Fall came earlier this year.
Following the disastrous rainy Summer came cold winds from the north, ruining harvests and crops.
Shortage in food was the next thing to come. The Nightday festival dedicated to Tamayoku, goddess of Fortune and wealth was a sad one. It is held on the 24th of Harvost right after the bunta harvest and is usually a great feast, all about binge eating and gorging oneself in the sweetest fruits before winter comes. But this year it was less sumptuous and looked more like a soup kitchen.
The Temple used it to make some food relief distribution for the poor. Winter was going to be tough and the naming day of the following years will have a shorter list.
On our side I knew my parents tried to stock up our pantry earlier on but with the bad crops and the rainfalls that disrupted trade, food prices rose up sharply. There wasn't much they could put aside except some pickled duggus eggs, some bunta flour and what little dried fruits they could.
The limping Aroku was still keeping his promise and giving us a fair number of eggs. With the surge in the prices he even made more money this year, turning the activity into his full time one.
I was smuggling away some of the temple's food to relieve the pression on my parents and because I was starting to worry for my youngest sister.
Back at the temple a gloomy Sansho was cooped up in her kitchen mumbling various curses at the cold winds and venting her anger on the dishes. “Sansho will one day burn the whole mountainsss and warm herssself thisss way. No more bad windsss only nice sssun of Oreo-king.” She was muttering to herself while her scales were darkening to the point that she was hard to discern as she was fading in the shadows of the dimly lit room.
I tried to lift her mood as best as I could even gifting her a small flask of Drata, curtsey of Aroku. The liquid fire did please her a lot and turned her back to her “hyperactive Summer mode” for a few days, with her scales now turned to a crimson red.
Patiyar advised me to never give her more of that after he had to eat 4 whole cakes in a row. “Our pantry won't be able to hold through the winter if she goes on like that.” he complained with a face full of worries but with less wrinkles: fat people looks younger.
My martial training was progressing slowly but steadily. Both Orzhov and Gupta were fine teachers. The first because he wishes to protect and the second because patience is his mantra and he was already used to training draftees for the army.
Under their tutelage I became able to hold my ground in a skirmish. I won't kick neither of their asses but I can endure their assault for some commendable time for a child. With dagger in hand I'm now a reasonable threat, at least I won't be completely powerless if I ever get cornered by a monster again.
Mekas is now letting me help more with the copying work. This earns me a bit of money and lets me learn more ideograms. I'm still trying to convince him that alphabet is the better option but he is a stubborn one or just too lazy to bother with learning a whole new method.
Nutusi comes once a month to check on my progresses. On our last meeting I asked her if I could use some of Shinpilo's power, after all I am one of his blessed one, shouldn't I get access to some of the powers priests can manifest?
She now takes her shawl off during our meetings so her milky eyes are somehow starring at me through the fog that must be her world: “This and that are different things,” she harshly responds in her coarse voice, “Using a god's power can only be done through prayer with the intent of serving his will and requires to be able to handle the flow of power.” Her voice is filled with her passion for her god.
I can understand her fervour for our mutual patron god: she should be almost blind with her terminal cataracts, so I believe her ability to “see” is in fact a permanent intervention of Shinpilo to disperse the “secrets” of the world surrounding her. I asked her directly about it once but she dismissed my question with a mysterious smug smile. I shouldn't be that far from the truth.
“Telerios, you are still just a child. Being a blessed one doesn't mean you can endure the power of a god flowing through your body. In your stead I wouldn't try it until you manifest some Chi or grow out of childhood.” She advised me. “The power of a god is different than Chi. It is both more mild and easier to direct because the god is helping you steer it but it is also on a density that very few practitioners can reach on their own.”
Patiyar gave me the same advice so I guess they are right about it. Both are priests with access to strong powers they must know what they are talking about. For now I'll focus on feeling the Chi and later I'll get godly powers.
If she can see through her blindness what could I ask for? A permanent lie detector? Or the ability to become invisible?
Other than that she is pushing me to write down the knowledges I promised. I started by introducing her to the alphabet. She was the most interested of the scholar I met so far despite her age.
I didn't dare ask her how old she actually is but I would really like to know. With her blemished eyes, whitened hair and face as wrinkled as a dried up raisin, she must be quite old. This mean that in Earth-time she is even more wise than one could fathom.
If she is 80 Springs old in this world, that would makes her 120 something years old on Earth.
She may look frail but she walks without a cane, is alert and gives off a strange feeling of sharpness, like an old sheathed sword: you know it is old and obsolete yet wouldn't dare take a strike from it head on.
“That's most interesting. You said you made the thing up yourself when you were four springs old?” She was doubting my story and her dead white fish eyes were looking straight into mine, trying to pry out the truth.
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Since I modified the alphabet to add a few more letters it isn't a lie to say I made it myself, so I don't fear whatever lie detecting ability she might have thanks to her connection with Shinpilo. “Yes. Since we didn't get taught much of the ideograms I decided to make my own system up.” I lied brazenly.
“This is truly splendid. I understand what Shinpilo saw in you and why he linked with you despite your age. You say this could be taught to most commoners?” She's starting to see the possibilities. I can almost hear the gears clunking behind the opaque glass of her eyes.
“Yes. With enough time and some simple tools like a slate board and some chalk I believe I could do wonders. In fact I already tested it on three of my friends.” I try to sound as convincing as I can, this could very well be a turning point in the history of the Shieldom or even more. Having real experience to show off is better than any speech.
“Mmmh I see.” She is squinting her blind eyes which makes her statement ironic, “I'll ask you to refrain from teaching this to more people unless we ask you to. This could be of a great help for our intelligence network. Having people able to communicate in an unknown coded system, easy to teach to even commoners could secure many informants.” She makes a good point but I'd rather have my alphabet used more widely than confined to a spy network.
So I retort: “You can easily code it in fact. I think it would be best to spread it widely and use some simple cyphers rather than limiting the whole method to a few selected individuals. Depending on the code used you can even hide the message in seemingly casual writings.”
I briefly expose her the concept of Caesar's cypher of displacing the letters of a set amount of pace in the alphabet or how to only use the first letters of each words to hide an other meaning in an otherwise unremarkable sentence.
“Worthy of Shinpilo indeed: hiding the tree in a forest.” She exults with a toothless smile.
* * * *
This becomes my task for the next months: to write down cyphers and make plans for a way to teach a few test subjects, loyal followers of Shinpilo used in covert actions for either the Temple or the Shieldom.
All these new activities meant that I'm often leaving late from the Temple. With the fall days quickly wilting down it can even be after nightfall.
My father is supposed to come pick me up in such cases but more than often he overlooks it and I am to go back on my own. Not that it bothers me, I know my way around our neighbourhood and way past the age to be afraid of the night.
I also take some work back home, I now carry my text book in a satchel along some more blank pages and some pencils. I can use some of this material to teach more things to Gelcaria, Melodi and Balout when he manages to free himself and join us.
The girls are now on par with grade schoolers: they can write, read and count both in my alphabet and with a few ideograms. This should put them at the level of children of free citizens or even blades.
They won't live as commoners, having to struggle in misery for their whole life, of that I'll make sure.
Balout has to help in his father's bakery so he has less time to spend with us. Thus his mastery of ideograms is inferior to the other two but he makes up for it with his higher grasp of mathematics. I am often amazed by his gift with numbers: the kid can already understand the concept of first degree equations.
I wish I had more paper to write down more maths exercises for him or even a textbook for his self study. I absolutely have to find a way to get him hired in either the Temple, the city officials or the Astronomers Association. If he was to become a baker it would be a waste of his gifts.
This night was like most nights in this Fall: cold winds coming from the north and bringing a light drizzle with them that would freeze you to the core.
Following the rainy summer most bare-earth streets were now muddy pools or even streams in the making. I now had to take some detour through smaller side streets that weren't as damp as the ones on my usual way back home.
Some stepping stones were put in some streets to make walking easier. I was looking like an energetic goat or frog, jumping from one step stone to the other. The game was “the floor is lava” except the goal was to keep my legs dry or at least not too soaked.
I didn't see the man hidden in the darkness under a door's porch.
He grabbed my wrist mid air during one of my jumps and dragged me under the porch. I couldn't see his face in the dark and he quickly locked me in his embrace and stuck his other hand on my mouth to silence me.
“Wha' a nice fat froggy I caugh' me here.” His voice was deep and full of threat, “Ya little boy stay nice and quiet and we all part happy and witho' getting badly hurt.” he whispered in my ear.
I could smell his breath: fried food, barok and a hint of tobacco-like smoke but with a minty after smell, like a smoker that would chew on gums to hide the smell. “But if ya try to struggle, this friend will turn mean, ya understand?” He chokes me a little to make his meaning more concrete and a short curved knife appears in front of me. His accent is clearly from around here but the way he speaks means he is clearly from the slums.
I slowly nod. I am both panicking and not panicking.
Obviously I am scarred, I've never been mugged before. My heart is racing and I can feel the cold sweat mixing with the rain under my shirt.
The only goo point is that he at least didn't try to harm me first then rob me, so there is room for negotiation here.
He also didn't notice that I carry a weapon probably not expecting it on a child, even less on a scholar.
Seeing me cooperative and not fighting back, the choke-lock eases down a bit. “Ma boss said that ye carry a lot of hefty thingy. Is tha' right? Maybe cou'd need a hand to lighten it?” He asks me in a cruel mockery. He is like a cat playing with his prey rather than hunting by need.
Who could have told him I had paper on me?
Again I slowly nod in approval.
“Good lad. Now ye gonna follow me like a nice froggy and I won' go stabby stab' on ye. Got it?” His threat sound convincing, the man is used to bullying and dangerous.
I nod once more. But I know I can't follow him. This would be a recipe for disaster. I don't want to end up in an even more remote place with this kind of guy.
He eases his grasp and pushes me forward in the small ally.
As soon as I stand on one of the stepping stones I grab the occasion to free myself: I concomitantly bite the hand covering my mouth and send a kick behind me, aiming for his crotch.
He stifles a cry in pain at the bite but clearly squeals when my heel crushes his balls. This is the best way for smaller fighter to incapacitate bigger ones, Gupta taught me well.
The sudden pain makes him let me go and the push back made him slip in the mud, I can tell he fell backward.
I can't ignore the possibility that the man can use Chi. Running away is the natural thing to do but would be the worse here. Orzhov was clear during our training “You are small and weak and powerless. So always use a weapon to even the things.” I heed the teaching and plunge my right hand under my shirt to grab my dagger. When I turn around I'm now armed and facing a man struggling to stand up in the mud.
The fact that he recovered so fast from my kick can only mean one thing: he uses Chi.
I've seen the same on Gupta more than once. At first I was reluctant to kick him in the balls like he asked during our training but after seeing him painlessly endure it like the Dard priest he is, I learned to not hesitate.
And I do not hesitate: I plunge forward, dagger hold with both hand in the piercing spear stance. I hit the man head on before feeling my dagger sink in his belly.
It is my first time harming a human being.
The man grunts in pain and falls back in the mud dragging me with him. I hold on to my dagger like my life depends on it, which it does and grab the occasion to stab him once more while getting up myself, pushing on the dagger to get away from him. I can't see much in the darkness of the alley but I can feel a spray of hot blood gushing on my hand: I got an artery, the epigastric probably.
Not looking to find out more I turn around and run away. With such a bleeding wound he shouldn't be able to run after me. If he can it means that he is a high level Chi user on par with Gupta. In this case I am dead.
As soon as I get out of the side alley I start calling for help while still running away towards my house. Be it because of the sound of rain, my shortness of breath or the lack of patrols in our neighbourhood, no one answers my distress.
Before I knew it I am in my street. I can see the light of my house. I take a look over my shoulder: no one. I catch my breath on our porch and sheathe my dagger back. My trembling hands make this simple move quite the ordeal. I must have smeared blood all over my robe in the process but the adrenaline makes me unable to control the shivering.
I think I killed a man.