BOOK 12: CHAPTER 21: INFERNO

21 – Inferno

“You’ve given me a great deal to consider,” Wynnla said, as Victor explained to her the insights he’d gained from his conversation with Azforath. “I don’t argue that your potential for potency is greater if you allow all of your Energies to feed your spirit unfettered; did I not tell you as much?” Before Victor could respond, she added, “However, I admit to an abundance of caution when it comes to your fear affinity. Perhaps my experience has led me into over-caution, despite what I’ve learned from my time as a geist.”

Victor nodded, thumping the bone—her reliquary of a sort—against his palm. “About the duality of your fear?”

“Exactly. My fear is fully a part of me, but so are the many sources of it. I think my life would have been different had I focused on a more positive affinity, as others and I have tried to guide you to do, but I think my existence now is ultimately better.”

“So you agree with my decision?”

“I won’t say that. I still think caution is the better path. Your life might be measured in millennia; why rush to embrace all aspects of your spirit, even the dangerous ones?”

Victor smiled, shaking his head. “As I’ve told you, these are momentous times for me. Immense challenges are coming my way. In any event, I just wanted to let you know what I intended; I’m not asking for permission.”

Victor was inside his cultivation chamber back at his Iron Mountain palace, and he moved to set the bone beside him on the meditation platform, but Wynnla hastily cried out, “Wait! I can still help you!”

He hesitated. “Yeah?”

“What you said, about the concept of your affinities working in a cycle being wrong, can you expand on that thought process?”

Victor shrugged, leaning back on one hand. He waved the bone around before him as he began to think aloud, “I haven’t really put my thoughts into words before, but the root of the problem with your theory is that I can’t think of a single instance where my rage has led to fear. Self-loathing, sure—sometimes even despair, but never fear. In fact, my rage doesn’t allow me to sit around wallowing in those other emotions for long. It drives me to action, which generally inspires me. Almost universally, when my rage cools, I’m left with more hope than before.”

“So your rage is explosive, not brooding?”

Victor laughed, thinking of how it felt when he went berserk. His laughter faded as his thoughts drifted further back, recalling his many schoolyard fights and combative arguments with friends and family. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Perhaps in your revised Core construct, you should consider trying to make your rage more transient—coming and going to tilt the balance between your other affinities.”

Victor nodded. “I’d thought of something similar. Actually, it was a recent experience I had with a friend. I saw the Energy in her Core space, and it reminded me of a storm. Sometimes that’s how my emotions feel—like storms.” He could tell the spirit was contemplating what he’d said; she wanted to be helpful, but the truth of the matter was that Victor wanted to think. He’d had enough input from others. “I’m going to be alone for a while, Wynnla. I appreciate your efforts to help me, and I believe you did; the discussions we had steered me toward this path. Now, however, I want to reflect. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Very well, Victor.”

Victor sent the bone into his spirit space, safe from the possibility of falling into the wrong hands. Though he was beginning to trust Wynnla more and more, Victor still worried about her supposed rehabilitation. It seemed to him that if she’d truly mastered her fear, she wouldn’t fear it so much.

Alone at last, he closed his eyes and turned his gaze inward, staring at the heart of his Core space. He'd always liked how his inspiration and, later, his hope roiled at the center like a miniature star. When he’d learned to bend his fear and rage to his will, shaping them into bands that encircled that positive Energy, he’d been proud, but now, it all felt wrong. He’d done much reflecting on the walk down from the mountain after Cora had finished gushing about her visit from the beautiful, powerful, mysterious Shevatta—Azforath’s daughter.

He chuckled as the thought flitted through his mind. Azforath hadn’t sent that particular daughter by chance; she’d given Cora insights into Blood Magic and commiserated with her about having a titan for a father-figure; apparently, she hadn’t grown into her own titan blood, but took after her mother, a fae-blooded woman. When Cora had mentioned that much, it had sent Victor’s mind reeling; he balked at considering himself “fatherly” in any sort of the word, but he also felt his heart swell to hear Cora mention him in that regard. Then, of course, there was the fact that Shevatta had trusted her with the knowledge, however limited, of Azforath’s existence.

It was a moment that would reverberate monumentally through Cora’s life, though she didn’t see it yet. Azforath and his kin had implicitly accepted her, and though she was excited about what Shevatta had taught her, Victor knew that it was only the beginning. When she faced challenges and puzzles that no one else could help with, she had that resource now, and it brought a certain peace to Victor’s mind knowing that. He supposed, on some level, he knew he was flirting with disaster on more than one front, and knowing Cora had made that connection eased some of the background noise of his worry.

“Focus,” he grumbled to himself, trying to backtrack to where his thoughts had drifted. “The walk home…” He’d done much reflecting on the walk down from the mountain, thinking about the many life and death situations he’d been in since first rebuilding his Core construct into its current version. He couldn’t help feeling like his emotions and resultant actions had been somewhat muted. At first, he’d thought it a triumph; he’d overcome his sharp, impulsive anger and his tendency to lose himself to his fear affinity.

Even in his Berserking rage, he’d had control—most of the time. Of course, he wasn’t complaining, but he swore things felt… Again, the only word he could come up with was muted. His battle with the thirty steel seekers and the following confrontation with Dro Vah, the dragon, felt too calm, too collected. Of course, it had been years, and feelings fade with time, but he couldn’t recall ever feeling passionate about the fights, and it seemed to him that something that had inspired an Imperial Parade Day ought to have left more of a mark on his psyche.

With that example and half a dozen more besides, Victor had begun to wonder about Azforath’s words: his spirit was the fuel for his Core, and it, in turn, would fuel his spirit. Wouldn’t it make sense, then, that if the Energy coming from his spirit was altered in his Core space—filtered through his hope-attuned Energy—and then sent back into his spirit… Wouldn’t that mean that he was fundamentally altering his spirit? Was he even Victor anymore? What about in a hundred years? A thousand?

Victor recognized that he was being dramatic. He was still himself; people changed in their lives for all sorts of reasons. He supposed he was just wondering if he liked the change, given that it was being done deliberately and he could stop it if he wanted. Did he like this muted version of himself? He laughed at the question. Not many people would label him that way. Still, there was definitely an edge missing.

He stared at his Core space again and, with a flex of his will, he grabbed hold of his rage-attuned Energy and pulled it, almost effortlessly, away from his hope-attuned Energy. He smiled at the ease of it, remembering the hours he’d strained back when Dar first guided him through the restructuring of his Core. The fear had been even more challenging to manipulate, so he braced himself as he grasped that dark, shadowy band, pulling it away. Again, it flowed like warm honey, bending to his will. He didn’t remember what his will attribute had been the last time he’d manipulated his Core, but he was certain he’d more than doubled it, and it showed.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Pushing his fear and rage aside, a glowering red clump of Energy beside a larger pool of nightmares, he regarded the beautiful, shimmering orb of his silver-blue hope. Victor pressed his will against the bottom of the sphere, lifting it until the aperture to his spirit space appeared at the base of it. He stared for a while, observing how ghostly Energy, almost like wisps of smoke, drifted out of it, fading like mist into the atmosphere of his Core space.

Meanwhile, if he expanded his magical perception, he could see the colorful flow of his attuned Energies drifting toward the aperture. Flows of shadowy fear, trickles of flickering red rage, and gusts of shimmering, radiant hope. They moved as if they were pulled on a breeze or carried by an invisible stream toward the aperture, which gave Victor’s imagination fuel as he tried to picture the perfect Core construct.

What if he built it into a storm like Valla’s air and iron affinities? Thinking back, he tried to picture how her iron had been represented, but he couldn’t think of it. It had to have been there, but it hadn’t been obvious. He set the question aside, instead trying to imagine his affinities in a storm. He could imagine the hope as wind, the fear as rain, and the rage as bursts of lightning. It seemed almost perfect to him, but only almost.

The problem with it was that his hope and fear were at odds. Was the rain in a storm at odds with the wind? No, it was carried by it. Victor stared at the dark, sulking pool of his fear-attuned Energy, and he gathered it up, pressing it into an orb that mirrored the silvery-blue one of his hope. He moved them beside each other, shifting the hope-attuned orb to the side so they both were equidistant from his spirit aperture.

With a flick of his will, he shifted his perspective, flying close, zooming around the aperture, and between the two great globes of Energy. He watched how the purple-black shadows of his fear flickered out, like dark tongues of flame toward his hope, which, in turn, lashed out with its bright, silvery-blue Energy. They never quite touched, but Victor could feel the powerful charge building between them.

Looking down, he could see the Energy of his spirit, like white steam drifting up toward the two great orbs of his Core. For a while, he contemplated leaving them like that, situating his rage below the aperture so it could influence him unbothered by the other two, stronger affinities. He dismissed the notion, though; it was a suboptimal Core construct; he’d lose the blended nature of the epic-tier one.

“Blended…” Victor stretched out his will, grasping both of his stronger affinities and tugging them toward one another. He knew that if he so chose, he could apply tremendous pressure, crushing the affinities out of them and merging them into an enormous mass of unattuned Energy, ready to be imprinted with another affinity. That would be a huge undertaking, though, and it wouldn’t serve any purpose other than to weaken him; he had no stronger affinities.

Instead, he pulled the two affinities into each other, watching as they, at first, resisted, and then gave in to his will, mingling, yet staying separate. To his wonder, the orbs of Energy, in their roiling attempts to avoid one another, began to separate into something similar to a storm, yet quite different; it resembled an inferno of blue and black flames, distinct, yet mixed. The silver-blue fire raged against the purple-black one, perfectly balanced. More than that, though, their conflict with one another had ramped up their intensity. Victor could feel the pressure building in his Core space.

“Hell yes,” he breathed, immediately recognizing the rightness of the construct.

His gaze drifted toward the suddenly small-seeming mass of glowering rage-attuned Energy. “And what about you?”

He dragged the crimson Energy toward the center of his Core space, contemplating how to introduce it to the new construct. If Azforath and he were right, then he shouldn’t have to do much. He believed his rage helped him against his fear. He believed it sometimes led to more hope. If that was right, then introducing it to the inferno should be beneficial to him in the long term. While all three of his affinities fed his spirit, there should be more hope overall, thanks to his rage’s influence on his fear.

“Time to find out,” he muttered, manipulating the mass of rage-attuned Energy until he’d stretched it, like a layer of coals, beneath the inferno construct. Then, slowly but surely, he lifted it, feeding that baleful red Energy into the fire. At first, the crimson disappeared in the inky black and brilliant silver-blue flames, but then, just as he’d hoped, the nature of his emotions began to assert itself, and he saw the first of the fiery-red tongues of flame flick upward.

“Hah!” He surged toward the top of the inferno, floating his awareness over it, basking in the heat and pressure of it, and watching as more and more brilliant red flames flickered in and out of existence among the black and silvery ones. To his amazement, he saw the black fire shrink from their presence, and the silver-blue hope flames filled the gaps.

It was working so perfectly that Victor almost didn’t believe it. He kept waiting for something to go wrong—some hint that he’d made a terrible mistake or that his Energies were out of balance. No other shoe seemed to fall, however. In fact, something extraordinary was happening. He could feel the pressure in his Core space mounting, and he wasn’t even cultivating. It was like the new Construct was feeding off itself, pushing it ever closer to the next tier. Considering he was already at tier nine of “legendary,” he had no idea how long it would take or what would happen, but he knew it would be momentous if he broke through.

He drifted around to the bottom of the construct, looking up at the inferno raging above his spirit aperture. To his glee, he saw the wisps of his spirit Energy drifting out of the aperture more steadily, feeding the inferno in a steady stream. Meanwhile, his three affinities, cooking like a roaring world-sized forest fire, were pouring into the Core space, filling the atmosphere with rage, fear, and hope. Those emotions, in turn, drifted out and around, then up toward the spirit aperture, flowing in a steady stream through the bottom of it.

In a way, his new construct was a cycle, but on a far grander scale, involving his spirit as much as the Energy in his Core. Still, he’d have to tell Wynnla that she’d been at least partially correct. The certitude of his thoughts caught Victor off guard, and he grinned, wondering at his confidence. With a shrug, he sent his awareness through the spirit aperture, ready to see if his efforts had been in vain.

When he emerged into his spirit space, Victor knew immediately that he’d been right to trust his instincts. When he looked at his skein and saw that every thread was now vibrant, painted with colors that shone and reflected like spun precious metals, he began to laugh, shaking his head in wonder. He stepped toward it, looking from golden threads to blue ones that shimmered like sapphire, to red ones that gleamed and danced in the light as if spun from crimson fire.

Nodding to himself, a deep satisfaction settling in his gut, Victor walked over to the desk he’d set aside for his many Farscribe books. He picked up the one he shared with Ranish Dar, and he opened it to the most recent message—a month-old message from Dar:

Victor,

The arrangements and agreements are complete. Our allies stand ready, and our messages have been dispatched. The timing is in your hands. Be certain you’re ready.

-Ranish Dar

Victor picked up a pen and wrote the message Dar was no doubt eager to hear:

Ranish,

I’m ready. Please inform the Sojourn Council that, in one week’s time, I’ll be escorting Arona Moonshadow to Sojourn in answer to their summons. I’ll check this book daily; if Vesavo won’t be present for any reason, let me know and I’ll delay our arrival.

Looking forward to seeing you,

Victor

As he closed the book, Victor blinked several times, then had a brief moment of panic. Why had he done that so impulsively? He might have spent some time working with his new Core construct in place before declaring himself ready…

Shaking his head, he looked over at his skein, stared at the brilliant, gleaming threads, then grinned savagely, clenching his fists until his knuckles popped. No, he was ready. He laughed, reveling in his confidence. Turning back to the desk, he scanned the Farscribe books again, picked a different one, and opened it to the first blank page, where he wrote another note:

Arona,

It’s time. Come to Iron Mountain as soon as you can. We’ll have a few days to prepare, but then we’ll finally make our appearance before the Sojourn Council.

Victor chuckled, thinking about how they’d been dodging that summons for nearly five years. It felt like a long time to him, but he supposed that to the assholes on the council, it wasn’t so long; many of them could measure their lives in centuries. He continued writing:

I know you’re nervous. I know you want me to spell everything out. I’ll tell you what I can when you get here. I also have some news for you about Cores and spirits and—shit, all kinds of things. For instance, I figured something out with Valla. How would you like a look at my spirit space—at my mantle-in-progress? Enough hints! See you soon,

Victor

He closed the book, then, still grinning from ear to ear, he walked over to his skein and began to contemplate which threads would complement his current mantle the most. He had a lot of work to do, and for some damn reason, he’d just given himself a one-week deadline.