Nestled in a lazy bend in an obscure river, Havert had long since been settled by the type of fishermen willing to clear a space for themselves at the edge of an axe. A few years back, a retired merchant had chosen to make it his passion project. His intervention had been just the right spark to send Havert into a frenzy of growth.
Del was in the latest product of that merchant’s, now mayor’s, vision, the crown jewel of its freshly constructed central plaza, the barracks. Two floors constructed of wood from the region’s notorious greenclads: complete with a ground floor training hall, an even dozen dormitory rooms, and above the entrance, the side-planking of a boat belonging to the most storied warrior in the village’s history. The sign tastefully provided the building with its name: The Steadfast.
Given the gift, Del would have thought Arian would be eager to take on the village’s petitions. As their seventh hopeful client of the day, an old rancher scratching his head in uncertainty, walked through the doors though, there was no mystery what was about to happen.
“I don’t know if its anything to bother you about m’lady, but my cattle have been going missing.” Del stopped practicing in his little corner of the barrack’s training hall—he had been working on a body enhancement technique of his own ever since his loss in the selection.
Arian didn’t even let the man finish his request. “Does this look like a handyman shop to you? We will not be helping you.”
There it was. Del braced himself as he walked towards Arian, giving the rancher a slight nod, but directing his challenge at her. “What are you waiting for? You can’t possibly expect someone to walk through that door wanting us to save some fair maiden from a dragon.”
The old man looked apologetic. “I apologize miss, the mayor asked me to bring y’all a job, but I’m not sure I have anything worthy of the talents of such a noble warrior-girl from the big city.”
Del kept his face totally blank, privately cursing the rancher for his poorly veiled insult. He didn’t want to antagonize Arian, but Cas couldn’t wait, and the mayor wasn’t about to hurry about setting up a meeting between the village’s only scholar and the second of a warrior band that did nothing.
Arian ignored the old man, turning to look Del in the eye. “I’m looking to be here when something worth doing comes up.” The girl gave a stiff smile. “If you think helping people with their chores will accomplish something though, I won’t stand in your way. Just be ready to head out when something real comes around.”
Del let out a breath, nodding to his captain. He hadn’t missed the others at selection turning away from her, and he had made enquiries before leaving the city. The girl that had been described was not one who would have compromised. Del had spent some time around her recently though, and he was inclined to put some faith in her. She was made of stern stuff, but she didn’t have an ounce of the spite he had been led to expect.
…
A few days of chasing predators away from livestock and fixing fences had the rugged people of Havert welcoming their new second. With each new job, Del had made a point of picking up skills from the villagers. His master had always urged him and Cas to accumulate little bits of knowledge from anyone they could. Perhaps Del may have let his curiosity loose to unusual extremes—learning how old fishing boats could be reused for sheltering sheep from unexpected storms was hardly useful information—but finding odd, bizarre things had always made Del’s life a little brighter. Especially when he could share them with Cas.
And now, that was what ruined things. Every time some small wonder caught his attention, he would inevitably reach out to Cas, and he would get lost in a wave of loss, anger, and mostly guilt. He would stop talking with those he was helping for a time and double down on whatever job he was on.
Del endured. He continued, working by day, and training with Arian by night until about a month after he had started taking requests, the mayor suddenly decided to set up an audience with the scholar. It was crazy what a bit of hard work could accomplish.
…
The village’s Scholar kept themself holed up in a newly constructed building which also served as a library of sorts. Of course, few of Havert’s people were interested in the books available there.
After a few knocks went unanswered, Del walked in. The last thing he wanted to do was offend his best lead to helping Cas, but he wasn’t willing to wait around either—not to mention it was raining that day.
The place was chaotic. Books had been tossed left and right in precarious stacks, haphazardly rolled scrolls had been shoved into cubbies, and from the back, a faint humming could be heard. Del thought it was the same tune he’d heard a pair of the village’s fishermen singing one morning.
Del moved towards the noise, removing his soaked boots, and calling out his intrusion. The humming voice broke, and a moment later, a huge clamor could be heard. Del ran forward, carefully weaving through the bookstacks.
A boy at least a year younger than Del lay prone on his stomach, his feet bent back behind his head. His back was littered with a pile of newly fallen books.
Del stooped down, grabbing a pair of lenses from the ground to hand back to the scholar. He had to repress a sigh. He should have kept his hopes low. From his age, this boy was clearly still in training, and seemingly had no mentor other than the books that had been accumulated. It was an impressive collection, but like the building itself, nothing looked old. It seemed the role of scholar wasn’t either.
Del handed the lenses back to the boy after he helped him up. He couldn’t help but notice with some approval that the boy’s skin tone and shaggy hair seemed to match the lifestyle of a serious scholar. Del stuck out his hand in a universal greeting. “Hello. I’m Del, newly arrived in town. I’d guess the mayor told you to expect me.”
“Not likely!” The boy chortled, extending his own hand. “That old man just sends people around whenever they need some info. Thinks he’ll catch me slacking off or something. My name’s Lynx by the way.”
Del nodded, looking at the huge pile of books on the desk, many of which seemed to be compilations of notes, no doubt Lynx’s work. “Doesn’t look like he has much of a problem there.”
Lynx smiled, nodding his head up and down eagerly. “Of course. I take my job very seriously! I even memorized every village record on cattle births, produce harvests, and seasonal fish catches.” Lynx’s nose wrinkled slightly, his face falling. “I’m guessing you’re here about something like that? Most people are.”
Del shook his head, feeling awkward. His request suddenly seemed well outside the scope of what Lynx usually handled. Still, he wasn’t about to just leave without trying. “I’m actually looking for information about some old ruins, specifically ones built by a people called the Mooncraven.”
Lynx’s face lit up, and he dove for his desk, pulling out a particularly thick pad of paper holding his own notes. “I can tell you just about anything you want to know! The Mooncraven happen to be a favorite subject of mine. Did you know that they had their own system of writing entirely distinct from our own? Their name comes from how their ruins rise from the ground every night, staying hidden during the day! Evidence even suggests that they once tried to block off all of humanity from snow material. They only wanted those able to pass their trials to earn it.”
Del let the young scholar carry on until he was finished. It took a while—Lynx was clearly more interested in this than any harvest record. Every word added to Del’s own knowledge as well, so he had no problem allowing the boy to patter on.
When the boy did come to a stop, Del took Cas’…vessel from his back, laying him gently on the crowded desk. “Did the Mooncraven ever force a human spirit into an object?”
Lynx’s eyes, a wild green, moved between the saber that had just been placed to Del. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
Del nodded his head. “I am.”
Lynx swallowed hard. “There have been theories, but no real hard evidence.” He scratched his head, making his hair even scruffier than it already was. “You see. Most Mooncraven ruins are dangerous.” The boy looked down at himself. “Scholars aren’t—well, we aren’t warriors. Reliable evidence is hard to come by. Most of what I know comes from the same few investigations. They’re all over a century old too.”
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Del took that in, then he turned around. “Have anything to add Arian?”
Del held his breath. This was the complicated part. Arian had her own goals, goals that he was technically tied to. If no existing knowledge was to be had, he would need to investigate himself. He needed Arian’s permission for that. He may have gotten his way with taking on requests, but this was different by a whole order of magnitude.
“How did you know I was following you?” Arian tilted her head.
Del had to stop himself from laughing, instead reigning himself down to a slight grin. “You think a city girl could sneak up on me?”
Arian gave him a glare, bits of her azure veil burst from her, and Del felt his breath go. Sudden pressure seized him. Arian shook her head. Her veil disappeared, and her more casual side reemerged. The glare turned into a grin. “I think your definition of ‘city girl’ is a little loose.” Then under her breath, but clearly meant to be heard. “Calling me that, I bet you haven’t met many.”
Del was caught off guard, and he replied seriously before realizing silence might have been the better option—his master would have been disappointed. “We didn’t usually stay anywhere very long, and when we did, Cas and I spent most our time training.”
Arian nodded to the sword on the desk. “Cas?”
Not much got past her, not exactly a surprise. She had been watching him for some time. On some of the bad days when the guilt had been a its worse, he’d found a hand awkwardly squeezing his shoulder. Del nodded nervously, “Caspian. I need to save him. Will you let me?”
Arian met his gaze. She started saying something then seemed to swallow it. “I’ll do one better. I’ll help you.”
…
The watchers of Clan Leadleaf knew good prey when they saw it. The three figures hiking below, two wearing matching sets of gear with the insignia of some unknown warrior band, and one small figure clad in the traveling robes of a scholar. That was good prey.
A series of tugs on a rope sent a message around the trunks of a series of enormous trees. At the other end, a bell rang, too far to hear. There, two of the clan’s deadliest young fighters would be readying their weapons, soaking them in venomous toral the clan had gathered from the great depths frog. Toral so corrupted, not even Clan Leadleaf’s patriarch could survive a scratch.
…
A day and a half into their journey, two crossbow bolts came from the group’s blind spot. Arian didn’t even see them. She just heard the swish of the saber Delphin wore on his hip unsheathing and whistling through the air. A moment later, she was shocked the bolts had made it anywhere near her. They were coated in venom toral of horrific potency.
That shock didn’t last long. Arian pulled her azure veil into full form, stepping in front of Lynx who had already covered his head and started to duck around a tree. As soon as he was out of the line of fire, she followed, dragging Delphin behind her. “Brigands!”
Delphin shook his head. “No, rogues.”
“There’s a difference?”
“Rogues are worse.”
That made no sense to Arian, but it didn’t really matter. Their attackers had dropped from their roost in the trees. Both carried a crossbow in their left hand and a sheaf of knives in their right. Masks carved from wood seemed to just be a poor fashion choice until Arian recognized them.
They had been stolen from disciples of the sect run by the Wood-Snare sage, likely dead disciples now. The masks would be as dangerous a tool as crossbow or knives.
There was no dramatic pause to stare down the opponent or properly take their measure like she was used to from her sparring matches. There was certainly no formal introduction or start signal. Knives flew through the air. Arian recognized a small gap in the attack and expelled a jet into the ground to dodge into it.
She realized her mistake a moment later when a crossbow bolt slammed into one of her jets as it whipped past her torso. The bolt wasn’t aided by toral of any kind, so it was easily stopped. The problem was the venom it carried. Even a foot from her body and dispersed by the fast-moving water, the venom toral was so absurdly potent that Arian could feel her body reacting. She only let that last for a moment before expelling the jet uselessly into the air, blindly throwing it away from herself.
In her distraction, the rogue had leapt onto a low-hanging tree branch. Or rather, it would be more accurate to say the tree branch moved to provide footholds for the would-be killer. That was most likely the effect of the mask. Arian knew they were designed to improve control over wood toral.
Even with her jets, Arian found herself having difficulty closing the gap. She switched configurations, launching herself into the air, but the rogue simply moved to the side. Globs of venom toral tracked her on the way down. The release of a jet changed her trajectory in the air, but two of the globs landed, soaking in.
This venom wasn’t as lethal as that on the rogues’ knives or arrows. It posed no threat unless it made contact. Arian vented them from her technique regardless. After all, her jets weren’t wholly isolated. The sheer force of their movement guaranteed that every time they looped over her head, they threw out a little mist. It was where her technique’s name came from, but it also made her susceptible to attacks like these.
Venting the jets had an unfortunate consequence. They changed her landing spot, throwing her right into a particularly large thorn bush. Arian hated thorn bushes at the best of times. This was not the best of times, and this bush proved to be especially clingy. Even with her azure veil still partially up, the bush slowed her for precious moments. By the time she ripped her way out, thorny limbs hung off her new jacket, and more globs of venom were coming her way.
Arian threw toral at the problem. Specifically, she used an old technique that essentially acted as a barrier of water. Propelled by force toral on top and bottom, it looked like a waterfall flowing into itself. It safely blocked the venom orbs, but her torm drained an annoying amount. The technique was inefficient and frankly a less effective defense than her veil. It was still better than having to vent more water though.
Arian pushed herself forward again, forming another waterfall overhead to block her approach. She shifted her scales into configuration 32 and leaped. The rogue didn’t bother with his venom this time. Instead, he sent a branch the width of Arian’s whole body hurtling down on her, like a hand moving to slap a fly. It burst through her waterfall. It didn’t hit her.
Arian shifted her scales in midair. Configuration 58. Jets burst from her shoulders, throwing her down at an angle, but she didn’t want to go down and the branch was still coming close enough to smash her. Twice more she shifted her scales and twice more she vented her jets in midair. The first movement was to the side, and her abs screamed keeping her upright. They probably would have torn without the force toral she was pumping through her body. Even with it, the movement didn’t feel healthy. The branch passed by harmlessly, and Arian pushed a series of jets out of her feet, propelling her skyward.
The whiplash from the rapid movement was severe, and aiming for the rogue was difficult, but she just managed it. She did not, however, manage to react to the venom spheres that fell to meet her. Arian vented the infected jets, cursing as she was thrown off-target. She tried to fling a water missile—another old technique—while she was falling, but a branch just moved her assailant to the side.
The rogue stared down at Arian with murderous intent, reloading his crossbow, and she shuddered. She called another waterfall to defend herself, but she could feel death’s hand slowly pulling around her. It was the same feeling as the toral of her technique leaving her torm.
Running out of toral wasn’t something she was used to. Years. It had been years since she had undergone her ordeal of rain. Years of training, of using her toral up repeatedly. Arian had stretched her torm to the limits. Like a muscle, it had grown, but unlike a muscle, it had changed shape too. It grew in new directions, stretching to reach wherever her body used toral. Arian’s body used toral everywhere, and her torm had grown to accommodate that. It was no reach to say her torm couldn’t grow any further, at least not stuck in her spirit as it was now.
Arian couldn’t last much longer, and she wasn’t the only one. Delphin looked like he was dodging for his life. Knives, crossbow bolts, and a constant barrage of venom globs landed all around him. Arian would have thought her second was just getting lucky if not for how he reacted to the attacks. No matter how stony faced you are, no matter how gutsy, when you barely dodge something that would kill you with a scratch, you flinch. Delphin wasn’t flinching. He wasn’t getting lucky, he was using experience from countless battles, fights where his life had been on the line. Even still, eventually he would make a mistake.
The situation called for drastic action. If things continued, they would both die. There wasn’t the luxury of time to come up with some glorious plan that would save everyone. In the moment, there was only one idea bouncing through Arian’s head. It put Delphin’s life at risk, but even risking her second was better than a guaranteed death for them both.
Configuration 2. Speed. Arian flung herself towards the base of the tree her opponent flitted through. Configuration 7. Strength. Every jet around her body raced towards her right arm. With a single punch, water launched forward with every scrap of force she could muster. The tree was a relatively small example of a Lufarian Greenclad, almost small enough for her arms to reach around…if there were three of her. The sound of wood splintering, and the groaning of the trunk drowned out Arian’s scream. “Timber!”
…
A thick layer of green moss coating crimson bark. By all rights that should have been the last image of Del’s life. He found that for the first time in his life, nothing in his arsenal could save him. Training wasn’t the problem here. He could cut the tree. It wouldn’t even be that difficult. That meant nothing though. Cut it in half and he would only be choosing to be crushed by two sections of tree instead of one.
Del felt his sword slip through his fingers. His muscles seized up. This was nothing like what had come before. It was strange to realize now, in this moment, that he had been sheltered. His master had thrown him into fights where he could have died. That was impossible to deny. Despite that though, Del had always been given every tool, every scrap of training he needed to survive.
Why? The question cemented itself into his head, and it came with long-held feelings that clutched at his throat. Why keep him safe, why take such care to ensure Cas’ safety, for so many years just to do what he did.
The question consumed Del as he faced certain death. It didn’t distract him though. There was one vow so true to him that even his frozen body listened. I will always be there for you. Del thought, preparing to tear Cas from his back. To throw him to safety. I’m sorry though, this is as far as I can go.
When Del’s hand wrapped around the hilt of his cousin’s vessel, he could feel him closer to conscious thought than ever before. Del brought his arm back, stepping into his throw. In the same moment though, Cas did something that Del would have thought impossible for his cousin’s reduced state. He reached into Del’s very body, found the partially completed enhancement technique that edged his body, felt the infused metal toral in it, found the wind toral that hit him, and made an impossibly sharp blade of force toral.
Del moved to throw, and his whole body lurched forward. Where his leg moved, the very resistance from the air was cut. When his torso followed, he went flying in an unintended leap, faster than he had ever moved in his life. Tree branches smacked into his shoulders leaving bruises, cutting trenches. Then he was through, the force of the tree landed just behind him, shaking him from his feet.
Del wouldn’t have been able to stand anyway. His still expression, a carefully cultivated mask formed from years of study under his master gave way. It was no match for one moment of realization, realization of his master’s final lesson. Life isn’t fair. Del could practically hear his master growling. You’ll never reach where you want to go without an advantage. Better one of you than neither.
Anger coursed through Del. Lighting his chest on fire. It wasn’t the kind of decision that was his master’s to make. That wasn’t the kind of decision anyone should be allowed to make.
A dozen feet from him, Arian kneeled over the limp form of their two opponents. Alive thankfully. Not for long though. Del could see the gears turning in Arian’s head. She would kill them. They would pursue them if she didn’t, or they would kill some other innocent.
Del bodily flung her away, calling Cas’ toral into himself without even thinking about it. “You don’t get to kill them.” Del roared at her shocked face. “It’s not your place to balance the weight of another’s life.”
Arian didn’t even try to protest. Her eyes were filled with guilt, and it wasn’t for the rogues. Del sucked in air through his teeth, turning around before he did something he’d regret. She did deserve his anger, but he wasn’t angry for having his life put at risk. He was angry because he could finally understand why his master had done what he had done, and he couldn’t find any way to agree with it.
Lynx came out from wherever he had been hiding. His attention was on Arian. His words mediated the tension. “I think Del is trying to tell you it would be a bad idea to kill the rogues. They live in clans that are as tight as family. There have been frequent reports of clans like this hunting down anyone who kills one of their members.”
Del could hear Arian pushing herself up behind him. He could hear her when she nodded towards Lynx, thanking him for the information. He even heard her profuse apologies for dropping the tree on him. None of that mattered. He needed to right a wrong. Cas had been without a body for far too long.