Jerome woke up to a delicious smell the next day. Whatever Ms. Tara did to get spices to season her food this morning, may the heavens bless her for it. He hoped she hadn’t sold herself or anything of the sort. He quickly rushed out back to see what was cooking. This day wasn’t a special day. No one was celebrating a nameday.
The people of Vorthe celebrated the day they got their names every year. Although at twenty years old, they celebrate their majority. And every twenty years after that, they celebrate their nameday.
“Who’s an adult today, Ms. Tara?” Jerome asked from behind his caretaker. She’d probably smack him on the head for teasing her like that…
“No one’s an adult, Jerome,” Ms. Tara turned around and smiled at him. She was practically jumping where she stood. “Rihal gave us some money to get you all some proper food. Be sure to thank him when next you see him, yes?”
…Or maybe not. Gosh, she’s smitten. She had probably been love bug bitten, or caught in Cupid’s crossfire. And now, she had her head in her panties. You go, girl!
“Riiiight,” Jerome dragged the word out before turning to look at the food. The cooking area was one of the most archaic he’d ever seen. Granted he had never seen — well, never been near any other cooking area before or cooking utensils even. A life of affliction would do that to you.
“What, you don’t believe me? Well, you don’t have to. All that matters is there’s food for us all to eat.”
Oh, Ms. Tara, Jerome thought. So innocent… and so cute. “You should adjust the wood so they’d stop smoking,” he said, kneeling down to adjust the twigs Ms. Tara used as fuel.
Four large stones stood closely together to hold up a large pot above the firepit. And the abominable smoke poured off the flames and mixed with the smell of the food. Jerome couldn’t have that. After a few adjustments, the smoke reduced and the fire grew hotter. He used another stick to clean out the ash, depositing it on one side.
“How’d you do that?” Ms. Tara asked, smiling.
“Fire burns in the air. Too little air and more smoke would be produced.” The fire was still smoking, but not nearly as much as it was before.
“Look at you teaching a fire attribute sacred artists about fire.” She held his face and hugged him fondly.
Jerome could never hate this woman. She was the one he knew and thought of as a mother even though he yearned to learn about his birth mother. All he could remember of his mother were the sweet nothings she whispered as she cradled him when he was born. Her voice was a soothing balm to his confused and disorientated mind.
Following his previous life’s painful demise, he found himself awakening in a woman’s arms. She was a stunning woman. Her delicate features exuded a sense of serenity that Jerome had never known before. As the hazy memories of his past life slowly receded, the woman’s voice became clearer until he finally, heard her words. But it was all temporary, for Kaia had died moments later.
Jerome sighed with a mixture of happiness and sadness as Ms. Tara held him close. He wished he had this in his past life. But if wishes grew on trees, the world would have been a better place — or probably worse, for people would abuse it.
“You remember that work you promised the guard you’d do for them, Jerome?” Ms. Tara said.
Jerome became alert. He sensed something coming and knew he wasn’t going to like it. “I promised them nothing.”
Ms. Tara gave him a light knock on the head. It still hurt. After all, she was a sacred artist. And sacred artists were physically stronger than humans, even the weakest of them.
“After breaking your fast this morning, you, Dreamer, Doti, and Whisper will head down to the gutter and clean it up,” she said while still hugging him. “Have I made myself clear?”
Talk about tough love. Jerome sighed. “Yes, Ms. Tara.”
“They follow you, Jerome,” she said in a calm and soothing voice, like the voice of a loving mother uttering sage wisdom to her child. “They see you and want to do what you do. They want to be like you, even if they don’t admit it. So be a good role model for them, hmm?”
She raked the dirty mop of hair on his head with her fingers, smoothing it out as best as she could. “Now go wake them up. The food is almost ready.”
Jerome left to go wake up his siblings with thoughts about his birth mother still occupying his mind. He wished he could return to that time when he stayed in her arms — no matter how short the time was. It was comforting…safe. A haven where he had no worries, and someone to take care of him.
He exhaled sharply, mentally beating himself awake. Going to Lalaland was okay, but remaining there was unhealthy. He had work to do this morning. Cleaning the gutter or making sure his friends were doing their part, he had no idea which to consider more work. When all was said and done, he was the leader of their little group. It fell on him to make sure the work was done. But he had an advantage. His unique situation of being an adult in a child’s body gave him an advantage over everyone his age. Not just in intellect, but also in reflexes.
He knew he was not as strong as an adult, but he was smoother with his reflexes than regular kids his age. He never wasted his movements, which gave him a sort of grace for someone his age. And he knew this. The adults knew this too, even though they barely ever talked about it. He was constantly astonishing them at the orphanage, including Rihal, who visited occasionally to entertain the children with stories. His exceptional intellect and remarkable capacity to acquire knowledge at a rapid pace made him stand out among his peers and occasionally gave people a sense of unease.
Well, most of the things Rihal had taught him were things he knew from his previous world. Slight changes existed in the way some things were done. Words like ‘breakfast’, ‘lunch’, and ‘dinner’ weren’t a thing here. People ate whenever they were hungry. But they knew what a fast was. And that you break it the next day.
Time wasn’t calculated the same way as on Earth. There were no words for seconds, minutes, or hours; instead, they used breaths. On Earth, a day was fractioned into 24 hours. In Vorthe, and possibly everywhere on the planet, a day is fractioned into day and night. And both are further fractioned into quarters. Possible through the use of a sundial.
Sundials. He could just imagine Rihal’s face if — no when — he shows him a clock. What a waste of brain power. Jerome thought Vorthe could do better. There were all these myths and legends told about the Royal Family and yet they struggled with measuring time. Perhaps they didn’t know it could be measured, or they didn’t need to.
Jerome kept his musings to himself, however. He wasn’t foolish enough to confront anyone about things they might find esoteric. Maybe he might even be burnt at the stakes for defying some god of time, who knew? Best to keep his wisdom close to his beating heart for now. Before it stopped beating due to his blunder.
~~~
Breakfast was superb. Though Jerome called it breakfast to himself, it was just a meal to everyone else — the only morning meal they had ever had, and maybe the only one they’d ever have in a long while.
“Ms. Tara, can I have some more?” Whisper asked, and everybody else asked for seconds.
Jerome held his plate out to her as well, but he thought of it as him wanting to look more like a child and not rouse others’ suspicion of him. In reality, Ms. Tara outdid herself with today’s cooking such that his mouth couldn’t let go of his fingers. The potato soup was just too delicious!
The soup was thick and smooth. The cooked potatoes were soft and melted in his mouth. The mushrooms were steamed and then thrown into the mixture in the pot — Jerome never expected them to taste so good. They had a meaty texture that wasn’t so soft to the point of dissolving quickly, but that was one of the joys he found eating them. He could chew on them for longer, enjoying the taste in his mouth. He could taste the spices and slices of bacon scattered within his portion of the food. Spices had never been used to cook their soup before. It was a well-rounded meal.
But no sooner did he start eating than his plate emptied. Now he was left with a tongue-cleaned plate and fingers that were losing the taste he wanted so badly to preserve.
Jerome frowned as he held out his plate to Ms. Tara. This felt embarrassing for him — asking for seconds like a kid, but he could do nothing about it. No, he could do something — not ask for seconds. And watch everyone else eating that delicious potato soup while his throat gulped in air. No, thank you!
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
After their meal, he almost had to drag his friends to the gutter they were supposed to clean. Ms. Tara had given them ‘the look’, and the boys had fallen in line.
“So we push the dirt till it leaves the ‘thing’ at the end?” Doti asked with a grumble.
“No, Doti. We pull the dirt out and leave it to dry. The guards would check in later to burn all of it. Rihal said that’s how it’s done,” Jerome responded.
“What, the blind man?” Doti snorted. “How would he know where anything goes?”
“That blind man, Doti,” Jerome gave him a pointed look, “taught us everything we know about Farryn. He taught us to read and write, and count.”
“He taught you, Jerome,” Dreamer interjected with a frown. “You taught us.”
What has gotten into him lately?
“True, but same difference. And that ‘thing’,” Jerome pointed to the pipe at the far end of the gutter, “is called a drain pipe.”
“What do we use to pull the dirt out of the gutter?” Whisper asked, bringing everyone back to the task at hand.
Jerome coughed. He refused to look at his friends as he knew they had all fucked up. Well, he fucked up.
“Jerome?” Doti called.
“The guards were mad at us for ‘stealing’ from them so they didn’t accept my request for tools.”
“Urgh,” everyone grunted in dissatisfaction.
“Only a few more days. A few more days and we won’t have to shovel shit out of gutters with our bare hands,” Dreamer grumbled. “And I won’t be listening to you next time, Jerome. You got us into this mess…and I’m not a ‘kid’. I’m a boy.”
Jerome was stunned speechless by those words. Everyone was. But he was kind of proud of him. So this was why he was acting strange lately. Dreamer wasn’t one to complain or speak when he was put in a tight spot. He and Whisper were goodie-two-shoes. Jerome felt they needed to break out of their shell and be more like him. He almost chuckled but restrained himself. If Ms. Tara could hear his thoughts now, she’d go into a fit. Was he really that bad of an influence?
“You never think about how the rest of us feel or what we think. You just go on and do things, make decisions on your own without consulting us…”
Looking at him, Jerome figured it must have taken a lot of courage to stand up for himself like this. The kid was angry and trembling. He must have had enough. Everyone else stood in uncomfortable silence as he spoke his mind. Doti looked at Dreamer as if he had grown an extra head. Whisper looked over at Jerome, afraid he would talk back. There were no puns coming from him now since he could be the next person to be lectured, who knew? Dreamer was the one in charge right now.
“From now on I’ll do what I think is best for all of us…when I think you’re going to get us in trouble.”
Jerome wanted to smile but forced his facial muscles to remain at rest. It would destroy the air of seriousness and Dreamer would feel he wasn’t taking him seriously. Dreamer finished his speech of self-discovery and the silence stretched on for a while.
“Sorry about that, Dreamer,” Jerome said after a while. “It was never my intention to keep you all in the dark.”
Now Dreamer stared at him as if he had grown an extra limb. The kid was lost for words. Jerome saw him deflate as he breathed out loudly.
“And I’ll try not to call anyone a ‘kid’ again.”
“Yes, Jerome,” Whisper said, lightening the mood. “A kid is a baby goat. Are you a baby goat?”
Jerome scrunched his nose at the insult but ignored it. It seemed Whistle was beginning to find his backbone too. Maybe it was the food. Hmm. “Let’s get to work, then.”
He bent down and started dragging solid dirt out of the gutter with his bare hands. Better to be a good influence for once. His friends joined him moments later, and they began talking about Mehn Agrh’ur. This was what he loved about them. They never nurtured their anger inside them for too long.
“What would you like to wield when you become a sacred artist, Jerome? I’d like to wield fire. Lots of fire. I’ll make it bigger than Ms. Tara’s,” Dreamer asked after a while.
“I think I’d like to wield everything, Dreamer,” Jerome replied with sweet dripping off his body.
The sun was already high in the sky now and they had taken short breaks twice already. Jerome wanted them to rake out at least a third of the whole waste in the gutter before sundown. But it seemed that wouldn’t be possible. The gutter was chock-full of dirt, some of which didn’t want to come off.
“The way Rihal said it, humans are capable of absorbing essence — the energy that permeates the world — when they reach puberty. However, some individuals possess greater aptitude than others and are able to absorb essence at a much faster rate, allowing them to grow exponentially more powerful. That’s why we train a lot — to keep our bodies and blood free of as many impurities as possible.
“The essence that humans can absorb in this world endows them with exceptional abilities to manipulate their surroundings. They can harness the power of the elements for daily purposes or for engaging in combat with one another. Now, the elements. That’s the real power. Well, and the forces,” Jerome looked up from his work to see if they were still working. “You can work and listen at the same time, can’t you?”
They quickly went back to work.
“Rihal once told me that mankind craves power,” Jerome continued. “But how one wields that power determines their Path in life. A Path is a fundamental aspect of a sacred artist’s existence. As one progresses on their martial journey, they reach a crossroads where they must choose a Path...or multiple Paths.
“Some sacred artists can handle more than one Path, of course, depending on how much they comprehend the Path they walk. To fully comprehend the different elements and forces, one must delve into their essence.
“Earth, water, fire, wind, metal that lies within the earth, and wood that sprouts from it — these are the foundations of creation.” Well, according to Rihal and whoever taught him. “With a strong foundation and understanding of these elements, one can grasp up to four of them in an early Realm, and eventually attain mastery over all.” He stopped to catch his breath for a moment.
“It’s better to work on one to perfection, though, to give you mastery over a particular element. As for the Forces in the world, Rihal said he was only familiar with Lightning and Sword Force. Lightning is perhaps the most dangerous force to comprehend in this world. It’s energy released when there is too much energy in the clouds, or between a cloud and the ground. You know, like when you gotta pee after drinking too much water.”
His friends laughed heartily at the joke, soothing the tension some more and making the atmosphere jovial.
“One has to absorb a lightning bolt into his or her body to comprehend the Force of Lightning.”
“You mean, be struck by this lightning,” Doti said. Ever the critic. “That sounds dangerous.”
“No, it sounds cool,” Whisper argued. “Imagine being able to shoot lightning out of your fingers.”
“Yes, when you are dead,” Doti shot back. “I can imagine that the energy in this lightning can kill a person.”
Everyone turned to Jerome for confirmation.
“Hmm. It can be very hot. So, yes. It can kill. But back to the topic. Either you absorb lightning or you have a fortunate encounter,” Jerome continued, refusing to give them the chance to continue arguing. “If one is not careful, it could mean death. Or worse, the destruction of one’s foundation. But that’s never stopped sacred artists from trying. Sword Force is more common among artists in the Spirit Realm—”
“Jerome, you haven’t told us about the different Realms,” Dreamer interrupted. He had once thought the Realms were different aspects a sacred artist could choose from or it chose the sacred artist, instead of being different stages of advancement.
“I didn’t?” Jerome asked, and Dreamer shook his head.
“Well, I don’t know much either. I know Ms. Tara, Moss, and Old Wen are Sprouts and Rihal is a Spirit Realm artist. Other than that, I know nothing else. I’ve asked Ms. Tara to tell me some others but she refused. She grumbled something about seeing her as weak and said we’d learn after Mehn Agrh’ur.”
“What? But Ms. Tara is strong!” Dreamer said, refusing to believe Jerome’s words.
Jerome shrugged. Ms. Tara could be strong to them. But to sacred artists like the Guards or Rihal…
“So,” Whisper urged him to continue but Jerome was tired. Who knew talking could be so exhausting? Especially when doing menial jobs.
“Let’s rest for a bit and I’ll continue.”
They sat down on the ground with their arms covered in mud, and unable to swat away the flies that were disturbing them. Or the mosquitoes biting them.
“Sword Force entails comprehending the edge of the blade to form Sword Aura inside oneself. The deeper one’s comprehension is, the more profound one’s Sword Aura is, which will lead to better use of Sword Force. Just so you know Sword Force and Sword Aura are two different things. They can be used interchangeably but they are different.”
His friends looked at him in confusion, forcing him to stop and study them. “You didn’t understand a word I said there, did you?”
They shook their heads innocently, but still urged him to continue. Jerome sighed.
“Heh. How do I put this? The forces are another type of energy, like essence but different…more. Sword force is one of the forces. It’s sharp and cuts through anything. Sword Aura is what the body of a sacred artist…scratch that. Aura is like a presence.”
“What do you mean by… ‘presence’?” Dreamer asked.
Jerome let his back hit the dirt in exasperation. “It’s what you feel…kind of. The force is the cause while the Aura is a result of the force. ‘A result’, Dreamer, not ‘the result’. Like when there’s a fire and you feel the heat coming from the fire. The heat is a product of the fire. You feel the heat, but the heat is not the fire. It’s the same with sword force and sword aura. Sword aura is a product of sword force.”
“Ooh,” Dreamer said.
“That makes more sense,” Doti said. Whisper nodded quietly, not voicing his thoughts.
“There are also Forces like Light and Darkness, but Rihal didn’t know much about them,” Jerome concluded.
“I don’t understand even half of what you said, Jerome,” Doti said jokingly. “It’ll take a lot of time to wrap my head around all of it. But I think I understand the last one…Sword Force, yes. I’ll learn how to wield Sword Force and use it to cut off that guard’s hands.” He waved his fist in the air, twisting his wrist as if he held a sword in his hand.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t cut yourself first? Better drop that sword down before your fingers fly off on their own,” Jerome said and Whisper and Dreamer burst out laughing. Doti chased him all around, cursing and flicking mud at him every chance he got.