“Did it ever happen to any of the other Challengers?” the other fairy inquired.
“Ugh,” Breena said. “Don’t get me started on how different Wes is from all the others. They all had their quirks, but it was just one or two, Petal. I wasn’t constantly having a new issue creep up like every single day.”
“Well,” Petal replied. “At least one of the ways he is different allowed him to save my life.”
“Yeah, I know,” Breena replied, much more softly. “I just hope he’s okay. Hold on, I’m detecting some awareness from him. He might be waking up.”
I finally realized that I still had my eyes closed, and blinked them open. Breena sighed in relief.
“He’s back. Hi, Wes. How are you feeling?”
“I think I’m okay,” I answered slowly, shaking my head and trying to figure out what had just happened. “My mindscreen is still processing a few more changes. And I got another vision that I don’t know whether it was real.”
“Did anything… try to happen?” Breena asked carefully.
“I’m gonna go check on everyone else,” Petalbell spoke up, realizing Breena probably wanted to talk to me privately, and evidently forgetting that my own fairy could do so through the mindlink. “Glad you’re okay, Wes.”
“Thanks,” I said as she floated away.
She does know she doesn’t have to leave for us to talk privately, right?
It’s a fairy thing, Wes, Breena muttered back in my mind. I would make sure she and Breyn had enough space as well. But let me check and make sure nothing tried to kill you again.
It shouldn’t have, I answered her. The vision said I broke that function. Let me check my mindscreen further.
I pulled up my mindscreen and began to read the new notes, once again marveling at the updates.
The process of Rising has allowed the Challenger to finish absorbing power gained from Blood magic and his dragon bond. The Challenger has gained a total of 30 points in both Strength and Constitution. Senses have been further enhanced.
Proximity to awakened Atlantean energy has partially unlocked another of the Challenger’s bloodlines, that of the Lesser Atlanteans, more commonly known as the Oceanfolk. The Oceanfolk are known for their inquisitive minds and agile bodies, granting them an additional point per Rise in both Dexterity and Intelligence. Sailing, Swimming, and knowledge-related skills such as Ancient History and Basic Science come easily to them, granting them an additional point per Rise in all three categories. Like the inhabitants of every civilized world, the Oceanfolk also have a notable warrior tradition and are skilled in one-handed blades and polearms, granting them a point per Rise to assign in either weapon skill. These benefits are retroactive.
“Wow,” I said out loud. “Skill-wise, that’s the biggest gain I’ve gotten yet from a bloodline.”
“Yeah,” Breena said, as she ran her own magical analysis. “Though, sailing and swimming are so necessary for the Oceanfolk, it’s actually harder for them to not learn the skills than to use them every day. Even on the mainlands, interacting with water is that crucial. But it looks like you’ve been learning a lot of forest-related skills as well, since taking the Woadtattoo. Look further down on your skills.”
I pulled up my mindscreen to see if she was right, and, well... she was. Also, holy crap that was a lot of gains…
Wes Malcolm
Origin: Earthborn (Dusk Era), Avalonian (Challenger), Woadfolk (Elder). Oceanfolk. Other bloodlines unknown
Rise Level: 25th Rise (Candle)
20 spare skill points
16 spare Rise points
Saga: Unconquered Hero
Act 2: Unbowed Bones. +5 Con, Will, Str. General resistance to crushing damage and pressure-based attacks
Strength:350
Dexterity:343
Constitution:352
Intelligence:347
Wisdom:321
Charisma:332
Speed:397
Deftness:393
Wits:365
Will:488
Paths: War, Kings, Archmage
Skills (averaged): Weapons (30), Ideal Magic (30), Saga Magic (30) Misc Skills (20)
Profession: Leader (Rank: Noble)
Art: War (Newly Gained)
Science: Forming
Craft: Forming
Teeth, what the hell? I directed at my dragon half. We probably could have taken Raw-Maw with these stats.
I was only slightly weaker than I had been back then, when I had been fully augmented by my entire team and was using both enhanced forms.
Almost, the new guy half-agreed. But you’re forgetting that even then, he still would have beaten you without Guineve’s help and the rest of your people coming in at the last minute.
What’s up with our Strength and Will growing so much? I persisted.
I think your Will gained some kind of bonus from a Challenger-Lord-hybrid-thingy, and from successfully dealing with eldritch tentacle horrors. Our Strength and Constitution increased so much because we ate a dragonling that was just as strong as we were, and we did it over thirty times. Speaking of which, FNG added, sounding uncomfortable, I know I said dragons could eat anything, especially other dragons… but I’m kinda full.
Good, I thought firmly. Because this whole cannibalism thing has been immensely disturbing for me. I’m happy to hear that you’re not going to make me eat that giant sea serpent outside.
No, wait, Teeth said desperately. Hear me out. We still need to eat him. Not doing that would be crazy.
I tuned him out. We had things to get done, and I just wasn’t in the mood. Breena was still reading the results of her divination magic.
“Yeah, you’re all good,” she said cautiously. “I think. No signs of a near hemorrhage, and nothing looks like a bomb tried to go off in your head. Your brain is doing a better job of handling all these massive gains every Rise, instead of almost turning into a spaghetti milkshake again,” she shook her head slowly. “You still need to process some of that scary stuff I heard during the Rite, though,” she finished firmly.
“Yeah,” I said, swallowing. “I’ll definitely do that. But let me look around for now. I’d like to see what’s inside this place.”
Breena still looked worried, but she floated around to give me room to stand up.
“Mister King?” A familiar voice called out to me.
I turned to look at the ghost that had spoken to us throughout our travels within this watery graveyard. The little boy was back, with his white hair and his light blue skin, but now that I studied him more closely, I realized his body was older than I had initially thought, probably closer to nine or ten. That put him between Sam and Gabby’s age, I realized, if I decided not to count the thousands or millions of years that he’d been imprisoned down here.
“Hi, little guy,” I said gently. “Are you back for good now?”
He nodded.
“I can think again. And I got to come back. Thank you, Mister King.”
“You’re welcome,” I replied. “Can you tell me your name?”
He nodded again, happily.
“I can, as soon as I remember it,” he replied cheerfully. “Some of us are coming back. We don’t remember everything yet, but that’s okay. We wrote everything down,” he pointed to a nearby bookshelf. “My name is in there.”
He traced some symbols into the air and jerked his finger in a beckoning motion. A hard-backed book near the very top of the shelf floated out and drifted to his hand. He grinned when he noticed my shock. “That’s right,” he said with a smile. “We made magic to call books to us. We liked to sculpt and paint and sing, but books were the best. No one can say you’re too loud or too messy when you’re reading a book.”
Those people probably were never around my sister Rachel when she read, I thought. But the little boy’s face lit up even more when he began reading the book.
“Markhen,” he said out loud. “My name is Markhen. See?” he turned the book toward us. “It says this boo
k was written by Markhen, and I remember writing this book,” His teeth were shining in the blue light of this room. “Now I can remember that my name was Markhen, because I wrote a book!”
He held the book out toward me. Its pages were filled with bright, colorful drawings. My mindscreen was still translating the words, but from the pictures, I could make out that the story was about a hungry baby fish that kept growing and eating until it was a giant, smiling dolphin that was friends with all the other fish. I’d have to read the rest of the book to get the full details.
“That’s great, Markhen,” I decided to say. “Did the rest of your people come back, too?”
“Some of them,” the little boy said sadly. “The others will be coming soon. But the monster outside swallowed up many of us. Will you go get them, too, Mister King?”
“I don’t know if I can save people that have already been eaten,” I said cautiously. “But I can certainly try…”
That had apparently been enough. Markhen gave me a teary-eyed smile and began shaking my hand furiously.
“Thank you, Mister King! Thank you! Let me show you everything else here!”
With that, the little boy began dragging me down the halls of this massive library. I passed other Atlanteans, some in scholarly robes, others outfitted in the shining shell-mail and holding long spears with icy blue spearheads. They nodded gratefully at me, but seemed content to let Markhen play tour guide, greeter, and diplomat. As soon as they offered the requisite pleasantries, they went back to rummaging through the library, summoning books and reading furiously.
“This is where we wrote the words, Mister King,” Markhen said, still pulling on my sleeve. “We did more than write words, because books can’t teach everything, but they can teach the most things, so we wrote words the most. These are all the words we could take with us, though. We lost most of them when Atlantis fell, and then the monster outside ate everything we couldn’t bring in here. But the elders always said that our people should save everything we could, in case a day came when someone else asked a question that we weren’t around to answer. So we wrote books, and painted pictures, and sang songs. I’m going to show you where we painted all the pictures next, because you can’t keep songs in anything but other books and pictures.”
“That’s very true,” I acknowledged, and kept walking as the little boy continued to tow me by my sleeve. Breena giggled behind me.
I like him, she sent delightedly.
At some point, the bookshelves gave way to display cases and walls filled with paintings. The cases had some form of blue-tinted glass to protect the artifacts inside. I saw all manner of objects displayed on their shelves. Exquisite bracelets and necklaces. Stone tablets. Curved daggers with jeweled scabbards. Pottery intricately painted with scenes I could spend hours unraveling.
“This was harder than books,” the little boy said sadly. “Books can be stacked and stacked and stuffed full of important words. But it’s hard to save everything else that tells a story. You have to decide what story it tells, and then you have to decide if you need that painting or pot to make sure people in the future will still know the story. And then you have to decide if that pot or painting or thing is even good at telling its story to begin with. The elders had so many discussions about what we should keep down here. In the end, we divided everything into two places. This place has things people can learn from by looking at them. But over there,” he pointed to what was evidently an inner alcove, blue pillars surrounding a small shrine, “are things that people can use, to make more stories.”
Breaker hummed as I approached, and the pillars hummed back in response.
“The elders said this place was for the Lord of Avalon. He could use the things in here to help with the stories he would make.”
The floor glowed with the same blue light I had seen earlier. I walked into the circular shrine and swept my eyes around the room.
The chamber looked small in contrast to the giant cavern outside, but it had to have a diameter of at least thirty feet. More display cases formed semi-circular rows, with interspersed aisles leading to the center. Some held massive sections of parchments, others displayed what I assumed to be ink and writing utensils, while still others appeared to be fully written texts that the Atlanteans must have offered the Planetary Lord directly, to aid him in making informed decisions. Beyond that were cases containing bars of metal, cases heaped with piles of minted coins, cases overflowing with sparkling gems, even a case stocked with bandages and surgery equipment.
“We knew we couldn’t think of everything,” Markhen explained. “But we wanted to try. So we gave books we thought you might need to read, and blank books in case you needed to write for yourself. We also kept tools to help with healing, in case you got sick, or were a healer that wanted to use them.”
“That’s sweet,” Breena replied. “So far, magic has worked better than actual surgery on you, but you never know. I’ll have to take a look at the supplies.”
I had a brief image of Breena flying over my head and trying to cut open my brain, and flinched.
Can we hide those? Teeth spoke up. Because I feel like we need to hide those. Right now.
“But since we didn’t know what the others gave you, we tried to give you a little bit of everything,” Markhan continued. “Mostly, though, we thought you might need tools of war,” he added somberly, pointing outward.
The interior sides of the massive pillars had been hollowed out in a fashion that prevented them from being seen without facing back toward the library. Racks upon racks of armor, shields, spears, and blades rested within the niches, much like those the Woadfolk had offered me from the room of their Rite.
“That’s supposed to be for your army,” the blue child continued. “But the elders said that even though you would probably have Breaker, we should also offer a weapon for you, since kings are supposed to kill monsters. It’s in the middle, with the other things you might need to help you fight.”
The encircling rows of cases and columns ended. In the very center of the rotunda was a low slab of blue stone that was several feet across. The platform served to display more armor, composed of shell-mail and lined with the leather hide of some sea beast. It looked like it would fit well over my light green Woad mail and provide another layer of protection.
Floating enigmatically above the stone bed was the most beautiful polearm I had ever seen. The shaft was at least eight feet long, glittering with a shimmering, silvery patina. On one end of the shaft was a small spike, no more than six inches long. I could use it for stabbing in a pinch, or brace it into the ground if necessity demanded it. The other end of the weapon had an icy-blue axe blade, complete with a back hook, and a long spear point jutting from the top. The blade wasn’t quite as large as Toirneach’s, but I could grip it easily with two hands, which would allow me to put some serious power behind my swings. I could also stab with the spearhead, or use the hook to cleave through armor.
Poleaxe, I told myself. The weapon was technically called a poleaxe, since a halberd was much longer.
“Our masters and teachers worked hard on this,” Markhen said with a bit of pride. “It might not be better than Breaker, but we made it to do things Breaker couldn’t. You’ll see when you pick it up.”
I reached for the poleaxe, but the weapon floated into my hands.
“Yay!” the little boy shouted gleefully. “It recognizes you!”
“Were you guys really worried about that?” Breena asked, curious.
“The masters were worried about everything,” Markhen answered. “My brother said they didn’t sleep enough when they were making it.
Still holding the polearm in one hand, I moved it cautiously through the air, checking its weight. The weapon felt like a perfect replacement to my broken militia spear, and filled a crucial gap in my belt of murder tools. It definitely wouldn’t replace Toirneach or either of Breaker’s forms, but I didn’t need it to. I needed something for times when I had to kee
p my foes just out of arm’s reach, but couldn’t afford to throw or shoot something at them.
Hopefully, the axeblade wouldn’t ever get in the way of the spearhead if I needed to use it exclusively for stabbing in combat.
But as soon as that thought crossed my mind, the weapon began to make cracking noises. I gripped its shaft with both hands and held it away from Breena and Markhem. The cracking noise came from the axehead, and as I watched, both the axehead and hook melted as if they were made of ice. The liquid crawled upward, over the spearhead at the top, then began cracking again. The shaft in my hands suddenly softened, as if it were made of clay, then stretched.
The next moment, the pole had grown another two feet, into a ten-foot pike with a longer, wider spearblade.
“It changes?” I exclaimed in delight. “Like a frosted murder multi-tool?”
“That’s the idea,” the little boy agreed cheerfully. “The problem with spears is that sometimes they’re too long, and sometimes they’re too short. And sometimes you need a different kind of spearhead,” he continued. “And we didn’t think we should make you a whole bunch of different spearheads, so we came up with magic that could do that,” he finished proudly. “The pole won’t shrink any shorter than six feet, but you can have it take on any head you need! You can even have it turn into a long quarterstaff if you want to avoid stabbing, chopping, or crushing anyone.” he looked around nervously. “Just don’t hit anyone too hard, though, because my brother said you could still knock someone’s head off with it.”
“How do you know so much about all of this?” I asked, speculating that it was unlikely for the Atlanteans to have invited children to collaborate on their weapon projects. Markhen just shrugged.
“My uncle was one of the craftsmen, and my aunt was one of the enchanters. My brother was a soldier, and he taught me the drills.” He looked down, crestfallen. “I wish my brother had made it inside.” He looked back at me, hopeful again. “You said you’d try to save him? That you’d slay the beast outside?”
Lighting Distant Shores (Challenger's Call Book 4) Page 24
