Upon hearing the news, Hen’Darl demanded to see my skills, and then looked at me with something close to resentment. “It took me fifty years to get where you have gotten in a week,” she announced irately. “Granted, some make the journey in three years, but only if they’re willing to spend their days locked away in dark rooms, wasting away to nothing. Regardless, congratulations," she announced, though both her tone and gaze accused me of cheating.
“Wait—you have Class Skills?” I asked, irritated that I hadn’t thought to ask earlier. Of course NPCs would have Class Skills! Furthermore, if they had any insight on how we could gain more, that could be a huge advantage. If everyone could learn Ether… “How do we get those?” I pressed.
Hen’Darl gave me a critical eye. “The same way you acquire any skill. Discipline. Study. Time. Any good parent ensures their children have at least one professional class by the time they’re grown, but it takes more than a passing interest. Class Skills represent a life’s work of dedication and specialization. Unlike Basic Skills, which any child can acquire, Class Skills mark true mastery over a subject. I myself have several: Mage, Dark Seed Savant, and Administrator foremost among them. Each represents years of effort in the guidance and protection of my children.
“I made no jest in detailing the time it has taken me to achieve mastery of the Concentration skill," she went on. “Though it is the primary skill of any mage, those born with a seed are few and far between. Fewer still advance beyond what is required in their daily lives. I have given my life to the protection of Hearthstead, and have gained classes few outside New Halmilibranth even know exist. Forgive me if it stings to see you take it so lightly.”
I broke Mac’s commandment and apologized. “I’m sorry," I told the orc elder. “I had no idea what they entailed. If I could, I would gladly give up my Class Skills in order to be a normal player. I’d like to be able to cast real spells!”
She sighed and shook her head. “No, do not cast away silver simply because others have gold. On that, I shall heed my own advice. We knew players would be different, and that they would grow at speed. I will simply hope we don’t regret this ‘game’ the gods have made.”
I nodded, and we rode in contemplative silence for a while.
“Just how rare is it for someone to be born with a mana seed?” I asked once the tension had eased somewhat.
“One in every two-hundred is the general rule, though half-breeds have better odds. I suppose the gods intended that to make up for a harder life. Some families seem to breed true, seed-wise, but as those families are uniformly wealthy or noble, most believe the elves in New Halmilibranth are open to bribes. Having a child seedborn is a great honor to a family—an honor some might elect to bestow upon themselves. That so many players appear to be seedborn, judged by present company, presages a titanic shift in this world.”
“How do you figure?” I asked, nervous that this “titanic shift” might be something I wouldn’t be party to.
Hen’Darl got a faraway look in her eye and took a deep breath. “First, economically: a mage can be a huge boon to a community, both financially and militarily. Also, spells and buffs can decrease the need for any number of resources, depending on the element. Seedborn can also garner more favor from the gods, given their larger mana reserves.
“My fear,” she continued, face grim, “is that seedborn might become so common they overcome millennia of taboo regarding their use as soldiers. Queens and emperors have long been held to such traditions by the simple scarcity, and thereby the value, of such subjects—and by fear that breaching said taboo would lead others to do the same. But, with Leonald and others already filling their ranks with players, I fear we are about to face such a cataclysm as has not been seen since the time of Luctus. Perhaps it is better that we leave Hearthstead now and make our way into the Boundless, if only to delay what may come.”
“I thought we were already in The Boundless.”
“There is The Boundless, and then there is the Boundless," she responded. “There is much of this world that has never been seen by the people of the Five Kingdoms, so much so that it dwarfs the kingdoms themselves. That is The Boundless—the land as a whole, but also the wild lands outside our ken. What Huth'Ga does is necessary, but fraught with danger.”
Face to face with the consequences of joining a game that was getting harder and harder to remember was a game, I considered the future.
“I don’t wish any harm on the people of Hearthstead, or on any other peaceful people, and I have to think the majority of players feel the same. Regardless, I can tell you that, if it is in my power, I will do whatever I can to see that no harm comes to your people," I proclaimed, made suddenly protective by the orc mage’s wistful tone.
She gave me a sad smile, and purposefully placed her right hand on her left bicep. “May your arm make it so, player. You may be destined to become stronger than any person could hope, but may you also keep the fervor of your youth and the strength of your convictions.”
Something else she had said tickled my mind. “You mentioned a name—Luctus. I’ve heard that name before.”
“Indeed, that item you wear on your hand bears his name, though I doubt its original owner was the Luctus of which I spoke. Although, if a portion of it managed to become a dungeon heart, I could be mistaken.”
She continued, “Luctus of the Grey was one of the First, the peoples who came to The Boundless over seven thousand years ago. He is also known by other names. The Outcast. The Mad Prophet. Godslayer. He authored the book of prophecy I mentioned, and then destroyed nearly every city the First had built. He even razed the Tree. It was only by Unity that the gods were able to seal him from The Boundless, and even then, true Unity had been denied them by the murder of one among them.” Hen’Darl spoke grimly, lips pursed and eyes downcast, much more affected by this 7,000-year-old occurrence than I would have expected.
“We have stories of gods too," I contributed. “The god my family believes in was killed as well, but came back to life three days later.”
“Believes?” Hen’Darl echoed, brows furrowed. “You speak of trust in a god’s aid?”
“Yeah," I responded. “That, and also just belief in his existence.”
“Belief in his existence?” Her confusion morphed to bafflement as we both struggled to find the disconnect. “You mean you aren’t certain your god exists?”
“Well yes, um, no…” I sputtered. “I mean, my parents are. I’m still...”
“Your parents have contracts with a deity, then," she concluded, finally settling on something concrete. “Surely you’ve seen them request miracles.”
“Yeah, of course. We pray every day. All the time. It’s just that we rarely get what we ask for," I admitted.
“Your parents must be in breach, if a god they’ve contracted with ignores their requests.” She looked at me with pity. “You should know that many gods are forgiving, as long as you don’t violate the contract too often or too egregiously. Your parents should find another god when they are ready to try another contract.”
“Oh, they definitely wouldn’t be happy with that suggestion!” I chuckled. “Plus, it’s not like any other religion has a better track record.”
“Religion?” Hen’Darl queried. “I don’t know that word.”
“Religion. You know, a bunch of people who all believe in the same god.”
The blank look returned to her face. “You mean people don’t believe in other’s gods? How do gods garner new contracts?”
“Mostly by parents teaching their kids to worship the same god they do," I replied. “And some by missionary work: people who go teach others about their gods.”
“We do have missionaries.” She nodded, glad to have found some common ground. “How do people see the miracles and still not believe?”
“There really aren’t very many miracles, at least not obvious ones. Someone recovers from an illness or finds a missing wallet. That sort of thing.”
&
nbsp; And then, completely unexpected, Hen’Darl guffawed. I was shocked to see it from the orc elder, but she just kept going. I didn’t understand what was so funny.
“Those are not miracles!” she wheezed, working to catch her breath. “This is a miracle!”
Raising her right hand, she called out to the empty path ahead of us, her ringing voice cutting off the conversations going on around us.
“Kalvah! By our contract and by my right, I request that you demonstrate your power to the uninitiated! Reveal what is hidden! Uncover what is lost!”
Immediately, everything went haywire. My brain attempted to panic as it became unmoored from its comfortable reality, but there was nothing to hold onto, and no state of panic to arrive at. Conceptual thought disappeared, and notions of right or wrong, true and false, simply dissolved. We were left only with what was. The forest looked strange. Not strange, but different somehow. Hen’Darl began to orate.
“Perception is illusion! What you see and what you know are only a veil that covers the world. A veil to protect your mind! A veil to protect your soul! Kalvah has given you the ability to see truth, and she will protect you while you do so!
“Look around you!” she commanded. “Look at your companions! Look at yourself!”
I complied, turning to look over the party. Organism, Animal, Mammal, Elf. I looked at Mac and instantly observed her as all of these things and none of them. Classification doesn’t matter. Classification is perception. Perception is illusion. She was those things and more. Woman, Tall, Smart, Determined. Knowing beyond naming. Naming is classification. Guarded, Empathetic. Aspects of the woman I knew only by instinct.
And then: Role Model, Idol, Object of Worship.
I flinched away instinctively from the thoughts I habitually avoided, but there was no pain this time. No embarrassment. It all simply was. I did worship Mac, but even as I acknowledged the fact, she became both less and more. Crass. Bossy. Stubborn. Impulsive. It was as if I had been interacting with a two-dimensional image of my friend, and now she was 3D.
And she was my friend, I realized in a flash. She met the qualifications. She wasn’t perfect, and I wasn’t perfect, but we enjoyed each other’s company and had developed an astonishing amount of trust between us. I wondered at the simple logic of it, and at how I could miss a fact that was so blatantly obvious. Wonder led me back to myself.
Perception was illusion, and the perception I had of myself shattered into a million pieces under scrutiny. Suddenly I could see through the self-doubt, and the fear, and the loneliness, and the loathing, all of which had built up around me over my seventeen years of life. And I was… okay. I wasn’t anything particularly special, but pieces of me were. Some pieces of me were incredible. Sure, some were less than desirable, but others?
Just as Mac had burst from a caricature into three-dimensional life, the understanding I had of myself did the same. Suddenly, I understood how much damage I had done to others, especially as I worked to push them away. And, without the burden of low self-esteem, I could finally see the good I had done as well. I was smart, and clever, and cared ferociously about others. And other people loved me. So much of the damage I had done in the world was caused by simply not realizing that fact. I had been too busy hating myself to see it.
The hatred was dissolving too though, as I began to see through the lies I had told myself about myself—and that I had accepted from others. The self-loathing fell away. Those secret depths I had always refused to acknowledge, those secrets I’d never had the strength to tell, were violently exposed, and I survived it. I had been hanging onto a ledge without realizing the ground was right under my feet.
Once I had plumbed the depths of my own psyche, my understanding moved outward. I understood where I was, and how small I was, and how insignificant. A brain. In a game. On a planet. In an endless void. Thoughts that might once have made me feel small actually began to do the opposite. My problems were small too, and the enormous differences I had perceived between myself and others vanished completely with distance. I was alone in infinity, but was connected to everything.
I was… Okay.
My consciousness began to settle back into reality, but my body continued to hum as if it was somehow aware of where it was and where it would be simultaneously. It was as if it existed in a field of possibility.
The feeling of calm acceptance remained, but as emotion began to return, I found myself weeping quietly. The others around me were doing the same, including Hen’Darl. Living life locked inside our individual perceptions was a crushing force we had lived with, unknowing, our entire lives, and being free for an instant had been the sweetest release imaginable. We looked at each other with complete acceptance, and received the same in return. Varba and Slynx dismounted and simply stared into each other’s eyes, hand-in-hand, before moving to join the others.
As I watched the members of the party—my party—move together to touch arms and hands and exchange long looks of understanding, doubt began to blossom again in my mind and curdle in my belly. The spell was fading, but the doubt wasn’t strong enough yet to hide what was.
This was my group.
These were my friends.
I dismounted as well, and everyone turned to me to welcome me into the huddle. I knew not everyone was pleased with me, and I knew I’d screwed up in the past, but that knowledge was still tempered by the afterglow of whatever Hen’Darl had done to us. I was okay.
But my discomfort continued to mount, and the afterglow continued to fade. I knew what I had to do, and I knew if I didn’t do it then it might never happen. It was there at the center of it all: the doubt, the fear, the loathing. I had to pull the sliver out, or I would never be able to heal.
“Guys,” I faltered, gaze glued to my feet, “I’m gay.”
Chapter 28
There it was. It was finally out there, just in time for each insecurity to slot itself back into place. I’d leapt off a ledge I’d wavered on for the better part of my life, and my stomach climbed into my throat as the ground beneath me disappeared.
Katz snorted derisively, immediately dispelling the reverent atmosphere. The others shook themselves as if waking from a dream.
“That’s what all the sulking has been about?” Varba cackled, rolling her eyes. “Good lord!”
“Well, Mara,” Slynx grinned, “you called it.”
Dismayed, I turned to Mac for an explanation.
“You’ll have to forgive them, Zen. They have a hard time comprehending the mindfuck we religious types go through. Honestly, it’s a complete non-issue for them.”
“How did you know I was religious?” I asked, like that’s what I was really worried about. It was most definitely not a non-issue to me!
“Blushing, refusing to swear, always looking away when things get racy," she ticked off. “I’ve been there. Seventh-day Adventist, personally, but it’s been years. I’m guessing something equally restrictive for you.”
“Mormon," I admitted.
“Ah," she confirmed. “Your family must have been in it!”
“Is currently," I corrected. “They’re currently ‘in it.’” It felt dishonest not admitting my own involvement, but in the face of sympathetic looks from the others, it was just a bridge too far. I honestly didn’t know what I believed just then anyway. My real life just seemed too far away, and after what had just happened...
I turned to face Hen’Darl. “What was that?!” I exclaimed, feeling foolish and eager to change subjects.
“That,” she announced, with an incredibly smug look, “was a miracle.”
“Again! Again!” Varba crowed, clapping her hands and bouncing on her toes in imitation of childish enthusiasm.
Hen’Darl grinned broadly, showing an obscene amount of tusk. “That is precisely the reaction a god aims for. If a miracle stirs something within those that witness it, the deity may gain adherents and garner new contracts.”
“Is it always like that? That… intense?” Mac ventu
red.
“No," Hen’Darl admitted. “It appears Kalvah found you six worth impressing. Never have I witnessed such a display of her power to the uninitiated. It varies from deity to deity as well. Some have more adherents or more onerous contracts, and thereby work stronger miracles. Kalvah is the goddess of revealed secrets and clear vision. She is not normally considered to be among the most powerful of the gods, but her guidance has been a gift to myself and to Hearthstead. She has done us the great service of unclouding the eyes of those suffering from crippling doubt, as well as setting to rights those of us whose opinions of themselves have gotten… outsized. For me personally, well, a mother must see clearly to guide her children, and Kalvah has ever aided me in doing so.”
“You flatter me, old friend," proclaimed a voice from behind us.
As one, we spun, surprised that someone had been able to get so close without being seen.
“As if flattering you were possible!” Hen’Darl scoffed, before dismounting and placing a hand to her heart, bowing low. In spite of the formality, she smiled warmly throughout. “You honor us with your presence, Lady.”
I sized the newcomer up, perplexed. He wasn’t a lady. In fact, he might have been the furthest case from womanhood I could imagine. Tall and broadly muscular, he grinned down at me with perfect teeth in a perfect face. Stubble, thick brows, and a fierce, challenging gaze. The perfect picture of idealized masculinity. This is what Mjorn could only have aspired to be—what he had aspired to be—before I’d escaped the effects of his seduction; however, instead of easy confidence, this man almost palpably oozed condescension.
He was perfect, and his perfection made him unassailable.
My reaction to him was the most visceral thing I’d ever experienced. Just looking at him plunged me into the deepest recesses of my self-doubt. This is what I should be. This is a real man. I was just something broken: craven and debased compared to him. And yet my body was reacting to his, and I began to hunger for him in a way that was entirely consumptive. I needed his approval, his love. I needed to devour him, and be devoured by him.
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