Victor of Tucson

When the last of the ivid had disappeared into the vast, gaping hole in the side of the hill, Lesh said, “We should wait. If they’re anything like the Kothids, the warriors will take time to settle and move back to their nooks and crannies.” When Victor nodded, Lesh produced a leather-topped camp stool and sat down. Victor and Valla had their own camp furniture, hers an upholstered, fancy chair, his a sturdy wooden one. Soon, they were all three seated, sipping at canteens, looking through Farscribe books, or, in Victor’s case, just staring at the weird yellow sky and the scattered, wispy clouds.

“Valla,” Lesh rumbled, breaking the quiet. “Tell me about your new Class.”

Valla looked up from her book, smiling. “I chose one that improves my mental attributes in hopes of offsetting my focus on martial ones for most of my life. The System said it was a Class derived from the ‘memories of my progenitors,’ whatever that means.”

“It means you’ve awakened enough of your bloodline for the System to delve into hidden memories, finding the secrets of their ancient bond with Energy.” Lesh always sounded a little pissed off when he mentioned the System, and Victor knew why. The big, scaly man felt he’d gotten a raw deal with the System’s quest to hunt Victor down, but more, he felt like his people had been borderline persecuted by the System and the favoritism it showed other species of “dragonkin,” which seemed to be a pretty broad category of peoples. “What is it called, if I may ask?”

Victor almost answered for her, but Lesh’s wording stopped him; he supposed it was possible that Valla didn’t want everyone to know. His caution was needless—she replied almost immediately, “Storm Dancer.”

Lesh made an approving sound deep in his chest that sounded almost like a purr. “Legendary?”

“Epic.”

“I believe that was wise of you. Your sword skill is already quite masterful, and improving your casting ability will prove invaluable. I chose a different route; toughness and brute power have been the focus of my Classes for many tiers, though I begin to wonder if I will ever see a proper pathway to the glory of my dragon ancestors.”

Thinking of Tes, Victor said, “I’m not sure dragons ever submitted to the System. Aren’t they still kind of doing things their own way?” He didn’t want to mention that he’d tasted, even used, the elder magic of a dragon.

“Indeed, so the legends say. Ashenshoal saw its last true dragon four thousand years before I was born.”

Victor made a vague gesture, trying to indicate the world or greater universe. “And you’ve never met one from another world?”

Lesh chuckled. “Nay, battle-brother. If one visited my world, I wasn’t told. If one traversed the worlds I passed through, I was not made aware. No, when I saw that Death Caster’s skeletal mount, it was the first time I laid eyes upon one of my ancestors, well, her bones at least.”

“It was a female?” Valla asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Certainly. Her hipbones and delicate crown of horns gave her away.”

“Delicate?” Victor snorted. Lesh’s reptilian eyes narrowed, and Victor held up his hand in surrender. “I’ll take your word for it.” He tried to move the subject back to elder magic because he selfishly wondered what Lesh knew. “If dragons don’t use the System, do you worry about using System Classes and System skills and spells? Do you think it will make it hard to evolve your species?”

“No. It will not stop me. If I can evolve my bloodline sufficiently and find the System’s rules and guideposts are hindering me, I will learn what I must to break free.”

“I guess a dragon, one who uses elder magic, might help you at that point, yeah?”

Lesh shrugged. “I have no idea. Our histories indicate that dragons are as varied as any other people—some might help me, while others may be just as happy to slay me.”

Victor desperately wanted to mention Tes, explain what she was, and describe how helpful she was. He wanted to give Lesh some hope, but he also wanted to keep Tes’s trust. He held his tongue. Instead, he asked, “Ever met any other elder race? Ever met anyone using elder magic?” His question got him a look from Valla; she knew about his run-in with the System when he’d used Elder magic to modify his spirit totem spell.

“There are those on Ashenshoal who dabble with the old texts, attempting to develop their abilities outside the System. They are stunted and weak. What we know is too little. Perhaps if I ever meet a true practitioner, I can learn to throw off the System’s shackles.”

“You think the System limits us?” Victor found himself nodding. Before Lesh could answer, he elaborated, “I think the System gains something from us as we grow in power. So, I think it helps us gain strength, but I also think it likes to do it systematically.” He emphasized “systematically,” grinning. “I think it wants us to grow stronger so we gather more Energy, but I think it also wants to control us and keep us on a certain path, or, maybe more accurately, away from certain paths.” He could still hear and feel the anger in the System’s messages when he’d built his Wild Totem spell, coloring outside the lines with Elder magic.

“Aye. I think you’re getting to the truth of the matter. True dragons and others outside the System give it nothing. Hence, they are isolated, removed from the System’s portal network . . .”

“They don’t care, though,” Victor laughed, interrupting him. “They can open their own gateways, and I think they even have a presence on System worlds, sometimes. I heard things when I was on Zaafor, stories from a powerful friend.” Victor looked at Valla, wondering if he should just talk openly about Tes. He’d promised her to keep quiet about true nature, but Lesh only wanted to befriend dragons, to become one, even. Surely, he wasn’t a threat. Victor shook his head. A promise was a promise.

“Good! Perhaps when we return to Sojourn, I can do some looking around. I’d hoped to have more time in that city.”

Valla stood up, brushing her hands together. “Speaking of returning to Sojourn, let’s start walking. By the time we get to the tunnel, I’m sure they’ll be settled, don’t you think?”

Lesh stood also, nodding. “Yes. If we take our time.”

“All right. No Guapo, then. Let’s just walk.” He stood, sending his chair into storage, and led the way. As Valla hurried to walk beside him, he turned to Lesh and asked another question he’d been wondering about. “Do you want to trade secrets about breath Cores? Maybe we could give each other some pointers about cultivating and, well, breathing.”

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“I will share what I know, Victor. I would not pledge to follow you and then withhold knowledge that may aid you.” His words made Victor feel all the more guilty for not telling him about Tes and what he knew of dragons, but no matter the loyalty he owed Lesh, he also owed Tes. He’d have to find another way to broach the subject, teach him what he knew of elder magic, and see if the two of them could expand Victor’s current understanding. He might not need it now, might not even need it for another hundred levels or more, but someday, if he genuinely wanted to grasp the greatness of his ancestors, if he wanted to be his own man and a true power in the universe, he’d need to learn to go outside the System’s guide rails.

#

“Darren Whitehorse, I am pleased that you’ve decided to undergo evaluation by the Genesis Order. I am K-eight, and I will be responsible for determining if you are a suitable candidate for the knowledge you seek.”

“Thank you, K-eight.” Darren smiled at the floating light. It looked identical to Y-seven, but this one had a voice that sounded more like it was coming from a flute than a human throat, and certainly neither male nor female. Y-seven had left him shortly after divining his affinities, saying that he wasn’t of appropriate status to evaluate Darren’s “character.” He’d only waited an hour or so, but it had been long enough for Darren to wonder if he’d made a mistake. He was interested in the most powerful Core he could develop, certainly, but who were these lights with their rules and standards? Who were they to judge his character?

“Darren Whitehorse . . .”

“Just Darren is fine.”

“Ah, yes. Thank you, Darren. I have the ability to see into your memories and to listen to your current, active thoughts. I would never do so without permission, and though you’ve asked to be evaluated by my order, I have yet to begin. I wanted to ensure that such an invasive inspection would not offend you.”

Darren’s palms had grown clammy at the mention of mind reading, and he felt himself bristling. “I, um, I don’t think that sounds very good. Is there any way to evaluate me without you seeing all of my private memories?” He scrambled for some sort of justification for balking. “You see, in my culture, individual freedom is valued very highly, and having someone see our private thoughts and cherished personal experiences feels very invasive, very oppressive.”

“I see. The Genesis Center is provided freely to the citizens of Sojourn. My order is funded by wealthy donors, and we provide basic knowledge to anyone without question of loyalty or morality. Some of our knowledge, however, is recognized as dangerous, and our services come with the responsibility of guarding it from those whose morality is antithetical to our order. I must, therefore, inform you that I am not at liberty to waive these restrictions. If you do not pass a thorough assessment, I am limited in what I can teach you.”

“If you deem me unfit, what will happen?”

“If such should happen, then Y-seven will return and offer you what services we can approve. If you are unhappy with those offerings, you are free to leave and seek knowledge elsewhere.”

“Well. All right, then. I suppose I’ve nothing to lose . . .” Darren’s voice trailed off as K-eight began to glow with a soft yellow luminescence, and he felt a weird, tingling sensation all over his scalp. Rainbow lights danced in his eyes, and unbidden, all sorts of memories came to mind. He watched himself showing his secondary-school grade report to his father, watched his father have a meltdown, and later, bribe Professor Renfield to allow Darren to submit corrections on his term paper. He watched himself having a screaming match with his first wife and, later, log into her socials to post humiliating photos. Shame flared, hot and uncomfortable, and he said, pitifully, “We married young, and I was stupid . . .”

Another string of memories came into focus: memories of his time working at Charter Logistics, snippets of all the times he’d pretended to befriend colleagues only to undermine them later with management. The flood of memories was so dense that Darren felt himself reeling, dazed by the avalanche of backstabbing. Was he truly so bad? Before he could object or try to defend his actions, more memories streamed through his mind, horrible, uncomfortable recollections, and almost all of them had to do with being dishonest or disloyal. He was constantly looking to advance, and he’d never considered the fallout his words and actions might have on the people who trusted him.

When the memories became more current and relevant—his many political interactions in First Landing—things didn’t improve. Looking in on those memories did nothing but deepen Darren’s shame and self-loathing. When K-eight finished with him, he was on his knees, head drooping, hot shame flushing the back of his neck as his hands and armpits produced an uncomfortable sheen of cold sweat. “Darren Whitehorse, I apologize for the discomfort you’ve been through. Such memories can be painful when witnessed all together. At this time, I’m afraid the knowledge we are willing to impart will be limited. Please be patient, and Y-seven will be with you again soon.”

Darren blinked slowly, trying to breathe deeply, trying to banish all of those shameful memories. He felt defeated, ruined. He hated himself; it was the feeling after Victor’s demonstration all over again, only this time, he had nowhere to run. He was alone in the crystal pod-like room with no doors. His voice thick with emotion and the constriction of his throat, he spoke into the silence. “I am ready to leave. Please open the door or whatever.” He wanted out. He wanted to flee. He wanted to forget what he’d been forced to remember. Darren stood, walked up to the smooth crystal wall, and began to pound on it. “Open up, please! I want to leave!”

Y-seven’s voice sounded behind him, and he whirled to face the floating, glowing, misty orb. “Darren, you have my sympathies. I am unable to teach you that which you requested, but there are other options . . .”

“No. If I’m not good enough for your order, I’d like to leave.” Darren’s indignation slid on like a comfortable old glove, filling the void left by his demolished pride.

“It’s not a matter of whether you are good enough, Darren. Rather, we want to ensure we don’t give harmful knowledge to someone with the wrong temperament. This is not a permanent decision. If you can live your life well and build your character, we will re-evaluate you—as many times as you’d like to try. Darren, K-eight informed me that you are relatively young. You have many years ahead of you in which to improve yourself. If you returned in ten years, after having . . .”

“Ten years?” Darren’s question was more of an exclamation. “Please show me out, Y-seven.”

“Would you not like help forming a Core? You have several affinities that K-eight deemed safe . . .”

“No. If you won’t help me, I’ll find the answer elsewhere.”

“As you wish, Darren. Please be cautious.” Y-seven didn’t elaborate on the kind of caution he should have, but Darren could guess there were probably several meanings behind the words. Y-seven’s glowing, misty form drifted past him into a tunnel that hadn’t been there a moment before, and Darren sullenly followed him out. When they reached the vaulted crystal cavern that made up the entrance hall, Y-seven paused and spoke again. “Please return if you change your mind, Darren. If you allow us to help you form a Core, it will be for your growth, and it will be something we can build upon when you’ve proven yourself worthy.”

Darren didn’t reply. He was too angry—angry at himself and at Y-seven and K-eight and the stupid system they’d set up that would judge a person based on the hardships they’d faced in life. Who was K-eight to decide Darren’s actions were immoral or “showed poor character?” He hadn’t been in Darren’s shoes. He hadn’t had to deal with the demands of an overbearing father, of a society that expected so much! Was it Darren’s fault he’d had the odds stacked against him most of his life? It wasn’t easy getting where he was! It hadn’t been easy gaining the support of nearly half the colony on Fanwath! Was it his fault he hadn’t known the absurd truth of Energy, levels, and wild, mythical races?

“Bah!” Darren growled as he shoved the door open and stepped outside. His thoughts and his guilty feelings were bouncing all over the place, and he tried to calm them by focusing on the gorgeous early-morning view of the city of Sojourn. He could see pale blues, yellows, and oranges to the east and knew the sun would be up soon. The crystal towers at the city center, not too far from where he stood, shimmered with the predawn light, and everything felt a little surreal and dreamlike. “So, if they won’t help me, then I’ll help myself.” Darren nodded, balling his fists up. “As usual.”

He inhaled deeply through his nose and then turned, looking around for something he’d seen when he and Lesh had first arrived. Just as he’d remembered, a kiosk stood at the end of the sidewalk right before the steps leading up to the Genesis Center. He walked down the steps. Only a few people were out and about near the building, and he supposed that made sense; who would come for training before the sun was even up? He honestly had a hard time believing he'd been there all evening; to him, it only felt like four or five hours had passed.

The kiosk was prominently labeled “Visitor Information” and, despite the early hour, was staffed by one of the now-familiar glowing beings of mist and light. “Hello,” he said, stepping up to the window.

“Welcome, Darren Whitehorse. How may I help you?”

“I was hoping you had one of those interactive city maps for sale. I’m not sure how to get where I need to go.”

“Of course. Please take this with Y-seven’s compliments.” One of the crystal tablet-like devices materialized on the counter.

“Y-seven? He told you to give me this?”

“Y-seven communicated the intention when you asked me for the map, yes.”

“How much are they normally?” Darren produced a handful of Energy beads from his dimensional pouch.

“Twenty-five standard beads.” The light pulsed, unfazed by his refusal to take the tablet gratis. Still, Darren counted out the beads and set them on the counter, taking the tablet with a frown.

“I’m not good enough for what you all have to offer.” As he turned to walk away, Darren knew he was being petty, but it felt good, anyway. Who needed some charity organization to grow a Core? In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he was glad they’d refused to teach him a Core to utilize the chaos and lightning affinities. Maybe those weren’t his best choices. Hadn’t it felt like Y-seven was steering him toward those? Hadn’t it felt like he hadn’t wanted Darren to think about that mind affinity?

“No,” Darren muttered, flipping through the map to a list of businesses in the city. “I think I need a second opinion, and if that doesn’t work, maybe I need a third. I’m going to make the Core I want, and if no one will teach me, then I’ll find a book and teach myself.”

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