Toa woke laboriously, joints creaking as he shifted comfortably within his warm nest of bedding. His muscles were still tight and sore despite having taken full advantage of the shortening days of late fall. One couldn’t be expected to work past dark after all. He yawned and slowly reached up to rub the sleep from his eyes, flinching as an outstretched foot was accidentally exposed to the cold air of the cabin.
The last several weeks had passed by with mind-numbing predictability. He had spent most of his days in his field, toiling reluctantly until midday. Cold and worn, he'd head back to the cabin to eat a filling but plain meal with his father. If he needed an extra set of hands pickling, chopping wood, repacking the mud and straw insulation, or any of the other seemingly endless chores preparing for winter, Toa would remain to help. Toa didn’t care to test if his father would really starve him out as he had threatened the night before. Second-guessing his father’s willingness to impart ‘lessons’ had come back to bite him before, so it was better to be safe rather than sorry. The break from tilling was almost welcome if he was being honest with himself. When he wasn’t ensuring his future meals, he’d continue his self-imposed Sisyphean task during the afternoons. Today, however, was going to be a welcome exception to the monotony, as he was free to his own devices minus a trip to the village smithy.
In order to justify remaining in bed a little bit longer, Toa had taken to training with his eyes before getting up in the mornings. Both the warmth of his bed and his already empty stomach made for a compelling case to do so now, rather than later. Laying down also helped him focus, and would prevent any surprise balance tests.
After tactfully retreating his foot back under the covers, he rested for a moment before beginning to concentrate. Gradually, the slight tingling presence of mana began to coalesce in the center of his forehead. He could feel the cool beads gathering throughout his body before traveling upwards and glomming together into a brain freeze like sensation. He knew that depending on how much pressure he let build-up, he could loosely control how magnified his vision would temporarily become and how long it would take until it changed back to normal. Interestingly, the magnitude and length of the effect depended only on how he mentally pictured his skill taking place. Although the total amount of mana he gathered determined the absolute magnitude of the spell, Toa could extend the time or depth of his binocular view at the cost of the other, seemingly at whim. Still, even with regular practice, pushing too far in either dimension was still deeply disorienting, and keeping a balanced approach seemed to be most effective.
Unlike the majority of people he knew, Toa’s ability was strictly active instead of passive. He could only recall one other person like himself, but only a blank impression remained when he attempted to recall the memory of who it was or where he heard the story from. Rather than simply having faster reflexes or stronger legs he directly controlled when and how his vision spell functioned, which was a mixed blessing. The learning curve, as he was already experiencing, was much steeper. Eventually, however, he also would have absolute and conscious control of his magic. Toa shuddered at the thought that the magnification could have been passive, and therefore permanent. His life would’ve been over.
The first thing he had learned in these sessions was how to recognize the otherly feeling of mana. If allowed to build up to beyond his limits, it would eventually set his ability off unintentionally. An experience he’d had with unpleasant regularity in recent months. As Toa had just awakened, the amount of mana he could actively control seemed fairly dismal. It had been easy to accidentally summon his magic when focusing or just thinking too hard, even while doing mundane activities in his daily life. Even now, he would sometimes miss the peculiar pressure building, though only smaller portions of mana had any hope of catching him off guard now.
Feeling that he was near his current comfortable limits, Toa mentally released. With a silent whoosh, the cool sensation dissipated and the grainy patterns of the wooden cot above him shot into view. The edges of the bunk bed closed in and Toa froze, desperately trying to keep his head still. As he started tracing the now-familiar blocky lines, Toa further contemplated what he knew of magic.
Magical abilities could be roughly categorized into three groups.
The most visible, and common gifts were body-enhancing. The ability to improve the muscles, skeleton, and organs was an obvious advantage in daily life. Being strong and tough assisted in whatever occupation people took, especially this far away from the big cities. The effect could be as diverse as the body itself, though most were only small passive boosts. However, some outliers developed wild and strange abilities such as digesting wood or growing gills to breathe underwater like a fish.
Though Toa’s father claimed that every awakened ability was technically a magic spell, physical gifts appeared more like magical mutations in truth. Usually, the effect of magic was fairly limited, either targeting specific muscles and being limited in magnitude or simply being strangely specific and specialized. His father's ability was a rare and useful deviation from the norm, affecting his recovery. The already enormous and muscly man was intimidating enough before you realized that he could use 100% of his power with every motion, over and over and over without pause or rest.
The second category, the senses, was much less obvious from an outside perspective. These abilities, as one might expect, often affected sight, smell, hearing, or touch. Additionally, some gave extreme reaction speed or nimbleness to complement the boost in stimuli. Although they weren’t Knights or Mages, sense cultivators claimed many of the best craftspeople in the land under their banner. They were famed for using their inherent magic to craft with inhuman detail, precision, and speed. Strategically not mentioned in public discourse were the abilities of this variety that were less politic. In reality, there was only a small margin separating crafting magic from magical gifts that would greatly aid a career pickpocket, lockpicker, or even assassin. Although most would stick to the safer and similarly lucrative path of craftsmanship, so long as opportunities existed there would always be those willing to live in the shadowy underworld of society.
Toa’s own eyes were included among these abilities, a fact he was doing his best to ignore. Since the annual census taker only recruited for the King, Toa would not be able to simply tag along with the census taker to the nearest city in the hopes of apprenticing himself to a master crafter. If he could collect even two silvers to rub together, he could try his luck hitching a ride with Aeriun’s resident trader instead. However, Toa didn’t particularly want to spend his life in a dusty workshop any more than on a muddy farm. He’d prefer to take his shot with the King’s Army and play up his usefulness as a scout or watchman in order to get recruited.
That only left the mysterious final grouping. Toa didn’t know much about gifts of the mind other than that they were the domain of Mages. Both rare and jealousy guarded, fledgling Mages were without exception recruited by the King. Even upon retirement, Mages would remain tight-lipped about the specifics of how their abilities interacted with mana and magic. Not that Toa knew that for sure, as they certainly didn’t retire to places like Aeriun. They were far too wealthy and influential. But the fact that no one really knew any more meant that they must not have talked too much. Secrets like that wouldn’t stay secret long otherwise. Toa had only ever seen a Mage once, and only in passing. When he arrived at the village gates, the Elders acted like they would have thrown their own brittle bodies into a puddle to keep the man’s boots dry. However, the robed figure had only talked briefly with them before leaving, his destination somewhere further into the dangerous icy mountains. Likely the only way to ever learn their mysteries was to be a Mage yourself and even then, only after swearing to a lifetime of secrecy.
As Toa’s thoughts began to quiet, he caught himself drifting back to sleep, his vision having long ago returned to normal. Abruptly sitting up, he shook himself back fully awake. Free days were a rare occurrence! He didn’t want to waste it sleeping.
Tossing his legs over the edge of his cot, he scrambled upright, nearly bashing his head on the twin cot above him. After throwing on his clothes, he tore a chunk of bread from a hard loaf resting in the pantry, strategically ignoring the growing collection of pickles and instead choosing to slice from the expensive block of cheese purchased for the winter. Strangely, a piece was already missing. Toa considered himself fortunate; now, it would be less likely to notice a second missing piece. Still chewing, he laced his leather boots on before dashing out the door.
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It was still early morning, and frost still lingered from the previous night, making the grass crunch satisfyingly under Toa’s feet. The crisp air leached away the last of his drowsiness as he made his way past the cabin’s now wilted garden and over to a path under the wall.
Aeriun was built from two ring-like fortifications. The outer wall, which Toa now approached only to idly trace his finger along, was a wooden construction. Entire trunks were stripped of their bark, sawed to a point, and then hashed together with a mixture of rope, nails, and mud. Despite the mishmash of different tools and techniques used, the impressively tall trees found in the nearby forests made for a solid construction of posts that could be sunk deep into the earth while still reaching up nearly 20 feet overhead. Although there was plenty of stone about, wood was much easier and faster to set up and maintain. Only the inner village had purely stone walls, which were expensively fitted together, a remnant of the ancient outpost that Aeriun’s founding inhabitants had painstakingly built to keep them safe from the wild mountains.
Toa slid between numerous ramshackle cabins similar to his own as he approached the main road, which was really just an extra-wide pounded earth path that gave access both to the outside world and deeper into the village. During the summer, there would normally be a flurry of activity around here at this time of day. However, as winter set in, families became more and more insular, only going out only when absolutely necessary. Some impressively only left their homes for either firewood or the Winter Solstice festival, a privilege Toa considered jealously.
As the houses cleared, he approached a guard post embedded within the wall. The two-story construction replaced several of the wall’s towering posts and was adjacent to an iron-studded, tough-looking gate. The guards, Edrick and Deek were wrapped in heavy fur cloaks, and Edrick gave him a friendly wave as he approached.
“Going back up the hill?” he called out.
Both Edrick and Deek had known Toa since he was a young lad and lately had become accustomed to seeing him as he regularly passed through to the highlands. Usually, they wouldn’t get much traffic this time of year, so the frequent trips especially stood out. The wirey, weathered middle-aged men doubled as both guards and hunters, alternating between manning the village defenses (which was really just the gate) and venturing into the surrounding countryside for game. The fresh meat was always welcome, and hunts could double as patrols, tracking and keeping tabs on any particularly dangerous beasts nearby. Generally, the duo could take care of most dangers, but occasionally, they’d summon guards from other nearby villages to mount joint hunts. Everyone was banned from leaving the village during such times, even if it meant the crops would suffer, but thankfully, the lockdowns had only occurred a couple of times in recent years.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
It was unusual to see both of them at the gate. Searching for a second, Toa noticed that Deek was prepping in a hurry to head out, tying up a leather pouch of what was likely jerky before shouldering and stringing a large bow to his back. He must’ve gotten a late start today.
“Not this time gentlemen. I’m taking the day off. Father wanted to grab some more clay jars from the smithy, but that's blessedly all I’m planning on.”
“Maxmus has always loved his pickles,” Edrick chuckled sympathetically, “Tell him and Alexander hello for us.”
“Will do! If you snag any more of those Caribou-Goats, I’ll trade you the jerky for some!” Toa grinned mischievously. Both Edrick and Deek, as the village's main game meat providers, could secure much tastier alternatives for their winter pantries. They and their families would wait out the winter with cheese and jerky rather than pickle sandwiches.
“Not on your life,” Deek rebutted with a matching crimeless smile, refusing to take the opportunity to expand his dietary horizons.
“Edrick?”
He raised an eyebrow, “Fuck off little man. I wouldn’t want to deprive you of even a single jar. Given your current endeavors, I know you have a taste for the finer things, after all. Not to mention Maxmus would never forgive me.”
“Yea yea. Somehow, I doubt he’d miss a couple, but your loss.”
Worth a shot. Stepping from the grass onto the beaten path, Toa wished Deek good hunting and gave a parting wave as he turned his stride inwards towards the center of town.
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Wood gradually turned to stone as he continued, the dwellings becoming older with each step. Behind the inner wall lived the oldest families in Aeriun, many of whom could trace both their lineage and ancestral homes back to the original families who first settled here generations ago. Mixed in with these dwellings were the core industries that supported any village of their size, namely the smithy, carpenters, mason, furrier, and trader’s shop. In a big clearing in the center stood the town hall where the Elders Council gathered. The large building doubled as a brewery, and most years, several of the barrels in the basement would shockingly go missing, a fact that was met strategically with silence.
It was always easy to track down the smithy. The smell of black coal smoke and the crashing sound of metal on metal could lead a blind man in the right direction. Not that Toa was concerned about his eyesight anymore; it probably wasn’t even possible for him to go blind. A theory not worth testing.
The sounds and smells only grew more intense as he stepped up to the door. He made a polite entrance, rapping his knuckles on the door frame before stepping boldly in. In the pulsing light, he saw Kursh helping out his dad and older brother Tommit. Alex loomed over the deep cherry glow of the forge, staring into a slit above the coals as his sons assisted; Tommit working the bellows and Kursh shoveling another load of coal into the flames. Sparks flew, and the hearth glowed orange and then yellow as the bellows pumped in an enormous breath of air and caught the new coal alight. Alex looked towards the doorway, seeing Toa, only to turn back to look into the flames for a moment. With a grunt, he eventually nodded and summoned Tommit over from the bellows.
“You do this one. The Anderson’s need a new plow. Remember to fold at least twice so we can spread the blade properly.”
“No problem dad. Leave it to me.”
As Tommit took over, he opened the sliding metal door and reached into the furnace. With an explosion of heat and sparks, he grabbed a golden-red iron ingot with his bare hands. Gripping it easily, he calmly went over to a blackened anvil in the center of the room and turned in search of a hammer. Toa found the sight impressive every time. It was truly the perfect gift for a smith in his opinion. Even better, Tommit and Kursh had both inherited their father's fire-resistant ability, the beginnings of a dominant lineage in their family.
“Toa, welcome. What can I do for you?” Alex lurched over, clearly a bit stiff from crouching for a long period. He brushed his hands off on his scorch-marked smock, more out of habit than to clean his large dusty hands. The well-muscled man would have appeared intimidating if not for his expansive gut and the fact that Toa regularly dealt with an even larger specimen of a man at home. Once you got to know him, Alexander, or simply Alex, was an odd mix of both jovial and stern. It was hard to tell if the lines splintering from the corners of his eyes were from the friendly smile he sported or from endless squinting into the fire. Toa remembered and briefly considered passing on Edrick’s greeting, but thought better of it. No one actually passed on those minor niceties. At best, he’d be left with an identical greeting in the other direction. Not something he particularly wanted to do.
“I was hoping to grab another batch of jars from the kiln if you have ‘em.”
“The pickles, eh?” Alex smirked.
Why did everyone know about the damn pickles?
“You’re in luck actually. Just finished cooling a batch yesterday.”
“Great! How much am I in for?” Before he could even finish reaching the bag of small coppers at his waist, Alex waved Toa off dismissively.
“On the house, lad. Maxmus is my best client throughout the summer. It's inhuman how much good iron he wrecks...” his eyes unfocused and wandered for a moment, “Besides if there's one thing we have in abundance, it's clay. My wife or Kursh can cook up a new batch easily enough.”
A greater man might have insisted on paying, but Toa was not one to argue against a free deal. He quickly swallowed the reflexive refusal already halfway up his throat and walked over to the side of the forge where the kiln was. It was a genius idea to attach it to the side. The residual heat of the forge meant that the kiln itself didn’t need its own fire. The simple metal box was lying open, and Toa could see the clay stained shelves within, a testament to its heavy usage. Tied up neatly on a wooden pallet nearby were the fresh batch of jars.
Clang Clang Clang!
Tommit must’ve found the hammer and began to fold the ingot lengthwise. Flakes of impurities splintered off and joined the sparks falling to the floor with each of his blows.
Glancing away from the scene, Toa locked eyes with Kursh, and his friend’s eyes lit up with silent hope. With a slight nod from Toa, his friend's gaze turned to excitement as Toa turned to ask, “Mind if Kursh helps me carry them back?”
Alex paused, contemplating for a moment. “So long as he comes back after...”
“Thanks, dad!” Before Alex could even finish his sentence, Kursh had thrown his shovel aside and was halfway out the door.
Toa stared incredulously.
“Oh right,” Kursh apologized and dashed back inside to help Toa lift the pallet of jars. Once they were hoisted and adjusted in their grip, he proceeded to drag the pallet with Toa attached out the door. Toa nearly tripped, stumbling along to keep pace. He knew his friend. There was no chance he’d be back before dark now. Before they both disappeared, Toa stuck his head back through the door and gave a quick “Thanks!” before disappearing back into the open.
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Once free of the smithy, Kursh slowed his pace considerably.
“Thanks, Toa, I really didn’t want to spend all day shoveling coal. I’m not sure why my dad has me helping out anyway. There's no room for two smithies in Aeriun, and Tommit is keyed in to take over as the eldest.”
“Maybe so that you can go smith somewhere else?”
Kursh shrugged, “That makes sense, though that's not really the plan.”
Kursh and Toa shared a conspiring look over their package. Both of them had dreamed since childhood of joining the King’s Army. Their determination and shared goal were the spark behind the unlikely duo's close friendship, transcending their respective social standings. While Toa was somewhat of an outsider, Kursh was essentially Aeriun royalty, both part of a tradesman household and an inner-village resident. Kursh’s fine features did nothing to dispel the image, only his sooty red-blonde hair smudging the illusion of his princely cheekbones, bright eyes, and tall stature. The fact was not unnoticed by the village girls. Kursh was impossibly popular with the fairer sex, which, deep down, made Toa feel a touch bitter. Comparatively, Toa was a hand shorter and had unassuming dark hair and eyes. He might have been able to pull off a brooding look, but his face still retained too many elements of its childhood visage, and his jocular manner did nothing to convince anyone to think otherwise.
Toa had his misgivings about his role in their plans anymore. But, for the moment, it was easier to forget and sink into their old patterns. He still had his hope, and it didn’t feel right to share his misgivings, even with his closest friend. He had told Kursh about his plans for his field, but Kursh never asked, nor was Toa eager to explain the reason for the endeavor. If the worst truly came to pass, he could deal with it later, neither burdening Kursh or himself in the meantime. For now, the fear that he’d be left behind remained purposely unspoken between the two.
As the duo continued along, chatting aimlessly, Toa thought he caught a glimpse of green appearing from around the corner ahead.
“The melon head!” he hissed harshly, reacting quickly to pull their two-man caravan out of sight. Neither Toa nor his companion were particularly popular with Elder Kyle, the only source of a shiny green forehead around. Toa for his recent field plans and outsider status, and Kursh for his womanizing ways and blatant lack of respect for the Elder’s authority. Unlike with Toa, there was little Elder Kyle could really do to actually punish Kursh, a fact which Kursh took full advantage of. But still, neither of them wanted to be roped down for a lecture on respect or ethics. The old man was famously long-winded.
Looking around the corner they were hiding behind, Toa confirmed that it was indeed the menacing man. Elder Kyle was thickly bundled up and muttering to himself, looking at his feet as he shuffled along. His head was remarkably the only uncovered piece of his body, its shine the reason for their early warning. Deciding that they had been so far unseen and not wanting to test their luck, Toa gestured with his head, urging Kursh to continue, detouring around several houses before reconnecting to the main path. Kursh nodded with understanding, and they proceeded lightly on their feet, careful to not make any noises that might give them away. Slowly, they made it up past a couple of houses and likely out of earshot.
Setting down the pallet for a moment, Kursh sighed, “That was a close one. I’d rather stay home than run into him.” He shivered slightly, likely considering the consequences of capture.
“Do something particularly deserving of a speech lately?” Toa prodded an elbow into his friend’s side, making him wince and nearly trip. “Hmm?”
“No, definitely not. You know me.”
“Exactly, so what was it?” Toa didn’t let up.
“Well there was one thing… but it really wasn’t really anythi-”
“Out with it!” Toa prodded him again.
“Bah, fine asshole. I’ll tell, just stop fucking elbowing me.” Toa raised an elbow threateningly but waited patiently for him to continue.
“Okay, okay, so you know the Anderson’s? That inner-village family that we were making the plow for when you came in? Well, their daughter Harriet...”
“STOP!” Toa could’ve guessed it would be something like this, but he definitely didn’t want to know the details. Twice was too many times to hear the glorious details of Kursh’s exploits.
“What? Aren’t you a man now? Figured you would latch onto every word you prude.”
“Fuck you.”
“Get in line, turdmonger. I could teach you a thing or two, make you look good for Sara...”
Toa blushed. That was a step too far. Despite his apparent willingness to take most other risks, he had only ever admired the trader’s daughter from afar, and Kursh knew it. She was gorgeous, and way outside of his current standing. He couldn’t imagine doing... He blushed deeper, quelling his rabid thoughts. Despite his crush, Toa couldn’t escape the nagging feeling that there was something forbidden about his yearning. He had no desire to make a move and was even less enthusiastic about Kursh inserting himself into the issue.
His other worries blissfully forgotten, Toa’s confusion turned to vindictive glee as he rose to the challenge, “I’m going to smack you so hard you won’t be able to sit right for a week.”
“A duel then?” Kursh returned his evil smile, making a come-at-me motion with his free hand.
“You’re on.”
Toa and Kursh continued to grin at each other. Their youth was full of escapades into the woods to practice mock swordplay with wooden staves. Over the years each had developed an excellent read on the other, making for an exciting and fairly even match. Although Kursh was bigger and stronger, Toa was faster and more clever on his feet. However, since their respective awakenings, they hadn’t gotten the chance to spar like they used to. Toa almost missed the ache of bruises, their absence taking away a certain spice from his daily life.
And thus, the afternoon was planned.
After dropping off the jars at Toa’s cabin, the duo made their way to the gate. Edrick, now alone, called out as they passed by.
“Just the two of you this time? Make sure to come back before dark!”
Kursh took the lead, “Don’t worry, we won't make you come after us!”
He shouted out, “You better not! I might just leave you to freeze!” But, they were already jogging into the distance in the direction of the highland forest.
Shaking his head, he settled back into his cloak and lightly shivered. To be young and energetic again...