhere more comfortable. We can have tea, and speak about unusual occurrences. You can expound on the moral justifications you would permit me were you in command of my quest for a more just world. And perhaps describe your arrival here in more detail.”

Yolena reached back to scratch her neck, and Elliot, who’d been expecting it practically since the beginning of the conversation, activated [Eye of Niamh].

There was immediate resistance. Sampling the outer edges of Yolena’s core had been simple. Now it was as if he was scratching at a glass wall, trying to get at something which was obviously there, and yet completely untouchable.

The man tilted his head. “An appraisal skill? And considerably stronger than I would have guessed, from someone at your level.”

Elliot suppressed a twitch. What was going on? There was some strange defense beyond the natural resistance of someone with an advanced core.

“I was the one who appraised you,” Yolena said, standing and moving toward the bars.

“No, I don’t think so, ranger,” he replied, still eyeing Elliot.

“I told him to do it,” she said, moving between Elliot and the watchers. “He’s barely more than a child, not a fighter.”

“Well,” the man replied. “That remains to be seen.”

Elliot felt anger welling up inside of him. How dare this man, with his neat blond hair and pretty green robes, be this casual? He was a mass murderer already, and clearly had plans to kill many more, yet here he was, acting like this was a dinner party.

Approaching the barrier had felt almost like trying to peer through a dirty window. It seemed external to the figure in green, maybe an enchanted item. Could he see past it without disrupting the block itself? His initial attempt had been without knowing it was there, so he'd just tried to press through. Something subtler might work.

It was worth a try. Nothing would be risk free down here, but Yolena wanted information, and she seemed like his best chance at getting out.

Elliot activated [Eye of Niamh] again, this time with an soft kick to the vortex. He focused on passive observation, imagining the barrier as a clear pane of glass, willing his sight to pass through. There was something, an energy he could almost reach, but then it faded before he could turn it into anything useful.

That had felt close, and the man hadn't noticed, or at least it didn't seem like he had. Elliot kept his focus on the same thought, visualizing a window, and pushed harder. His jaw tightened as he sent the vortex spinning fast enough to blur.

Glass shattered.

Damn it.

An expression of shock broke the man’s composure for the first time, and Elliot felt knowledge pouring into his mind. When he’d appraised Yolena, it had been like dipping a cup into a pool. What he’d received had been surface level: relative power, full name, general and outer-layer facts.

Something about the way he’d pushed this time shifted the output. Information came unpredictably, and quickly. A privileged childhood—images of a white villa on a hill by the sea—and a noble lineage that had fallen on hard times. The man liked persimmons, and white wine. His sister’s name was Bellaria, and they didn’t speak anymore; a fact he deeply regretted. He was the Talessi employer, the architect of their plan. His actions weren’t born from hatred of the March, and although he hoped to wake the Titan, the goal was instability instead of wholesale slaughter.

The barrier slammed back up, and [Eye of Niamh] sputtered out.

“How did you do that?” the man asked, eyes wide.

Elliot barely heard him, reeling from the intensity of the skill’s output. It was like it had pulled information randomly—no, not randomly. Everything was deeply personal. Had it received information in terms of how important it was to the man? How emotionally resonant? But then why the part about persimmons and white wine? God, he wished he had more time to experiment. His name, what was his name? Had it not come with the rest?

“Take him out and search him, please,” the man said, expression blank, without a hint of his earlier languor. “Then bring him to the Rose Room. Elliot Field, I would love for us to remain cordial, but if you attempt to speak before I discern what you have learned, I will have you bound and gagged.”

Two of the Talessi escorts moved to enter the cell, the first opening the lock with the twist of a key. For a moment it looked like Yolena would intervene, but then she took a small step back as the second Talessi placed a hand on his sword.

Elliot was dragged out, and searched roughly. He held his breath as the guard thumped both back pockets, but the outwardly empty appearance was enough to forestall a detailed sweep inside, and the man quickly moved on.

But when he reached Elliot’s hands, he froze. “Sir—”

The man in green stepped forward, and Elliot's stomach sank. The mark.

“Oh my word,” the leader whispered, eyes glittering again. “You took my figurine. What an amazing coincidence that you have also managed to make your way into my dungeon.”

Elliot, heart pounding, stayed silent.

“Bring him up, now,” the man continued. “We have so much we need to discuss.”