“You can’t just bundle up a stack of dirty papers, tell me it’s a cultivation manual, and expect me to buy it off you,” said the pawnbroker. “I swear. Kids these days.”

This was the seventh pawnshop that had refused to even look at the manual. As soon as they touched it, they would recoil and scorn him for trying to cheat them. Ren swore it had to have a spell on it or something.

He wasn’t strong enough to do the only thing that was really left to him. If only he was braver, more virtuous, a better brother, a better son…

A better man would go work for the brothels. Sell his life for his family’s. He’d heard that foreigners and musicians fetched high prices. Judging by what Basher had said about him… He might qualify as a rare commodity.

After a few more pawn shops, he gave up and returned to the inn. He tried to practice Wind Tickles the Leaves, but couldn’t seem to reach that feeling, that connection. So he just washed dishes and served some tables.

He’d done the math, and after factoring in interest and all the new fees, it’d take him thirty-eight years to pay off the debt with his income from the inn.

He played a few songs, but they felt flat. His heart couldn’t reach the Sapling Song of the Autumn Breeze, so he didn’t even bother trying. It was just music. Not magic, after all.

When the tavern slowed down, Garam retreated to the back to review finances. Ren was left behind the bar, polishing glass tea mugs and serving up bowls of wine. They had finally been hit by the trade blockages, and the last bowl of mead had been served during the lunch rush the day prior.

A group of military men were seated at the bar, chowing down on Garam’s spicy stew and rice. He refilled their wine bowls for the third time, finally coming out of his thoughts to hear what they were talking about.

“Never been a better time to enlist, I tell you.” The man was of average size for an Ardinian, but muscles pressed against the cut of his red and grey uniform. Several stripes and a badge of some sort decorated his chest. “Wish there’d been this kind of sign on bonuses when I was a lad.”

“Naw,” said his red faced companion, “it’s them medical services. Can’t believe they’re offerin full family care at any military clinic!”

“Aye,” said a third. His uniform had the most stripes of the lot, a bulky frame filled it, and his somber tone was in stark contrast with the others. “Just shows how desperate the senate is. Finally listening to the Generals. Even dispensed spirit pills for qualified recruits at the training grounds up in Rattan.”

“No shit!” exclaimed the first. “Spirit pills for recruits? What’s that gonna do to the chain of command?”

“I don’t think they care at this point,” said the surly one. “Aether is dense in those mountains. We need all the cultivators we can get to fight these barbarians.”

He looked at Ren, who was eavesdropping with the subtlety of a town fool. “Lad, you look strong enough—for a city kid. You thinking about enlisting?”

“I- I don’t know,” said Ren. “Is it true, what he said about the medical benefits?”

The man nodded.

“Do- do you think they’d let it extend to blood relations, even- even for an un-named.” He was loath to share the truth that he’d been disowned. Nothing was more frowned upon in the Republic, and nobody cared about the circumstances.

The man waved the other two to silence as they tried to respond. He stroked his chin and looked Ren up and down before taking out a scrap of paper and scribbling something before folding it and pressing a Qi-seal to it.

“You hand this to the recruitment folks, and we’ll see how far my word carries.” The man handed the paper to Ren. “Name’s Captain Lurron. You?”

“I’m Ren. Just Ren. Thank you sir!” He hadn’t thought things through. He might not even use the letter, but… did he really have any other options at this point?

“I look forward to seeing you on the training fields, Ren. Make sure not to prove me a fool.”

Ren bowed and the men laughed. He wasn’t really sure what to do.

“Try this.” The man modeled a salute, slapping the back of his fist into his palm and slightly bowing his head.

Ren blushed, and mimicked the man.

“Very good. We’ll make a soldier of you yet. You’ve got it in your eyes, past all that fear. Doesn’t he Corporal!” He barked the last statement, and the man beside him perked up, and gave Ren a long and appraising look.

“Sure does Captain. Got a temper under the baby fat, right good pool of anger. Can see it in the crease of his eyes.”

Ren was pretty sure that he hadn’t had any baby fat in years, and if he had, it would have been shivered off during his months on the street.

The captain nodded and turned back to Ren. “Man’s gotta have something to fight for. Nothing more powerful on the battlefield than the will to keep on going, even through hell. Oh! Make sure you enlist up in Rattan. That’s where we’re headed, and where you’re most likely to get a fair shake with your contract. It’s also where the best cultivation resources are right now. And make sure you travel with a caravan. Roads are dangerous these days. Doesn’t matter the cost. Military will pay it back if you make it through selection.”

The red faced man pulled out a pamphlet and handed it to Ren. “Some readin material for yuh.”

Ren smiled in the kitchens after the tavern closed down. He practiced his salute and was finally able to dip into the flow of Wind Tickles the Leaves as he washed the dishes.

***

Ren read the pamphlet for the hundredth time.

Join the Heroes of Ardus Today.

Starting Rank Daily Rates:

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

R1 — 5 dham

R2 — 10 dham

R3 — 15 dham

Roles and Rates:

Infantry- R1

Be a spear of Ardus! Hold the wall shoulder to shoulder with your brothers in arms.

Field Cook- R1

Keep the men on their feet with good food and learn a trade while you’re at it.

Labor Crew- R1

Build bridges, repair roads, secure resources and supply lines for Ardus.

Scout- R2

Detect danger, gather information. Be the eyes of Ardus. Recommendation required.

Forester- R2

Support scouts in their duties while ensuring your company stays fed.

Archer Corp- R2

Rain death on the enemies of Ardus. Experience required.

Medical Specialist- R3

Keep our heroes alive. The holy saint Isvara laid his head at the feet of healers.

Asbar Apprentice- R3

Serve directly under the true Heroes of Ardus and train to become a legend yourself.

He flipped the page. All the other roles required transfer from one of the universities or direct recruitment. After some math, Ren figured out that R1 pay wouldn’t even cover interest on the loan. With R2, he could pay it off in about fourteen years. But with R3 he could pay it down in under seven years, meaning his family would be free by the time his contract ended. That was assuming he didn’t get promoted or earn any bonus pay.

The last page was even more enticing.

Thanks to a new bill passed by the Grand Council, all recruits now qualified to earn merit points upon passing selection, at which point said points could be used to purchase gear, martial arts techniques, and cultivation supplies. All those who earned cultivation resources while enlisted were granted a cultivator’s license. That alone was worth five gold mohar—a quarter of his family’s total debt. With a license he could legally sell his services as a cultivator and receive instruction. Furthermore, the top performers in basic training would be granted-

Pounding on the door to his room brought him back to earth. Time for work.

He made his way down to the kitchen where dishes had begun stacking up and got to work.

His stomach was full of butterflies. Spirit pills, techniques, martial arts, medical coverage, income. He’d never been so torn between excitement and fear.

“What is this?” Norn charged into the kitchen, anger in her voice and papers in hand. The military recruiting pamphlet. “Don’t tell me you’re going to run off and get yourself killed like a damn idiot!”

She was yelling. And she’d actually called him an idiot. Why was she so mad?

“What’s wrong?” Garam poked his head into the back.

She seethed as she passed the pamphlet to the big man.

He ran his eyes over the contents of the first page, raising his eyebrows. Hauling in a deep breath and closing his eyes, Garam resolved his expression into one of poorly feigned indifference. The mask didn’t hide his sadness or resignation one bit.

“It’s the boy’s business, Norn. He’s got family to think about.”

“What about us!” she yelled. Ren had never seen her so worked up.

“Give the boy some space, girl. We can’t control the ones we care about, even when we think we know better.”

Norn stormed back into the tavern.

“You sure about this kid?”

“I told you about my dad’s condition… I can’t think of anything else.”

Garam walked up to him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “You’re a good kid. We’ll miss you here. Don’t let the blood drip on your soul. You aren’t a weapon. Remember that.” He paused and stared into Ren’s eyes before releasing him. “And let us know if you need anything for the journey. You know how Norn is. She’ll yell a couple more times, but she’ll probably have a month's worth of rations ready for your trip.”

“Actually Garam, could you help me find a caravan?”

“Of course, lad.”

The next days were a flurry of preparation. He used most of the money he’d saved up to secure a spot in a well guarded caravan, and acquire clothes and supplies for the road, as well as fresh leather boots. Garam had insisted on these. He said boots were more important than blades for most soldiers.

The Patriarch of the Osirus had actually been pretty reasonable when Ren explained his plan, and the man had even agreed to let his family see him off.

Osai was nonchalant about the whole thing. He said he’d been planning to leave Katarn around that time and might secure passage with the same caravan and continue Ren’s ‘education’—which just meant story time as far as Ren could tell. But he didn’t mind the idea of a traveling companion as he left behind everything and everyone he knew.

***

Ren stepped aside to make room as a train of steel-framed freight wagons clattered through the gate and into Katarn, accompanied by scores of mounted guards in shining plate mail armor. A golden circular emblem containing the image of a sword and a coin adorned each wagon under the words ‘Golden Fang Trading Co.’

Once the caravan passed, he turned towards his farewell party. They were all lined up. His old family. And his new family.

Norn had made him a heavy duty burlap pack that he could wear on his back. It was full of food and spare clothes and his Ney and the Broken Path manual from Irah.

She was holding the military pamphlet and a very thick book.

“Take off your pack,” she ordered.

He sighed and complied.

Norn set the book down on top of the pack and handed him the pamphlet, pointing to a section that had been circled a thousand times.

“Medical Specialist,” he read.

“Yes. Medicine is considered a woman’s craft down in the south. I figured since you’re already half a woman you might as well complete the image.”

“What she means to say,” said Garam, “Is that she spent the whole week researching and worrying to find the specialization that would get you farthest from the fighting as a recruit.”

She flushed and wouldn’t meet his eyes, just pointing to the book. Medicine in the Post Imperial Age. A medical textbook! How much had this cost?

Ren threw his arms around her and squeezed.

“Thank you, Norn,” he whispered.

She hugged him back, even more fiercely. “Don’t die, or I’ll kill you.”

That didn’t even make sense.

Everyone else had something to say. Tears were shed, and embraces shared.

It was time to leave, but his mother wouldn’t let go.

“Mom, it’s time.”

She kissed him on the forehead and smiled through her tears. “I love you, Ren-ji. I’m so proud of the man you’ve become. Be safe. Protect your heart.”

Then she reached into the folds of her simple dress and pulled out a brass butterfly pin.

“This is an heirloom of our family. Your great grandfather was a swordsman back in the old country. The Wind Demon, they called him. I kept this hidden when the debt collectors came. Now it is yours. Don’t forget where you come from. Don’t forget who you are.”

Then she let him go, pressing the brooch into his palm.

The caravan leader was yelling to make sure everyone was ready to depart.

He finally was.

*******

Fish-Lips had seen the Rat-Spy near the city gates. He was leaving town. Smart kid.

In truth, he had nothing against the little street rat. If it wasn’t so advantageous to him, he wouldn’t bother tracking the kid’s family and friends down. But, he had a reputation to build.

Now he knew it was that Parvethi innkeeper who had been sheltering him. The big man who was always handing out food in lowtown.

The world could use more people like him. Too bad it was about to have one less.