Chapter 035

Mystery is a lock on the world. Curiosity is the key.

“And just how do you propose going about that?”

“Simple.” Harker spread his arms. “I need you to show me your tributaries.”

Stillwater didn’t laugh. He guffawed. “That—that is rich. Funniest thing I’ve heard in a century.”

“I’m not joking.”

“You better be!” Stillwater snapped, ears quivering. He closed his yellow eyes and breathed, calming himself. “I can’t help you with this, and they won’t do any good besides.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Simply allow me to inspect them, and—”

“They won’t work for you.”

“How do you know?”

“Eidhrin tributaries aren’t for humans or anyone else. You could study them for years and do nothin’ with them. You need another human.”

“I don’t have one.”

Stillwater flicked a finger back where they’d come. “Ask the girl.”

“She won’t share with me.”

“You think so? After that little exchange of yours?” The Gilken adjusted his suspenders, a chuckle in his throat. “That missive from the Spires bent your Bargain, and now your balances are tipped. Can’t you feel it?”

“Feel—?” Harker started to ask, but Stillwater was right. There was a tension between Harker and Adhira, similar to when the Gilken tried to command him. It wasn’t as active as that sensation, but it was there, pressing against his Stature.

“You two made a Bargain. She didn’t violate it, not truly, but she feels like she did. Sometimes that’s enough.” Stillwater made a fist. “Squeeze her for what she’s worth.”

Harker glanced back through the trees toward her. “I don’t think it’s time for that.”

“What a soft touch. Still doesn’t change the fact that you can’t use me as a template.”

Harker folded his arms. “Tell me why.”

Stillwater ran his claws over his face. “GUGH. Human. We don’t work like you soft, squishy things and our tributaries reflect that. You understand? Tides, they don’t even carry Water!”

“What else could they possibly carry?”

The Gilken licked his lips, eyes darting to the side. “Hmm. Perhaps…”

Harker felt it too. A slight tingle to their connection. A tension. The Bargain was responding to their conversation.

“Dangerous. But—” Stillwater hopped off his stump. “Fine. You want to see my tributaries? We can do that. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Consider me sufficiently warned. I’m only going to look.”

“Lookin’ has caused plenty of problems in the past.” He adjusted his cuffs. “Tides, I don’t even know if this will help you in the slightest, but the sooner I’m out of our Bargain, the better.”

Harker rolled his eyes. “You aren’t enjoying our time together?”

“As entertainin’ as watching you fumble through the dark is, I’ve things to accomplish that don’t include handholdin’ a child on his way to school.”

Harker set his pack down and sat on the stump, planting his feet before putting his hands on his knees. Bracing himself always made this easier. “Ready?”

Stillwater rolled a rock over the size of his head and sat on it, close enough to touch. “You need a bath.”

“Shut up.” He put his left hand onto Stillwater’s chest, atop his necktie. “Sovereign Sight.”

Harker’s awareness skewered through Stillwater, and instantly he felt resistance. Similar to the Aberrant and Adhira, this was stronger by an order of magnitude; a steel vault compared to a stone wall. Yet no sooner did his awareness touch it than it opened.

Stillwater let him in.

All at once, Harker was surrounded by chaos. Scale, skin, fat, and muscle rippled through his senses, each one a distinct experience so similar to a human body. Even his skeleton spread in a familiar pattern, ribs and spin and pelvis in the places he’d expected. Yet despite all of that, something was off.

Harker tasted the Sea.

Brine filled him, the bitter breath of waves fallen from on high, and the gritty remains of salt on his skin. The Eidhrin rolled across Harker’s senses, as chaotic as the Sea itself, and nowhere showed that more than the curl of his tributaries.

They wove through everything, so thin as to be invisible at first. Soon they thickened, their black lengths studded with cruel thorns and upsetting bends into organs, bone, and muscle alike. If Harker’s tributary was a broken sluice, then Stillwater’s was a thicket of thorns, too gnarled and twisted to ever by of use.

“Last horizon…” Harker gasped. “What am I looking at here?”

“That Talent of yours is something else.” Stillwater’s echoing voice almost sounded impressed. “You’re seeing my guts, I imagine.”

“It’s tangled with thorns.”

“Not thorns. Tributaries.”

“That’s—how can anything move through these?” Harker traced them as he angled his awareness. The blackened barbs split into ever finer segments until the edges looked studded with hairs instead of thorns. Those sunk deep into every inch of his flesh, even his blood vessels.

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