Eight 2: Chapter 24

I put the mahogany bowl carefully aside and set my mind to pondering. The rest of me went to work, feeding wood to the campfire and getting a pot of morning porridge started. I still had some cornmeal left over, and decided to make corn cakes to go with it. They wouldn’t be donuts, but I figured Ikfael would like them.

A griddle would’ve been nice, but I had a flat stone that worked almost as well. A little bit of fat on top, and soon the corn cakes were sizzling. I kept an eye on them while my mind turned over recent events.

I didn’t know much about the stonewater serpent, just what Ikfael had told me, which was that an elder had resided in the Glen before Ikfael became aware of herself as a spirit. That was about two hundred years ago, from what I’d been able to gather.

Ever since then, Ikfael kept the serpent company on the nights of the summer solstice, and apparently the serpent left a reward in exchange for this duty. The exact nature of their exchange was a mystery to me—Ikfael wouldn’t talk about it—but her respect for the serpent was clear.

I wondered at what spell she’d gotten. As for mine, I struggled to understand its effects.

When was the last time Ollie/Eight felt anything similar? Yuki asked.

I turned my attention inward. Probably out camping, I thought. There’s something magical about a morning in the quiet woods, the mist rolling in through the trees and everything hushed. Helen and I used to wake up before the kids, get the coffee started, and watch the sunrise.

And the time before then? Yuki asked.

“When Daniel was born,” I said aloud. “He’d given Helen some trouble, and I was just so damn grateful that he and she were okay.”

The time before that was Alex’s birth, Yuki said.

I nodded. “That’s right. I’d been so scared of becoming a father, but as soon as I held her in my arms, I knew we were meant to be together as a family.”

And before then? Yuki’s qi swirled, absorbing the information and looking for patterns.

“It would’ve been the time I spent with my grandfather,” I said. “Back when I was a kid and the two of us went hunting.”

Yuki mulled over my words. There were no other instances?

“Not with the same kind of intensity. Those were life-changing moments—the events a person remembers for the rest of their life. Don’t you think so?”

Yes, Yuki said. But patterns can be both big and small. There are—what is the word—I felt them rummaging—there are oscillations. Yes, that’s right—there are oscillations. Not all phenomena are peak experiences.

“Well, if you put it like that, there was also my first time on a film set. I realized right away that it was a place I wanted to be, and the crew were people I wanted to be with. It was just a lark at first, me helping out a friend, but as soon I stepped on set, I felt at home.”

Not the same as family, Yuki said, observing my reactions.

“Not family, but also more than friends,” I said. “It was more like I recognized myself in them; we shared something in common.”

Something meaningful, Yuki said, and the deeper the meaning, the greater the oscillation and the more intense the experience.

“Sure,” I said. “That makes sense. So, that leaves us with a spell that—”

—finds common ground between individual consciousnesses and binds them together for a short time—

“—but there’s a lot we still don’t know, including the effects on strangers and the long-term impacts.”

We will need to experiment, Yuki said.

“Nothing new there,” I said. And then I scrambled to rescue the corn cakes which—lost in thought—I’d let burn.

Ikfael wasn’t happy I’d burned the cakes.

Thankfully, she provided the cornmeal for a second attempt and those turned out much better, especially once I’d dusted them with maple sugar. As soon as I saw her eyes get big, I knew I had a winner. The secret was adding a hint of chili pepper to the mix. The combination of sweet, savory, and spicy was addictive.

As Ikfael ate, I decided to broach a sensitive subject. “So that spell the stonewater serpent left for me—”

The otter’s eyes narrowed, and she rotated her most recent corn cake in her paws so she could nibble around the crisp edges before working her way into the soft interior.

“I was wondering what you thought of it…”

Ikfael closed her eyes to enjoy her food without distraction. She worked her way through three more corn cakes before sighing in pleasure. Then she sighed again, this time in reluctant acceptance. At least, that’s what it sounded like.

“I’ve never seen that spell before,” she signed. “Where is the bowl?”

I retrieved it for her, and she examined the workmanship. Yuki picked up the subtle manipulation of qi from the otter. I felt it too, but not as clearly. There was also the scent of something familiar—spirit mana.

“Have you examined the channels in the wood yet?”

“Not yet,” I said. “I… ah… I needed a little time to get a hold of myself. Should I examine the bowl with my energy?”

“Yes, do that,” Ikfael signed. “The spell requires… no, I will not say. It’s better if you learn for yourself.”

I looked at her a little longer, just in case she changed her mind about giving me a hint. When that didn’t happen, I gathered qi and mana and let them seep into the bowl. My control had gotten better, and I was able to gently sweep through the bowl, finding the runnels etched into the wood. They weren’t physical, but instead were made of qi, like the meridian runes in Antler-Sensei and the Anesthetic stilettos.

A water rune was etched into one side of the bowl and a spirit rune was on the opposite. Between them was a complicated series of loops, twirls, and arches connecting them. There was also concave depression at the center of the qi-structure, a bowl within the bowl.

“What?” I said aloud. “How am I supposed to memorize all that? How does it even work?”

Let me see, let me see, Yuki said.

I did my best to approximate the shapes and convey them with my qi. “You’ll get a better look tonight,” I said.

Yuki had been working on tapping into my optic nerves, but the process of interpreting the information was more complicated than they’d anticipated. They had an easier time once the information was processed and stored though, so my dreams and memories had become the places where they learned how to see.

It was humbling, actually. I’d always considered myself smart—it’s what got my self-esteem through middle and high school; my intelligence had helped me weather the discrimination and prejudice growing up. I hadn’t flaunted it, since that was a good way to get beat up, but at the time, it was a source of secret pride being the smartest person in the room. But I was nothing compared to Yuki. They were a straight-up genius, soaking up knowledge and learning to deftly wield it.

I had 15 Intelligence. Where did Yuki sit? 18, 19, 20? I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s even higher. It’d been a while since I checked them with my Status camera.

So much had changed since the first time we’d ‘met.’ Budding Sentience had turned into Flourishing Sentience a couple of weeks after that. Then, it changed again—this time into Rampant Sentience—shortly before my first visit to Voorhei.

On that same day, they’d gained Multi-Threaded, which let them think multiple thoughts in parallel. It was something they’d been practicing for years before they’d met me, but apparently I had been the catalyst for the talent ripening. With me around, there was too much information to process, so they’d had to learn the knack of it to keep up.

Of the nascent talents, I’d seen both One in a Million and Ageless Hunter before; they became visible as I steadily got to know Yuki. Dream Worker was new, as was True Symbiote. Neither surprised me, though. The changes reflected where Yuki was investing their time and effort.

Yuki’s curiosity was piqued when I shared the talents with them. We wish we could see our Status like you can see yours.

Me too. I would’ve loved to know Yuki’s stats. I’d even tried looking at my Status when our consciousnesses were merged, but the only changes were that my Occupied (Treaty*) condition disappeared and I gained an Enhanced (*) condition in its place. My theory was that the two of us would’ve had to fully merge for Yuki’s attributes and talents to be reflected on my Status sheet.

Okay, that’s enough daydreaming. Time to focus—

—Ollie/Eight. Yuki snickered after they completed the thought for me.

I rubbed the top of my head and smiled, embarrassed. Reminding myself to focus was a habit from my old life. “Yeah, yeah. I will, you little rascal.”

Ikfael’s eyebrows arched, her gaze questioning.

“Ah, sorry, not you. I was talking to Yuki. Um… I sense the runes for both water and spirit in the bowl. Should I insert my mana to see what happens?”

“Yes, but wait until I say so.” Ikfael dove into the pool and swam to the other side to pop out and run to the Glen’s boundary. From there, she waved to let me know it was safe to proceed.

I shook my head and poured mana into the two sides of the bowl. As expected, it transformed into water and spirit mana. The two energies then filled their respective sides of the larger composite rune until it shimmered like the sun on water. A minute later, the energy dissipated.

Ikfael swam back, and we took a few minutes to consult about what happened. Or, more accurately, the lack of anything happening.

“The spell needs more spirit than water,” Ikfael said, “so you will need to work to find the right balance. Also, you neglected the qi reservoir.”

“Is that what that depression at the bottom is for?” I asked.

“This is a more complicated spell than the ones you’ve used previously. It needs both mana and qi.” Ikfael made herself comfortable and pulled a ball of water from the pool, making it hover in the air. She manipulated the ball until the light refracted through it and cast a rainbow on the stone between us.

“The sun’s light is whole and complete,” she said, “but when we look closer, we can see that it is made of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet. Silverlight is the same, except that it is composed of mana, qi, body power, and other energies only the greater powers can sense and manipulate. Each of those energies affects a stratum of our world, as well as the strata adjacent to it. And if we are able to combine energies, then not only do we affect multiple strata, the power is also greater since we are bringing the components of silverlight closer to wholeness.”

“Ultimately,” Ikfael said, looking up at the sun, “we are all refractions of divinity.”

“And darklight?”

“Is divinity marred.” Ikfael dissipated the water into mist and let it be carried away by the wind. “Your lesson is finished. In exchange, I want more of these corn cakes tomorrow. A lot more.”

Yuki and I took about half a day to figure out the right ratio of spirit to water mana. For the record, it was about 80% spirit and 20% water. My sense was that the qi and water mana acted as a kind of connective tissue, while the spirit mana did the bulk of the work.

We cheered when the energies finally clicked into place, and then we were dazed by the spell’s effects. Unfortunately, it only lasted for a minute. Or should that be fortunately? It’d be awfully easy to become this world’s equivalent of a stoner with this spell.

I was groggy from staying up all night, but there was no way I’d sleep with a new spell to explore. So I meditated, and with Yuki’s help, recovered twelve points’ worth of mana over the next three hours. I planned to use it for three casts of the yet-unnamed spell. The bowl would be necessary each time, as the runes were too complicated to memorize quickly.

I cast the spell, and paid attention to see how the shortened duration affected the impact. The answer was that while the intensity was the same, I found it easier to shake off the effects afterward. Simultaneously, I also noticed that the sense of connection to Yuki deepened compared to the first time. Not a lot, but enough to be noticeable.

Next, I wanted to know how the spell would impact a creature who wasn’t already familiar to me, so I slipped into the woods with Camouflage active.

At first I targeted a squirrel, but I’d hunted so many in my previous life, I felt guilty about luring one into becoming friends. So, I snuck up on a little songbird instead. The body and wings were black, but the feathers on the bird’s head were indigo. I had spotted him when he’d popped out of a bush to look for tasty treats among the ground clutter.

First, I looked at it with my Status camera.

The warbler checked the area for predators between pecks, and I shifted into the land to make sure we didn’t startle him. This way, our full consciousness could also observe the spell in action.

The bowl glowed with golden light, and the warbler took to the air with a flutter of his wings. The initial panic must’ve melted, because he came back to the ground almost immediately. He glanced around curiously and started to groom his wing feathers.

“Easy now,” we said aloud, letting Camouflage go. “Don’t be surprised. It’s just us.”

The bird hopped back, but didn’t fly away. His head quirked, examining us with one eye and then the other, repeating until the spell’s duration ended. Then he jumped into the air and perched in a tree branch above us.

As a test, we yelled. The bird jumped, but didn’t fly away. He stayed and watched us. So we danced to see if that would scare him away. The dance was called the Twist—a naked Twist!—and our facial muscles shifted into a smile. Happiness burbled up from our heart. We noticed an ease to the union between Ollie/Eight and Yuki that had been missing before. There were points of friction that were now lubricated.

The integration between the two had been halted midway, which resulted in inefficiencies and redundancies—both excellent concepts. Now, though, in the spell’s wake, we came closer to a more perfect whole.

It was strange. Mysterious. Confusing.

We laughed—the amusement arising out of the Ollie/Eight portion of our consciousness—and we found ourselves thinking, The world’s a terrifying place, but it’s full of grace too.

The thought reverberated through us. We raised our hand, and after a moment’s hesitation the warbler flew down to perch on our finger. We stared at our new friend and couldn’t imagine hurting him. To hurt him would be to hurt ourselves.

Grace, it was as good a name as any for such a powerful spell.

The spell was too good to be true, so of course there were limitations. It worked just fine on small, harmless animals, but anything bigger—oh, for example, something the size of a deer—bounded away after the spell ended. The blue-faced warbler took longer; he left after a couple of days.

Also, the effects on animals with strong predatory spirits were dulled. They wouldn’t attack, but after the spell ended they’d either run or threaten me and then run. My hopes for adding the title Beastmaster to my resume were dashed… at least for now. But with practice, the impact and range improved, so maybe it could still happen one day.

Repeated casts of Grace layered the spell’s effects. They built up like a foundation, and I wondered if over time they could overcome a predator’s resistance. It would mean trapping the animal for as long as it took for the spell to work its magic though.

I was in the pool cooling off after training my integrated martial arts—what I’d taken to calling my attempts to find synergies between the magical and martial skills. My muscles still burned from the workout, but Ikfael’s Blessing helped with recovering my stamina, as well as moderating the water’s temperature. Being in the pool, then, was nothing but contentment; I floated upon its surface and reflected on my most recent training session.

That afternoon I had practiced my spear forms while Camouflaged. At the same time, I had also infused water mana into the waterfall’s mist. My goal was to be able to take control of the droplets and throw them at a foe’s eyes before using Cold Snap, surprising them during an ambush.

None of the attempts succeeded—my attention split in too many directions—but I figured that once the various pieces became muscle memory, when I didn’t have to focus so hard on making sure the qi flow and runic patterns were just right, I would be able to pull it off.

The current moved me around the pool in slow circles, and I occasionally had to backstroke to keep away from the waterfall. Mostly, I drifted, and when I was done reflecting, I let my mind wander too—thinking about people I’d known, things I wanted to eat, and places I’d been.

I was contrasting Voorhei with some of the villages I’d visited in my previous life when a terrible, wonderful, completely unrelated idea burst among my thoughts, scattering them.

Within me, Yuki’s attention spiked. Yes! We love it!

I must’ve said something aloud, because Ikfael looked over from where she floated nearby. “What’s that?”

The ramifications still needed to be thought through, but… Maybe, possibly, this is the solution to… “What have Yuki and I been struggling with lately… the thing that’s frustrated us the most?”

“Everything?” Ikfael signed, smirking.

I laughed. “Yes but no. Mostly no. What I’m talking about is the thing we can’t get to work at all: Blink.”

Ikfael swung around so that she was looking directly at me. “I don’t like the sound of this.”

“What if,” I said, licking my lips, “what if we catch a blynx? We catch it and tame it using Grace. Tame it enough that it’s willing to take Yuki inside, at least long enough for us to learn how the spell works. We could probably do it without taming it—the key is getting Yuki inside—but it’d be simpler if the blynx cooperated.”

“You’re becoming awfully easy about using Yuki in this way,” Ikfael said.

“Well,” I said, “the blynx is a dangerous animal. If we found one normally, we’d have to kill it. This would be an alternative. And besides, human history is full of efforts to tame animals. There’s nothing wrong with taking a more efficient approach.”

“What about Billisha and Aluali?” Ikfael asked.

“What about them?”

“Wouldn’t it make sense to give them portions of Yuki too? So you could watch over them wherever they went.”

The thought had occurred to me. After Otwei had gone back to Voorhei, we’d kept tabs on her whereabouts and plans. It wasn’t a big leap from there to wonder about how a dormant Yuki could also act as a silent alarm and defender for the people I cared about.

I had originally intended to introduce Yuki to Billisha and Aluali when they turned eighteen, but that was the age when they were considered adults in my old world. Here, the process of becoming an adult started at ten and finished at fifteen. Many of the farmers in Voorhei were married by then.

Maybe ten was good enough? The thought rolled around in my head. Given the dangers of living in this world, it made sense. But there was an accompanying sense of unease. Not a month ago, I’d been deeply against the idea. Had our circumstances really changed so much to warrant such a radical change of heart?

I swam to the pool’s edge and pulled myself out of the water. Then, I sat cross-legged and closed my eyes, becoming one with the land and merging with Yuki. We needed to think about this.

The idea was good and would help protect the family. There was confidence in that thought. Our intention was to help and not hurt. We would only be a danger to those who threatened our family.

But what if Billisha or Aluali said no. What then? Would we force them? For their own good?

They were children and didn’t necessarily know better. It was the place of those who were older to guide children.

But there were adults who were imperfect in their violence—the moment we had that thought, our consciousness froze. The word we originally sought was guidance, but somehow, in the translation between synapses, it became violence.

When did guidance become violence? When the children acted up after you’d had a long, frustrating day looking for work in a country where people thought less of you because of the color of your skin. Then the belt came off, and Miguel went running to hide in the closet, and it was up to Ollie/Eight to face down a father’s wrath. To take the licks and protect his younger brother.

Our heartrate rose. Our adrenal glands surged, dumping adrenaline into our bloodstream. There was no danger in the Glen, only in our memories, but that was enough to move our body toward fight, flight, or freeze.

It wasn’t until our grandparents joined us in the house that the violence had stopped. But that left a year in between—a whole year where they weren’t present to stop…

We took a breath to restore calm. Then, we exerted pressure on our endocrine system to ease the flow of chemicals. More breaths followed and a short meditation. We imagined our mind as a garden, peaceful and lush. Only, the peace was disturbed by a seedling forcing its way up, shoving the fertile earth aside to gain access to the light and air.

The seedling sprouted leaves and folded them across its body like arms. Ah, Ollie/Eight used to stand that way whenever his adult children told stories of their misadventures. It was a sign he was waiting for them to recognize their mistakes.

One does not impose violence on children, even under the guise of guidance. Every being makes their own choices.

We made a promise not to become a monster.

We fell out of the land, but this time it was because Yuki chose to step away and reflect on what they’d just experienced. Meanwhile, I looked at my hands.

I let my thoughts wander back over what I’d experienced the past couple of weeks. Yuki and I had become as close as two beings could, and it had affected me. That was to be expected. I just didn’t think… I just hoped that the intimacy wouldn’t overrule my good sense. So far, I’d been able to act as our combined conscience, but how long could I count on that?

I had Yuki’s promise to do better, to become more than they’d been, and I knew they didn’t intend harm. I also knew that instinct was hard to overcome. As were the habits of thought ingrained over a long lifetime.

Yuki was working on it. Even now, I felt their qi circling in intense deliberation. I hoped it’d be enough. No, I needed to go beyond hoping. The situation required something more tangible to help Yuki find the boundaries between right and wrong. They didn’t even have to be my versions of right and wrong. As long as Yuki’s actions were intentional and not driven by instinct or habit, we’d be okay. Because I felt Yuki’s intentions: they were good. But the uekisheile needed better ways to implement them.

They needed more access to my stories and memories. That was how people learned best, and it seemed to work for the uekisheile too. And the stories would serve as a reminder to me, so that I didn’t lose myself as we became closer and closer.

Yuki and I were inseparable. We’d make it work.

I cleared my throat, decision made. So, yes, I had this idea, but it was found somewhere along the slope to becoming a monster. The idea wasn’t necessarily bad, though. In fact, it was quite sensible taming a blynx in order to learn from it. I’d just have to be careful I didn’t slip and lose my humanity in the process.