The following morning Rachel woke slowly, enjoying the feeling of being moderately comfortable for a change. The mattress stuffed with some kind of dried grasses rustled as she sat up and looked around. There were three other beds in the space, which matched with the explanation that visitors like the traveling traders stayed here. A small table held a lacquered bowl of tightly woven rushes full of water and a coarse towel. Wrinkling her nose at the lack of privacy, she had a quick wash.

“Damn, I miss hot showers.” Taking advantage of her solitude, she sat back down and let her thoughts wander. Rubbing her thumb over the color bands on her arm, she wished she had played video games. But, on the heels of that thought, this was nothing like a game. A bug that looked way too much like a cockroach ran across the dirt floor before a tiny lizard tackled it.

“Urgh.” Rachel pulled her feet up onto the bed and continued thinking out loud. “So, reaching level 10 increased my health pool and gave me access to a second class, but no boost to my first class or mana pool. I need to heal everything I can.” She looked at the empty bug shell on the floor. “Well, maybe not everything.”

Pushing aside the curtain covering the doorway, she walked through the empty dining room and outside. She didn’t see anyone she recognized and walked slowly through the village. It soon became fascinating as she noted many similarities to the medieval times on Earth, including a blacksmith and a cooper. She became so engrossed that she barely registered when a mob of children swarmed by with a warbling Skippy.

Rounding a corner revealed a very real difference between this place and Earth as she saw a native wave a staff releasing a curtain of golden sparkles. This was being closely observed by a semi-circle of youths seated on the ground. So intent was she in watching the sparkles sink into the dirt, that she was startled to be addressed. “Does the human Rachel wish to join our studies?”

“Oh! May I? It’s allowed?” Granted access with a simple nod, she sat behind the students.

“Cippu, demonstrate the fertilization ritual.” The instructor handed the staff to a student and moved aside.

Cippu’s hands glowed orange where they gripped the staff before making a wave that looked to Rachel to be identical to the first one. The few sparks that emerged were leaden gray and fell hard onto the dirt. While the student stared in dismay, the instructor leaped forward and swept their glowing hands across the area that had begun to bubble. They then pulled a strip of dried meat out of a belt pouch and guided the shaking student back to their seat, urging them to eat.

“Now do you understand why you aren’t learning this skill in the fields? Do you still say this is too easy? Attend the lesson.” They then spent the rest of the morning teaching the gestures, focus, and intent required for even a basic skill before releasing them to lunch. “Well, human? Will you be learning the way of the Shaman?”

Rachel stumbled getting up off the ground before answering, “My path has already been chosen for me. I wish I could learn yours though.”

The shaman held out the staff. “Hold this and call up the power within.”

She tried, pulling from her mana pool and feeling for anything within the staff, but it was just a piece of wood. She handed it back reluctantly.

“Perhaps someday you will gain a new class that opens this path as well. You have questions; will you join me for a meal?” Rachel followed them into the nearest building where the main room was a wonder of shelves full of oddments and scrolls, tapestries covering any open walls and a fireplace where a hanging cauldron simmered. Her host deftly dipped out bowls of a thick stew and motioned her to join them at a low table. “Your questions?”

“You have a lot of students for a small village.” Rachel blurted out the first thought on her mind, blushing fiercely for the implied criticism.

The shaman turned their arm, exposing full color bands of green, blue, yellow, red, and purple plus the beginning of an orange band. “Students come from afar to study with a Master of the Class. Cippu’s family journeyed for a year to bring them here.”

“How long do they stay?”

“That depends on their aspirations and whence their path wends. Recently, I had one who wished to follow my path and spent many years studying with me, but was not offered the option upon leveling.”

“What happened to them?”

The shaman closed their eyes and drew in a sharp breath, “They refused the class choices and left the village in anger. They will not be able to level again unless they choose a class.”

Silence stretched between them as their thoughts followed different paths. Not wanting to interrupt her host, Rachel’s attention was caught by an odor she hadn’t noticed at first over the food still steaming over the fire; it was the spicy smell she associated with the System. This was the first time she noticed it since arriving on the planet and she found herself staring at the shaman, wondering if it indicated power. She hesitated to broach the topic, but hoped it wouldn’t cause offense. “Forgive my intrusive question, but I was sent here because this place is supposed to be safe from the trials, but a master of your skill seems like something that would attract trouble from them or are there many masters of such advanced abilities?”

The shaman waved away her worries, “Perhaps if I had chosen a warrior shaman path, that would be true but I am a research shaman. I study the world and discover ways to work with it for the benefit of the village.”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“Can you heal?”

“I can do long, slow heals. If a child is born with a bent spine, I can straighten it over time, or a clouded eye can be cleared. I cannot reattach a lost limb or save someone bleeding out.”

“Oh, but I can’t do those either.”

“Yet. You will save many in your own way.”

She sighed, “I don’t even know where to start. Although, I am trying to learn more about the motrowli. Do you have any information on them?”

“No. I’ve never pursued mythical creatures in my studies.” Their eyes danced in amusement. “You will need to talk to a bard, preferably one who has chosen the history path. But there are none such in this village.”

“How many basic classes are there? I mean, for example, what is the blacksmith?”

“Ah, they begin with a general artisan class and specialize with the secondary. There are artisan, bard, berserker, guardian, producer, shaman and trader.”

“Producer?”

“Hunters, fishers, gardeners, shepherds and farmers.” The shaman fell silent as they finished eating, then offered to show her more of the village.

Walking slowly, they continued the discussion. “So, there are artisans, guardians, producers and a shaman here?”

“There is also a simple bard who teaches the children. Sadly, they lack the drive to work on their skills, so have never gained a second class.”

“Ha, I know people like that back home. Who fights off any monsters that attack?”

“Me.”

“But you said you aren’t a warrior! How?”

“Misdirection skills. Predators sense this is an unpleasant place without prey and grazers that could damage the crops know this is a dangerous area. If something does get through, the guardians and hunters fight it off.”

“How are things organized within the village? Is there money or set working hours in exchange for food and shelter?”

“Ah, Matta and the other guardians make those arrangements. There is privilege and prestige gained by working hard and advancing levels. Some are content to only do the minimum and a very few choose a class they are not suited for and struggle.”

Their meandering path had led them back to the main dining hall. Rachel stopped and turned to the genial shaman, “I’ll find Matta then and see where I can be useful. Thank you for your time.”

The shaman made a half-bow before moving away with a parting quip, “I look forward to seeing you in my class again.”

Rachel was left bewildered if that meant she was expected to show up the next day or just had an open invitation. Pressing on, she soon found herself on the edge of the village farthest from the forest. Here were the livestock and fields that both felt like home and completely alien at the same time. Spotting a small herd similar to yesterday’s patient, she headed that way. Two natives leaned against the fence watching a third moving through the herd, suggesting that some things were universal, such as the supervisor to worker ratio.

Spacing herself a distance away from the others, Rachel also leaned against the fence to observe. The lone native was running a piece of equipment steadily down the side of one of the beasts. It went from a shaggy coat to a smooth, short-hair hide and a tall, tightly woven basket was quickly filling up with the excess hair. With a light slap, the native dismissed the animal, hefted the basket and turned to the others. “All yours! Safe grazing.”

The others began deftly dismantling their portion of the fence before herding the beasts away towards the open space beyond the pens. The remaining native stopped in front of Rachel and set down the basket. “I greet you, Healer. Have you come to inspect Bez?”

“What’s a Bez? And please call me Rachel.”

“Apologies. Bez is the kactow that you healed yesterday. I hoped you could do more to keep the wounds from filling with badness again.” Suddenly, they ducked their head and spoke swiftly, “Please forgive me! It is not my place to ask anything more of you. I bring shame upon my village.”

Alarmed by this outburst, Rachel hurried to reassure them, “But I want to help Bez! I’m here to heal anything that needs it. Can you take me to it?”

With a jerky nod, the native turned and strode away. As she jogged to catch up, she studied them; tall and slender, the pale cream fur suggested they weren’t much older than the students she had watched that morning. She wondered if they could talk to her without having an anxiety attack. Slow and patient seemed the right approach. And, speaking of slow, “Wait! Sorry, I can’t go as fast as you. I have a hip problem. By the way, what’s your name?”

They had stopped to stare at her in obvious confusion. “Hip? But you’re a healer! Oh, no, I’m so sorry. I keep saying the wrong thing! My name is Harl.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Harl. I’m still very new at healing, so I try not to use it on myself for old aches when others need it more.” She began moving at a more moderate pace. “May I ask if you are a Producer?”

“Yes, I am. I mostly work with livestock, but shepherding doesn’t feel right. I want to work with all the animals, not just one type. But I suppose I’ll take shepherding as a secondary; it’s better than the others.” The words still tended to tumble out one on top of another, but they did seem to be calming a bit.

“Maybe something will come up; do you have far to go before getting the secondary?”

Harl absently rubbed their arm where the color bands would be. “No, it could happen any day now. I’ve been level 9 for half a cycle already. Anyway, here is Bez.”

They entered a pole shed that was open on three sides where Bez was placidly chewing grass. With surprise, Rachel realized that, while built like an anteater, the snout acted more like an elephant’s trunk, lifting food to the mouth. Besides the bundle of grass, there were two buckets, one of water and the other half-full of winged worms. She frowned upon seeing insects crawling across the open wounds; one already showing signs of infection. She healed that first, encouraging a scab to form. Moving along the sides, she was shaking and holding onto the wall for support by the time they were all covered. “What caused these wounds, Harl? It looks like something very large bit Bez.”

“It was one of the winged monsters on the plains. They don’t come this close to the forest edge, but are a risk to the grazers. One of the shepherds hurled a spear through its neck and it dropped Bez. It was amazing! They are certain to be offered a good third class.” Harl’s eyes were shining with excitement as they mimed the encounter.

“Good grief! It must have been enormous to lift something of this size. Well, for a survivor like this, I’ll have to do my best to get it back to full health. Are there any treatments to protect wounds from contamination while they heal? Like, if you cut your hand, what would you do to keep it clean?”

“For a bad cut I could wrap cloth over it. Otherwise, I would just wash it after my work was done.”

“Does anyone have problems from infections?” Rachel was getting concerned that the local lack of healers was a serious flaw in the System.

“Of course. Vedda has a bad eye that won’t get better and some of the babies get sick. Is that what you mean?”

Rachel frowned while her thoughts tried to sort out the problems and options, including just how much she needed to improve to be able to help people. “Not enough information. I need to talk to Ket and Matta and probably the shaman. Then I really need to get better at healing.”