Chapter 304. Discardia’s Judgment (Patreon)

Red and I return to reality with a jolt. I take a deep breath in as I reorient myself, taking note of all living things in the vicinity through both my vital perception and my Remorse affinity.

Two of the formerly occupied chairs are now vacant, suggesting that we’re the third pair to awaken. Holiday sits at a bureau at the head of the treehouse-esque classroom, his hands drumming on the desk. He makes eye contact with us and smiles.

“How was it?”

“How was what?” I ask slowly, standing to my full height.

“Discardia,” he clarifies. He taps his head and gives us a knowing look.

You know this is an experiment, Holiday continues, his mental shields lowered just enough for us to read his surface thoughts. I wish to know what your assessment is.

“Discardia made me aware of my ignorance regarding descents and the Hall of Ascension,” Red answers. “We did not see every possible scenario, but instead followed one narrative down a few branching paths. It was enough to recognize the challenges descendants face.”

And you, Ancient Black?

“I left Discardia with more questions than answers.”

Holiday grins, his teeth glowing red. “Since you’ve completed all five rounds, you can join the others at the observation platform. There have been more than a few complaints about the duration of the Discardia trials, as numerous organizations had not planned for days of nonstop competing. It is yet to be determined if there will be continued competition rounds after this one, as was originally planned. When all competitors complete the five rounds, we will display the rankings and make the final determination. Until then, your time is your own.”

“Ascendant Crimson Teeth, what is the lowest round still in progress?” Red asks.

“Round three.”

How are some of the groups still so behind?

Red grimaces. “Is forfeiting an option?”

“It is.”

“At least those with no chance of winning have the option to give up and save us all from waiting,” Red thinks. He nods at Holiday. “Farewell for now.”

We drop off the side of the classroom. Red runs a few paces on one of the massive brambly branches, then propels himself up toward the observation platform with a leap. In my usual fashion, I simply glide over.

The ascendants are as they were when we left for the fifth round. Lucinda stands alone on the edge of the platform, her arms crossed loosely over her torso.

“Ascendant Lucinda,” I say as I approach.

She turns her head in acknowledgment. “Ancient Black. Have you already finished? It’s been little more than ten minutes.”

The trial was at least forty minutes from my perspective, but time within Discardia is somewhat dilated. “The final round was faster than anticipated. I realize neglected to discuss it earlier, but how have the black faction’s competitors faired?”

She gives me a flippant smirk. “No one has performed in an exemplary manner.”

How tragic… not. “Do you think the competition will continue, or is will it end with Discardia?”

She looks around. “Who remains to see it? Most ascendant observers have already returned to their organizations and factions. In truth, I am here for one person: you. If you wanted to leave now, I would take you directly to Starbreak.”

This is exactly what I wanted, coming here. It feels too good to be true.

“You won’t wait for the results?” I inquire.

“I will hear of them later; besides, they are likely to be thrown out.”

I inwardly sigh on Holiday’s behalf. He knew that the observers would take fault with his plan but went through with it anyway. In exchange for his favor, I agreed to play along and enter Discardia, providing a model of good behavior. That was my only obligation. However, I feel compelled to give Discardia at least a cursory defense. There’s no way that typical trials could compare to the relevance of Holiday’s descendant simulation.

My gaze is impassive. “On whose authority will the results be challenged?”

Lucinda rubs her jaw thoughtfully. “The black faction will petition the Hall about the changed competition format, and I know we will not be alone.”

I cock my head. “If Ascendant Red ranks first, this will be an affront to me.”

Lucinda’s smile is dazzling, almost sultry. “With all due respect, Ancient, he had you to help him.”

This woman annoys me, Maria remarks.

I wonder why, I retort sarcastically. I reply to Lucinda’s comment with a cold countenance. “I was reduced to a single affinity practitioner without ascendant energy.”

Her smile falls. “Regardless, let me know when you are prepared to leave.”

—

I take a long shower back in my chambers beneath the competition field. Red joins me later after freshening up in his own room.

After a short discussion, we come to an agreement on how to proceed.

Red is required to stay through the end of the competition, unless he is eliminated. Leaving without him is an option, but one I’d prefer not to take. The Regret and Remorse practitioner is a useful companion to have, especially as I venture into the closest thing to enemy territory.

In the end, we decide that a few days of waiting are inconsequential since Lucinda is willing to wait.

—

On a distant plane I sit on a flat slab of sandstone, my eyes closed while I concentrate on listening to the surroundings. Beginning helps me make sense of the noise of nature, helping me to differentiate between the myriad creatures in the vicinity.

“Ancient Black,” Red’s voice suddenly calls from behind me. I whip around, my eyes opening. Red stands on the sandstone, his form ever so slightly transparent. Most wouldn’t notice, but my Beginning affinity picks out the pattern of the clouds showing faintly through his clothes. He’s using the transmission artifact to contact me.

“Should I return?” I ask.

“Yes. The very last group who has not forfeited exited the fourth round and is moving straight to the fifth.”

Maria, come, I say. It’s time.

She pops up from the edge of a nearby chasm and lands lightly, a small cloud of dust swirling over her thin, black boots. She struts over and smiles at Red. “Thank you for letting us know, we’ll return soon.” She gives him a wave.

Ascendant Red disappears, leaving me and Maria alone.

She leans and offers me her hands, pulling me up. I stand on shaky legs as she wraps her arms around my back and pulls herself to my chest. We embrace for a solid minute.

It’s a goodbye that isn’t a goodbye.

I hand her the Blade of Revelation and she draws it across her chest. The transformation takes her, exchanging a woman for three pieces of equipment. The crown, the bracers, the cape–though with my wings, the cape becomes flaming under plumage.

I exhale in relief as strength returns to my body in full force. I’d grown progressively weaker over the past few hours, so much so that sitting was taxing.

I don’t take your sacrifice for granted, I tell her, clenching my fist. I’ll figure out a way to fix whatever’s wrong with me. Then you’ll never have to be like this again.

Sooner, rather than later, please, she says.

If I don’t find a way to eliminate my reliance on you before we meet Achemiss, and you are unable to descend with me using the return beacon… I leave the implication unsaid and set off for the competition grounds, flying toward the nearby veil vulnerability.

You know, Ian… you are going to visit a master of artifacts, someone who might be able to craft you a solution.

I frown. You think I should get Achemiss’s help? The longer I spend around him, the greater the chance that he’ll ascertain our ill intentions, or worse, learn of my identity.

I am aware.

It takes an hour of traveling through planes to return to the competition grounds. Making my way over, I see that the observation platform is slanted at a forty-five-degree angle and that it’s folded like a staircase.

Like in an amphitheater of old, Maria notes as my many senses take in the scene. The number of observers is still less than half of the original amount, but significantly more than I expected. Many ascendants must have been killing time in other nearby planes like me.

Oily darkness writhes over my clothes as I approach the center of the steps and sit, casually leaning an ankle over my other leg while maintaining unyielding straightness in my neck and back. The good posture speaks to my temperament; the haphazard leg indicates my impatience.

Impatience shared by many, if not all.

Red and the other competitors stand in the classroom, the boughs of the gnarled tree stretching to hold the open face room at the same height as the converted platform. Most of the competitors look exhausted, which is certainly intentional. It’s one way of showing displeasure with the unconventional turn of events.

“Do they all really hate Discardia?” I ask Red.

“I think some pairs did,” Red replies, “the ones who were ill equipped or ill-tempered to handle the more complex scenarios. But most of those pairs forfeited before the end. Everyone who is here succeeded.”

Anyone who finished Discardia, even if–perhaps especially if–it was difficult, would have learned something. I don’t think the same could be said if events had proceeded with a competition that would elapse in minutes.

No, I don’t think these people hate Discardia, but they have an obligation to whatever organizations they represent. Each competitor’s job is to win or facilitate the victory of an ally.

What happens when you, nor any of your allies, are front runners? You can either admit defeat or discredit the competition itself. The former is the last resort and the unfortunate base case.

Why must everything in Eternity be complicated? I ask Maria wistfully.

Don’t ask rhetorical questions you know the answer to, she scolds playfully. We’re human. It’s just what we do.

Says the lich.

Holiday keeps us waiting, not making an appearance for thirty minutes. But none of the ascendants grow antsy and get up to walk around. We all sit silently, peacefully, unhurried. We’ve waited days–what are a few hours more?

What are a few minutes before the unending horizon of Eternity?

When Holiday finally makes his appearance, he does so with a dignified gravitas. Suddenly he is sitting at the classroom bureau, having appeared too fast for my eyes to track the movement. In his hands is a pile of papers.

Maybe he’s been sitting there all along, Maria suggests.

How? I would have sensed his vitality or his mind. My Beginning argues that based on what I know about the man, he shouldn’t be able to cloak himself so perfectly.

It’s Holiday–he’s a Beginning practitioner. Isn’t anything possible?

She has a point. My Beginning intuition, weak as it is, is undoubtedly helpful, but can be misleading.

Holiday gathers up the papers and thunks them against the desk so that the tops lay even.

“Competitors,” he says languidly, “take your assigned seats for the judging.”

I don’t recall any of the seats being assigned, but at least Red and I sat at the same ones each round. The competitors shuffle over to their desks and slide into chairs. They look at Holiday expectantly, willing this all to be over.

“Each of you will receive a report generated by Discardia, though in part influenced by me.” He throws the reports into the air and they fold themselves into paper birds, gliding toward the seated ascendants. They unfold upon reaching a desk.

I’m too far to see other details, but there appear to be pictographic icons and numbers. The ascendants inspect the papers.

Only a moment passes before all eyes stare at Holiday.