CHAPTER 79

“…and it’s asking, do you want to be a Familiar?” Rua buzzes.

“I didn’t even know you knew how to read!” I hiss.

“Neither did I. I’d never tried before.”

I decide to pass on commenting the logic of that statement.

“Does it say anything else?” I ask instead.

I’ve placed Rue on my knee and sat up with my back against the cold wall. Rue is all attention, all around his tiny body. I don’t know how he sees the misty pages, but he has the same far-off look that I get when I’m checking mine.

Rue gained a level! It’s the only explanation. It makes sense, in truth. He made it through the Challenge as much as I did.

“No, Malco.”

“No? I got three options.” I bite my fingernail, thinking. So maybe not a level? Hmm. Nothing to do about it now. “Alright, focus on the word Familiar. Does anything happen?”

“Yes!” Rue buzzed excitedly. “It says, Familiars are the right hands and watchful eyes of their Anchors. They can be weapons and tools, spies and companions. The bond of Familiarhood can only be created after the two bonded live through a harrowing event together.”

Well, it got that right.

“You already have a right hand, but I’d like to be your watchful eyes, Malco. Can I?” Rue bobs up and down quickly, buzzing all the while.

“Wait just a second. So this isn’t a level? You didn’t gain a level?”

“It doesn’t say anything about a level.”

“Well, that’s unfair. Without you I’d never made it through the Dungeon. Or dungeon. I don’t know – what matters is that without you I’d be dead. How come only I get levels?”

“It’s because we’re different, Malco,” Rue says quietly.

“Different how? Just because you’re hummy and blobby and I’m talky and thin?” I cross my arms in protest against the injustice. “Makes no sense to me.”

Illuminated by a thin ray of moonlight that made it in through a gap in the shutters, Rue buzzes to himself. A slow, ponderous roll of a wave over pebbles.

“It’s because of the way I think, Malco. I think.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know how I can’t really remember things, and sometimes that makes me sad?” he buzzes slowly.

Agitated is closer to the word I’d use. I nod.

“That’s the difference. You always remember things alone. I need help. When I’m with you, I start remembering. When I’m alone I forget.”

“Is that why you couldn’t remember what a dungeon was a few days ago? You asked…”

Rue buzzes affirmatively.

“I was beginning to forget already. Slowly – Valkas counts as company even if he’s a jerk. Alone is how I…” he hesitates. “It’s bad.”

“Do you remember what happened before we met? At all?”

Rue trembles once, all over, exactly like he was just the victim of a bad breeze and shivered to keep the chill at bay. The reaction is sudden and brief and, I can tell, not exactly friendly.

“I don’t remember much. But I don’t want to talk about it,” he says simply.

Though he’s making an effort to be civil, it’s clear the matter goes a little beyond sore. I let it drop. We stay in silence, each dipping his toes into the swirl of his own thoughts.

The night is so advanced even the Godtouched have, for the most part, quieted down. The keep is as silent as it will ever get, and outside my window the city should be left to robbers and second-story workers.

“I think I was a Familiar once,” Rue says. “Before you found me.”

“Archie’s Familiar?”

Rue freezes. For a second he doesn’t hum at all, and his surface is perfectly still. If his body was like mine, he’d be holding his breath. Archie was what he called the corpse I found in his cell.

“I don’t know, Malco,” he whispers, the vibrations returning all at once. “I don’t know.”

The buzz rises in pitch, tickling my eardrums. I wonder how strange it must be to wear one’s emotions so close to the surface, as musically as Rue does, and then remember that it’s not that different from having a face that twitches, trembles, falls, smiles, laughs, and cries. Rue’s music is his expression and his mood, his confidence and timidity, his bravery and his fear. Strange to call it singing when it’s so close to just being.

“Rue,” I say softly. “Do you want to be a Familiar again? My Familiar?”

“I would like that very much, Malco.”

I nod.

Shaking all over, Rue pauses, then bobs up and down.

“It’s done.”

Moved by curiosity, I open my own misty pages. Sure enough, the Traits section is glowing orange, and when I focus on it a new entry has appeared.

Traits:

Origin

Luck’s Fool

Observant

Sneaky

Lockpicker

Dirty Fighter

Disciple of Fire

Familiar

Now, says a voice in my mind. It says: to strengthen your connection with your Anchor live and fight beside them. Pick one: Cast Their—

Amazement dawns on my face before I stop him, thinking as loud as I can.

Rue?

Yes?

We’re speaking in thought.

Oh, Rue thinks. His thoughts are a curious thing, darting in and retreating, quick and sudden, a world away from the smoothness of his hum. So we are.

Isn’t that strange? I insist. His nonchalance is galling. Isn’t it incredible?

Maybe it’s just normal for Familiars and Anchors, Malco. His thoughts rise in pitch, accelerate. Anchor is a funny word. It’s funny it’s called that. Anchoring is what you do, when you think about it, but not anchor like in a boat and in the water and the tides, but anchor my thoughts, my memories, stop me from spiraling only into song and forcing me to stay in and focus and communicate, it’s—

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“Rue!” I hiss, stopping him. “Sorry. You’re thinking too loud and too quickly.”

Oh. He thinks. Sorry. It’s not on purpose. It’s hard to turn it off, that’s all, now that my thoughts know they can think at you all they want to do is run and dance and sing and think. It’s like a hole in my mind and everything inside is dripping out more like flowing out it’s like a great forgetting and still remembering. I guess that’s because you’re my Anchor, you’re part of me, and so my thoughts are your thoughts are my thoughts are—

The frantic, raging tide of Rue’s thoughts is enough to drown my own. I turn away from him, suddenly anxious, nervous, all at once. I keep the calm. There’s no quieting Rue, who is too large, too forceful in his mind, but I manage to find myself in the onslaught. Starting from that little kernel of self, I push the rest back. Focusing on Rue’s metaphor makes it easier: his mind is a dripping vessel, and all I have to do is find the hole, push all the alien thoughts inside, and then cover it.

Silence.

“You’re not listening,” Rue buzzes accusingly. “I’m talking and you’re not listening.”

“Sorry, Rue,” I say, with care. “It was a bit too much. I need time to get used to the feeling. You’re not mad, are you?”

His hum runs through a gamut of pitches. I can feel the turmoil of his thoughts on the edge of my mind, like the tendrils Rue employs when he wants to poke and prod at the world.

“I’m not mad, Malco,” he says finally.

I’m not entirely convinced, but I’ll take it.

“Thank you. Don’t tell anyone about this, alright Rue? You’re my secret weapon.”

“Is that what you want me to be, Malco?” Rue asks. “A weapon?”

I hesitate.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Rue. We’re friends before anything else. I meant, if no one knows we can so this, then—”

“No, Malco. You didn’t let me finish before. The misty things; they’re asking me to pick again.”

“Pick what?”

“I think what I want to be to you. They ask: Cast Their Spells, Be Their Weapon, Be Their Eyes,” Rue intones, going through each word slowly.

Aha, I think in the suddenly thinner privacy of my own mind. Here it is. Advancement.

“What do you think?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I’ve never cast spells before.”

“Can you focus on each option? If we know more, we’ll have a better idea of what to pick.”

He does, slowly and haltingly, but managing to get through each entry without trouble or distraction. They turn out to be pretty self-explanatory. One option will let me cast spells through Rue, another will let him transform into a living weapon, and the last one will let me see the world through his eyes. That final one has my curiosity above all others. I’ve always wondered how Rue sees the world, and being able to feel like he feels could have its uses. But then an image comes into my mind.

“Rue,” I begin. “Do you remember when you helped me pull the bowstring in the dungeon? Like you were my hand”

“Yes, Malco.”

“Well. I’m in need of a hand. If you could do that and turn into a weapon, then…”

Then I’d have a hand. Sort of. I’d be closer to having a hand than now, or at least my entire left arm could recover some utility.

“Is that what you want, Malco?”

“Yes. Is that what you want, Rue?”

He pauses. Waits a moment, buzzing fast. Then he bobs up and down, up and down.

“Yes, Malco,” he hums. “I’ll be your secret weapon.”

*

Early morning finds me retracing my steps after the duel. The keep is quiet and peaceful at this time of day, shortly after the day’s revelry has ended and long before Valkas starts receiving petitioners. The few eyes that follow me down corridors and up stairwells belong to Teryon’s guard of red and black.

I haven’t made up my mind about them. Unquestionably Godtouched, they are, however, of a more serious character. They’re not flashy, and they wear their Godtouched status with pride instead of wanton uncaring for the world around them. They’re professionals. If anything, that only makes them more dangerous, an unknown quantity. I ignore their scrutiny and walk gingerly up to Valkas’ door, where I know I’ll find the man himself. He’s by all accounts an early riser. Rue pulses and buzzes on my shoulder.

Two of those same guards stop me at the door.

“Guild leader isn’t seeing anyone.”

“I think he’ll see me,” I say defiantly. “I have an important matter to discuss with him, which may affect my participation in the Challenge.”

The woman looks down at me like she would an annoyingly loud cricket.

“The guild leader isn’t seeing anyone,” she repeats stubbornly.

Changed my mind. They’re absolutely, resolutely Godtouched. No one normal can be this obtuse.

A sound comes from within the wide double doors. A little cough, polite but loud enough to be noticed outside.

The guard straightens.

“Guild leader Valkas will see you now,” she says without a hint of change in her posture or attitude. Even the door she pushes open sounds vaguely dismissive.

“Thanks for your help,” I say.

Valkas’ office is much the same as it was a few days before, only the windows are shut and the guild leader busy writing at his heavy stone desk. There’s no one else in the room.

I approach. The guild leader doesn’t so much as look up even though I’m standing in front of him, staring straight ahead. Long moments pass, punctuated only by Rue’s rising and falling hum and the scribble of Valkas’ pen.

“I see your pet has forgotten the ditties I taught him,” Valkas tells his piece of paper.

“Not really forgotten,” I say, still staring at a point behind his head to the cabinet where Rue was held. “I think singing them is a little like ceasing to breathe is for us. Doable, but not for long.”

“Or for a very long time indeed,” Valkas adds with a little smile.

He looks up. His hair remains perfect, his smile as carefree and inviting as always.

“What’s this about you not being able to participate in the Challenge, Malco?”

“A conflict of interests, guild leader. My Patron told me he did not intend for me to participate.”

“I see,” Valkas steeples his fingers. From the smarmy look on his face, he really enjoys playing the shrewd politician. “Is your Patron present just behind my door? Has he finally returned to us?”

I bite my lip before responding.

“No,” I admit.

“There you go. If it helps, him returning would change nothing. Challengers aren’t pets, after all. You’re meant to fight for the glory of the Black Sword guild, and I’m perfectly entitled to remove you from the care of a slacking Patron. When Trugnar went off to his…” here another little smile, insinuating as a spider, draws across Valkas’ face. “Retirement, he also lost the Challenger in his charge. So you see, there’s precedent. Not that one would be necessary.”

He turns back down to his document, begins reading it from the top.

He looks up again.

“You’re still here.”

“My father,” I say. “I want him released. You’ve proved your point; you have me followed. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Interesting.” Valkas rises, stretches, and walks over to the large window. He’s framed between two pillars, looking down into the sea, the waiting ships, the ocean. He stands there for a long time.

Should we kill him now, Malco? Rue asks. It’s hard to filter only the important from his merciless stream of thoughts, but I’m beginning to recognize an intentionality in what he wants to communicate to me versus what he’s just thinking. With effort, I can block the unimportant.

No!

“Why do you think we have the Challenge?” Valkas breaks the silence, apparently unhappy that I didn’t feel the need to fill the void myself.

“I never gave it much thought,” I say. It’s a lie. I used to think it was a way to separate the lowly from the great, who would be left to join the Godtouched’s ranks. After being in the Godtouched’s ranks for a while, I can see why the reward wouldn’t really equal the risk.

“Interesting,” Valkas answers, as he would have answered to anything I could have said. “I’ve been involved with them from the start, you know. Ever since Kord begged the other guild leaders to help him dismantle the Old Dungeons.”

My whole body tenses. This is new. Valkas remains looking over the city, absorbed in his own thoughts.

“We were easy to convince,” he says. “Most of the reasonable Godtouched didn’t want to die. The Dungeons weren’t what we thought they were, you see. They were crude. Brutish.”

Valkas pauses, observing the deep valley of memory. I wonder how he would describe the Challenge as it exists now.

“But after we’d dismantled them, when we found ourselves with these methods of levelling that would refuse to work for us, we thought… What the hell, why not put them to use. Run a Gauntlet, make a sport of it. At the start, it was even run by Godtouched.” He turns briefly back, staring at me over his shoulder. “Did you know that? No, of course not. Anyway. Nobody cared. Glorified obstacle run. Now, when we added Untouched into the mix, well…” he smiles. “That was something. Get a scrub from the boonies, kids only, so no previous Champions can slip through the net, and have them fight each other, gain power, survive through uncanny odds… It was like games in the old world. Exceedingly fun.”

Valkas walks back to the table, sits down, rearranges his already neat paperwork with a faraway look in his eyes.

“Of course, it shouldn’t end well. That’s an important part. Too many Champions running around and it would be hard to rule this goddamn place. Hence the problem.”

“I’m afraid I don’t see it.”

Valkas’ head snaps up, like he momentarily forgot I was there. He chuckles.

“Your old man is a Champion, Malco.” A cold feeling descends from the crown of my head, spreading to the tip of my limbs. I focus at the glass cabinet. It’s a little open. “That’s what I can’t abide. The mess you two made of the Challenge I can forgive. Not like the thing isn’t a mess in itself. But Champions,” he pauses, shakes his head, and balls up the paper, disappointed. “The must be put down forcefully. Which is why you dad will remain in my catacombs, and why you’ll behave and do as you’re told. Or I’ll kill him and…” he waves his hand in the air, looking for a suitable punishment. “Send Rao to Reach, carte blanche. That means he can do whatever the fuck he wants, and God knows the kid knows to let off some steam How does that sound?”

I keep staring straight ahead. Inside the cabinet, there’s a hint of gold, and, faintly illuminated by the morning light, the tip of a diamond I think I recognize.

“Malco. How does that sound.”

Should we kill him now? Rue asks.

I have to curl the fingers in my right hand into a fist to stop it from shaking. My stump itches.

“I understand, guild leader.”

I bow. Valkas frowns. Maybe he was expecting something else?

“Dismissed.”

Turning carefully around, I leave the room.

Malco, Rue thinks as we pass the guards and make our way down the corridor. We didn’t kill him.

We weren’t here to kill him, Rue. Just to get information.

But he said all those things. About your father.

Yes. And Reach, too. Now we know what to count on. Now we know what we must do.

Now I know what to plan for.