Harald awoke, confused.
For a moment it was all he could do to stare at the sunlight flooding through the windows. What day was it? What had happened?
He sat up, and felt something profoundly wrong. His hand went to his head, and there felt only a bristly fuzz.
That’s when it all hit him, everything that had transpired, and as if to confirm it, he summoned his window and stared again at the changes.
Soul Nature: Insatiable Void
Soul Rank: Divine
Soul Ability: Condemnation of Success
“Fuck,” he whispered. But how had he gotten into bed? He remembered Sam cutting his hair, the pace of her snipping picking up speed as she’d bent to the task. He’d grown woozy, and when she was done he’d had said something about dinner, but had nearly fallen out of the chair.
She must have levered him into bed.
But now he felt ravenous and better, alive and ready for—what?
He got out of bed and threw open his wardrobe. Knocked aside his hanging fineries until he found his training gear from two months back. In short order he was dressed in a linen shirt, drawstring pants, thick socks, and a pair of supple leather running shoes.
Simple, plain, functional.
Emerging from his suite, he cocked his head and listened, half expecting to hear sounds of Vic and the others somewhere in the manor.
Silence.
No, some subtle sounds from below, coming from the kitchen.
Harald’s stomach cramped.
He’d never gone this long without eating before in his life.
Salivating, he hurried downstairs.
Sam had anticipated his starvation and was cooking up his favorites. Rashers of bacon, scrambled eggs, a freshly baked loaf of cornbread, a steaming carafe of coffee, along with small dishes of yogurt, berries, and oatmeal covered in stewed apples.
Harald’s mouth flooded and he almost groaned, his knees going weak at the smell.
“Oh!” Sam must have heard him, because she set the frying pan down and turned to smile. “You’re finally up. I was going to get this ready and then wake you. Eleventh Bell just rang.”
“Food,” moaned Harald, moving to sit at the broad kitchen table. “Please. I’m dying.”
“I set the formal…?” Sam blinked. That’s right, Harald realized, he never ate in the kitchen. But then she shrugged and set to serving him. Soon she placed a giant plate laden with delicious food before him, a mug of coffee to go with it all, and stepped back, hands behind her back.
Harald took up the silverware and was about to dig in when he glanced up at her.
“Did I forget something?” she asked.
“I… no. Just… sit?”
“Excuse me, sir?”
He gestured with his knife to one of the sturdy wooden chairs. “Sit. Actually, have you eaten?”
“I had my porridge when I woke up, earlier.” She sounded alarmed. “Harald? Please. I can’t wait any longer. It’s been killing me, I could barely sleep. What happened to you? You’ve… I barely recognize you.”
“It’s me all right.” He grinned and bit into a chunk of cornbread. “But I won’t say a word if you don’t sit. And grab some coffee or food or whatever while you’re at it.” She wouldn’t, he knew, so he raised an eyebrow. “I command you to eat if you’re hungry.”
“I…” She’d gone pale, but then snatched up a plate, spooned some oatmeal and berries onto it, and sat.
“Well.” He washed the cornbread down with coffee, then set to devouring everything before him even as he spoke. “It’s… it’s a long story.”
“Sure,” allowed Sam, voice wondering. “I can only imagine.”
For a short while he just focused on munching bacon and eggs and getting as much food inside him as possible, but he knew he was just delaying. Finally he paused, stared down at his plate, and grimaced. “I was a fool, Sam.”
She was kind enough to stay quiet.
“Yeoric and the others had no intentions of going below with me into the dungeon. When I showed up they made that clear.” He recalled Yeoric punching him in the gut. “Very clear.”
“What?” Sam’s outrage was heartening and heart breaking all at once. “But we spent an inordinate amount of scales…?”
“I know.” He wiped runny yolk up with a piece of cornbread, but his appetite was rapidly fading. “And…” He took a deep breath. Held it, fought the urge to speak the truth, then sighed. “They were right.”
“Right?” Now her outrage was directed at him. “How so? You’re Harald Darrowdelve, son of one of the greatest recent success stories, and you literally paid for their gear, for Master Derrick to Awaken his Cosmos -”
“They were right because I had no business going down into that dungeon.” There. He’d said it. “My physical statistics are abysmal. I don’t know how to wield a sword. My Soul Ability was only of marginal utility.”
Sam went to complain, then caught herself. Frowned. “Was?”
Oh, she was very, very quick.
“Well, after they left…” Harald caught himself. He wanted to glide over the details, but there was a crucial aspect he had to mention. “After they left with my pouch of scales…”
Sam’s face went white. “They took your scales?”
Shame caused Harald’s cheeks to burn. He stared down at his plate.
“But… sir.” Her voice was somewhere between a horrified whisper and a croak. “That was all our remaining wealth. All of it.”
“I know.”
“The remnants of the loan you took against the manor’s equity. The last scales we had in the safe.”
Harald pursed his lips and forced himself to look up and meet her wide-eyed stare. “I know.”
“They stole it? Just… took it?” Now her horror was becoming fury. “The… the bastards!”
He’d never heard her swear before. Guess today was a first for everyone.
“Yes. They were right to not take me below, but that doesn’t change the rest of it. They’re thieves. I should have known better. Should never have trusted Derrick. Should never have believed that they were the solution to my problems.”
“But… sir, they were!” Sam sat up straight. “You wanted nothing more than to live up to your father’s expectations. To earn scales. To set our situation to rights.”
By the angels, it hurt to hear her say those words. He wanted to just agree with her. To accept her depiction of him as a dutiful son looking to make good. A noble underdog seeking to defy the creditors and naysayers.
“Sam.” His voice shook with emotion. “There’s more.”
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She slumped, concerned, then shoved a spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth and set to chewing nervously.
So he told her. About his visit to Ustim. His joining the Humble Petitioner’s line. How he’d entered the dungeon alone that night.
Her eyes widened comically as she leaned forward. “Harald, you went into the dungeon? By yourself? To the first floor?!”
He nodded grimly.
“But… you don’t know how to use a sword! You… you know that greenhorns should never go in alone, you were exhausted, beaten up, dehydrated… and…?”
Harald took another deep breath. “Look, Sam. I didn’t know it at the time, but when I went in there… I knew it was a bad idea, but I didn’t care. I’m not sure if I just deceived myself into thinking I’d still win through, that I was some kind of charmed hero that would defy the odds, or…”
He trailed off.
Sam’s eyes widened again, a fresh understanding bursting upon her, and then she reached out to place her hand over his own. “You… you didn’t expect to come back?”
Harald took a shuddering breath. This was so hard. Like plunging your hand into a fire. So hard to just say the simple truth. How much easier would it be to deflect, to laugh, to hide?
To run away from this discomfort, this pain?
His eyes prickled with emotion, emotion summoned as much by Sam’s concern as his own burgeoning understanding of what he’d done and why. “Look, I didn’t realize it at the time. I’m figuring it out now even as I’m telling you this. But I went in, and I found a nest of dire rats, and… and they tore me apart.”
Sam sat back, brows furrowed. “They did? But… you’re unhurt.”
“They tore open the side of my neck.” He touched where the wound had been. “All that blood? It was mine. I almost died. But then… someone came.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders sagged in relief. “And they had a healing potion? Let you absorb some scales?” She shook her head, concern giving way to amazement. “Harald, you have a demon’s own luck!”
“It wasn’t another raider.”
She blinked rapidly. “No? Then…?”
Harald blew out his cheeks, glanced away, tried to think of a nonchalant way to just say it. But the words just wouldn’t come.
“Harald?” She canted her head to one side so as to try and meet his gaze. “Who was it?”
“It was…” A knot formed in his throat. Why was it so hard to say? Had the demon cursed him? So instead he simply put his hand to his chest.
Sam frowned at the gesture, but then her expression cycled quickly through amazement to renewed horror. “Your father’s amulet. You’re saying…?”
“Vorakhar came to claim it. He—or it—is still alive. I think… maybe because it got soaked in my blood? His presence drove the rats away. But I was dying, and he recognized me as my father’s son, and said some strange things. He said something about my not having lived up to my potential, how I could have been even greater than my father…”
Sam was nodding firmly in agreement, which caused Harald to feel a new burst of affection.
“He said he’d give me a new chance. That there was room for amusement, and that he’d give me what I’d been missing. Then he touched my brow and I passed out. And when I awoke, well. My window had changed.”
“Changed?”
“Here, I’ll just show you.”
And Harald activated his window, then set it to public so that the words appeared in the air between the pair of them.
Doing so was an act of trust, of intimacy. He’d never shown Sam his window before, but she knew well enough from his drunken ramblings what it contained. Now she read it, muttering the words, then sat back and covered her mouth with her hand.
“Yeah.” He dismissed the text. “When I awoke I was healed and in the tunnel. I returned to Flutic and made my way home. But ever since waking up, I’ve been… I don’t know how to put it.”
“Completely changed,” whispered Sam. “But… not.”
“Right.” He laughed uneasily. “I feel like myself. But… but a version of myself that can see through my own lies. My own… fears. The illusions I built around myself.” He raised his hand to his shorn hair. “And… Sam. It’s as if I’m seeing my life for the very first time. And I don’t like what I’m seeing.”
Sam had been simply staring at him, shocked, but this roused her. “Sir, you’ve done your best. Your father -”
“No, Sam.” He raised a hand to cut her off. “I’m done with excuses. My father’s been dead four years now. I’ve been blaming him for everything ever since. For how much longer would I pin my failures on him? I’m done. Done with blaming the world. Mother’s death, my lack of… well. Everything I wanted. I’m done, Sam. This is my life. I think… I think I just need to take ownership of it. All of it.”
Sam’s expression crumpled into sympathy and affection. “Oh, Harald.” She reached out and touched his hand again. “That’s… that’s an amazing thing to say.”
“It might have been, if I’d said it at father’s funeral. Now?” His smile was bitter. “It’s just overdue.”
“And that’s why you ordered Vic and the others to leave?”
He nodded.
“And your hair?”
“Things have to change. I have to change.”
“You already have, Harald.”
“No, not yet. I’ve only just begun. But…” He tried to find the right words. “I feel… I still feel numb. Lost. Like a man trying to find his way out of the mists. I don’t see everything yet. Just what’s right in front of me. Like having you sit with me to eat. Or being honest with you. I still have so much to figure out.”
Sam nodded slowly, parsing his words. “It’s a lot. What you’ve already done. I’ve… you’ll excuse my boldness, but I’ve…”
“No, go ahead.”
“I’ve never approved of Vic’s influence on you. On…” She waved her hand, as if trying to summarize the entirety of their relationship.
“I know.” Harald’s voice grew soft. “But I don’t hate him. Far from it. He was a friend when I needed one. A bad friend, don’t get me wrong, but a friend nonetheless. Without him, I don’t even know.” He bit his lower lip as dangerous, dark memories resurfaced. “But I’m done with sponsoring everybody’s nights. I’m done with the drinking and—and the whoring and— all of it.” Again he looked down, cheeks burning. “I’ve wasted too many years chasing the approval of people whose opinion shouldn’t matter to me. And… and I was doing it in a way that guaranteed I’d never earn it. So I’m done.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Sam smiled. “Partially because, with your scales stolen, we can’t afford that lifestyle.”
Harald winced. “We’re truly cleared out?”
Sam hesitated.
“Yes?” he prompted.
“I have my savings. It’s not much, though.”
“No. Absolutely not.” Harald glared at her. “And don’t you ever suggest that again.”
But she ignored his command. “It’s not much, but enough to keep us buying food, to perhaps make the next payment on our debts.”
Harald had loathed this kind of conversation. Before, it would have driven him from the table, furious and despairing, feeling judged and found wanting. But he grit his teeth and forced himself to ask the question he’d always avoided. To learn the answer he’d lived in dread of. “Sam. How much do we owe?”
“I…”
“Just… just tell me. How much?”
Her voice grew hushed. “All told? Including loans from Ustim Flowervault, the house loans, and other assorted debts? Five Twilight Infinitums, six Horizon’s Whispers, three Zenith Tides, and assorted smaller scales.”
Harald closed his eyes.
He knew his scales, had always had a facility with numbers.
That added up to 5,630,000 Copper Moons.
“Most of that came from the house loans,” said Sam apologetically. “But we already owed a Twilight Spiral before it.”
“I see.” It was hard to breathe. “And… how much are the interest payments?”
“There are different interest rates, but… again, all told, about two Horizon’s Whispers per month.”
Harald felt his heart lurch in his chest. “Two Whispers?!”
“It’s why our loan has ballooned,” said Sam apologetically. “I’ve had to take loans out to make the payments. The entirety of the third house loan has been used in paying off the interest payments alone. Do you recall? I tried to explain it to you, but you told me you didn’t want to hear it, and just signed the papers?”
“Yes.” Harald’s shoulders slumped. He stared grimly at his plate of food. “You know how much I made on my first dungeon raid?”
Sam leaned forward, eager. “How much?”
Harald chuckled. “A single Copper Moon.”
“A single…” She blinked then slumped back. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” For some reason he found this hilarious. “So if I can just go back two hundred thousand times before the next interest payment is due…”
Sam just stared down at her hands.
“Yeah,” said Harald softly, and his humor burned away. “Sorry. Not funny.”
“I…” Her voice sounded heartbroken. “I’ve truly done all I can to keep us afloat. I’ve thought of everything I could, I’ve negotiated the loans, refinanced them with different guilds to find lower interest rates, but our credit is all used up. Nobody will return my letters. Nobody will take my appointments. It’s… it’s why I thought perhaps Yeoric and the others might actually be a solution.” She looked up, eyes glimmering with tears. “Because there are literally no other options. None. Well.”
Harald fought to keep the despair at bay. “What is it?”
“There is one asset left to you worth a decent amount of scales.” Her voice grew very small. “You could sell my oath for -”
Harald leaped from the table as if scalded. “Enough!”
She stood, eyes blazing. “It’s true! My oath is worth at least a Horizon’s Whisper, especially if I agree to extend it for, say, a decade beyond my eighteenth birthday. I -”
“Enough!” His voice crashed over her words like a tidal wave of such fury that her mouth snapped shut. Eyes wide, face pale, she stared at him, fingers to her lips.
“I…” Harald fought to catch his breath, kept searching the kitchen for something, an answer, a solution. He found none. “I forbid you from mentioning that again. Do you hear me? Never. Ever. Mention selling your oath. The idea is beyond repulsive. It…” He felt horror and revulsion at the very prospect, and then, suddenly, everything around him stilled.
The world.
Flutic.
The manor house.
His heart.
“Harald?” Sam’s voice was a broken whisper. “What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“It’s something that I should have done long ago.” He heard a rushing roar in his ears, and felt so strange, as if he were hovering above his body, gazing down upon the pair of them and the kitchen from on high. “I, Harald Darrowdelve, Master of Darrowdelve Manor, do in full knowledge of all debts and accords -”
“Harald!” Sam’s cry was startled, shocked, panicked. She ran forward and grabbed him by his shirt, shook him. “Stop! What are you doing? Stop this -”
“- do hereby formally and forever absolve Samantha Tuppins of her oath to my family, and do this of my own free will, without compunction or compulsion.”
Samantha was staring up into his face, her having turned mottled red and white, her mouth working, tears brimming, her grip growing weak.
A knot of burning light appeared between them, her magic oath, bequeathed upon her by her father’s death. It was complex synergy of burning green lines, all of it forming an intricate rune, with one line extending to Harald’s chest, another to her heart.
Unable to breathe, smiling the most honest smile of his life, Harald reached up and took hold of the Soul Line, the linchpin to the rune, and pulled it free.
The magical oath broke apart into glittering fragments.
“There,” he said, and placed his hands over her own, pressing them to his chest. “There, Sam. You’re free. I only wish I’d done this long, long ago.”