ONE HUNDRED SIXTY-THREE: The Primary’s Youngest Child

 

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The child who lived in the dome by the river was trying to decide what kind of beautiful the day was. He squatted a couple of steps from the wide silver band of the water, dark sand squishing between his toes.

Beautiful. More beautiful. Or most beautiful?

He splayed his small fingers, patting the stone he had just warmed with magic before flopping over in the soft sand to lay his cheek against it. That way he could feel the heat with his face, too.

He had learned the spell only a few days ago. His mother would come soon, and he would show her that he had done it all by himself. And she would be proud of him.

That will make it one of the more beautiful days, he thought.

He decided to think about his new spell with one half of his attention and listen for the familiar sound of her approaching footsteps with the other.

They were never apart for long. As soon as being alone became less interesting and happy than being together would be, she appeared. That was how the world worked.

The warm stone felt good, and the cool sand felt good, and the wind tickled his legs and arms where they stuck out of his longshirt.

If he fell asleep for long, he would wake in bed. His mother’s arms would be wrapped around him, or her voice would be, as she sang him The Names of Things song.

If he got up and ran as fast as he could on his short legs, the air would fill his chest, and he would see parts of the river he’d never seen before. And as soon as he went far enough to wonder if going too far might be a possibility—as soon as he tried to figure out what one should feel if they went too far from home—he would see that he hadn’t really gone far at all.

The way back to the dome was always clear and easy to walk when he wanted it.

This was what life was.

He heard footsteps.

They sound different than I expected, he thought, delight tingling through him. I’m getting a surprise.

Different almost always meant a surprise. Surprises almost always made the day most beautiful.

He sat up and looked around.

His mother was there, standing side by side with the most amazing surprise of the child’s whole life.

“Stu,” she said, “this man is Jeneth-art’h. He is your father.”

Stu stared at the new adult—him, the man, Jeneth-art’h, Father. The ideas blossomed inside him, and he realized he had always wanted this even though he’d never once felt the lack of it.

He gasped and ran forward, arms outstretched. “Father! There you are, and here I am. I love you so much!”

He grabbed the man around the legs, blinking up to meet pink eyes. Hair that was almost white spilled down Father’s shoulders. He smelled different than Mother. His skin was paler than hers, his nose a little larger, and the expression on his face was one Stu didn’t know, though he was sure it must be a good one.

“This is the most beautiful day there has ever been,” Stu said, still clinging to him. “Do you think so too, Father?”

******

******

“It’s been a long while since someone chose Maker of Narrow Ways,” Stuart was saying. “I’ve spent almost as much time talking to the Contract about the possibilities and having calls with <<designers>> and <<theorists>> as I have in class. But about a month ago I finally got every involved person to agree that my desired <<personalizations>> and <<self-concept>> would be <<excellent in their own ways>> instead of <<in conflict>> with the skill’s <<core>>.”

He paused for his first breath in ages.

Emban-art’h had left to go change her clothes after a short bickering session with her cousin, so it was just the two of them again. Alden was sitting on the ground, leaning against the tree that had been his backrest for most of the morning and eating his lunch out of the to-go tiffin he’d packed earlier. Stuart had sat down to eat with him only to bounce right back up to grab the first wood block his spell effect had struck, which was the least damaged of them all. He’d held the broken pieces together to show Alden the approximate shape of the hole that had been formed in it.

It was an oversized bean if you used your imagination.

Now, Stuart was standing beside his magical handiwork. He kept looking from his bean bullet—still in its landing spot beside its partner—to Alden like he couldn’t decide which one was more worthy of his attention.

Alden opened his mouth to ask a question, and Stuart hastily said, “I know! Naturally, you’re worried about whether I’ll be able to use the skill the way I want to and hoping I won’t be disheartened with my choice during the early years of my knighthood. Maybe you’re thinking that it’s <<ill-chosen>> and I should instead consider a more certain course for—”

“I’m not thinking any of those things!” Alden cut in, setting aside the ceramic jar of greasy, tasteless pudding he’d just eaten a bite of. It was by far the worst of all the random snacks he’d added to his lunch, but since he’d taken it he felt obligated to finish it.

“You’re not?” He looked so thrilled to hear it that Alden hated to point out the very obvious thing that he seemed to have forgotten. Stuart was high on the aftermath of his casting success and Alden’s own enthusiasm for what he’d done.

As soon as I said the spell was awesome he launched into this mode, and he hasn’t slowed down since.

“I do think you might have temporarily forgotten that I’m not Artonan,” Alden said.

Stuart blinked at him.

“So I can’t really judge your choice. I have almost no knowledge. To me, what you did is incredible, and I think a skill that both transports things and destroys obstacles in its path is going to be so impressive when you grow it. But I probably understand about one percent of what you really did, and when it comes to the pressures you’re under to pick the right thing…I don’t even know how many skills you have to choose from.”

“Of course.” Stuart’s neck purpled. “I got too excited.”

“No. I don’t think it’s possible to be too excited about your skill choice. It will always be part of who you are in the future, so…”

So screw you, overly certain fifteen-year-old idiot Alden. Why didn’t you take at least a few weeks to think like this back in February?

“So you need to really think about what you’re doing with it and find something that makes you that excited.”

Stuart smiled, picked up his beans, and came over to take a seat facing him.

“I should let you ask questions,” he said. “Since I’m not sure what you understand. What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” Alden said. “But that might take years. How about we start with what just happened. You made a tunnel? Will your skill always work like that?”

“It always will when I’m doing this kind of thing with it…yes, the spell I cast created a tunnel—a way for the bean to reach its destination. The <<construct>> formed quickly, moving from one bean to the other and denying everything else the right to occupy that space as it came into existence. Then the bean traveled through to its destination <<unimpeded>>.”

“The tunnel isn’t all created in an instant,” Alden said, just to be sure he understood. “It begins forming at Bean 1, then continues forming toward Bean 2. In a straight line?”

Stuart nodded.

“And everything in between gets…” Alden almost said “punched through,” but then he reconsidered. “Is the tunnel at its full width from the start and moving forward like a finger poking holes in sheets of paper? Or is it expanding into existence as it goes?”

“It expands,” Stuart said

“When you do it with your skill will it work the same way? Or will the whole tunnel form at once?”

“Eventually, I should have significant control over the process. But motion toward something is part of the skill concept. A way is meant to be traveled, so having it appear fully made between two points instead of having it progress from one to the other…” He craned his neck back and stared thoughtfully up at the forest’s canopy. “I’m sure I could do it with practice. One day. But I can’t think of many reasons to do it when forming ways nearly instantaneously would be good enough and produce stronger results.”

This is pretty fascinating.

And it was more confirmation that Alden’s own ideas about how Bearer worked were on the right track. “Your skill is weaker when it’s being used for things that are less itself,” he said.

Stuart stopped gazing up at the branches and met his eyes again. His brows were slightly elevated. “The skill isn’t weaker; the effects of it are. It’s an important <<distinction>>. You can bring the same amount of authority to bear, but skills become more <<undeniable>> when what you want to do with them reflects their natures.”

“All skills?”

“Of course.” But then he added, “I don’t know as much about Avowed skills. Some skills are more rigid than others, and that would mean there was less variation and possibility in their function. A skill can be limited in all kinds of ways, until it crosses the threshold toward being defined as a spell impression. A skill called Maker of Narrow Ways for Keda Beans could be created, and then the person who bound themselves to it probably wouldn’t be able to do anything but move keda beans through bean-sized ways.”

“I’m glad you didn’t pick that one.”

“The other <<newlings>> would probably hesitate to be in <<squads>> with someone who picked a skill that peculiar,” Stuart replied. “I did have trouble choosing. Weighing what skills could contribute to our purpose with how they suited me personally was difficult. Finding one that could be meaningful to me in the right ways was a lengthy search.”

Alden had promised himself, while he watched Stuart set up the spell, that he wouldn’t have selfish-dickhead thoughts about how different their skill selection experiences were. And so far it was mostly working.

Given Stu-art’h’s general intensity level, Alden had been afraid that he might have chosen something insane for himself. Like a skill called I Cut Off My Own Fingers in Exchange for Making Mountains Explode. Or something equally difficult to live with.

So he was still feeling relieved that instead he’d seen a cool magical effect that would surely have multiple powerful and practical uses for a future knight, without any loss of blood or added anguish on the caster’s part. And the Artonan boy’s enthusiasm for showing the spell off and talking about it was infectious.

“What made Narrow Ways the perfect one?” Alden asked.

Stuart’s answer was a little slow in coming. He picked up a fallen leaf and wove it through his fingers.

“I wanted to be able to cut through things,” he said after a moment. “But I didn’t want the skill to be built on a foundation of separation. Maker of Narrow Ways can be used for <<severing,>> but it’s not for severing. The cutting is something that forms a connection, instead of something that breaks one.

“It’s a skill that can reflect what has shaped my past and what I hope for in my future.” He dropped the leaf. “I’m sure when it’s all done and my peers have a chance to look away from their own choices and consider mine, many of them will think I’ve gone too far in pursuit of personal meaning at the expense of efficiency. But at least my family supports this part of my decision. Evul said it was a goal as odd as I was, but she meant it in a complimentary way.”

“It’s not efficient?”

“No. I want to use Maker of Narrow Ways on the battlefield, but it wasn’t designed for that. There are easier methods for destroying things or sending them across short distances. I’m sure I’ll find many opportunities to take full advantage of it. But often, to get the effect I want, I’ll be straining my authority more than I would with other skills.”

Oh yeah. That makes perfect sense now that he says it. Constructing a rapid-transport tunnel through space was extremely fancy, but it was a convoluted way of dealing damage.

“It’s like me using my skill to behead someone in gym,” said Alden. “Just because I can do it doesn’t mean I’m a natural beheader.”

“That word for removing someone’s head is only for formal executions. You want to use the other one, unless you are deliberately implying that Avowed Winston is a terrible criminal.”

Alden thought for a second. “Would it come across as funny-mean or serious if I used the original word?”

“It would be funny-mean if an Artonan said it. If you do, people are just going to think you accidentally used the wrong word…maybe it would work if you laughed after saying it? And yes, you understand what I mean about efficiency. If a skill called The Slicer of Necks exists, we can assume it’s better at doing that chore with a smaller authority commitment than your preservation skill is. Although circumstances affect everything.”

“What’s Maker of Narrow Ways supposed to do?” Alden asked. “What was it designed for?”

Stuart opened his mouth then shut it. He thought for a few seconds before saying, “Its intended use is cross-dimensional exploration.”

Why the pause there? Alden wondered.

“It will be very efficient for that particular thing. And that’s what the few previous users selected it for. The fact that it’s not immediately capable of doing that was a source of <<misery>> for them even though they knew to expect it. To bind yourself and spend your early years of service unable to use your skill in the way you want…for me, it will be better. There will be problems but not <<unassailable>> ones, I’m sure.”

Alden looked past him to the line of destroyed blocks and burst fruit. “I still think it’s amazing.”

“Yes!” Stuart said, eagerness returning. “Its roots drink from concepts like connection, motion toward goals, <<precision>>, and creation.”

“Built on creation. Not destruction. Even though it’s capable of destroying. That’s what you wanted.”

Stuart watched him take another bite of the tasteless pudding.

Alden was still trying to produce enough saliva to get the remnants of it out of his mouth and down his throat, when Stuart said, “My father’s first skill is called Cleaver of Strength. Did you already know that?”

Alden shook his head.

“It’s a skill very different from mine really. Associated with concepts like severing, ambition, <<fair play>>—”

“Fair play?”

“Father always mentions that one. I doubt the people who designed the skill would have listed it as a core part, but the way we see our skill and the choices we make in the development of it matter. Attacking at the point of greatest strength with your own greatest strength is a sort of fairness. And that’s what Father’s skill is best at.”

“You do usually think of attacking a problem at its weak point, not its strong one,” Alden said.

“The skill is very complementary with Esh-erdi’s power. That’s one of the reasons he and Lind-otta spent time here. Esh-erdi has progressed quickly over the past years, and he and father wanted to see how well they might work together. The three of them could be a powerful team.”

Alden didn’t doubt it. Lind-otta slowed the enemy. Jeneth-art’h cleaved it, turning its greatest strength into a weakness—a crack. And Esh-erdi cleaned up.

“Father used that skill to kill Mother and separate her from my mind,” Stuart said. “As well as he could.”

Alden slowly set aside the food. What did he just say? What the hell?

He watched Stu-art’h’s face for some clue as to how he should respond. But before he could come up with anything that felt like an appropriate reaction, the Primary’s son went on: “Father and a few others once traveled to a world that had suffered a sudden and very severe chaos breakthrough. It was clear to everyone that there was an intelligence of some sort responsible. Those are often the most dangerous situations. Someone had to respond swiftly, and so there was little opportunity for Father and his companions to study the nature of the enemy before beginning their assault on it.

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“It was an unexpectedly difficult place. Father says they struggled to know what direction they traveled in, and though they sensed the demon and understood how it affected them, they couldn’t find it. As the corruption increased, two of the three he traveled with became too weak to continue. They attempted a teleportation ritual, to send those two back home. It’s not easy to do from a place like that, and though the Contract here on Artona I did register a possible teleportation attempt and try to stabilize it…it failed. When the failure was reported, and no further attempts came, most people suspected that the whole group had died.”

Stuart let his hands fall to the ground beside him, fingers digging into the leaf mulch.

“A woman called Iella-inwer, who was ranked sixty-eighth, had become a dear friend of my father’s over the course of their meetings. They had sworn no promises to each other, but I’ve been told that most people hoped they would. Someday soon. When he went to that place, she was actually here at the house, <<mentoring>> Rel.

“She joined the first group that was sent to help with the problem. They teleported to the nearest stable planet and took a <<fortified ship>> the rest of the way. Almost a whole day before they arrived, they say she felt something about the chaos spreading from that place. She looked at the others and said, ‘How fortunate. This is the kind of enemy I have forged myself to face.’”

******

******

On the most beautiful day there had ever been, Stu’s family sat by the river together for a long time. His mother held him in her lap, combing his hair with her fingers. His father sat across from them, holding the rock Stu had given him as a present, even though the spell had worn off and it wasn’t warm anymore.

“Iella,” his voice said. And again. “Iella, please…”

Many of the things Father said had a way of falling away from Stu’s memory, until only the cadence and the fact of his voice speaking were left. But it was all right. Maybe the words were drifting downstream. Wasn’t that a lovely idea?

“Would you like to see one of the patient creatures in the water?” Stu asked suddenly. “Father, have you seen them?”

The pink eyes fell on him. “Have you only taught him the Rityan vocabulary? Not the whole unified tongue?”

“Because then we’ll know,” Stu’s mother said, her fingers still combing. “If he ever says a word that isn’t Rityan, we’ll know it’s slipped through and affected him.”

“Oh, Iella…”

“What’s slipped through?” Stu asked curiously.

A picture came to him—one of the clear and true ones—of the little blue wigglers he liked to watch, slipping in and out of holes they’d made in thick patches of spongeplant. And he knew that was what they were talking about.

So I might see one of those today, too?

That would be perfect.

******

******

“The behavior of demons is a never-ending subject of research,” Stuart said to Alden. “But the ones that are prone to <<remaining>> often have stubborn <<drives>> and urges that might be called goals. The one responsible for that breakthrough was probably a wizard who, before his fall, was obsessed with the field of mind manipulation. We’re almost sure that we know his name, but the being was so unrecognizable when Father finally located the last remnants and destroyed them, that confirming its original identity wasn’t possible.”

Oh okay then, Alden thought, feeling his own eyebrows trying to escape off his face into the sky. We’re just going to straight-up tell me that a single wizard can turn into a super demon and cause an apocalypse-level chaos event.

He’d sort of suspected that already. Kibby had said she had to be tested more often than the other people at the lab to make sure it was safe for her to live there without becoming the strong-authority version of the chaos-spreading grasshoppers. So the wizard-to-demon type of demon had been a possibility in Alden’s mind.