“Hunter!” Onatah called. “Where have you been? The food is getting cold!”
“Sorry, sorry, coming!”
He half-walked, half-jogged to the campsite, where Fawkes, Wroth, Onatah, and the other Aspirants were apparently just finishing their lunch. Fyodor, still licking his jowls, got up and trotted over to greet him.
He took his place between Fawkes and Inago, and Onatah handed him a clay bowl of what looked like roast fowl with a side of boiled wild rice.
“That’s too much, miss Onatah, I already –”
“Shush! Young men your age should eat!”
“But –”
“Shush!”
Hunter shot a glance at Inago, who simply shrugged and gave him a disarming, what-can-you-do kind of smile. Wise enough to pick his battles, he thanked Onatah and dug in.
The food, as always, was delicious. He wasn’t sure whether the System did something to enhance it, but there was something about the simple flavors that felt gratifying in a way processed food didn’t.
Beside him, Fawkes stifled a chuckle.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She shrugged. “Mothers, I guess.”
“I guess.” Hunter echoed between mouthfuls. “Was yours like that too?”
“I wouldn't know. She died when I was just a bairn.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I was fortunate. My master took me in shortly thereafter.”
“He was the one that trained you, right?”
“Right.”
Hunter glanced over at Wroth, who was gnawing on what looked like half a roast bird, bits of rice, fat, and gristle tangled in his beard. Maybe it was unfair, but the old warrior didn’t exactly match his idea of a ‘master.’
“How was he, your master?”
Fawkes crooked an eyebrow.
“Strict. Tough. Harsh, oftentimes. But fair.”
“I’d say he did a good job.”
“He did what he thought best. Which reminds me. I finally got that cipher cracked. The old man’s stash proved to be quite a haul. There even was something for your hand in there, as I’d hoped.”
“Stash?” Hunter asked, confused. “I thought you were looking for a recipe or something.”
“What? Oh, no, no. I’m no good at alchymistry myself.” She frowned, searching for a way to explain. “Remember how I can pull things out of thin air?”
“Kind of hard to forget.”
“Right. With the old man’s logbook, see, I can get access to what he could pull out of thin air.”
“So… like a shared extra-dimensional storage space?”
Fawkes blinked, mildly surprised.
“Uncannily close to the mark, actually,” she said. “Anyway. If all goes well, we’ll get that hand fixed in a few days’ time. But it won’t be easy. Or pleasant.”
“Business as usual, then,” he half-joked. “What do I have to do?”
“I’ll tell you when the time comes.”
They finished their lunch, and Hunter helped Onatah and Inago wash the bowls in a nearby stream while Fyodor took care of their leftovers with gusto. Yuma and Tayen went to collect firewood for the evening. Fawkes and Wroth stayed back at the campsite, discussing the next steps of the Aspirants’ training.
“Gather up,” Fawkes called once everyone had returned. “For the next few days, your training will focus solely on cycling and meditation.”
“Lucky you lot,” Elder Wroth added, eyeing the Aspirants. “Nothing but sitting and breathing for days. You’d think we were training wise women instead of warriors.”
Fawkes shot him a sharp glance.
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“Just a jest, Elder Fawkes. Please, go on.”
“As I was saying. In the next few days, I want each and every one of you to master the foundation of properly cycling your Essence. You’ve done well so far, but you’ll have to do even better – starting right now.”
She led the Aspirants to the center of the Sacred Training Grounds, where they sat down in a circle around the towering totem pole and settled into meditation positions.
“First things first,” she told them. “Show us what you got.”
She handed the cycling globe to Hunter, who immediately got to cycling his Essence, making the contents of the globe swirl. He’d taken the hang of that well enough.
“Good. Now the rest of you.”
Hunter handed the globe to the Aspirant on his right, Inago. It seemed Fawkes had let him practice while Hunter had been away, as it didn’t take him long to get it going. He made the snow-like flakes inside the globe move around, though not with quite the same energy Hunter had managed.
Next up was Tayen. Inago handed her the globe. It only took her a few seconds to set it aswirl – even faster than Inago. She was good, too. Almost as good as Hunter.
Yuma was last. Despite Hunter’s help, he remained the weakest of the four in cycling, though Hunter had to admit he was improving steadily. Steadily, but not fast enough, judging from his sour expression. The Hawk Nation’s golden boy wasn’t used to falling short among his peers, and it showed.
“Nice work, all of you,” Fawkes said with a slight nod in the Aspirants’ general direction, her mind already elsewhere. She pulled out a handful of what looked like cough drops and handed one to each Aspirant as she made her way around the circle.
“These,” she said, “are pastilles. They’re made of herbs, medicines, and balsams. Put them in your mouth. Don’t chew them – just let them slowly dissolve.”
“We have honey drops here too, Elder,” said Yuma, putting the pastille in his mouth and wincing at the taste. Hunter didn’t blame him. Its taste was strong – a mix of fir honey, liquorice, herbs, and spices.
“Then you probably know how to better make them dissolve, I reckon?” she eyed the Aspirant, raising one eyebrow.
“Yes,” Yuma said, trying his best to look unfazed. “Gather a mouthful of spit, and swirl it around with your tongue.”
“Top marks. In that case, I reckon you know how to do the same for these, too?”
She produced four small, thumbnail-sized marbles of what looked like blue-tinted glass and again passed one to each Aspirant.
Yuma turned the marble in his hands, not sure what he was supposed to say, and Hunter had to bite down on his own pastille to suppress the urge to snigger.
“Let me give you a hint,” Fawkes said, voice dripping with dry sarcasm. “These ones, you don’t have to put in your mouth. They are made of Aether, or, as it’s also known as, Puressence; a form of Essence cleansed of impurities and given solid form.”
Hunter perked up. He recognized the word; ‘Aether’ was the name of one of his Qualities, the one required to increase his Attributes. He examined his own marble, rolled it between two fingers. It felt identical to glass to the touch, only a bit cooler, as if it’d been sitting in the fridge for a while.
“As we’ve previously discussed,” Fawkes said, “to weave Essence, your body and spirit absorb Mana from around you. The more plentiful the Mana in your environment, the easier the Essence-weaving becomes. These Sacred Training Grounds are especially rich in Mana, for example – this is why they were chosen by your Ancestors as the best place to train their Aspirants.”
“Praise their wisdom,” Elder Wroth said, nodding.
“Still,” Fawkes said, “there are more efficient methods, provided you can find a richer, denser, or purer source of Mana. So-called natural treasures are one of the most common such sources – objects that contain high amounts of concentrated Mana. These Aether marbles,” she held one before her eye, “are not natural-made, of course. But the principle behind them is the same.”
“Each of these marbles,” Wroth picked up from there, “is said to contain the equivalent of a whole year’s worth of Essence an average person could weave.”
Hunter crooked an eyebrow, and a gasp escaped Inago’s mouth. He stared down at the marble in his palm, cradling it like it might suddenly flare up and scorch him.
Which, for all he knew, it might.
“I trust I don’t need to remind you,” Wroth added, “how grateful you should be to Elder Fawkes for granting you access to such treasures.”
“Thank you, Elder,” said Tayen, bowing her head.
“Thank you, Elder,” echoed the rest of the Aspirants.
Fawkes waved their thanks away.
“This is the next step in your training. Meditate, cycle your Essence, and focus on absorbing as much Mana from the marbles as you can. Think of it like swirling a pastille in your mouth, letting it dissolve with your spit. The more you work at it, the more you draw out.”
Fawkes paused, eyes scanning their faces.
“There’s a catch, though. In three days, you’ll return them to me.”
The Aspirants glanced at one another, puzzled, clearly waiting for further instructions. Fawkes raised an eyebrow, tapping her foot.
“Well, what the hell are you waiting for?” Fawkes snapped. “Do you need a formal invitation? Get to cycling! Clock’s ticking, and those marbles won’t empty themselves!”
Hunter didn’t waste another second – he palmed the marble, closed his eyes, and started cycling. He didn’t know exactly how much Aether the marble in his hands contained, but ‘the equivalent of a whole year’s worth of Essence an average person could weave’ sure sounded enough for a handful of Attribute upgrades. Just a few points in his Strength or Dexterity would likely be enough to leave Yuma in the dust.
Falling into that deep meditative state, where he could feel and control the flow of Essence through his channels, took only seconds now – a far cry from his early, fumbling attempts. In a way, cycling his Essence was beginning to feel as natural as controlling his breath.
He worked to incorporate the Aether marble into the flow of his Essence, much like he’d learned to do with the cycling globe. The power within it was palpable. Latent, dormant, but there, ready for the taking.
It didn’t take long for him to understand the pastille analogy. As the stream of his Essence washed over the marble, the outer layers of the solidified Puressence started to dissolve. Miniscule amounts of Aether speed into his channels, spreading a sense of minty coolness throughout what he perceived as the spiritual form of his body.
A million miles away, he felt the muscles of his face contract, as if trying to frown and grin at once.
God, it felt good.
So, so good.
He redoubled his cycling efforts, circulating his Essence with such force that he felt his Channels strain and swell. He winced, swallowed, then pushed some more. His time with the marble would only be three days – less, factoring in the hours spent logged out – and he intended to make the best of every second.