Axiom

by Dennis Vanderkerken

  The smoothness of Yvessa’s cheeks did a poor job of hiding the additional pink that colored her sun-bronzed skin when Artorian’s compliment made her flush. He remembered seasons ago when she was deathly pale but didn’t mention that; instead, he returned to her questions, “Essence has things it does by itself. Let’s take the one that will be useful to you. Celestial Essence heals… except that it doesn’t. From my observation, it instead removes impurities and imperfections from where it is added. While I’m certain that it would have restored my eyesight entirely, I lack the amount needed to create that effect.”

  “Dumping more units of Essence into an issue allows you to reach the intended effect even if you do nothing else to help it along. Removing sickness is a function of celestial Essence. However, it achieves that state because the healer is heavily intending for the Essence to lend its natural qualities to the focus of a similar but alternate purpose. ‘Remove this infection,’ the healer says.”

  Artorian was making broad hand motions for effect. “Instead of removing damaged imperfections from the system, you’ve the clear intent in mind that the infection is an imperfection. So, rather than heal an injury, it spends its energy on purging the infection. It’s a minute difference, but the celestial Essence will now only attack the infection, hunt it down, and disassemble it—as it would any other imperfection.”

  “You can’t easily convince an Essence type to do something it is opposed to doing naturally; however, you can skew it to the left and right. This is why the majority of clerics use celestial rather than purified Essence for direct muscle empowerment and enhancement. In the event of an accident, celestial patches you up automatically. I’ve watched no less than several dozens of bouts between the Keepers, and that brings me to now.”

  Yvessa was patient and just made the circular *go on* hand motion as they paced in a circle around the inner cloister. Artorian, old codger that he was, needed no further encouragement. “By cycling refined energy to your eyes, you see with increased clarity. Everything becomes this horribly rich and lathered landscape, and even Essence flows become visible. I have simply found that I can pierce the veil of higher-ranked cultivators at the cost of not seeing the flows of Essence in the area. By focusing on one effect instead of a general effect, I ignore the veiling fog. Thus, even though Tarrean is a higher ranked cultivator than I am, I see his triskelion clearly.”

  Yvessa had known this already based on his previous statement, but it was good to know how. “Alright, I’m following so far.”

  The long-bearded teacher kept striding along. “So, as we’ve noted, more units of Essence invested to a body part equates to a more profound effect. A body part has an upper limit of what it can handle. Everyone also only uses refined Essence for their eyes from what I can deduce, out of concern for possible damage to the vital organs.”

  Shuddering, he paused to speak with emotional emphasis. “An entirely reasonable conclusion. Even slightly unrefined Essence can wreak havoc on your body. Investing fire Essence into my hands without it being sufficiently refined gives me a horrible rash that itches for hours. Don’t recommend it.”

  Artorian collected himself with a patient exhale. “Essence has stages of refinement. Refined Essence that still carries hints of its prior Essence is safe enough. All my additional circles have their purpose and ‘grade’ of refinement quality. I am consistently impressed by just how much purer Essence can get. Now, your question—adding other types of Essence to your eyes causes distinct and significant changes to not just what you see but how you see.”

  “Celestial gives you an idea of imperfections. Things out of place and notes of something lacking, which hints at what is supposed to be there. Tearing a leaf from a plant and then observing the plant gives a clear but fading imprint of some kind of pattern. More Essence invested means that they become more obvious.”

  “Air Essence makes me able to slightly see the movements of wind as if they were gently fogged. The flows and movements freely alter and dance as nymphs during play.” He made an exaggeration, never having seen a nymph. The Acolyte was enraptured with his words and didn’t interfere in this particularly valuable lesson. “Fire Essence lets you get a grip of the innate heat in things and—in some odd way—the cold. When I look at a person, I can see where the heat they are generating is.”

  Artorian coughed into his hand, momentarily uncomfortable. “Not always a sight you want to see.”

  Yvessa quirked a brow but didn’t stop the old man from carrying on. She had been a healer too long to fall prey to embarrassment about other people’s bodies. “Water Essence should be obvious; it lets you discern the movements found in liquids—the pumping of blood in someone’s body or the churning motion of the stream. Most everything else in my vision melts away and is replaced by brightly colored hues in black, grays, and whites. The more something moves, the brighter it is. It’s incredibly jarring. These Essences can be mixed, and when you do, everything you see changes again. This weirdness is why I’m stepping back and forth lately.”

  “A certain amount of Essence can only extend your sight so far, and the amount of Essence you spend also determines how well you ignore objects in the way of what you’re looking at. Cloth is a breeze, wood is difficult, stone is borderline impossible, and anything metal is hopeless. No matter how close I get, I just can’t get my line of sight restrictions to overcome metal matter. Perhaps if I had earth Essence? Regardless, fire and water. You’d think they’d have a big fight in your eyes?”

  Yvessa nodded in affirmation to Artorian’s question because that idea seemed reasonable. “Turns out, not so much! You see the heat and the liquid movements at the same time, and for a reason I simply can’t understand yet, you clearly see a person's muscles.”

  Yvessa was clearly confused, but Artorian was right there with her—equally lost. “Slapping celestial on top of that creates one wonky visual adventure. You don’t just see the full movements in the body; you can deduce where the body is likely to be based on the pattern it holds. If someone was walking towards me and I had all three of those cycling… I am convinced that I would know when they were going to stop before they did.”

  “Activity in the muscle is proportional to the amount of energy given to it, so if I see someone’s arm lightly glow, I have a decent chance to guess where they would be moving. I feel that this has incredible combat applications, but unfortunately, I’m too slow to capitalize on such information.” He paused as Yvessa started shaking her head back and forth.

  “That could do wonders for the military! Though… the Essence it takes…” She clearly dismissed the idea. “Never mind.”

  “I had the same thought when I was starting to test these; trust me when I say that I understand where you’re coming from.” Artorian counted on his fingers and nodded, having remembered where he left off. “Now, I know that it might be the thought that adding air Essence would also allow me to see their breathing pattern, adding to this huge pile of information. You’d be right, but the overload on the senses is horrible. Thus, the bucket of water.”

  “I splash myself because the attempts dried my eyes out so badly that if I didn’t fully and immediately hydrate them, I’d regret it again. My previous eyes would not have been able to cycle anything other than refined Essence. After cleaning, my eyes may have been able to handle two, but these newly made eyes can handle all four. I am firmly of the opinion that I skipped a step somewhere. I get splitting headaches now from cycling too long. The information my eyes take in is different than what the rest of my mind can handle.”

  He had to stop, rubbing his closed eyes with his palms. “Still, it’s nothing in comparison to what I see when I apply precise Essence combinations. I have seen a world of violets that shows me designs otherwise invisible. A world clad in nothing but reds that I barely know the words to describe. It’s more pronounced than mere fire Essence; it’s deeper than mere heat—a below red. My vision blurs to gradations of red and blues. Hotter is redder. Coo
ler is bluer. The violets are beyond just color.”

  “There is a… luminescence to the world. All this from differing units of Essence being added and kept in a specific balance. It’s rather costly, as you still need to add exact amounts of Essence for a better effect.” Artorian stopped mid-stride, the pensive beard stroke returning. “Is Essence additive? I have the suspicious thought that it may be.”

  Artorian then realized he was hungry and could also go for something to quench his thirst. He missed the taste and texture of fish and sighed it out loud, “I want fish.”

  Yvessa stopped as he did, having no idea why Artorian suddenly changed the subject to such a degree. A thousand-yard stare into the distance, only to question Essence, then segue straight to fish? That’s where Yvessa knew she’d lost the ancient-looking man. “Alright, old-timer. You’ve satisfied my curiosity. Go home. I’ll bring you something to eat.”

  Artorian perked up, thoughts consumed with the promise of a good meal. “Oh, that would be lovely. Thank you, my dear!”

  He looked around for something, stance puzzled and out of sorts. “Errr. I do believe I’ve lost my bucket.”

  Yvessa rubbed her forehead, slapped her hand on his shoulder, and marched him home. “Come on, skeleton man. You’re skin and bones. Mealtime.”

  Her hand squeezed, and she realized she was wrong. Artorian wasn’t skin and bones like he had been, and only by touching him had she realized it. She just remembered him that way, an old wreck of wrinkles and impoverished movements. His ribs used to be defined and visible, but now, they were no longer. He looked… well. While still a little on the weak side, his frame had bulked up nearly to the point of a young man. There was even some gray coming in at the base of his snowy beard-hair, and his face was considerably smoother. His walking cadence was not the labored step of a ninety-year-old; visually, he now appeared a respectable… sixty.

  “Have you been replacing more than just your eyes?”

  Artorian shook his head ‘no’. “Dear heavens, no. That process was atrocious. I’ve just cleaned myself up and fixed up problems with celestial Essence. It made me feel better than using refined Essence, which just temporarily improved what my body was already doing. Celestial actually patched me up. I have years to go until I get to a nice and healthy state, and I am going to have trouble with what you call meridians.”

  The Acolyte's hand on the old man’s shoulder caused him to relax. “Oh, why is that?”

  As this was something she was struggling with at the moment, she hungered to know more. Having been told in secret that her lifespan would vastly increase—a desperately needed trait for a cultivator—she had sizable interest. Finding the thread of conversation again, Artorian rambled on while looking around on his way home.

  “Vital organs are called vital for a reason. When I had corruption running through those channels, I also became aware of all the densely gathered impurities present in those organs. Take my heart as an example; I can gently scoop it clean out corruption, but that doesn’t account for parts of my heart that have become steeped in it over the years. If I push Essence into the meridian channel that goes to my heart… I am… I believe the impure aspects would be forcibly ejected. In other words, I would have a heart attack just by attempting.”

  “The cleaned portions of my heart have become so bound by Essence that it relies on Essence to continue its primary function rather than what typically regulates it. That is, Essence keeps it steadily beating, keeps me alive. If I fail when opening that particular meridian, the heart attack would force me into such discord… I would lose my trained concentration on my Center. The entire system would collapse in on itself, and just like that—*pop*.”

  “No more Artorian.” He folded his hands behind his back and locked sharp blue eyes with the young priestess. “You won’t have this worry, as your cultivation technique doesn’t have the chance to fracture like mine does. Your only concern is having enough Essence in your system to let it flow through you and allow the binding of your heart to happen. If I had to measure by the corruption in me before, it would take more Essence than you currently have in total to bind all your meridians at once.”

  “So, if you are at all able, find how to stop after only a single or small number of meridians have been affected. I need to speak to someone who knows the right words for this, but the idea remains the same. I’m merely using simpler terms. I believe there’s a difference between what I did to my eyes and what I expect binding meridians does. Somewhere I skipped a step, and I’m paying a price for it. If I could do to my vitals—or body—what I did to my eyes… that would balance things out.” Artorian took a deep breath. “However, if I try that now, it’s just a death sentence.”

  “The amount of Essence it requires is vastly above the maximum amount my organs can hold. If meridians are a middle step that allows one to skirt around this, that would be delightful indeed. I need more data.” He grumbled to himself under his breath. Yvessa opened the door to his abode in the cloister, ushering him in. Without needing to be prompted, Artorian slid on to his bed and pulled close his writing implements. He needed to jot all of this down while it was fresh. He failed to notice Yvessa had left and returned with a full meal until there was a strong nudge in his shoulder and a spoon full of stew in his face.

  “Oh. Stew!”

  Yvessa snorted. “Artorian, for a man with so many options for sight, you’re awfully blind.”

  The old man rubbed his left eye as he scarfed down the offered spoonfuls of well-flavored food. He was so busy eating that he didn’t register her jab. “This sauce is always so flavorful. I do enjoy it. Not to complain, but wasn’t there talk of fish?”

  Yvessa calmly nodded with a flat expression while she got him to eat the full bowl. She took his quill and paper sheets as his hands stopped moving, using a wet corner of the nearby towel to clean his mouth off. She hoisted him properly into a sleeping position on the bed and then tucked the dozing, old man in. If she was going to do anything today, it was making sure this wily academic got proper sleep.

  Even if she had to use Tibbins’ ‘special sauce’ to do it. Tibbins had been growing quite the herb garden and was the cloisters unofficial-but-official cook. He had found his passion in the craft and barely did anything else he didn’t need to if it meant getting more time for his herbs, kitchen, and culinary experiments. Patting the snoozing Artorian on the head, Yvessa noticed he wasn’t wheezing anymore when he slept. Good.

  “You keep getting better, old man. Just keep getting better.” She quietly closed the door behind her and left the snoring body behind. When the door clicked against the frame, Artorian slowly opened an eye and reached under one of his myriad pillows to pull free a small satchel. Chewing on some leafy greenery contained within, he swallowed the bitter antidote to the sleeping draught.

  Pleasantly patting his tummy, he settled down into his bed with a wry little smile. As if he didn’t know what crushed Valerian root tasted like when it was used as a food additive. He’d sleep when he was abyss-well ready! Artorian picked up his neatly stacked pages from the desk. Dipping the quill, he once again began merrily scratching and scribing.

  Today had been a good day. Tomorrow… oh, he had such plans for tomorrow.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Artorian woke late, covered in an abundant pile of messy papers that spanned the area of his immediate reach. Odd. He’d missed hours of cultivation time, and the cloister camp was full of activity. He must have gotten whacked by that powdered root even after taking the antidote. That the mess was still present told him Yvessa had not been by this morning.

  An excellent opportunity to hide the scene of his crime and stack his papers with professional neatness! He hadn't been an academy scribe for nothing back in the day, and he was pleased to see that his script was delicate and impeccable. A little flowery, but who cared so long as it was legible? Artorian snatched the robe off the wall and called it good. The academic felt grimy without his morning wash b
ut decided he would postpone it until he had some clues about the current kerfuffle.

  It took the span of leaving his front door to see wounded priests being carried into the medical section of the cloister. What in the abyss had he missed? Sleeping drugs, how he hated them! Wading through the busy mess of injured people being carted back, he didn’t even get the chance to ask basic questions. His eyes widened at the sight of a captured raider being wrestled down. Even bound, the man was a wild animal. The raider howled like a mad, terrified beast.

  Essence powered punches to the face failed to shut the man up… until his head was bashed against a rock to force unconsciousness. What did these monsters endure to be able to shrug off blows like that?

  “Raiders? Again?” Artorian spun in place and held firm to this particular clue. Asking any of the superiors would put him in the way and may delay needed efforts. No, he had better sources to ask. Breaking into a run that immediately took a toll on his breathing, the blue-robed old man zipped past tents, bursting into the medical section.

  The noisy medical tent had a few priests in it already. Based on the number of cots being dragged in… he had a good hunch there would be more wounded incoming. The Acolyte in charge of restoring the Initiates to good health didn’t have time for him, fully focused on closing an ugly arrow wound that oozed with some slick, crystal clear venom. The Acolyte was sweating, having to wipe the wetness from his forehead with his previously white sleeve. The edges were drenched and bloodied from triage, and he was doing his best to tend to the uncooperative wound.

  The weariness of the thick-bearded man was clear, and the tide of wounded continued to pour in. Artorian advanced and cycled celestial-Essence sight in a hurry, providing his irises a minor golden outline. He learned that the Acolyte was trying to find a balance between purging the venom and healing damaged tissue. Artorian was swift in his words and actions, pressing hands around the wound and ignoring the irritation of the Acolyte.