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Chapter 283. The Tent of Flowers
🕑 Added 2022-07-31 01:14:14 +0000 UTCThe moment of truth eventually comes. At Cursory’s prompting, Holiday sends the recording to Achemiss. He passes it back to me.
“We can’t find any traces of your recording,” Red says, inclining his head. “I can’t guarantee that it’s safe to return the device to the black faction, but there’s nothing we can protest at this juncture.”
That’s good enough for me. I pass it back to Cursory, then head off with Red toward the temple-like arrival area. Holiday offers to stay with us, but I wave him off.
Ascendant Nathaniel still mans the entrance. He looks bored, his hands collapsed behind his back, eyes wandering over the crenellations of the molded ceiling.
As we pass through a pair of columns, he bows his head in our direction. “Ancient Black, Ascendant Red, welcome back.” He pauses. “Are you leaving?”
“For a few hours,” I reply dismissively. Red walks ahead and sunders the veil, blue ascendant energy sparking at his fingertips. I follow behind and grasp the skein of reality, pulling it shut with a sharp gesture.
Relying on Karanos’s map of the surrounding planes, I chart our course. I don’t need to guide Red because he gleans all the information he needs from me in scenarios.
Eventually, we arrive at a plane that is aberrantly small, like a tiny island. I can see the void around it, darkness swirling up against an egg-shaped atmosphere. Karanos marked this plane on the map specifically because it was so small, there was nowhere that an outside observer could hide.
I withdraw the transmission artifact and find myself in Voidkeep. Karanos has his back to me and is sprawled out on a leather couch. Kuin sits primly in a high-backed, cup-shaped seat that makes his youthful form look even smaller than it is.
“Visitor,” Kuin announces, noticing my arrival immediately.
Karanos’s head whips around. “Oh.”
“It’s me,” I state. “Surprise.”
“Has something happened?” Karanos blurts.
I look between him and Kuin, then launch into an explanation of the past few hours. It only takes a few minutes to give them a basic overview. By the end, Karanos wears a contemplative expression.
“And so, we wait,” he mutters. “How confident are you in Achemiss taking the bait?”
I shrug. “I told you everything I observed and explained my reasoning. I believe I made the best decisions based on all that I saw. I’m interested in your opinion.”
He scratches his nose. “It’s news to me that Achemiss may not be on the best terms with the black faction.”
“That’s what it seemed like to me. He’s using them, like they’re using him.”
“It lines up with our profile of him,” Kuin affirms. “He doesn’t care about a larger celestial agenda, just his own research and artificing.”
“Now that you’re both caught up, is there anything you would suggest?”
They lock eyes. Karanos crosses his arms. “Not at this point. You’ve done well.”
There’s a certain rawness to his voice. I blink, thankful that my dark skin hides all physiological reactions.
You deserve it, Maria says.
What?
Don’t ignore what your body tells you clearly, she scolds. He’s proud of you. Worried, mildly terrified... but proud. It’s like when I let Zilverna on his first patrols. I nearly held him back when he came to my office to flaunt his uniform. He was only fourteen and it made him look even younger than he was.
But you let him go.
I did.
“Thank you,” I reply softly. I incline my head to Karanos and Kuin. “I’ll call again when it’s convenient.”
I terminate the transmission, snapping back to my body. I share the memories with Red, keeping him up to date on everything.
I also continue my conversation with Maria.
Why not wait until Zilverna was older? Fourteen sounds so young. I can’t imagine my fourteen-year-old self joining the enforcers of Shattradan, even if I had an affinity that young; the mental image is ludicrous.
Zilverna was only a teen when he confronted me as I escaped Selejo. Even then, his age had been absurd–still is absurd, especially considering that he’s inherited his mother’s position, even if only because of Kaiwen’s support.
Maria mentally sighs. Zilverna’s Sun affinity was always high, and he worked hard. He begged me for a real challenge every day, it seemed like. In all honesty, I hoped real combat experience would make him more mature. That boy desperately needed a dose of humbling reality.
Based on what I recall, Zilverna didn’t wizen up until he entered the Infinity Loop and I gave him a repeated lashing. What happened?
She mentally scoffs. Everyone thought he was adorable. She pauses. To be clear, I don’t disagree... but he essentially became a mascot. He could take care of himself, and completed every mission he was sent on, so I couldn’t complain, but he received special treatment that inflated his ego even more.
I sense a wistful longing in Maria’s thoughts.
I toy with my vambraces. You wish to speak with him.
You know I’ve wanted to for a while. You also know why I haven’t called him.
A reason I disagree with. I saw Zilverna’s soul. He loves Maria–he won’t care that she’s a lich. But I understand that sometimes our fears can grab hold of us, making what should be easy insurmountable.
When this is all done, if you’re still here in Eternity, you need to talk to your son. No more excuses. And if you manage to come down with me... I’ll bring you to him myself.
Alright.
I sense the pain in that one word. If she were here with me, I’d wrap her in an embrace. But because of me she’s stuck as cold, distant items. She sees through my eyes, feels through my body.
Why are you hugging yourself? Maria suddenly asks. Red also shoots me a questioning look.
And here I thought you could read my mind.
Your token of affection is ridiculous, she states after a moment. Thank you. When I’m like this, I feel invisible. Like my very existence has been erased.
I cringe. I’ve felt bits and pieces of that sentiment but hearing her say it directly is a punch to the gut.
I don’t want sympathy, she continues. Well, maybe a little. But this is my sacrifice to make, and one I make willingly.
I struggle with my thoughts. I won’t let you disappear. I already went through that once–never again.
Okay.
We return to the competition grounds in mental silence.
—
Ascendant Nathaniel points out a vacant tent that’s been reserved for our use. Other unaffiliated don’t receive that honor; it’s clearly because I’m an ancient, but I take the news in stride and head over.
It’s a plain tent of the smallest size, which is still rather big, stretching for just over ten feet.
You can’t just leave it unadorned, Maria states. Ascendants are dramatic creatures. Just think of all the thrones that the white faction ascendants manifested.
Red says something similar. “How do you plan to decorate?”
I don’t have a Light affinity, which makes it a bit harder. I should probably use my Death affinity, since it’s the only one of my affinities that has a visual component, but adorning the tent with bones seems tacky.
I can control fire because of Maria, but I don’t know what I would use it for. Fire will just set the tent aflame.
“Actually, the tents are fire retardant,” Red chimes in.
Inwardly groaning, I keep my face expressionless. Maria, you’re the one with experience as a ruler. How would you decorate?
I never took charge of decorations, she replies. You should know by now that I prefer things to be simple. My room back home barely had anything in it.
There goes that plan. Screw it–I’ll just use the dagger. I hold it up and channel ascendant energy into it, angling it toward the tent. In the blade, I see lots of pink and violet. Looking closer, I realize that they’re flower blooms.
A tent made of flowers isn’t so bad.
That will give off a different impression than I think we’re hoping for, Maria notes.
It’s fine, I have an idea.
I plunge the dagger into the tent and pump enough energy to transform it in the blink of an eye. White fabric is replaced by interwoven vines with lush blossoms. Where I had little control over the inanimate tent, I can shape the flowers with ease, siphoning their vitality strategically to influence their growth.
In the end, soul gems hang like string lights from the greenery. Wicked thorns serve as adornments to the tent roof. I’ve shaped the flowers into geometric, perfect hexagons, with violet and pink blossoms arranged in straight lines, giving the tent an orderly, yet organic appearance.
And best of all?
In Regret loops, I verified that the purple flowers are a delicious tasting poison, and the pink flowers are a slightly bitter antidote. I make two drinks from the flowers and grow the vines of the tent into drink holders with two holes, then create cups from leaves. I hollow out thorns to make straws.
I pass a drink duo to Red. He swirls the violet drink with his straw, then sips it. “It’s not alcohol.”
I nod. “It’s more potent.”
Red grimaces and gives my plant tent a dubious look. “What kind of flowers are these? Yes, that’s rhetorical, I know you have no idea.”
I suppress a chuckle, then grab a drink for myself. It smells intensely floral, like lilacs and lavender spliced together. A sip of the purple makes my mind begin to buzz. I dip the straw into the pink side and drink the antidote, dispelling the mind-altering effect.
“I thought we were trying to not attract attention,” Red remarks. “This is going to attract attention.”
It would be more suspicious if I didn’t do anything, I say. People expect ancients to do cool stuff.
Red gives me a look but lets the matter drop.
—
Holiday wanders over to our tent, his eyes appraising. He walks around the line and jumps adroitly over the waist-high barrier into the tent’s interior. He raises an eyebrow as he beholds thorny roots concocting beverages with delicate precision. Meanwhile, to give the operation a human touch, Red hands drinks to the front of the long line of ascendants eager to try a new beverage.
“I like the flowers,” Holiday says simply. “This is not what I expected from you, I’ll admit.”
I smile humorlessly. “Always a pleasure to surprise a fellow Beginning practitioner.”
I direct a pair of vines tipped with thorn claws to mix an additional drink. I grab the double beverage and hand it to Holiday myself. He sips the violet, then the pink, and flashes his teeth, revealing a red glow. “It’s unique. Splendid.”
He nurses his drink in silence as the line moves, occasionally holding it up to Ebon Pearl.
“This is unfortunate,” Red says suddenly.
What?
“He’s going to insist that the protege of an ancient is qualified enough to participate.”
Then what should we do? Do Maria or I have any ideas in your scenarios?
“Nothing works because his mind is set.”
My mind races. Holiday must know I brought along a Regret practitioner for a reason. Why is he interfering? Is he trying to piss me off? What would Ascendant Crimson Teeth gain by isolating me from my Regret practitioner during the competition?
About two minutes later–right on schedule–Holiday turns to Red. “Have you thought about participating in the competition?”
Red shakes his head. “I’m too young to be a contender.”
“Nonsense,” Holiday exclaims, his eyes flitting to me. He keeps his voice low, as though he’s trying to keep the conversation private. The practitioners nearby feign ignorance, but there’s no way they don’t see–and hear–what’s going on. “It’s refreshing to have competitors who are unaffiliated.”
Y’jeni, what would Ancient Black say in this situation? I’m torn between giving no shits and agreeing, and treating it like a joke then stomping down on the idea. But Red said there’s no way to get out of it... which means option two will only end in failure, anyway.
Might as well go for one.
I drum my fingers on a vine of overgrowth. “As long as Red agrees. Convincing him will be on you.”
Holiday roars with laughter.
