Some mornings were full of promise. On such mornings even the bite of morning air was but a refreshing reminder that there was life to be lived. The cold of this morning was of a different sort. This was the kind of still morning bite that cut to the bone and reminded mortals how tiny and fragile they were, freezing the dew on each blade of grass. This was the kind of cold that Ren hated.

A man and woman in red and grey uniform led Ren to the captain’s tent, spears in hand.

The flaps parted revealing a carpet and a wooden desk and thin-cushioned chairs, weapons on a rack, armor in a stand, and of course the captain.

Ren saluted and stood at attention. Sick rising in his throat.

“Morning, recruit.” The captain barely looked up from the papers on his desk. “At ease. Oh, and why don’t you have a seat.”

Ren complied, but felt anything but “at ease”.

The hulking man spent several excruciating minutes scowling at his paperwork before leaning back in his chair.

“I heard your trip up here from Katarn wasn’t uneventful.”

“You… remember me, sir?”

“I remember all the men under my command, recruit.”

Ren met his gaze. He couldn’t tell if being remembered was a good or bad thing, and the captain wasn’t giving anything away. “We got attacked on the road by a giant serpent. The caravanahri all died fighting, but a wandering cultivator destroyed it and helped me recover.”

“Yes, your intake report says much the same thing.” He picked up another piece of paper from his desk. “Looks like you included intent to try out as a medic in your contract.”

“Yes sir. I’ve been studying every night, and even practicing some needlework.”

“Why medic?”

“Well… I… I don’t want to sound like a coward, but I have a family who’s serving out an indenture contract and my father is sick and I’m no good at fighting anyway. So part of it is that. I need to stay alive so he can get his treatments.”

“The contract holders won’t pay out for him? Bastards-” The captain cut himself off and waved for Ren to continue.

“But even more than that, infantry starts at R1 on the pay scale. And with interest and expenses they are billing me, it would take a lifetime to pay off the debt at that rate, if I lived that long. And my siblings are still just little kids. They… they shouldn’t have to live like that. But as a medic I’d start at R3 pay and have more upward mobility from what I’ve heard.”

The man sighed and scratched at his jaw. “Hold out your hand.”

“Excuse me, sir?” This couldn’t be going anywhere good.

The captain raised an eyebrow and waited.

Ren took a deep breath, focusing as hard as he could on the Blood Cleansing Wheel, and lifted his hand. The shakes were better than they’d been the night before but much more noticeable than the minor tremor he’d had when he’d arrived at camp.

“It’s true then,” said the captain. “One of the medics reported a recruit matching your description as having a concerning tremor for which he repeatedly avoided treatment or examination. I’m sorry, but steady hands are a requirement for-”

“But I’ve practiced!” Ren shouted before he could stop himself. “I can do it. Just let me try out.” He really shouldn’t have interrupted a commanding officer, but he couldn’t help it.

Captain Lurron’s eyes hardened. “I’ll let your outburst go because I feel for you. But the examiners are too busy to let recruits try out who are already disqualified. I know it’s a bitter pill, but there are other paths you can take. Other specializations you can try out for. Your cognitive test scores were high enough that you still have options. And I’ve heard about your perseverance. If you can master those shakes, we can make something of you. I’m not making any promises, it’ll be up to you to prove yourself, but I’ve seen men overcome great odds when they were fighting for more than their own pride. If you can get all that sorted, you can prove yourself during the trials in a months time.”

What could he say? His mouth dried up. Master his shakes? How was he supposed to do that? The poison was only getting worse, and Rhami had collapsed under the effort of buying him just another week or so.

“For now, I’m pulling you out of basic training. Pack up your stuff and wait at your pod’s campsite for further orders.” The man shifted uncomfortably as he said this.

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

“I’m sorry for interrupting you sir.” Desperation drenched his words. “I won’t do it again. You don’t have to pull me out. I’ll figure it out.”

“No. This is an order. Besides, this decision was made before you came into the tent this morning. Dismissed.”

*******

One didn’t ask for the blessing of a god without offering tribute.

Mupali’katana followed her nose. Bargan’atar had objected to her leaving on her own, but it was better this way. She needed him to stay with the little ones.

Her nose was the greatest of her kind. She could sniff out ley lines and trails of Qi, even after the wind scattered scent. She could even smell sources of great power, an invaluable tool for avoiding danger.

But now she was following her nose towards the power.

It was especially dangerous because when too much ambient Qi was gathered it became more difficult to distinguish the separate sources. She did her best not to crunch the dry bed of leaves coating the forest floor.

She was getting close. So close that she had to rely on her eyes and ears to identify threats.

There!

The bush had spoken. Leaves shifting against one another. Warning of an interloper.

Maybe she could still skirt around-

A golden brown blur launched from the brambles, claws glistening in the morning light.

The Sett-Mother leapt to the side. She was no blind newborn.

The bobcat spun and snarled at her as it landed.

Good, snarl all you like you rotten kitten. Cats were almost as bad as humans—her new god excepted of course.

“Come get me!”

It tilted its head, confused. Not yet awakened, it had yet to become a true Guardian. Still too dumb to understand more than her antagonistic intent. But it took the bait.

The trick with cats was that their mobility was limited once they were in the air.

Sure enough, the cat launched at her again, but this time she had its measure, Leaping low, under the cat and raking her claw along its belly.

But the cat’s back paw hooked down and batted her in the side with its own sharp claws. She rolled along the ground once before getting her feet under her. Eyes narrowing.

It leapt once more, but this time she met it directly in the air, channeling her energy into her claws, into their slashing intent. In a flashing instant they were longer and sharper, slicing through the top half of the bobcat’s skull before it could reach her.

She collided with the corpse and fell in a tangle. Squirming out from under to emerge victorious, panting, injured, and drained from the use of her vital force for that attack.

An earthworm stuck up from the disturbed ground and she snatched it up. A well deserved treat. Wriggling, juicy, and nutritious.

Crawling through the bush that had hidden the cat, a glade opened up before her. radiance and life hummed in the grass, and a tall, gnarled, wise tree stood at the center, its leaves glimmering gold and green, defying the will of the seasons.

A single fruit hung from a branch. She might have been tempted by the raw energy wafting off of it if that cat hadn’t reminded her just how precarious her situation was.

This wasn’t for her. It was the perfect tribute.

*******

The fire burned down to ashes, just like their home had. Just like his life.

Ren laughed at himself then. When had he become such a melodramatic, self-pitying creature. Was it just now, when all his effort seemed to be for nothing? His only path forward was combat trials, and he could barely hold a weapon.

Or had it started in the alleys of Katarn, when a boy who’d never known hunger had been cast out into the gutters and shadows, just another of the unwanted things that normal people ignored and avoided.

Or had it started even earlier, when his family stopped their traveling, and instead of an ever changing road full of wonder, he was forced to live in a city that didn’t want him. A city that beat him and held his head underwater and scorned his heritage and history and even his mind.

Maybe it had always been in him. This weakness. Just a seed waiting to sprout.

He wiped a tear from his face. His other hand reached reflexively into his pocket and felt the brass butterfly pin. It was warm, as though his mom had held it to her breast and only just now handed it to him along with all her love and all her hopes. As though his ancestor, the Wind Demon, still lived, his heart beating within the metal.

Ren turned to his pack, to the pattern of gut string sewn into the side. Weeks worth of practicing suture patterns learned from the huge medical tome that had kept him up at night, that Norn had given him. One of her many actions that told him she cared even as her words scorned him.

Packing up was a simple thing. Gunney had run him through his paces, packing and unpacking.

“Never know when you’ll need to break camp in a hurry,” he’d said.

Ren cinched the pack shut and leaned back against it. Gunney was right. When it was packed correctly it was a decent backrest.

“Don’t get too comfortable.”

It took him a moment to realize the voice wasn’t from inside his head. Then he was scrambling to his feet, only to decide that he had definitely gone mad once he was looking at the person who had spoken. There was no way he was really seeing her.

The fact that he had even served mead to Melfina the Flame-Blade was an anomaly surely to never be repeated. He hadn’t known of her fame at the time, of course. It was only upon telling the story to his pod-mates that they’d gasped and told him some of her stories. The young cultivator from the west, walking the path of the sword and flame. The songs said that after bandits slaughtered her village she’d found a hidden master, hunted them down, and bathed in their blood before beginning her journey across the world. Searching for mysteries of the sword and fighting injustice wherever it found her. She was a contractor. A lone warrior. A hero for hire.

If his attempt to prove his worth here had shown him anything, it was that the songbooks of heroes wanted nothing to do with him.

That was why he had to be mad and she couldn’t possibly be standing there in front of him.