Late the next morning, Harding had packed his meager belongings and left behind his old cell. Brother Rent still hadn't emerged, so Harding settled in the front garden with Randal and Ed.

"Well, open them up," urged Ed, eyeing the packages. The packages had come in a single cloth sack during the night. Inside the sack was a wooden box, a smaller cloth sack, a waterskin, a pair of wool socks and a note which read:

> Harding,

>

> Good luck on your adventure. Train well, learn much, then come back and join the Eights. Recruitment endures eternal.

>

> Your tournament passes will await you in Eastrun. We don't have them printed yet.

>

> -Aleister

>

> Included:

>

> * Box of Medicinal Alchemy refills, Albert

> * Howie Treats, Howie

> * Eight-Up, Agnes

> * Wool socks knit by Runild

> * Large pot of gold, Aleister

>

> PS: The passes will be fully comped for vending. You'll have a place to sleep with the Eights. (The pot of gold didn't exist, it's the passes.)

Harding chuckled, then began to laugh. The others stared at him. When he could breathe again, he explained. "You gotta know Runild. She moves like a viper and I'm pretty sure she's venomous. Also, she knit me socks. It says by, not from."

Harding stowed his goodies in his pack. "You guys have fun without me. Randal, are you going to the tournament with your sister?"

"She's not getting all the fun."

Brother Rent appeared in the temple doors shortly after, a small haversack over his shoulder and that was it.

"Ready?"

"Yessir."

Brother Rent took on a somber face and looked at the other two, "Rodney gives you any issues, you let me know and Harding here will eat his bushes."

"Ah…"

Ed burst out laughing at Harding.

"We have done Okkor's will here my boy, time to move on."

And with that, Brother Rent led Harding out the gate and into a new life.

Harding thought it would be dramatic. He was exiting the temple life. He was leaving behind his friends, his home, and the city. New horizons, new lands, and new adventuring awaited. Instead, they went to visit Master Bradon.

Rent and Brandon chatted between the weapons master's yelling at another new member class learning the spear. They stayed so long that they had lunch together.

Some new life, sitting around Gremuth while waiting on Rent.

They stopped at a bank, a launder, and a provisioner. It was mid afternoon before they exited the city.

"So, where are we going," begged Harding now that the when was finally answered.

"Have you no sense of adventure? Can you not feel Okkor's flow, carrying you to your fate?"

"No one is around to be impressed with your theatrics, Rent."

"Oh. Yeah. Habit. We are headed to Bresham. We will make it before nightfall, stay there overnight, and then take the portal tomorrow."

"Portal to where?"

"Depends upon what I find out tomorrow. Wandering monks don't actually wander. Well, we do, but it's… directed wandering, not random wandering." Rent nodded his head side to side, debating, before he corrected himself, "Somewhat directed wandering."

They walked along the side of a dirt road headed out of the North gate. Wagons passed in either direction. The further they got from the city, the tighter the forest closed in on both sides of the road. Harding knew the river was off to the west some ways, and the road seemed to angle that way, but otherwise was lost. Piles of horse manure populated the road. It slowly dawned on Harding that his imagined future of learning the ways of the mystic warrior monk against picturesque backdrops may have been in error.

An hour into walking in silence, his sole challenge had been avoiding the odiferous excrement. Instead of the next adventure, it felt like starting over. In an attempt to save the dream he inquired, "What am I to learn?"

"How not to get lost."

"Seriously, what is it I should expect to learn?"

"I do not mean lost on the road. The road is the easy part."

"What other ways?"

"To ego. To fear. In life, and in death."

"Ok. So when do we start?"

"When you are ready."

"I am ready."

"You think you are ready."

"How do I become ready?"

"By learning two things: The duality of acceptance, and the falseness of duality."

"You want me to learn something, knowing it's false?"

"Mmm. Just so."

Harding chewed on the concept while he drank from his waterskin. Rent hadn’t said the acceptance of duality, but the duality of acceptance. He also said that quality itself was false. And, to be cute, he’d split his statement into two parts.

Does he mean that acceptance is false?

Harding tested the water, "So, ah, what's that supposed to teach?"

"The difference between knowledge and understanding."

"And this helps me fight?"

"It helps you fight many things as there are many types of enemies. It is just as hard to learn what to fight as it is to learn how to fight."

"So… know your enemy?"

Rent was quiet as a wagon passed, creaking and grinding along. The horse huffed and the wagoneer touched his hat in regards to the monks. Harding figured it was probably one of those things, fellow travelers of the road showing mutual respect. Something like that.

He skipped to avoid fresh leavings and Rent continued with the trader out of earshot. "Mmm. What is the foundation of society?"

"I don't know, laws?"

"No, close, but no. It's order. Without order things do not function. Things only function because we agree that they do. When we agree things no longer function, they don't."

"Wait. We agree things function when they don't, so they do. But they aren't, so agreeing really isn't making things function."

"And that's your first lesson in duality, non-duality."

"Why aren't laws more important, they make things work."

"Laws are an attempt to impose order. But they fail at that. They're really there to create the appearance of order. The illusion of order that the masses believe and thus agree to. Without order, there is nothing for the laws to falsify."

"That seems academic."

"Does it? What is the enemy of society?"

"If society is order, then chaos?"

"Why?"

"It's the opposite."

"Duality."

Harding grumbled. He wanted to learn to fight, not some disgruntled monk's philosophy. Still this probably fit into Life's vision of holy order. "I guess, but then… is chaos not the opposite."

"Nope," he chuckled.

Harding wiped sweat from his forehead, the day was fully heated now and while the trees offered shade they did nothing for the humidity. "Fine, what is?"

"Maybe truth? Truth is in opposition to society. But again, that is a false ideal. It's all just what you stepped in."

Harding looked down and swore. Rent hummed happily to himself. After dragging his foot around to scrape off as much as he could, Harding pressed, "What's the point of all this mini philosophy?"

Rent tapped his own temple twice. "You are to be a monk of Okkor so you should probably understand him."

That was a shockingly fair point. "You mean like reading his holy book or something?"

"That is knowledgeable, I said you should understand.”

Harding scowled but accepted he'd been led in a circle. "Ok, fine. So what should I understand?"

Rent laughed.

Yeah that was a dumb question…

He walked a few paces before he began, swatting at some flying insect. "Okkor brings what can be into being. He is the river of change. Order is just a piece of driftwood floating in that flow. He's neither against it nor for it. His conscious followers praise not the coin nor do they follow society. Flow. Accept and resist, be the duality and see its fallacy."

"I'm confused," Harding admitted. He'd heard the term Lord of Potential before. But was he a god of chaos then? "Is society the enemy?"

"No. Neither is commerce. But they are rigid. The concept of an enemy is the illusion."

"You've got this whole answer by not answering thing down solid."

"When you understand what I said you will no longer have a question. Is that not an answer?"

"Fine. Whatever. I'll think on it, but tell me something else first. What are these portals?"

"Ah, that is much easier,” cheerfully allowed the monk.

Rent seemed to naturally glide on the road. No puddle, pie or stone surprised him. Harding was unsure if it was experience or just some artificial assistance.

“No one knows where they came from, some say the First People made them, but some scholars say it predates even them.” Rent thrust out his hand and panned it across the forward arc dramatically, “There's nine of them, spread throughout the continent, all synchronized together. They're major conduits of everything."

Being able to teleport goods and people across large distances would significantly impact commerce. They should be hubs, with society built around them. Instead, he was walking a road to one.

"Then why isn't the capital next to one?"

"Gremuth? It wasn't ever supposed to be a capital. Started as a little fort, then a fortified city, and so on, guarding the mouth to the Bres river. Only through a bunch of wars and politics did it become a major port and then the royal city."

"And Bresham?"

"Industrial city, lots of water power from a wide and fast river. Never was anything more though. Most of its goods are shipped by the river. The portals just do not have enough throughput to ship that way."

Volume is usability in shipping.

They walked on for nearly two more hours before they arrived at Bresham. The forest had given way on one side to being tree lines at the edge of fields. Wagon traffic had increased as more roads connected. The river pulled away from the road and then came back bringing more new growth forest. I'm the end, Harding could smell the city before he could see it.

Bresham was nestled into the wooded bank, maybe a bit more than twenty-five feet cut clear between the wood and the city wall. It was a thin wall with little effort to be much of anything. Harding's impression was that it was to keep the wildlife out. Or, maybe, the people in. Either way, it was not a bulwark against invasion but a palisade of complacency.

The entry gate structures were at least made of stone. There were four separate gate doors and traffic flowed in a single direction for each gate. At that moment, there were three gates acting as exits and only one as an entrance. Despite the traffic, a couple guards stood round, their billhooks cradled in an arm as they chatted. On either side and between the middle two gates were wall towers of the most basic construction. Within them were guards. Harding could see shadows pass slits in the walls, but whether they were armed with bows or sandwiches he couldn't tell.

Despite the lateness of the day, the sun still sat as a high crown in the trees. The entry line shuffled forward at a slow walk. The guards just gave cursory glances at anything that wasn't a wagon. As they passed through the gates a guard called out, "Hullo Brother Rent," and waved. The guards inside the gate didn't seem to be attentive either. The one looked them over and told them to enter in a voice that was the embodiment of boredom. Harding decided the city security was for show and tax collection. Maybe wildlife.

The city district inside was fairly uniform. Each building was made from a mix of cut stone and brick for the first floor. Upper floors were either a continuation of that or made of wood. And that was a lot of wood as the city had insane verticality. Almost everything was four stories tall and crammed together. The predominant style was jettied buildings as well. Combined with the narrow streets and denser traffic, the heights and overhangs made the city feel enclosed and claustrophobic.

The entire place looked like a fire hazard. It smelled like moldy wood, old urine, and wet hay. The place looked like it was one house fire away from all burning down to the ground floor. The streets were bathed in shadows, but the alleys swallowed light whole. Tight, twisting spaces between buildings that Harding would not enter.

He had a whole new respect for Gremuth.

Harding followed Brother Rent though oddly angled streets that ran straight until you got near the river. The river was lined with massive factories, behemoth buildings of brick similar to the Grinder. They left it behind though as they crossed the river bridge. From the bridge Harding could see the width of the city and the other bridges that spanned the Bres. A stone dam up river diverted conduits and piers along the factories allowed for barge loading.

The city felt like a grimy factory.

Across the bridge the buildings changed a little. More row housing with less wood combined with a seemingly more organized development plan. If Harding had to guess, the section they were in was newer but not necessarily wealthier.

Rent led them to a place which looked like every other residential building on the street. Instead of a tenement though it was full of Okkor monks. As they walked through, unfamiliar monks nodded or called out to Rent. There were no conversations of note, everything was impersonal and cursory. Rent brought Harding to a service counter in the back.

"Hey Re- er, Brother Rent," said the old monk as he eyed Harding.

"Hi, Henry. Meet my new acolyte, I'm taking him on the road so I need to change his robes."

"Ah, a Winter Traveler. What's your size?"

"I don't know?"

Harding not knowing led to him having to take his robes off and stand in the room in his underpants. The clerk checked the size, then measured him for undergarments. Having scribbled it down he headed into a storage area in the back.

"You need new clothing, you come to Bresham,” explained Rent. “Most other temples will take weeks if they don't stock your size."

Henry came back, with a stack of clothes. "We got here two pair of winter pants. Two pairs of winter undershirts. And a Winter Traveler. Anything else?"

"No, that's great Henry. Thank you."

It barely fit in his pack and that was with his medic stuff in the haversack, which now also bulged past its preferred capacity. Rent led him deeper and into a cramped dining hall that was little more than a couple benches.

They dished food themselves from a few pots and baskets, which a brother would refill occasionally as other monks moved through. Instead of trying to eat in there though, Rent brought Harding to the front stoop. There they sat in the summer air, the city still holding the day's heat in its stone and ate in silence. They watched the street traffic, no one paying them any attention.

The city was alive, but the people seemed less diverse than Gremuth. There weren't any colorful dandies, clanking adventurers, or extravagant wealth. Just the working poor, leaving the factories for their tiny apartments. Few travelers were obvious players and Harding could understand why, there was little here to offer any excitement. On one hand, this drab multitude was a little depressing. But, on the other, here were the people who made the goods that powered commerce.

Items didn't just magically appear in shop inventories.

Finishing his meal, Rent told Harding more about the temple. "Visiting Brothers have a bunk on the fourth floor. The roof is a silent area for meditation, no speaking up there. Shitter is out the back, through the garden."

Harding nodded in understanding, mouth full of bread.

"Meditate your usual, think about your future goals and get some sleep. We are heading out before sunrise."

Then Rent turned and went in.

Harding followed a bit later, having finished eating. He dropped his bowl off, went to the roof and did his meditation on spirit. With four other monks up there meditating, he felt like spirit was closer than usual, but thinner. He wondered if it was really sentient, or if he was just imagining it. He wasn't sure it mattered. The result was the same, but achieving a singular result is different than grasping a broader truth.

What would it mean if the forces were sentient?

Harding found an open bunk, dressed down to his underpants and crawled in on top. He had just been assuming that Rent would make the choices for him, to lead him to a greater understanding. That was what he understood an apprentice or acolyte to be. But, maybe, that wasn't the way to go. He needed to learn to fight and he needed to learn more combat magic. After that though he was unsure. Rent had mentioned healing spirit bodies. Also, he needed to make a little coin?

As he drifted to sleep, he realized he was a monk only because he was led there. He kept looking to define himself there, but he knew he'd probably end up in the Eights in the future without something drastic changing.

Am I just wasting time?

Harding slept peacefully for some time before he began to dream. He wasn't even sure when the dream started, only that he found himself in a ring like the pillars of Black Barrows. There was only darkness outside the ring. Inside, with him, two beings fought locked in an epic struggle. They were all wrong though, their legs much too short and their torso too long and pear shape. They both wore breastplates of gleaming silver, were armed with short swords of steel and had wings of white feathers. They seemed indistinguishable from each other.

One broke an arm free and stabbed with the sword, which pierced the other's arm. Harding bent over in pain, clutching his arm. The being stabbed seemed oblivious to it and smashed his head into the other, who reeled back, breaking their wrestling embrace. Harding tasted blood in his mouth, felt a loose tooth. They came together, and one slammed a knee into the other's groin.

Harding went dizzy, his vision swam. Nausea overcame him and he lost awareness for a moment. When he came to, he was underwater. A strong current pulled him and he struggled with asphyxiation. Two fish swam up to him. They seemed attracted by something, perhaps his blood as he was still bleeding. One fish was white and the other black. They were otherwise identical. Harding watched them breath while he drowned, their mouths gaping and their gills functioning.

"CHOOSE," he heard in his head.

"Brah..." said the other, quiet and garbled.

Harding's consciousness was drifting away. He didn't care about the fish, he was dying. They watched passively. Indifferent. Gulping.

Harding woke with a start in bed. His heart thundered as he sucked in breath. He gasped in the dark, feeling claustrophobic. Feeling his way around in the darkness, he slid off the bunk and inched his way to the hall that had some district light leaking through the stairwell window. In the hallway, he raced down the steps and out the door. Harding breathed in the cooler night air in big gulps, trying to slow his racing heart. He slowly lowered himself to sit on the stoop and shook his head.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

After a minute or two, he had started to calm down and just watched the quiet city night. An occasional figure or two would move in the street, but it was otherwise deserted. Each intersection was lit with hung lamps, creating pools of light where the shadow would recede to reveal a traveler for a moment. Then they would disappear.

A couple walked towards him and stopped as they entered the soft edge of the light at the base of the stoop. Harding's heart stopped. There stood Ricasso and Bluejay, arms linked as if for a civilized and proper stroll.

"I am always astounded, my dear, at your uncanny senses. Your jackrabbit is indeed here, out on the steps to greet you no less. Hello, Mister Hill. Miss Bluejay oh so wanted to visit."

Harding started to speak but no words came out. Bluejay gave Ricasso a soft bat with a hand, which he ignored as he leaned over and peered at Harding intently.

"No, Miss Jay, I do believe he is alive. It would be unseemly if the monks just discarded him, dead, on their stoop." Ricasso snorted to an unheard joke and took out his handkerchief. Wiping his spectacles, he continued, "I do not believe you've broken him, I smell dream on the boy like jam on a biscuit."

Bluejay glanced at him. Ricasso stated seriously, “No miss, I do not know which flavor of jam it is. A cooler berry, perhaps?”

Bluejay stepped onto the stoop and knelt before Harding, peering up at him, light glinting off her eyes in a very wrong red non-glow. She poked his kneecap inquisitively with a finger, testing tentatively as if he might be an illusion.

"Ha, hello Miss Bluejay. Mister Ricasso. I, ah, you are quite correct, sir, I just had a sequence of severe visitations that left me physically unwell. I hope my sorry state didn't cause offense."

Bluejay smiled. It started like genuine concern but morphed into a predatory teeth barring. "Yes indeed, you're quite correct. Boy's done something quite strange to his spirit. And an Okkor monk too, yet he has her in there.” Ricasso shifted his focus squarely onto Harding, “I wish you all the best, truly, but Bluejay here has taken an interest in you. And I will be so bold as to say she has been perturbed by your lack of recognizing her in your past meetings."

"Our past meetings," asked Harding, equally concerned and confused.

"See there, he simply didn't see you,” consoled the dandy. “I doubt such a wholesome boy as he would intentionally ignore such a lady of standing."

Bluejay turned to Ricasso and made a series of noises between clicking and gagging. Harding's skin crawled. Ricasso laughed. "Of course not, Miss Jay, of course not. I wouldn't dare speak for you, other than in completion of my duties as your liaison."

Bluejay scrunched her face at him, turned back to Harding, watching him a moment. He didn't even see her move. She went from watching from her crouch to holding him by the throat, nose to nose. She breathed slowly on his face, her head tilted inquisitively. Harding could feel it immediately, she had pinched the blood flow to his brain in his neck.

She bumped his nose with hers, it felt like a cat prodding a terrified mouse to move for it. Harding's consciousness was dimming, but he did not struggle. He knew these two could do what they wanted with him and he wouldn't be able to even call for help.

As his vision narrowed she leaned in suddenly and crushed her open mouth to his mouth. Fluid rushed into his mouth as she ground hard against his mouth. He couldn't breathe. His brain was shutting down. He inadvertently gasped, choked on the fluid and it filled his sinuses. Tangy, coppery and viscous- it dripped from his nostrils.

It's blood!

She let go of him suddenly and he hacked hard, spitting up blood all over himself. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, returning to stand next to Ricasso. She smiled at him.

"I do believe, Mister Hill, that she likes you," declared Ricasso.

She looked at him. "Yes," he told her, "I know that's how they feed their young. Are you implying he's your chick?"

She clucked once at Ricasso, then turned away. "My apologies, Miss Jay, but if you don't know what you mean then I'm not sure how I can know your meaning." He paused, then responded again, "Yes, I do believe he will remember your affections this time."

Harding looked up at the pair, his coughing mostly ended but still seeing pinpricks of light in his vision. "I do believe he will indeed. Only a fool wouldn't, and our young monk here isn't one of those."

She nodded, smiled again at Harding with a bloody mouth and then took Ricasso's arm. They strolled away, carefree. Harding watched them go. Bluejay turned her head back at the edge of the light, saw his gaze and blew him a kiss. She seemed to sway her hips a bit more after too as they turned to shadows.

"Why," moaned Harding and leaned back on the stairs and passed out.

Harding woke up on the stairs of the stoop to a black cat licking blood off his face. His back ached and he had no idea how long he had been out. It was still dark though, it couldn't have been too long. Harding carefully picked up the cat behind its front legs and set it down beside him. He pet it once as a peace offering, the thing glared hungrily at him despite it looking well-fed. Harding whispered, “Happy to have bled for you. At least someone gets something out of this.”

Looking down he realized it was easily too much blood to be just his. He got up slowly and went back into the temple. In the soft light of the front entry, he saw that he had blood from his nose to his thighs. He was thankful he'd been shirtless, but his undershorts were still stained. He found a bucket of water in the back and wiped himself down in the flicker of a candle’s light. The shorts seemed a lost cause. Once he was as clean as he could manage in the circumstances, he trudged up the stairs. He was more tired than he could ever remember being. He climbed up into bed and passed out.

It felt like he'd just closed his eyes when Brother Rent woke him. "Time to get up." Harding groaned. Slowly he moved, angling himself off the edge of the bunk before letting himself fall to his feet. He winced and swayed a little, then looked to Rent.

"Nose bleed," Rent asked.

"Yeah. Tough night."

"Nothing will fix that like walking a few miles."

"I hate you."

"No you don't. You're just learning to hate. I will teach you the true depths of hatred."

Harding rolled his eyes and pulled on his robe, remarking, "It's already working."

"Feeling better?"

"No, learning to hate more."

Rent chuckled.

Dressed and packed, they stopped downstairs for breakfast. It was too early for there to be breakfast though. Harding pointed out a sign showing exactly when the monks were served breakfast. Rent didn't let him go back to sleep.

Life was unfair.

Despite his advocacy for more sleep and a meal, they left the temple instead. The walk back through the city was eventless. While the city street they'd stayed on had been nearly empty in the late night, the streets had come alive with foot traffic in the predawn. The single gate functioning as an exit this morning was empty. Harding assumed the guards were around somewhere.

Serious security here.

Back onto the main road, they continued north until coming to a major crossroad on which they turned left. Headed back towards the river until reaching the portal. Their journey was short. The portal was just over ten minutes walk from the gates.

The portal was a flat shelf of curious rock above the bank of the river. The ground was even out into it and then steeply sloped down to a single pier where a small barge was moored. The city was not more than a stone’s throw through the brush away. In the top of the flat rock was a large silvery inlaid circle. It looked remarkably similar to the plaza in Black Barrow, though he was fairly certain they were different. Harding decided they were the same kind of magic, but different functions.

This inlay was inscribed with eight large runes evenly spaced around the edge. Between each large rune was a repeated set of two smaller runes. The second of the smaller runes glowed with a soft amber light.

There were a couple people standing well outside the circle, but the riverside grove was quiet and still. The area around the portal was worn and matted, nearly to gravel. "See the lit rune? Never cross the circle when that one's glowing."

Harding thought about asking why, but waited. Within a minute there was a surge of magic and the whole circle flashed. Nothing else seemed to happen, but as the next rune clockwise began to glow a gust of cold air blasted into him.

Harding shivered from a sudden, frigid breeze.

Rent looked over at him, but Rent was outlined by a ray of morning light and Harding couldn't comfortably look back. He squinted, before being forced to turn away. He stared at the portal instead. Rent spoke softly, "When the portal activates, the two linked locations swap everything inside them. Including air, wind and snow. Even arrows and such. That second rune lit is a warning it's about to change. You don't want to be crossing the boundary when it swaps."

Harding looked around but didn't find any signage. The first light of the next set had started to glow, this one a yellowish off-white. He asked, "How do I know where it's going?"

"That depends on what you mean," shrugged Rent, causing his shadow to dance over the edge of the circle. Harding let out an exaggerated sigh at which Rent chuckled. "The coming swap will be with the next location rune on the track. If, however, you are asking what the runes mean then the answer is that it is a mystery."

"It can't be a mystery, you know where we are going."

"Yes, we know which ring corresponds with which rune. Therefore, we know what it means in a locational sense. But if that rune means 'muddy creek', 'Rupert's landing', or 'ring seven'- that we don't know. We barely know any of the First People's language, and this runic set predates that. So in a literal sense, it is indeed a mystery."

"Pretty sure I've seen some of these before…"

"Oh, Where?"

"I'll tell you later," Harding muttered looking around. "Never know who's listening."

They stood around for a bit less than a quarter hour, then Rent said, "This is us."

Rent held Harding by the shoulder and waited for a wagon and near a dozen workers to exit out of the circle. Only then did Rent guide Harding onto the platform.

"Where are we going," inquired Harding.

Rent quirked his especially irritating smile, the one he saved for his most endearing moments. "Meditate on the purpose of mystery while we wait for it to be revealed."

"Ass," mumbled Harding under his breath.

Rent stepped to the other side of the circle to speak to a woman. Harding tried to think on the meaning and purpose of mystery in life, but couldn't concentrate. Lances of light breaking over the trees illuminated the circle. The light caused the woman to turn to avoid looking into it which, in turn, revealed that the duck she was carrying was wearing a hat. A little knit beanie of dark green wool. Rent wanted him to think on the meaning of mystery, here is an actual-

Everything changed.

It was becoming a familiar feeling. The fragility of reality. It still twisted his guts and tripped his brain, but it was only for a second and then the feeling started to fade. Harding wondered what it was like for people who used personal teleportation in the chaos of battle.

He knew they'd switched places, but he felt like he was on the same platform, staring at a dense wall of trees. Different trees, but still trees.

"Turn around," said Rent in a quiet voice.

Harding turned and his jaw dropped. They were standing on a plateau overlooking forested hills smeared dark with pine. Nestled two hundred feet below was a small city that sat along a narrow river.

"Good luck, my Lady," Rent called as the duck lady walked off giggling at his attention.

There were few people at this portal. The sky was a bit darker and laced with a faint shadow of hidden clouds. Harding surmised they'd traveled east far enough to change the location of the sun back at least an hour. Lights of the city below still reflected off the smooth surface of the languid river.

Besides being the crack of dawn, why do so few people use this?

Rent grabbed him by the collar and pulled him off the platform. "Good manners make a man," instructed Rent.

"But you eat all of Rodney's prized plants," accused Harding, finger pointed at Rent as he stumbled behind the moving monk.

"Hesitation in war is no mercy," Rent retorted.

Rent let go of Harding's collar and started to walk the path. Harding glanced around at the waiting people, some of them starting to move into the circle now that it was empty. He had been gawking and in other people's way. Harding followed Rent, smiling.

It was now starting to feel like an adventure now.

The path wound down the hillside in great loops and switchbacks due to the steepness of the slope. Harding quickly learned he had made a mistake on the height difference, it was closer to three hundred feet. Perspective was a tricky thing.

They arrived at the gates to the city, though that might be an overly generous estimation of it. It was more just where the road conveniently exited the buildings through a rough palisade. Rent made a turn on the path and started walking north just outside and away from the city. Harding hesitated. Here was a city, small but full of promise and comfort. And instead they didn't even explore it. He didn't hesitate long though and jogged to catch up.

"So, ah, no town."

"Nope."

"What is the name of that town?"

Rent kept his pace. "Tamis Cross."

"And, ah, where is that town?"

"Better question. We are in the central region of the Kingdom of Ihroe."

Harding gave up for now. He had heard of Ihroe, but only the name and only in passing. He watched the forest as they walked the road. The river was a backdrop of soft noise upon which birdsong and other sounds of nature sat. The pines on the hillside were dense in canopy but their thin trunks opened the area up making it easy to see except where elevations obscured. Around the trail, especially on the river side, the undergrowth was thicker. Across the river the rock wall hung a hundred feet above the near still waters, its stone striated in shades from tan to red.

When there was no other traffic, Rent and he were the only foreign sounds in nature. Occasional gusts brought waves of pine scent and dust. They traveled like this in the rising morning sun for nearly an hour before coming to the first road crossing that was more than a footpath. Towards the river Harding could see a bridge, with several men standing about this side of it. The other way disappeared into a forested cut in the hills.

"Hold your staff out."

Harding summoned and extended his staff towards Rent. Rent touched it with his left hand, a copy popping into existence in his right.

Harding squinted. "So you can just copy a magic staff?"

"Duplicate."

"Whatever. You could just carry a magic staff, copy it, and never lose the original…"

Rent gave him a half-hearted smirk.

"Look," Rent nodded towards the bridge. "Any trouble, you just stay alive by any means."

Anxiety set in. Harding peered down the wooded lane at the figures. As Harding wondered why he hadn't bound himself back at Tamis Cross, Rent spun his duplicated staff once. Rent grunted with a note of surprise, "This is a good staff. I shouldn't have given it away." Even the impending danger’s anxiety had to give way to the weight of Harding's dramatic eye roll. Rent moved on and approached the bridge casually. When they came close one of the men waved at them. The others just glanced at them and then went back to talking.

So shady…

As the monks continued towards them two men stepped out in front of the group to meet them. "Hold up, Brothers," said a man in a hat that looked like a ushanka, "the bridge is out ahead."

Who wears a ushanka in summer?

Rent leaned over to look past him and shrugged, "Looks fine to me."

"Structural issues."

"Nothing to be done about that I guess," Rent sighed and turned to Harding, "We will head back to Tamis then and use the bridge there."

"We could ferry you across, but it costs money," explained Ushanka.

Displaying a mouthful of messed up teeth, his companion added, "We gotta eat."

While this conversation took place the other three men began to spread out to flank them. Spear on the right, Hatchet on the left and Beard trailing behind.

"Let's be honest," Harding requested. "This is a shakedown. You're trying to rob poor monks."

"Ain't no poor priests," spit Teeth.

"No one seems to understand the difference," Rent wearily explained to Harding.

"Shame that," commiserated Harding before looking at Ushanka. "This is pointless as we are poor monks. Let us through and everything will be fine." The demand was false bravado, but ultimately he'd just respawn.

In response, Ushanka drew his sword. It was an ugly thing, more machete than falchion. Teeth tugged on his mace awkwardly as it had become caught up in his belt loop. With the others still out of immediate reach, Harding found the threat overdone. What menace their display was meant to have was lost in Teeth's now comic struggle.

Ushanka swung a wide slash at Rent, who met it with a one-handed counterstrike. As he did, Rent stepped in and thrust his open hand at Ushanka. He was angled wrong to actually land a solid blow on Ushanka, but with a burp of magic a copy of the staff came flying out of his open hand. It materialized as it left his hand slamming into Ushanka's throat. It didn't stop there though, instead the staff just kept flying and exited out the back of Ushanka's neck in a pink mist. It arced through the air with a little wobble as Ushanka crumpled to the ground.

Harding froze at the sudden gore.

Rent was already moving again as Ushanka collapsed, with a step back he turned to a bladed stance. Staff in his left hand and braced against his forearm, he stepped forward. As Teeth tried to move past his weak guard, Rent jabbed him in the off shoulder with the end. It wasn't hard enough to do any real damage, but it put his already off-balanced swing over the edge. Teeth checked his swing and tried to back step. Rent pivoted and whipped himself around with the free hand windmilling.

As Rent's hand swung down another copy sprung into his hand, but this time he caught it near the end. His spinning arm snapped down and smashed the staff's iron shoe into the side of Teeth's face. Teeth flew out of Teeth as he dropped to the road.

Harding wasn't sure he was dead, but Hatchet forced him out of his shocked observer mind frame. He took a two-handed quarter grip on his staff and gave paced, quick attacks to keep Hatchet at bay. Harding was keen on not being chopped. He readily retreated whenever Hatchet got past a thrust. Harding knew he wasn't going to win, he was just trying to survive.

The sharp knocks of wood impacting wood behind him let him know Rent was still fighting. He just had to focus on staying alive until Rent saved him. He kept thrusting the end out and retreating, occasionally bringing up his rear hand to drop the front end in a strike at Hatchet’s knees. Anything to keep Hatchet at bay.

Harding didn't remember Beard until the curse hit him.

Harding hadn't been hit with offensive magic before. The curse felt like specks of alien spirit trapped and writhing in his flesh. Everything crawled inside, muscles spasmed and a heavy sense of nausea rose. Hatchet came at him fast then, like he’d been waiting for it. Harding tried to intercept with the butt of the staff, but he wasn't fast enough. Hatchet batted it downward as he tried to push closer. The tip dropped and Harding knew he was doomed.

The sudden impact at the end of the staff was jarring and pushed the staff through his grip. Hatchet's attack didn't come, instead Hatchet dropped groaning. Harding looked down and saw Hatchet curled in a little ball. It took Harding less than a second to realize that Hatchet had deflected the staff into his own groin.

The curse inside Harding was multiplying. He wasn't sure if Beard had hit him again with the debuff or if this thing grew over time. It was in his spirit body, writhing as it fed on his spirit. And whatever the mechanism was, it was growing. Harding swept his spirit body side to side and rammed the foreign energy through his Heart gate. Some of the little worms went crashing through his crypted voidseed and were strained from his spirit. Not all the corruption, but some, using the same mechanic he'd used against the vampiric corruption in Black Barrow. He looked up to see Beard rushing him with a knife the size of his forearm. To add to that, Hatchet was getting up.

Beard slashed. Harding tried to step back from its short reach, but everything seemed to move too slow. His body felt sluggish even as his chest opened up from the knife. Pain shot into his brain. He knew it wasn't truly him, but couldn't overcome the instant sympathetic response.

Beard reversed the swing, going for a stab. Harding threw himself back and lost his footing, falling hard on his ass. Beard’s swing caused him to partially step over Harding. Beard staggered sideways as a flying staff deflected off his shoulder and glanced off the side of his head. He shook his head and turned to face Rent.

Rent's staff was chopping down, but Beard took it on his forearm and grabbed it. He flashed his other palm at Rent. Harding felt the magic as Beard released his spell. Harding tried to get up but he couldn't. Nausea attempted to overwhelm him, he was going to throw up any second. Those spirit parasites were eating his spirit and thus his ability to control his physical body. He focused on pulling those spirit parasites into his crypt where they writhed in containment. If he was going to be of any help to Rent, he had to be functional.

Harding looked over at Hatchet. He was folded over his knees onto his back, a spear buried through his upper abdomen. Hatchet twitched a little, gurgling softly. Eyes wide open, he just stared at Harding as he faded away.

Rent was lagging, but still attacking. Harding assumed he had the same curse problem. Beard was outclassed in skill and weapon. Rent raised his staff high, preparing to bring it down in a hard strike. Beard moved in, under the strike and buried the knife in Rent's neck. Magic flared and Rent appeared a few feet behind a Beard, staff already sweeping down. With a wet crunch, Beard's skull was smashed in from behind and he fell flat on his face.

Rent came over to Harding, put his hand up to his neck and looked at the trace of blood on it. Then he shrugged. “Cut that one a little close.”

Rent paused.

Harding refused to acknowledge it.

“You alive?"

"Yeah. For now. I think."

"Good, stay there."

Rent walked over to Hatchet and put a foot on his chest. Hatchet groaned wetly. Rent pulled the spear out, then rammed it through Hatchet's throat. He worked it around, using the spearhead to saw open the wound. He then walked over to Teeth and did the same to him before returning to Harding.

War Rent is scary.

Harding pulled both red and green vials from the haversack as Rent returned, then opened the bag to the bandages. "Help me out?"

"What do I do?"

"Use a bandage, soak off the blood, pour the green along the whole wound. Press the bandage, count to ten, then…"

"Hold on, one step at a time."

Rent followed Harding's instructions. After he removed the ruined robes and wrapped Harding's chest in a bandage. He'd been cut across his chest deep but the thick leather bag strap and metal buckle had kicked up the sharp blade. There was a bit of a cut on the other side and the bag was compromised, but Harding knew he'd been fortunate.

Harding drank about a third of a yellow and then looked to Rent's wounds. He had taken the tip of Beard's knife just off the base of the neck and a thin slice up the forearm from Spear. Harding treated Rent's wounds splitting a green between all of it. He could probably have used the light green balm, but he decided to be overly cautious.

"That alchemy is pretty handy stuff," commented Rent before taking a small swig from the open Yellow. He grimaced.

"Yeah, nasty right? Their alchemy is great for flesh, ok for muscle, but don't get hurt deeper than that."

"Generally, I try to avoid getting hurt," quipped Rent.

"How's that working out?"

Rent sighed and failed to resist a light grin as he played with his sliced sleeve. He seemed to enjoy Harding being as much of a smartass as he was.

The two were picking up their things when Harding asked, "Can we loot that guys' seed?"

"Normally people have it sealed, but if they aren't trained or rich," Rent arched an eyebrow and looked over. "Come over here, I'll teach you."

Harding jumped at the opportunity, moving maybe a little faster than he should with a fresh injury. Either that or he should have used more of the yellow, the tearing pain punishing his eagerness. Rent was kneeling beside Beard, so Harding joined him gingerly. "Damn Rent, he's a mess."

Rent ignored him. "You know gate locations. You know how to extend your spirit body. So you should be able to check his gates."

Harding made his twisted spirit lance and jammed it up Beard's ass and through all the gates until it came out the mess of his head. The Throat gate had an object in it.

"Zezev's grimy fingers," swore Rent. "What did you just do?"

"Checked him efficiently. He's got a seed in him, how do I extract it?"

"Normal people, one's who don't give corpses spiritual prostate exams as a pastime, find the seed with a touch of their spirit body. Dead, those channels are vacated and oozing remnant spirit as the seeds drain. A little pressure to empty the seed out and then it'll come out when keyed. It needs to be empty, unlike changing your own seed."

Huh? Oops.

Harding pushed out what little spirit remained after he'd ramrodded the courier and it popped out without issue.

"It's orange." He honestly wasn't sure if he should be disappointed. He knew orange was, generally speaking, the bottom end of what people considered uncommon. At least in Gremuth, where yellow and greens thrived as the most common.

"We knew that it was a leech already."

"What do I do with it?"

"Use it, if you want."

"But, it's not blue."

"They're basically all the same to use, what you learn on one generally transfers to others. Also, I'm pretty sure Okkor doesn't care."

"Really?"

"Pretty sure. Never heard of a god objecting. Theoretically, I guess it's possible," Rent shrugged.

Harding looked at the orange swirl in the globe. It was banded in copper. It was so simple, yet he knew there were hidden complexities. "Where do I put it?"

"In your bag, we will talk about it later. Right now I would like to be somewhere other than knee deep in a field of corpses."

It only fit in his bag because Harding tied his blood soaked robe to the outside. Settled with their business, they walked to the bridge. Rent stopped, put one foot on it, then tentatively the other. He jumped heavily, anticipating. "Imagine if…"

"No way. Those guys were bandits."

"Doesn't mean the bridge is solid."

"I'm sure it's fine."

They shared a long look.

The two crossed the bridge but both moved quicker across than they otherwise would have. Harding wasn't an engineer, but it seemed fine to him. The rest of the morning was uneventful, though the scenery was gorgeous. Midmorning, Harding shared his Howie bars and some Eight-Up. When the simulants kicked in for Rent, he declared, "I'm joining the Eights if this is how they live."

"No you aren't."

"True, I won't have to. My loving acolyte will keep me loaded with their goodies."

"We'll see..."

It bugged Harding to finally have a godseed in his possession and to just leave it in the bag. But he had to trust Rent, and perhaps, himself. It was past midday, after having taken a footpath off the main road and another turn up a steep hillside trail, they crested the hill and looked across a flat high prairie. In the distance, nestled in a copse of trees, were several very small buildings and two large barns. Past it, the hills rose again, studded with the pines he had become familiar with today.

"There we are, our destination."

"What is it?"

"A farm, Harding. It's a farm."

"Yeah, but why here?"

"Mystery," Rent said with a stupid grin and started off without him.