caerulex

Chapter 216. The Twenty-First Gate

Added 2021-10-25 21:49:49 +0000 UTC

Rather than leading the way, Karanos has me and Maria carve a path through planes. Sometimes the veil is thin and easy to pierce, allowing us to cut through multiple planes in one go. Other times it’s nearly impregnable–that’s when Karanos takes over.

We’re in such a plane now, one filled with ominous fog and mutated birds lurking in warped trees. The dark, hazy sky is nearly impossible to cut; only when concentrating my energy into my fingertip and jabbing forward do I make any kind of mark. Maria is in the same boat.

“Watch me,” Karanos says, his finger shimmering slightly, poised to gut the plane like a fish.

“You always say that, but I’m not sure I’m taking anything away,” I retort. “If it were easy to pierce the veil, people wouldn’t care so much about veil vulnerabilities.” The compass from Holiday would be practically obsolete in that case.

“You have the capability,” Karanos asserts.

“Our ascendant energy isn’t like yours,” Maria points out. “Blue, not red.”

He scoffs. “Blue or red, it doesn’t matter. If I controlled your bodies, I could still cut through this plane. It’s a matter of technique.”

Looking at Karanos, I don’t recognize whatever supposed technique he’s using.

“We’re still on the fringes of Eternity, where planes have weaker veils than usual. If you recall, I took you here for a reason–to familiarize yourselves with sundering the veil at will. But as we approach the lost quadrant, things are going to change. Planes will become more tangible and difficult to cut through, just like this one, and unless you plan on scouting for veil vulnerabilities everywhere you go...you’ll need to be able to carve your own path against the grain.”

Karanos walks over to me and grips my wrist. He uses his other hand to trace a path up from my armpit to my index finger. “You can sense the flow of vital energy in people. When you consider your ascendant energy, also think of it like a circuit.”

Suddenly, a projection appears before us of an arm cut in half, like a medical diagram. I can see all the muscles, vessels, and bones. Overlaid on top of it is a blue circuit of crackling energy, like sluggish lightning.

When I usually use ascendant energy, I think of it like manifesting energy externally over my skin, rather than channeling it internally.

Karanos continues his explanation: “Let the energy flow and gain momentum. Then, you can let it loose in a single strike.” He releases my arm and holds up his index finger. As usual, it seems almost completely normal; there’s no trace of ascendant energy.

He taps his finger forward and the plane rips apart, revealing a meadow of wildflowers and giant, red-eyed rabbits.

“There’s a reason you can’t see my ascendant energy,” he quips.

“You’re keeping it inside,” Maria murmurs. “How are you releasing it?”

“At a single point,” Karanos replies. “Accumulate energy over a large area, then condense it down to a single point for maximum effect.”

“If it’s really that easy, why doesn’t everyone do that?”

Karanos snorts. “Because–simple isn’t easy. Ascendant energy is naturally external in its manifestation. Naturally, you’ll use some of the energy internally, but it’s a small portion. The key is to shift the ratio of internal to external.”

It takes a full half-day before we reach the edge of the lost quadrant. True to Karanos’ word, the plane veils become increasingly stable and hard to pierce over time. By the end, Karanos almost entirely takes over carving us a path.

He’s literally called Void Seeker, renowned for his ability to freely traverse planes, Maria says over our bond, frustration coloring her words. And he’s expecting us to learn his techniques by observing him?

Don’t forget that the techniques are all internal and thus invisible, I retort, raising an eyebrow in an attempt to add levity.

I can tell that Maria’s getting quite frustrated at her inability to cut through planes. After spending weeks in places with thin veils, returning to “normal” planes is like having our wings clipped.

“We’re here,” Karanos announces. “Or, about to be.”

I frown. “How do you know?” It’s uncanny how Karanos proceeds forward without doubting his steps.

“Just beyond the threshold is the western gate. Of course there is no absolute East or West when we’re dealing with planes, but in my own rough map that’s how I’ve demarcated it.”

A solid-looking map projects out in front of us, a product of Karanos’ practice. At the center is a rough nexus of thousands of pinpoints circumscribed within a broken circle. Beyond are other points, but those are more spread out. The circle almost looks like the wall of a temple ruin, pockmarked and half-destroyed. A bright red dot flashes next to the left-most section–I assume it marks our location.

“This map isn’t arranged by physical distance, but by planar proximity,” Karanos explains. In other words, which planes are adjacent to one another.

“But...how are you representing the planes in two dimensional space?” Maria asks. One plane might be connected to two others, but their connections might be far from one another. A 2D representation would be unable to capture the spatial complexities.

Suddenly the map rotates. In a 3D representation of space, the points would look as though suspended in a sphere; but as Karanos’ map pans, the points shift and turn irregularly. It almost reminds me of something like a tesseract. It’s clearly an attempt to represent higher-dimensional relationships.

I’m struck by the realization that Karanos is only using his practice to project this map. There’s no map item keeping track of things for him or displaying features automatically. He’s effectively painting this picture of the lost quadrant for us in real time.

“How do you remember all of this?” I wonder, stunned.

A cold smile splits his stoic facade. “You think I earned my title for simply cutting through planes as I please? I don’t forget the paths I travel.”

“So...you’re a skilled navigator?” Maria asks.

I don’t think that’s right. I recall Cayeun Suncloud’s vision of when she first met Karanos. He was escorting people, but that wasn’t why he was famous. He sounded like some kind of scientist, theoretician. What was it he studied again?

“Rift theory,” I murmur. “This is your research on rift theory, manifest practically.”

He nods.

“Do you record everything as you go?” I ask. Just because I don’t see him actively keeping a record doesn’t mean Karanos doesn’t use specialized items or even artifacts to record his journeys.

He taps his head. “My brain is enough.”

Maria and I share an incredulous look. “But you don’t have a Beginning affinity,” she says.

“Are people useless without their affinities? Ian, you gained your affinity a scarce few months ago. Before then you had a working mind, didn’t you?” He grows uncharacteristically animated, his eyebrows jumping up. “Just because people don’t have Beginning affinities doesn’t mean they can’t think! What’s the difference between a genius eidetic regular and a Beginning practitioner?”

We stare at him blankly.

“Of course there’s a difference, it’s not a trick question. Beginning practitioners can think faster and their reflexes can be ungodly. A regular could never compete. When it comes to pure exercises of reasoning and thought, Beginning masquerades as genius, but is ultimately an imitation.”

“It’s a numbers game,” Maria observes. “Why look for the most talented regulars when you can round up all the Beginning practitioners with a guarantee that they’ll be able to perform?”

Maria’s words sound harsh, but regulars obviously aren’t left to rot in society. They fill all but the most important roles. If one percent of the population are practitioners, and approximately one twelfth of those are Beginning practitioners, a town of fifty thousand people will have approximately forty two Beginning practitioners total, and most of them with weak affinities. In that town, odds are most of those practitioners will hold elevated positions doing the most important technical work, or possess political seats. They might even bring regular family members into the upper echelons using their status. In my hometown of Jupiter, Vanderlich certainly did so for his family.

In a city of one million, you’d expect to have over eight-hundred Beginning practitioners. In that same city, you might assume the top 0.01 percent of people are the kinds of regular geniuses that Karanos is talking about, those who can give even powerful Beginning practitioners a run for their money.

They amount to only around a hundred people. And while it’s easy to find practitioners–all you need is to administer potentioreadings–it’s harder to measure and locate brilliant regulars.

A numbers game, indeed.

“So you’re saying that you’re a genius?” I ask.

He scoffs. “There’s no such thing as genius–I’m just using the word because it’s convenient. The reality of the situation is that people think differently. I’m sure people have called you a genius decemancer, Ian–but do you really feel all that smart? It is just natural, correct?”

I nod.

“To your point earlier, Maria, practitioner regimes understand Beginning and recognize how the average mind works. But when it comes to the deviants, those regimes are often at a loss–they’re unpredictable, sometimes even creatures of alien brilliance that lack in other ways, unable to operate like others and do simple tasks. Given the choice, for every reason, they will choose Beginning practitioners every time.”

He shakes his head. “It’s a bit of a sore topic, but I digress. It’s time to enter the gate.”

Karanos’ multi-dimensional map disappears. He slices the plane and steps through, Maria and I following closely behind.

The smell of cold, briney sea meets my nostrils. A wind tugs at my cowl and combs through my hair. Maria brings a hand to her head to keep her hair from flying into her mouth and eyes, though the wind finds no purchase on her skintight combat armor. Karanos is unbothered by the wind tugging at his robes and short hair.

The ground is dark green and rugged, lit by a sun setting out of view, obscured by gray clouds. Looking off to the side, I realize we’re on a tall, thin peninsula extending out from the coast like a finger. It’s windswept and tree-less, and I sense no animal life nearby. Aside from the wind, all is unnaturally still.

At the apex of the bluff, two giant pillars of marble stone stand tall, wisened but sturdy. They look ancient, like they’ve been standing since the beginning of time and will remain erect until the end, when the world has grown cold and dark. Laying across them is another slab of thick marble. Upon that horizontal slab is a single, cracked inscription, worn away to be nearly illegible.

But what captures my attention most is the swirling, oily membrane that spans the marble frame, giving credence to its description as a gate. It only takes a moment for me to realize what it reminds me of.

“It’s a rift,” I say, my words nearly lost on the wind.

Karanos is planted firmly on the ground, his spine straight like a rod. He clasps his hands behind his back. “Not wrong, not right,” he replies. “The lost quadrant is chaotic and doesn’t like to be pinned down. Try to label it and it’ll squirm and show you different behavior as though actively refuting you.”

“Do you have any idea what the inscription says?” Maria asks, walking closer and taking point.

“That much I do know,” Karanos replies. “Long ago, I met the person who wrote the inscriptions on the gates. They’re numbers, written out long-hand. This one is–”

“Twenty one,” Maria interjects. “I saw it on your map. You put numbers in hashscript next to each of the points on the circle holding the lost quadrant.”

“How did you notice that?” I ask.

Maria smiles. “I’m used to reading small text and picking out such details. Karanos, does that suggest that there are at least twenty one gates?”

“No. Perhaps more existed in the past, but for as long as I have lived, there are only six.” The map from earlier reappears, this time in front of Maria. I can barely see the details, so I walk over to get a better look.

Six points on the map glow bright green, all of them on the circumference of the broken circle. Now that I’m looking for it, I see the hashscript Maria mentioned–four slashed circles and one lone slash beside the left-most gate, with the red dot indicating our location overlays on the gate’s green. The other five gates are unevenly distributed around the circle, but when Karanos rotates the map like before, they begin to spin around the perimeter, running past one another and looping around. My mind spins trying to make sense of it.

Karanos steps casually forward, but spans the space to the portal in one breath. His form puts the enormity of the portal into contrast–at full height, he only rises to a quarter of the marble pillars’ height.

Up close, the bleak surroundings make the portal seem almost sinister. When I was in the Jermal Trench, the rift portal was under water and it was darker than night, so I couldn’t see or hear very well. Over the whooshing wind and warring waves, I hear what sounds almost like indistinct whispers.

Goosebumps rise on my arms.

“Isn’t it wondrous?” Karanos says. “I always find myself transfixed.” Without saying anything else, he strolls through the portal.

Maria holds out her hand. “Together?”

I grab it. “Sure.”