Chapter 352. Winning the Right Way (Patreon)

After Euryphel left, Ian focused his gaze on Clara. He felt the new bond between them, raw, unidirectional. It was distinct from the two-way connection he had with Maria that shared their emotions and allowed them to freely communicate.

When he’d turned Maria into a lich… his mind had been electric, his body on fire. He’d reached a breaking point and committed a most taboo miracle. After years of considering the matter of Maria’s resurrection, he’d concluded that making liches was rightfully taboo, but not because it transcended death. Death was irrelevant, as far as Ian was concerned.

No–the issue was the power he held over Maria. Years together hadn’t lessened the subtle unease he felt whenever he considered their bond. It was always there, tickling at his mind, waiting to be exercised.

And now, another binding was present, even if it ached and called to him differently.

The formation of Ian’s bonds with Maria and Clara were, on the surface, similar. As with all necromancy, he had needed to create the oaths using his mind, focusing his intent to shape them. More vivid, impactful thoughts worked best.

He’d succeeded in his first real attempt to make a necromantic bond with a human soul–Maria’s–because ascendant energy had intervened to bridge the gap of his inadequacy, and because of the strength of his emotions and conviction.

The bond he had with Clara was incomplete. He currently had no power over her, but that would soon change.

Commanding a necromantic construct wasn’t a naturally evocative exercise. For instance, commanding a construct to walk required Ian to really think about what walking meant, conceptually.

Over the years, Ian had learned best practices for necromantic commands. In the walking example, it was best not to think of how freeing and enjoyable it was to walk, but of how terrible it would be to lose the ability.

Fear was stronger than appreciation.

For that reason, the first oath Ian intended to command–one ensuring Clara’s silence–would be easy.

As Clara shuffled over and collapsed into an armchair, her head rolling back against the backrest, Ian began to imagine the worst-case scenarios should Clara tell everyone what she’d learned. If Clara were taken seriously, her testimony would confirm any suspicions of Euryphel working against Sere and the Infinity Loop project. Learning of Ian’s existence would also throw the Sere Consortium’s people into chaos. They’d learn that there were supposedly two Ian Dunais and that one was an imposter. The most likely outcome, according to his Beginning, was that Sere would confront their point of contact–Achemiss masquerading as fake Ian–and ask for an explanation.

That was a headache Ian wanted to avoid.

Ian compressed all his fears into an imaginary ball, then imagined pushing them from his mind, down through his arm, and into his hand, where he clutched the disembodied soul connected to Clara. He felt his worries and desires unfurl within the metaphysical nexus of Clara’s being, blossoming into a command.

Reverberations hummed against his ethereal body as the oath took effect, settling onto Clara like a loose, metaphysical harness of roots. As the woman rested, panting lightly, she exhibited no sign that she’d felt the oath take effect. The unnamed criminal woman beneath Ichormai also hadn’t felt anything during Ian’s experiments, but Ian hadn’t been sure if that was a fluke.

“Clara,” Ian said, speaking slowly, giving her time to refocus herself.

She stared at him, her eyes wide with fear but shimmering with intelligence and ambition. She’s finally starting to see this as an opportunity, Ian realized.

“Yes?”

Ian gestured with the hand holding the disembodied soul. “Tell me something you learned today about me.”

She opened her mouth, only to croak, her hand rising to her throat. She stroked her neck gently, her eyes narrowing. Ian could tell that she was experimenting, feeling out the oath, sensing which phrases were forbidden.

“You… seem older than you should be,” she finally said. She wasn’t trying to deceive him–his Beginning and Remorse all but assured that. She had tried to say other, important information, and had failed.

The necromantic oath had worked.

Ian smiled and sat easier, the tension in his shoulders lessening. He was finally free to ask her what the Darkseers needed to know. What he needed to know. And she wouldn’t be able to reveal the questions he asked to his enemies.

“How did Achemiss­­–fake Ian–appear to the officials of Sere?” Ian asked mentally.

His arrival was sudden. I wasn’t there for the initial visit, but I know he asked for many things in return for his expertise, Clara explained. She went on to list numerous expensive reagents and materials. He also asked for a list of rifts for him to conduct studies in unperturbed.

“Did you give the rift information to him?” Ian wondered, his breath catching in his throat.

It’s impossible to refuse an ascendant, she said. I believe we gave him the location of five rifts, which was what he considered the bare minimum acceptable.

Ian felt Maria rejoicing in his head. This is the first evidence we’ve found to support the conjecture that Achemiss has been sheltering in a rift, she thought.

Her enthusiasm caused his lip to curl into a grin. Five rifts weren’t very many. If they could find out which of the five Achemiss was hiding in, then they had a chance at killing him.

“You don’t know the five rifts, I assume,” Ian thought.

Clara shook her head. No. However, I can tell you the names of people who might.

—

Maria leaned up against Ian. The couple sat on the edge of a cliff, one inaccessible by the switchbacking trails that scored the cliffside. Secluded, they watched the sun rise over the Bay of Ramsay.

Ian hadn’t slept well. He was agitated and didn’t have a good way to blow off steam.

Yesterday evening, Euryphel had paid Clara Belvaire a visit with the transmission artifact. He did so every night, usually in a Regret scenario. This time, the news had been different.

After waiting for nearly two weeks, they finally had news of Achemiss.

He would be approaching the Sere Consortium’s assembly soon. Extremely soon–Achemiss had only given Sere eighteen hours to prepare. By the time Euryphel learned of the pronouncement, they only had ten hours’ notice.

And now, the meeting was set to begin in two hours.

Ian, Maria, and Eury had speculated what the meeting’s purpose was. Ian hoped Achemiss planned to ask for more rifts in addition to the five he’d already been granted in return for his help on Infinity Loop research.

The Darkseers had tried to steal information about the original five rift locations from the Sere Consortium, but they hadn’t learned anything. More than likely, the consortium elite had agreed to a small mind wipe eliminating their knowledge of the rift locations, fully transferring them to Achemiss.

Ian figured that, if more rift information was bartered, there would be another mind wipe. Achemiss’s paranoia would require it.

Of course, it was possible that they were all over thinking things. This meeting might just be a routine check-in on Sere’s research efforts.

The uncertainty ate at Ian.

Maria squeezed his hand. Sometimes, our greatest weapon is patience.

I can be patient, he thought.

Sometimes, Maria allowed, but not when the future is nebulous. I’m not very patient either, so I don’t blame you.

You are patient, Ian argued. Patient with me, at least. He laughed softly and rubbed his face into her hair. I suppose you’re right. I consider myself patient on matters pertaining to my practice.

I wouldn’t call that patience. More like obsession.

Ian cocked his head and considered his right wrist. He’d eventually forced the disembodied soul connected to Clara into a thin bracelet made of interlocked bones. A strand of blue stretched from the bracelet and disappeared into the cliffs behind them, extending to the Sere researcher.

Ian hadn’t been entirely honest with Clara, and even Euryphel, about the soul oath. Only Maria–who had been present for his full experiments on the criminal woman beneath Ichormai–knew what the oath could do.

End oaths often took effect based on proximity. An End practitioner needed to be physically close to create oaths and arrays, or they needed to make use of conduits for their power. Maria had developed extensive infrastructure throughout Selejo to weave webs of End arrays, afflicting her opponents with terrible effects if they invaded her shores.

Having suffered those End afflictions firsthand, Ian knew how powerful they were. He’d needed to kill himself–and Eury–to disable them.

But while End arrays could be strong and nuanced, they weren’t flexible. Once an array or oath was made, it was static, unless deliberately changed… but changes were impossible from afar.

In contrast, Ian’s necromantic oath was fluid, responsive. He could change it as he wished so long as he maintained a connection with the disembodied soul connected to his quarry.

Unless Ian wanted to always keep a throng of disembodied souls around him, he could only maintain a few necromantic oaths at one time. Additionally, his oaths were far more invasive to establish compared to End oaths, which could be activated by something as simple as signing an agreement.

In summary, his oaths were more flexible than End oaths, but significantly less practical. Their one decisive benefit was that only necromancers with soul sight would be able to notice them.

When Ian used ascendant energy, however… things changed. He could do more. His will became undeniable.

Why didn’t you tell Eury the extent of this power? Maria asked, sensing the turn in Ian’s thoughts.

The bone bracelet floated up over Ian’s wrist until it draped over his palm.

It wasn’t ever convenient or necessary, he thought, which was true. He rubbed his fingers against it, feeling the connection. He could sense the restrictions he’d imposed through it.

You didn’t think it was necessary to tell him that you can control Clara from afar?

It’s not useful to do so, he replied. Clara has no authority at the assembly. She is there to report on progress when prompted, not to offer opinions or ask questions.

Shouldn’t you at least tell him you can do so? It opens up other possibilities.

I’m certain he knows, Ian said. But he won’t acknowledge it until I tell him in reality.

Maria turned her face and gave him a probing look. You’re certain?

My Beginning says there’s a 95% chance he knows.

Maria snorted. Your Beginning is crap. He doesn’t know.

He frowned. How are you so sure?

Because you’re acting on outdated information. We’ve both changed over the past years, but Euryphel has changed a lot since we ascended, too. She shook her head wistfully. He used to always peek ahead so he had all the answers and was the smartest person in the room. But nowadays, he looks less often into the future.

I… noticed that to some degree, but I didn’t know what to think about it. It’s not like his Regret is broken.

He’s simply learning the importance of self-moderation, she said, giving Ian a half smile. But I think for him, it’s also a matter of trust.

He trusts me to tell him what he needs to know, rather than interrogating me in scenarios, Ian said, guessing at the direction of her thoughts.

She just gave him a knowing glance before leaning her head back against his chest, crossing her arms.

They were silent for a minute.

You know why I don’t want him to know.

Maria didn’t respond for a moment. Not really, Ian. You don’t even fully know. Your excuses change by the day.

They’re justifications, not excuses, Ian retorted. I don’t like the fact that I wield this power. I don’t want Euryphel to ask me to bind others with necromantic oaths. I want that to be my decision.

You act like this power is so much worse than what me and the Crowned Executor can do, Maria said, but it really isn’t. Our End oaths are just as controlling and inviolable, and only a select group of people at the peak of power can break them. On this world, aside from the returned ascendants, no one can break my oaths if I use ascendant energy.

Then why not force everyone in Sere into an End oath, Maria? Ian asked, frustrated. Why not bind the entire world? Force them to abandon the loop, to destroy all traces of the technology?

Maria frowned.

Y’jeni, we could hide your phylactery in outer space where it can’t be found. You could stay on this world as a sentinel, forcing everyone to abandon thoughts of using Infinity Loop tech. You would be an undying nightmare to your enemies. And once you were sure of your enduring impact–that the loop technology was truly forgotten–I could come for you and take you back to Eternity.

That wouldn’t solve the Achemiss problem, Maria noted.

No, it wouldn’t. For the record, I don’t consider that a viable solution. Other returned ascendants might intervene against what they consider an overstep of power. And even if they don’t, that solution isn’t fair to you.

What is your point, then, Ian?

He took a deep breath, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He suddenly felt exhausted. I don’t know where to draw the line. I don’t know how far I should go to ensure success against Achemiss. Now that I’ve proven the power of my necromantic oaths, why shouldn’t I go around to all the world’s sovereigns and force oaths upon them? Why shouldn’t I control them for the greater good? I could force them all to cut funding to the Infinity Loop research, to turn their backs on its temptations. The only limit is my ability to control multiple necromantic oaths, but as my Beginning affinity increases, I’ll be able to control more and more.

Ian sighed. Euryphel considers himself the strategist and us, his strongest weapons. At least with your End oaths, he tells himself that they’re traceable and will alert Achemiss to our involvement. He doesn’t need to consider the moral implications of forcing unbreakable oaths powered by ascendant energy on his enemies. But if he knew of the potential of necromantic oaths, I think he’d be forced to recognize their utility and strategic importance. He’d be forced to ask me to use them.

You don’t want Euryphel to ask his best friend to commit an atrocity, is that it? Maria asked.

Ian raised his head and angled it to meet her eyes. You make it sound like I’m coddling him. No. I want Euryphel to win the right way. Achemiss is an ascendant, and should be dealt with by ascendants. But Infinity Loop is a problem of this world. There is a right way and a wrong way to save this planet, Maria. Having us ascendants strongarm a solution is definitely the wrong way.

But what if it’s the only way? Maria wondered, her thoughts worried. He could sense her concern for Zilverna and Kaiwen, for all the people of Selejo whom she’d once called her subjects. Even if the current generations never suffered from the Infinity Loop’s soul corruption, their descendants would.

Consider Ascendant Ari, Ian replied, pulling Maria close to his chest. We know she tried to save worlds tainted by Infinity Loop technology. Tried, and failed. Every time. It drove her mad, at least in part. There’s a lesson in that.

You say that now, but I know that you and I care too much about this world to let it fall, Maria said, gripping his hand.

Ian’s chest constricted. This conversation hadn’t helped his mood at all.

“Ian,” Euryphel’s voice cut in, speaking over quantum channel. “It’s time to meet beneath the palace.”

“We’ll be over soon.”