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—”
“I found consistent markings 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, you generally need slavers. The two are distinct classes.”
Argrave nodded. He was glad he asked Raven—sometimes, he seemed as knowledgeable as Erlebnis. He had the added ability to not only gather information, but analyze and theorize about it.
“Alright. I’ll take all of that into consideration. One last thing, then—counsel from a pragmatist. How would you use the remaining three Fruits of Being?”
“Keep the three of them on you to have a contrivance whensoever you should need it.”
Argrave stared, then felt the need to ask, “Are you being serious?”
“Why not? Contrivances are wonderful things. When you find yourself in a corner, or things seem impossible to escape 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, and diligence, none are my peer. With my ability of self-actualization finally tamed, neither your siblings nor your wife can hold a candle to me. It might be said the power was wasted on even you.”
Argrave stared at Raven, off-balance from the blatant display of ambition.
Raven waved him away. “But you’ll do what you will, because foolishly, they gave the decision for their use to you alone. And, foolishly, I will heed your wisdom without… significant reproach.”
