บท 6: The Seer
"And that's how the prophecy goes," Wink said. He gave Nathan a smile, looking very proud of himself.
"So, let me get this straight," Nathan said. "An evil god separated himself into — what did you call them? Aspects, right. Okay, he separated himself into six Aspects and let them wreak havoc on the world. The Ancients tried to summon me to fight them off, but they screwed up their ritual and I showed up a thousand years late to the party. Now there's people, an entire church, waiting for me to save the day by somehow defeating these ancient, super powerful demigods. Is that the gist of it?"
Graham nodded. "That's pretty much it. When did you want to start on that, by the way? The Underground is great and all, but it'd be nice to catch some sun without monsters trying to steal my spirit."
"I'll probably need a few more hours. Maybe a day at the most." Nathan straightened his goggles and looked down at the city. Thousands were down in the gray streets, shuffling in and out and up and down — the mesmerizing waves of an urban sea. "How many people are in the Ring? Sure looks like a lot."
"The last full census had us at one million and some change. The Ring's a big place, but it's starting to feel a little cramped around here."
Nathan considered the number. Then he stopped considering it because it was too big to consider. All those people stuck underground, hiding from a wrathful god and his legions of monsters, waiting for a hero, praying for one.
And he was the guy they got?
"Maybe I should talk with the Church about this whole prophecy thing."
Wink yawned and stretched his little arms. "We should go see Pastor Crags. He'd give you some good advice."
"Tomorrow, Wink," Graham said, looking down at the device on his wrist. "Riftset is going to be early, and you haven't slept in over a day. And no — duck tea isn't an appropriate substitute for sleep. We have to hit our quota before the Red, or I'll lose my license and we'll have to join someone else's team. Can't do it if we're too tired to run."
"Okay. Sorry, Nathan, but we have to wait until tomorrow." Wink could barely keep his eyes open. It seemed that he'd finally worn himself out with all his jumping around and hollering. That, or his duck tea sugar rush was coming to an end.
"That's fine, bud. Not like I'm in a hurry or anything."
They stood from the roof's edge and walked back into the apartment. The place was hellishly hot, and Graham rushed to shut the heating glyph off. Wink seemed too tired to be bothered by it. He went into his room without another word and crawled onto his bed.
"You okay with sleeping on the couch?" Graham asked.
Nathan nodded. "I slept on couches all throughout college. No problem there."
"Good. Wink and I have to leave before riftset, so we'll probably be gone by the time you wake up. You'll have the apartment to yourself for the day. There's food in the fridge, so you shouldn't starve."
"I'll try not to tear the place up."
Graham gestured to his still damp clothes. "You couldn't do better than Wink if you tried. By the way — if someone comes knocking tomorrow, don't open the door. The Keepers might be looking for you. The nightly census isn't something they take lightly, and the sentries and gatemen having conflicting reports won't be good."
"Got it. Stay inside and keep my mouth shut."
"Good night, Nathan. Glad you finally showed up." Graham went into his bedroom and closed the door, leaving Nathan alone in the living room.
It was a strange and restless night for Nathan. The magblue rays of the Ring's lights and the Underground's false stars shined in through the dirty windows of the apartment. They were muted by the thick glass, not so vibrant and hard on the eyes, but there was no way to wholly get rid of them without the goggles. Night looked just like day in the Underground.
He sat on the couch and stared into the gut of the Ring — at its many buildings on the verge of collapsing and its ruinous streets still rich with activity. The magic inside of him kept his brain working, puzzling over things. Questions seemed to assault him, rushing in like hordes of invaders and pounding at the walls of his mind, demanding answers, demanding solutions.
Hours passed before he finally fell asleep. The ceaseless bustle of the Ring finally lulled him, and he set his head on the couch and drifted away.
He awoke to a soft knocking — the tapping of a fist against the metal of the apartment's door. Graham's warning resurfaced in his foggy, waking mind, and he knew not to open it, not to even respond.
"Nathan," came a voice from behind the door, old and raspy. "I know you are in there, and I know you are confused. I have come to help."
Nathan felt a chill race up his spine. There was something unsettling about a person knowing his name in a foreign world, knowing who he was when he didn't have the slightest clue as to who they were. The Devil himself may have stood behind the door for all he knew.
"I am Montel, twenty-ninth Seer of the Church of Nathan. We have been waiting for you, Nathan — waiting for a very long time. The Church was created to guide you upon your arrival, to protect you from the evils of this world while you learn to wield your powers. Please, allow me to speak with you."
Against his better judgement, Nathan walked to the door and brought his face near it. "Are there any Keepers out there?"
"No — no Keepers, I assure you. They are not even aware of your presence in the Ring, in fact. My people made sure that the census did not betray you."
"What about the newspaper? Won't they be looking for me because of that?"
"The Keepers have no interest in the chatter of journalists. There are other factions that do, however, and they are looking for you as we speak, sending their mutts across the Ring to chase your scent. The Church can protect you from them, Nathan."
Against his better judgment, Nathan unlocked the door. "Alright, I'm opening the door. Really hope this isn't a trap."
Montel stood alone behind the opened door. He was a pale and wrinkled man with a genial smile and a thick, silver beard. A white robe covered his thin, cornstalk frame, decorated by a single golden N on its center. Nathan guessed it stood for his name, which was more than a little flattering.
"It is a wonder to actually see you after all these years." Montel's voice was filled with awe. "It was foretold that I would be the seer who welcomed you to Aradon, but I still doubted it at times. Decades of waiting can challenge even a patient man's faith, you know."
"Well, I hope I don't disappoint you after all that waiting," Nathan said. He motioned for Montel to enter the apartment. "I'm not exactly top-shelf hero material."
"An opinion." Montel walked into the living room and seated himself on one of the game table's stools. "We will soon see the truth, however. In time, your powers will reveal themselves, and you will begin to your destiny."
"You mean the glyph thing?"
Montel raised a fluffy eyebrow at him.
"I can copy glyphs and then recreate them by touching a surface with my hands," Nathan said. "Here, check this out." He cleared up a spot on the cluttered table and pressed a hand against it. Magic went through him as it did before, sliding down his arm and hand as his will commanded, a magblue glow that shaped itself into a glyph.
"Already achieving the impossible, I see. And you are brazen enough to insult your potential." Montel stared hard at the glyph. "You said you copied this glyph?"
"Yeah, from the sink in the kitchen. Kid named Wink drew it. He's great with them."
"The Church has hundreds of talented glyphmakers in its ranks. I could arrange for them to prepare glyphs for you to copy. You could have an arsenal to pull from before the next Red." He set his intense gaze back on Nathan. "But I'm certain that this is just the first of your powers. When you forge an icon, you will truly embark on the path to greatness."
"Oh, I don't know about those things. Welding something to my spirit doesn't exactly sound like a good idea."
Montel laughed. "It is quite safe, I assure you. The glyph needed to perform the welding ritual is complicated, but it is checked over several times before being tripped. Besides, no tampering is done to the spirit itself — the icon is simply fused to it. If the glyph were to function improperly, the spirit would not be harmed."
"Well, would I get cool powers from it?"
"I see your priorities are correctly ordered." Montel had a playful look on his wizened face. "Yes, you would get cool powers from it. Of course, you can only weld one to your spirit, so it is not a light decision. A young man I know decided to weld an icon of milk to his spirit rather than wait another month to retake the Guardian Trials. As you can imagine, his spells are not very useful in combat. Very useful in the kitchen, however."
"Oh, now that sucks," Nathan said through a laugh. "How many icons are there? I'm assuming a lot if there's one for milk."
"I believe no fewer than ten thousand have been documented. Duplicate icons are far rarer than entirely new ones."
Nathan's smile retreated as a grim subject returned to the top of his mind. "You said something about factions hunting me down. Should I be worried about that?"
"There are men in the Ring who are not interested in being saved — drowning men who are content to die. Your power threatens their tyranny over the helpless people of the Ring — threatens their empires of dust and treasuries of rubbish. The Church is powerful enough to defend you from them, but only if you accept its help. We cannot intervene in your journey if you do not wish us to."
Nathan looked at him as though he'd said something very dumb. "Of course I want you to. I don't know a single thing about this world; those factions would eat me for breakfast."
"Good. Then do not give anything but your progress a second thought; the Church will handle the rest. The gangs and twisted branches of the League will be meaningless to you once you reach the pinnacle of your strength. What is an ant to a giant, after all?"
"Very small, I guess."
"And you guess correctly. As small as the petty squabbles of ordinary men will be to you in due time. Now I suggest that we leave this place immediately. It is unlikely that I was followed here, but — "
The heavy pounding of boots could be heard outside the apartment door, sounding like an army was running up the complex's stairway. Montel jumped from the stool, and Nathan rose with him.
"Seems like unlikely things tend to happen around me," Nathan said.
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