9. A Blessing undisguised

Dawn was fumbling its way to the castle, the lofty mountains impeded the early light from finding its way. Boris thanked the darkness they ushered in. A long, overhanging cloak hid him, granting him refuge from any stares. He made his way towards the castle gate in the cold air, a small knapsack slung behind him. Diana walked beside him, alert as ever. She held a fulgur by its reins.

On his part, Boris had firmly refused another fulgur, aware of their monstrous heritage. Not that he knew how to ride a horse anyway. He would be content to ride with Diana. As dangerous as she felt, it was unlikely that she would throw him away mid-course or kick him full force, and he very much doubted the fulgur would not do so if he was alone. He had heard enough stories to be concerned and the beast did nothing to assuage them.

It was black with two sharp streaks of white upon the head, and deadly red eyes that gleamed beneath them. Its mane was the same shade of deep red and its shoulders strongly muscular. The sinews coursed along its limbs in an almost bestial beauty, sculpting them into a lithe body. The hoofs were colored red too. Boris could almost imagine a demon sitting on the horse, a Dullahan that smeared its mane red as it tore through victims.

Brushing off a little trepidation Boris entered the passageway to the castle exit, a long stone passage under an arched roof that hung between two large bastions. He turned back to give one last look towards the castle, the two floating towers greeted his departure with a flimsy wave of air.

“Are you sure you don’t want to say your farewells?”

“Yes.” Boris replied simply. It would be awkward. He was never good with those.

He pulled the hood further down his face and walked on. A pair of black eyes traced him from the discrete cover of a nearby bastion, never blinking. Boris bowed his head low, searching the ground and avoiding the faces.

“Ah,” he uttered as he collided with someone. He was about to apologize when his eyes fell on the person. One head taller than Boris and covered in an extremely suspicious cloak that completely hid him in the darkness. How did the guards let someone like this in? The castle security was abysmal, and at the gate too!

Boris tried to peer into the suspicious hood and found a vague representation of two overshadowed faces on the same body. His mouth had barely opened in alarm when the stranger forced a hand over it, “Shhh! Don’t raise an alarm.” It was familiar voice. ‘What is he doing here? And seriously, alarm? How much more alarming could he be?’ Boris mused. Then he found the royal crest embroidered on his cloak, and realized why the guards left him alone.

“So you are leaving?” Prince Flynn asked in his tasteless voice. His face held no marks of injury anymore. A second face of Maina stood over him. She frowned, turning her face away in sullen displeasure. Boris felt a prick.

He observed a stiff but polite nod in answer. There was no need for more bad blood. He saw Maina give him the tongue as he raised his head, his own eyes shuffled in and out of sight in reluctance. Her face seemed to hold anger but no hatred, Boris reassured himself.

Boris wanted to leave, the conversation had stopped and Flynn was already out of words. He hesitated a little.

“I don’t like you,” the prince finally spoke in an explicit tone. Not arrogant but annoyed. “You are powerless, brash, conceited and annoying,” the prince opined, “and a coward….” he added. Boris began to burn up. His fists clenched, if for the last time he would smack the snob once more. He reined them in with much difficulty, trying not to cause a scene. Instead, Boris glared cynically at the prince who just stared back, hesitation evident on his face as he chewed some words.

“But Maina doesn’t hate you,” the prince added in a subdued tone, “and I would like to think that you are not as bad…” his words punctuated by wavering pauses, “I forgive you Boris Debron. The next time we meet, I hope it will be under more favorable circumstances.”

Boris took a moment to swallow his words. This was probably Flynn’s poor attempt at reconciliation, as hesitant as he was. A little smile rose on his lips as he shook the prince’s reluctant hand. “I certainly hope so,” he replied firmly. Maina was still sullen at him but her eyes were not vengeful, a slight pout sat on her lips. The prince turned gruffly and took his leave. Maina continued giving him the tongue but Boris only smiled back, relieved.

It did not seem like a bad beginning.

Diana gleamed lightly behind Boris, watching the spectacle. Her interest was piqued.

“What?” Boris curled back at her eyes.

“Nothing.”

Boris did not ask any further, just walked towards the gate with Diana. He was reserved in his interactions with her. She seemed to contain an ocean of wisdom littered with icebergs of peril. As an elf, it would not be surprising if she were older than Grey himself, but that age had yet to leave a mark on her skin.

The castle gate was huge as ever, armed with double doors made of iron and hinged on steel. From a distance the doors would have looked marred and rusted but Boris now knew that the doors were ‘marred’ with dull red enchantments that gave them a rusty look. A circuitry of magic sat into them, intricate beyond comprehension in its design. Iron took enchantments better than steel and was thus used for the purpose. The hinges were renitent steel and resisted external magic vehemently. Grey had explained that this was the most effective design for defense. Boris had hoped for a weapon made of renitent steel but Grey had declined. For one, the metal held chaotic internal mana to repel magic and would be dangerous, for another, it was ridiculously rare and unaffordable. A camel’s weight in gold for a handful of the metal? Preposterous!

They passed the gate, overcoming a thousand wards that sat upon the frame by the virtue of a singular badge that hung at their bosoms. Boris felt the discomfort as he passed through, similar to the last time he had passed the gates with Grey. Diana gave a small nod and a few words to the guards, and they were soon outside.

Unrestrained drafts of air were blowing in from the west, lapping against their faces in freedom. Diana hopped onto the fulgur and helped Boris up.

“Alright then,” Diana spoke, “our first stop is the Laur forest.”

“Laur forest?” It was a significant detour to reach Cylia.

“You don’t think I would bring an uninitiated human to my motherland, do you? I need to beat you into form first.”

“Right,” Boris replied, as long as they travelled on, he had no scruples.

They trotted away upon the street towards east, having the wind hit their backs in support. The fulgur took a leisurely stroll, beating up a cloud of dust as it glided onwards, leaving the wind to shame. Boris clung to its neck for dear life, hugging it with all the strength his arms could muster. Diana sat comfortably behind him, holding the reins taut in her hands.

The route towards Laur forest was a quiet one. They did not converse any. The buildings were fewer and vanished faster than Boris could examine them. A small outpost visible every now and then was the only indication of distance that Boris could manage. The route curved south, and the road turned earthen with grass that crept upon the sides in flagrant density.

After a long time, or so it seemed to Boris, they finally came across the garrison outpost that guarded the forest entrance. His arms were sore with effort as he dismounted, suppressing the pain that coursed through his back and limbs. The saddle had been enchanted for comfort and stability but Boris had found both lacking severely. He turned an envious glance to Diana who looked as if she had just dismounted from a carriage.

Another short trip later, they were finally where Diana had wanted them.

It was the forest in all its glamour. Tall trees dotted the leaf-strewn ground and erupted upon the carpet of wild grass. Soil seemed rough and the grass resilient, unlike that of the royal gardens. Boris squashed all his dreams of peaceful days then and there.

Diana set up a small makeshift camp with the help of Boris, alluding to their stay.

“Alright,” Diana spoke, “here are the rules. I am the master and you are the pupil. I ask and you obey, you request and I may acquiesce. Do you see that?”

Boris nodded.

“Good, you can call me Diana, or you can call me master, I don’t mind. I will call you kid, boy, runt, pup, whatever I want.”

Boris accepted with grim reluctance.

“What are you waiting for kid? Go hunt me a slime.”

“Where do I find them?” Boris asked in hope of some pointers as he rummaged through his knapsack and brought out his trusty sling and a pouch full of stone pellets, he would use them as long as they lasted him.

Diana pointed him towards a direction as she scrutinized his weapon, “Follow east into the forest and you will meet plenty of them, don’t go too far and don’t get lost. Are you sure you will be hunting them with a sling?” she asked at last.

“I have poor compatibility with metallic weapons, what with me being inept and all,” Boris explained as he crouched off east with the sling and the wooden knife he had brought along. He tried to sneak through the grass, holding the trees as cover for his hunt. The ancient methods of hunting were not to his liking but he

He met the first group soon. As expected, they hovered near a small burrow, feeding upon the carcass of rats and the waste nearby. Slimes were scavengers, and awfully passive monsters. Boris examined their jelly green bodies as he crept nonchalantly. They slithered and morphed on the same spot, ignorant of his approach.

He thought upon the slimes’ features as he trod slowly but naturally through the grass. Every slime had a simple weakness, the core, as he had read. The scavengers he saw held their cores in broad daylight, parading them like eyes.

It took a few minutes to get close. The slimes were alert but he feigned indifference as walked past and slowly approached them. They tried to converge, some crawled away, others merely observed. After another few minutes of harmless circling by Boris, the slimes returned to their work. He crept closer and closer, calming his breath and walking cautiously until his hands could almost brush against a slime. Then he shot in, plunged both his hands through the gooey body and removed the eyes, all in an instant. His heart beat loudly at the successful completion and he ran back, never turning to observe the melting body of the slime he had killed.

Victory showed on his face as he eagerly made his way back, only to find Diana half way through. She wore a bland look as she stated, “So you already knew their weakness? I had hoped you would at least deal a hit or two in frustration.”

Boris did not understand what she wanted, “Doesn’t this count as success?” he asked curiously.

“It does, but it didn’t fulfill its purpose,” Diana remarked.

“Which was?”

“To gauge you and your potential.”

“I proved it in the duel, didn’t I? I am not particularly great but I think I can perform well enough,” Boris replied confidently. He did not know if Diana was appraising him but he should be decent enough to be taught. He really wanted to learn something useful and practical.

“Make no mistake about your strength, kid. I must accept that you have wit and presence of mind but had you dueled against any of your friends you would have inevitably lost before you launched the first shot.”

“I know that,” Boris replied inimically.

“Good. Now, follow south and hunt a rabbit.”

Boris shrugged again and obeyed. He darted south in search of rabbits. His sling would be put to good use now.

It was an hour later that he came back, or dashed back. He was running as fast as his legs could carry him, a few rabbits giving him chase. His clothes were torn and tattered at knees and ankles, his boots were scratched, and he had broken into sweat as he skirted between trees, taking a twisting path to prevent the rabbits getting a hold of him.

Diana watched in amusement as he screamed, “You did not tell me they were fang rabbits!” Oh sweet cure for boredom.

The fang rabbits had only one curiosity that distinguished them from normal rabbits, fangs. As long as they were killed in a single shot they posed no trouble, but Boris had been unable to hit them even once. Every time he turned around, trying to aim at a rabbit, the rabbit left his vision before the stone left his sling. He had already emptied the pellets and had to scrounge for stones. He circled around Diana’s spot in despair, the rabbits hounding his trail as he begged for help.

Diana sat unconcerned, offering no help in return. He finally took to climbing a tree in desperation. His limbs could barely encircle the girth of the thick trunk that he grasped and he propelled himself in short, struggling movements even as he peered down on the rabbits. The hunter had turned into prey. Humiliating, was what he thought of the event but he had little choice against a bunch of swift, bloodthirsty critters. He pounded his head against the tree, an attempt to provoke a bright idea. None came.

The rabbits assaulted him in aggressive leaps that threatened to reach his feet. He desperately wriggled up, pulling his feet out of reach. After a number of failed efforts, the fang rabbits gave up and returned, all except one that seemed to hold special hatred for him. Boris had mistakenly stepped on it once, crushing its tail in the process.

It was moment of pure luck that this rabbit hit the trunk oddly, crashing its head and falling unconscious with the impact.

Boris looked around cautiously and, once he was assured there were no others around, jumped down nimbly on the ground. He struck the unconscious rabbit hard with a stone, hard enough to render it unconscious if it wasn’t already. He hesitated a little before grabbing it, and meticulously tied it up before bringing it back to Diana as a gift.

Diana betrayed no hint of amusement on her face. It was one of the funnier hunts she had observed, and she had observed a lot of them. Nevertheless, this child really needed some attention. His methods were stone aged.

“Sit down child,” Diana ordered as she received the tied up rabbit, “we need to talk.”

Boris wiped the sweat from his brow and wiped his face with a cloth as he slumped down, using his knapsack as a cushion. “Yes?” he spoke, apparently satisfied at having completed his task.

“First of all, though I recognize the effort you put in, that was a miserable display just now,” Diana told him candidly, “Was that the best you could do?”

“Yes, I mean no but yes, I don’t know how to hunt and I don’t have a good weapon, like a bow,” Boris eyed Diana’s sleek wooden bow as he answered. If he could use a wooden sling, he could use a wooden bow. Actually, he had wanted weapons with a wooden grip, but that would have to wait.

“The issue is not just with the weapon pup, you’re slow, unfit and unprepared. Almost the opposite of heroes. Your movements are stiff, your reflexes are slow and you have barely learnt the use of your weapon, if I may call it that.”

“….” Boris could only respond with a muffled silence, half agreeing and half mulling, “then teach me,” he said after some deliberation, “isn’t that why you brought me here?”

“That I did, hmm… alright get on the ground and spread your legs apart,” Diana ordered.

“Eh?” Boris felt a strange inappropriateness in those words. Diana gave him no time to ponder however. In moments he was on the ground, his legs stretched apart and his arms held in front. Diana sat before him, her feet on the inner aspect of his thighs and her hands on his elbows.

“Um, what are you doing?” Boris asked. This resembled the stretching exercises on earth.

“Getting rid of your inflexibility, how old were you again?” Diana asked as she placed a firm grip on his elbow.

Boris felt a tinge of apprehension before he replied, “Sixteen, why?” Any further words were lost in his mouth as he groaned. Diana pushed his legs with unbelievable strength while she pulled on his shoulders through his elbows. It was torture. He felt his muscles heave and his tendons strain while she pushed and pulled harder, employing what he thought were magic spells in the process. Each time she activated a spell Boris felt a twinge, a strong urge to withdraw and for all he could, it made things worse.

“What- are- you- doing?” Boris asked in painful, interrupted words.

Diana did not reply, only put more force in, slightly puzzled by the effects. Boris screamed now, it felt like the tendons would rip and his shoulders would come undone. “Stop! It will break!” he cried at the peak of his voice. Diana stopped finally, loosening the grip as Boris collapsed back, his face in agony and his limbs aching. He was winced in pain every time his limbs twitched.

She glanced at Boris curiously, “Strange, your body has very poor compatibility with magic.”

“Tell me about it,” Boris spoke sarcastically.

“I see,” Diana told him thoughtfully, “this is why you cannot use forged weapons. It is a surprise your body holds itself together like this, you virtually feel like a dried up corpse.” She brooded while Boris rested on his back, the pain now slowly receding with gasps of breath.

The method was supposed to be painless. Magic dulled the pain and slowly improved the flexibility of muscles and tendons. The elves used it to compensate for poor innate strength and grew taller and agile, but it clearly did not work on Boris. It was a little surprising as Diana contemplated what incompatibility with magic meant. It aroused speculations. She needed to see how far it went.

“No choice then,” Diana finally decided, “Boris Debron,” a piercing look entered her eyes, “we will do it a different way.”

“Please, no more magical stretching,” Boris pleaded as he got up with difficulty.

“I agree, let’s try a more direct method,” Diana conceded simply, a hint of intrigue in her eyes.

“Oh, that sounds… good?”

Boris instantly regretted those words. He was suddenly flung into the air, legs flailing around as he hovered before Diana.

“Be honored child,” she now spoke in a solemn foreign voice as she stretched her hand, her palm fell open upon his chest. Her eyes glowed and the air stirred, restraining Boris. “And grit your teeth,” she cautioned strangely.

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“@#^***_-@#~!#^^&*(),” a string of incoherent utterances emerged as Boris felt fear and awe. It was mind numbing, his skin shivered and broke out in sweat as the air started to glow in flakes of brilliance. His vision turned spotty, until finally it was all white.

All he could feel was the pervasive touch of her palm on his chest as she continued to chant them. The inexplicable words imbued with insane magic, a force that threatened to rush in and tear him apart if unfettered. It pulsed against his chest and Boris closed his eyes in apprehension, only making the words clearer. He tried to speak but the voice lost itself in his throat, he tried to move but his hands disobeyed him, he floated helplessly as he waited. And the first words that made sense fell onto his ears.

“Be blessed thrice, a boon of fire, a gift of ice, and lightning trice,” Diana spoke in Cylian, the accent sovereign in capacity, “Once #$^&&*(@!” An overwhelming force hit Boris, blasting through his chest into his body. His heart throbbed heavily as he coughed, but no voice left his throat. The heat coursed all the way through his ears, Boris felt steam erupt through them. His eyes screamed shut against the pain. His skin melted.

“Twice (*^^$%#@@&!” A second wave exploded, coursing like a tsunami that turned his mind upside down. A jolt of electricity that disoriented him. He lost sense of time and place, his head throbbed and his breath wailed. His ears rang inaudibly and his heart cringed. He coughed again, only much weaker.

“Thrice %-=#@@(*)-!” the voice continued without mercy. That would be it, Boris was not sure he could bear any longer. The third wave was piercingly cold. It spread like a storm, chilling him right to the bone. Every fiber of his being shuddered, withdrew at the force that plunged in nonetheless. It drained him and overwhelmed him, plundering through his resistance without pity. He felt the eerie touch of death, felt it caress him like a child.

‘Ah, I knew she was dangerous,’ Boris reflected in the last moments. He could no longer hear Diana, or feel anything. He felt paralyzed and senseless; a dreary calm overcame his senses. He felt apathetic, alienated from his own self. It was the last leg of despair, a state of cold abandonment.

And then he fell. It hurt, or it should have but it didn’t matter. Darkness descended. Boris just spread his arms and accepted it.

……..

King Durham peered from a high station in High Commander’s chambers, looking at the arena down below. It was meant for training soldiers who were currently gathered all around it. Swords were clashing violently on the ground, threatening to rip each other apart. Ray Edson was fighting indignantly against the Knight Guardian, each slash of his sword resounding with intent to kill. He was angry and disconcerted, looking for an avenue to spill his frustration. The spar session served it well, for now. Durham would have to look for other avenues soon. He redirected his eyes towards the High Commander Dunbar.

A clutter of letters was laid out on the table. Two lavish chairs sat on each side, polished seamlessly and dressed in soft dirven fur.

“What news does Welmar send?” Durham asked.

“Good news my king, the fortresses are furnished well and morale is high. The Orcs have yet to launch a large attack and are losing the skirmishes. No greater demons have been witnessed. The front is secure.”

The king nodded, urging him to continue.

“The lack of soldiers has been redressed and our army contingents have become a more capable force. I would think this is a good time to launch our campaign into Gelacien, before Sturmhelm outdoes us. We even have the heroes on our side.”

“And that explains why you never climbed the ranks like Welmar,” the king chided the bald headed Dunbar. He turned his glance down once more towards the fight. Heavy metallic steps had torn the ground and the swords were still flurrying through the air, each clash sending tremors that reached his ears. He frowned a little.

“Do you not see the picture?” he asked the silent Dubar, “If we launch a campaign now we lose more than we gain. Weakened by the clash with demons and finished by our rivals. I would not put it beyond Sumaria or Sturmhelm to betray us.”

“But the heroes—

“The heroes are a symbol and a trump card, Dunbar. Not to be wasted, but utilized. We will not go to war, not unless the threat of demons intensifies. Let every nation know the fear of Demon Lord before we march in to defend them. And we will fight along with Sturmhelm, involve them in our just cause so they may not have the chance to backstab us. Let their army weaken with ours, and die together if needed…” he paused in thought, “As long as we have the heroes here, no nation will dare attack us before the war. Besides,” he added finally, “we have had no signs of the Demon Lord’s awakening. It is only prudent to wait.”

“It is as you say sire,” Dunbar accepted.

“I do have another work for you Dunbar,” the king spoke while peering back down. The fight had ended. The soldiers cheered while both combatants lay exhausted on the ground. Ray had lost, apparently, from the way he was seething even more and had hurled his headgear away violently.

“What might that be?”

“Get me a list of requests from both the Thiracian and the Irilean Mercenary Guilds. Our heroes need to go on an expedition to cool their heads off.”

……..

“How do you feel?” Diana sat beside Boris, the camp erected nearby. Fire crackled loudly upon his ears, sending warm flecks of light on his cheek.

“Like I am back from the dead,” Boris replied while looking up at the sky. The sun had nearly completed its journey, ready to descend into the west. The sky was still clear, autumn skies in Cumaria seemed often bereft of clouds, something Boris had wondered lately. “What exactly did you do to me?” He asked warily, his body felt drained and free, his senses tingled with a fatigued vigor. He felt different, good and worse.

“A blessing of growth,” Diana answered succinctly, “all elves receive it at the age of thirteen, so they may grow to the most of their potential.”

“So it was like releasing my latent potential? I felt like dying instead.”

“It is an unnerving experience. The blessing stretches your faculties to the limit and so it is often perceived as oppressive. It is nothing fatal though,” Diana reassured.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Trust me. I confess I have never used it on someone other than an elf but it could never be that harmful, probably, hopefully…”

“You had better not mentioned those last few words,” Boris replied wryly, “Either way, this seems like confidential magic, are you fine about using it on someone like me?” He had begun to warm up towards Diana, strange how near death experiences could change one’s attitude. Diana had terrifying skill, he had learnt firsthand and if she did have any antipathy towards him, he would not be alive. He concluded that she meant well and proceeded to offer his own concerns about her.

“You worry about your problems little pup, I can worry about mine,” Diana replied in a subtle grin. She was not concerned. He was an alien creature after all, so he had the benefit of doubt. And while the laws forbade her from blessing other races, they never spoke about someone summoned.

Besides, his companions possessed something a lot more potent than the blessing of growth, allowing them to bypass a month of training in a week. It would not be that unnatural if he started to improve too. She was curious how long the blessing would last, and what it would bring about. Most elves continued to have the blessing till they reached near fifty and even when it dispersed, the effects were permanent.

Boris arched an eyebrow. He didn’t understand why Diana called him a pup. But he didn’t dare ask yet. He instead turned his attention to the magic he had experienced. “A blessing of fire, ice and lightning huh? I wonder how exactly that works…” he talked to himself in a soft contemplating tone.

“You understood that?” Diana’s eyes concealed surprise well, but her voice leaked it out.

“Only a few words, those were Cylian,” Boris turned his head a little to face Diana, his body was still too exhausted to move, “I learnt a bit of Cylian, all that I could in fact.”

“I see now. It is no wonder the Lioness takes an interest in you,” Diana nodded her head slightly in insight. The words were Old Cylian and embedded in an arcane spell chant, it was nigh impossible to understand them.

‘The lioness?’ Boris could not help but think it was connected to calling him a pup.

The only image Boris could form of ‘the lioness’ overlapped with Diana herself. Her golden hair flowing like a majestic mane, her eyes a feral green, her face a predatory mask of threat. Diana smirked as Boris created that image in his mind, overlaying it on her face. Boris shrunk his face with effort at her smirk, trying to draw back. He could not withdraw his eyes however.

Diana commanded a different kind of charm compared to Elaine. Elaine seemed to have eyes that could suck you in, magnetic, irrefutable. Diana in contrast, had eyes you would not dare miss, afraid you would die if you looked elsewhere for a moment. An intimidating, fierce look.

“You seem to have a good intuition, child,” Diana commented calmly as she read his thoughts. Was it because of ageless wisdom?

“Thanks.” Yes, he was a child. Boris never questioned that term. Elves had an enormous lifespan and he did not dare venture a guess, in fear of crossing the line. Women rarely loved the topic of age. He turned his curiosity to the magic again asking, “That was arcane magic, wasn’t it? Do you happen to know the field well?”

“You must be obliviously naïve to not know that. I am an Elf, arcane magic flows in our blood. It is an insult to ask me such a question,” she cautioned him as she answered.

“I am sorry,” Boris proffered an apology.

“It does not matter; I do not expect propriety out of one such young and naïve. I will drill it into you anyway,” Diana seemed to take no mind of it. She shuffled a little before she came near Boris and asked, “Again, how do you feel?” There was a little curiosity there.

“Dead tired, I cannot move, I find it difficult to lift a finger and my body feels completely lethargic. And yet it also feels restless and eager, as if ready to burst out.” Boris tried to explain how he felt and Diana nodded understandingly.

“That is good,” she answered, “it means you have potential to grow and when you have regained your vitality, you will feel a lot better.”

Boris could only wander about that potential. As far as he knew there was no cure to ineptitude, he had ransacked enough books on that. But he didn’t know too far, who knew Elven arcane magic could change his situation, magic was an enigma after all. Even if it didn’t, he felt physically better. His joints did not ache and his limbs were no longer in pain. It was not as if he had lost the sensation itself. It felt more like he had been renewed, freed from faults. ‘A blessing of growth indeed.’

“Thank you Diana, I am afraid I won’t be able to repay you this favor but I cannot express my thanks enough,” Boris replied on a positive note, his eyes hopeful for a bright future. His pupils encompassed the infinite sky.

“Get rest child, you will be all the more grateful tomorrow.” Diana ordered him to sleep and Boris accepted, drowning into the dreamland.

Diana shuffled closer once he was asleep, pondering his peaceful face.

Innocence was as precious in this world as any, but not as welcome. It was a hindrance to heroes and warriors. He would wake up from that innocence one day; it was only a matter of time. Diana only wished he preserved a part of it in this world… And that he lived long enough to lose it.

She wrapped the boy in a blanket and pulled him into the tent, casting protective spells around it. She sat herself on the opposite side of Boris, munching the roasted meat of the fang rabbit. It was good, rabbits were always good prey. She lied down in her own thoughts as night descended, prevaricating over issues that were left unsaid. Boris slept softly, breathing up small whispers of air against the blanket. And the night turned silent, muted by the spell Diana cast over the tent.

………

It was a noisy, unruly morning. The birds were hooting away a full-blown song upon his eardrums, causing Boris to grab his ears shut in annoyance. That did not help much. The early sunlight burnt away the inside of his eyes through closed eyelids and the grass pricked his exposed face eagerly. The whole forest was bursting in loud raucous activity when it was barely dawn. Boris wondered if he had fallen into a grove of helter-skelters and wrack ravens feasting on a corpse of a wyvern. But it was too bright and as he opened his eyes, shading them under his hand, he could see no monsters nearby.

“Awake, I reckon,” Diana sat unaffected in the blinding sunlight, speaking strangely.

‘Wait, she is speaking Cylian,’ Boris realized.

“Good morning. Am I late?” Boris replied in Cylian.

“No qualms,” Diana assured him, “It is your first day in all, you deserve a little leeway.” She sat beside a firepot, stirring the contents with a ladle.

The aroma drifted into his nose and assaulted his smell as his mouth watered. Boris heard the loud grumble of his stomach as he wiped his drool to ask, “Rabbit meat in coriander and spice?” ‘No,’ he revised internally, ‘what about that sweet part, sugar? Sugarfern? Wait, there’s more, oof,’ he pinched his nostrils as the amalgamation of smells overflowed, ‘Too many things mixed within!’

“Vainly guessed,” Diana told him, “but not completely incorrect.”

Boris crept forward to glance into the pot but Diana snubbed his hand away. “The rules, pup. Today I allow you to eat with my share but tomorrow on, you eat what you hunt.” Boris nodded hungrily, eager to satiate his appetite. “Also,” Diana snubbed him again as she held out a bristled branch, “clean up before you eat.” Boris took the bristle and sauntered over to the nearby brook to clean up.

It was most delicious meal of his life, and he ate up a huge amount in hunger. All done and finished, he approached Diana to begin his training.

“Well,” she asked, “feel any different?”

Boris widened his eyes as he wondered the change he had felt since morning. “Very different,” he replied with realization.

“Good,” Diana said, “it will take you awhile to habituate. Meanwhile, we shall commence breathing exercises.”

Boris felt excited at the prospect. His mind imagined the breathing exercises of Chinese monks and martial artists the developed internal energy and created inhuman strength.

Lords and devils! How wrong he was….

________________

Boris struggled, with the gravest determination he could muster, to extricate himself. Foolish. It was impossible. The infatuated vines held him with reckless strength, straining against his waist for hold and causing further pain. Love hurts. And he could not get away. They pulled at him from each end while the force pushed him back.

He was in deep waters, literally and metaphorically. The rapids slapped against his face in wrath, knocking the air out of his lungs and thrashing him about like a toy. He could never imagine that the calm brook would have had such devastating beginnings. He struggled, flailed, thrashed his arms and legs and tried to endure the fierce tirade of water, procuring a deep, rapid breath each instant he could.

‘Breathing exercises, my foot! My lungs!’ Boris did not waste a word on breath, only cursed Diana in his mind. She wasn’t just dangerous dangerous, she was catastrophic dangerous. It was learn or die lesson. An obvious choice really, so he struggled to learn.

It was after uncountable cycles of struggle, fainting, drowning and resuscitation that Diana finally allowed him rest. He breathed respite at his survival, fearing for the days to come. It could develop in a trauma for him. By the evening, his fears were allayed. He would never develop a trauma, he didn’t have the time or capacity left for it. Boris ran enthusiastically, expending every faculty of his to survive.

“The weak must learn three things first,” Diana had lectured, “to run, to dodge and to hide.” Then she had begun her inhuman assault of daggers and arrows, interchanging at sudden intervals. The only silver lining was that Boris could actually see them, and get a faint sense of their trajectory, providing him a pittance of time to avoid it. Of course, he couldn’t avoid them all. And he was truly surprised to learn that Diana’s attacks were serious, filled with an enormous killing intent that made him shudder. The bruises and cuts on his body served as proof. Diana only altered her attacks at the very last moment, making sure nothing fatal occurred.

‘Catastrophic? No, Apocalyptic,’ Boris revised his opinion of her once again. It would be a long, arduous journey but he was prepared for it.

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Boris retired for the night utterly exhausted. His body craved sleep after the travails of the day. And if tomorrow was going to get harder, he would need to rest well. The tent had turned dark and silent, extremely calm to his senses. He pondered a little about magic and other things before he turned his mind to the one issue he was avoiding since morning. His mana tree, the network of empty, cold mana vessels that had felt like a barren desert. He had noticed sometime during the day that he could feel them clearly now, almost instinctively. Earlier he had to concentrate for an hour or so to feel them well, and any attempt at harnessing mana had been a failure.

His mana tree had branched out immensely, for the lack of a better word, but it had not bloomed. It was in perpetual winter. Boris tried to fill it up, stressing his mind and heart for what he considered the reservoir. He pressed hard with resolve and hope, only to have the pain emerge again. His hands cramped, his heart cringed and his mind shuddered. They were empty, destitute. He pondered over other things he could do to create mana, making a note to ask Diana if she knew.

“Diana,” he asked before the heaviness of sleep could whisk him away, “Will you teach me arcane magic?”

“Not today, child. Not today.”

Boris slept with a huge smile upon his face, not all was lost.

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