Chapter 279. The Valley of Tents (Patreon)

“This is it,” Red thinks. “Whatever you do, don’t let your mental barrier collapse.”

“Have I done so once over this entire trip?”

“No, but the point remains,” he quips.

“Look at you, ordering an ancient around.”

“You only qualify on a technicality. Wait until you’ve mastered all your affinities.”

I step forward and take a deep breath. We stand at the threshold of the last plane before the competition grounds. Relative to my perception of time, it’s been years since I needed to assume a false identity. But it’s a skill that I developed as a child and refined as I grew up–a skill Mother forced upon me. It’s proven its usefulness in the intervening years.

Compared to infiltration experts, I’m sure Mother’s skills would be considered amateurish–her charm and deception are both self-taught. But they were enough to navigate Jupiter’s social circles as she positioned herself to avenge the man she blamed for ruining her family, the Vanderlich patriarch.

She required the cooperation of her children to keep up the charade.

Focus, Maria interrupts.

I’ve already been wearing a physical mask, and now I’m about to don a mental one, I say. I’ve had ample time over the course of this journey to consider my new identity. As the breath leaves my lungs, a shudder of trepidation passes over me. It’s time to become an ancient in more than definition.

I continue my explanation, saying, I’m still trying to decide who I’m going to be. I’m under no illusions that I can fake another identity flawlessly.

I’ve been privy to your thoughts. I know you still haven’t decided, which concerns me. You haven’t even picked a name, much less a personality or backstory, and the moment of truth is almost upon us. She pauses, giving me a moment to formulate a response.

Upon Red’s suggestion, we had considered names that Eternity’s intention matrix would translate more easily, names that were actual words, in the vein of Red, Ash, or even Crimson Teeth. I’ve also worked on forming an identity that is based on myself–a mix of who I am now and who I could have been. And of course, is a bit insane, but only after scratching the surface.

I extend my arm, cobalt energy building in my fingertip, hidden by the darkness of my flesh. The plane parts as though it’s afraid, retreating to the sides. I glide through, my bare feet hovering inches off the marble floor. We’re in an open temple, and a large valley is visible between columns big enough for two men to wrap their arms around. Fine green grass carpets the terrain as far as I can sense vitality, though the mountains themselves–jagged, frosted slabs of rock–are barren of life.

The valley almost looks like a street festival, for it’s been filled with rows of sheer, white tents affiliated with different organizations. Some organizations have only a few feet of space, and have left their tents unadorned, while other factions have rendered their vast stretches of tents unrecognizable.

Hey, Maria, I begin. I can sense Holiday’s vital signature.

You can pick him out from all those present without line of sight?

If I concentrate, yes. Beginning makes it even easier.

Well… hopefully he keeps his distance, she replies. If anyone here would be able to recognize you, something tells me that he’d be the one.

She’s not wrong—Holiday might be the only Beginning practitioner present who personally knows Ian Dunai. Freaking Beginning practitioners.

At least you’re one of them, now, Maria says.

I also found the tent for our faction, I add. The only people I recognize are Mordika and Jeseria. I’d bet on them recognizing me since they’ve seen me use the dagger, so we should avoid them to be safe.

The polite cough of an ascendant smothered in a suit cut from dark red cloth seizes my attention. He has a ledger in front of him made from projected light.

Red emerges through the tear in the veil and stands next to me. After waiting another moment to see if anyone else will join us, the red-suit makes his introductions.

“Hello, gentlemen, I am Ascendant Nathaniel. I am affiliated with Ascendant Lucretia Bronze and represent the Hall of Ascension. Please state your name and affiliation.”

I flex the shadowy wings on my back, revealing their molten under plumage, though not in a way meant to intimidate. I don’t want to come off as aggressive.

Don’t worry, they’re cute, Maria says. Her tone drips with sarcasm.

If the situation were less grave, I might be tempted to roll my eyes. “I am Ancient Black, unaffiliated.” Light flares around me in a tight circle, cycling between three colors: electric violet, light blue, and nectarine-orange. It winks out when I tap my foot.

Maria, do you know how they did that?

I can see arrays under the floor of this temple, hundreds of them. My guess would be that one of those is to blame.

Should I be concerned? The colors may be innocuous, but there might be other arrays that measure and record my affinity levels.

Red would have warned you if there was anything to be worried about, she points out. Besides, what’s the point of measuring affinities?

What do you mean?

Everyone should be at the pinnacle. The only people who might not have all their affinities maxed out are brand new ascendants with dual affinities or newborn ancients. Since this competition aims to find a powerful ascendant to join the Hall of Ascension, they’re not looking to attract new ascendants, and ancients wouldn’t normally be interested.

The irony of her observation isn’t lost on me. I’m at the intersection of the two groups that they aren’t expecting.

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Nathaniel says. A new entry joins his ledger, not that I can read the foreign script. Like most powerful ascendants, he maintains passive mental defenses, ones that a Remorse practitioner could break but not discreetly. It’s a testament to the magnitude of his surprise that the emotion leaks outward.

“Good thing you’re going to ditch this guy almost immediately,” Red says. “He has dreams of becoming an ancient himself and, given the chance, will barrage you with questions.”

Betraying none of his true thoughts, Red smiles and introduces himself next. He has no public affiliation with the white faction, and thus no need to hide his name. “I am Ascendant Red, affiliated with Ancient Black.”

The floor lights up again, though this time it glows in only two colors: aquamarine and marigold yellow. We share an affinity, but none of our colors matched; the coloration must be related to characteristics other than affinity.

Suddenly Holiday’s vital signature converges on our location. The man can’t teleport, but he’s damn fast, and soon he emerges between two of the temple pillars. Leather boots clash with a red suit, the article of clothing identical to Nathaniel’s. A heavy black cloak drapes over his right shoulder, partially obscuring an ebony snake, its tongue caressing Holiday’s earlobe. Holiday's eyes shine like emeralds as he treads over the marble floor to my position, matching my smile with one of his own.

Only through very deliberate use of decemancy do I keep my expression neutral. I force down the unease in my stomach. I thought I might meet Holiday here, but not in the first few seconds after arriving.

There’s no reason for him to suspect your true identity. You can’t fake being an ancient. If anything, his Beginning affinity will work in your favor because the likelihood of you being an ancient is so improbable, Maria argues.

My nerves ease in response to her logic. You’re probably right.

I confess that I never thought I’d see him again, Maria says. He’s just as I remember him, aside from the red suit. He even has the same utility belt as before strung along his fancy belt loops. Maria pauses in consideration. Somehow, he pulls it off.

That’s because “utility belt” fails to capture the belt’s appearance. I could see it rounding out the dangerous look of an assassin.

When Holiday steps forward to introduce himself, I’m already feeling much better. This is the second time you’ve calmed me down and we’ve scarcely been here a minute.

I sense Maria’s coy, soundless laughter over our bond. What are friends for?

Holiday inclines his head before me in a respectful gesture. “Ancient Black, I am Ascendant Crimson Teeth, affiliated with no faction other than the Hall of Ascension. I confess that your name is unfamiliar to me, a point of ignorance that I would like to rectify. Care to take a walk?”

“I’ve come to see the black faction,” I state simply. “I’ll walk with you if you bring me to whoever is their most senior representative here.”

Holiday blinks. His lips widen into a grin. “Sure.”

“I’ve been running scenarios since we arrived,” Red mentally transmits. “Prepare yourself; I’m going to pass along the memories that were prudent.” Suddenly, memories coalesce at the edges of my consciousness, just waiting for me to access them. I invite them in, relying on my Beginning affinity to ease their ingestion.

Experiences play through my mind as Holiday and I walk forward, vying for my attention. I split my focus between multiple, parallel streams. I didn’t need to worry about sounding over-ignorant in scenarios, so my questions for Holiday ranged from broad to specific. In one scenario, I barraged him with questions about the competition; in another, I inquired about the competition grounds, and how its location was selected. I probed about anything I thought might compromise my identity and call into question my power, such as the light show when I first announced my identity as Ancient Black.

In the real world, Holiday and I walk along a path bordering the tent-lined valley, a simple grassy circuit.

“Is there a reason we’re walking?” I ask, eyeing the other ascendants around us, most nursing different beverages. The city where everyone wore wingsuits is still fresh in my mind. Unless my ability to read vital signatures is broken, everyone here is an ascendant and should be able to fly using ascendant energy. Despite this, everyone strolls on the ground level and the tents are single-story constructions.

“It’s easier this way. Besides, it’s better sometimes to remember that under the surface, we’re all people. We enjoy overelaborate cocktails and mountainside strolls. We can enjoy simple tents as much as opulent palaces.”

“I suppose.”

“You’re not interested in joining the Hall, are you?” Holiday asks, and the question seems genuine. He knows I didn’t come here with that intent but is curious if I’d be willing to change my mind.

I chuckle. “You don’t even know who I am. Why do you care?”

He approaches a table where several drinks are mixing themselves, some with stirring rods and others with transparent shakers. He swipes two of the shakers from the end and the shakers melt away, revealing flower-blossom-inspired glasses.

I grab mine and realize that the glass is, in fact, ice. But rather than melt in my fingers, it remains solid, and it isn’t uncomfortably cold.

“You’re right, I don’t know you, but what better way to get to know someone than over drinks?”

I hold up my beverage to Holiday’s snake. She’s been quiet the entire time. When we met Holiday before, she spoke into our minds directly, but I don’t think she’s a pseudo-Remorse practitioner like Crystal. Ever since I obtained a Remorse affinity, I’ve been able to tell who is and isn’t a Remorse practitioner. My guess is that the snake can express herself with the assistance of an item.

“I don’t think I ever got your name,” I say.

“I call myself Ebon Pearl,” the snake says.

“Snakes don’t have the taste for drinks,” Holiday interjects, turning to plant a kiss on his snake’s diamond-shaped head. She recoils and hisses.

“I’ve refined my palate over the years,” Ebon Pearl replies. Her tongue darts out, its twin tips lapping at the beverage.

Holiday rolls his eyes. “Her table manners are atrocious.” He runs his fingers along her gullet. “She’s never learned to chew her food.”

Holiday blessedly refrains from introducing me to other ascendants as we walk. Eventually, he rekindles the subject of joining the Hall of Ascension. While I let myself go on autopilot deflecting his remarks, memories stream into my mind from Red’s scenarios.

“Ascendant Crimson Teeth, why did you join the Hall of Ascension?” I ask.

“Most don’t think to ask.” He strokes Ebon Pearl. “Some of us come to Eternity to escape our responsibilities, to avoid a purpose beyond our own advancement. Others come here to understand the origin of existence, or search for a purpose worthy of their time and abilities.”

“You were in the first group,” I postulate.

He smiles. “No, I was in the fourth and most common– that of people looking for a challenge. What greater challenge exists than maintaining the cycle of existence?”

“Or entering the highly-selective Hall of Ascension,” I retort. “People join just because they want the challenge of winning a position, don’t they?”

“More than I’d like to admit.”

I reorient my focus to the real world, pushing the memories away. We’re almost there. “You know, I heard some ascendants were talking about making a school…”

Holiday laughs uproariously. “You do know who I am, then. I feel like I’ve met you before, but I can’t place it. Perhaps a very long time ago, before you modified your body to such a degree.”

“I’m a Remorse practitioner, Crimson Teeth. Everyone I passed on the way to this competition knew who you were because you’ve been working at the Hall the longest of anyone.” I tap my head. “Even as a recluse I can be well-informed.”

“Then you should know that we’ve arrived.”

Ebon Pearl extends her head out from under his cloak, wrapping herself around Holiday’s neck. “Behold, the black faction.”