Victor of Tucson

Book 8: Chapter 12: Unquiet Ancestors

As Victor meticulously completed the intricate pattern, the spell snapped into place, and a surge of Energy was drawn from his Core. Despite crafting the spell with glory-attuned Energy, a choice he instinctively believed would be most effective in subduing the will of a fear-attuned geist, the spell drew from all of his affinities, blending his various Energy types as it materialized. He could feel it flowing out of the pathway apertures in his hands, manifesting in the air. Mighty spectral chains burst forth, their clanking links resonating eerily as if the sound had to ascend from a profound abyss.

The black, fear-drenched geist jerked back at their touch, thrashing, but Victor could feel the tugs, and they weren’t strong. It was almost as though the spirit was putting on a show, making it look like she was resisting while, in reality, she welcomed the embrace of the bindings. He could feel the spell working, binding her Energy and seeking a place to cage it. He glanced at Lo’ro and saw the Death Caster watching intently, a mad gleam in his eye, and the rune-inscribed rib bone held ready.

“That’s it, lad. You’ve captured a formidable one—with such ease! I’m astounded! Now, direct the chains to this vessel.” Victor obeyed, exerting his will through the Energy-forged chains, guiding them toward the bone. The geist silently writhed and screamed, but he encountered little resistance as the radiant, spectral chains plunged into the bone and began to retract, drawing her in. Victor observed, pondering the enigma he had become a part of; he could perceive with his inner eye that the geist was potent, yet he barely had to exert himself to guide the chains into the bone. Was the ruse just meant to fool Lo’ro, or was he also being duped in some greater scheme?

As if reading his mind, the voice came into his head again, “Thank you for taking me! The bindings on this cage will keep me silent, but if you hold it, we can speak again. I will await your call, fear-brother!” With that, the chains lurched, yanking her spectral form into the bone with a final, baleful red flash of the many jagged, harsh runes.

“Well done! You made quick work of that one! Do you require rest before attempting the second?”

Victor took a deep breath and let it out slowly, glancing at the System messages he’d previously ignored:

***Congratulations! You’ve learned a new spell: Greater Spirit Binding – Advanced.***

***Greater Spirit Binding - Advanced: You have learned to bind a bodiless spirit using spirit-attuned Energy. Once bound, you can draw it into a properly prepared vessel. This spell pits the potency of your Energy combined with your will against that of the spirit, though the greater nature of this spell offers a force multiplier in your favor. Failure to control the target spirit will give it access to your spirit’s vessel. Energy Cost: 10000, Cooldown: minimal.***

Victor’s eyes widened when he saw the spell was at the “advanced” stage—not something he’d complain about. “I should be good for another,” he grunted, noting he’d already gained back a quarter of the Energy the first spell had required. His high will attribute was proving to be quite a boon when it came to Energy regeneration. A thought occurred to him, and he asked, “The spell description specifies spirit-attuned Energy. Are you also a Spirit Caster?”

Lo’ro nodded, his thin lips pulling back in a sly smile. “I have some small talent, a specialized Core that harbors death and spirit Energies. I only tell you that much because it’s not much of a secret, and I’m sure your master would explain it if you asked him.”

“Ah, right. I actually know someone with something similar, though she’s let her death affinity atrophy.” Victor was thinking of Thayla, but what he didn’t mention was that he was responsible for her affinity with courage-attuned spirit Energy.

“Intriguing, but not overly so; half a Death Caster’s dealings are with the dead, and many of those are bodiless. It pays to learn a thing or two about the spirit. Still, it’s not the same as you Spirit Casters; I don’t delve into the deep secrets of my soul, seeking to harness the power of my psyche, my virtues, vices, and traumas. Hah! No, lad, I cultivate a particular brand of attuned Energy, and I do it from an external source. Now, you must be ready! Find your second geist, and we can be on our way, my debt to Ranish Dar paid in full.”

Victor watched as the Death Caster shifted the rib bone to his other hand and held the long, rune-inscribed femur ready. He changed his view to that of his inner eye and surveyed the geists crowding the circle Lo’ro had drawn. He recognized a familiar heat, a similar smoldering anger in some of the geists. They were universally red-toned, though the darker, deeper, crimson-wreathed ones resonated most with his rage-attuned Energy. He narrowed his target down to a choice between two. Both had a clear rage signature, though one was significantly brighter than the other.

Victor studied the baleful spirit, watching with his inner eye as the fury roiled out of it in a towering flame that eclipsed the lights of the nearby geists. He could feel the furnace of that rage, taste the bitter hate that lingered along the edges of it. Was it too much for him? Could he master such a geist? He had no idea how hard it would be, thanks to the fear geist coming along willingly. The other geist that seemed a match for his affinity was half its size but still significant. Should he settle? Victor snorted, drawing a quizzical glare from Lo’ro, but he ignored the death master.

He'd snorted at his inner dialogue because he knew the question was basically rhetorical by now. It felt like he was a slave to his Quinametzin ego; if he saw a challenge, he felt he had to take it. Perhaps that was a challenge in itself. Was he in charge here, or was the blood coursing through his veins? Victor changed the focus of his gaze to the smaller yet still potent-seeming rage geist. There was no reason his pride had to push him away from doing something smart. Hadn’t he already risked enough by binding that powerful fear geist?

He formed the pattern for Greater Spirit Binding and grinned savagely as the spectral chains burst into being, immediately lashing around the smaller rage geist. From there, things became less amusing as the spirit thrashed and jerked, and this time, Victor felt it. His connection to the chains was palpable, a coil of Energy connected directly to his own spirit, and the creature’s first wild, bucking pulls against the chains almost yanked Victor out of the circle! He wrapped his hands around the spectral links and pulled, but it did little. He was being drawn, one shuddering inch at a time, toward Lo’ro’s carefully drawn lines.

“Don’t pull with your hands, boy! Use your will as you did with the fear geist! What’s gotten into you? The rage?”

Victor growled and, switching to his inner eye, focused on the flaming, flaring light of the geist. He bore down on it with all of his prodigious intent, willing it forward, willing it to calm, to settle, and accept its fate. “You’re mine now!” Victor snarled, something rising in him, something ancient that knew what it meant to subjugate another’s will. Victor didn’t like it, but he needed it; he was still losing the tug of war.

As his will surged and his blood grew hot, he could hear Lo’ro chortling as the spirit bent to his demands, slowly, painfully, growing still and drifting toward the bone in the Death Caster’s hand. Baleful hate and fury boiled off the geist as it crossed the circle, pulled in by the chains, but by then, it had grown sullen and quiet, and the chains sank into the bone, dragging it along with them.

As the opposition to his will faded, so too did the specter of Victor’s bloodline. Was it an ancestor rearing his or her head? Had one of them come through the veil to help him, or was it just a dormant, remnant personality trait buried in his Quinametzin bloodline? He growled, annoyed to have one more thing to watch out for as he continued to grow in power.

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Lo’ro interrupted his musings, “I was impressed! That must have been a feisty geist!” He chortled again, then added, “Still, that wave of intent nearly had me wanting to crawl into that bone! Hah! Your master will be pleased to hear of it. Now, let’s be gone from this realm. Step through the aperture and then end your Spirit Walk.”

Victor only scowled, his mind too crowded with dark thoughts to find amusement in the Death Caster’s words. He stepped through the rip in the veil, and the frigid cold of the death-attuned Energy did much to cool his frustration. By the time he’d ended his Spirit Walk and found himself sitting among his coyotes, his mood had begun to lift. He let his coyotes lick his face while he waited for Lo’ro’s return. Victor dismissed the pack when the Death Caster stirred, sending them home to the Spirit Plane.

He was slinging Lifedrinker onto his back When Lo’ro opened his eyes and stood, producing a polished ivory case with a silk-lined interior. He gently placed the two rune-inscribed bones into the case, closed it, and handed it over to Victor. “Don’t store that in your cheap dimensional containers.”

Victor tucked the case against his side, holding it tight with his left hand and elbow. He nodded. “I won’t.”

“Any idea where your master’s run off to?”

“None. He said he had to contemplate some things or something along those lines.”

“So introspective, you Spirit Casters!” Lo’ro chuckled again, then beckoned Victor to follow him. “I’ll deliver you back to his lake house. You’ve done me a favor by completing this task so quickly. You might be interested in knowing why I wanted to finish it so quickly.” He looked back at Victor, raising one of his hairless eyebrows.

Victor nodded and quickly said, “Yes, sure.”

“Recall, if you will, the young lady who nearly completed the challenge dungeon while you tussled around in that great cave.”

“Arona?”

“Correct! Her master is Vesavo Bonewhisper, and we’re rather friendly rivals. I’m trying to steal her from him.” He began climbing the metal stairs that would take them to his tower’s dock, and Victor followed, puzzling over his words.

“Steal her?”

“As an apprentice. She’s too smart for Vesavo, and he’s a cruel master. Well, so am I, but less so, I think.” He laughed, that dry, raspy laugh of his, and Victor found himself scowling further. If he had Chantico’s strength, he might burn the man on the spot to make the world a brighter place. He stopped in his tracks as the thought ran through his mind. Chantico? It took a second for it to click; she was the ancestor who’d gifted him with her fire when he faced the reaver army. He hadn’t thought of her name in months, yet he’d just named her like she was as familiar as a friend or cousin.

Lo’ro continued speaking, but when he realized he’d moved ahead of Victor, he paused and looked back. “Something amiss?”

“I’m . . . not quite myself,” Victor admitted.

“Ah! Not too surprising, considering the realm you just spent time in. Come now. Let’s get you into the coach; you’ll be feeling yourself in no time.”

Victor grunted and began climbing the stairs again. “Right, sorry about that. What were you saying about Arona?”

“Yes! I’m attending a ball of sorts next week. Vesavo will be there, and I intend to steal his heart with my latest creation. He’ll lose his mind when he sees her! He’ll simply have to have her, and I intend to bargain for his apprentice.” They reached the landing, and he pushed open the heavy metal door, exposing them to the chilly gusts of the heights. Victor stepped out, inhaling the fresh air deeply and sighing in relief to feel the sun on his face. Something about the Death Caster’s tower had definitely been rubbing him the wrong way.

As Lo’ro pulled the door closed with a heavy clang, Victor looked at the pale, skeletal man. “Your latest creation is a woman?”

“In a sense! She’s not done yet, which is why I’m eager to get back to work today. She’ll be a construct of flesh and blood, animated by my magic and infused with spirit fragments. It was quite the puzzle to find enough complementing shards, ones that harmonize and strengthen each other. It’s been a labor of love for decades.” He led the way along the docking spire toward the coach as he continued, “You see, I take more pleasure in the process than the final product, but Vesavo won’t be able to say the same; I’ve crafted her to resemble his first love, a woman we both knew as young men.”

Victor thought the whole thing sounded macabre and, frankly, disgusting, and the only thing he could manage to feel other than that was sympathy for Arona. He grunted in a way that he hoped Lo’ro might interpret as him being impressed, and then he climbed into the coach, walking over to sit on the sofa where he’d ridden before. He closed his eyes and rubbed them with his thumbs, feeling a headache in the back of his skull, something he hadn’t experienced in a very long time.

“That rip in the veil was deep, lad. I have incredible torrents of death-attuned Energy feeding it from my tower. Your exposure to that, and also your spirit’s travel beyond the veil—I’m sure, for someone with a sensitive spirit Core, it threw things out of balance. You’ll be fine after a bit more time out in the sun. Dar’s lake house is just what the doctor ordered.” He paused and added, “Do you have a way to communicate with your ancestors?”

“Um,” Victor was surprised by the question and wasn’t quite sure how to answer. “I guess sometimes I talk to them. I don’t know if they hear. Oh! I can also send them gifts.”

“Do so again soon. It may be that they sensed you beyond the veil, which may make them unquiet.” Lo’ro sounded sincerely concerned about him, and Victor forced himself to dial back some of the disdain or perhaps just dislike he was feeling for the man. Yes, his magic was creepy, and Victor wasn’t on board with it, but he had just taught him a spell and helped him gather two powerful sources for cultivation. Not only that, but he seemed pleasant enough, though Victor would have bet money his joviality was a side effect of doing a favor for Ranish Dar.

He nodded and forced a smile, then closed his eyes, letting his mind wander, thinking about the sun—visualizing its orange-red reflection on Dar’s lake. Soon, the image wavered in his mind’s eye, and he pictured himself on the ziggurat’s steps, the great sky-metal altar behind him, the sun glowing orange-red overtop the thick, hazy jungle canopy. It felt glorious on his face and chest, soaking into his muscles, blood, and bones. He savored it, pulling the potent Energy into his pathways, letting it run through its cycles . . .

“Dead gods! Wake up, lad!” Victor felt a viselike, frigid grip on his shoulder, jostling him, and he opened his eyes, bleary with disorientation. He smelled smoke, and when he jerked fully awake, leaping to his feet, he saw that Lo’ro’s couch was blackened and smoking, and he, himself, was wreathed in red flames.

“What the fuck?” he grunted, slapping himself, but the flames were cool to the touch and hadn’t burned him or his clothes. Still, the couch . . .

“What the fuck, indeed!” Lo’ro laughed. He still gripped Victor’s shoulder, and Victor could see his sleeve was scorched, but his hand was unharmed. “Channeling spirit flames through the Spirit Plane, if I’m not mistaken. You were dreaming?”

“Yeah. Shit, I’m sorry, Lo’ro!” Victor looked down at the couch, relieved to see the fire flickering and fading away from his body. “I was . . . I was one of my ancestors, I think.”

“They’re worried about you. It seems one of them made a connection, in any case. That should put them at ease. Still, if you have something worth giving them, I’d do so. Your connection to the realms beyond ours is profound; I don’t think Dar quite realizes how much so. Is this something you want me to keep between us?”

Victor opened his mouth to respond but paused, weighing the words. Was Lo’ro offering to help him keep a secret from Dar? Was it a trap? Surely, the Death Caster valued Dar’s friendship more than whatever he had with Victor. Victor sighed and shook his head. It didn’t matter; he had no reason to hide his connection to his ancestors from Dar. “It’s nothing I’m trying to hide. Thanks for your concern, though. Can I pay for that couch?”

“It’s nothing. The damage will be repaired in an hour’s time, and I’ll have this carriage cleaned; it was due in any case. Luckily, we’re just now arriving, and you can get some fresh air and water—things I’m told the living much prefer to an undead lord’s crypt-like accommodations!” He laughed, and Victor found it easier to forget his earlier disgust.

Victor held up the ivory case containing the two bound geists, trying to shake off the strange thoughts, feelings, and, apparently, manifestations that had been plaguing him. “Thank you for all of your help today, Master Lo’ro.”

“It was my pleasure. Never doubt I got something out of this little endeavor. I do have a small proposal for you, though, my young friend. How would you like to earn a favor of your own?”

Victor paused by the door, eager to be gone from that strange coach but also intrigued. Lo’ro was a powerhouse; having him in his debt wouldn’t go amiss. “I’m listening.”

“The ball I mentioned—I’d appreciate it if you attended. I’m certain I can convince Vesavo to make the trade, but Arona might be unwilling; she’s grown used to his tutelage and might find the prospect of a new master daunting. If she saw you there as my guest, I might mention that your master and I are rather close and that there may be opportunities for joint training ventures sometime soon. I believe she’ll be intrigued. Well, if I were honest, I might say that anyone who witnessed the events in the Vault of Valor would be.”

“You want me to help you convince her to switch, um, masters?” Victor hated the word and hated how Dar was constantly being labeled as his master, but it seemed very ingrained in the culture of Sojourn and likely most worlds with powerful cultivators.

“Exactly so! As I said, I’d owe you a favor.”

“Um, can I bring a guest?” Victor was missing Valla and figured she might enjoy a party.

“Certainly! Never fear; I’ll arrange things with Dar. It’s settled, then?” He pulled the door to the coach open, and Victor felt the sun on his face like air to suffocating lungs.

“Sure. I can do that.” Victor smiled, respectfully nodded one more time, and then ducked out of the coach and into the bright sunshine. It was glorious. Lo’ro waved and closed the door, and then his ghostly carriage silently streaked away in a hazy cloud of gray, spectral smoke. Victor squinted down the drive toward the front of the house, but before he walked toward the door, he fished the Farscribe book he shared with Valla from his ring and flipped to the last page. He was suddenly desperate for some word from her. To his relief, a new message awaited him:

Victor,

All is well, though we are exhausted and drained. More battles await us after our rest, and I’m on watch. Lesh already snores nearby. I’ll share more news when we’re out, but for now, I’ll give you this good news: We’ve each gained two levels!

I love you,

Valla

Victor smiled and closed the book. He’d write her a response once he was sitting in the sun with a big glass of something fresh and still full of life, something like orange juice. He clutched the ivory box and started for the house, wondering when Dar would make his next appearance.