1.26

The Young Griffon

“Ho, so the young aristocrat slipped away from punishment after all,” I mused, walking through the streets of Olympia. “Leaving his subordinates to suffer the full consequences. How surprising.” The markets were stirring to full wakefulness as the dawn broke, society’s undesirables crawling back down their holes.

For our parts, Sol and I had changed back into our daywear after a thorough cleansing at one of the city’s many public baths. The streets of Olympia were like home in many ways – at least, home at its heights. Each day in the Half-Step city was a festival by the standards of Alikos, every street overflowing with enterprising merchants, musicians playing sweet songs, and of course, men both young and old hotly debating politics on every corner.

Each street was a new experience, and that alone was worth the trips up and down Kaukoso Mons.

“With all the issues these Tyrants are causing, the least they could do is their jobs,” Sol muttered darkly, tossing an apple in his hand as he perused a merchant’s wares. His nose twitched, and he absently brushed a thumb across it. “Favored by one should mean reviled by seven.”

“That would make too much sense.” I clicked my tongue, thinking of all the worthless sophists that languished underneath the Storm That Never Ceased. Perpetually too fearful of a Tyrant’s reprisal to fully test their limits. Abruptly, I wondered how many initiates of the Raging Heaven had actually suffered an elder’s wrath, and not merely the threat of it.

“Power and its privileges…” Sol took a bite out of his apple, dismissing the merchant and turning down the road. “Alazon was a Hero, I remember that much. Strong enough to confidently challenge three peers and an unknown cultivator with only one other Hero and a handful of Philosophers at his back. Well-connected enough to do it in the middle of a club.”

“He was a real asshole,” I agreed. Gray eyes flickered my way.

“I was going to say he reminded me of you.”

“What a coincidence,” I said pleasantly, tilting my head towards an old vagrant bundled in filthy rags, sitting vacantly on a street corner while men stood around him arguing over the next assembly’s vote. “I was just about to say the same of him.” Sol snorted and took two more bites of his apple before flicking the core at my head.

“At any rate, it’s safe to assume he has friends in high places,” I continued, deftly avoiding it. “­He’ll come back to haunt us sooner or later, I’m sure. More importantly, how was the lecture itself? Insightful?”

“The first number, éna, is the origin of all things,” Sol recited dully, slapping a boy’s hand away from an oblivious citizen’s coin pouch. The boy scowled in outrage, saw our cult attires, and promptly took off running down a side alley. “The second, thio, is the feminine principle. Third, tria, masculinity. Fourth-”

“Tessera.” I snapped my fingers and the light of dawn rose to the tip of my thumb and caught fire. “Perfect natural symmetry. Justice.” Sol hummed in agreement. “The wise philosopher had a larger point to make, surely? Even Romans can count to four.”

Sol ticked off three fingers on his hand and then paused, eyebrows furrowing. I chuckled and threw an arm over his shoulder, gesturing with the other into the distance. Beyond the eastern limits of Olympia was a vast expanse of unconquered life, stark mountains and lush valleys that could be seen sprawling into the far horizon.

“There is purpose in all things, young sophist,” I said grandly. “From their placement to their posture, their organization and all of their component parts, how they proliferate and how they cease to be. Natural philosophers are those that dedicate their lives to unearthing these purposes and advancing humanity’s fundamental understanding of creation. Surely a man of that caliber is competent enough to teach multiple lessons with only one lecture – one for the children, one for the students, and one for the scholars.”

Sol started to raise his fourth finger, hesitated, and lowered it again. I grabbed the bent finger and forced it to fully extend. His eyes widened.

“You’re not funny,” I informed him.

“And neither are you,” he said easily, brushing my arm off his shoulder. “­­­­­It did feel like he was building towards a greater point, admittedly. He referenced past lectures a few times as well. It was almost like the entire lecture was an extended tangent.”

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“I wouldn’t doubt it,” I said. “Past a certain point of advancement, even the seemingly simple techniques are vast amalgamations of smaller pursuits.”

“How so?”

“Consider the man that gave you his virtue,” I said. “Picture in your mind’s eye the greatest feats that he accomplished with it, and now imagine how you would recreate them.” I gave him a moment, just long enough not to lose himself. Then I prompted him, “Now do it.”

“I can’t,” he admitted. He clenched and unclenched his hands, a considering look in his eyes. “But not for the same reasons that you can’t copy your father.”

I flicked the lingering flame off my thumb and briefly weighed the odds of my successfully pulling down a star from heaven.