Chapter 25: Another kind of light show

Luckily, even after experiencing that sudden influx of energy, that was not one of those times I had been passed out for days. Yet, I would have preferred it that way. My eyelids were still closed, my head spun, mirroring the feeling one has when being drunk, and I could hear Makka shouting my name.

“Tarar! Tarar, are you okay!? Tarar!” I could tell from his voice that he was seconds away from shaking me in a somewhat awkward attempt to rescue me.

I didn’t want that to happen, as its most probable result would be me throwing all the contents of my stomach on the floor. I waved my open palm, my eyes still closed, telling him to stay away.

“What happened?” His voice sounded slightly more collected than before, which meant my sign was understood.

I ignored him, trying to focus on me. It was hazy, but I managed to confirm I was still in my kneeled position. The sword, however, no longer rested between my tights; have I dropped it? The Drak’gath pen was still tightly held on my other hand, which honestly was a huge relief. I wouldn’t particularly enjoy damaging Spare’s gift. Have I finished drawing the sword? Although leaving a drawing halfway wasn’t as bad as messing up a formation, there was no need to risk it.

I moved my head, slowly opening my eyes to see what state it was in. They began opening, adapting to the bright environment, taking in all the light from the room. I blinked a few times in quick succession, even covered my sight with one hand, fending off the candles’ flashes. Yet, no matter what I tried, all I could see was a radiant white light, blinding my whole vision. I shook my head, squinting my eyes and attempting to focus Makka’s face.

I managed to get a glimpse from his head, just enough to see his hair, but that light once again assaulted my eyes. I moaned, shielding myself from the glow with my hand. Once again, with my eyes fully closed, grunting and cursing.

“Argh! Could you blow that candle!” I shouted, desperate to run away from the light.

I heard him jumping off the bed, a series of rushed steps, and finally the sound of him blowing air. The scent of a fire just put out flooded the air. I took some deep breaths, calming myself, and made my second venture. I slowly opened my left eye, making sure it was looking towards the floor. It was dark, yet from the corner, I could catch a glimpse of that white light.

“You sure?” I asked, confused about the light I could still see.

“I can’t see a thing!” Makka confirmed the room had gone black.

It can’t be any other way, I thought. It must have been the communion; that energy has done something to me. I was concentrated, ignoring Makka’s inquiries, reasoning about the source of my affliction. I reviewed everything I knew from the experience, and the paragraph came to my mind.

When She reveals her voice, the Inker will go to her side.

When She shows her true form to the Inker, they should be granted true sight.

When She shares her knowledge with their mind, the truth shall be revealed.

She is many, She is one.

The way of the old Ink, Dag. 7.2

I heard Her voice, and I went to Her side, I revisited the events. If that was Her true form, then it means that the light I’m seeing now must be that true sight. Thinking of that, I had a hunch of what it could mean. I moved my arm towards my line of view; the closer it was, the brighter it got. It’s Ink! It was clear; I saw a blob of brightness wherever Ink was.

I forced myself to look at it, realizing that it was probably not my eyes that hurt, as that light was not really there, but my mind that was struggling to cope with the change. At first, it was unbearable; it was akin to staring at the sun. However, as minutes passed, it slowly became softer, eventually reducing to looking at a full moon. I sighed, relieved I could see my surroundings again. It was effortless to locate Makka; he was a big ball of white in the middle of a dark room.

“I’m better now,” I said, answering some of the questions he had been asking since the very start.

I would have explained to him the complete story of what had happened, answering the rest of his urged questions, yet I was busy observing something else. Each tattoo was highlighted on his skin, separated from the others if it weren’t for thin threads of light that created a net of connections.

Most threads floated around his own body, connecting one tattoo with the other. Some, however, flew above his head, going through the roof and expanding into the horizon. The further it went, the blurred it became. As it was, I could barely see a trace after exiting the cell, but it did seem that walls wouldn’t obstacle this true sight once I mastered it.

“That tattoo,” I pointed to a drawing on his left side, right at his waist. “Is it different from the others?” I was asking because it was the only one on his body unliked from all other tattoos. All its threads went to the sky, ignoring the rest of his drawings.

“I can’t see where you point,” he dryly said, visibly annoyed by my indifference towards his questions.

“Right! Left side, on your waist,” I said, unfazed by his anger.

“My master did it a long time ago; it is one of his favorite books.” He answered.

“By any chance, did he use his own Ink?” If I was right, then everything would make sense.

“It…” He struggled to answer, probably unsure why I would ask that. “He did, yes.”

Having my doubts confirmed, I decided it was time already to put him out of his misery. I couldn’t see him, but it wasn’t needed at all to tell that he was dying inside, both from worry and from curiosity. I summarized the book’s contents up to what I had read and then vividly told him the details of my experience.

After ten minutes of constant interruptions and questions, during which he looked for details about the mental state required for communion, I eventually got the most exciting part—the shining tattoos. It was still a theory that I could not fully confirm at any near point, but it seemed to correlate with reality.

I could see tattoos even with the total absence of light; it was some sort of connection between Ink and me. Not only that, I could sense which tattoos had been done with the same Ink, as the threads seemed to connect them unequivocally. My own tattoos were linked with Makka’s, which made sense given we shared the town’s Ink. All tattoos, without exception, seemed to share connections well beyond our room, and I speculated they might have a common origin.

“You can tell all of our tattoos?” It was obvious he had a hard time believing my words, and I didn’t blame him, it was unheard of.

I nodded and pointed to his right foot sole. “I can’t tell what it is, but you’ve got something there.” Either I lacked mastery and experience, which I undoubtedly did, or it was some limitation of this new ability. Perhaps with time, I would see them clearer, with their shape defined, but not at that moment.

“That could have be-”

“Two on your back, three on your chest, left and right quadriceps, left cufflink, right arm, right forearm. I can continue.” I interrupted him with a smug look on my face.

“You could have seen that in the bath!” He retorted, not willing to submit.

“I could,” I admitted, “but I have no reason to lie to you. You can either trust me or not.”

We spent some tense seconds staring at each other until he finally sighed and shook his head. “Why not,” he said, “you’ve always been the weird one, and Drak’oora Layan saw something in you.”

“Don’t tell her!” I quickly added, afraid that would bring me a step closer to the favor I had promised her. His look promptly confirmed he didn’t intend to do so, anything remotely close for what matters.

As the conversation died after that brief interchange, I went back to what I was doing before, namely checking the drawing I was doing before passing out. A wave of relief invaded me as I ascertained that every single line and detail was there, even the glyphs I had thought about. I must have completed it right before I met with Her. I still didn’t see any reason to use She or Her when speaking about the energy, but I decided to trust the references. There wasn’t anything particular about that sword; the drawing itself was like any other I had done.

I probably should have gone back to the book, read a few more chapters, and see if I was missing anything else, but I had to satisfy my curiosity. Convincing Makka to accompany me, we exited his cell and took a stroll around the town. Suddenly, the spectacle of lights and shadows that had not long ago been the city faded in comparison to the glimmer I saw now.

It was like a puppet show; every single person had a series of strings raising up to the hole’s ceiling, creating the illusion all of them were moved by an invisible hand. As I walked, I went through countless lines, piercing an unbreakable spider web of Ink. Everyone was connected with everyone for as far as my eyes saw.

I guided Makka to the top of the hole, not bothered by the least to climb up those infinite stairs. I’m sure Makka didn’t think the same; there was no way he could be as excited as I was. Although I reached the top panting and gasping for air, that didn’t stop me from enjoying the view. Halos of light, groups of threats packed together, descended everywhere on the city, moving as its owners walked. I would have stayed there for hours, days even, contemplating those lights appearing and vanishing, playing one with each other. Yet, I knew I had other obligations, and I knew Makka wouldn’t like being stuck there for much more time. Thus, we made our way to his cell.

Reading the book for the next few days felt empty; it lacked meaning. It would seem I had already achieved the last feat the book was talking of, and its convoluted ways to describe the experience, not to say the way to reach them, were too far-fetched. It’s worth noting, however, that it did not explicitly state what would happen by the end of the communion. Yes, it said something about foreign entities entering your mind, but it never spoke of the gift it would give. I doubted it was much of a secret, as the book already described most of the process.

The only good thing about that, though, was that I could share my book’s contents with Yaira before the competition began. Not by much, actually just one day before, but at least I got to know what she was so eager to share with us. Needless to say, she was flipping over my own achievement, and unlike Makka, she trusted my words from the get-go, even before I had the chance to enumerate her bodily drawings.

The great beasts of the East did honor to its name. It started by describing the local fauna of the east thousands of years before its publication date, which was close to a hundred years ago. Right behind the mountains where the Drak’gath live, there’s a savannah that extends for hundreds of kilometers, just to meet a forest as it gets closer to the great sea. It was populated by your typical mammals and birds, a carefully drafted chain that sustained itself without any human interaction.

Early reports say that the most dangerous creature one could find was the Jolt, a quadruped animal capable of running faster than any human. Its speed defied its size and weight, easily winning five muscled men altogether. It had the ability to stand on its hind legs and use its forelegs as lethal weapons. Groups of twelve or more people were necessary to hunt the animal, an adventure worth the risk for its carcass and leather.

It seems that small settlements had been set all around the East Coast at some point with the sole purpose of hunting down Jolts. It was a successful business, at least while it lasted. One day, out of nowhere, all the human population was either forced out of that territory or killed.

Witnesses say having seen enormous birds with wings the size of a house. Snakes that waved along the ground, digging its head and unburying it a second later a hundred meters further. Some even swore they had seen winged Jolts. The name Dragon was spoken not much after, a creature that spat fire.

The book presented all those beasts as facts, clearly describing their looks and abilities, not implying even for a moment that they were the fantasy of some drunkards. It didn’t say where they came from, what they were, neither what had happened to the original fauna. It described it as an invasion, a clear retake of the territory from human hands.

Somehow, inexplicably, the beasts stopped at the mountains. They had never crossed over to Lamar, even less to our West lands. Their destruction had ended as soon as all the East was freed. One couldn’t help but wonder if it had any kind of relationship with the army expeditions. Were they trying to fight those beasts? If so, why would they fight them?

It was undeniable, though, that Drak’oora Layan had given me that book. I was sure she wouldn’t have done so if it didn’t have any kind of relationship with Ink, or at least to the favor I owed her. She wanted me to know the East was uncharted territory, somehow changed to the kingdom of beasts. Finding out why would have to wait for a few more days, as the competition would start the next day and I needed a good night's sleep.