Jackal Among Snakes

Argrave rolled his shoulders and flexed his hand, warding away the pain. After the funeral, he’d taken some time to explore his powers more in-depth. As it turned out, he wasn’t barred from using spirits in magic—he merely needed to change the way that he did it. Every shamanic spell that he learned had to be changed with [Blood Infusion]. Effectively, the field of shamanic magic had been folded into blood magic. In actuality, it was likely vastly more efficient in terms of spirits consumed than shamanic magic had ever been. He’d had help in figuring that detail out, elsewise he expected he might’ve struggled for a long time.

“Thanks, Raven.” Argrave turned his head. “I did have a few more things to ask you.”

The man stared impassively without response, a comfortably safe distance away from him.

Argrave turned toward Raven and took some steps closer. “Operating under the assumption that Gerechtigkeit attacked Vasquer to distract from Traugott, do you think invading the Shadowlands is a dumb idea?”

“Yes.”

Argrave waited for Raven to say more, but nothing came. He was forced to ask, “Why?”

“They lack our senses. We lack theirs,” he explained bluntly. “They can adapt our senses to perceive this world. We cannot adapt their senses to perceive the Shadowlands. Sight, smell, sound, even touch—none function there. Not even the gods can perceive its true nature. It’s an abyss, an absence of light. A shadow.”

“Traugott does it,” Argrave pointed out. “He took on the form of a Shadowlander, but even before that he managed to hop in and out enough to escape any attackers.”

“He fumbled about in the dark until he figured out the lay of the land. He has more ready access to that realm than any other mortal or god in the entire world, and thus the time to discover its intricacies. We do not.”

Argrave crossed his arms. “I think that problem can be remedied with a Fruit of Being.”

“Interesting.”

“Interesting, you say. Care to elaborate?”

“I don’t have a clue,” Raven elaborated. “Do you think I have a rational explanation for those things?”

Argrave uncrossed his arms and tapped his forehead. “Erlebnis claims there are ways into the Shadowlands before the allotted time. I’ve yet to test any, but the possibility exists. Given those two variables… is the idea still dumb?”

“I would come, if you do it. Perhaps I might find a way to adapt to the Shadowlands independently of whatever method you devise. Regardless, one of those creatures tore through the entirety of the old capital. As you are now, you would die.”

“Have you ever dissected a Shadowlander?” Argrave inquired.

“Yes. Enough to know they function by different rules,” he explained with a shake of his head. “Their organs were made to process something different than us—though, what that is remains beyond me. Their flesh and bones break several preconceptions I have about the world. They lack an identifiable brain, but not intelligence. I believe they have a stratified society of some kind, and those we see are of a lower class.”

Argrave bit his lip until he summoned the humility to bite the bullet and ask, “What does stratified mean, again?”

“They have classes. A social hierarchy,” Raven explained without judgment.

Argrave was taken aback. That made the Shadowlanders sound a lot more advanced than they acted. “How do you know this?”

“If you’d listen, I said ‘believe.’”

“Why do you—”

on their body added by an unnatural process,” Raven interrupted. “A brand, you might call it, but definitely not brought about by a branding iron. Through countless examinations, I was able to work out a pattern that roughly corresponded to what each specimen was capable of.” Raven shrugged. “Slave markings, by my guess. The rest is mere extrapolation. To have slaves,

He had the

into consideration. One last thing, then—counsel from

them on you to have a contrivance whensoever you should need

the need to ask, “Are

from… contrive something. As a matter of fact, that might be a more apt name for those. Fruits of Contrivance.” Raven shook his head. “You know what I’ll say, don’t you? You ask only to hear your disappointment confirmed. Give one to me. Keep the others for when they’re needed. No one could use its power better than me—in reasoning, pragmatism, mental acuity,

stared at Raven, off-balance from the

what you will, because foolishly, they gave the decision for their use to you alone. And,

#####

at hand, Argrave decided to tackle the task of persuading his siblings to follow along with the idea of invading the Shadowlands. To that end, he called his old friend who he

opened up, and Durran walked in—his brother-in-law. Though still bearing black hair and golden eyes, his tan skin had paled somewhat after a long while away from the desert and more time spent indoors. His golden tattoos still shone ever brilliantly, and his carefree demeanor hadn’t waned

been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report

evolved,”

about pocket monsters. The floor had been rented out, but he didn’t like to mention it

as much,” Argrave confirmed vaguely.

can, but… gods. Death. You can’t fight it. I lost a ton of siblings. Mother, too. Uncles, aunts. Disturbs the heart, the guts,” he waved in that general area. “Time fixes it.

but even still… treat her well, please,”

if it’s something else…” He leaned in. “I know that you have limited choices, and I know that

narrowed

gracious King of the Burnt Sands bestowed upon you a territory just as vast as Vasquer, of his own volition.” He held his hands out. “If you want someone to share your burden, my life itself is aligned with your interests. I can step up. And

uncomfortable recognition

feelings. I just hope you’ll give me a proper burial when you’re still young and immortal, and I’m three hundred

“Durran…”

head. “Listen—if I don’t ask, I don’t receive, right? I’m just officially throwing my name among others. If I didn’t, I’d spend the rest of my short life asking, ‘what

at his word. The whole talk left a bitter taste on his mouth. He wished more and more neither Orion nor Elenore had relinquished the right to the fruits. Perhaps it was time to give them back, have them decide. At the very least, he wouldn’t be solely responsible for distributing them. Hefting such a burden upon his siblings, though,

broaching something with Elenore,” Argrave said. “Can I count on you

your royal haunches for the fruit, but I won’t

was glad to hear his adamant hesitation, honestly—it was some sweetness

nothing covert. You don’t have to agree if you don’t agree, but

#####

Not even hours later…

catch him off-guard and

woman scratched the back of

Argrave shook his head. “Let me guess—you’re throwing your hat in the ring

her tellerbarret. “I think… you shouldn’t give the fruits to anyone. Keep them for a special occasion. Let them

thinking. “Reverse