Chapter 017

Descent is a lesser path to power.

Master where you stand before casting your gaze below.

Harker traveled overland, sticking to game trails over the roads and staying low wherever possible. The sun was bright enough that it felt like he walked bathed in a bonfire, though clouds thickened the horizon as the day progressed. He clung to what shadows remained.

For all of that, however, Harker was feeling better. He traversed the countryside at a fast hike, sprinting up inclines and sliding down gullies. All the while, he was busy with his new store of reagents. Normally he’d have to let such reagents slowly accumulate Water outside his cottage. Steeping herbals while still in-pot was a time honored tradition, as few could afford to spend their power on it. Harker had plenty to spare now, and the entire harvest from the den was already brimming with the Sea’s influence. So, as he moved, he set about working on some solutions.

Crafting without tools was a challenge, but mixing a paste was a simple effort. Taking a few of the leaves, stem, and root of three separate plants, he chewed them up. Once they’d been well masticated, he palmed the mashed pulp and kneaded it vigorously. It took some time, and a few dashes of Water from his reservoir, but within an hour he’d mixed together a thick paste. He took a dab and spread it along his neck, armpits, and groin before packing the rest of it into one of his vials that survived the Drop.

It worked instantly. The salt scent of the Sea vanished from his person, along with everything else. Harker grinned. The paste was a nullifier, meant to aid long hunts, but this worked even better than normal.

Harker eyed his satchel and its store of grown treasures. I could get used to materials like this.

The nullifier was a relief when he’d applied it, but Harker couldn’t stop the nerves from returning. He hadn’t yet seen a trace of the mercenaries or the Stitcher, and not knowing was far more concerning. It was a possibility that he’d lost them, but he found it more likely that something unforeseen had occurred.

Perhaps they killed each other. One could hope.

The sun filtered through the bare branches, casting shadows that wavered with the chill wind. In between hurried steps, Harker could almost believe he was somewhere in the northwoods. That nothing had changed. But reality was too hard to evade. Harker’s world had been broken, and the pieces were too scattered to put back together.

If he were being honest, it wasn’t the Stitcher. Wasn’t even the Vestige. Things had been broken for weeks. Harker looked at his nails. There was dirt under them, caked into a dark line, and more had been ground into his palms with every tired stumble. It wasn’t the same dirt, couldn’t have been, but it kept coming back.

His mother had died, and she took with her the only stability he’d ever known. Then…this.

Harker twisted his hand around. The gold on his wrist wasn’t bright except where it caught the sun. Then it gleamed.

He’d never expected to take the mark. Dreamed of it, sure, but folks like him weren’t meant to be Aspirants.

I figured it’d feel different. Harker chewed his lip. That I’d feel different.

So much had changed, and it was all the same.

While Harker crafted his nullifier, he’d spent time investigating the Chartermark. He hadn’t been able to glimpse any more of what might lay within, but could still reliably make out the basics. The lines had changed at some point after the den, and now details on Talent, Scope, and Depth were as clear as if they’d been put down in script.

The Chartermark was clearly designed to identify the bearer, an aid to the magisters of the Spires, no doubt. It felt invasive, though he could see how useful it would be to know all of the students basic capabilities at a glance. Still, Harker was wildly uncomfortable with volunteering himself to such scrutiny.

Thankfully, he could hide under the last record of Jeren Kalson.

You were a terrible person, and I’m sorry you’re dead. He let his sleeve drop, covering the mark. At least you’re useful now.

Aside from his other challenges, Harker had to figure out how to fake an Accuracy Talent. From what he knew of Jeren’s ability, it had allowed him to fill his limbs with Water and somehow amplify his own precision. While not as strong as Earthfist, it was a startlingly effective Talent…one that nearly opened up Harker’s throat only two days prior.

Could I mimic that effect with Sovereign Sight? Awareness was a huge aspect of accuracy, though Harker wouldn’t be layering Water through his frame. He was a fairly good shot with his knives, and even slings and a bow.

He popped a piece of jerky in his mouth as he descended a low hill. The Scope isn’t a lie, at least.

Insults aside, Harker was technically a Minor Talent. The real issue was that his reservoir was still the size of a Knack’s. Thanks to the Vestige, it refilled far more quickly, but being unable to refine the Sea as it flowed into him created problems. He could fool some, but Harker doubted he could keep the ruse for long. The magisters would spot it miles away.

Another problem true refinement would solve.

The Depth listed on the mark was curious. Harker could have sworn that Jeren had bragged about being on the cusp of submersion months ago. Descending was dangerous—incredibly so—but Jeren had never been a cautious person. Harker figured he would have made the attempt weeks prior. Why then was he still at Surface level?

Involuntarily, Harker’s gut clenched. His glimpse of the Surface had been…upsetting, to say the least. The concept of going deeper sent a chill down his spine. Yet he would have to; power lay below the Infinite Sea, and power was required to ascend the Nine Spires.

If the Water eroding my tributary is this strong at the surface, though, how much damage would it do at First Depth? He needed a Current and proper tributaries before he could make that leap. But more than that, he needed to refine himself.

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To Descend, one had to face down a great deal of threats. The Sea carried within it monsters, yes, but just as bad was the dark, the cold, and the suffocating pressure. Those would crumple an unready body.

Most Talented refined their skin and muscles in preparation for their first Descent. The process was long and involved, and most folks in the Vale were at that stage. This is what Kaz and Mert had done. It was why they were so cursed strong. It was what every child in the Vale wanted to do once they grew strong enough to form their Current. To become the rare heroes that could withstand the Sea.

“Heroes are for tales, Harker. Real life is far messier.”

His mother had taught him everything he knew. She would rarely speak of Descending, however, not at the length she’d go into refinement at least. The few times he’d gotten her to open up about it, she’d told him that Descent took far more than just hardening your skin and taking a great breath.

“The First Depth is not reached by even a fraction of those that attempt it. Do not be so hasty to throw your life away.”