12 Miles Below

Shadowsong’s blade was already in his hand and raised up, point directly at the warlock within the second. The knights around me equally drew arms at the same man, likely by reflex. Father didn’t join in, staring daggers down instead.

“You know too much.” Shadowsong said. “Choose your next words wisely, warlock. You have no friends or allies to hide behind.”

Hexis didn't seem anywhere near as worried as he should be, given all the blades pointed at his throat. “As you’ve so elegantly demonstrated a moment ago, my reputed 'friends' pose as much danger as these delicate teacups." His hand lazily lifted up to point directly at Father. "Not to mention that one there isn’t quite so human as he looks, and likely far more dangerous than the rest of you all combined.”

“Soul sight.” Father said. “You have dug your grave in the snow, warlock. You can't leave alive.”

“'The weave' is the official nomenclature, not 'soul sight' or however you surface dwellers care to call it." His hand waved dismissively into the air, with a dry chuckle. "And regardless of the conditions out there, I most assuredly am not digging my own grave right now.” Then he pointed a hand at Shadowsong directly. "Your Deathless wouldn’t sanction a murder like this. You are the first blade of the clan lord, this is all rather unbefitting of your rank. And you will assuredly lose such a pretty title by stabbing me to death.”

His hand moved, now pointing directly at Father before Shadowsong could even speak. “And if you wanted to kill me, why I think I’d be dead already. Assuming that machine body is what I think it is, then your ability to tell truth from lies should be trivial. So listen closely: Your clan needs me. You're woefully ignorant of the cultural nuances and social hierarchies of the underground, which is exactly where your clan is bound to go.”

“I serve the clan above personal pride. Exile is a price I would pay a hundred fold to protect my House and my clan.” Shadowsong answered back. "When sacrifice calls, I shall answer."

Hexis stayed quiet for a moment, pausing only to listen to the prime. His head tilted to the side as his hand folded back onto the table. “Yes, yes. I heard of that oath tradition of yours. Every caste having their own little motto, very cute. And do believe me, I have no doubt you would follow through to the letter. That part is not in question. But your little 'secret' won't be the death warrant you think it to be."

"He believes what he says." Father said over our comms. "He knows something more."

Shadowsong grunted back in answer, then stalked forward and leveled his blade right by the man's throat. "Speak. What do you mean by the underground?"

"How to start?" He frowned, as if genuinely thinking it through. "Your clan plans to descend down underground, find a pillar heart and all that rabble, yes?”

Shadowsong said nothing, blade still drawn out.

“Do you truly believe your newfound city will remain isolated from every Undersider down there?” A jewelry-clad hand raised up. Then began to count off fingers. “Trade, alliances, immigration, cultural exchange, technology poaching, even tourism. Just to start with. Even with stricter rules to exclude those, the lawless will come to pick up the dead metal."

"And this is relevant to saving your life how?" Shadowsong said, blade still pointed directly at the warlock.

"I'm getting to that, put that stick away.” His finger tried to swat the flat edge of that blade, but Shadowsong simply lifted the tip out of his reach, threat still present. Hexis gave a tut, then shrugged. “To be blunt, keeping track of who comes in and out of your clan here is something you’ve taken for granted. Don’t deny it. Underground, you won’t be surrounded by the environment as a natural barrier. Anyone can walk anywhere down under, from any direction with only machines to bar the way. And they don’t kill every human that stumbles around in the dark, people still make it. Isolation is impossible given a long enough time span. Even if it were possible, the next generation would surely rebel against that. Growing up knowing outside travel is perfectly possible? And yet being told not to for no known reason? Might as well light a soul on fire and trap it in a metal box. It’s only a matter of time until it breaks free. No matter what direction you go, your clan will be on the map. Imperials will come seeking to make a church here. Puritans will be doing the same with a congregation. Mitespeakers will show up with their doomsday prophesies and stir up panic. And of course… my illustrious colleagues will be following shortly behind.”

I could see where Hexis was going with this. He’d figured us out in a heartbeat, simply by using the soul fractal himself. If this were something warlocks made use of already… “He’s saying it’s basically doomed to happen. Some warlock is going to catch sight of us and make a mess. Either in a combat situation, or by random luck. They know about the soul fractal already."

Hexis nodded, hand snapping at me. “That one there is correct. Interesting term to call it, soul fractal. I take it then, that you draw traditions from Talen's book? Fitting for surface dweller."

"You have a different name for it?" I asked.

"Every tradition of the occult possesses its unique nomenclature for it. Shamans of the distant past called it the 'sight-of-the-world' fractal, far as we could translate. Mages called it the center-core fractal. Isodons knew three variations of it, and called them trinity fractals. The specifics of these variants remain elusive, but for a few fleeting decades, they were regarded as the world's most potent lineage before their abrupt obliteration. Wild-armor linages sprout just about everywhere, they attribute all sorts of names to it, depending on the source of discovery. And, of course, Talen called it the soul fractal in his teachings."

"You have a copy of his book." That… was interesting to think about. Tsyua herself told me to beware warlocks, that if they got wind of this book, they'd come to kill me and take it.

Clearly not because they didn't know what was in it.

"We don't have an original copy of it if that’s what you mean. And it's quite tricky to make any kind of copies from that book. It demands hand translation as it interacts peculiarly with armors, no digital scanning. Regardless, I've studied that book's knowledge. I am a grand warlock after all. We don't just hide in our little towers and peddle swords. We study history in search of new lineages. After this many centuries, I'm quite confident I've read every one that exists."

“This is your play?” Shadowsong asked.

"Indeed it is, First Blade. There is no need for some complex plan. Your clan is about to enter a hidden world. And within this new circle, your soul fractals aren’t quite the grand secret you believe them to be. More an open secret with a gentleman’s agreement. And the people who break it, die off. You need to know the rules of this agreement, or else be doomed to rust.”

“Be that as it may, that time is not now.” Shadowsong said. “Delay of information spread still buys the clan time to retain its advantages. We cannot be prey to Othersiders or Undersiders. Those will not have access to the occult like your guilds and others do.”

“Rather easily arranged that." Hexis spread his arms out, as if encompassing the entire room. "Money and wealth, they're not mere tokens of luxury but tools to dismantle such petty issues. And if that should falter..." He let out a soft chuckle, one finger tapping on the table. "Considering your ruthlessness in dismantling the slavers, I doubt there'd be any Othersiders left to challenge your clan. Those who do survive are not stupid. Now, us Undersiders, our councils are too absorbed in their own territories and power plays to even consider crossing machine territory. Even less so to pick a fight with a clan led by a Deathless. And one of the seasoned, venerable generation even. Believe me... you have very little to worry for. Now, have I addressed all your death threats? Or are there more layers to this paranoia of yours?"

"I detect no lies in his words." Father said, keeping his mouth still.

Shadowsong gave a tut, sword flickering off before he sheathed it. “Your attitude and arrogance annoys me to no end. Were you anyone else, I would have you stripped and thrown into an airlock.”

The warlock laughed, index and thumb pinching together to form a circle, his other hand taking a teacup up and holding it to the light. “The beauty of arrogance and attitude…” He said, turning his palm up, tensing his finger against the thumb and then flicking out directly at the teacup, as if flicking a piece of unwanted lint. A pulse of occult rippled through the room, and the teacup bounced back, hit by an invisible bullet, spinning into the air. Hexis let it fly out of his hand, floating across the room, gradually slowing down and yet still weightless in the air. “If you have the cosmic power of gods to back it up, it’s quite an intoxicating spectacle.”

Father snatched the floating cup right as it neared his chest. He turned to Shadowsong, giving the man a nod. “We need him.”

The prime answered back with only measured silence. Then he turned to the warlock. “Can this be cast on anything?”

“Now that is a question for my apprentice. Will that be your title?”

“No.” Father said, then pointed straight at me. “That will be his.”

“Keith. Keith Winterscar. Relic knight of House Winterscar.” I said, feeling a little bit odd to be tossing that title around. I should feel a lot more comfortable with it now, I’ve done and seen way more than most relic knights have.

It was just Hexis and me now, with Father on the other side of the door. The rest of the clan knights were lurking around as well, but Hexis insisted he wanted to teach in peace and one on one. And since Father was a Feather, he could tell Hexis wasn’t lying about his intentions. Shadowsong couldn’t, but he agreed to leave the warlock with just a standard murderous glare.

Whatever Hexis was actually after, right now he really was planning to teach the occult how he would teach any apprentice. The giant stack of papers on one side, and a pencil on his other side made his intentions clear.

"I am Hexis Galrament. Grand High Warlock of the Argent Scryers, council of ten, warlock guild of the ninth league. Judicator of the Relia Lineage, the Asente Lineage, and the Mar'okee Lineage." Hexis said, his voice carrying an undertone of regal self-assurance I’d hear from a House Prime. "And for the duration of my stay here, you will address me as ‘Master.’”

“A little dramatic don’t you think?” I said. “Master.”

The warlock quirked an eyebrow at me. Then gave my armor and sigils a quick glance over. "I suppose it's fitting your culture would nominate one of your warrior caste to learn the Occult. For the sake of my sanity, I earnestly hope your expertise extends beyond slicing people in half."

Did he just call me a barbarian? I think he just called me a barbarian. I should slice him in half for that. “You know, just once, I wish someone could see me as more than just a piece of weaponize metal.” I said, having mercy on him. “See me for what really matters deep down inside - my amazing good looks and rugged stubble.”

"Interesting," Hexis said, his eyes blinking slowly. "He talks and stabs. What a brilliant specimen. Why did your clan nominate you of all people?”

If there ever was a time to say nothing and do something dramatic with the occult it was now.

Don’t showboat. Don’t do something dramatic. Don’t show off. I thought to myself. It was a losing battle.

What would Kidra do?

“To be honest with you and cut the ice here, I’m a piss poor knight when it comes to actual combat.” I said, instead of doing anything I actually wanted to. “The whole sword thing? I’m… well, not bad. But not good either. Spent most of my life trying to be a Reacher instead. One long story after another, and I ended up working with the occult. That part, I think I’m rather good at. Lord Atius taught me himself.”

Kidra wasn't the saint that kept me from doing Keith things in this case. It was Winterscar thinking that did the trick instead. See, I had no idea what Hexis could actually do. It would be the most awkward thing ever if I tried to go hard, only to find out I was playing in the snow this whole time and get one-upped. He had just casually manipulated gravity a few moments ago. Who knows what else was up his sleeves? Before I can be dramatic, I have to make sure I’m the most dramatic.

Hexis, on his part, looked unconvinced. “Good is a subjective scale of comparison. A human is good at swimming compared to a rock, and utterly terrible in the face of a fish. Now which are you, the rock or the fish?”

“Depends on what species of fish.” I said, trying to be civil. “I hear the red fishes are faster, so can I pick them please?”

I did not try hard enough, I admit.

“Ah, I had feared but it seems you will be that kind of apprentice. We have a long journey ahead of us I suppose.” Hexis said, sighing. Hand going up to rub his temple. Not even a few minutes into the tutorage. “A very long journey.”

I reached out to the chair, and happily sat down on it. “Glad to be on this journey with you, esteemed master.”

He drew out parchment paper, then a pen and began to scribble a math formula on it. Then tapped the table. “Helmet here.” He ordered, not even looking up at me.

I did as he asked, rolling Journey’s helmet across the table where he snatched it and set it aside.

"Your initiation into the Occult begins with mathematics. Fractals are not mere squiggles of imagination, they’re all based on numbers. Tracing them by hand is futile, even with relic armor to steady a craftsman’s hand, the error tolerance is far too low for anyone. The task calls for the precision of a stencil machine, which in turn requires an equation, and in turn manipulation of equations." Hexis said, his finger tapping the completed problem. "Reduce this. Wake me up when you need help.”

With that, he leaned back, looked up and closed his eyes.

I took the edge of the paper and drew it closer to me. It’s been a good few months since the last time I worked with pure math like this, but I used to enjoy solving these little riddles. “Can I have your pencil?” I asked, pointing at his side of the table. He hadn’t given me anything to write with.

My esteemed teacher woke, then glanced sideways down at me. A moment later, he flicked the pencil in his hand in my direction, letting it roll into place.

“Thank you, master.” I said, taking the pencil and getting to work. The question was a simple integration, with easy limits from zero to one. One divided by one plus x squared. An introduction question to calculus.

Moments later, I’d written down the solution, pie over four. Sort of cheating since I’d already seen this problem a few years ago. The real time spent was making my steps and writing legible.

“Done,” I said, sliding the paper back.

He opened his eyes again. “It's only been a few seconds, apprentice. Did you scribble something clever? A vague insult perhaps? Or did you want to ask for a red pen? You were clear earlier on your love of red, believe me, I'm quite aware of how much your culture loves their pretty colors.”

“No master, just a solution.”

He gave a tut, rising back on his chair and then picking up the paper. Then gave it a second look. His eyes instantly narrowed. “No communication with your armor.” He said. “Cheating won’t be tolerated.”

“I haven’t. You just picked a fundamental integral problem. It's practically a staple in calculus textbooks.”

Now his eyes shot up and narrowed down even further. “...I suppose surface dwellers must have some standards on mathematics, someone has to keep all the lights running…” He muttered, more to himself. Then, reached out to snatch the pencil from my hand and began to scribble another problem beneath the first.

This time, it was far more filled out. “Gloves off.” He said. “I want to see your hands work unassisted.”

“Fine by me.” Armored gloves were taken off and tossed onto the table. I took the pencil and got to work again.

He did not try to sleep this time around.

A much longer of a problem was on the page. Integration of x squared divided by the square root of the sum of x squared and twenty-five. Started right away with substituting the denominator by five times tan t, that was an easy give-me. From there, it was just a matter of blowing the snow off until I reached an answer.

This time Hexis seemed far more concerned. “Write down every substitution rule you know of.”

“I’m going to need more space than this.” I said, waving the half filled paper at him. “Want me to use the back?”

“We have many to spare.” He said, tapping the pile next to him. “Use the back if you want, just write.”

I did. Went down the derivatives I knew, and then went through the integrals. Took some time to get it all down, and my hand was aching a little after. I’m a little out of practice, holding a sword and rifle instead of a pencil for so long.

He took the sheet, then glanced through it. Then back up to me. “Write down the method of limit evaluation.”

“Can you be more specific? There’s a few ways I could go from that.”

“Enumerate them all.” He said, tapping the pencil.

Okay, should have just started with that. “Direct substitution, factorization, rationalization, and reducing it to standard form. Master.”

"Write down all the common integrals you know of."

That took a few pages. Technically some of these weren't common, but I remembered them anyhow.

"Explain in detail the chain rule."

Another few pages and about fifteen minutes later, I'd gone through a full list of stuff. He hadn't just stopped at asking the chain rule, he started writing problems that required it, again and again. Had to to talk out loud every step I wrote down. A few of which he had me orally dictate the work rather than let me write it down. That didn't change anything on my end, it was still general stuff.

Finally he ran out of questions and just watched me. “Who in the silver devil are you?” He finally asked.

“Keith. Keith Winterscar. Relic knight of House Winterscar. I also like red more than silver, master. Thought we were clear on that earlier.”