Victor of Tucson

On the third day of the fourth week of Victor’s new “routine,” Dar called him into the library late in the evening and asked him to sit down. Dar stood facing out toward the lake, but Victor saw a tea service arranged on the small table between two chairs, so he chose one of those two seats, wondering what the late-night meeting was regarding. This was the hour Victor usually reserved for reviewing his lessons on runic structure, writing correspondence to his friends and loved ones, and, occasionally, cultivating Energy in his chamber beneath the house.

He hadn’t done much cultivation for his Spirit Core, but he didn’t feel guilty about that; Dar had instructed him to put it lower on his list of priorities simply because Victor gained so much Core development from eating hearts—a boon most Energy cultivators couldn’t fathom. He had been working on his Breath Core, however. After sparring each morning, he and Lesh gathered Energy in the garden. Victor kept his magma-attuned Energy heart next to Lesh’s acid-emitting plant, and by the time they sat down to cultivate each day, the canopy they’d built over the plant was thick with roiling Energy. His Breath Core had gained two ranks and Lesh’s nearly four—only to be expected, considering Lesh was starting from the “base” ranks.

“Pour yourself a cup of tea, Victor.” Dar didn’t turn away from the windows, but his voice seemed relaxed, so Victor’s budding unease about the unscheduled meeting receded. He did as Dar suggested and poured himself a cup of steaming, slightly green-tinged liquid. “It’s an herbal mix from the world of Jovir—one of the twelve Radevian Empire worlds. The Radevians discovered Sojourn nearly a thousand years ago and established robust trade channels with other worlds under Sojourn’s influence. There are some beautiful fresh-water seas on Jovir, and their agricultural exploits are renowned in this part of the universe.”

Victor sipped the tea and found it slightly bitter with an odd ginger aftertaste. Rather than profess his less than enthusiastic reception to the flavor, he asked a related question, “Do you know how many worlds are…I guess I don’t know the right term. Subjects? Of Sojourn, I mean.”

“Sojourn doesn’t rule other worlds, at least not directly. However, many of the veil walkers who call Sojourn home have led conquests—military, financial, humanitarian, and even evangelical—of nearby systems. It's more accurate to say that many worlds are influenced by Sojourn and not ruled over. Last time I heard the matter discussed, there were nearly two hundred thousand worlds under Sojourn’s influence.” Dar turned and walked over, sitting in the other chair by the tea service.

“That sounds like a lot to me.” Victor frowned. “I suppose you’d be including Fanwath in that number, considering Sojourn was the first ‘hub world’ the System provided a teleportation to?”

“Indeed, not to mention the rulers of Fanwath have been coming to Sojourn for hundreds of years, absorbing our culture and sharing bits of yours.”

“Not really mine,” Victor chuckled.

“You understand my meaning.” Dar didn’t wait for Victor to acknowledge the fact. He poured himself some tea and asked, “Let’s review your progress. Start with your sparring. How go things with the various brawlers you’ve brought in from Sojourn?”

“Um…” Victor gulped the rest of his tea, set the delicate cup on the table, and leaned back, crossing one ankle over his knee and clearing his throat. “They go well. One thing I’ve come to learn, being immersed in the System, is how much we all come to rely on it to measure progress. Fighting with Drobna, Valeska, Sora, Brontes…” Victor paused and held out his fingers, running the names through his mind as he counted. “Oh yeah, and Dovalion—they each have different styles, and I’ve learned something from them all. The System doesn’t reflect that. My axe skill is still epic; my strength, vitality, and agility are all the same as they were a month ago, but I know I’m better. Does that make sense?”

“Indeed it does, Victor, and now you begin to unveil the truth of levels and tiers—the reason you have pounded the blood and shit from men and women more than thirty levels above you is because what you’ve noticed doesn’t just stop at weapon skills. Talent, heart, drive, muscle memory, bloodlines—I could go on and on; all the little intangibles add up to something very tangible indeed. You aren’t the first to feel that way. Tell me, can you think of a single person you’ve met recently who reminded you of yourself, perhaps uncomfortably so?”

Victor’s answer was immediate, “Ronkerz.”

“Hah!” Dar slapped his hands together. “Just so! Ronkerz was much like you in his youth—challenged at every turn, hardened in a crucible of suffering and opposition. Unlike you, he didn’t have the benefit of a Spirit Core or the wise tutelage of a kind master.” Dar smirked. “Still, there’s much about you that evokes his memory. I’ve made contact with him; you should know.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes. He’s determined to have vengeance against the great masters of Sojourn, but I’m working with him to think of a wiser plan. Even if he raised up a hundred veil walkers in that dungeon, he’d be outnumbered twenty-to-one if he assaulted the city or the Council Spire.”

“How do you communicate with—” Victor grinned and leaned forward. “The spirit plane?”

“Indeed, lad. No place is beyond the bounds of the spirit plane. When you learn to bridge worlds through that misty realm, you, too, could come and go from a place like the Iron Prison. Of course, wards could be put up, making such travel impossible, but the Iron Prison wasn’t meant to hold the likes of me—or you once you have the Energy and will to travel that way.”

“It’s not something an iron ranker could do?”

“Only a tiny percentage of them might be able to. I won’t be surprised if you pull it off before you become a steel seeker. We’ll see.” Dar drained his tea and poured a new cup. “Now, you’ve mentioned your axe skill, but didn’t I suggest you begin your duels on Ruhn with something other than your beloved weapon? Have you practiced with another weapon?”

“Oh!” Victor snapped his fingers. “Yeah! My ‘Spear Mastery’ is up to improved.”

“Good. Focus on that until you leave; it would be wise to have the forms and knowledge granted with advanced mastery at your disposal before your first duel.” Dar took a sip, sighed heavily, and looked toward the window where the moon hung large in the star-filled sky. “So your sparring goes well. Tell me of your Breath Core cultivation.”

“It’s good. I’ve gained two ranks—halfway to advanced now.”

“Good. You should see a large increase in magma-attuned Energy when you break through to advanced.” He reached up to straighten the collar of his flowing purple tunic. He tsked as he pulled a loose thread away. “We both know how you’re doing with runes. You’ve mastered two alphabets and can decipher basic System enchantments and the most common Artificer script. I’ve decided that I’m going to teach you a set of Elder glyphs.” ṝ𝘢ɴȯ₿Еʂ

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Victor’s eyes bulged. “I thought you said—”

“I know what I said, and I stand by it. Elder magic is dangerous. If you don’t harm yourself, there’s a good chance the System will mark you and label you a disruptor.”

At those words, Victor’s heart began to pound, and he had to look down so Dar couldn’t read the guilt in his eyes. Wasn’t that what the strange duo, Fox and Three, had called him on the spirit plane when he created his Wild Totem spell? He coughed to cover his reaction, then, clearing his throat as though his tea had gone down the wrong pipe, he asked, “What happens if the System decides I’m a disruptor?”

“It will try to weed you out, issuing quests to powerful folk to remove you. So, I will teach you, but I must stress caution.”

“Why?” When Dar looked at him and scowled, Victor hastily added, “I mean, why will you teach me, not why should I use caution.”

“Because you are not a child, and I know that, were I in your shoes, I’d likely seek the knowledge on my own, and then my risk would be magnified.” Dar shrugged. “So, we’ll learn a bit about Elder scripts, starting with a set of glyphs used to enchant items by people who lived in this section of the universe a hundred millennia before I was born.”

“That’s…” Victor fumbled for words and decided to turn his filter off for just a moment. “That’s fucking awesome, Dar! Thank you!”

“Hah! There’s the enthusiasm I was looking for. I’ve meant to ask you, Victor, how fares your heart? Are you sleeping well? Do you keep a journal?”

Victor fidgeted, suddenly uncomfortable. “Journal?”—he chose the least troubling of the topics Dar mentioned.

“Do you write how you feel each day? It’s a routine that has served me well over the years.”

“Not exactly, but I write in Farscribe books—to friends back home and Edeya when she and the others are out in dungeons. I have a book I share with my cousin, Olivia, and I have one with Valla.” He didn’t mention the fact that Valla had written to him twice, and he’d yet to respond.

Dar narrowed his eyes, clearly not buying it. “If that is so, I applaud your ability to process feelings. Of course, I say that without reading what you write, but it’s good that you confide in people you feel close to. If you find it difficult to share some things, even with those loved ones, you might try a journal, however. I write in one each night before I sleep.”

“Really?” Victor had difficulty imagining the Master Spirit Caster would need any such mental therapy.

“Yes, ‘really.’ You say that word far too often.” Dar chuckled, shaking his head, then added, his voice a good deal sterner. “You’ll begin writing in your journal each night. I don’t care what you write, but you’ll write something. If you only describe your day, that’s fine. If you begin that way and find yourself writing more heartfelt things, all the better. This journal will be private; I won’t ever expect you to share it with me. Understood?”

Victor felt himself grinding his teeth together, but he nodded and asked, “Is there some reason? Am I acting…bothered?”

“You’re acting a bit too unbothered, in my estimation. I believe using a journal to express your feelings will be good for your spirit. Enough about that for now. Tell me about your spirit walks. How long can you hold your physical form on the spirit plane now?”

“Last night, I managed nearly fifteen minutes.”

“Excellent! Another example of how one can improve without any notification from the System. What you’re doing is strengthening and widening the tiny pathways in your body where the Energy of that spell takes root, pulling your flesh onto the spirit plane. Keep it up, and the System will eventually notice and rank up your spell. At the epic tier, you’ll be able to hold yourself there with ease.”

“That’s encouraging.” Victor poured himself more tea—it was beginning to grow on him.

“Have you given thought to your gift for Kynna?”

“Ahem…” Victor coughed, sputtering tea into his cup. “Gift?”

Dar chuckled. “Didn’t we speak about this? Didn’t I say—”

“That I should have a gift ready when I meet someone of note.” Victor sighed and knocked his knuckles on his forehead. “Yeah, of course, meeting the queen would qualify.”

“Don’t despair; I know you have much on your mind. That’s why I’ve reminded you. I would provide the gift for you, but she’s crafty; she’ll know if it came from me.”

“Dar,” Victor groaned, leaning back, “I don’t know a thing about her. Does she like weapons? Tea?” He gestured to the delicate white kettle with its fanciful blue, hand-painted flowers.

“Let’s see. Like most people on Ruhn, she’s of giant proportions, not unlike you and I. She’s a skilled huntress, and her preferred weapon is a great-bow. From the letters she’s sent me recently, though, it’s clear her duties at court have taken the forefront in her life. Every spare moment is spent countering the schemes of her besieging neighbors. When you arrive to replace her current court champion, I’m certain there will be much fanfare; it will be seen as the kingdom’s last chance to climb out of ruination. I’m afraid she’s already done much to advertise your impending arrival.”

Victor groaned again and waved a hand. “I’m nervous enough already! You’re supposed to be giving me ideas for a gift!”

“Oh, yes. Where was I?” He began to tick qualities off on his fingers. “Tall, hunts with a great-bow, spends her time trying to save her kingdom—queendom, really—I believe she wears dresses, appreciates fruit and flowers, and—” Dar cut himself off as he began to laugh, shaking his head. “I’m no help, Victor. Half of those qualities are guesses. I don’t know her at all. Her letters talk about the kingdom, its dire straits, and the things she does to counter the undermining efforts of her neighbors.”

“All right, hold up. We always talk about Kynna’s ‘kingdom’ or, yeah, ‘queendom,’ but what’s it called? What are her neighbors called?”

“An excellent point, Victor. It’s time you began to learn these things. My erstwhile kingdom was called Gloria. Can you guess why?”

Victor smirked. “Because, like me, you have an affinity for glory?”

“Precisely!” Dar slapped his knee with a cacophonous report. “Kynna’s neighbor to the north is Frostmarch, a kingdom that spans her entire border and half again as far to the east and west. It’s a country rich in acreage, but most is rather bleak. Frostmarch is ruled by a man named Wil Vennar, and his champion goes by a single name: Obert.”

“Obert?” Victor raised an eyebrow.

“A giant, hairy, hard-headed man who cut his teeth fighting hordes of snow ogres along Frostmarch’s northern border.” Dar tilted the teapot to fill his cup, and Victor realized the thing must have a dimensional container built into it; they’d drained more than a gallon of the stuff since he’d been sitting there. “The Kingdom of Xan occupies Kynna’s southern border. Bors Groff is Xan’s king, and his champion is Qi Pot, of whom I know very little.”

“Kee?”

“Yes, but it’s spelled with a ‘Q’ and an ‘i.’ Kynna says he’s formidable, and her current champion, Foster Green, is terrified that he’ll have to duel him.”

Victor nodded, rubbing his chin, visualizing a map in his head. “So those two countries are larger than hers, and they sandwich her?”

“More than that—Xan has conquered her neighbor to the east and Frostmarch, her neighbor to the west. Between the two, she is utterly surrounded. Her people starve, and soon, barring intervention, she’ll be forced to yield her lands or force poor old Foster to duel, in which case he’ll die, and she’ll lose her lands anyway.”

“Damn. Are you being literal? Are people actually starving? I feel like we should send me over there right fucking now!”

“The risks involved, should I fail to hold you on the spirit plane while traversing worlds, are too great. No, you must be able to hold your spirit there long enough to make the journey. You’ve worked hard and done your best; any delay is on my shoulders. Recall that I’ve had Kynna’s request for years. Though, in my defense, the perfect solution wasn’t apparent until I knew you better.” Dar waved his hand, dismissing the notion. “Now, let’s get to the point of this meeting.”

“Oh, this wasn’t it?” Victor waved a hand between himself and Dar, indicating their conversation.

“Partially, partially, but I wanted to tell you that I’ll be gone tomorrow, so our lesson will be canceled. I have an alternative assignment for you: Go into the city, find a gift for Kynna, and purchase the armor upgrades you’ve been pestering me about.”

Victor grinned. He’d been wanting to go to the Sojourn City Stone and upgrade his set pieces since getting back from Fanwath and simply hadn’t had the opportunity. “Is there anyone else I should purchase a gift for?”

“Yes! Good question, student! Foster Green will retire when you arrive, and you should give him a token. For him, I’d suggest a fine, aged liquor. Don’t skimp.”

“Got it.”

“Good. As soon as you finish your morning practice and cultivation, you may have Mr. Qwor drive you into the city. Any questions?”

“You’ll be back the day after tomorrow?”

“Yes, and we will begin your lesson in the Elder glyphs.” Dar stood and, as he smoothed down the front of his silken tunic, added, “Now, go and practice your Spirit Walk. When you finish, write in your journal.”

Victor stood. He smiled, and it came easily; he was a good deal more relaxed after his talk with Dar than he had been coming into the meeting. “All right. I’ll do that.”

Dar reached a hand to his shoulder, grasping it firmly. “You know, Victor, I would never eavesdrop on you in your private room. I might have dominion over this house, but I respect your privacy. I won’t watch over your shoulder, just as I wouldn’t listen to your voice. Whatever you put in that journal, whatever you mutter aloud in your sleep—those things are yours alone and will never leave the walls of your chamber.”

“I…” Victor frowned, then sighed and nodded. “I appreciate that, Dar. I think I get why you’re saying that. I’ll write in my journal tonight, and I won’t hold back.” When Dar released his shoulder with a nod, Victor left, walking down the short hallway to his quarters. He closed the door behind him with a resounding click, then looked at the bed and his nest of blankets beside it on the floor. Despite his bravado and denial, it was true that something was up with him. Why else could he barely summon the courage to look at the empty bed?

With a growl, he dug around in one of his storage rings for a blank notebook, and then he stomped over to his writing desk, stacked high with books about runes and magical scripts. If Dar thought he should write about what he was feeling, he supposed he could do that. Scowling, pressing much harder than he needed to, he began to write, and the first words that came to mind surprised him:

Dear Valla,

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