Chapter 28

The rest of the journey to the second trail marker was without any further incidents. Cici had quartered the gleamer, making pieces small enough that Kopius could lift and place in his inventory. Each piece had taken a new slot in his storage ring, leaving only a few spaces left for anything new they found.

“I will be honest,” Cici said, as he brought a new fire to life. ”I was expecting more encounters.”

“More gleamers or skinwalkers?” Kopius asked.

“More of… anything really. There are plenty of others, other than just those two.”

Kopius removed the large pieces of the gleamer from his inventory and placed them to the side. He also removed pieces of wood for the fire, thankful they stacked in his inventory even though the pieces were all shaped differently.

Cici had pulled tools from his own backpack and started the process of setting up his kitchen. He placed short metal poles around the growing fire so that they would support his cooking pot. Alongside that was a cutting board to mince and/or spice whatever meal he might be creating.

Normally Kopius would sit by, either watching the big man work his magic or staring off in the distance like some emo teenager mulling over life. This night, as he stared at the pieces of the bright feathers of the gleamer, an idea popped into his head. He pulled an extra shirt from his inventory, tied the arms and bottom shut, and then got to work.

“What you got there?” Cici asked as he watched Kopius rip handfuls of feathers and stuff them in the shirt.

“I need a pillow.”

“Ingenuity? And you said your people fight knowledge,” Cici said with a wink. “Personally, I would burn it all, except the meat, of course.”

“You don’t salvage it?” Kopius asked.

“A gleamer? No, they taste good, but their feathers gather fleas like a cloud collects water for a storm.”

Kopius immediately took several large steps away from the carcass and instantly felt as though bugs were crawling all over him. He shook with a strong shiver and wiped vigorously at his exposed arms and legs.

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this? I was holding that thing!”

“I thought you knew.”

“How would I know? I’m not from here, man!”

“True.”

“Very true! Like, unbelievably true!”

“Can we burn it now?” Kopius asked with a final get-this-ick-off shiver.

“And ruin my fire?”

“Start another fire, then.”

“That would leave us short kindling later.”

Kopius walked to the edge of the fallen pillar and looked down.

“I’ll just kick it off the side here.”

“It will become a skinwalker to fight in the morning.”

“You know, fine, you hang with fleabag here. I’m going to the other side till it's gone.”

Cici gave a nonchalant shrug as Kopius stomped to what he considered a safe distance. After giving his body a thorough inspection, Kopius found a place to sit and brood. Just because he had mostly accepted his reality, it didn’t mean he had to like it.

Everything he came across reminded him that he was a stranger in this land. Instead of embracing the joys of discovery and adventure, Kopius had some "woe is me” soundtrack running on repeat in his head.

For a while, he just sat there staring out at the wilderness. Firelight spread out among the pillars, dancing across the horizon until it faded into the shadows of the Pass. Kopius, with what was quickly becoming a silent mantra, ran through his “why me?”s and “how the?”s and “WTF!”s as if they were the lyrics to his favorite song.

Of course, this was nothing new. Cory had had the same chorus of voices. They just sang a different, albeit equally morose, tune. It’s not that he enjoyed the sullen thoughts as much as it acted like a snowball, gathering size and speed. Given the right set of circumstances, the spiraling turns into a freefall with no bottom in sight.

“Food is ready!” echoed off the surrounding hoodoos, snapping Kopius from his internal loop. Cici had a wooden bowl raised in the air, with a look that said ”I’m not bringing it to you.” Kopius stood up and walked away from the funk in his mind. He came back fully to the present when his stomach grumbled at the smell of something delicious.

In the fire were several chunks of meat and some miscellaneous feathers. The pile of quartered gleamer was gone, leaving behind a few bright, scattered feathers on the rock. Kopius took his bowl and opted to remain opposite from where the bird's remains had been.

He brought the bowl to his nose and took a few strategic sniffs. It smelled vaguely familiar, like basil mixed with a spicy, pepper scent. The meat was atop what Kopius had come to call this world's version of mashed potatoes. Satisfied that he wouldn’t gag this time, he took in a few small bites. Sadly, the meat did not taste like chicken—not even close.

Cici had been disappointed by the news, insisting that whatever planet Kopius was from did not, in fact, have chickens. A debate ensued for the duration of their meal, both men asserting the other was mistaken.

After a second bowl each, they pulled charcoal from the fire and began to draw, to the best of their abilities, what they knew to be a chicken. Kopius showed his drawing skills to be roughly at the first-grade level, producing a chicken that had all the necessary parts, except it more resembled a miniature dinosaur with airplane wings for flappers along with a single eyeball. Cici’s chicken reminded Kopius of Big Bird from Sesame Street but with notable differences. It was half the height of Big Bird and was covered in something close to lambswool. Two stick-like appendages kept it upright, and its short, stubby, forward-facing wings gave the impression that it was always looking for a hug.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

There was an air of smugness that exuded from the two artists, both satisfied with their personal renditions. It wasn’t until Kopius complimented the meal that a noticeable change in Cici’s mood came about. Eventually they both had a laugh at their indignation, and Cici urged Kopius to start his training, or at least meet his instructor, Quinn.

According to Manabolism, there are a few steps when it comes to wielding magic. First, you need to have an intelligence high enough to comprehend the spell itself. The more complicated the spell, the higher intelligence is needed to understand it.

Another step, in many cases, requires you to bind a word and/or gesture to a learned spell in order to invoke it. Basic, low-level spells would need but a single word to cast, where higher level spells required many words and multiple gestures. The rules varied if the spell were to be invoked with an item, such as the boots Kopius was wearing, but the principles were roughly the same. The step that Kopius struggled with was the one called “intention.”

From what he could figure out, intention came down to whether a caster is intending to cast the spell or just reciting for practice. Yet even though Kopius had every intention of setting skinwalkers on fire, it did not always pan out that way. The book had mentioned the importance of composure, that “maintaining a balanced mind under duress is the requisite for mastery.” He reluctantly admitted to himself that the several times he had panicked, his mind was anything but balanced.

With all of this in mind, Kopius summoned the pugil staff from his inventory. The metallic rod shimmered in the firelight, its cold surface sending a slight chill down his arm. Per the instructions, Kopius had cleared a roughly ten-foot circle to give himself room to move around. He held the baton-sized staff out in front of himself as though ready to drop a mic. With a firm grip, he attempted to summon his trainer.

“Quinn Train,” Kopius said, focusing on the staff.

Nothing happened.

He adjusted his grip—and his focus—and tried again.

“Quinn Train,” he said with more force. His hand felt the same pressure his feet did when casting fire from his boots. It was as though a giant air bubble was traveling down his arm, causing minimal but noticeable pressure all the way down and out his fingertips. The pugil staff warmed slightly.

“Quinn! Train!” Kopius yelled.

The rod he was holding warmed considerably and began to change shape. Crevasses appeared and formed on the smooth surface, creating grooves to complement his grip. It gave the sensation of something trying to squirm free from his hand.

After a few ticklish moments, the rod resembled the handle of a weapon that perfectly conformed to Kopius’s grip. From what appeared to be the top end of the pugil staff, a beam of light shot out, roughly two feet in length.

Before Kopius could convince himself that he was holding a real-life lightsaber—quite possibly the greatest weapon ever conceived—the light flickered and started to take on different shapes. It turned into a short sword, a broad sword, an ax, a spear, a mace, a war hammer, a you-name-it handheld weapon, the light from the pugil staff changed into it.

Once it ran through the myriad of shapes, it returned to its ”lightsaber” form and began to flash. The strobe light had an unnatural pulsating as though it was throbbing to music rather than a blinking pattern.

Slowly, ethereal grass took form under his feet, and a tall, translucent barrier rose along the border of the ten-foot circle. A deep, The Matrix code green setting came to life, pulsating along with his light up toy.

A door appeared opposite Kopius, accompanied by the sounds of distant drums that were growing closer with each second. He chanced a look around, only to notice Cici lounging by the fire, tuning his instrument.

“Are you seeing this?” Kopius said, but Cici did not look up.

“Can you see this?” Kopius shouted. Cici remained focused on his own task.

The drums, like some wannabe Jumanji remix, dominated the small circle. Before they grew to the level of being painful, the sounds came to an abrupt end. The lights remained a steady green, and the absence of noise was almost as deafening as the drums.

Crack!

The door came flying off its hinges straight at Kopius. His only reaction to the impending impact was to turn and raise his arms like an X to protect his head. The green door hit him like a thick cloud of smoke, passing right through and dissipating once it crossed the circle's barrier.

“Was that fear or cowardice?” The bellowed words were punctuated as though they were each a sentence, enunciated in a sharp, whip-like fashion. A hint of an accent seeped in that was half overweight Spanish noble, half drill sergeant. The voice came through the door before the man behind it did, but when he did, it was quite a sight.

Emerging through the green doorway came a man of medium height and rotund build, a bit shorter than Kopius. He wore an outfit that was reminiscent of tight-fitting military fatigues with pockets galore. The man had so many pinned and colorful medallions it seemed practically mocking.

His hair and mustache looked like a homage to Inigo Montoya; the long dark hair and thin handlebar facial hair stood out in contrast to the pale skin behind it. A sword with an elaborate hilt rested in its sheath on his right hip while a series of knives lined his left.

He walked through the doorway like he owned the place, and though Kopius was taller, the man managed to look down upon him.

“Fear. Or. Cowardice?” The man said, staring down the bridge of his nose. His accent confirmed as stated above.

“Quinn?” was all Kopius could manage to get out.

“Quinntrain Erostrata Di-jin,” Quinn announced as though he was presenting himself to a crowd. “Keeper of the Five Peaces, Champion of Jannasa, Champion of Junna; known by his countrymen as ‘The Blade of Reason’ and by his foes, ‘The Last Breath.’”

The words hung in the air, and Quinn stood ready, chin up high, to accept any and all adulation. After a brief pause, Quinn reoriented himself back to looking down upon Kopius.

“Now, focus! Fear or cowardice?”

“I—uh, neither. I was… distracted.”

“The distracted are the dead!”

“It was more confusion—”

“Even worse! You might as well fall on your own sword and save us all the trouble.”

“Now wait a minute—”

“Seconds!”

Quinn moved so quickly that one moment he was on the other side of the circle and the next he was so close that Kopius could feel the man’s breath, leaving only the musk from his aftershave to separate the two men.

“Even less than that.” Quinn hissed, letting the words sink in before turning and walking towards the open door. He paused, looked back in Kopius’s direction, and reached out with an aggressive gesture. Kopius looked behind himself in time to see the unhinged door come back to life and fly at him. He dodged to the side, and the door slammed back into place. Quinn gave a sour look, unimpressed.

“Come back when you are actually ready.”

With that last statement, Quinntrain Erostrata Di-jin opened the green door and left with no other fanfare. When the door slammed shut, the ethereal, green grass and border went with it.

Kopius stood silent for a while, not quite able to wrap his head around what had just transpired. He was snapped from his thoughts when a blank window popped up. Absently he closed it. His throat was parched, and when he glanced over at the fire, Cici was adding more wood. Kopius drank from his waterskin and made his way closer to the warmth.

“Back to life, I see. How’d it go?” Cici asked.

“Back to life?” Kopius replied, still clearing the cobwebs from the experience.

“Well yeah, you stood there like a statue. Like you had turned to stone but, well, you hadn’t.”

Kopius looked back at the place he had been standing, noticing for the first time that he still was holding the pugil staff. He placed it back in his ring.

“So, did you meet your man?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“He’s ah… he’s a pucker-pot.”