Breaker of Horizons: A LitRPG Adventure, page 42
Nic wanted to show her the pearl and ask. She’d probably know more than him and be willing to say more than Sofia. The question was… could he trust her?
Probably as much as he would be able to trust anyone. He’d saved her people, she’d saved his life, and they’d only ever been honest with each other. But this was a person whose world had burned. Who had led her people through storm and fire.
Nic didn’t know if you could ever completely trust someone like that; if push came to shove, they would have to betray their own people to hold to their deal with you.
If the pearl was somehow the key to saving Sula’s world, she’d take it in a heartbeat. Worse, she’d probably convince Nic to hand it over.
He took the bronze plates. The moment he touched them, he felt a small spark carry between the two, fusing their powers. It felt like a stream of sunlight flowing through his arms and weaving across his meridians. He took out the first one he’d acquired, and all three glowed with subtle light.
“So, I’m guessing the thing to do now is bumble my dangerous little self across the desert, killing and looking for more of these?” He examined the glyphs. He still had no way of reading them, but the quest he’d picked up in the Valley of Memories offered a way through that problem. “You know, a lot of this System seems to run on luck and a willingness to throw yourself at danger in the hope of there being something shiny at the other end.”
Sula just chuckled.
Sofia, by contrast, chimed in, sounding almost annoyed, “Nicolas. You do nothing but throw yourself at danger. You do not get to complain now like the System twisted your arm to make you do it.”
He didn’t respond. Slightly guilty, slightly proud, he just grinned. “Any hints on where to start bumbling?”
“Not a clue, but I have something better. This,” Sula said, taking a pouch of black velvet from her belt—it was no larger than a fingerbone—“is a prodigy’s luck. Pure, unfiltered, System-approved. It’s one of the things that made my mother a heretic. She learned to, well…”
A sneaky grin crossed the elven warrior’s face. Her scars and tattoos bent around the expression. “She would find the little hellion prodigies the System had marked as its favorites and pull what made them special out. She called it Stardust, but it’s essentially how the System tracks someone, a bit of their signature, not quite their soul—having it on you will convince the System to throw you more tests and lucky breaks.”
A minute ago, Nic had been thinking about making his own luck. This… was more literal than he’d been expecting. But it was ambitious. Stealing the fate of the System’s favorites…
He understood where Sula got her confidence. Her mother must have been fearless.
“Don’t worry. Using it won’t mark you as a heretic.” She pressed it into his hand. Small golden runes were stitched into the black surface, making it look like a starry night, the top tied closed with a blue ribbon.
“I mean…” Nic shrugged. “Aren’t all of the System’s favorites a little heretical? It seems like half of the people I meet have gone a little over the line…”
“Exactly. Rules are for the weak, after all.”
“This must be priceless.” Nic had already tucked it away. He had no intention of turning down a gift just because it was spectacularly valuable. Just the opposite.
“Don’t worry, it’s not my only charm. And if it helps you find the nuclear fire I need, then it’s a trade worth making, no?” She passed the stub of the cigarette his way, but this time Nic turned it down.
“If you don’t mind me asking…” Even if she did. “What happened when the Inquisitor arrived? To find your mother?”
A shadow passed over Sula’s face. “It was… something to behold…”
“There’s one Inquisitor for this entire arm of the cosmos. Inspector Shrike. I suspect he’s been at it for hundreds of years. It was quiet when he arrived; my mother had already fought off dozens of heretic hunters. I helped, but she wanted me to leave. She knew what was coming.”
“And I didn’t escape quite fast enough. I saw what happened. Poison smog. Choking, killing, turning everything it touched foul. Whatever died rose as an undead, full of more poison. Killing them just spewed it out and started the process again. We thought…”
Her cigarette ran to nothing and scorched her fingers. With a look of annoyance, she focused and the stub turned to a piece of solid ice, sizzling as the fire went out.
“We thought he’d be weaker in person. That if we could get him away from his hoard, we could fight him together and maybe win. We were almost right. We cracked the fabric of our reality to do it, but we pulled him into a spatial rift—a place where dozens of portals and subdimensional spaces ran together. We fought like the left and right hands of an angry god.
“But we couldn’t harm him. There was a barrier of System-runes around him, protecting him from everything. The one thing that harmed him was when the spatial rift started to break apart. It was brief—my mother was dead—but I saw him bleed when a crack in space ripped off a fingertip. That was all I got for my mother’s life…
“A piece of flesh smaller than this cigarette butt.”
She flicked the frozen stub away, sending it flying through the air. Dawn had begun properly. Waves of pink and orange light filled the sky as the brilliant disk of the sun emerged, turning the rivers that flowered through the air above into ribbons of gold.
“Thanks. For what it’s worth.” Nic slowly got onto his feet, tucking away the three bronze plates into his mystic bag and hooking the tiny stardust charm to his belt. He felt it was better to have it close to his skin, for some reason. “If my mom turns out to be a famous heretic who murdered the System’s darlings and went down fighting, I’ll be proud of her. She was probably just a prostitute.”
Sula laughed sadly, shaking her head. “You don’t strike me as someone with a tragic tale of revenge to tell, Nicolas. I expect you’ll leave other people with a great many dramatic grudges and dark days, but you? You seem more like the kind of thing that happens to people.”
Nic wished she was right about that. But he smiled, waved, and set off with the famous last words, “I’ve got to go happen, then.”
As he walked through the camp, he received waves, lifted horns full of ale, and one… flirtatious wink?
He wasn’t sure how to feel about that one right now.
As he moved toward the edges of the camp, where the only ones about were scouts perched on the rocks watching the horizons, Nic finally asked. “Sooooo…”
“I can only assume you’re talking to me.”
“I notice the counter is gone…” Nic started. “And I’m guessing I didn’t sleep through an entire day, miraculously getting me to the end.”
“That would be your best bet on completing it, but no.”
“I guess I had to help them. And the truth is, I’m not sorry for doing it.” Nic couldn’t say he regretted it, exactly. Although it had certainly left him sore. “I think it was worth it, in the long run. We have the Stardust now, a lead, some friends…”
“Nicolas, imagine a deck of cards. Imagine you bet your life on drawing the ace of clubs. Even if you do, it is still a bad bet. I’m not angry you chose to help people, but I wish you’d think of all the people you could save if you live for a hundred years and cultivate to the peak. There are few enough good people in the cosmos, without the few we have killing themselves trying to hold up the sky.”
“It’s”—he groaned—“hard to argue with you, Sofia. But I know what I have to do, sometimes.”
“I know. I’ve come to accept that the way forward isn’t going to be that your instincts change or your morals shift. I have to work with you, not push you to be someone else.” She sighed. “The quest is gone. I’ll get authorization for a new one. A way to earn your Moonseal Credit that suits your particular talents.”
Chapter 62
Scenes of Tranquility
“And he ROARED as he FLUNG them to the earth, stomping until their BONES BROKE and their FLESH WAS RED PULP—”
He found Inkspur by a campfire, loudly recounting the tales of Nic slaughtering ten human warriors. It was about as accurate as you could expect, considering Inkspur had been nowhere nearby to see it, but it was enthralling the warriors who sat and chewed on skewers of rabbit around a cookfire.
They cheered the moment they caught sight of Nic. Before he could protest, he was being pulled into a seat by the fire, given food, given drink, and clapped on the back. People were glad to see him. He was the hero of the day.
“I—” A skewer of roast rabbit was pushed into his hand. The golden-brown, deliciously greasy meat was coated in spots of flaking black char from the fire. The meat was coated in a salty-sweet sauce, sticky and tasting faintly of tart, rich berries.
“Inkspur—” Somebody filled a drinking horn with amber mead for him, and before it reached him, a soldier had taken out a crystal flask and poured in a clear shot of minty, medicinal-tasting liquor to strengthen the brew.
“Yes? I’ve been telling them of your DARING EXPLOITS. Of the terror you struck in the human camp! How you cut the earth from under their feet and set FLAME to their ships!” The little wyvern proudly puffed up. “And how I helped!”
And for a second, Nic wanted to argue.
But it was true—except for Inkspur helping. He’d done all those things. And more.
So instead, he said, “You should tell them about the time I stole away a mantis princess imprisoned in a tower. You know. After navigating a nest of giant spiders, dueling her guard, and climbing the tower with my bare hands…”
Inkspur’s jaw flopped open.
Nic grinned. Warming up despite himself, despite the ache of knowing the last time he sat around a campfire with friends was way back when he and Tawley and the rest camped out in the dream-realm before it all went wrong.
He felt alive as he began to spin the tale and then listen to Inkspur spin it again until it was blown out of all proportion.
Redjaw and Sunfire slipped from his arms, uncoiling from his tattoos with swirls of ink-black energy. In the background, someone played a harp made from turtle-shell. His hands grasped at the air and described the swing of swords, the clash of weapons, and the brutal fall from the heights as he kicked the mantis-guard through the tower’s window…
Nic finally left the campfire feeling pleasantly overstuffed with cooked, spiced food and more than slightly drunk. He rotated his cultivation and shed enough of the intoxication to make the buzz manageable, leaving only a floating lightness of mind.
He felt good. It had been too long. The golden feeling of good food in his stomach was matched by the glow of idle conversation, companionship, and laughter around him. And it was still early in the morning.
Even knowing he had to set out to save Tarquin as soon as possible, Nic wanted to spend a little more time on this feeling.
He dropped by the greensinger’s workshop, listening to the old, somber-voiced elf sing ivory branches into shape. With every motion of his hands and command of his voice, the living wood was shaped by his will, taking the forms he wished. Not just bows, but spears, shields, armor made of curling and interlocked roots, and helmets with stag antlers extending up from the alabaster crown.
The singer was getting ready to outfit an army.
Nic watched while he shaped a shield that resembled a leaf, the entire thing made of a single living piece of wood.
“Yes? Back for more of my people’s ancient secrets? Perhaps my mother’s recipe for jam tarts?” he accused as he saw Nic standing there, but his voice was light, joking.
“YES! My companion wishes to learn ALL your secrets, for he wishes to MASTER the art of greensinging.” The wyvern on Nic’s shoulder crowed.
Nic winced. If he wasn’t very careful with Inkspur, everything he said came out… flavored by the little wyvern’s ego.
“I was just wondering if you had any books or instructions on how to start. I know it’ll take time, but I wanted to try learning a technique on my own. Without the System,” Nic said, prodding Inkspur with a glare to repeat it more accurately this time.
“Oh-ho. Well, we don’t really write things down, is the truth. Greensinging is taught master to apprentice and it takes years. Except…” The old man paused for just a second too long before shaking his head and giving a sudden grin.
“Wait one second.” Disappearing into a corner of his workshop, he returned with a stack of ancient reed papers bundled together with red twine. He blew dust from the curled edges. “I actually... A while back... a long while I guess…
“I had a colleague. Another greensinger. The man had a mind like a knife with no handle—always cutting himself trying to grasp the future. Anyway, tradition-breaker as he was, he kept extensive notes. I don’t actually, ah, know how useful they’ll be to you, but he was a runescribe himself, and his designs at least might be worth your time...”
Nic accepted the papers and flipped through them, pausing with awe at the first rune inscription that was diagrammed out.
It was leagues above him. Easily an E-Class design for size alone, but it was full of complexities, interlocking smaller designs, and small flourishes. It was a masterpiece.
“Is it really okay if I take this?”
“Oh, of course. I’m no runescribe, and I don’t need to forget everything I know about greensinging just to learn it again his way…” The old greensinger tried to wave it off, but Nic was good at reading people when he had to.
He’d noticed the way the greensinger looked at the papers as he handed them over, saying goodbye to an old friend who only lived in memories now.
It reminded Nic too much of Sula giving him the stardust.
They were both trying to pass down a legacy that had been gifted to them. Nic knew, with sudden certainty, that they were both planning some reckless self-endangerment.
Nic’s next stop was the tortoise bookseller, but he paused along the way.
The healer’s tents were full of prisoners recuperating from being beaten and starved—and one lonely watcher, clearly not welcome, who stood over the bed of his friend.
Matteos was guarding Jessie like a hawk. Nic watched him from a distance, unsure of where he stood with the giant, and sensing the mood surrounding him was like a thundercloud. It didn’t look like any of the healers on duty were in a rush to help Jessie, despite her injuries being the worst of the lot.
Largely because none of the rest had to fight Nic.
Sidling up, Nic coughed. Matteos turned, and Nic noticed the giant was still wearing his glasses despite not needing them anymore. A piece of the old world.
“Nak? You’re already better?”
“He is IMPOSSIBLY BAD AT DYING. Despite his best efforts.” Inkspur crowed. “Many have tried to kill him. Yet look, he is pink and free of scars like a newborn babe!”
Nic chuckled and added, “Yeah, mmm, I do kinda bounce back quickly. Listen, Matteos, about the water I gave you—” Inskpur translated, but Matteos cut him off.
“Right. I’m not— I know you came through for me, but I don’t know what on earth was up with that. Why did you have me poison that woman?” He seemed angry—as angry as Matteos got, anyway.
“She was cursed. The water purged the curse—I think—but it must have torn her up in the process. Sorry. I swear I tested it on myself first…”
Matteos squeezed his fist tight, digesting the information.
Nic had worried the trust between them had broken, but Matteos, even an angry Matteos, was willing to listen to reason. He began to nod, slowly.
“It does make sense. They were all acting so strange. I-I’ve had to lower my expectations of people a little in this apocalypse, but that camp was all wrong. Beyond what makes sense even for desperation and anger. I guess Moira made the right call...”
Nic’s fronds perked up. “Right, where did Moira go? And Shane?”
“I don’t know, Nak. Jessie got hurt, and I wanted to take her to the camp to heal. It was a hard decision. Most of these places, well, Nak, they’re not humanity at their best. You give people a little power and a bad situation and some of them will take advantage. So we were trying to go it alone when you found us. Moira wanted to keep Shane away, so we split up. I gave them Jessie, and when she came back—”
He paused. He must have suspected, but it was only now he could put words to his conclusion.
“She’s cursed too, isn’t she?”
Nic nodded, and he reached into his bag for the last flask of fountain water. Matteos took it with hesitation, staring at the clear blue spark and shine within the glass with suspicion.
“I’ll tell the healers she’s a friend and they’d better not let her die,” Nic said, “but you’ve gotta trust me on this and give it to her. Somebody’s controlling her. I think they can see through her eyes, and I think you need to give her this soon before they can spy on everyone here.”
Matteos nodded slowly. “Once… she’s a little better…”
He reached into his pocket and took out a faded tin, snapping it open. It was full of glossy pink squares. “Ever had bubblegum?”
Nic shook his head.
“Well, this might be the last of it.” Matteos held the tin out. “I’ve been saving it to remember the old world, but maybe you should try something new. Go ahead. You chew it.”
Nic lifted a square of bubblegum and stared at it for a moment. It was scented like vague sweetness and nothing in particular.
Then he smiled, waved, and went on his way. He knew just what to do with this.
Nic’s final stop was the tortoise merchant, who sat on a rock admiring the heat of the sun with his wrinkled eyes. “Oh-ho. Young fellow, back again. Drawn by the siren call of books and knowledge, eh?”
