ONE HUNDRED SEVEN: Opposite Stone

107 “Wordchains are the original form of magic, according to the Palace of Unbreaking. I would take that with an ocean full of salt, because the Palace’s stance is always that wordchains are better than everything else and you might be an actual demon if you disagree.” Lute was sitting sideways in the green velvet chair, stretching his fingers one by one. Behind him, the light panel on the wall was flickering slightly behind its shade, as if the privacy booth really was a train car and a changing landscape lay just beyond the fabric. “Anyway, they’re way old. And they work based on a simple concept—equal exchange. I give you my sense of balance for three hours. You give me yours for three hours. I take your strength today. You take mine tomorrow.” “You told me they were common sense,” Alden said from where he was sitting on the love seat. “And that it made Chainer a common sense class.” Lute nodded. “Aulia wants to obscure every minute detail partially because it’s so simple. I’m not an evil old politician, but I think she’s afraid people will realize that we don’t actually get…ah…that’s still an ass tattoo matter. Back on topic—my boss says the more people make successful exchanges, the more solid the chain becomes, until it’s so strong it’s doable for even less accomplished people. A person says these magic words and they get peace of mind. Even little kids and species without fingers can make some of them work.” He pointed at Alden’s ledger. “But what happens when a wordchain is brand new? Or when it’s been forgotten? What happens if nobody ever uses it? Or if everybody only wants to use one half and so they never speak the other and always let it snap back?” Alden’s eyes widened. “That’s so obvious.” “I know it is. But we take wordchains for granted. Like they’re…light switches maybe? Not that many people sit down to ponder how the electricity got to them when they flip the switch. My boss tells me that Artonans, as a society, used to be very serious about wordchain maintenance. Ancient aliens would perform multiple ones every day, like it was a chore they had to do to keep the lights on for themselves and their grandchildren. Now, even though they’re still in use across the Triplanets, they’re not being cared for with the same level of dedication. So tons of them have broken, or they’re on the verge of breaking, or they’re just weakening.” He reached over to grab the wooden case on the table beside him. “The Palace of Unbreaking is dedicated to wordchain preservation. Scary dedicated. As part of that, they do their best to restrict access to wordchains based on their fragility. They want everyone to do wordchains all the time. But only if they’re going to do them in the right way. So when chains start to fail, they try to make sure they’re only being taught and shared with responsible people who are going to strengthen them instead of weakening them further.” Alden lifted his new ledger from his lap. “So you’re supposed to make sure I’m not stacking up tons of debt.” “That’s right. And don’t lie, man. If you miss listing properly completed ones every now and then it’s fine. Or if you let a few snap and have to fess up to it, that’s fine, too. But don’t neglect to mention the snapped ones and don’t say you completed one fair and square if you didn’t.” “I wouldn’t.” Lute nodded. “Parethat-uur has an absurdly high opinion of you, so I think you’ve probably got a lot more leeway than normal. And they don’t demand perfection from beginners anyway. But the thing is…if you do become a problematic user, there can be serious consequences for you after you’ve signed this with me. You wouldn’t like them at all.” Alden looked back at the first page of the ledger. “Are the spaces for the teacher and student names some kind of contract?” “No. They told me it was more like an honesty pledge. It won’t make either of us do anything or prevent us from doing anything. It’s just an official record of the fact that you agreed to be a responsible wordchain user and I agreed to be responsible for you. I send a copy to the Palace of Unbreaking as soon as you sign. If you get caught avoiding debt too often, they take away one of your rights, and if I get caught neglecting you or letting you cheat…I’m pretty sure I get yelled at. And they don’t let me have another student until I’ve sucked up a lot.” “What right do I lose?” Lute looked uncomfortable. “You know how when I shared the wordchain with you, you had to agree to it through the System?” Alden nodded. “That one.” He took in Alden’s expression. “No! Don’t think I’m horrible! I wouldn’t actually do anything to you, it’s just that I’d be able to…and so would the rest of my family.” “I don’t think you’re horrible,” Alden said. He cleared his throat. “I was surprised. That’s all.” “You look like someone who’s stuck in a tiny room with a serial killer.” “No I don’t.” “You—” Alden tossed one of the silk throw pillows at him. “Lute, it’s fine. I wondered about the System permission thing when it popped up. It’s not like Sways have to get our permission before they do shit to us. It’s not like Lexi has to get permission before stabbing us with Writher. That’s not how Avowed classes usually work, so I thought it was strange that you had to use a consent form before laying a wordchain on me.” Lute was still eyeing him nervously. “The Palace of Unbreaking won’t let Chainers bestow a wordchain—whether it’s beneficial or not—on unwilling people under normal circumstances. It’s counter to their entire ethos.” Hazel didn’t have to get my permission before she sniped me, though. The fact that she was calling in a debt that already belonged to Alden must’ve made it all right in the Palace’s eyes. Or else she got to play by her own rules for some reason. “Your class would be something if you didn’t have that restriction.” Alden looked over at the pile of books on the bed. “You could lay endless types of disaster and reap endless positives in return.” “But I can’t do that. And I wouldn’t.” “I believe you.” Alden felt like he was missing something though. “Why does your grandmother not want people to understand even the basics of why wordchains are restricted? I don’t see any benefit for her. A lot of people seem to dislike you guys because they think you’re wordchain hoarders who refuse to share with others so that you can maintain your power. But you actually just work for the hoarders. And the hoarders are hoarding for a good reason.” “Wellll,” said Lute. “We do hoard. Some. There are a lot that the Palace wouldn’t mind people using that just haven’t filtered down to Earth yet. Mostly odd effects. You could probably crack open one of those books and find a dozen. And we do get access to some particularly strong, delicate, or difficult ones just for ourselves. Aulia, for example, has The Gloss. Which she does not mind the family telling people is very extra awesome and only for her.” Imagine that. “Why don’t other Avowed who visit the Palace come back with all this info, then?” “Oh. Now this is interesting. I can answer this question but only in a misleading fashion. Your friend the wizard will be able to answer it fully.” Lute looked like he very much wanted Alden to ask. “What’s the misleading reason?” Lute rose to his feet and looked down his nose at Alden. “No Avowed but Chainers may work for the Palace. I’m terribly sorry, pleb. You’re never going to be summoned there, so you’ll have to take my word for all matters wordchain related.” Alden narrowed his eyes. “So that’s it. They don’t summon anyone but you guys to wordchain central.” “We’re special,” Lute said in the same snobby voice. “The Artonans love us so much, and we’re so special.” “Never? None of the wizards there have ever wanted a Rabbit masseuse? They don’t want a Rabbit floor cleaner to make sure the people who prostrate themselves before you don’t get their faces dirty?” Lute pointed at him. “You say prostration one more time and I’m not signing that ledger with you.” Alden grinned. “Prost—” “Oh look,” said Lute in an airy voice, “Parethat-uur sent you a present. He’ll want to know how you liked it. Here you go.” He grabbed one of the cases and presented it to Alden with a flourish. Alden opened it. There was a big white papaya-shaped fruit inside. “It’s a wevvi fruit,” he said. “You recognize it from pictures? Good.” “I’ve had one before. A juiced one anyway.” Lute tilted his head. “A real one?” Alden nodded. “What the hell? I thought for sure it was just my family. They told me you basically have to have some kind of ritual event to even get your hands on…never mind. It’s you. Your oddities keep stacking.” “Should you be saying that to me?” “Eat up, my new beholden one, in a fashion that honors your Artonan ancestors!” “I don’t have any of those.” “Parethat-uur does not care.” Lute smirked. “You’re supposed to eat the whole thing. No utensils. Wasting the skin or the seeds is forbidden in this instance.” “No juice?” “Whatever you can gnaw out of its fibrous hide before swallowing.” “It’s kind of large.” It wasn’t quite ham-sized, but it was close. “I actually felt a little sorry for you when I first saw it.” Lute said, staring down at the white fruit. “He was trying to be generous. You can do it while I teach. You should be able to manage it in a few hours, right?” “Do I really have to eat the whole thing? That’s going to make me sick, isn’t it?” “Fine. I’ll help. I don’t want to lie to Parethat-uur about what happened to it, and I can spin us sharing it into something nice for him.” He pointed at Alden. “I get the best bites.” ****** The wevvi was tasty. It just wasn’t fun to chew up, and the quantity was intimidating. Alden could see why juice had become the standard way of consuming it rather than whole fruit. While his jaws worked, he listened closely to the words of the chain as Lute repeated them for him. It was significantly longer than the weaker wordchains he was used to. And poetic, as he’d anticipated. There were six problem words; he could say them, but Lute assured him he wasn’t saying them well enough. It was going to take a while to get those right and then a longer while to synch up the hand signs with the words properly. “You promised you wouldn’t be angry if it didn’t work,” Lute reminded him. “You’re still worried about that?” Alden asked after he’d swallowed his latest mouthful. “I’m not going to be upset.” They’d both signed their names in the ledger, using a brush dipped in dark green ink. Alden was supposed to keep the ink and use it for his record taking. “I’m grateful you’re tutoring me,” he added. “If anything, I feel guilty for asking you now that I know it’s more serious for you to teach someone than you implied.” Lute couldn’t have another student for restricted wordchains until he and Alden had both proven themselves responsible—Alden by not lying about accidents on his chaining ledgers and Lute by making himself available to help complete a chain when necessary. The less frequently used a wordchain was, the shorter the time frame before the debt came due. Very fragile ones needed to be paid off almost immediately. According to Lute, self-mastery was currently running at about three weeks, but in the interest of looking responsible, Alden would be trying to pay it off much sooner. If he couldn’t complete the payments himself, either due to miscasts or the wordchain just refusing to land for him, Lute would be using his skill to bestow the debt to him so that their ledger stayed balanced. “Don’t worry about it,” said Lute. “When I found out I got to have students and realized I could weave around some of my tattoo restrictions because of it, I thought I was going to be the Velra family member who spread knowledge and ruined Aulia’s monopoly…then I realized most people suck too much to teach. They suck at doing the wordchains. And they suck even more at wanting to pay them back. I’ve taught people non-restricted ones before and watched them, and I arrived at the conclusion that I couldn’t be friends and teach them the kind of chains I’d be obligated to monitor.” “Aren’t they just hurting themselves if they make the chain slap them with the debt at a random moment?” “People procrastinate on things they don’t like. And they all imagine their future selves being a more self-sacrificing version of who they are. They want the good right now, and the payback feels like a problem for another person…so they take it. And then it turns out Future Them doesn’t miraculously want to spend several hours being weak or frightened or clumsy either.” He went back to showing Alden the various gestures and words. Alden set his half-finished wevvi aside and repeated them after him. Toward the end of their six-hour window, the gremlin was starting to take an interest. “I think I’m getting it,” Alden said after finishing several attempts on his own. Lute was draped over the foot of the bed, head hanging down toward the floor while he watched. “I think you are, too.” “Is it a problem for me to cast this in public? Do I need to hide out in bathroom stalls or something?” “It’s a gray area,” said Lute. “You can cast it wherever you want, but I generally cast in private until I’m good enough to mutter or even abbreviate them. I think if other Avowed do pick them up from us and use them incorrectly the Palace might assign a Chainer to give them a talking to…and that doesn’t sound like fun for me. Obviously don’t go out and have a tutoring session like this with someone else until you’ve gotten permission to be a teacher, too. And—” “I get permission to teach at some point?” Alden asked in surprise. “I assume you do. The Palace lets all of their Artonan members teach restricted chains once they’ve made it out of the novice echelons, so I don’t see why they wouldn’t let a human do it, especially if his heart contains all the light of the sun within it.” “Prostration,” said Alden. “Prostration. Prostration.” “Just don’t say it in front of the girls, jerk.” Lute looked like he was on the verge of falling off the bed. His blonde hair was brushing the rug. “Do you like Natalie?” “Yeah, of course.” “‘Of course,’ he says. ‘I have both my eyes.’” Oh he meant like that. “We’re friends. I’m friends with all of them.” “I know. But…if I’m thinking about developing a crush on one of them, I want to make sure it’s someone you’re not into. That wouldn’t be cool.” “You plan your crushes in advance?” Alden asked with interest. “I’ve never heard anyone mention that was an option.” “I got burned last time. I could...