Then the Earthborn rose up, ascended to the Council themselves, and put to flight all the evil things in the dark. Avalon’s Planetary Lord had passed on, but the Atlanteans felt that his command had now been fulfilled. A small community of exiles on Avalon, they concealed the secret of the Well in preparation for the arrival of the next Solar High King whom, according to the signs, was soon to appear. At that time, the Atlanteans would share the Well with their new lord first, just as the Woadfolk would share the power of the Woadfather-sap tattoos with their new king. It was their duty to ensure that the next Planetary Lord would be in a much better position to protect all seven worlds, and shepherd them into a glorious new age, where they could stand alongside the Earthborn and other races intent on improving the Expanse. But they would keep the Well secret up until the very day their new lord made his or her appearance, all while continuing to test it to determine whether they could guarantee that it was safe for non-Atlantean use.
They rejoiced in the wisdom of their planning, for they did not realize that the former masters of the Council would watch the Expanse burn before they admitted that the Earthborn had profited all races, even themselves, more than their own methods ever had. And thus Avalon had fallen, sealing itself at the last moment to prevent its treasures from being discovered.
Until now.
Now, a new Planetary Lord had risen, chosen by Avalon itself. I had not yet been granted full authority, and I did not have even half the personal power of the Planetary Lord before me, but I had purged the planet of invaders, completed three of Avalon’s Rites, freed a sister world from both Trial and Tumult, and had unlocked two forms of Breaker. On top of that, the Council was a distant memory.
The resurrected Avalonians, Elder Woadfolk, and Atlanteans were all still of the mindset that the coronation should move forward. As tradition dictated, the Atlanteans insisted that I partake of the Well.
I agreed. I was still deciphering the potential within my Woad tattoo and Kingtree, but the truth was that, like Teeth had said, I needed to grab every scrap of power I could.
Provided it was truly power, and not something I couldn’t contain.
We were standing on the shores of Guineve’s lake. For all the talk of ceremony, this ritual was still a private affair. The only parties present were my retinue, Guineve, the Atlantean council and a few select elders from the other two races on Avalon.
And thankfully, they had adjusted the ceremony after hearing my concerns.
I hadn’t gone into a whole lot of detail over them, but I was a little concerned about what would happen to me if I were to gain back all of my memories, despite their earlier assurances that the Well should be safe for my use. There was a lot of recent trauma that I had been blocking out, experiences that still woke me up at night, according to Breena. There had been a few nights where I had night terrors back-to-back, and those nights, the poor fairy didn’t really sleep at all. I was afraid that if my mind completely renewed, all of those memories would come flooding back at once. I would turn into a blubbering, sobbing ball on the ground, and just stay that way. My people couldn’t afford that. Not right now.
To my surprise, the Atlanteans had completely accepted my concerns, even when I kept the details to a minimum. I thought I caught a couple of them nodding knowingly, but the chief scholars had proposed that, since the Well was to be a gift to both Avalon’s Lord and his people, they would add it to a notable body of water, and recommended that I slowly submerge myself in it.
Despite the risk, there were a number of reasons for my being the ideal primary candidate. The first, and least important, was that if this was going to be considered a boon, then allowing someone other than the Planetary Lord to be the first non-Atlantean to use the Well would be a serious breach of etiquette in the eyes of all the resurrected people from another age who were currently inhabiting my planet. The Atlantean council seemed offended by the very idea of someone other than me, their savior and rightful lord, being the first to benefit from their greatest of gifts. It was the same reason that the Woadfolk had insisted on making me the direct recipient of the Woadfather Monarch’s sap. The second reason in favor of my right to be the first to test the Well was my Atlantean bloodline. Avalon and its Rites seemed to be awakening every dormant, relevant bloodline that I possessed, and, well, apparently the ancient Earthborn really got around. That probably wasn’t fair. More accurately—or at least according to Vinclum—my ancient ancestors had loved and had been loved by people from many races, to such an extent that interracial marriages had been common, and children from those marriages had been just as celebrated as pureblooded Earthborn. I suspected that very, very few Earthborn from that period had pure Earth-human DNA, and even fewer cared whether or not they did.
I would have been more skeptical of such open-minded relationships existing if I hadn’t ever stumbled across my sister’s hidden stash of harem, and reverse-harem, romance novels. It really surprised me to find out just how many people entertain the idea of banging vampires, werewolves, humanoid aliens, ghosts, and muscular dragon-men.
Sorry, Teeth asked, but did you just say ‘muscular dragon-men’ and ‘banging’ in the same sentence?
Shit.
Moving on… I thought firmly.
The third reason was that we were being exceedingly careful. The water would be diluted within Guineve’s currently sealed-off lake, Avalon would be monitoring it directly, and Breena would be examining me to make sure I didn’t need any emergency medical attention, with Guineve on standby to help if necessary.
If I got through it without any negative side effects, we planned for Guineve to be the second recipient of the Well’s benefits. But first I had to get through my own ceremony.
I kept quiet and watched the ceremony unfold. It was a simple affair, fortunately. The elder who held the pitcher that contained the Well reverently presented it to Guineve, the Lady of the Mists and the Guardian of Avalon. Guineve waved her hand over the pitcher, casting further spells to determine if the liquid would be safe for Avalon’s use. She nodded in satisfaction over the results and stepped aside to allow the elder to pour the water directly into the same lake that had preserved Breaker’s sheath. I had already used the water once, when I was desperately trying to resurrect hundreds of Atlantean ghosts in the middle of a pitched battle in order to help them flee from the extrademensional belly of a giant monster. Their restoration and escape had been far more noticeable than the color of the water at the time. But, in this much calmer setting, I was able to notice that the liquid of the Well had a striking appearance—a rich, deep blue that was familiar to me in ways I couldn’t immediately recall. It slowly mixed into the water of the lake, and the entire surface began to sway as blue water swirled with clear. Avalon’s distinctive white mist rose from the surface of the lake, mimicking the swirling of the Well water as they integrated.
“Confirming that Atlantean relic has successfully integrated with local water body. No harmful side effects detected. Water appears to have multiple attributes capable of benefiting the cognitive abilities of any creature that comes into contact with it. Avalon’s assessment is that the relic is safe for integrating with the Planetary Lord.”
Several people nearby sighed in relief. I caught mutterings of “well, I mean, we tested it too, but…”
That was all I could catch. I stopped trying to listen and began removing my clothes.
Psst, Breena sent to me. Just need to confirm that you’re okay with Guineve and me being present for this.
What do you mean? I asked, shrugging out of my tunic. It’s kind of late to start worrying about that, isn’t it? You guys are already on medical duty for me.
Yeah, well, I just wanted to make sure, so I could honor my primary body’s totally reasonable, not at all stupid, knee-jerky concerns regarding your personal space. We have your consent for this, right?
Yes, I said slowly, stepping out my pants, but leaving my undershorts on.
For some reason, this felt way less aw
kward now that I had more muscle definition.
Okay, good. Just making sure, she added, and I saw her give me a serious, straight-faced nod as she hovered next to Guineve, who stood with arms crossed,and watched me with a calm, unreadable expression. When I turned my head, the corner of my eye caught sight of Breena flying up and slapping Guineve’s open palm with her own tiny hand.
I’d have to worry about how strongly Stell kept disagreeing with herself later. I returned my thoughts to the ceremony at present and stepped over to the edge of the lake, observing the water as it swayed with the liquid of the Well.
Please don’t step on my hand, the voice said in my mind.
I hesitated briefly, and then stretched out my toe.
Please don’t step on my hand, the voice said again.
I carefully dipped my toe into the colored lake, where a patch of mist marked the Well’s location. Nothing bad happened.
Please don’t step on my hand.
My leg didn’t shrivel up, and my head didn’t begin screaming in agony.
Please don’t step on my hand.
My vision remained clear, and a quick check to my mindscreen didn’t pick up any warnings. Breena didn’t send me any warnings either. So I had to be completely fine.
Please don’t step on my hand.
I looked over the Atlanteans and nodded, signaling that I was choosing to continue with the ceremony. I kneeled down on the bank, scooped up the Well’s water in my hands, and dipped my face in it.
Please don’t step on my hand—please don’t step on my hand—
From its hiding place in my mind, the memory leaped out at my consciousness, jaws stretched wide open.
***
I was back in captivity. My body was broken again and my mind was a wreck of jumbled, painful images that kept trying and failing to process the numerous painful deaths I had experienced.
Today, the Malus members were going to see what drowning did to me. Again.
This time, though, they wanted to see if boiling water would produce a different effect on the resurrection process. They had done that before, too, but instead of just dropping me into a vat while hogtied, they were curious about what would happen if they put me in first, and then added the boiling water afterwards.
I had managed to hear one of the staff asking why they were bothering to do this. Then I caught a second voice telling him to shut up or they might lose their funding. That was the last part of the memory that made any sense at all. The remainder was of me screaming and trying to get away from the opening as they were pouring the scalding water. They hadn’t bothered with binding me up this time, probably because my disability had returned, which meant my movements weren’t much more than erratic flailings. But I had screamed and cried the whole time, trying to escape from the boiling stream as it slowly filled the stone vat. I had no idea why the vat was made of stone, and I had no idea why it had so many porous openings along the side of it. They should have caught that, I thought as I relived the experience, but at the time, I had done little more than blubber and cry and try to get as high above the water as I could. I must have repulsed everyone with my noise, because a local had jumped into the vat with me. She was a little girl, and she had brought a piece of debris with her, so that she could float on it while she talked to me. She told me I was disgusting, and that I was being so loud that the people going through real torture in the other rooms couldn’t sleep. She said that the whole thing was my fault anyway, and as I hung from the porous opening on the vat wall, she got in my face and demanded that I apologize to everyone for being a failure and a cripplehead and for being creepy around all the kids that were also being held there.
No, something in my mind argued as I watched. Untrue. The events were different.
Maybe they were, and maybe they weren’t. All I knew was that I was hanging there by one hand. I didn’t apologize or repent for a single thing the little girl said I did. I just hung there like a pitiful, selfish idiot, and begged her over and over not to step on my hand and make me fall back into the boiling water. She just sighed at me with utter scorn and began to crawl her way back out of the vat. She got out easily, on her own, and said that I was sad, and gross, and that I deserved all of this. I was ashamed, but I didn’t change my behavior. I just hung there, above all the boiling water, begging anyone who would listen not to step on my hand, and to just let me hang there forever.
Damaged memory detected, a neutral voice said in my mind. Trauma caused by memory also detected. Attempting repairs.
My vision grew black, without bringing the drowsiness of sleep. Then my mindscreen suddenly began displaying rows of text.
Trauma from other memories detected.
Trauma from cerebral contaminant detected.
Trauma from genetic tampering detected.
Trauma from cosmic flesh bond tampering detected.
Calculating optimal method for repairs...
Long-term treatment recommended as optimal method for recovery.
Immediate treatment also recommended.
Enacting immediate treatment by reversing genetic tampering regarding suppressed bloodline: Atlantean.
Treatment successful. Stand by for alterations.
The text disappeared after another moment.
Thoughts shifted around in my head.
Please don’t step on my hand, the memory whined again, before it was shuffled away, being filed somewhere else. My thoughts continued to organize, stack themselves into tidy chronological rows.
This fashion of thinking made the holes in my memory so much more obvious.
More snippets of torture that did not quite align with what made sense. For example, why did another prisoner crawl into my chamber and demean me? And why would a little girl have been the one to do that?
Something else must have happened, a part of my mind said, a part that I had not used for thinking since my deaths. Something different than what my pain and grief insist was the truth.
I blinked, realizing that I was still cupping water against my face, and that I could breathe it with no trouble.
I accessed my mindscreen as I harmlessly and inexplicably respirated water through my nostrils.
Use of an Atlantean relic has aided the Challenger in unlocking the remaining secrets of a dormant bloodline. The Challenger’s bloodline, that of the Lesser Atlanteans, has completely unlocked to that of a full-fledged Atlantean. The Atlanteans are known for their nimble bodies and their love for knowledge. As a result, the Challenger’s bonus per Rise pertaining to this bloodline are now +1 Dexterity, +1 Wisdom, and +2 Intelligence. The Challenger retains the earlier bonuses granted to his skills. Furthermore, the Atlanteans were one of the only races capable of breathing both water and air. These benefits are a retroactive improvement to the bonuses granted earlier.
“Congratulations, Lord Earthborn,” one of the Atlantean elders intoned as I lifted my face from the water. “We rejoice to discover a distant kinship with you, and that our gift played a role in helping to awaken it. We hope that it will be a boon to others as well, whatever their heritage.”
I blinked as my mind finished adjusting to the new awareness and processing power it had. Along the edge of my conscious thoughts, a familiar voice echoed its refrain.
Well done. I rage.
I blinked at those words, and the contrast between the two statements.
He bleeds, the voice continued. Crown him. And write love on his arms.
Guineve and Breena looked around suddenly. The Atlanteans all blinked, and the chief elder suddenly bowed toward me.
“Lord Earthborn,” the man said. “Your patron honors us with his command. We rejoice to find that the Destroyer of Hate still lingers among your race.”
“Thank you,” I said uncomfortably, trying to figure out just how I felt about his message.
“This concludes our ceremony, Lord Earthborn,” the Atlantean said with another bow. “We will leave you to process what changes the Well has wrought
.”
But I don’t want to, a part of my mind said in dismay.
I numbly muttered a reply. Guineve and Breena led me away as the rest of the ceremony’s audience retreated.
“Sit down here, Wes,” the raven-haired Guardian of Avalon said gently as she led me over to a large, flat stone by the shore of her lake. “Why don’t you just take a minute and think?”
“Yeah, Wes,” Breena agreed in a slightly nervous tone. “We’re in no hurry today.”
At that moment, I realized they knew. I didn’t know how they knew, but they did. I remembered the night of my first nightmare on Avalon, where Breena and Guineve had both been able to see inside my dream.
Breena was blinking rapidly, with a smile painted on her face. I reached through my mindlink and bond with her, and found both to be entirely blank of feedback.
I sighed and held my face in my hands.
“You both saw,” I whispered.
“Yes, dear Wes,” Guineve said softly, running one of her ivory hands over my shoulder. “We weren’t planning on it. It just happened.”
I should have guessed. Then I realized I really had guessed.
“Was it because of the lake, or…” I trailed off.
“I am not sure, dear Wes,” Guineve replied. “The mists and the lake both give me sight. Once we confirmed the Well was safe, and used it, I found that my sight had expanded. I could feel how the Well had affected you, as well as observe what you saw when you washed yourself with it.” Her expression softened further as she looked at me. Her hand caressed my back gently. “I am sorry,” she added.
“About what?” I asked numbly. The feeling of shame had returned, like I had been caught naked and exposed, and that people had seen something about me they did not like.
“About all of it,” Breena sobbed as her voice cracked. “You weren’t supposed to get hurt like this. We never wanted you to get hurt like this. It’s not fair,” she added, still blinking. “Why did he get hurt like this, Guineve? Why can’t,” she heaved, suddenly choking on too many tears to speak. “Why can’t we help him? Why can’t we stop this from hurting him?”
Lighting Distant Shores (Challenger's Call Book 4) Page 29
