Source & Soul: A Deckbuilding LitRPG

I gathered up my cards and slid them back into my Mind Home as everyone swarmed the new Air cards like flies to dung. I took my time; while it’d be nice to see what cards were there just so I’d know what new nonsense others might be wielding in our fights, Air cards were of no use to me personally. The entire morning had been of very little use, in fact, since Badgou had never bothered to show up. Apparently she felt that trading me a couple of Common demons completed the terms of her advisory role. As others worked with their mentors I had played duel after duel at the table by myself, drawing fresh hands each time, swapping in a varying number of my new For the Greater Good Spells to see if it was worthwhile to run a copy even when not fighting Gerad, simulating a variety of enemy decks in my mind with each new try. I’d been massively annoyed at Badgou when I began, but the exercise was almost like meditation, and by the time the monk cards arrived, I was feeling calm and focused once again.

Basil was right up front with Esmi at his side, the two of them deep in consultation over some card or other that I couldn’t see. Honestly, I’d had a hard time keeping up with the deckcrafting conversations between my two friends ever since he’d thrown Life into the mix. He obviously had some good ideas, and I could see them in action when we fought together, but for some reason adding in that third source just bent my mind a little too far when it came to the theory of it all. For me, dueling was simple: hit hard, hit fast, and find ways to do both of those things better. Even the addition of my single Order source, welcome as it was, occasionally annoyed me with the complexity it brought to planning out elevations and deck changes. Basil had told me I needed to get over my petty resistance, and I knew he was right, but it turned out that knowing it and doing it were two different things.

I gave the table full of cards a halfhearted once-over from behind the wall of interested students. The Monk Souls were quite powerful – I’d have to ask Basil about the Incapacitate ability; I’d never seen that one before – and I could imagine the Retreat Spell really spiking my wheel during a match. The Wind Blade was quite good, though I still preferred my Hammer.

I was surprised to see all of the dwarf students crowded close – I didn’t think a single one of them cultivated Air – as well as E’lal and Ky’reen. Maybe they were doing the same as me and scouting out opponent cards; then again, Pirtash Peak was just an afternoon’s hike away. Any of them could have gotten permission to make regular visits and cultivate Air. Somebody could even be sneaking out at night like I was. There was no reason to think my secret drainage gate was the only stealthy way out. I looked over at Harganut and imagined each of us waiting for the other to pretend to be asleep or make some excuse to leave the hut while thinking the other had no idea. I snorted and shook my head. Harganut was the world’s bluntest object. Trying to imagine him pulling one over on me was like imagining the beef on my Mess Hall plate leaping up and taking a bite out of me.

Wandering away from the table, I left the advisors’ hall to bask in the afternoon sunlight. Ever since my Order source had appeared I’d found myself noticing and appreciating the regular march of the sun across the sky and the gradual shortening of days as we moved into autumn. It was a strange feeling; I hadn’t even paid attention to such things when I’d been living outside on the streets not that many months ago, when it would have mattered more. I sometimes found myself looking back on the memories of those times as if I could see into the mind of a feral cat. How had I survived all that time? How had I not lost my mind? Maybe you did. Normal people don’t burn down card shops to steal a single card.

I reached up and flicked my own ear to snap myself out of my thoughts. As weird as it was to look back on myself, it was far stranger to catch myself being contemplative and philosophical in the now. That old me would have pissed on my good boots and called me a prissy little noble-boy shithead, and I still had enough of the gutter kid in me to feel a healthy disgust at my own pointless, circular thinking.

Another crowd had gathered in the open square in front of the teachers’ central tower. It looked to be the group of monks on their pilgrimage I’d heard everyone at the tables muttering about. They wore loose, flowing robes in bright colors, and every single one had their head shaved, male and female. The paladins were gathered in conversation with them, all seated and focused on someone in the middle I couldn’t see. Afi was there too, and Edaine watched over the whole mess like a mother hen. After a moment the monks standing around the edges of the group shifted, revealing Gerad lurking on the outskirts as well.

I stiffened and fought the urge to head the other direction. Yes, he beat you. Don’t avoid it; accept it. If you flinch every time you see him it’ll only encourage him and bring the next attack faster. You’re not ready for that, so walk tall, look confident, and at least he won’t have that much more excuse to pounce. If he was listening to these monks, then maybe I needed to hear what was being said as well. I filtered in, keeping my distance from Gerad.

A powerful-looking man sat in the center of the group in dusky blue robes that left one shoulder and most of his muscular chest exposed. He had the dark skin most commonly seen in Dalrish, with white tattoos making complicated curlicues that spread across his chest and up his neck to the back of his bare scalp. He wore a wiry beard that only covered his chin, and the hair was stark white despite the fact that going by his face he couldn’t be more than thirty-five. His voice was quiet but arresting as he spoke, demanding attention.

“The Sun King is wise to cultivate your talents. I could wish every one of the cities of humanity would develop programs such as this War Camp of yours; the world outside is hostile to any thinking creature that does not prepare to the utmost and plan for elevation. But tell me, what are you preparing for?”

“Expansion,” Patyr said.

“Domination,” Gerad murmured, his eyes flicking over to me.

The seated monk cocked his head ever so slightly. “It is wise to speak your thoughts in your own head first so you may hear them before anyone else. A good question is best followed by a long silence… and this was a good question.”

That shut everyone up. Gerad looked annoyed. The others likely didn’t dare speak up for fear of looking stupid. Or perhaps they were doing what the monk suggested and hearing their own thoughts for a moment. What other answers are there? We are preparing for those things. Am I preparing for something? To fight Gerad again, when I can. To fight our father somehow, someday. How often do I think about that? Not enough, most likely. There’s always some problem with Basil, or in the Lows, or with my advisor. Life is distracting.

Into the silence, the monk whispered, “This is the sound of wisdom.”

The silence deepened and lengthened, and eventually I started to twitch. What was the point of a conversation in which no one spoke? Sure, maybe I needed to spend more time attending to my own thoughts, but what good was it to ask a question and then tell everyone not to answer? What did any of us learn standing their with our thumbs up our asses, too scared to open our mouths and look stupid?

“So we don’t plan enough; that’s what you’re telling us,” I said, breaking the reverie.

The others all looked at me in offended shock, even some of the younger monks, but the speaker in the center, obviously a leader of some sort, merely inclined his head a fraction with a hint of a smile. “I am. And what could I, a stranger, know of your preparations?”

Nothing was the word that sprang immediately to my lips, but that felt like a trap, so I held it in. Seconds ticked past as I sorted through the different things he might mean. Still no one else seemed to have to balls to speak up, so I went for it. “It’s got to be some kind of planning that everyone needs to do and no one does.”

“What,” said the monk, raising one finger to the sky, “is imprinted on your soul?”

I didn’t think he was asking me specifically, but I thought about it. It felt very odd to have this group of people all gathered around spending the majority of our time in silence, thinking furiously. What is imprinted on my soul? My experiences. My self, I suppose, if there is such a thing. Things that are lasting; things that matter. How I feel about my friends? Why would he be talking about any of these things?

“Our cards,” Afi said firmly.

I’m an idiot. Of course he’s talking about our cards. I turned my eyes inward and looked again at my card. I always did so in the floaty, delirious moments before sleep, but I didn’t often inspect it during my waking hours.

It made me glad to see myself standing in the Lows. No matter what else happened to me, that neighborhood was imprinted on my soul. And the fact that I was named Protector warmed me. I thought of Roshum, of Bryll, of Naydarin and my other urchins. This was what the monk was talking about. And there was that ability, Intervene. I’d played with using it to step in front of my Souls I didn’t want to die during my last few matches and had been surprised at how useful it was. Not only could I keep my Marauders on the field when someone tried to off them, but I could also force a quicker power-up on my Talisman if I had it equipped, or absorb the damage with my Ghastly Gremlins or Ravening Hatchlings. What made the Twins decide to give me that?

I opened my eyes as realization dawned on me. “Planning for abilities. That’s what you’re after.”

Edaine nodded and mimed applause at me. Several of the paladins looked surprised, and Gerad’s face was unreadable. The monk inclined his head a little deeper this time. “You all saw the Defensive Kata Spell your general purchased from us, yes?”

I frowned and cast my mind back on the Air cards I’d glanced at inside. I had seen that one, now that I thought about it.

“That Spell was one I kept in my Mind Home for many decades,” he said.

I frowned. Many decades? How old is this guy?

“Despite the Spell being central to my fighting style, I can now pass it on to someone else. You see, I found I liked the effect of the Spell so much in my early days that I wished to be able to reproduce it at all times, even without source available. I began spending my training time trying to slip past punches and deflect kicks. At first I was no better at it than anyone, but with time, with effort, and above all with consistent planning, I improved. I wore a groove in the threads of eternity in the shape of the Defensive Kata, and when next I elevated, I found that I had a new soul ability that perfectly corresponded to it. I convinced the Twins of my intent through repetition and persistence.”

Gerad spoke, looking thoughtful. “So you’re saying we can control the abilities we develop on our soul cards?”

“I am saying exactly that,” the monk intoned. “Nearly everyone goes through life hoping to elevate themselves and accepting that the Twins will reveal whatever ability is best for them. Many even have to retool their entire decks after an elevation goes in an unexpected direction, giving them extra health, or Strong, or some other thing. Do not misunderstand me: to elevate one’s soul is good; many argue it is the reason we exist. But to shape that elevation intentionally, with planning, foresight, and force of will, is very nearly divine.”

My mind chewed on his words. Intervene was nice, and I was glad to have it, but was it what I would have chosen for myself? I knew immediately that the answer was no. I’d have chosen to have Attack power on my soul. I wanted to be able to deal Fated damage even with my bare fists. Beyond that, to have Overkill. I wanted to have a Hateful Hammer that was me, that no Rust or Melt Spell could strip away. And he’s saying we can do that?

“How?” I asked.

“The wisest question of all,” he replied. “Consider the behavior of the Spell or ability that most speaks to you, that is central to your style of combat. What are its components? What are the actions, the thoughts, the movements, the outcomes associated with that thing? Determine them, and practice them until they occur spontaneously. You should dream of them. In time, they will become engraven on your soul.”

The paladin trainee Anya spoke up. “Shouldn’t we let the Twins determine our soul cards? They’re the ones who make them.”

The monk closed his eyes and breathed deeply for several long moments before responding. “To the best of my knowledge, the gods have never made their wills known on this subject. If they wished me to not become known as The Untouchable, I would not have been able to do so. Yet here I sit, and there you sit, and the world exists in the shape it is. Allowing the gods to work in our lives does not eliminate our own ability to plan. Plan your skills, children. You will most certainly need them.”

The conversation continued, but I wandered away, my thoughts full and needing to be digested. Who do I want to be? What can my soul look like at Uncommon? Rare? Epic? I saw Grand Marshal Jorin galloping though the front gates on an unremarkable horse and blinked. What’s he come back for? Why isn’t he on his griffon? He leapt down and started barking orders at underlings who were trying very hard to look busy all of a sudden.

I shook my head. And just that easily I’ve gotten distracted. The tattooed monk man was right about one thing: I needed silence to consider anything deeply. I went to my hut and lay in my crystalline bed. Experimentally I jabbed my closed fist at the jagged crystal hanging overhead, feeling the dull ache of impact in my bones. Planning. If I was going to survive to face Gerad – and someday, our father – I needed to plan it all out.

***

The road into Treledyne was dark and quiet in the wee hours of the morning. Previously I’d enjoyed the peacefulness of my nighttime walks into town, but ever since losing to Gerad I’d felt too nervous to make the trip solo. As soon as I was clear of the fortification and far enough away that my summons wouldn’t be seen, I always brought out a Soul or two to watch my back. At first I’d gone whole-hog, putting on my Plate, the Talisman, and both Marauders, but as the days passed without getting jumped by Kitsanya on the road, such overblown protection started to feel a little silly. The night before I’d only brought out my Root Imp. Tonight I screwed up my courage and summoned the Night Terror for the first time since my loss.

I swallowed an irrational giggle. The demon that had towered four stories high now only came up to my chest. The bat-like wings that had whipped up duststorms now looked almost comical.

“Guess I won’t be riding on your shoulder anymore,” I said.

The demon swelled in fury, red eyes blazing, and then deflated. “Please do not.” The voice that had rumbled through my body was now a high tenor. “The Marauder twins already mock me mercilessly now that I am lesser.”

I pressed my lips together to quash an embarrassed smile. “They do? Like, when you’re all sitting in the Mind Home together?”

It flapped an irritable claw at me. “I will not speak of the Mind Home to a living soul. But it is in the nature of our kind to assert dominance. I did so before, and now they return the favor with interest. Did you have to lose that match?”

“I wasn’t trying to,” I muttered, kicking a rock in the path. “Gerad’s got a hell of a deck, and my draws were shit. Fortune played me – nothing I could do.”

It peered at me intently as we walked. “I have seen that several of your Relics have been elevated. You must have more shards. Tell me you have more shards.”

“Not yet, but I will.”

“When?” it demanded, little fists clenched.

“A few weeks,” I told him. “We just started the soak a few days ago.”

“Why was I not the first one to be elevated?” It sounded almost whiny. “It is your fault I am diminished. You must restore me to my former glory!”

This was why I’d been avoiding summoning the Night Terror. “Look, you being Epic didn’t win me that fight. Would you rather hold at Rare for a time while I build up my deck or let me die and hope whoever takes you feels like upgrading a shit-tier gold?”

It snapped its wings. “Shit-tier…! I’ve killed for lesser offenses.”

“Well, get in line,” I growled. “Gerad could come at me any time, and I have to play smart. My best cards get elevated first.” I rubbed my knuckles with my left hand. They still tingled funny. I’d spent all afternoon punching the crystal hanging over my bunk. After a while I’d done enough damage to shed a card, and I kept going until I’d cycled through my entire deck. It had taken more than an hour and left my arms and shoulders sore. My knuckles, oddly enough, were uncut and unbruised – the cards had taken all the damage. Still, there was an itchy, buzzing feeling in my hand like my body was telling me it ought to hurt.

“The next round of shards, then.” It peered at me with red eyes, looking anxious. “I am of great value. I know more about your mother! I won’t crack my lips until I reach Epic.”

“I’ll think on it,” I hedged. Truth was, I needed all the Epic shards I could get to raise my current Epics to Mythic – especially if I was going to share a few with Basil – and no matter what it cost me in regards to my mother, those elevations had to come first. It was a matter of survival. Besides, it was only Rare now; it likely had far fewer memories of my mother than it had previously possessed. It was likely bluffing.

“You’ll think on it,” the Night Terror sneered. “Thinking is human. Be your demon self and act. Do the thing that your heart screams to do.”

If this little bastard thought my heart was screaming to elevate him again, it didn’t know me very well. I suddenly wished I’d brought out one of my mute Commons instead. “Good chat,” I told him. “Back in you go.”

“No, wait!” the demon pleaded, but it was already misting away, settling back into my Mind Home. Seeing the formerly mighty being plead like that was depressing. The city walls were only an arrow’s flight away. I’d be fine on my own that far.

Bryll was waiting for me in the shadow of the city gates. “Roshum’s mad you left the soak tray at his shop,” she reported by way of greeting. “He says it’s not safe, and you need to get your illegal shit out of his shop.”

I raised an eyebrow. “He didn’t say it that way.”

She shrugged nonchalantly and fell in beside me as we walked. “Close enough.”

I scratched my head. The bigger soak tray wouldn’t fit in the hollowed-out space under the floorboards I’d created. I could enlarge it, but I felt increasingly nervous having all my eggs in that one, well-known basket. Gerad almost certainly had someone tailing me – or if not, he would soon. Roshum had seemed fine with leaving the soak tray in his shop at first when we’d started the breakdown process on the two remaining Chaos Epics, but apparently I wasn’t the only one with twitchy nerves. I couldn’t very well blame him; it wasn’t as if Hestorus’s cronies would go any easier on him because he was working for me. “Have you got any good hidey-holes?”

The blonde girl gave me a disgusted look. “Am I an idiot?” she asked.

I snorted. “Got one that will fit the soak tray? I’m starting to get the itch about Ticosi’s place.”

She nodded sagely. “I have a lockbox under the upper roof eaves of Capano’s tavern.”

I frowned at her. “There’s a lockbox up there? I used to hang around that place all the time.”

“Shoulda looked up more often, then,” she said archly. “I’ve been using it for months. It’s safe as houses. Never had anybody so much as jiggle the lock on me.”

“I’ll be damned,” I said. “Sounds good. Grab the tray when we’re done tonight and put it in there, would you?”

“Do it yourself,” she retorted.

“I would, but I’ve got other business tonight,” I said. “I’m not going by Roshum’s.”

“Other business?” she hooted. “You take over another neighborhood when I wasn’t watching?”

I laughed. “Yeah, right. Maybe if I conquer Hillside they’ll stop calling me Little Big Man.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” she advised me.

I grinned broadly. I could relax and be myself with little Bryll in a way I simply couldn’t with Basil and Esmi. She spoke the language of the street rat, and that would always be my mother tongue. She and her crew of orphans were quickly filling the power gap left in the Lows by the absence of Harker and the others, and every time I came by some new resident or shop owner was stopping by Roshum’s to tell me how one of my urchins had stopped a thief or scared off a stranger that was intimidating people in the streets. It turned out that I didn’t need to hire new leadership for the neighborhood – I was raising it from the cradle. Between them and the handful of adults they and Roshum had vetted for me, I’d handed out nearly a third of the cards I’d confiscated from the old enforcers. I wished to Fate anyone had known where Ticosi stashed all the non-combat cards he’d extorted out of people over the last two decades; most of these shopowners and housewives needed helping hands, not heavy hitters.

“Where we going, then?” the little blonde sprite asked me.

“Dockside,” I told her. “Got an old friend to check in with. Come if you’d like.”

She stayed by my side, so off we went through the empty quarter, the elemental street lamps burning low and blue on widely-spaced corners. She briefed me on her crew – Naydarin said he was on the brink of a fourth Fire source, though I’d have never known it; I had yet to hear the boy speak. Bryll insisted he was a chatty little twerp, but for all I knew he’d had his tongue cut out. Borkus thought his Guard card would be better if it were elevated to Uncommon, of course, but Bryll wasn’t sure it was needed. More importantly, Borkus wanted me to meet his little sister to see if she could join the crew. Bryll thought she might have potential, so I said I’d give her a look next time I was at the shop.

Bryll stopped stone cold when she saw we were entering a Church of the Twins. “What’s this now?” she said flatly. Every inch of her screamed suspicion.

“My friend’s a Tender,” I said. “Runs this chapel.”

She crossed her arms. “Tenders are boring, and they smell bad.”

“You smell bad,” I challenged.

“He’ll just tell me to leave,” she said. “They all do.”

“This one won’t,” I told her. “Penkmun is solid. I slept in this church for weeks and he was nothing but kind. He was one of the first to help me back when I was a dirty gutter boy, and I trust him. I thought it might be good for you to talk to him about your soul card. He’s good with elevations. Your choice, though – you don’t have to come in.”

She rolled her shoulders and squared her back. “I’m good. If turns up his nose, I’ll break his kneecaps.”

“Damn right,” I said, clapping her on the shoulder. “Come on.”

We had to knock for a while before Penkmun opened the door – the old fellow didn’t keep the odd hours us street folk did. When he finally cracked the door open, his bleary eyes fell on me and a huge smile broke across his face. “Hull! Come in, come in, my lad. I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again.”

“Can’t get rid of me,” I said. “I’m like a bent clip. I keep showing up no matter how many times you try to spend me.”

The old man shuffled into his chapel, pulling his nightrobe close about himself. Bryll followed us warily. He stopped to light a candle and ushered us to a set of chairs behind the altar, motioning for us to sit. “I’ve heard tell of the doings in the War Camp. Folks remember their favorites from the Tournament each year, and there are plenty here Dockside and elsewhere still buzzing about the poor boy from the Lows who's rubbing elbows with the noble folk.”

“Rubbing elbows and trading blows,” I said ruefully, rubbing at the spot on my chest where Gerad’s Paladin had stuck me with his sword. “I’m not exactly the cream of the crop in our group.”

“Perhaps not,” Penkmun allowed, “but I’ve also heard mutters of a young warlord cleaning up the Lows. You wouldn’t know anything of that, would you?”

“Warlord,” Bryll snorted. “War-lordling, maybe.”

“This is Bryll,” I told Penkmun. “If anybody’s a war-lordling, it’s her. She helps patrol the streets for me and keep the peace.”

The girl looked Penkmun right in the eye and gave him a firm nod.

Penkmun’s lip trembled a little, and I was astonished to see his eyes looking misty. “When I look at young folk like you two, given nothing but scraps and turning them into new peace for a hopeless neighborhood, I think I glimpse a bit of the Twins’ plan for us,” he said. “It’s a marvelous thing.”

I shrugged self-consciously. “I was given a lot, it turns out. Getting cards I shouldn’t have. Lucky breaks that might as well be Fortune himself putting a finger on the scale. Some daft old man helped me elevate my first card, if I recall. By the way,” I said, fishing a card out from behind my ear, “you should see it now.”

“Oh my,” he said, cradling the card. “It’s magnificent, Hull. We Tenders spend a good amount of our time wondering if we’re doing anything for the world, but this… oh, bless you, boy. You do an old man’s heart good.”

Bryll watched him like a hawk as he handed the card back to me. “Can you help me elevate my soul?” she blurted.

Penkmun’s craggy eyebrows went up in surprise. “Elevate? You have a soul card already?” He lifted his candle and peered closer. “Twins save me, you’re Rare. How on earth?”

“I’ve got two street kids with soul cards formed,” I told him, “and I bet I’ll find more before the year is out. Ticosi might have kept everyone’s decks bare, but I don’t think he had any way to get to personal soul cards.”

“Unbelievable,” he murmured. “My child, I know it’s terribly uncouth, seeing as we were only just introduced, but would you consider letting me see your card? If you want to discuss elevation, a Tender needs to see what he’s working with.”

Bryll gave me a hesitant look, but I just spread my hands. I wasn’t going to tell her what to do on this. I’d hoped she’d see the value in consulting a Tender, but it had to be her decision. “You do anything funny and I’ll break your face,” she warned him.

“I would expect no less from a friend of Hull’s,” he responded gravely. “You have my word that my intentions are pure.”

Bryll nodded brusquely. “What do I do?”

Penkmun lit several more candles and brought out the reclined chair with a headrest he’d used to do extended viewings on me back when I’d first told him my story. “Just lay your head back and let your heart be open.”

“What does that even mean?” Bryll asked, climbing into the chair.

“It can feel uncomfortable having someone stare into your eyes,” Penkmun said, unflappable. “The reflex is to withdraw emotionally and hide yourself. That is natural, but you must resist it. Sharing your soul card is an act of trust.”

The towheaded girl took a deep breath and settled back into the chair. As Penkmun bowed over her head, her hand shot out and grabbed mine. “You look too.”

“You sure?” I said, surprised.

“If I’m letting him see, I might as well show you,” she said. “You’re the Big Man. You should know what your people can do.”

Feeling strangely touched, I leaned over, my head right next to Penkmun’s. “Find the lines in the iris that lead into the flecks and follow them to the deepest channel,” the Tender murmured. “The card will blossom out. Be gentle. She will feel the weight of us both.”

Hesitantly, I gazed into Bryll’s left eye. She looked back, small, vulnerable, and brave. I focused on the brown of her eye, quickly finding the striations in the iris where the color folded in on itself. One of those lines led to a golden fleck, swirling around it as if pulled by a whirlpool. As I looked into the fleck, it seemed to expand and deepen. It felt as if I were diving into the deep of the bay beyond the docks, and out of that amber maelstrom rose a card, perfect and unblemished.

“Hell of a card, kid,” I whispered. The image spoke to me somehow, almost as if something about it were familiar. Like mine. “We gotta get you into the Tournament next year.”

“Indeed,” Penkmun said. “Who are your parents, to have gifted you with such a card? You were born at Rare, am I right?”

“Yup,” Bryll said, lying still as we continued to gaze. “Dunno who my parents were. Spent my baby years in an orphanage.”

“Several orphanages, if I am not mistaken,” Penkmun murmured. “And a variety of places after that. Most of which you had to escape, yes?”

Bryll’s brow creased. “How’d you know that?”

“Your ability, dear child. Our experiences leave traces on us. No child would have an ability like this, being able to pop from one place to another, unless it were vitally important for her to be able to escape repeatedly from a very early age. Tell me: the first time you used your ability, it was to get away from one of these homes, am I right?”

“Shit,” Bryll said, sitting up and breaking the connection. “Can you read my mind, old man?”

“No,” he said sadly. “I simply have a lifetime of experience knowing how humans hurt each other and the things that develop therefrom.”

I leaned back, thinking. “You know, I heard a similar thing earlier today from a traveling monk passing through War Camp. He said we can train the abilities we want to show up on our soul cards at our next elevation.”

“He’s not wrong, although that’s putting the cart before the horse, if you ask me,” Penkmun said. “It’s the elevation that matters, not the soul ability.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Focusing on abilities is like learning how to shoe a horse because you want to be a great knight,” he responded. “It’s good, it’s necessary, and it’s a small part of the whole; but if that’s all you focus on, you’ll ride like a sack of potatoes and not know how to swing a sword. What good will your elevation be if you get the skill you desire yet know nothing more about yourself or the Souls you house? That’s a very poor upgrade indeed.”

“So let’s trim away the bullshit and tell me what do I need to do to get to Epic,” Bryll said.

Penkmun slapped his belly and laughed. “Well put, dear. Yes. You won’t go straight to Epic, you know. You have at least one and most likely two elevations within Rare to experience first.”

“Horeshit,” the girl grumbled.

“You must take that up with the Twins, not with me, young lady. As to the how: you have been helping Hull police the Lows, you say. A noble thing. What is the hardest part? The thing that most worries you?”

“The grown-ups that think I’m a useless kid and won’t listen to me,” Bryll said immediately.

“And that is difficult because…?” the old man prompted.

“Because if they don’t trust me to help, they won’t tell me when bad shit happens, and then what’s the point?” The girl sounded angry.

“And that is difficult because you fear that you are useless,” Penkmun offered.

Bryll sat there, dumbstruck, and tears sprang to her eyes. “I’m not. I’m not useless.”

“You are not,” he affirmed, patting her hand. “But a part of you fears it – the part that had to learn to run away, that has lived on the streets all this time.”

She nodded mutely.

“Speak to that fear. Get to know it. Discover what action is the most threatening to it, most terrifying. Then do that.”

I huffed a laugh. “That sounds awful.”

“Elevation doesn’t come easy,” he said, raising his hands in a helpless gesture. “It takes everything a person has, even for a remarkable young woman like this one.”

I leaned forward, taking the old man’s hand. “This is why I came tonight, Penkmun. I didn’t know Bryll would be with me, but this is exactly it. I’ve been handing out the cards Ticosi gave to his enforcers, and I’m going to keep doing it. The Lows is full of people like her, and they need a Tender. There’s an empty lot on Hook Street near where it crosses Sinner’s Row; a house burned down and nobody ever rebuilt. I want to build a chapel there. Will you be the Tender for the Lows?”

The old man’s eyebrows would have climbed into his hairline if he had one. “A chapel in the Lows? I’ve never dreamed of such a thing.”

“No one has. There haven’t been dreams there in a long time, but we’re gonna change that.” I stood and dragged him to his feet by the hand. “I’m making the Lows a real part of the city, not a slum. I want you to help me. Say yes.”

He stuttered and gabbled for a moment before he could formulate a response. “I’ll have to get permission from the High Tender, but we have been friends for many years. He will give it. I’ll need to find someone to take over for me here.”

“Is that a yes?” I demanded.

He patted my hands. “That’s a yes. A whole-hearted one.”

I pointed to the chair. “Then let me lay back and you can give me a look, too. I want to show you that new soul card nobody thought I could make.” I pointed at Bryll and gave her a nod while I spoke. I wanted her to see it, too.

He laughed and clapped his hands. “Oh, dear boy. I thought you’d never ask.”