Eight 4

Her name was apparently Heleitia. I’d previously spent three days with her and never wondered about it, never even thinking to ask her name while we were in the dream together. That wasn’t natural for a curious old man like myself.

When I’d asked Ikfael about Heleitia’s name in the past, she’d said it wasn’t her place to offer it, so I’d just bided my time and thought I’d bring it up if the opportunity ever arose. But it never had. On the summer solstices, all the stonewater serpent had ever done was to drink coffee, eat donuts, and gaze at the stars. There hadn’t been a lick of conversation in the entire eight years I’d been in this world.

My suspicion was that the exchange I’d made with Heleitia had revealed her name—the deal giving me at least a partial peek into her details. As for why I’d not asked for it during the dream’s three days, the answer was likely because of her influence. As beings grew in power, the world prioritized them.

The underlying principle was astounding-ridiculous-shocking: the high-leveled were somehow more present and real than others around them, and as a result they had more influence in how the world interacted with them. This influence in expert hands could even be used to warp reality.

Here’s an example: At Level 8, I exerted more influence on the world than a Level 1 villager holding a Level 0 knife. Let’s say they tried to slash my arm; the wholeness and integrity of my body would matter more than the cutting power of the combined villager-knife duo. Oh, I’d still get cut, but the knife would behave like it’d been dulled. Because it and the villager ultimately mattered less to the world than I did.

Wild, right? And in the future, once I became silvered, I’d apparently be able to take things a step further.

According to Silasenei, I’d be able to hone my will and emphasize certain aspects of my influence. I might focus on exerting a pressure that daunted lower-level creatures, learn to see more deeply into behaviors, or cause people to be more truthful around me. Moreover, as I grew in levels and continued to live longer and longer, I’d also increase my influence and have more and more time to hone additional aspects to higher and higher degrees.

Spells and talents also played a role. They had the potential to “sharpen” or “dull” the impact of influence depending on the disparity in levels and the potency of talents and spells. It made for an intellectually fraught, emotionally harrowing exercise fighting any dark or silvered creature—figuring out how to break through their defenses. Or avoid their manipulation.

Prior to our encounter in the dream, I’d never felt Heleitia’s influence. There’d apparently never been the need for it. What changed? I wondered, forcing myself to stay upright. The pressure’s so freaking heavy.

Conditions

Occupied (Evolving*), Influenced (8)

I felt like a mountain had settled onto my shoulders. None of the others appeared affected, although they could clearly tell something strange was going on. The Deer God wasn’t visible to them, so they only saw Heleitia glaring at me, which was actually her glaring at the god behind me.

The mental and emotional trouble Ikfael had been struggling with vanished from her face. She signed, “Why is our zasha angry with you? We will make amends; apologize now so that we can begin to do so.”

My hands felt clumsy, like they were swimming in water, but I managed to sign, “Not that simple. You-know-who is here.”

That shocked Ikfael into speechlessness—she started to sign, stopped, started again, then stopped once more. I didn’t blame her, since I didn’t know what to say either.

Meanwhile, the stare down between Heleitia and the Deer God continued, feeling like it was lasting an eternity. I’d already been sweating from the fight earlier, but now it began to stream down my face and neck. My lower back ached from the strain, but something in me refused to bow down.

Then, the stonewater serpent hissed, an actual audible hiss. She swayed, and the escarpment to the west rumbled as one of the cliffs broke, the rocks tumbling hundreds of feet to smash into the forest below.

In response, the Deer God stamped a hoof. He was right behind me, so I was at ground zero for a thump that reverberated through the land, shaking the trees and sending all the startled birds flapping into the air.

I gulped as the weight on me grew heavier and heavier. My spine began to tip forward, so I casted Bear’s Strength. Then, I wondered at myself. Why had I done that? Why was I taking sides in this contest? Okay, yes, I had a very real connection to the Deer God, but Heleitia was also supposedly an ally.

My voice didn’t want to work, a clamp around my larynx. I had to croak out the words, sounding as if I’d smoked all my life, “Enough.”

Heleitia’s eyes narrowed, and the world dizzied around me. Not to be outdone, the Deer God snorted, and my belly warmed through, stabilizing me. Half of my body—from the chest down—felt as strong and steady as an oak, the other—from the neck up—spun like a top. Not literally, but it certainly felt that way.

“I… I… won’t be… your battleground.”

If anything, the sensations intensified, and neither the Dog’s Agility that Yuki cast nor me closing my spirit eyes helped. So much pressure was being applied, I swear I heard my joints creak. The only comfort was when Ikfael slipped her paw into my hand, her eyes serious-confused-concerned.

In the background, Leilu and the wolves appeared to be caught in a dilemma. Something was going on that was clearly none of their business, except that it was—everyone present was caught in a web of exchanges and relationships, all of us connected to each other in one way or another.

We all had a stake in each other. Not that the two spiritual heavy-weights seemed to care. It reminded me of a saying from my old world, from Kenya: “When two elephants fight, it’s the grass that’s suffers.” The only way to fight back was to grow stronger yourself, both individually and collectively.

But none of us were there yet, and even if we were, would Ikfael and Leilu be willing to stand up to Heleitia? Would I be willing to stand up to the Deer God? I mean, I was trying to in that moment, but was I really? How committed was I to refuting them? What price was I willing to pay?

Ultimately, Leilu and the silver wolves chose to withdraw. They bowed their respect to Heleitia and got out of there in a hurry, leaving even their share of silverlight behind. I had Yuki ask Snow to go with them. There was nothing she could do to help in this situation, and it simplified the variables I’d have to deal with. There was reluctance on her part, as well as the blynx’s growing resolve to continue growing stronger.

Once Snow was clear, I gritted my teeth and said, “If you don’t stop… I’ll leave. The Glen… the area… whatever it takes.”

I felt a ripple of disappointment in my belly, the Deer God’s impression of me. There was a sense of hesitation to give up the ground he’d gained since arriving in this region. Heleitia too seemed to hesitate, like maybe she didn’t want me to leave either. The pressure eased. My breathing became less strained, and I didn’t feel like I was going to fall over anymore. Don’t get me wrong, there was still some pressure, but it no longer seemed to be directed at me. Instead, it was the spillover from the Deer God’s and Heleitia’s conflict.

Except, Ikfael didn’t seem to be affected, and neither had Leilu and the wolves when they’d been present. It’d just been me. Was my connection to the Deer God that strong? Was I picking up some kind of spiritual feedback through it?

Well, however it worked, my threat was effective! The two elephants had recognized my willingness to carry through on it. I would’ve too if it meant saving myself from being trampled by them.

I turned to Ikfael to share in the success, and only then noticed that her paw had dropped away from my hand. She looked at me blankly, her eyes turning stony. I realized then that I’d just said I’d leave her behind. She was tied to the Glen in an ongoing exchange with Heleitia, after all. And I couldn’t take back my threat—not unless I was willing to undermine the only leverage I had.

I could try to explain later, but the Deer God was connected to me, potentially always listening. As for Heleitia, who knew how much awareness she maintained of the Glen? Ikfael had told me she slept on the days not the summer solstice, but she seemed awfully awake at the moment. I didn’t think we could count on her falling back asleep any time soon. Recent events had riled her up, leaving me stuck between a rock, a hard place, and another rock.

Selfishly, I checked my blessings, and Ikfael’s was still there, as was the sense of her inside me. Neither of those things had been withdrawn. Still, seeing the stoniness that had taken over her features… it felt as if I’d just stabbed my own heart. I was disappointed in myself for disappointing her. But what else could I have done? What could I do now?

Helen would’ve told me that the situation required frank conversation, but even if we left the Glen for one, the Deer God would still be able to overhear us. He’d use what I say to his advantage. No, until the day came when Heleitia and he came to an arrangement, I’d have to be willing to make good on my threat.

Unless I’m not and I backtrack on it for Ikfael’s sake?

I noticed then that Yuki had been quiet. When I check on them, I saw that they’d wrapped themselves tightly into a ball to keep from affecting my decisions. Unfortunately, the strategy didn’t work as well as they’d hoped. I felt a reluctance emanating from their qi—a desperate desire not to leave family behind. Not Ikfael, and not Bihei and the kids either. Mumu and my team too.

That’s right, they’re all in Heleitia’s territory too. The kids might leave with me, but for the others, Voorhei is their home. Their roots are there. Damn it. In the pressure of the moment, I didn’t think things through.

That reluctance from Yuki, it mingled with my own. I felt it undermining my decision.

Just who was I? And how much of me was me? I’d asked those questions and settled them time and time again since I’d first encountered Yuki, but in that moment, I felt the crisis resurface. I was gripped by indecision and a sudden panic.

I tried to hold the thoughts and emotions back, not wanting to upset Yuki, but it was impossible—the crisis just swamped over me. And when those thoughts and feelings lapped like waves against the tight ball Yuki had made, they didn’t disturb the uekisheile.

Yuki knew my thoughts and my feelings in their entirety, after all. They understood the origins of this crisis and simply weathered them, wanting to let me come to a decision on my own and to feel like I had agency. To know that I wasn’t a puppet. It was probably one of the most loving things I’d ever experienced in my two lives.

That reminded me of another saying from my old world, this time a song lyric: “If you love someone, set them free.”

I’d always taken it to mean that you should let a loved one be themselves; not to demand they change to conform to a personal or societal standard; to accept them as they are while supporting them as they developed as people; to become partners and companions on the journey of life; and to commit to each other while also being free to be themselves, both at the same time.

How had Yuki become so wise in such a short amount of time? They truly were precious.

Mind you, my identity crisis didn’t abate entirely. The questions I’d asked earlier still felt highly relevant. But Yuki’s actions had filed down the edges, and I didn’t feel like I was spiraling into a panic anymore. That gave me the space to remember my age. I’d been through puberty before—the mental and emotional oscillations were no joke, but they weren’t anything new. Once the worst passed, I was still myself. It was like the ocean’s tides pulling away to reveal the rocky shore that’d temporarily been hidden underneath.

Yuki was paying enough attention to snort at the metaphor, but in my defense, I was under a lot of pressure at the time. I’d just been through a lot and was still going through a lot, including the fumbling of one of the most important relationships in my current life… potentially all the most relationships in my current life.

Still, the advice I’d imagined I’d get from Helen wasn’t wrong. The situation with Ikfael required frank, earnest conversation. The two of us were adults, and we’d work it out. But it’d have to be later, once the pissing contest between the Deer God and Heleitia was over.

The benefit of a 15 Intelligence combined with Dog’s Agility was that the pace of my thinking was faster than fast. The crisis came and went in an under a minute. By the time the spell lapsed, I was ready to act again. Bear’s Strength had also worn off by then, but I didn’t need the spell to handle the lingering weight hanging over me.

“Would you like to come with me for a walk?” I asked Ikfael.

The question was surprising enough to get her to look at me closely. She signed a negative, and then added, “Our zasha is here.” As if that was the only explanation needed for why she couldn’t leave.

And, well, I got it—Ikfael owed so much to the stonewater serpent. Heleitia truly was a benefactor to once-Ikiira and now-Ikfael.

“It’s just a walk,” I said. “A stroll while the Deer God and Heleitia hash things out. We’ll come back when they’re done. I imagine we’ll know when they reach an agreement.”

“It would be rude,” Ikfael signed.

“So is imposing one’s will on another,” I argued.

Hesitatingly, the otter nodded. She’d seen the effects of Heleitia’s influence on me. “We don’t see as far ahead as the greater spirits of the land,” Ikfael explained. “We must be patient with the decisions they make so that time can reveal their intentions.”

“Not every spirit of the land means us well,” I replied.

Ikfael narrowed her eyes. Her signs became sharper. “The Glen’s zasha is the Glen’s zasha. She has proven her intentions to me.”

Yeah, they’d known each other for over two-hundred years now, but something had clearly changed. Even as Ikfael and I conversed, the weight on me hadn’t dissipated entirely. The wills of Deer God and Heleitia continued to press against each other.

The Deer God seemed to be the stronger of the two, but his foundation was weaker. While Heleitia wasn’t as powerful, she appeared to be deeply rooted in the land. My impression was that the two of them were at an impasse.

“We don’t know how long this is going to take,” I said. “We might as well go somewhere more comfortable.”

“You go. I will stay.” Ikfael sneered. “That is what you want to do, right? To go. To leave.”

“Can we—” I stumbled briefly. “Can we talk about this elsewhere?”

Ikfael’s signs were emphatic, “It. Would. Be. Rude.” Then she folded her arms like she was done talking.

A spike of anger ran through me—why couldn’t she understand—but I waited for the wave to pass before saying, “Then I’ll wait here. With you.”

Ikfael’s ears flickered in response. Her gaze held mine until she eventually relented to sign, “Okay.”

“Okay,” I repeated.

Ikfael went to sit at the spot she normally used during the stonewater serpent’s visits. My place was supposed to be next to her, but that didn’t feel right given everything that was happening, so I found a more neutral position—I parked myself on the stump of an old ash tree that’d once bounded the Glen’s pool.

I needed to do something with my hands—something to pass the time–so I took out my knives to clean and sharpen them. The familiar movements were comforting, despite the ongoing conflict just a few yards away.

The experience reminded me a bit of when I used to hide in my room reading while my parents argued out in the living room. Gods, but this whole day has been just one mess after another.

Cautiously, Yuki unraveled from their ball and sent a metaphorical feeler my way. ‘Sorry.’

None of this is your fault, I thought.

‘And yet our presence complicates things. You wouldn’t doubt yourself as much.’

That’s not necessarily true, I argued. There’d always still be the issue of influence. Then I sent them a ball of affection to express my appreciation for what they’d done earlier.

Yuki received it gratefully and sent one back in return; theirs was full of appreciation for my understanding. If only it were that easy to communicate with Ikfael, but she’d continued to refuse to accept Yuki into herself and she’d only joined us for Grace twice in the time we’d known each other.

The first time had been when we’d discovered how the spell operated and accidentally included her in the working. The second time had been intentional, a core component of the exchange that had resulted in the Tournament of Masks. After that, nothing—she’d avoided Grace every single other time afterward.

‘No short cuts,’ Yuki said.

Not when it matters most, I replied.

###

Working with my hands helped to settle me even further. The ongoing discomfort was annoying, like having to share the same waiting room as a toddler in the middle of a meltdown. Unfortunately, there were no toys at hand with which to distract the Deer God and Heleitia.

Yuki did the qi-equivalent of lifting an eyebrow. ‘You must be feeling better if you can compare them to a pair of giant, screaming toddlers.’

And you must be feeling better if you can make wry observations about me.

We both snorted at each other then and shared in a relieved sigh. While I appreciated the vibrancy and sense of aliveness that came with being a teenager, there were definitely days when it was a complete pain in the ass. I’d managed to weather the most recent storm, however, and had re-found the steadiness of mind-spirit-body I was used to.

About twenty minutes had passed since the Deer God and Heleitia had started their argument, and maybe another thirty to forty before that since I’d first encountered the Maltrans in the woods.

Yuki said, ‘It won’t be too much longer until Mumu and the rest of the team arrive. They just passed the spot where the stream bends around the outcropping that looks like a toad.’

I nodded, needlessly so. Yuki had already sensed my acknowledgement. No, it was more for my own benefit—a way to say, “Rest break’s over. Time to go back to work.” Besides, my knives were now as sharp as razors.

Over by the pool, Ikfael had sat in the same spot the whole time, her head bowed in thought, her shoulders hunched. She looked… angry, despondent, stubborn. A whole bunch of words ran through my head, but none of them were big enough to hold what I saw when I looked at her.

My thought then was that I’d screwed up. I didn’t know what else I could’ve done when I’d been trapped between the Deer God and Heleitia, but there was no denying that I’d hurt Ikfael in the process of escaping their influence.

So I picked myself up and dusted off my pants to make my way over to sit beside her. She glanced aside, and it was like all the emotions I’d seen before were washed away.

Ikfael’s eyes were mild as she asked, “Are you feeling better, Eight?”

Ah, okay, that’s different, I thought. Aloud, I said, “It’s nothing I can’t handle. Listen, I wanted to talk to you about—”

Ikfael waved a paw to stop me. “You don’t have to explain. You’ve always been free to go whenever you’ve wanted to. None of our exchanges tie us to each other permanently, even the one with the Hunter’s Lodge—the foci for it are Mumu and Tegen.” The way she was signing, there was a distance to it like she was chatting with a stranger.

“Stop,” I said. “I’m sorry—” Then when Ikfael gestured to keep me from continuing, I wouldn’t let her. “No, I need to explain… When a person makes a threat, they have to be willing to make good on it, even if it’s the last thing they want to do. Otherwise, the threat’s useless. That’s what happened.”

“I understand,” Ikfael signed, but nothing about her demeanor changed.

“I wouldn’t want to—”

Ikfael cut me off: “But you would.”

“Only if the Deer God and Heleitia forced me—”

“Because you don’t want to be in their service,” she pointed out.

“It’s more than service. They impose their wills—”

“Isn’t that what the Land Knight does?” Ikfael’s signs had started to become sloppy, her anger leaking through. “The village’s leadership? The lodge masters? The parents and elders? All of them impose their wills on those younger or weaker or more gullible than them. What’s the difference between that and putting your faith in a zasha?”

“Nothing. In both cases, you need to critically examine the relationship between yourself and those in power. Do they have your best interests at heart? More than their words, you have to look at their actions—the laws they impose… the… the exchanges they make. And if an exchange is unbalanced, you don’t take it. If a law is unjust, you either work to change it, break it, or leave… leave the community which is treating you unfairly.”

Ikfael eyebrows rose, but not in the familiar snarky way. This was more cutting. “And so every person selfishly acts on their own.”

“No, of course not, there’s a balance between an individual’s rights and their responsibilities to the community,” I said, then immediately afterward thought, What am I doing? I’m supposed to be apologizing, not arguing politics.

Ikfael wouldn’t let the issue go, though. “You admit that imperfection flows through the relationship with power?”

“Yes,” I said cautiously.

“So it’s a matter of accepting the imperfections in order to reach a mutual, working accord.”

“I’m sorry, what? I don’t know that last word.”

Ikfael looked annoyed, but it was true. My vocabulary had grown dramatically over the last eight years, but I still sometimes stumbled across words I didn’t know. She explained, “An agreement, deal, treaty—agreed upon between parties and implying mutual satisfaction but not necessarily mutual benefits.”

“Well, ideally there’d be mutual benefits—” I started, but Ikfael’s eyebrows rose again.

“When dealing with power,” she said, “there are never mutual benefits. The spirits of the land must be careful of their exchanges only because the gods will it so.”

“You’d ignore the balance if you could?” I asked, surprised.

The exact details weren’t known to me, but I’d pieced together over time that the spirits of the land faced judgement by the World Spirit at the end of every Long Dark. If they strayed too far from balance in their exchanges, there were consequences.

Reluctantly, Ikfael nodded. “This is the way of the world.”

“How lucky then,” I said, my words laced with sarcasm, “that the gods impose fairness through their laws.”

Ikfael and I just looked at each other then. We’d gone way, way off topic—arguing about a thing that wasn’t really the thing we should be arguing about.

‘Try apologizing again,’ Yuki recommended.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m… I’m just trying to do the best I can in these… these impossible situations. There’s no good way out of some of them, and you have to make threats you don’t want to keep. But I can’t—I just can’t let myself be consumed by this world. I have to hold true to what I believe in or else I’ll become the perfect monster this world wants me to be.”

“Do you believe I’m a monster?” Ikfael signed. “That it’s only the gods who’ve kept me from turning you into my puppet?”

“No. I don’t. Not one bit.”

“Even though I’ve admitted I would be willing to make unbalanced exchanges?” she asked.

“Because I trust that you’d only do so in certain situations, like with people who mean others harm.”

Ikfael sighed, the sound surprisingly heavy coming from such a small body. “So you trust me?”

“I do.”

“But you do not trust in the zasha in whom I put my trust,” she said.

“I—” Well, it was true, wasn’t it? Recent events had seriously eroded the good will I’d felt for Heleitia. Frank conversations required unequivocal honesty, so I said, “Yes.”

“Doesn’t it mean, then, that you don’t truly trust me?” A sadness peered out at me from behind Ikfael’s eyes. “I am who I am because of my zasha, my Heleitia.”

“No,” I said, taking breath. “You are who you are because of you. You’re the one who went into the woods unarmed and alone, who found the stonewater spirit of the land and was willing to make the exchange, who bore three terrible days of pain and suffering, and who made the sacrifices required to save your village. Yes, Heleitia was the one who facilitated the necessary changes, but it was you—you who deserves to be praised above all others.”

Ikfael raised her paw. I wasn’t sure whether it was to get me to stop talking or to hit me. Eventually, she resolved her indecision and punched me in the shoulder. “You are unfair. Will sweet words solve all your problems? No. And if you think for even a moment to cast Grace, I will claw your eyes out. And if you don’t believe me, know that someone oh-so-very clever has recently told me that one must be willing to make good on their threats.”

“No, I know not to,” I said.

“Good,” Ikfael replied, fuming. At least it was better than the strange apathy she’d exhibited earlier.

“What can I do?” I asked.

“I don’t know.” Ikfael’s signing revealed her forlornness. “I… when you said you’d leave, I… don’t know.”