Why had my Status camera shown me results for Ikiira and the stonewater serpent? Perhaps it was because they were more present within this memory than the giant snake from earlier had been? Or was this experience more dream than memory, and its internal logic required certain details?

Maybe… maybe it was the relationship between the stonewater serpent and Ikfael at work? They’d had an agreement in place that had lasted for centuries—a relationship that meant a lot, at least to Ikfael. And I assume by extension, Ikiira.

Both individuals felt real to me in the way that Yuki felt real within my shared dreams. Even more so, in fact. This experience had a weight to it that my normal dreams didn’t normally carry.

Ikiira didn’t react to my hand on her shoulder. I felt her muscles trembling under the buckskin of her shirt, and yet she held her ground while facing the stonewater serpent.

“I’m sorry, miss, but do you recognize me? I’m your friend, Eight.”

She licked her lips, her eyes glancing quickly from side to side, taking in the environment before focusing on the serpent once more.

I asked, “Was that me you were looking for? Or just a coincidence?”

Ikiira gulped. Several long seconds passed, but she didn’t respond. The scene remained unchanged, all of us at the cusp of something important happening yet unable to move forward. It was like we were trapped inside a video game’s cutscene, our blinking, breathing, subtly shifting bodies waiting for input from the player before we could move into action again.

The biting cold sent a shiver through me. My bones began to ache. The frost from Ikiira’s rapid breaths mingled with my steadier ones. What do I do? I thought, worrying over how to proceed. This tableau can’t last forever. Who knows what the cold is doing to me, and there’s still Sklein back in the real world. Assuming this isn’t real in its own way…

I swung around so that Ikiira and I were face to face. She was about my height, maybe a touch shorter, and probably pretty under that fearful expression of hers. Her age… seventeen if I had to guess—too young to be a lodge master.

According to the story I’d heard, she’d gotten the position only because of the village’s crisis. Voorhei had needed a worthy sacrifice in order to appease the spirits of the forest.

At the time, the Hunter’s Lodge had been feeding darklight to the animals living in the woods, trying to get them to rage against each other. That experimentation had earned the spirits’ wrath, and the village had been punished for it. All the village’s water had turned poisonous.

Supposedly, Ikiira had walked out into the forest naked as an offering, although she was clearly clothed here. No weapons that I could see, though, so for a hunter she might as have well been naked.

Anyway, she’d walked into the forest and then returned three days later with a mark on her forehead of a serpent on a mountain. By then, the few villagers who’d survived had done so by drinking the blood of their animals. They’d clamored for answers from Ikiira, but she had remained silent as she’d walked through the village, as she’d climbed the pyramid, as she’d waited for the sun to reach its zenith. Then, she’d died—just fallen to the ground without sign of any wound or injury.

After that, the water had become potable again. More, the water drawn from the village’s wells and the nearby river had become cleaner than ever before, earning Voorhei some fame in the region.

I didn’t know the whole situation obviously—the story I’d heard was lacking in details and Ikfael had never talked about the time when she’d been human—but I’d been around enough to know that an idea like experimenting with darklight to make the forest creatures attack each other, that smacked of years of pain and desperation. It wasn’t something a seventeen-year-old would come up with.

Or even if it had been Ikiira’s idea, it would’ve been the lodge’s elders who’d pushed for it, who’d driven the implementation and likely escaped the consequences of their actions by sacrificing a promising young hunter. Maybe one they’d been jealous of. It was a suspicion of mine that had sat in the back of my head for years, percolating.

I didn’t like seeing the fear on Ikiira’s face. Cupping her cheek, I whispered, “Easy now, you’ll be okay. You’ll make things right. Don’t worry, I’ve seen your future.” I ran my fingers along her forehead in an attempt to smooth the furrows. There was no mark of the serpent there, so this moment in time was probably before the exchange had been made. “You’ll… you’ll outlive all the bastards who sent you out to fix their mistakes.”

“She came here freely,” a voice said from behind me. “I would have accepted nothing less.”

I flinched, but turned around in a dignified manner, my hand falling to rest on Ikiira’s shoulder. From around the stonewater serpent, an elderly woman walked on the surface of the water. She wasn’t tall, coming up to about my shoulder height. Her hair was stone gray and tied in a braid whose meaning was hidden behind her back. A small, round face gazed at me curiously.

Well, I had a very strong suspicion about her identity, and my Status camera confirmed it:

> ??? (Spirit of the Land, Stonewater Serpent, Silvered)

> Talents: *Denied*

I dropped to my knees to bow and said, “Honored.” Surreptitiously, I kept contact with Ikiira by placing my knee against her foot. My thoughts raced—was this a dream version of the serpent or the real thing also affected by Sklein’s talent? What were the implications of each scenario?

“You do like to think, don’t you?”

I looked up to find the serpent gazing at me with… a faint hint of amusement in her aqua eyes. She’d walked right up to within five feet of where I was without me even noticing. With a sigh, she turned her attention to Ikiira. For a long moment, all she did was contemplate the young woman beside me.

Eventually, she glanced again toward me. “Diriktot was right about you; you have been good for our Ikfael.” At my startlement, she added, “What? Don’t look so shocked. Of course, he’d ask for my agreement before bringing you to my territory. Our exchange was very productive.” The emphasis on the last word was like the earth rumbling. There was such satisfaction in it.

So, not the past stonewater serpent then, but the real one who was supposed to be sleeping under the Glen. I should confirm—

> Conditions

> Occupied (Evolving*), Out of Body, Influenced (8)

No matter how much I explored the Influenced condition, though, I couldn’t tell its origin—whether it was from the giant serpent or the smaller one in human form.

The human one said, “I can almost see it, the soul mark. Can almost perceive how it shapes the World Spirit’s interactions with you. You’ve been a boon to me as well as our Ikfael.”

As she’d approached, I’d found it harder and harder to act under the weight of her influence—to speak, to do anything other than think. To take action, I had to focus intensely and gather my will to exert it at the muscular level, controlling my mouth, tongue, and larynx to shape the words: “Honored, there is a creature attacking—”

“Save your strength,” the serpent said. “I’m aware a being has turned dark within my territory, as well as the culprits who instigated it. Both Ikfael and you are currently safe. Your allies are protecting you from harm.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“Still, the talent affecting us—”

A hint of curiosity came across her features. “What is its name? As told to you by your camera?”

“The Gloominess of Forgotten Memories,” I replied.

The serpent nodded in acknowledgement, her expression thoughtful. “I see. The name truly does not help, does it? Other than to provide a vague clue to the talent’s domain. How annoying.”

“Isn’t it?” I said with feeling.

The serpent’s eyebrows rose. “Are you asking me a question?”

“Ah… no?”

“That’s wise,” she said, “for you should be judicious about which questions you ask.” Her expression became sterner. “Wisdom isn’t a number, no matter what the World Spirit and your soul mark tell you. True wisdom is—”

“Formless,” I said, the word coming easier than all the others previous to it.

The serpent grinned fiercely. “Exactly. And also wrong, but it’s a place to start.”

Formlessness was one of the central tenets of Taoism as I’d learned it in my previous life. My understanding was that to be wise was to dwell in emptiness—not letting thoughts, desires, and beliefs get in the way of experiencing life as it was.

I’d only touched true wisdom a handful of times—out in nature or seated in deep meditation—and in each of those instances, I’d felt that formless emptiness, as well as my spirit inhabiting it. Those experiences seemed to be real contradictions yet also incredibly validating at the same time.

Right, so what was Taoism’s response to this situation? What would the truly wise do? Ask a question, of course. It just had to be the right one, because… Ah, an answer will require an exchange, I thought.

“How… how can I help Ikfael?” I asked.

“How selfless. And selfish too. Our Ikfael matters that much to you, eh?” The serpent smiled again, this time in consideration.

Had that been a test? And I’d succeeded or failed it? If not that, what question should I have asked?

The serpent raised her hand to stop me for speaking. “It’ll do you no good to ask another one. Anything else now will be a product of your mind, of speculation. You only had one shot to take, and whether your arrow will hit or miss, only the future will tell.”

A spike of annoyance ran through me. I’d been given no warning that I’d only have one chance to ask a question. Although, maybe I should’ve expected it. The Deer God certainly had a tendency to be that capricious, so maybe I should just assume it was a characteristic to be found in higher beings.

The serpent continued speaking, “I require an exchange before I answer your question.”

“What do you want?” I asked, terser than I’d intended.

If the serpent took offense, she didn’t show it. “A point’s worth of your Wisdom.”

Everything stopped, my thoughts scattered, and for a moment I even forgot to breathe. “You can do that?”

The serpent just looked me with mild eyes, not responding.

“But… but my understanding is that a person’s attributes are… No, wait. If it’s a stat given by the System, then there’s probably some kind of silverlight scaffold that becomes internalized over time. How much time? How long before what’s been transplanted in can no longer be transplanted out?”

The last time I’d raised my Wisdom attribute was eight years ago. Apparently, that wasn’t long enough to protect it from the serpent’s greedy mitts.

Stop and think, Ollie. The stonewater serpent isn’t like that; she’s the one who gave you the Grace spell. Her exchanges are fair. Right, her exchanges were fair. That was one of the reasons why Ikfael was so devoted to her. A point of Wisdom—whatever she’ll tell me has got to be worth a point of Wisdom. For god’s sake, I got Grace in exchange for donuts. My Wisdom has to be worth more than that.

> Primary Attributes

>

> * Strength 13

> * Constitution 13

> * Agility 15

> * Intelligence 15

> * Wisdom 16

> * Spirit 20

> * Charm 11

> * Luck 15

The exchange would drop me down to 15 Wisdom, making the climb to 20 that much longer. Supposedly, it is the primary attribute for my Path of the Storm Caller, but I’d been unlucky over the past three levels, and I’d spent my free attribute points on getting Agility and Spirit to the 15 and 20 milestones respectively.

Still, even if a System-gained attribute isn’t fully settled, invested, or whatever it’s called… the stonewater serpent has that kind of power? That’s intense.

“I can see why Ikfael enjoys watching you. Your face is expressive.” A faintly amused expression passed over her face, becoming more so as she continued, her eyes thinning into pleased slits. “I will say that I’m not a god—not yet—but within my domain I am powerful enough to do what I promise. So what do you say? You’ve asked the question of how you can help our Ikfael… do you want the answer or not?”

“And you won’t help her escape Sklein’s talent.”

“Ikfael is not here,” the serpent said. “You are.”

“Even though you have a prior exchange, a relationship spanning two-hundred-something years.”

“Just so.” The serpent raised a thoughtful eyebrow. “What is your point?”

“You don’t care about her? About what happens to her?”

“I do care, which is why I let her struggle. How will she grow if a silvered rescues her from all her troubles?” The serpent shook her head as if in denial of the very idea. “The gifts I’ve given Ikfael over the years, she’s earned. Just as every gift you’ve gained from me, you’ve also earned. All were proper exchanges.”

“That’s it then—it’s all transactional? There’s no friendship or love?”

“There is,” the serpent said. “But within the rules of the World Spirit, the spirits of the land must abide. Unless…” She let the rest trail off.

“Unless?”

“Since you will do me the service of removing a dark threat from the Glen, I will tell you: To move outside the rules of the World Spirit, you must be outside the World Spirit. An obvious conclusion, perhaps, but difficult to comprehend for any who’ve only known one existence.”

“That doesn’t help me,” I said.

“Not yet,” the serpent replied.

According to Ikfael, the stonewater serpent had spent centuries reading the stars, and some of that was supposedly to divine the nature of fate and luck, of cause and effect. Maybe I should put more trust in Ikfael’s zasha; I just wish she was clearer. But then how is this different than any other spiritual teaching? It’s meant to point the seeker in the right direction so that they can find their own way. Ultimately, we have to save ourselves. Isn’t that right?

The stonewater serpent watched me deliberate. By that point, I’d decided to go ahead with the exchange, but I was having difficulty saying the words. Not because of the Influenced condition—I’d found that easier to deal with as the two of us had spoken, almost like I’d been acclimating to it—but because I really didn’t want to give up the attribute. It wasn’t the stonewater serpent’s greedy mitts I should’ve worried about. It was my own!

Gritting my teeth, I said, “All right. I’ll do it. I’ll trade a point’s worth of Wisdom in exchange for the answer to my question: how do I help Ikfael?”

I’ll say this about what happened next, the stonewater serpent was surprisingly gentle. She placed two fingers—the index and middle held together—above where my third-eye dantian was, and I felt a subtle tug. The world around me dimmed, like it was going through a brown out. There was a brief flicker, and then everything seemed to return to normal, at least visually. Inside, though, I felt more distant from the world. Less connected.

I… the feeling was disconcerting. Why was I surprised about that? I’d known it was coming, but the response from within me was overwhelming sadness.

“This is your greatest fear,” the serpent said, “to be apart from the world. I give this knowledge to you in exchange for your care of our Ikfael. As for the rest…” I felt her draw something on my forehead.

Whatever it was, the world went suddenly sideways as if it was reorienting around me. Or was it the other way around? The sensation was so sudden and brief, I couldn’t tell. I blinked my eyes to clear them, and by then the serpent had already withdrawn her hand and stepped back.

I noticed that I was no longer touching Ikiira’s foot, but I could still see her, as well as both versions of the stonewater serpent. The human one took me by the elbow, helped me rise, and drew me aside. The cold was no longer as biting.

A moment later, Ikiira took a big gulping breath and dropped to her knees. “Please!” she yelled out. “We beg you for mercy!”

My jaw dropped, and instinctively I tried to pull away to run to her, but the elder serpent held onto me to tightly. And it wasn’t like Ikiira could see me. Both the elder serpent and I seemed to be invisible.

“We are not of their time,” the elder said. “Instead, we are merely witnesses to history, to this memory. What was held still now moves again, all for want of an exchange.”

Gulping, I watched as the ground rose around Ikiira, layer by layer, swallowing her whole. “Yes! Yes! I agree,” she cried out. Her voice sounded so young, so plaintively heartbroken. “Anything. I’ll give you anything. Just save my Voorhei.”

“What—what’s happening?” I whispered, stunned by the events before me.

“The dark creature’s talent kept the memory from unfolding, locking the participants endlessly within the memory for want of a trigger. Your exchange substituted that trigger, and they are now free to proceed.”

“That’s all? That’s all it took? But—”

“This is merely one part of the answer to your question. The second is that there is a journey ahead and you must take Ikfael with you. To Old Baxteiyel.”

Startled, I asked, “You know about the race?”

“Race? No. I’ve only seen what the stars have shown me. A point of destiny awaits in Old Baxteiyel. Now shush… this sacrifice from Ikiira demands our respect. Bow to honor her and watch in silence.”

Stone wrapped around Ikiira. It rose above her neck—covering her mouth and nose, her eyes. I could hear her gasping for breath inside a prison made of rock.

“The rest is not for strangers,” the serpent said. “Tell none of what you see next.”