"
It’s not becoming of a gentleman to cry when they ask for help,” a stern, yet gentle voice said from behind me. I turned and wiped at my eyes, looking up to see Orykson standing on the deck, his arms tucked in his pockets.
I was relieved that he’d come. A part of me had been convinced that he wouldn’t hear, or more likely, that he would hear, but not care.
“What did you need?” Orykson asked, sounding not quite businesslike, but not quite sympathetic either. “I am quite busy. The settlement of the Isle of Crysite is taking up more of my attention than I would have liked, and even I cannot produce an infinite amount of simulacra.”
Despite the tension I was feeling, and the fact he had just told me he was on a time crunch, I was tempted to ask about the Isle of Crysite, since if I recalled my history correctly – an iffy thing to stake my bet on – the island had fallen apart after their royal family died, and over the last century or two or three or something, had become overrun with wildlife. Why would there be re-occupation attempts now?
“Idyll,” Orykson said, letting out a small, exasperated sigh. “She and the dragon Elio needed territory for her to re-establish a domain, since her world was destroyed. She’s vastly reduced now – weaker than you are – but Elio is not. Dragons are inherently territorial, much as humans are inherently skilled at ignoring the incredibly short lifespans which they begin with. Elio can clear out some wild animals for us, allow us to establish some new settlements and ease the food importation burdens, and in exchange gets some territory to claim. Now it’s a matter of politicians, which is simultaneously difficult, boring, and slow.”
That… didn’t sit quite right with me, but I nodded along, not willing to try and argue with the powerful occultist standing near me. At least Idyll and Elio were doing alright. After the chaos of the Idyll-Flume, I’d been concerned for the both of them.
“Now, what is it?” Orykson said. “If it's about your soul damage–”
“Not that,” I said, and my tail lashed in irritation. Orykson noticed, and arched a single eyebrow.
“You will need to learn to control that.”
“I know,” I grumbled. “But I only have a new limb just now, I’m still getting used to it. While I’d be happy to get your analysis on the soul damage, that isn’t why I called you. It’s about Kene.”
“Ah. You want me to fix them, I take it. Frankly, I’m surprised it took so long to ask. Are the tattoos failing, despite the bond?”
“An improperly made bargain is offering a loophole. The seals are holding,” I said. “But… Can you fix it? Pull the hag out, firm up her soul, and stick her in an unoccupied body?”
Orykson seemed to study me for a long time, before he finally spoke.
“The most efficient method would be to simply tear her from their spirit, then force the power into someone else, likely a teenager, or someone in their early twenties. I assume you don't want that?"
"Of course not," I said. "What about another way?"
"Creating an artificial soul that's complex enough for her to consume, as well as a new body for her to occupy... Even for me, creating an artificial humanoid soul structure is a difficult, expensive, and even somewhat risky undertaking. Doing it could risk putting me in a state where I'm unable to use mana for days, or even weeks."
“What would the cost be?” I asked. “I’m willing to pay.”
“You’re already in my debt,” Orykson reminded me. “Over a million silver in debt. And on top of that, the most valuable things you have at the moment are any drops you have remaining from the Idyll-Flue, and your body.”
I stared at him.
“What?” I asked flatly.
“Don’t be perverse,” Orykson snapped. "You’re not powerful enough to assist me directly, but your body contains multiple unusual components that I could use as a basis for certain experiments. But while I am nothing more than an ancillary mentor, that doesn’t mean I want you dead.”
“Then we need another way,” I said. “I’m not powerful enough to assist you now, but what about in a year? Five? Ten?”
“What if you’re dead in a year?” Orykson said, sounding remarkably calm. “I’m not certain that it’s worth the investment."
“And you won’t do it to save two lives?” I asked.
“You do not want to measure lives with me,” Orykson said mildly, taking out a pocketwatch, clicking it, and then slipping it back into his pocket. “Do you want to know how the world really works, Malachi? At least a portion of it. You’re bright enough, you must have guessed it.”
“What, you rule the world, or at least all of Mossford?” I snarked, then paused. I’d repeatedly heard that Orykson was somehow different from the other Occultists in Mossford, and had some rivals and powers within the Darkwatch.
“Don’t be a child, it’s unbecoming of you.”
“Okay, fine. What I know is that you’re powerful. For some reason, you’re more powerful than any other Occultist in Mossford by leagues, probably eighth gate, even though you implied seventh. You serve as a counterweight to the other super powerful mages in the world.”
Orykson nodded for me to continue, so I did.
“Thinking that through, it makes you a living weapon, who the government needs if they want to remain completely independent from, say, Dragontooth invading south. They can’t get rid of you. But you also can’t rule everything with might-makes-right. That doesn’t build schools and hospitals and all that, because even if you had the best of intentions, that kind of political system is innately prone to failure, as we saw during the warlord age.”
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
“There is a touch more nuance to the politics than that, but not entirely wrong,” Orykson agreed. “Every nation larger than a city-state like Delitone essentially needed an Occultist. A real one.”
“Needed?”
“Kijani seems to be getting by without one for now,” Orykson said. “Their unified council has managed to subdue several Occultist level beasts, and even drove off the Occultist called Corpselight, which proved their strength.”
“So it isn’t needed.”
“All of history is not rewritten simply because of a single exception. I commend Kijani, and will watch it with interest, but without an occultist, they spend nearly two and a half times as much on stopping wild spirits alone as Mossford does on the Lightwatch, Wyldwatch, and Spiritwatch combined.”
“Wait, why?”
“The effects from one so strong settling into the land is more than just combat power,” Orykson said. “Regardless, we have gotten off track. Ignoring Kijani, in order to expand past a small city-state, a government needs the strength of someone at least truly seventh gate, who has claimed a Title. I protect Mossford, and am the strongest of the Mossford Alliance. The Occultists of Thornfront, Suntortch, and Dragontooth, and a few city-states all prosper as much as they do because I support them, and they support us.”
I was pretty sure that saying he was the strongest was Orykson being cocky, but I wasn’t entirely sure, and that uncertainty gave me pause.
“Do you know how many people live in these combined territories?” Orykson asked.
“A lot. I don’t know the number.”
“Close to half a billion,” Orykson said. “On such a scale, two lives is a rounding error. That is what I help protect. So, no. Risking putting me out of comission for days or weeks is not worth it.”
I felt a flush of anger at that, no matter how irrational. My brain knew Orykson was making good points, fair points, rational points.
My heart hammered, thudding against my chest.
Because while my head understood, my heart disagreed. If you had the power to help, you had a responsibility to help.
It might be a rounding error on the grand scheme of things, but that was how lives were lost. Because it was more efficient to let people die.
My mana flowed out of me, strength unlike anything I’d ever felt before, and for just a moment, I saw a hint of surprise on Orykson’s face.
Then the pain hit, and I slammed into the decks. I pulled myself to my feet a moment later, and stared at him.
“What do you want?”
“Pardon?” Orykson asked.
“You’re busy, arranging the Elysian Mastery Tournament, getting the island settled, doing research, and protecting billions,” I said. “But you’re still here. You want something from me. What is it?”
“You think too highly of yourself,” Orykson said. “You’re lucky and stubborn, and those are good traits. But you’re not my apprentice anymore, and you’ve drifted so far afield that I’d no longer take you in that role, though I'd be happy to raise you up as a champion."
“But you want something,” I repeated. "Is it the drops of destiny? Something else?
“I do. I’ve given up on your apprentice contract, but you could become powerful in your own right. It’s distressingly common for those who resolve favors to die, and for those that fortune follows to retire and live a peaceful life. You have persisted thus far, and you may make it further yet.”
“So you want future service?” I asked.
“In short, yes,” Orykson said. “I’m not the Storm King, to leash you to my will. I detest the very idea.”
His voice cracked with anger at the end, and an idea clicked into place.
I remembered how much it had struck him when I reminded him that Dusk was a person, not an object, and thus I couldn’t sell her. Orykson was old, I knew that, and Ikki had spoken about his time with Orykson, about how they had done a lot of things in a time that was long gone now.
He had said that some of those things haunted him to this day, and that they had walked in an ocean of blood and violence and war.
But he had said other things. They hadn’t mattered as much at the time, since I was mainly concerned with the violence, but hadn’t Ikki said there were things he was proud of?
Slavery and indentured service had been outlawed in Mossford since it was founded more than seven hundred years ago.
At the time, it had been called radical.
“How old are you, Orykson?”
He blinked, caught off guard by the rapid shift.
“I’m not certain,” he said. “My birth date was never recorded, nor was my birth year. But a millennium would not be inaccurate, in generalities.”
A millennium.
He had been born over a thousand years ago.
He had to have become immortal before he was fifty, judging by his appearance, though I supposed as powerful as he was, he could look however he wanted.
“Were you around for the founding of Mossford?” I asked.
“I was,” Orykson said, “I was a rebel, then. At the time, my title was the Undying King, not the Analyst”
He cringed slightly at the memory, but then a ghost of a smile spread across his face.
“Ikki helped us. It was quite the battle. The Death King was old, and he was powerful, and he had built up legions of the undead. In those days, anyone who died was conscripted into his service. Ikki and I had killed his sort before, but never anyone this old.”
“I see,” I said, and I smiled too, because I thought that I might have just figured a few things out about Orykson’s act.
He was strong and self-important, because he had to be. It had been the only thing stopping him from being crushed. But the world was changing, and being an immortal killer wasn’t how things worked. Ikki had told me himself that Oryskon adapted slowly, always copying the best from one step behind, and staying one step ahead of the worst.
“So, what do you want?” I asked, and Orykson peered at me, and he seemed to realize what I had realized.
“You have spent entirely too much time around Ikki,” he said. “Well. I’m not providing a complete body and soul structure. I'm going to make that clear right now. But I could be convinced to point you in the right direction. The world is a large place, and there are many resources buried in the ruins of once-mighty kingdoms, fallen city-states, and laboratories of dead mages. I can point you to the ones that have tools you need."
“And in exchange?” I asked.
“I want you to join in on taming the lands on the Isle of Crysite. Beastmages are rare, and beasts respond to them, so you’ll be able to do some good. That one is practically a favor to you, though, given you’ll be able to see the dragon and spirit and help people. In addition, I want your body upon death – I will provide a visually identical replacement for your family to burn or bury as they see fit, and they will not know the difference. And finally, three favors. Given that you seem to be a staunch pacifist, I will allow you the right of refusal for favors that go against your code of ethics, and you may argue with me over favors you dislike. But you cannot outright refuse a request that you find to be annoying, unpleasant, or simply to spite me."
As he spoke, he removed a contract from nowhere, and for just a moment I was reminded of our talk in the coffee shop.
A pen appeared in his hand, he extended it and the papers to me, and I took them.
“When you’re ready, simply sign. Now, or after you talk to Meadow, or another time.”
Then Orykson paused.
"You said you did have drops of destiny? How many?"
"I have three," I lied, wanting to make sure I kept one in reserve, just in case. "Would that change the contract?"
"No," Orykson said. "But they are valuable, even to me."
He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, before he spoke again.
"I... will not ask for them, by favor or barter. But should you find yourself not knowing what to do with them, just let me know."
He sighed and pulled out his pocketwatch again.
"I've allotted time to teach you properly after your recovery, since you're finally able to do some actual magic instead of just parlor tricks. But now, I really do need to be going. Elio is struggling to subdue a seventh gate wasp queen with a partially formed title, and I'd prefer her to be relocated into the unclaimed lands so I can continue stealing her paper, and so our dear dragon is not turned into larvae food."
With that, he vanished, leaving me standing in the cold sea air at night, holding a contract.
"Primes," I swore after a moment. Orykson hadn't given me his full analysis on the soul damage and rooted channels!