As the days passed, Harding became accustomed to the schedule. Every morning would be breakfast followed by ranch work where Rent would do the skilled labor and he would do time consuming menial tasks. Then they'd have lunch and a nap, more than one hour and less than two.

After would be the training of the day and while the exact activities would be variable, the order wasn't. Sunday and Wednesday would be education on biomechanics and how to use that knowledge in striking and grappling. Monday and Thursday were the wing dummy and sparring sessions. Tuesday and Friday were meditations and strength training. Saturday, they would return to Tamis Cross. On those days the two would skip lunch and stay at the base of that tree until supper.

While the schedule was a full day, he was left alone for much except the instruction. He had many small opportunities to cycle and even found that if he cycled doing a task, the task’s progress continued while he was offline to the same standards.

It's like Life makes sure I get the work done as long as I work when I can.

Weeks went by, until their time at the ranch was coming towards the close as Rent had plans for travel before CombO. What passed as talk between the men turned gradually to preparing for that looming departure. Harding felt like something special should happen, some monumental breakthrough in his ability as a grand culmination of his training.

But instead, all was quiet.

They stayed for the Saturday, rode to town and back instead of the wagon. Rent spent the afternoon with his father under that tree, Harding never understood why. So much seemed unspoken between the two, some shared grief too jagged to heal. Harding felt like he wanted to join them, but that it was not his place to be under that tree with them.

Some things are not mine.

That last night it stormed. Nothing terrible or dangerous, but it meant a muddy trek for the day ahead. Harding's nightly ritual of testing the leech had morphed into sitting in the same spot in the dark, holding the leech active, and doing his spirit meditations under its oppression. Reductionists were a serious lot with more than an underpinning of zealous intentional suffering. As much as they creeped Harding out, he also saw a deep wisdom in their madness. It was certain to be a rare approach for other players.

Tonight, though, he couldn't sit his nightly ritual as lightning lit the farm in thunderous cracks of burning light.

Instead, with a long day ahead, they prepared their packs before bed. Harding had stuffed all his belongings in his pack, except his work clothes which he was leaving out to wear. He had slowly chewed through his supply of Howie bars and all that was left was the little sack, rolled up tight. With his Eight-Up empty as well, there was even enough room for his new book.

He had reloaded his repaired bandolier and medic bag from the box. There were too few vials left to make the box efficient, so he stashed the few extra spares under the bandages in the bottom. He was out of the bruise ointment, so he stashed that tin in the box and left it on the shelf above the workbench for the next visitor. It seemed a shame to throw away the containers.

Having prepared, they slept early. It was late into the night when Harding woke. The rain outside fell steadily, but he didn't hear any more thunder. He just laid there, trying not to move and wake the person beside hi-

Harding's heart thundered. He could feel the form of a person laying in bed with him, the way the bed depressed it almost rolled him into that spot. The weight and shape of the covers bent, lifting up and over. He heard no breathing other than Rent's from below.

Heavy with dread, he turned his head to look. He didn't want to, but he felt compelled. He could see nothing though, in that dark. Which seemed logical. Yet the more he stared, the lighter the darkness became until there was a deep purple haze in the darkness beside him. He tried to reach out and touch it but his body wouldn't move. The light glittered before him, the vaguest suggestion of a small humanoid shape. In his ear there came a whisper, drawn out slowly with a hardened sawtooth edge, "No."

Harding bolted upright in bed. He reached out, but nothing was beside him. No indentation felt. No voice heard. All was calm, except his heart. Then he felt with spirit.

The room was flooded with energy. He didn't know if he'd been pumping energy while he dreamed or if the storm had brought something other to bear. Whatever the cause, there was a lot of energy in the air. He struggled with himself to not assign it some sinister meaning.

Could it be that such things just are?

Not ready to sleep again, Harding just closed his mind and looked inward. He practiced breath control with his spirit body, pulling in the ambient energy. It tasted of water, of pollen, of mud. Thinking about his old way of casting his spirit out, he tried combining the two. Instead of creating a hollow sphere though, he stretched himself open, making his spirit full of pockets. Then collapsing it rapidly and firing it all up his spirit channel.

Harding's eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head.

The amount of power that shot through him was more than he could handle and he could feel it venting out through the top of his head like a geyser. His head throbbed, between his eyes and up through the top of him. He focused on just breathing, letting himself recover. Then before attempting it again, he pushed out all stored energy in him. Like exhaling sharply before a deep inhale, he pushed to the Throat, with that gate closed, then he opened that one too and pushed to the Mind. A slow, staged boost through the system to vacate and cleanse. At the end was the simple voidseed and he pushed everything into it. It quivered in his mind, boiling with unrealized potential.

Slowly, it dissipated as it leaked through the conceptual space of his mind.

Then he took that spongy, deep spirit breath again. Instead of pulling it straight into the channel though, he brought it into his abdomen where it compacted against the resistance of his flesh, before spraying through like a burst hole in a dam. The energy blew through him like a gale, hit that voidseed in his Mind and crushed into itself, packing tight before bleeding off through his brain back into the room once more.

It felt, for a while, like he’d taken some brain with it.

Investigating himself he found there seemed to be a little flaw in his spirit body. It was like the channel had torn a little hole through it. Undeterred, he again gave himself a minute of clear breathing, then exhaled the loose energy and did the expansive breath technique he was developing. The energy came rocketing through him and some pushed into the voidseed, the excess escaping a little more slowly.

He repeated this process several times, being able to capture less power each time as the ambient energy decreased. As well, each time less energy was inserted into the seed. When the room was at a little less than normal level, Harding realized he was becoming fatigued. Both from the effort as well as the return of sleepiness. He laid back down, and thought about what had happened.

He had discovered something, he was sure, but its actual usefulness was in question. Using this 'big breath' he could intake more energy in a high energy environment, but he wasn't sure if it held true in low energy density areas. The higher energy was more power, but so far he couldn't utilize it. It just blew through him, causing both discomfort and increased fatigue. Intellectually stimulating perhaps, but maybe everyone already knew this and had determined it to be inefficient for actual use.

Still, he was a little proud of himself. Harding relaxed once more toward sleep. As he did, he cast his mind over his spirit body. The hole above his Mind gate was slightly larger, but just barely. He entered his Heart gate and swam his consciousness against the current of energy downwards in the channel. The binding that closed it off was frayed at the edges.

Whether he was closer to driving himself from his body or nearer to some enlightenment, he did not know. Repeatedly handling too much power seemed to have had very little subsequent effect. Whatever this effect was, be it permanent or not, it had stabilized.

Harding relaxed his mind and let it drift with the soft pump of energy that naturally occurred. It was like floating in a river inside himself, while he listened to the steady rain outside. As he floated into his Heart gate with the leech, his consciousness defused and he dropped into a deep sleep. His last thoughts that the Reductionists were right, vampire did sound cooler than leech.

Harding woke in the morning, it was dark as the rain still fell steadily. He fell out of bed, not in tiredness but in a spat of irrational silliness. Child-like joy brought him to grin widely. Harding could hear that Rent was still sleeping. In all his time with Rent, this was the sole morning he had been first to wake.

The rooster crowed, trumpeting loudly his claim over his kingdom as Harding went to the table. He heard Rent startle awake behind him, then be still.

"You're up. Hope you slept alright," Rent said from the bunk a moment later.

"I'm rested and ready."

"Huh. Well great. Wear your Winter Robe today, but keep the summer unders on. The winters help with the rain, but it is too hot for them."

"Good to know," Harding said and sparked the lamp on the table. Rent had already told him that last night. For some reason, despite being simulated, Harding took comfort that the monk wasn’t always sharp either.

They were both silent as their eyes adjusted to the dim morning. Rent came to the table and stretched, heavy robes in hand. Harding barely noticed, he was staring at the table and the book open in it.

"You read last night and didn't wake me," Rent marveled.

"I did not."

"I don't remember you out here reading before bed."

"I did not."

Rent paused, looking at the pages exposed. Then he carefully asked, "Did you open this book this morning?"

"No."

They both started at the illustration and beginning of the thirteenth chapter of 'The Blade that Hones'. The left page was a woodcut depiction of the death, the right the beginning of the thirteenth chapter, "Fundamental Forces of Being".

Harding closed the book and put it back into his bag, which was still closed as he had left it. He looked to Rent for some assurance, but Rent just shrugged. Both dressed in the waterproof winter cyan robes, then donned their packs. Harding turned out the lamp and they went to the main cabin for breakfast.

Nothing was said during the meal, instead after they had finished Rancher just thanked him for coming. Rent thanked him, in return, for the hospitality. It was cold and mechanical, this unsaid cluster of things between the two a stone wall. Harding felt nothing but discomfort watching the two awkwardly avoid it.

The monks stepped into the lightened rain without fanfare. They took the cart path because the night's storm would have left the treacherously steep footpath slick with mud. Because of this, it took longer to get to Tamis Cross. Once again, they didn't go in but walked the edge to the portal. After a bit more than thirty minutes of standing in the drizzle, the portal flared to life and took them, a handful of travelers and a column of rain to Bresham.

There it was dry, sunny and nearly noon. The rain crashed down on the dry portal circle a moment after they arrived. Rent set off down the road, away from Bresham, commenting, "And now… we walk."

And walk they did.

They walked until they dried, then paused and swapped robes along the side of the road. They kept walking, always east though there was a bit of northern wandering in the road itself. When night began to settle itself upon the world, they stopped at a small farming community. Beyond its offering commercial support for local farmers, the town had two inns along the road. There was nothing notable about the place except for the lack of anything else. Harding didn't catch the little hamlet's name, nor even the inn's.

They spent the night and ate a breakfast of porridge and fruit. Then they walked again all day. The mornings were starting to be chilly before the sun warmed up the land. Harding tried to use leech to warm himself up. It did help some with function, but it didn't remove the feeling of chill. Still, Harding spent the morning using the parasites intermittently despite the discomfort.

Typical Kasagos.

With little else to do, Harding started trying to watch for the mechanism of how the spirit parasites could interact with the flesh of the body. It seemed to be some kind of energy transfer, perhaps similar to the Heart gates over-time effect on the body. By no means though did Harding come to an understanding.

They slept when it was dark only to repeat the experience the next day. They slept and walked. And all the while they talked relatively little. They did not stop for training. The road had been angling up for the past day as the elevation rose, but now it changed and everything was slightly down hill.

Harding began dreading the days.

What did I think a wandering monk did?

Then they walked into a little town called Nandhem, and everything changed for Harding. He could see the ocean, in the distance still, but with the land's gentle downward sloo he could see it.

"We're in Eastrun?"

“A bit ago."

"There's no portal out here?"

"Nothing. There are only two portals in the Ayr kingdom, and the one at Wotenhed fell to the Taaka. So, practically speaking, only Breshem has a functional portal."

Harding was floored.

"Are you telling me that a force of Taaka could take the portal to anywhere and at any time?"

"And now you start to see the issue. If you're near a portal, you better be able to handle a hundred Taaka an hour."

"Shit."

"Yes. And that's not even addressing the loss of a major border town, which was the Empire's premier logging source."

"I thought they didn't ship much through portals."

"They don't. They lost the whole town. The town grew round the portal. All the timber trade and neighboring villages were lost too."

"I can see why the people are pissed about that then…"

"Mhm," Rent confirmed.

They stopped and picked up a fresh collection of bread, fruit and dried meat. Harding was not shocked when Rent led them out of the village and back on the road. He couldn't imagine the monk wasting a half-day's travel. They slept that night in what amounted to a public camp. There was no town or inn, just a cluster of solidly built lean-tos along the road.

Harding, though, felt oddly vulnerable while there.

"House Garnet has these little camps between towns to ease travel,” explained Rent as they sat by the fire ring. “The land is fertile and farmed, but beyond agriculture there isn't much in the north of Eastrun."

"How long until we pass into their estate?"

"House Garnet?”

Harding confirmed nonverbally.

“Their estate sits on a high hill overlooking the port of Sanborn o'Harbour, better known as Sanborn. Really, there is also Sanborn o'Hih, about half a day's walk up the hills and inland. That was the original Sanborn, but the growth from becoming one of the major ports of the duchy relegated the original into obscurity for all but the locals."

"That's super interesting, but how long?"

"Tomorrow afternoon."

The next day was uneventful except for brief drizzles. Practicing leech helped a little to pass the time, but Harding felt there wasn't much more to learn without a wound to target. Anticipation of their destination and the lessening gains of practice, led to Harding being more interested in their surroundings. The heavier wood of the area started to break into dense, but more intermittent copses and windbreaks around farmer fields. The road turned, following a small runoff creek towards the ocean, through a brief flare of woodlands and then crossed a bridge. In the distance sat a couple dozen buildings with a light wall in its midst.

"Sanborn o'hey?"

"Sanborn o'Hih," Rent corrected. "But no, what's ahead is the House Garnet Estate."

"That whole thing? It looks like a small hamlet."

"Most of it, mind you, is housing for staff, guards, and the like. They've got a small market farmers bring their goods to, and even a small store."

Harding eyed the many peaks of buildings. It was clearly a cluster of buildings, added onto over time, until a sprawling, asymmetrical compound. Around it were other buildings, yards, and gardens. Enclosing all of that were low walls, more focused on security than siege. Outside the walls, squatted a small village, distanced from the walls. Harding quirked his mouth as he studied it, then admitted, "I kinda expected a castle."

"Castles aren't comfortable, nor are they cheap. There are a couple forts in Eastrun, minimal things though, that are only used in times of war. In general, since the Empire, the only martial concern is the Taaka far to the north."

"What about the pirates?"

"Those too. They're a ways south of here though, and they only really target defenseless villages. All the guards and the wall are enough, besides touching actual nobility would bring too much wrath."

They walked on.

The whole pirate angle bothered Harding. He remembered reading about the increase in piracy, he had assumed it was players living adventure on the high seas. He had no idea why it would be a long standing issue, and Duke Garnet did not seem a man to ignore his duty.

"Doesn't the Duke have a navy?"

"A small one, not enough to hunt them.”

“But they could stop some.”

“They do, but they'll never get them all.”

“And then they respawn.”

“They can't eliminate them, only diminish them for the season. They focus on interdiction, but pirates tend to sail small vessels and raid inland hamlets and farmers.”

Harding scowled, "That's cowardly."

"It's strategic. Tragic, but strategic. They come in numbers that the scouts can't fight, then flee before the heavy cavalry arrives. You'll find the topic more complex than you would originally think."

"How so?"

"We could spend all day on it. For instance, the reason they don't have enough men to raid the camps is the terrible losses at the Battle of Wotenhed. The armsmen of the entire Empire are depleted."

"Don't they come back from death?"

"Sure, eventually, usually… but, who do you think are the pirates?"

"Oh, ex-soldiers?"

"Mhm."

No wonder the duke doesn't seal seeds.

The road led them to the village, where they turned off onto the short lane leading to the estate. The village was well maintained, with children playing in the grass and adults doing chores like hanging laundry and tending small gardens. The place felt peaceful and unified, more like a close knit neighborhood than the villages they had traveled through.

The pair walked up to the gates of the estate. Rent greeted the guard force, "Good Day gentlemen, we should be on the list. I am-”

”Hey Harding," interrupted Holtz, leaning his mass on the halberd he held.

"Heya Holtz, what are you doing out front?"

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Before Holtz could answer the other guard laughed, "He got drunk and-"

"Was sick," Holtz corrected.

"I heard he was drunk," said the other guard firmly. "And he got caught out in the night naked."

"I was trying to cool off from the fever.”

"Cool off after an encounter with the missus…"

"No such thing occurred."

Harding chuckled.

The first guard continued, "So, he's up here being punished for a week."

"It's only a punishment when it's with this dolt."

"Hey now, that any way to-"

"Shut it, Kenneth, they don't care."

Holtz stretched a smile at the monks, "You have been expected, let me announce you." He leaned over and clanged a bell on a post, then gestured to the open gate. "If you would enter, someone from the house will arrive to greet you."

Harding thanked Holtz and the two monks walked through a gate. The grass grew tall near and around the wide open door, instead of bent under it.

The Garnets lived in security.

The estate gate opened into a long yard, bisected by a worn-down dirt path fringed with tufts of grass in the shade of the surrounding utilitarian buildings. Barns and barracks, stables and smiths; the Garnets had built for function over opulence and they'd packed it in snug. At the end of the long yard though, was the sprawling manor. There were decorative gardens and well kept lawns, all the horticultural affectations of nobility. But only as small accents and lacking the luxury of the Green Hills estate gardens. To Harding’s untrained eye the lower levels looked hardened with protected windows. As they passed through the yard a woman exited the house. A moment after, from behind her and quickly overtaking her, came Jarred. He ran out laughing, "Save me!"

The woman stopped at a respectful distance, giving Jarred the space to personally greet them. Or, possibly, to avoid the rambunctious Jarred colliding with her.

She must be Stocke’s student. What's with these severe women?

Harding looked around, "From what?"

"My family," Jarred blurted with a grin. "And boredom. Mostly boredom. Oh, and pointless training. I practice fencing against a dummy, while Jasika actually spars."

"I don't know how you do it," quipped Harding as he looked over the fortified manor.

"Nobility is a life of sacrifice."

"Suffering is the wrappings of the gift of opportunity," opined Rent interjection. It sounded decidedly Reductionist to Harding. Maybe that book merchant was onto something.

“He,” Harding pointed at Rent while looking at Jarred, “is the wrapper in my life."

"Yeah, well that is what a good teacher is. Mine feels like the distant parent my distant parents hired to replace themselves with," lamented Jarred.

Harding winced.

Jarred retreated slightly from his assertion, "Not really. Dad's there for me, if I can hunt him down. And Instructor Simone is knowledgeable, but disengaged. His techniques are more club fencing than reality though, which is probably why dad made sure we went on the, ah-" Jarred glanced at Rent, "outing."

Harding looked past Jarred as Jasika slipped out and stood next to the door, watching and judging. Stocke, back from the dead, was standing in the open door. Returned to live once more in Jasika's shade.

She probably haunted Jasika to make sure she did her drills and didn't smile.

Harding waved.

Jarred glanced back at the house, "Oh, right. We should go in."

They went to the top of the steps, where Harding gave a slight bow with a playful smile. "My Lady, it is my pleasure as always."

Jasika stared.

Harding was learning her stares though and this one was on the warmer side of things. It might even melt snow in the right conditions.

"The honorable Brother Rent is greeted by House Garnet," she intoned in an official voice and with a stoic face.

Rent bowed in return, "Thanks to you and your family for your gracious hospitality, Maid Jasika."

Stocke nodded slightly in approval of her charge.

"My mother, the Lady Johanna, has requested that you attend her in the Tea garden. Instructor Stocke can escort you."

"I am most honored," Rent assured her.

Jasika's eyes drifted over to Harding and the corners of her mouth crept up a little bit. She added, "Your acolyte though, may I use him as a training partner while you attend Lady Johanna?"

Stocke went stiff. Rent, however, smiled mischievously, "He has been excessively energetic today, allow him no excuse in needing rest."

Rent tilted his head and gestured to Stocke who hesitated before leading him off.

Jasika continued family business, "Helga, they have no luggage. Please arrange for a room for each in the guest wing and be ready for laundry this evening."

"Yes, my Lady," she bowed and left.

"She seemed like a-”

Harding was interrupted by Helga roaring at some servants in the next room, a pause, then the sound of faint sobs and the pattering of feet.

Jasika looked from Harding to Jarred, "Come, you two."

Jasika led them, not to a practice hall but back out of the entry gate. While they walked, Harding was interrogated by both as to what he had been up to with Rent. He told them of their travels, their fight against the bandits and the stay at the ranch. Harding was led around the wall and along a narrow creek a short way to the shade of a large tree. Harding looked around, the trees were sparse here, just a few small surviving copses in a small pitch of low grass. At about a hundred yards from the wall, the area turned to farm fields.

"No training then?"

"Oh no, we are doing training," she said, climbing up a small boulder to perch on top. "You're a Spiritualist. I receive excellent training, but my authority is not increasing. The variety of my experiences does not change. I need a change in my training."

"I thought you were just going to beat on me."

Jasika stared coldly. Then the corner of her lip curled up slightly. “But I have my beloved brother for that.”

Harding was aghast, she seemed to be developing humor.

"Hey,” Jarred started, paused, then admitted, “That's actually accurate.”

Nodding to herself, everything being in what she deemed order, she began, "First, I want you to try to do spirit attacks on me. I've read about it, but have not experienced it."

Hurting switched his awareness to sensing in spirit and felt her inhale and harden her spirit. He realized she was lightly pushing her power against her spirit body to harden it to outside influence. The area around seemed a bit fuller than usual, but by no means preternatural in spirit density.

It seemed to be a rudimentary form of defense, one he had once done instinctually himself. He clarified, "Are you asking me to prevent you getting more energy, disrupt your spirit body or knock you out?"

"You can do that?"

"To be honest, ah, I’ve no clue.”

Disappointment leaked across her face before being covered up.

Harding hastily added, “There are a few things I could try though, but pressure against your spirit body to intimidate you probably wouldn't work. You're too strong. We can still try it though. But less common usage, like enveloping you to steal your ability to draw spirit might work?”

Jasika was unresponsive briefly before querying, "If you were fighting me, what would you do?"

"Die quickly, probably as a smoking pile of ash."

She smirked, "To attack me. Spirit only."

"To be honest, I've never seen a technique that's useful enough in terms of speed and effect, but I'll try."

"That may be but I want to know and experience what a Spiritualist and maybe a mage with specialist training could do."

"Oh, ok, I get what you want. What about you Jarred?"

The large teen held up his hand and begged off, "Huh, no. I don't know. I haven't learned how to do this stuff."

Harding nodded. "This one is spirit domination, all Spiritualists should be able to do it. I've never really done it aggressively though?” Harding realized that amounted to essentially having never truly done it. He resolved to give it his all, if that meant anything. “I think it will feel uncomfortable, but if I understand the mechanics right it might actually also increase your energy flow slightly."

"Do it," she urged.

Harding threw his spirit body in a tight wedge, pushing it against and over Jasika. Constricting. She scrunched her face up, her hands slid to the rock, but she was not in any way impaired. Harding felt her dump a large amount of energy just as a loud crack assaulted his ears. Her lightning strike off to the side completely unimpaired. He focused his intent, trying to subdue her but she didn’t react any differently.

He waited a few more moments and stopped.

"It did indeed feel weird,” determined Jasika. She wrinkled her nose and then took a deep breath, refilling her spirit. “Almost as if you were eroding my sense of self, though probably my awareness of my own spirit? It would not be enough to stop me though, but I might have hesitated at a critical moment.” She didn’t sound convinced. Harding shrugged. Jasika had pulled some serious spellcraft in battle, he doubted he could actually destabilize her concentration. He wasn't going to argue it with her though.

“I think you're right too,” offered Jasika as an afterthought, “it did feel like there was slightly more energy available. It was not enough to try to collaborate in battle though."

Harding nodded. When he had read about the technique, it was illustrated as a way to impose psychologically on someone. He didn't get the impression it was useful inside combat. The methodology though seemed like an inefficient push of spirit. In effect, the opposite of his drawing.

"We should practice having you doing that while I am sparring to help me get used to having my senses blocked mid-attack." Jasika leaned back slightly, reclining against both hands. It was a more open position than he had ever seen from her. Her expression was still cold, "What else can you do?"

Harding arched an eyebrow at Jasika. The behavior seemed unnatural to him, but he didn't really know her. "No name for this one as it's just a theory I’m developing. I'm going to try and stop your intake of new spirit energy, so dump out what you have and then try to get more."

Jasika dropped a massive lightning strike with a casual flick of her wrist, and Harding enveloped her entirely with his spirit body. Instead of trying to dominate though, he pulled heavily from the energy around her.

Jasika dropped lightning strike after lightning strike until finally stopping. She looked skeptical, "How much effort does that take?"

"I have got to concentrate to maintain it,” he admitted. “It was my first time actually trying it, but I don't think I could do it and defend myself with reasonable practice.”

She shook her head, "It reduced my recharge by maybe a quarter to a third of the usual. It would be terrible in a fight then. Perhaps, though, against a heavy magic-using tyrant it would make a difference? With what I carry though in my body, I could easily have killed you before I even felt the effect."

Harding had feared as much, "Well then, I won't try that one in a fight."

There was one thing he hadn't tried. He doubted any of it would have an effect, Spiritualism seemed to have only subtle benefits. Still, he felt some urge to demonstrate competency, even to a couple of NPCs. "I can do an attack, but it's experimental. I've never done it to a living being and I don't know how bad it will be…"

Jasika shook her head, dismissing his worries and potency, "These have been pretty weak. Just something that might make you miss a parry could be significant. What do I need to do?"

"Nothing really," Harding said. "You'll know when."

Harding stretched out into his spiraled spirit lance, hardening the edge to make it impermeable to spirit. He took a deep spirit draw, but instead of contacting it into himself, he blew it all down the lance while simultaneously ramming it up through Jasika's channel.

Jasika let out half of a startled chirp and fell backwards off the stone, hitting her head hard on the ground. To Harding's horror, she laid there unmoving. Both Harding and Jarred surged to her side, but she was almost instantly awake again and groaning. Her eyes looked up at them and then she rolled away from them and puked clear bile in the grass.

"Shit, Harding, what did you do," exclaimed Jarred in panic.

"I'm ok," Jasika squeaked and then spit the remnants out. She sat up, swayed, then wiped her mouth and turned back to the boys.

"Fuck," she stated absently, as if discussing the weather.

Harding and Jarred both watched agape at her absent-minded vulgarity.

"That's exactly what I was looking for Jarred,” she exhaled at her brother a few moments later. The boys were still looking at her like she was a changeling, but she was oblivious. “I cannot have something exactly like that happen during a fight. Neither can you, honestly."

"I'm sorry," managed Harding, unsure what else to say.

Jasika reached back and gingerly probed the back of her head, wincing. "I was not ready for it, for- that, and would not have been while fighting.”

Jasika gently prodded the tender spot on the back of her head while Jarred looked at Harding wordlessly. It took Harding a second to realize it wasn't blame, but desperation for help. Jasika interrupted their silent debate, “Hitting my head seems to be the worst of it. Better here than in front of a blade.”

She looked, now more clearly focused, at Harding and demanded, “What did you do?”

“Well,” he began, trying to figure out how to explain it politely. “I formed a hardened cone of spirit and used it to cause a sudden overpressure of spirit through your channel until it overloaded your Mind gate. I think?”

Jasika nodded absently, clearly attempting to deconstruct the experience. “It felt like my brain just turned into light for a moment. This unseen but blinding flash of thought that made my spirit body sag.”

Harding thought about it as a kind of catatonic response of the spirit system to overpressurization. What was more intriguing would be if the response was defensive, was it possible to bypass someone's automatic protection. He offered, "No clue how many people would even think to try that, but it's a combination of a couple of my practices at once that's kind of come together?."

They both watched him, waiting for more.

“It's a supercharged version of what I did to remove those evil roots.”

They waited for more, clearly unsatisfied with his attempt to not get into the tangle of jargon and concepts he anticipated.

Harding sighed, "Are you familiar with spirit breathing?"

Jasika shook her head.

"Might just be a name difference. You know how your spirit body pumps energy into you from your surroundings?"

Nods from both this time.

"If you think of that as your lungs, you can take a deeper breath to push more energy. You probably do it as part of boosting a seed?"

Again, both nodded.

"I used an external boosting technique combined with a hardened spirit body appendage and drove all the free spirit I collected, as well as what was in her, hard into her Mind gate.”

Jasika grimaced and Jarred goggled.

Jasika tried to piece it together out loud, “You forced an involuntary and incomplete Mind gate activation?”

Harding shook his head, closed his eyes and really thought through the mechanics. “Uhm, most likely- and I'm not entirely positive on this, I… vented it around and through the top of the Mind gate and out of you?”

"I need to learn this," decided Jasika, leaving no doubt in the possibility of Harding’s escape.

"Me too," piped Jarred.

Jasika stood up and brushed herself down quickly. It left Harding looking out at the distant sea below. The grassy higher elevation dropped into a flat valley of agriculture. Against the shore was nestled a small town, the details obscured by the distance.

Jarred hovered near Jasika, as if afraid she'd fall over. It was a strange dichotomy, the knowledge of her affliction with the witnessing of her power. Jarred wore his emotions, his concern evident as he towered over his sister. Harding sought to reassure him, “She'll be fine. I've done that to myself several times, it gives you a bit of a brain freeze is all. Even if I pack a voidseed with it.”

Jarred’s face scrunched up in confusion, “Why would you do that to yourself?”

Jasika reached out and gave her brother a light push. Smiling, she redirected it, “What he should be asking is what you mean by ‘packing’ a voidseed?”

“Uh, yeah, that too,” he mumbled.

“You can push spirit into a voidseed just like a regular seed. Fill it up the same,” Harding offered, uncomfortable with the topic. It wasn't anything forbidden, but he was uncertain and certainly at odds with the prevailing understanding thoughts on voidseeds. The fact the voidseed held spirit like a normal seed was accepted, but anything beyond that was unsupported and unproven.

“You mean when it's in your hand,” asked Jarred.

"No. Actually, maybe. You might be able to redirect it through the Throat. But, I have a voidseed in my Mind gate. The one Yhavat traded me, actually. So I push excess energy in there."

"I didn't know you could use one like that, what's that do for you?"

"So far, no clue, other than a place to store extra energy."

“Yeah, but why,” puzzled Jarred. “There’s nothing to do with it, you can only boost up.”

All Harding could do was shrug, “I don't have fancy teachers, I have to figure it out on my own.”

Jasika sniffed and looked back towards the village. Stocke had showed up. She stood off like a silent monument to the inevitability of responsibility. After a few moments of ignoring her, Jasika signed. “Time to head back.” As they walked back, Harding wondered about how he was always being led around by NPCs.

I'm just following the story.

Jarred started talking about his excitement for CombO and his expectations. Jasika chimed along occasionally, as she led them through the village being stalked by Stocke. Harding didn't ask and Jasika hadn't really interacted with the villagers, but he wondered if she was trying to follow her father’s advice about being known to the people. As they walked the long yard to the estate house, she decided, “You should do that overpressure to me again when we train.”

“Mmm,” hedged Harding, "I will, but not today? I want Brother Rent to make sure there wasn't any damage first."

Jasika conceded reluctantly and looked to Stocke, "Back to training, then."

Uncomfortable with it, Harding requested, "Lady Jasika, please have Brother Rent examine your spirit body first."

"Hmm. Very well, but you two are coming with me then." Jasika stooped and picked a red wild flower from the garden by the door. As they walked through the halls, she snapped the stem and tucked it in her hair behind her ear. Brother Rent was sitting with Duchess Johanna in the shade of the back veranda. The setting of tea on the table was well used and the garden scene well crafted.

Jasika came to a halt a few steps away and waited for her mother's attention. "Please excuse us, Mother. My brother's Spiritualist urges me to request that Brother Rent check the health of my spirit."

"What did he do," demanded Duchess Johanna. Harding winced.

"Nothing of concern, we were discussing training and he thought it might be warranted."

The duchess scowled at the deception, eyed Harding a moment, then nodded assent. It was a clear dodge by Jasika, but it seemed to have earned her favor instead of reproval.

Nobles.

The duchess languidly turned her head to the sitting monk, "Brother Rent, we would be most appreciative if you could perform such a service."

Rent smiled and waved his hand dismissively, "Duchess, it's barely worth a mention. Here, I'll check both your children to make sure they're completely healthy. "

Rent turned and gave Jasika a soft look, reassuring her, "This will only take a few moments."

Harding watched in spirit sense, untrained in this and attempting to learn. Rent threw out his spirit to cover hers, then gently pumped energy against her. After ten pulses, he switched over to Jarred. Jarred shuddered at what was a light, but still smothering, spirit domination. Rent began to press energy to him. Ten pulses, then ten more before stopping.

"Lady Jasika has an excellent spirit, powerful and healthy though showing some fatigue from overchanneling,” diagnosed Rent. “My acolyte will teach her a meditation technique to restore health to the spirit body and that, coupled with avoiding overtaxing herself, will see her completely restored in under a week."

Duchess Johanna opened her mouth, then closed it and waited for him to continue.

"Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for your son. While his spirit body is well formed and responsive, his energy channel is damaged,” Rent informed them. Duchess Johanna’s face froze, her countenance and the memory of Jarred bragging about her martial prowess putting her well into the category of ‘avoid at all costs’ for Harding.

Jasika makes so much more sense now.

Rent, understanding the concern, addressed the obvious questions. “There can be a number of causes, but most likely either an early sickness or very poor training combined with overuse of the Heart gate. He will require some restorative techniques, which can be self-administered. And, perhaps, some alchemy aides. Along with that, the same meditation technique that Maid Jasika will learn and possibly some retraining in Gate use is warranted."

The duchess was a dangerous quiet as she watched Jarred struggle with what he'd been told. He was trying to be brave, but not wholly successful.

"Is the damage permanent," she asked quietly. “Or, will that regimen’s effect be absolute?”

"I should think so, the spirit body is remarkably resilient, especially with his healthy soul.” The monk paused, “The majority should clear up in about a month, but any retraining will take longer."

"Stocke, please fetch my husband,” was the steely command. There was no doubt to any there that she meant immediately. “When the duke tells you he's too busy, tell him that I strongly insist. Use those words exactly, then return with him."

Stocke bowed and hurried off.

"Brother Rent, while I must discuss it with my husband, I fear we will be in great need of assistance with caring for our son. I am aware of your calling as a wanderer, but I believe you are attending the coming exposition as a guest of our House?"

Rent spoke carefully, "That was my understanding, Duchess."

The duchess' focus on Rent made even Harding feel uncomfortable. He well understood her fearsome reputation.

She continued, icy and hard edged, "When I discuss with my husband our needs and options for the well-being of our son, I would like to know the cost of retaining you to act as healer and interim instructor to my son."

"My Lady, I am-”

Duchess Johanna held up a staying hand. "I do not doubt the capabilities of the healers in Sanborn. I am sure they would adequately see to our needs. However, I want immediate relief from this disagreeable situation. I am not satisfied with adequate at this point. Since we will be hosting you again in under two months, your service to right an injustice and relieve my heart would align well with events. At least until we can find a proper long-term solution."

Rent slid his tea saucer slightly with his fingertip, clearly thinking hard on it. "Duchess Johanna, as far as forgoing our planned route and assisting your family instead, we would be delighted. Our only requirement would be for room and board."

Rent paused then, taking a deep breath. "I am, however, bound by the Laws of my Order, having signed contracts no less, to take on no student until my current acolyte is trained and inducted. He's nowhere near trained."

This time Rent held up a staying hand to the forming duchess’ objection, something that shocked her as much as it did Harding.

"There is a stipulation that I may hire outside trainers for aspects of his functional education that I feel are better sources than myself. He must agree though, to the trainer. He did it with my father, as such I foresee no issue here."

The duchess cocked her head, "I'm not sure I follow the exact lines of your scheme."

"Ah. Yes, well. We are not prevented from selling our services so long as it does not interfere with our sworn functions.” Rent shared a conspiratorial smirk with the duchess, as if he were bringing her into his confidences. “If my acolyte is busy receiving training here, then I would be available while he is training.”

“He has already been recognized by my husband as a retainer,” the duchess added, coming to warmth with the direction of Rent’s rule-bending scheme.

Rent pressed forward, “My acolyte is a promising specialist, a natural even. But, unfortunately, as a mage he is woefully inadequate. As a specialist, he could teach them some in exchange. Supervised, of course.”

The duchess smiled, a predatory thing, "I think I see a path here, but I will need to confer with my husband."

Rent’s tone made clear his expectation, "Harding, you would be overwhelmed with gratitude if the young Master deigned to correct your uneducated status, wouldn't you."

Harding rolled his eyes, slipping into sardonicism, "It would be my honor to be taught by such."

"Absolutely splendid,” exclaimed Rent, overly enjoying his drama. “Now, Duchess, as much as your company is as breathtaking as your beauty, perhaps I could beg my leave as you will assuredly be too busy for me in short order. If you would be so kind, may we have the use of your training hall, so that I might teach my acolyte another lesson on restoring the spirit body?"

"The House would be delighted to loan you the use of the hall, so long as others might also use the hall," she acquiesced.

I need to check what kind of books Rent has been reading…

The monk pushed back his chair and stood. "Of course, Duchess, of course. We will only need a small corner."

The duchess gave a curt nod, as if cutting the conversation to an end. "Then you are excused. Please though, have a servant deliver to me forthwith a list of recommended alchemies and their expected market values."

Brother Rent bowed low to the duchess and gathered together Harding, Jarred and Jasika. He looked to Jasika, "Please, would you be so kind as to lead us?"

Jasika looked at Jarred and seeing that his panic from the diagnosis was subsiding, then offered her arm. He took it instinctually and then the two led the monks off to the training hall.