Chapter 9: The Fine Print

  The adrenaline was wearing out of the body and it was taking my capacity to stand with it.

  My ribs were attempting to form and to create a union and strike with the rest of my skeleton. The phantom heat of the Veridian Reservoir was scalding my lungs. I was going north, foot in front of foot by brute bloody-minded action, and I was counting on the White Leaf of Silence in my pocket to stop the forest from doing what the Parasite started.

  I was a mess. But I was a live mess.

  I leaned against the trunk of a great bioluminescent oak to take my breath, sliding down till I sat on the moss. The silence I had deserved was oppressive, and was broken only by the rhythmic thrumming of the restored Grove, which was going on behind me. I had fixed the bug. I'd patched the server. I should have felt triumphant.

  Instead, I felt... full.

  It was a physical sensation, as of a full-course meal. Simultaneously it was a metaphysical pressure behind my eyes, a density in my soul, which had to be noticed. The struggle with the Parasite, the mere size of the power of the Shepherd, the desperate improvisation of the manoeuvre of the rock-in-the-valve, it had all been crystallised.

  The Astrolabe chimed. It was a heavy, ringing gong, which shook my very bones, and was sweeter than any music in the woods.

  [CONJUNCTION ACHIEVED]

  The world fell away. The sunshine moss, the soreness in my ribs - all became a gray background. I saw the Schema in the eye of my mind burst into life.

  It was beautiful. The principal actor; my soul, was bruised, and It was flickering like a dying bulb. But around it, the Arc of Remembrance was blazing white-hot. a complete circle of silver fire. As I watched, the circle collapsed inward, rushing toward the center with the force of a collapsing nebula

  Impact.

  My star of central blazed, and swelled. The flickering stopped. The light settled down to a constant, rebellious blaze. The star hardened.

  [Starlight Points Awarded: 4]

  Four.

  I stared at the shimmering motes of potential hovering in the void of the interface.. Four points. That was a lot. A Conjunction was, as it were, as supplied by the indistinct intuitions which the Astrolabe provided, a drop or a drip, two points, perhaps three, in case you were a show-off. Four impressed the Astrolabe. It was an acknowledgment on the part of the universe that throwing a rock at a cancer-god was a highlight reel move.

  I gazed at my constellations, the cold mathematics of my existence.

  Horizon (HRZ): 5. The Mountain. Pathetic. A puff of air may blow me down. The very existence of the Shepherd had nearly stamped me out of existence.

  Lumen (LMN): 7. The Chalice. I had run dry way too fast. If I hadn’t had the rock. I might have died.

  Kensho (KNS): 10. The Eye. Solid. It had saved my life.

  Egress (EGS): 12. The Arrow. Fast enough to get into trouble, and just fast enough to get out.

  I didn't hesitate. I did not intend to pour more into speed. Being fast didn't matter if you broke on impact.. I needed to stop being a glass cannon and start being... well, at least a plastic cannon.

  I mentally grabbed two of the Starlight motes They were heavy, swirling with possibilities. I pulled them through the inner sky and smashed them into constellation of the Mountain.

  [Horizon increased to 7]

  The effect was awesome. A coolness of stability came over me. A wave of cool stability washed over me. My skin felt tighter, my bones denser. The agonizing pangs in my ribs did not disappear, but faded, and were a far-off ache instead of a crisis. I felt grounded. I felt grounded. Like a leaf in the wind becoming a sapling. Still breakable, but you had to put some effort into it.

  I picked up the other two motes and directed them to the Chalice.

  [Lumen increased to 9]

  I felt warmth in my chest. The "gas tank" deepened. I was able to hear my own soul purring louder, definitely now a stronger engine was under the hood.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  [Current Magnitude: 38]

  I gave a long sigh and opened my eyes. The woods were the same, and I was different. Capable. I threw myself off the tree trunk and my legs didn't feel wobbly.

  I turned back to the south where the rebuilt Grove of the First Song was vibrating with a wholesome, steady beat. The Astrolabe chimed softly. Another Resonant Anchor had been created there: an everlasting knot in the reality of Aethelgard, created by the song of the Shepherd and the demise of the Parasite.

  An itch started in my fingers. The desire was impulsive, overwhelming, and quite unreasonable. I wanted to claim it. I would have put a metaphysical sticker on that Anchor that screamed, I fixed this. Me. The guy with the rock.

  It was my Metaphysical Vandalism characteristic going off, and seeking its own path.

  I concentrated on the Anchor, and imagined a neon label: The Wrench.

  The Astrolabe estimated the price.

  [Resonant Marker Construction: 5 Lumen]

  I looked at my internal gauge. 9/9.

  It would be more than half my tank. I was soon to enter strange waters, possibly reeking with fierce sentinels, and I was pondering to burn half my lifeline, in heavenly graffiti. It was tactically stupid. It was reckless.

  "But it's my win," I whispered, a stubborn grin tugging at the corner of my mouth.

  I reached out with my mind. I poured the energy; Then I carved it. I took the memory of the rock jamming the valve, the feeling of being the glitch that saved the system, and I stamped it into the ley line.

  [Lumen: 9/9 -> 4/9]

  A golden character burned in the atmosphere over the remote Grove; unseen by the naked eye, but blindingly bright on the Schema. It was a cartoonized picture of a wrench stuffing two gears.

  [Marker Created: The System Patch]

  [Signed: The Wrench]

  The exhaustion hit me instantly, a wave of cold washing through my chest as my reserves plummeted. I was tired again.

  But I saw that golden tag burning in the distance, and that satisfaction was worth every drop of my lumen.

  "Alright," I said, adjusting my collar. "Upgrade complete. Now, let's get the hell out of here."

  I summoned the Orrery of Worlds, the map of the local reality on the Schema. I had to find out where the Northern Nexus was, which Elara of the Wayline had spoken of. I wanted to know just how far I was going to walk.

  The holographic sphere of the world spun into view. Now, I focused on the tag attached to it, finally taking a second to read the fine print I’d ignored while running for my life.

  World Classification: Tier 3 Resonant World

  Designation: Aethelgard

  Current Type: Structured

  I froze.

  I re-read the tag. Structured.

  I did not come up with that definition. It was replayed out of the information packet that Elara had left in her Echo in the cave. Along with the warning about the Shepherd, she’d included a primer on the Astrolabe's classification system, the "Wayfarer's Guide to Not Dying," essentially.

  I recalled the data stream clearly now:

  (Volatile) meant chaos. Wild magic. Rules that changed every hour. Survival of the fittest.

  (Contested) meant war. Rival systems fighting to be dominant.

  (Structured) meant... Law. It implied a single, set of rules. It was institutions, and civilization.

  "No," I whispered, the word scraping against my dry throat. "That’s not right."

  I was working on the assumption that Aethelgard was Volatile, a wild ecosystem in which the food chain was the sole law. I believed that I was watching a nature documentary in which the lions possessed magic powers.

  But Structured?

  Structured meant that the "Shepherd" was not just a random nature spirit guarding a pond. It was likely a designated official. It meant the was likely a protected infrastructure facility.

  And I had just broken in, assaulted a patient in critical care, and vandalized the equipment with a rock.

  "I didn't heal a sick animal," I realized, the blood draining from my face. "I broke into a government power plant and re-booted the reactor without a permit."

  My Kensho flared, fueled by a sudden, distinct type of panic that had nothing to do with monsters. I looked North, looked past the trees and the glowing mist.

  I had assumed the "Northern Nexus" was just a convergence of ley lines, a natural whirlpool of energy where I could catch a ride home.

  But through the dense canopy, miles away, I saw lights. The steady, unblinking lights. Just after I saw the silhouette of towers rising above the tree line, sleek, organic spires grown from crystal and wood, arranged in perfect, mathematical harmony.

  It was a city.

  And if this world was Structured, there would be guards in that city. It would contain customs officers. It would have people whose job it was to ask, "Hey, who’s the guy with the leather jacket and the illegal aura walking in from the quarantined zone?"

  I looked down at my coat, covered in muck and glowing pollen. I looked at the White Leaf of Silence, my "free pass" from the Shepherd.

  "It's a thank-you gift," I muttered, feeling the weight of the leaf. "And It is a visitor's badge."

  I scrambled to my feet, and the pains in my ribs forgotten in the presence of a far more dreadful menace: Bureaucracy.

  Alright," Kaelen," I hissed, and jogging away. "New plan. We do not walk into town like a hero. We creep in, we discover the Wayline, and then we go before anybody wants to see my passport.

  The forest was quiet now, the monsters pacified by the healed song of the Grove. But as I got closer to the city lights in the distance I experienced a different form of pressure. The trees here grew in straight lines. The moss on the path was trimmed.

  My survivor phase ended. Now I was an intruder in a cultivated garden.

  And the gardener was probably watching.