Chapter 20

Neither Scorio nor Naomi mentioned the end of the stipulated week. At the end of the seventh day, she failed to show for their end of cycle conversation, and Scorio feared that their training had finished; but the next morning she was there to guide him through his meditation, her expression hard, her tone terse, giving him no time or room to comment on the continuation of their training.

So Scorio kept his mouth shut.

The first week became two, then three. Slowly Scorio noticed improvements in his abilities. His stamina rose quickly, fueled by long training bouts in the afternoon and even longer runs. His ability to guide the Coal clouds became ever more intuitive, and slowly his grasp of how to engage and pull them into his Heart grew smoother, more powerful, more instinctive.

Better yet, his collection of Black Star plants grew. Night by night he scoured the streets of the ruins. Defied the odds, pushed his luck, and collected as many as he could find. Some nights he came up empty, or only find one or two; other nights he’d nail his luck and stumble across a dozen growing in a particularly rich area.

“You keep up this madness,” said Naomi one morning, eyeing his latest score of six plants, “and one night you’ll go permanently missing.”

“It’s not happened yet,” said Scorio, washing his face and trying to convince himself he was awake.

“You’re killing yourself for a single Black Star pill,” said Naomi, her incomprehension evident. “Your peers in the Academy get one every morning as part of their breakfast—if they don’t get better.”

“I’m not in the Academy,” he said simply. “So I’ll take what I can.”

“Let me see that cut.” She took his wrist without asking, turned his arm to look at the deep scratch that ran from his elbow to shoulder. “You clean it out?”

Scorio pulled his wrist free. “Yes. Though I’m out of gray ivy paste. I’ll have to collect more tonight.”

Naomi frowned at him.

“What?” He tugged his sleeve back down. “I’m lucky the—well, I don’t know what it’s called—didn’t take my arm clear off.”

“No. It’s just that…” And for a moment Naomi looked nonplussed, strangely uncertain. “I just don’t understand. Your effort far outweighs the rewards.”

“So I simply shouldn’t try?”

“It’s like I said. You’re risking death every night for nothing.”

“Not nothing.” Scorio sat cross-legged, placed his hands on his knees. “Two more nights and I’ll have fifty plants. That should be enough for my first pill. Which will put me one pill ahead of the game.”

Naomi sighed and lowered herself to sit before him. “I can’t imagine how powerful you’d have become if you’d stayed in the Academy. But no matter. If you’re that close, we might as well go visit my friend. See how this can best be done.”

Scorio sat upright. “You’ll introduce me?”

She scowled. “You’ve proved yourself by collecting so many. I’ll be true to my word. You can come as long as you stay silent.”

“Great! When can we go?”

“Later. But for now, enough of this talk. Focus on the ambient Coal mana. Let me see you stir it.”

Scorio steadied his breathing, bottled up his excitement, and closed his eyes. He summoned his Igneous Heart. It appeared quickly and hovered in his mind’s eye, gleaming and cold.

Once he’d have thought the Coal mana in the room to be dense, but after his nightly adventures deeper into the ruins, he knew this was a weak cloud at best. Still, it resisted his manipulations like mud. He summoned his will, envisioned his paddle, and after two swirls, began working on his technique, reducing the paddle’s size and moving it more quickly through the clouds, no longer trying to shove the whole sooty mass around, but rather cutting through it and allowing the friction of its passage to drag the cloud into action.

“Better,” said Naomi as the clouds began to swirl, his will cutting through them neatly. “Now, direct it into your Igneous Heart.”

This part still gave him trouble, but the act of cutting through the mana seemed to make it more pliant; he infused his Heart with his presence, and then inhaled, drawing a deep spiritual breath even as he directed the clouds into its glittering core.

The dark mana’s swirls tightened into a spiral with the Heart at the center, and though the process wasn’t as neat as he might have wished, the mana spun its way into the Heart in one great slurp and was gone.

“There!” He opened his eyes but sat absolutely still. The sensation of so much mana in his Heart made him feel as if he were balancing a crystal glass filled to the brim with water upon his palm. The slightest movement and it would topple over, spilling everywhere.

“Not bad,” said Naomi, a touch of a smile appearing at the corner of her lips. “Not at all bad.”

“How close am I?” Scorio fought to keep the excitement from his voice but failed. “From total saturation?”

“Closer. You could probably ignite now if you wanted the weakest Heart out there. But you’ll know when you’ve hit your absolute limit when your body breaks out in soul fire.”

“Soul fire?” He felt some of the mana begin to seep out of his Heart and locked it in tight. “What’s that?”

“Total saturation, the point at which your Heart has been stretched to its maximum potential limit, is when the mana suffuses your heart so totally that it manifests as mana-colored flames that envelop your body.”

Scorio glanced down at his arm. “No black flames.”

“No black flames. If I had to guess, you’ve only filled your Heart a fraction of what it’s capable of. Which speaks to a naturally deep Heart.”

“That’s good?”

“Normally. But not if you’re out here with nothing but Coal to draw on.”

“But if I had those blue vials…? And used this technique?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Almost all of it would be wasted. But yes. That would push you to your saturation point if you could control it.”

With a sigh, Scorio released the mana back into the room. “Have you used the vials?”

“Not yet.”

“Can I convince you to give them back?”

She raised her chin, her expression growing cold. “Don’t mistake our relationship, Scorio. I’ve taken pity on you, yes. You’re a moment’s diversion. But I don’t harbor any illusions about where this is going.”

“Which is where?”

“You don’t have enough self-control. You will either die during one of your night runs or go into the city and get yourself caught. Either way, your hunger for power will be the end of you. So why throw away such a priceless resource on so foolish a Char?”

“Then why haven’t you used it yet?”

“That’s my business.”

“No,” said Scorio, his voice growing as hard as hers. “You stole it from me. I can’t take it back, but you owe me the courtesy of telling me what you’re going to do with it.”

They locked eyes, and the tension in the room grew till Scorio was certain she was about to shift into her nightmare form.

Instead, she looked away and rose to her feet, looking irritable and restless. “Fine. I can still indulge in basic courtesy. If I’m to make the most use of the vials, I need to affirm my own commitment to my growth so that I don’t waste it either.”

“Your ambition,” said Scorio.

“My goals, yes.” She moved to the window and stared out at the ruddy landscape. “I’ve the talent, but not, as my father would say, the drive. Acquiring these vials has caused me to reconsider my options. But I need to be sure that I know what I want and why before I even dream of breaking it open. It might not help me become a Tomb Spark, but it could make all the difference when I press for Flame Vault.”

Scorio frowned at her. “You wouldn’t use it to become a Tomb Spark?”

“That’s nothing you need to worry about.”

Scorio considered. “Fair enough. But I have a proposition for you.”

She glanced back at him over her shoulder. “You’d have to give me something of greater value than a sapphire vial if you want me to give you one.”

“Not quite.” He smiled. “My bridge and steel rod. You took those from me, too. Let’s say they’re still yours, but allow me to use them at night. They’ll make my exploration of the ruins a much easier feat.”

Her eyes narrowed, but he thought he saw a flicker of guilt in their depths and knew that he had her.

“Very well.” She drew both items out and set them on the windowsill. “Basic courtesy. You can borrow them. But they are mine by rights.”

“And what rights are those?”

She smiled, gathered up his bundle of plants, and then hopped up onto the windowsill. “The single greatest legal claim in Bastion and all of hell: the right of the strong. Be ready at First Rust. We’ve an appointment in town.”

And with that, she was gone.

Scorio smiled at the twin treasures that sat upon the sill.

Progress.

Settling himself, clearing his mind, he closed his eyes once more.

Time to resume his training.

* * *

Scorio was up and pacing when First Clay dawned. He paused to lean out his window and watch as the great filament heated up, its deep burn growing brighter till the vast interior of Bastion was bathed in its bloody hues, the dark banished once more to the deepest corners and cervices.

He’d tried to sleep and failed. Too many thoughts. An endless ability to consider and reconsider his plans. To revise and doubt himself until all that was left to do was pace, wall to wall, resisting the siren call of the ruined streets and the desire to use his treasures to navigate them with newfound assurance.

When Naomi finally showed, climbing into view to fill the window, he felt his nerves steady and picked up a pouch. “Morning, Naomi. All well?”

She didn’t hop down from the sill. “Marginally. You look eager.”

“That’s because I am.” He allowed her a rakish smile. “I live for apothecary visits. Shall we?”

“I thought we might do some meditation practice first,” she said, expression dour, but she wasn’t able to hold it. A smile cracked her facade, and she held up a hand to silence his protest. “I jest. See? I, too, know how to do humor.”

“It’s… not… I mean, one doesn’t ‘do’ humor…”

Naomi arched an eyebrow.

“I mean, you’re doing it perfectly,” said Scorio. “Ha! See? That was a laugh. Now, shall we?”

“Very well. Let’s.” She swiveled on the ball of her foot and dropped back out into the street. Scorio scrambled after her, leaped down from rock to rock till they reached the street.

Naomi glanced at the pouch he held.

“A sample,” Scorio said, bouncing it in his palm. “Just to be safe.”

“Wise. We’re headed to Ward 9. It’s not far. But we’ve a long day ahead of us, so let’s hurry.”

“This coming from the lady who wanted to meditate.” He broke into a jog by her side. “But no objections here.”

They slowed so as to not attract attention as they entered Bastion’s civilized edges, and wound their way through side streets till they reached a quiet avenue within a stone’s throw of Ward 7.

“Here we go,” said Naomi, tugging her hood a little lower and leading him along a smooth sidewalk to an unassuming doorway over which hung a banner with a mortar and pestle inked neatly on its beige fabric.

A bell tinkled overhead as the door swung open, and they stepped into a shop so small and irregularly shaped it appeared more an overlooked interstice that someone had taken advantage of than an established commercial spot.

A skylight overhead allowed First Bronze’s brazen light to filter in and set the floating motes of dust aflame where they gyred in the air as if caught in honey. The upper half of the walls were honeycombed with pigeonholes, while the lower half was an endless series of drawers, broad and shallow, the knobs made from a wide array of different materials.

A small counter only three steps from the doorway served a variety of purposes: a third was dedicated to bookkeeping, complete with a pile of neatly tied-off scrolls and a ledger; a third held a number of glass containers with seamlessly fitting lids, each holding a different kind of flower or substance, each but vaguely visible through the dim glass; while the far side appeared a small but efficient space for the actual practice of alchemy, complete with esoteric equipment, a small cutting board, mortar and pestle, and neat bundles of dried herbs.

A young man, with an expression so sober he appeared fatigued, gazed at them with violent disinterest; he was dressed in immaculate robes of dove gray with a golden flower embroidered over his breast, and his dark face appeared to be all shaved upper lip and protruding ears, his hair lacquered and combed back severely.

“What rhymes with ‘dangerous’?” he asked, tone emotionless and mildly annoyed.

Scorio stopped, uncertain, and glanced at Naomi.

“‘Dangerous’?” She frowned. “I… nothing is coming to mind. Scorio?”

He blinked, nonplussed, then slowly shook his head.

The man took up the parchment on which he’d been writing and recited in a dull voice, “‘For even by the light of day your beauty is most dangerous, but I, being true in phases all doth’—something something, then whatever rhymes with dangerous.”

“Hmm, yes,” said Naomi. “It has… promise.”

The young man lowered the sheet and stared balefully down at the words. “Romance when distilled by a passionate heart precipitates into poetry. I didn’t think it would be this… demanding.”

“I’m sure your persistence will pay off.”

He inhaled powerfully, lips pursed in distaste, then set the parchment quickly in an open drawer and slid it shut.

“Anyway. Welcome to the Sincere Refinery, your first and only resource for all matters alchemical, apothecarial, and alembic. Can I be of assistance?”

“Master Jelan,” said Naomi, stepping forward and pushing her hood back. “I trust that I am not late for my appointment?”

“Ah, Mistress Esoka,” said Jelan, inclining his head. “I didn’t recognize you, though your punctuality is appreciated. And this is the associate of whom you spoke?”

Scorio pushed back his hood and gave the apothecary a respectful bow. “Thank you for your time.”

“It is always a pleasure to be of service to House Kraken.” His tone was stilted, artificial; Scorio had no idea if he was being sarcastic. “You had some questions about distilling Black Star pills?”

“I do, thank you. I am in the process of gathering some fifty plants.” At this Scorio took his sample from his pouch and laid it on the counter. “I wished to understand the process to create the pills myself.”

“Fascinating,” said Jelan, not sounding remotely interested. “A wonder that House Kraken would outsource the creation of such low-level pills to an amateur.”

“Hell is passingly strange,” agreed Naomi.

“Thank you for sharing your expertise,” said Scorio, keeping his tone equally neutral.

Jelan shot the cuffs of his robes then placidly folded his hands on the counter. “The process is slow but dangerous. The easiest way to extract mana from the plant is to simmer it over low heat for some twelve hours, and then add alum to clarify the tincture to remove the solids.”

Scorio nodded. “What equipment is necessary? I am of course willing to pay.”

“You have the octs?” Jelan’s smile betrayed his skepticism.

“I can pay in Black Star plants.”

“Shocking. But yes, we can negotiate something. I would rather word not spread that my clients are poisoning themselves in pursuit of potency.”

Scorio raised a hand. “Wait, if it remains poisonous, it’s more potent?”

Jelan’s eyes narrowed. “That’s both not what I said and not what I would advise.”

Scorio inched closer. “But you didn’t say I was wrong. Am I understanding correctly? Neutralizing the poison reduces the potency?”

“It feels like a dereliction of my public obligations to explain this to you.”

“Does the alum neutralize the poison?”

“No,” he said reluctantly. “It clarifies the tincture, causing flocculation. Solids form, which are removed and turned into the pill. But the liquid that remains behind contains most of the Black Star’s potency.”

“But that’s the poisonous part.”

“Exactly. So, let’s move on to the nature of the equipment you will need—”

“Poisonous how?”

“Poisonous, young man, as in deleterious to your health.”

“Lethal?”

“If you drink enough.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you’ll just be violently ill for a few days, retch till you’re out of bile, and hallucinate visions that will make your nightmares appear paltry.”

“But I’ll get a stronger dose of Coal mana?”

Jelan stared at him strangely. “Why does it feel like you’re not hearing the words I just said?”

“He has that strange ability,” drawled Naomi.

“How much more potent is the tincture than the removed solids?”

“I’m not going to tell you that.”

Scorio bowed low before him, his brow nearly touching the counter. “Please. I’m an adult. I simply need to know the truth.”

The silence was drawn out, but finally, he could sense the apothecary relent. “There are several variables. But in short, an unfiltered elixir is about twenty times more powerful than the pill, and requires half as many plants to make. The poison is simply the reaction of your system to consuming raw, unfiltered Coal mana.”

Scorio straightened, suddenly feeling awkward. Too late to deny it was for him. “Can higher-level Great Souls drink the tincture?”

Naomi sighed. “They would be violently ill for most of the afternoon, but yes.”

“And a Blood Baron?”

Jelan appeared genuinely astonished. “Why would a Blood Baron waste his time drinking unfiltered Black Star tincture?”

“But one would be able to process it?”

“Without noticing any effect on their system, yes. But a Char? You’d be lucky not to die as the raw mana tore its way through your Heart.”

“And if I didn’t die?”

His stare was direct and disapproving. “You’ve already decided to do it, haven’t you?”

“This is purely academic, I assure you.”

“Then, academically speaking, I would advise the following: the first time you make it reduce the tincture with enough alum to make it safe to drink. Each time thereafter make it a little more potent so that you can determine your threshold.”

Scorio frowned but nodded. “Fine. As long as it’s not too weak.”

Jelan laughed, the sound bitterly amused. “When you’re begging for death, I hope you remember those words.”

“That is fair.”

“If that is to be the case, you won’t need the fifty plants. Twenty-five would suffice for an elixir of equal strength to a pill.”

“Excellent, thank you.” Scorio paused, a half-formed thought coming to him.

“Yes?” asked Jelan reluctantly.

“I’m just curious. Coal mana is intangible, correct? A Great Soul can draw it into his Igneous Heart through a combination of willpower and mastery of his spirit, but how does a Black Star do the same? Do they have Igneous Hearts?”

“Ah, you really do wish to address academic matters.” For once Jelan appeared slightly more stimulated; he shifted his weight and refolded his hands on the countertop. “You are asking questions that require years of study to answer fully, but I have here a… where is it?”

Jelan turned and walked farther back into his store, fingers dancing over the scroll tubes that emerged from the honeycombed walls, till at last he tapped one and drew it forth. “A treatise on Black Star flower cultivation.”

He blew dust off it, turned it over in his hands, and found a small tag. “And only eight copper octs. This should answer all your questions.”

Scorio took the scroll from the apothecary, trying not to let his expression drop at the price, and pulled off the cap. Within were a half-dozen tightly rolled up sheets which he smoothed out on the counter. Carefully inked diagrams revealed the anatomy of the plant, but he only glimpsed charts and intriguing instructions before Jelan took the pages back and rolled them up.

“You must purchase before perusing. Do you have the octs?”

“Not yet,” said Scorio. “But I will.”

“I see. Well, until then, a succinct answer must suffice.”

Scorio bowed his head gratefully.

“All mana flows from the Pit on the far side of hell, but only Coal reaches Bastion easily. Distance is the great limitation; Silver mana can travel farther than Gold, but not as far as Bronze. There are many theories as to why, but the fact remains.”

Jelan took up the Black Star flower, and spread its velvety petals apart. “Inscribed within the heart of the flower is a unique pattern that is edged with hardened Coal mana. This pattern draws the Coal mana along its course, and by some unknown mechanism tricks the mana into thinking it has traveled a greater distance. Even Coal, it seems, cannot travel forever; upon reaching the end of the pattern, it coalesces into a dewdrop of pure mana, which feeds the plant.”

Scorio bent down to gaze at the heart of the plant and thought he could see the faintest of traceries there in a deeper black. “And that mana feeds the plant?”

“Just so,” said Jelan, folding his hands back together. “And is used to imbue its seedlings with the ability to generate their first, minor pattern when they germinate and flower.”

“This pattern,” said Scorio. “Could it be copied out, in larger form?”

“Yes,” said Jelan. His smile was cold, patronizing. “It forms the basis of mana traps. But people do not have the skill to draw the pattern finely; at best we have been able to approximate its intricacies only crudely, resulting in vastly inefficient traps. It is far better to cull actual patterns from fiends and use them instead.”

“That’s fascinating.” Scorio rubbed at his chin, pondering the limp flower on the counter. “Not even Great Souls have been able to do this?”

Naomi, who had stepped forward to press her hip against the counter, shrugged one shoulder. “There’s little need. Out in hell proper, there are entire forests that capture mana. It’s easier to tap the trees than spend time trying to copy their patterns.”

“Tap the trees?” asked Scorio.

“Yes,” said Jelan, blinking at Naomi. “That is precisely correct. One can ‘tap’ a greater harvester by drilling a hole into its core and simply inserting a short tube. Condensed mana will drip out, and can be collected in a receptacle.”

“Of course, the trick lies in guarding the receptacle,” said Naomi wryly.

“Could one tap a Black Star?” asked Scorio.

Both Naomi and Jelan stared at him blankly.

“I mean, I understand it would need to be a small hole, a pinprick, but that would allow the plant to continue living, wouldn’t it?”

Naomi was the first to speak. “You wish to cultivate Black Star plants?”

“Is it possible?”

Jelan was gazing at him in wonder. “It is possible. But hardly worth the trouble. The system Mistress Esoka describes is used to collect Gold, Emerald, or even more precious mana. But Coal?”

“The expense of defending such a setup would make the effort not worthwhile,” said Naomi firmly. “Even the few beads of condensed mana you’d harvest would draw attention from the local fiends. Not to mention that Black Star never grows close to each other.”

“Just a thought,” said Scorio. “But thank you. You’ve given me much to think about.”

“Well,” said Jelan with a sniff. “Let’s talk practicalities. Equipment, costs, and methods.”

“Yes,” said Scorio firmly. “Please.”

* * *

Naomi agreed to fund the alchemical process, extract the tincture, and let him know when it was ready. She already owned most of the required pieces of equipment, and explained most grudgingly that she had a passing interest in alchemy. It helped, she said defensively, to pass the time.

The next few days of training were a chore, as Scorio forced himself into an artificial state of patience, until at last, at Second Rust, Naomi relented.

“Incidentally.”

Scorio lowered the towel with which he’d been wiping sweat away. “Yes?”

Her expression was scrupulously calm. “I may have distilled a sufficient quantity of the tincture for you to drink.”

Immediately he dropped into a cross-legged seating position. “You’ve got it? Here?”

She drew a slender flask from inside her robe but didn’t offer it. Instead, she gauged him through narrowed eyes. “You look terrible.”

“Sleep’s been hard to come by. And I wager I’m about to feel a whole lot worse. Toss it over.”

“Toss it over.” Her lips quirked into a smile. “You think you’re going to drink it here?”

“Where else?”

“Follow me.” And with that, she pivoted on the ball of her foot and dropped back out of view.

Scorio grabbed his treasures, took a hasty gulp from his water pail, then scrambled after. She had this incredible ability to drop a dozen yards without looking any the worse for the impact, while he still had to work his way down, leaping from exposed block to block, till at last, he landed beside her.

“Keep up,” she said, tone business-like, and took off, running lightly down the street.

Scorio did his best, but despite almost a month of constant running he was hard-pressed; she drifted forward effortlessly, her feet barely raising puffs of dust as she ran silently ever on. Moving with assurance, taking corners as if she’d done so a hundred times, going ever deeper into the ruins.

Scorio was starting to run out of breath and develop a stitch when she finally slowed and strode up to the mouth of a great hole in the center of the street.

“Down there,” she said, hands on her hips as she considered the fiery depths. “Use your treasures if you have to.”

And before he could ask anything, she stepped out into the void and fell into the dark.

Scorio bit back a curse and peered down after her. She’d fallen some twenty yards to land on a smooth expanse of stone that jutted out over the burning depths.

He considered, then drew out the steel rod. Taking a deep breath, he summoned his Igneous Heart before him and leaped down after her.

Almost immediately he activated the treasure, swirling the dense, cloying Coal mana into the rod so that it jerked and locked in place.

He was ready, clutching at it with both hands, and swung beneath it, already some four or so yards down. Released the mana, dropped again, activated it once more almost immediately.

Four times he did this, four times he plunged and was viciously arrested, until at last, he fell into a crouch beside Naomi, who’d watched his controlled fall with bemusement.

“Nice,” was her only comment, and then she pointed at a flat rock. “Sit there.”

He did as he was bid. Glanced around. “What is this place?”

“Where you’re going to ignite your Heart.”

The words caused a shiver of excitement to pass through him. “Here?”

“Reach out for the mana. Check the density.”

He did as he was bid, summoning his Heart and then extending his senses to the sooty clouds—only to realize they were ferociously dense, almost impenetrable.

Naomi crouched before him, flask held loosely between her knees. “I did some calculations. Fifty plants’ worth of unfiltered tincture will dump more raw Coal into your Heart than you’ll be able to handle. It’ll be like taking forty Black Star pills all at once. Since you’re insisting on poisoning yourself, we might as well derive as much benefit from this as we can and saturate you completely. Now, when I say raw, it’s because the normal process of drawing Coal directly into your Heart prevents it from harming your body. This tincture will instead pass through your body first, hence the way it’s going to make you wish you were dead. But it will also pour more mana into your Heart than you’d be able to get anywhere else.”

“All right.” He wiped his sweaty palms on his knees. “So why are we here?”

“Because first, you’re going to pull as much of this ambient Coal mana into your Heart. Only once you’re at your brim will you drink this poison.”

“Oh. Oh!” Then he frowned. “Wait.”

“No, it’s not a good idea.” Her smile was predatory once more. “But I’m curious as to just how deep your Heart is. How much it can hold. I’ve a hunch you’ll be fine. But as they say, if you’re going to get whipped, might as well ask for a flaying.”

“That’s… not the most comforting expression I’ve ever heard.”

“Luckily for you, I’m not here to comfort you. Now. Draw in that Coal mana. I’m going to be watching. We’re not going to stop till I’m satisfied.”

“Very well.” He sat up straighter, rested his hands on his knees, and inhaled powerfully. Held his breath, then slowly exhaled and summoned his Igneous Heart.

“This is it, Scorio.” Her voice had grown soft, and he sensed her settling down before him. “This is your chance to catch up with all those pampered Great Souls in the Academy. You’ve gone without help, without treasures, without coaching or access to Iron mana. This is your chance to close that gap. Think on nothing else but this: how much Coal you draw in now will determine the tenor of your future for a good long while. So draw in that Coal like your life depends on it, because on the most literal level, it does.”

Scorio felt his resolve harden. Gave himself a moment to gaze upon his Igneous Heart, and for the first time, he connected with it first, reached out to that great hunk of vitreous stone, and bonded with it, allowed it to become part of his sense of self. And then, intuitively, driven by need, by bleak desire, he gazed at the mana through its lens, felt the Coal as it encircled his Heart.

And felt something new: a sense of wrongness, that the mana shouldn’t be hanging about his Heart, but should rather be within it, belonged within it, and that it was his duty to rectify that mistake.

Maintaining his viewpoint from within the Heart, he forged his will into a slender paddle, an instrument he could wield with deft purpose. And as he began to roil the massively heavy clouds, he began to draw upon it through his Heart; not a direct pull, the act of inhaling, but a gravitational tease that helped the Coal begin to move, to fall around the Heart but never quite toward it.

He took his time. He’d learned that exerting himself too hard right away led to frustration and unnecessary expenditure of his will; it was better to soften the clouds, to move through them slowly, get them going, and as they picked up speed to move harder himself.

Pulling and pushing, he worked the Coal. But it was tougher than anything he’d ever done before; this wasn’t like honey, but rather congealed mud. Sweat prickled his brow and he had to focus fiercely to keep his breath steady.

Round and round, pulling and pushing, he worked the clouds, and slowly, so painfully slowly, they began to respond. The heavy sooty night responded at last to the constant application of his will, moving turgidly then slowly then smoothly.

“Good,” said Naomi softly. “Keep at it. You’re doing well.”

The words goaded him on, renewed his determination, and he inhaled deeply as he moved his paddle faster, pulling around and around the Heart, drawing the Coal ever closer.

Faster and faster. He’d stopped breathing, his entire trunk locked up, his fingers digging into his knees, his chin lowered, sweat pouring off his face.

“Now,” whispered Naomi. “Now, Scorio. Pull it in!”

The effort tore a bestial grunt from his chest, but with all his might he directed the whole mass of the Coal to swirl into his Heart, opening it completely to the nightmare mana, pulling it with everything he had—and it poured in. Like a great ebon cascade, it flooded through the facets, deep into its heart, into himself, and he felt as if he were drowning, held underwater, the sheer mass and pressure of it making him want to burst.

“More!” Naomi was right there before him, her voice urgent, but he didn’t dare open his eyes. “A little more—keep pulling!”

Clenching his jaw, Scorio pulled as much of the remaining Coal mana into his Heart, scraping and clawing at it, abandoning all pretense of a paddle and just grasping with claws, scrabbling and yanking, a final, frenzied inhalation.

His mind was stretched to the limit, his thoughts scattered, his body a thin skein of flesh stretched tight over his bloated Heart.

And just when he thought he could draw in no more, he felt Naomi press the flask to his lips.

“Drink it! Drink it all, Scorio, drink it down!”

Barely knowing what he was doing, Scorio opened his mouth, tilted his head back, and drank the whole bitter concoction to its last drop.