Victor of Tucson-Chapter 28Book 10: : Threads of Fate

28 – Threads of Fate

Victor took the seed from its case and, again, held it close to his nose, gently inhaling the intoxicating aroma. Shivers ran down his spine, and little lights exploded behind his closed eyes as the potent scents filled his mouth with saliva. His body wanted him to eat the thing as much or more so than any other natural treasure he’d been exposed to. Wondering if he’d be able to control himself long enough to get the meat away from the shell, he contemplated the best way to open it.

Not being a nut connoisseur, nor having any of the tools such a person might employ, he simply shrugged and crunched it with his powerful fingers. Desire instantly clouded his judgement as the true nature of the seed’s potent flesh made itself apparent. The heady scent made him swoon as the world tilted sideways and began to dip. He felt like he was hanging upside down from a strangely undulating amber ore platform. With a concerted effort of will, Victor ignored the weird sensations and nearly overwhelming hunger that had seized his guts.

Focusing on the feel of the broken shell in his fist, he carefully opened his hand, almost surprised when the fragments of shell and meat didn’t fly off into the spinning, warped, psychedelic landscape that had overtaken his senses. He felt nausea and hunger simultaneously. He was dizzy and euphoric at once. Still, he narrowed his eyes and stared at his hand, forcing himself to focus on the strange, white meat surrounded by crunched, broken near-black shell.

Delicately, with forefinger and thumb, Victor painstakingly pulled the shell fragments away from the meat and then, before he lost himself in the hallucinatory haze the aroma had struck him with, he plopped it into his mouth. He experienced a fraction of a second of euphoria as he bit into it and swallowed. Then his consciousness was thrown from his body, whirling away into the universe on waves of chromatic light that buoyed him, cradling his psychic projection as it hurtled into another reality.

###

Xolotlkan stood atop the verdant hill, the sun’s heat soaking into the flesh of his broad, scarred back. He watched as, a hundred thousand strides distant, Tlalquemeh sank to his mighty knees, flattening the jungle beneath his enormous girth.

“He will sleep,” Tzitzimani said, her voice hushed as she came to stand beside him.

Xolotlkan looked at her, his heart filling with pride at her beauty. Her hair was like the feathers of ravens, and her eyes were brighter and more lustrous than the purest gold. She was marked by the battle, her flesh slowly pulling itself together to leave fine scars from her many wounds. Beneath the black warpaint that covered her eyes, her chin and lips were dark with drying blood, evidence of the heart she’d already feasted upon. “Will he sleep or will he die?”

She looked at him with narrowed eyes, her lips twisting in a way that was almost derisive. “He cannot die!”

“Just because he has always been does not mean he will always be.” Visions of Tlalquemeh’s battle flashed through Xolotlkan’s mind’s eye. He saw the dragons as they landed on the primordial titan’s back, digging their claws into his flesh, emptying their lungs of acid and fire. He saw the great being’s blood and heard his roars of fury and pain. Then he saw him hurl the dragons to the horizon or into the earth, carving canyons through mountains and displacing entire lakes with the impacts.

Tzitzimani sighed, her voice quiet and a little morose as she replied, “His life is sad. He misses his love, and the only time he wakes is to fight those who challenge him. Perhaps he wants to die.”

Xolotlkan looked past Tlalquemeh to the purple slopes of the great mountain, Ocelhuatzin—the burial site of the primordial titan’s love. “Is she dead?”

“My mother tells me she sleeps. When her heartache grows too heavy to bear, that is when her tears flow like fire.”

“She weeps for her children,” Xolotlkan agreed. “Are we Quinametzin not enough for her? My father says his grandmother could trace her lineage to Ocelhuatzin.”

Tzitzimani took his hand in hers and leaned her soft cheek into his sun-hot shoulder. “Love is a strange thing.”

“And us? If I ever feel sorrow like Tlalquemeh—” He nodded toward the slumped, kneeling figure on the horizon. “—then I would rather die.”

“You’re too small to have feelings that big!” She teased, tilting her chin so her lips were there, waiting for his kiss. Of course, he obliged, leaning slightly to press his lips to hers. Savoring the sweet scents of blood and rose oil.

“I feel much,” he grunted, reaching a hand around to her back, groping downward for the soft flesh beneath her supple leather leggings. She pushed him, pulling away from his eager grasp.

“Always so hungry for my flesh after a battle! You must feast on other flesh, though! You have hearts to claim. If you ever hope to be half as great as that one—” It was her turn to nod toward Tlalquemeh. “—then you must seize every opportunity to nourish your body and spirit.”

Xolotlkan folded his arms over his chest and peered toward the ancient titan. “Is it possible? My father, my grandfather, even my grandfather’s grandfather—none of them have approached such might. Are we too far diluted from his ancient blood?”

Tzitzimani stepped close again, resting her fingers lightly at the nape of his neck, gently scratching the short hairs there with her sharp nails. “His blood is in us—his blood and many other great ones, besides. We must cultivate and awaken it. We must grow strong from the hearts of our foes. We must gather the Tonalolia in our heart-suns, and we must find and claim the treasures of the world. Our parents and grandparents are great, but we will be greater. Let their wisdom be our stepping stones to move beyond them.”

Xolotlkan turned away from the sorrowful titan and looked down at his wife. “I am too lucky, Tzitzi. I am too lucky to have you. Why would you spend your time with this worthless one?” He smiled as he spoke, knowing she’d protest.

“Hush, Xolo!” Her use of his pet name made his heart thump, skipping a beat. “You’re the greatest of our generation. I’m the lucky one.”

“We’re both lucky.” He put his arm over her shoulder and pulled her into him, squeezing her tightly. “Tlalquemeh claimed most of the kills, but you’re right. I have three dragon hearts to feast upon. Will you join me as I claim them?”

###

Victor floated in darkness, but he wasn’t cognizant of himself. For a long time he struggled to separate himself from Xolotlkan. For what seemed an eternity, he yearned for Tzitzi’s gentle touch. If he’d had eyes to see with, they would have been blinded by endless tears. If he’d had a heart to ache, it would have torn asunder as he experienced hopeless loneliness and loss. Gradually, though, pieces of the puzzle that was Victor began to fall into place, supplanting the memories and essence of Xolotlkan.

He began to recall his own life—his mother and the crushing loss of her; his abuela and the love and support she gave him; his struggles to fit in and, just as he was finding his place, his rude, unexpected departure from Earth. He recalled the battles he fought, the friends he made and lost, and, more than anything, he felt the rich, surging love that boiled in his heart, eager to be shared. He saw Thayla, Chandri, and Teil; his thoughts even lingered on Kynna for a while.

Then his mind came round to an image that had been on the periphery, slowly working its way toward the focal point. He saw Valla, and his nonexistent heart swelled like it would burst. As he remembered their time together, color entered his void in streaks and bursts, only to be washed away by more grim darkness as he recalled her decision to separate. Then, on a wisp of a breeze that swirled out of nowhere, came the flickering, hope-filled image of a blond-haired woman. She ran ahead of him, looking over her shoulder, laughing as the wind tossed her ribbon-strewn hair and colorful skirts.

“Tes,” he grunted, though with what mouth and what vocal cords, he had no idea. The hope she gave his poor, battered heart was palpable, but he wondered—was it real? Hadn’t she left him, too? Wasn’t his love unrequited? He had so much to give, so much to share. Why couldn’t it ever work out? Despondency reasserted itself, and he pushed thoughts of women and love away, dwelling in the empty void and content not to think.

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He drifted for another eternity, no longer Xolotlkan, but not exactly Victor, either. He’d pushed them both away, and he was content with nothing. Why shouldn’t he be? The void didn’t hurt or ache. It was nothing.

After a minute or a million years, a voice drifted to him, familiar and foreign, “What a strange place to find you again. I thought I was alone with my thoughts, but here you are. What strange threads of fate have tied us together through eons and galaxies? Are you, too, seeking solitude?”

Victor wracked his fractured, neglected memories for the voice; finally it clicked, and he thought, “Chantico?”

“Oh, are you so far gone? Your thoughts are sluggish.”

“I’m… not sure what I am.”

“Do you seek this void or are you lost?”

“I had a vision. I saw my ancestors, I think. No, I was my ancestor.”

“Oh? Something interesting at last! Tell me of your vision, little brother.”

“I… I was Xolotlkan and I knew happiness and love…” Victor let himself relive his brief time as the ancient Quinametzin. As he described his feelings and the loss, he began to understand why it had affected him so profoundly. He hadn’t only stood in Xolotlkan’s shoes for a few minutes, he’d been Xolotlkan. He’d felt everything in his life, including his love for Tzitzimani.

“How cruel!” Chantico cooed. “To feel such love and then have it ripped away? But why not embrace your true self?”

“I started to, but then I remembered my own failed loves.” The words came easily. Victor hadn’t consciously realized how stubborn he’d been, how he’d pushed himself away and embraced the nothingness.

“Ah, the heart. When spears, blades, and clubs fail to break us, sometimes we do the work for them, hmm?”

“Yeah, I guess…”

“You guess? What a strange young titan you are! Perhaps it's your big heart and desire to love that binds us. I, too, suffered many terrible heartaches over the years. Yes, perhaps that is the thread that ties me to you. I sense a kindred spirit in you, more than our blood ties. What else ails you? Why do you hide away in this void?”

“Why do you?” Victor fired back.

“Oho! Fair enough. Let the elder share first, hmm? I seek solitude to contemplate my existence. Long have I toiled for more and more power. Long have I loved and lost. I’ve ascended through more than one veil, little brother. Now I wonder if it's time to forget some of this. Perhaps it's time to start anew. Such weighty decisions require peace and clarity of thought. Your intrusion was unexpected, but I can’t blame you for fate and karmic ties. I wonder, was I simply meant to advise you on matters of the heart?”

“I don’t think so. I, um, didn’t find this void purposefully. I have a curse…” Victor haltingly called up and recited the memories necessary to share his problem with Chantico. Though she didn’t speak, he could feel her presence. A thing in the nothingness. A weight and warmth where nothing should exist.

When he finished, he heard her click her tongue. “I remember now. I spoke to you about this centuries ago, did I not?”

If Victor had a mouth, he would have smiled. “To me it was just a few days.”

“Time moves strangely for me as I drift. My mind is free, unfettered by physical laws, much as yours is now. Let me think. What did I tell you before? You asked me why the void would not harm me, and I said I made a fortress of myself. Was that not helpful?”

“It feels like a dream, big sister—” Victor wasn’t sure why he called her that, other than she was calling him little brother, and he liked it. “—It’s not clear to me. I had trouble remembering your words.”

“Well, you’ll remember this time, provided I can help you to get home. I said to make yourself strong—unbreakable. I told you to seek out that which does so. I don’t mean to speak in riddles, but I don’t know you enough to tell you the answer. I begin to think I have a clue, however. Victor, when you set yourself adrift in this void, was it your curse that sent you here?”

“No…”

“Was it fear of responsibility or, worse, fear of a foe?”

“No…”

“Was it fear of death?”

“No!”

“No, little brother, it was your poor, wounded heart. When you awaken, ruminate on that for a while.”

“How will I—”

“Hush. Let your big sister do something for you. Follow my voice.” With that, Chantico began to sing. It was a beautiful melody, otherworldly and devoid of language, but full of meaning. The sound drifted away, and he strained to listen, following it without thought. The song evoked images of grassy meadows dappled with wildflowers of every shape and color. He felt the sun’s heat, good and right, and he heard the laughter of children as they played.

Drifting through nothingness, pulled along by Chantico’s hauntingly beautiful voice, Victor’s self-imposed isolation faded as his spirit, his self, found his body and slipped back home. Instantly, he was wracked with horrific pain and his eyes snapped open.

He was lying on his back, the smooth dome of his cultivation chamber high above him. His chest burned with near-blinding, scalding pain as his nerves were endlessly devoured, regrown, and devoured again. With a grunt, Victor lifted his head and peered past the System message in his eyes, trying to get a look at the void. His eyes widened with horror when he saw it. No longer the size of a marble, the black ball of nothingness sat in a baseball-sized hole in his sternum. “Pinché son of a bitch,” he hissed, lying back down.

Trying to tune out the pain, to find the place where he could ignore it in his mind, he focused on the System messages:

***Congratulations! Your Quinametzin Bloodline has advanced to Epic 6.***

Victor laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “All that for one fucking rank.” With a grunt and an inadvertent gasp of pain, he struggled to a sitting position. His shirt was open, unbuttoned, which reminded him that he’d been wearing a shirt without buttons that he’d ripped open before eating the magical seed. Someone had changed his shirt. He looked to his cultivation chamber's vault-like door and saw it was closed tight.

Taking a deep breath, bracing himself for more pain, Victor prepared to stand, but stopped. The air in the chamber was absolutely thick with Energy attuned to magma and blue ice. He could feel it almost like when Ember Mountain had erupted and the magma had hung heavy in the air. How long had the Energy been gathering? How long had he been lying there?

His pain forgotten, Victor surged to his feet and walked to the vault door, slapping his hand on the lock. It clicked open and he pushed the door wide. His workshop had changed. A bed had been moved into it and someone had installed a sink and toilet, along with wood-framed silken screens to wall off the little bedroom from the far door.

He didn’t have to wonder who had done it for long. A muffled yawn sounded from the piles of bedding and a moment later, a bleary-eyed Bryn sat up. When she saw him standing in the doorway of the cultivation chamber, she leaped to her feet. She was clad in her uniform pants and an undershirt and Victor wondered if she always slept in her clothes. “Victor! Your Grace!”

He nodded, grimacing as the pain in his chest surged. “Bryn. What the hell is going on?” He gestured to her bed.

“I found it easier to keep an eye on your chamber from here. After the first month—”

“Month? How long have I been out?”

She didn’t look him in the eyes, fidgeting a little as she stepped closer to her boots. “Nearly six months, Your Grace.”

“Sixmonths?” Victor hissed, stepping out of the cultivation chamber’s doorway and slamming the massive door shut with a thunderous clang. “Six fucking months?” he asked, with a little less vehemence.

Bryn nodded, slipping her feet into her boots. “We feared it would be longer—nothing changed for so long, Your Grace.”

“Will you cut that shit? Why are you being so formal?”

“I—” Bryn shook her head, sighing. “I don’t know. I suppose with the passage of time, I’ve built you up in my mind. I’m just so happy that you’ve risen. Kynna has been measuring your curse and as it grew, she became…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “She despaired.” Suddenly her eyes flew wide and she hissed, “Victor! You have to hurry! She and Arona are meeting with the Queen of Kuria. They’re negotiating terms for the duel!”

Victor glowered. “Lead the way, Bryn, but start talking. What the hell do you mean she and Arona are negotiating terms?”

Bryn grabbed her glaive and ran for the door. Victor hurried after her, his pain, his vision of Xolotlkan, even his conversation with Chantico forgotten. All he knew was that there was no damn way he was going to let Arona fight a duel for him, especially if it was Queen Livessa—House Bandia was one of the true “great” houses. Something had to have happened to bring her to the table.

He didn’t have to speculate. As they ran to his elevator, Bryn said, “Somehow word got out that you were incapacitated. Rumors at first, but Queen Kynna thinks the veil walkers let the truth out. An assassination attempt was made—” She paused to open the elevator. “—but Arona was there and foiled it. When word spread that the queen was attacked and you were nowhere to be found, Livessa issued a challenge.”

“Why didn’t the queen refuse?” Victor slammed his fist onto the button to lower his elevator.

“She played coy, agreeing to the duel, but scheduling it for nearly four months into the future. She thought you’d surely be awake by then.”

Victor growled, his pathways filling with rage as he waited for the elevator to descend. “What time was the meeting?”

“Noon. I think we have time. We can teleport directly to the arena complex; they’re meeting on neutral ground.”

As the doors opened and Victor took the lead, jogging through the palace to the portal room, he could hear Bryn sprinting behind him. He wanted more information, but he needed to hurry. He was furious at Arona for sticking her neck out, but he was also worried and guilty. It was his fault he’d taken so long. He’d lingered in his void of nothingness for a long time. If Chantico hadn’t found him… He didn’t want to dwell on it. He was lucky. He was lucky that something was tying his fate to hers or vice versa.

“We’ll see how lucky,” he growled, sprinting down the long, subterranean corridor to the portal room. He blew past several guard posts, but their stammered challenges and halting greetings fell on deaf ears. Victor was lost in his urgency. When the door to the portal room was in sight, he cast Tactical Reposition, snapping into existence among six startled guards.

He threw the door aside, strode into the chamber, and, seeing the heavily guarded crackling portal already open, strode toward it, brushing aside the guards who didn’t move out of his way quickly enough. “Sorry, soldiers. I’m in a hurry,” he grunted as he practically dove into the portal.