Chapter 6: Foundations of Physical Strength

Landar

The next day, I sat on my father’s shoulders as we walked to his work. They brought me along for two reasons. First, I’d stop bothering my mother and sister with constant questions while they prepared for my sister’s coming of age ceremony next month.

Second, I needed to learn to read and write. And Tomas and Elsbeth didn’t feel up to the task.

I sat on Tomas’s shoulders as we walked. His club swung from his hip, while he held his spear aloft in the crook of his arm so the tip couldn’t accidentally harm anyone.

“Father?” I asked, and he sighed.

“And it was such a nice quiet walk.” He whispered to himself. I couldn’t help but smirk. I remembered what having a tween with seemingly endless questions felt like. And I was determined to ensure by the end of my time as one, they would have thoroughly learned from the experience. “Yes son? What is it?”

“I want a beast core. Can you get me one? Preferably two if you can find them. I need to learn to use the first one, and the second one will allow me to experiment and—”

My father’s shoulders shook as I felt his entire body rumble under me. “What’s so funny?” I asked as Tomas shook his head.

“Beast cores, huh? And why do you think I’d be able to get you one of those, let alone two?”

“Well, you work at the gate, right? You fight monsters and things all the time.”

“That’s right, I fight them. And usually just scare them off. Rarely do we kill anything that comes up to the gate uninvited, let alone monsters strong enough to have cores in them.”

“Mother Margaret says that even weak monsters have cores in them.”

He shook his head again. “She’s right, but even a weak monster is a challenge for me. I usually deal with bears, moose, and other creatures that wander in close because they like the smell of the city. I have to call in help for real monsters.”

“Oh.” That took me by surprise. I had assumed from the way he described his job that he fought monsters regularly. I guess parents in this world aren’t opposed to a little white lie to make themselves look better in the eyes of their sons, I thought as I wondered how I could get my hands on two or more cores.

“Well, don’t sound too disappointed. One day, you’ll be strong enough to go hunting for monsters on your own. Or perhaps you’ll get lucky and stumble across a few when you’re out gathering firewood with the other kids. Once you’re strong enough.”

“That happens?”

“Yeah, though not very often. Young children regularly go out into the local woods to scavenge for food, firewood, or do a bit of hunting while their parents are out working. That’ll be your job too as soon as you can handle it. Tabitha usually goes in the afternoon, when your mother does her potion making.”

“Potion making?” I asked, startled. “Mom makes what?”

“You haven’t noticed? Well, I suppose you wouldn’t. You usually sleep through the first half of the afternoon being so weak, and before that you were bedridden. So I guess that makes sense. Your mother was gifted a recipe for weak health potions by Mother Margaret. She brews them every few days to fulfill orders for the sick or wounded in town.”

“Health potions? Aren’t those expensive?”

“The common strength ones are. Us guards get two or three a month just in case something happens.”

I continued asking questions of my father, and I learned a lot. Like the fact that my mother’s brewing was what she did in exchange for Mother Margeret’s help in saving me from the fevers. And that my father sold his degraded Common strength health potions at the end of the month once they’ve degraded down to Weak status.

I also learned that there were several grades of potions. Unstable being at the bottom. With Weak, Common, Nominal, Uncommon, and Strong. There were others used by nobility, but those were the ones my father knew about.

A Common strength health potion would heal most wounds. Got a nasty cut on your arm from chopping wood and being stupid? Drink a Common strength health potion and it’ll cure you right up. Meanwhile Weak strength health potions only healed things like splinters, or bad paper-cuts, directly. However, prolonged use over a few days could have the same effect as a Common potion when coupled with rest and time to recover.

They were seen by most as only useful to craftsmen who endured many minor wounds during their work, and still needed to do it again the next day. Dad usually sold his stock to a smith friend of his, who was also a member of the Reserve City Guard. Basically, a group of civilian militia, from the sounds of it. But the man sounded like he knew his trade. He made the weapons and ironwork for the guard whenever they needed, at cost.

When I asked if that privilege extended to family members, my father chuckled and said yes, yes it did. “But don’t abuse it, Landar. Ulgin is a good man, but he doesn’t suffer fools or children well. Even his own son.”

Eventually we got to the southern gate, where my father was stationed. He was the captain of the gatehouse and many of the watchers on the wall waved or saluted as he approached. When I pointed to another gate, I saw a few streets down he explained.

“Yes, there are other gates son. But those are mainly used for cargo, or for goods to leave the city. There are only four gates where people are allowed to come and go. And those are the most dangerous. Your old man is captain of one. This one.”

The gate house was larger than the others, at nearly four stories tall. The gate itself had been raised to about twice the height of a man, allowing cargo and people to come and go as needed. The gate itself was made of thick metal beams. It’d take a few pounds of C-4 to break that thing open, I thought as we passed under it.

I was surprised to find out it was not the only defense. When I looked directly up at my father’s instruction, I found a massive block of stone being held up by counterweights. Those were connected by thick corded ropes thicker around then I was.

It was an impressive sight.

“If ever someone tries to attack the city, we first close that gate.” He pointed towards the metal grate that was now behind us. “Then, once their army is lured in, we drop that thing on their heads.” My dad chuckled menacingly. “Then we drop the second grate.” He pointed out another metal grate at the far end of the gatehouse. They lifted this one all the way up, and I could tell it didn’t see regular use.

“Interesting. So you trick them into attacking the inner grate. Knowing it’s heavy and will probably take siege equipment to break. They make something like a heavy battering ram and bring it in. That takes a lot of manpower, and probably some of their top engineers and siege workers depending on how powerful the ram has to be.” I said, pointing to the various places I was talking about.

“Then once they’re lured in, you drop that—mountain on them. Depriving the enemy of both an easy way to get in, a few days of planning, and some of their siege engineers. And depending on how successful the defense efforts elsewhere are, as well as how stupid the enemy is, you could cripple the enemy’s ability to even lay a proper siege. All while giving reinforcements time to get in place to break the siege.”

I nodded as I took it all in. It was very well thought out.

“The best part is, those murder holes that line the top allow you to shoot at them as they come in. Making it seem more like a real defense effort rather than a trap. And it has the added bonus of keeping them from looking up and realizing it’s a trap. Still, you might want to try to cover the dropping mechanism so it’s not so obvious. A trained engineer, who looked up, would realize it’s a trap pretty quickly unless—”

I realized my father had stopped at the entrance into a small guardhouse near the outside of the wall. He had frozen on the precipice of the doorway, and was looking over at the expression of the two guards who were on duty.

Both of them looked shocked and were staring straight at me.

“Men, this is my son. Landar.”

“The sickly one, sir?”

“Just so. His body was weak. But now by the Gods, he’ll get better. They blessed him with a mind as keen as an adult and a wit as sharp as a knifes edge.”

“Sir, permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Yes, private Drake.”

“Did you bring him here to assess the defenses, sir?” My father’s shoulders shook slightly with laughter, but his voice was steady as a rock when he responded.

“No. But I agree with his assessment. We need to disguise those mechanisms. Have Reech and someone from the builders’ guild in my office by noon.”

The two men saluted, and we entered the small guardhouse. He took me off his shoulders as a spindly man wearing the same uniform as my father and the other guards met us.

“Oswald, how are things today?”

“Rotations are on spot, sir. No absences or injuries. We did have another sighting of those wolves, though.” The skinny man said as he read from a set of notes he held on a wooden chalk tablet. It was how most people kept temporary notes. Paper and parchment were very expensive. But a green stone slate and some chalk were as cheap as they came.

“Hmmm. I may have to lead a hunting party for them. Were there anything unusual reported about the creatures?”

“Yes sir. One traveler said that he thought he saw frost coming from the mouth of the alpha who was standing behind the rest of the pack. But it was too dark this morning to tell for sure.”

“That matches up with what Private Kerga said last week. It might be a wolf whose developed a primitive core.”

My ears burned at the mention of a core.

“Inform the knights’ watch. We may need their help on the hunt.”

“Yes sir. And who might I ask, is this, sir?”

“Oh, this is my boy Landar.” The man stared at me and blinked a few times before breaking into a smile. “He’s come to train today.”

“Train sir? No offense sir, Landar, but I don’t think he’ll be able to keep up with the recruits at this morning’s run. Let alone the rest of the training. Sir.”

Cardio had always sucked. I’m a big guy, and one thing all big guys hate, even when we’re fit, is cardio. But then again, I wasn’t big anymore, right? Maybe it won’t be so bad.

“No, no. You misunderstand me. He’ll be following you around this morning, learning your clerical duties. After lunch, I’ll figure something else out for him. But he’s built up his stamina enough that he can stay awake for the whole day now. So we need to start work on the other parts of his foundations.”

“Oh. I see, sir. He’s trying to make up for some lost time.”

“Right. And we’re starting out by having him follow you around. Just walking, listening, and learning. That’s it.” Tomas turned a stern gaze down on me. “Don’t bother Oswald with incessant questioning, Landar. He has important work to do. Pick up what you can, and he’ll answer questions later. Let the man work.”

I nodded. I could respect that the man had work to do. I had been hoping for formalized lessons, but on-the-job training in reading, writing, and numbers would do just fine for now. “Yes, father.”

He smiled and ruffled my hair with a massive palm that nearly suffocated me. “That's my boy.”

“I’ll do my best, sir.” Oswald bowed slightly and saluted. He was young, but I could tell he was pretty smart from the way he talked and held himself. This man might be able to fight, but he’s an egg head at heart. I like him already.

My father left me and Oswald alone in his office. There were two desks. My father’s desk, which was just an old table nailed together and placed in a corner, and Oswald’s desk. Which was of much sturdier make, and was strewn with scrolls and slates.

“These are the accounts. I’m almost done with this month’s payroll. Next, I’ll be doing the equipment requests for new health potions from the city armory.” Oswald pulled my father’s seat over to his desk and helped me into it. I had to practically stand to see what the man was talking about, even with my father’s chair being built for his massive frame. “They’re pretty routine. Do you know your numbers yet?”

I shook my head. “Not well.”

“That’s fine. We’ll review them as we do the forms.”

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

The number system in this world was like back home. A ten base system that allowed for easy addition and subtraction. It only took me about an hour to get the hang of the numbering system. The numbers themselves were all very blocky, and very distinct from one another. Unlike the more flowing curved numbers commonly used back on Earth in the Arabic numerals.

These almost looked like runes. Each one used sharp angles and after familiarizing myself with them I realized that each number up to ten had the given number of lines as the number it represented. One, for instance, was a straight line. Two looked like an unfinished A, and three looked like a tiny house and so on, with Zero being represented by a bold and visible dot.

I watched him fill out the requisition order forms and by the time he was done with all twenty-five of them; I had the numbering system down well enough to learn how these people notated math.

That was a much more difficult endeavor. I asked a couple of simple questions and soon found that easy notation didn’t exist in this world. Instead, it was all done by writing it down on a slate, and actually counting the numbers together.

When I showed him an ‘idea’ I had about using the addition system, he beamed at me.

“That is a nobles trick. I’ve learned it, which is why I’m able to do this so fast on most days. I didn’t think you needed to learn that though, as this method,” he tapped the slate where he had been counting them out loud as he went, “is used by most commoners. It seems young Landar, your father was right. You are quite bright. Here, let me show you.”

He showed me the notation methods for addition and subtraction. It wasn’t that different. Math is math after all. We worked on several more requisition forms. A new belt for my father, a new spear to replace one that had broken during training, and a few other random items.

Then Oswald had us work on a summary of the requested items along with a totalling of their cost and value. When he was nearly finished, I had to stop him.

“I’m sorry Oswald sir, but it looks like you got one wrong there.” I pointed out his mistake. He had forgotten to write the seven out completely and it looked like a five.

He double checked the figures and made the correction before finishing his work. “Thank you for catching that. Your father would have eaten me alive if I had been the reason some of our people got issued weak as opposed to normal health potions this month.”

“So, what next?” I asked as he filed the parchment into a large folder and sent it off with a messenger who had been waiting for us to finish.

“Lets see, we have about two hours left. We finished that faster than I had suspected we would. How about we work on the alphabet?”

We spent the next two hours writing the different letters of the alphabet on green slate tiles with chalk. The written language, much like the numbers system, was blocky and simple. It reminded me of fantasy dwarf languages. When I asked about its origins, Oswald perked up.

“That is an interesting history lesson most people never learn, or even think to ask about.”

“So do you know?”

“The kingdom’s writing and numbering system originated in the mountains to our west. In the Wild Lands. From the time before the kingdom was founded. Both the mathematical and alphabetical notations I’ve shown you are considered holy and part of the Mothers domain. They are two of her greatest graces. Do you know the founding story, Landar?”

I shook my head.

“Well then, your question makes sense now. The official story is we started out as a bunch of villages along the wild lands border and grew up from there. Those villages never could grow beyond a certain point as enemies around us, from wild beasts to savage Elven tribes regularly attacked us. It wasn’t until the worshipers of the Father arrived that we had enough strength to build something worthy of the Mother’s gifts and graces. But many believe that the genuine history is far more interesting.”

He was about to explain, but a knock came to the door, followed by my father gently trying to squeeze himself into the office.

“How are things going in here?”

“Good sir. Your son is exactly as you described him. Exceptionally bright.”

Tomas beamed proudly, and then I noticed a mischievous tilt to his smirk and my heart sank slightly.

“That’s good. You’re all well and rested then, Landar?” I nodded. “Alright, well, it’s lunch. And then I have a special project for you.”

***

Lunch consisted of a hearty meat stew. While the other recruits, guards, and my father wolfed theirs down in seconds, an impressive display even for a soldier, I had to take my time. Even taking things slow I wasn’t able to finish the massive bowl of meat, potatoes, and the small yet heavy loaf of bread that came with it.

When I was as full as I could be without getting sick, I pushed the bowl away towards my father. “All yours now.” He took it with a predatory grin. It was gone before I could blink.

“Alright, follow me.” Tomas got up from the cafeteria table and I followed. We wound our way through several passages towards what I was guessing was the inner part of the wall.

We came to an enormous set of double wooden doors treated with some kind of black-tar lacquer that had dried to provide a protective coating on the wood. Tomas turned and stared down at me. I was already sweating from the walk. Just keeping up with the giant had been a tedious task, and my leg muscles burned.

My father looked uncomfortable for a moment before he bent down to one knee. He placed a hand on my shoulder and sighed.

“Son, I — I don’t. How do I put this? I’m used to telling recruits they need to keep working, no matter how hot it is. No matter how tired they get, or thirsty they feel. They keep working until the work is done and we can rest as a team.”

The soldier in me, that young twenty something grunt who had slogged his way through Afghanistan’s back country back on Earth, resonated with the words. The frail child, on the other hand, quailed. I felt myself torn between fear for my life and fear of disappointing the giant of a man I was beginning to actually see as my father.

“But that is not the advice I can or will give you today. The exact opposite actually. When you feel tired, rest. If you get overly hot, leave. Drink some water, and then come back. If you feel you can’t do more, then stop. You’re too frail to work like a soldier. Yet.”

Again, Tomas had a pained expression on his face. Like he knew this wasn’t a good idea, but he didn’t have any other option. “But I can’t think of anything else that could help but work. And hard work it has to be. Here is a lesson for you, son. People only get stronger by working their bodies hard, and pushing themselves to their limit. And hopefully, beyond.”

“But my limit is very small.” I said, smiling up at my father as best I could. Inside, I wanted to scream. I hated being trapped in a body that could barely walk next to a grown adult, let alone do actual labor.

He ruffled my hair and smiled at me gratefully. “That’s right. But if you work hard, you’ll be strong enough to join the recruits and train with them. We’ll get your physical foundations back up to snuff. Now, follow me. And touch nothing or you’ll likely get burned.”

The double doors opened, and a wave of dry heat hit me like a physical force. I nearly staggered, but forced myself to stay standing. My father went in and I followed.

The heat was oppressive, and the ring of metal on metal filled my ears like needles. I winced at each strike as I tried to keep up. We wove through several storage areas until we came to a covered work site that was half exposed to the outside. There, a massive man with a belly probably as large as me, was striking a small black hammer down onto an even smaller piece of worked metal.

“Hold on, almost done.” The man yelled over the crackling fire and the bustle of people outside. The voices of hagglers talking to merchants were easily ignored as I watched the man work. Each strike down on the small circle did something, shaped the metal in a different way. After each strike, he lifted the metal up to examine it, and then placed it down again for another light hammer fall.

Eventually the smith nodded to himself and drenched the rapidly cooling metal in salt water. Then placed it on a workbench to finish cooling. “That’s Count Tarlimin’s last horseshoe. His mare will be happy when the farrier comes to pick it up.”

The smith carefully took off his gloves, took his tools and gently placed them on another work bench. Almost as quick as he did, a tall skinny young man rushed forward and started cleaning the tools. He started by wiping them down, then started treating them with various oils and things I didn’t quite recognize.

“Is this the runt you want to saddle me with, Tomas?”

My father reached a hand out, and the two men grabbed wrists for a moment. “Yes. He’s not got a lot of strength or stamina yet. But he’s a hard worker.” I felt a swelling of pride at my father’s words. My father back on Earth hadn’t been so free with praise. He had been a good man, but quiet. He showed his love through service to us kids. Not with hugs or affection.

It was a stark contrast to my worldly mother. Who was very open, was as loud as a sea captain in a storm, and knew more foul language than a sailor on leave in Las Vegas.

Tomas’s style was very different.

“So, Ulgin. Do you think you might have use of him?” Tomas asked.

“Well,” he looked me over with an appraising gaze. “I think I have a job he can do.” The large smith pointed towards a pile of coal. “Can you use a shovel, boy?”

I looked at the shovel by the coal pile and realized it was larger than me. I shook my head.

“That’s alright. I’ll be working on iron today. Won’t take too much coal, but will take a steady supply of it. You can pick up one piece at a time if you have to. Just keep it going.” He pointed at a coal shoot that fed into the furnace he had been using to keep the metal he was working on hot. “Can you do that?”

“I think so. How long?”

The large smith shrugged. “Two hours. One piece of coal every few heartbeats. I just need to finish up this set of travel pots for some merchant friends of mine.”

I nodded. “Yes sir, I think I can do it.”

“Alright, let’s see what you’ve got.” I walked over to the coal pile and picked up several small pieces, putting them in the crook of one arm and then headed over to the coal shoot. I then fed the first piece into it.

A wave of heat blasted out of the feeder. I could tell that a grown man would barely have felt it, but to me it felt like I had just dodged a blow torch. A few seconds later, I fed in another and the smith nodded.

“Good, let’s get to work.” He picked up his hammer and started back towards his work station.

I turned around and went to get more coal. By the third load of coal, my arms hurt, legs ached, and back started spasming a little. I had to sit down and rest. When I did, a tall lanky teenager appeared and picked up where I left off, giving me a gratified glance as he did.

At some point, my father left. I wasn’t sure exactly when. Probably somewhere around the sixth or seventh load I carried to the furnace. After every third arm full, I needed a short break where the other man took over. But I did my best to avoid resting too long.

About the fourth break I was forced to take, the other teenager who I learned was the smith’s apprentice and son, brought me some water. I drank it greedily and thanked him.

“Are you alright, kid?” The apprentice asked me as I nearly collapsed about an hour later.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just — everything hurts.” I laughed, and he joined uneasily, uncertain.

“Pain is the foundation of strength.” He said it like it was some kind of common saying. I’d never heard it before, but it was very similar to something my drill sergeants had said all the time.

No pain, no gain, so run your ass off private, or it’ll get shot off!

Drill sergeants aren’t known for their kind words and gentle instruction.

I needed a full ten minutes to recover before I was able to stand and take another load. At one point I found a basket, and started filling it, and dragging it over the ground. It was harder, but the time between carries was longer, allowing me to recover more.

Time passed at a snail’s pace, and I felt like the torture would never end. But I didn’t give up. I kept going, taking my father’s advice and resting as much as I felt my body needed. But I always got back up and started working again.

Eventually, the sharpening, grinding noises, and the hammer falls in the forge stopped. A hand rested on my shoulder, and I looked up from where I was trying to push my basket across the floor.

“You did good, boy.” It was the smith. “Come, let’s get you cleaned up.” I sagged slightly as I let go of the basket and felt my entire frame ache. “Don’t worry, there’ll be more work tomorrow.”

I groaned and an evil glint appeared in the older smith’s eyes.

***

I was a walking zombie. That’s the best way I could describe that first walk home after a day’s work with my father. I don’t remember getting home, but I remember powerful hands picking me up and tucking me in tightly into bed.

When I woke up next, my stomach ached and grumbled, sounding more like a bear’s growl than a boy’s stomach. My mother informed me I had slept almost the entire night, and most of the next day. My body felt mostly recovered, but I was still bone tired.

Tomas got home a few hours after I woke up. He told me we’d do it again tomorrow, after I got a good night’s rest, and as much food as I wanted to eat.

We feasted that night, both in celebration of my sisters soon to be coming of age ceremony, and my own accomplishments. The feast wasn’t extravagant, but there were sweet roll pastries which were a rare treat.

The next day, work went very much the same as it had that first day. And I was only slightly less tired on the walk home. I ended up sleeping through the next day, again, and my parents had Mother Margeret brought in to check on my health.

She stared at me through the small metal rimmed glass and chuckled.

“You’re almost there boy, keep pushing like this and you’ll be at a Normal stage physical foundation in, oh, maybe a month.” She proclaimed me perfectly healthy, just exhausted, and encouraged my parents to keep allowing me to do whatever it was I was doing. “His foundations have never been healthier.”

And so we settled into a routine for nearly a month. I’d accompany my father to work, working with Oswald in the morning, then working at the forge doing basic simple labor in the afternoon. The next day I would rest, and we’d repeat.

Every seventh day we’d go to what I started thinking of as mass and I emptied myself of the mana, before it started poisoning me again.

By the end of the month, I was stronger, healthier, and I even had a little muscle tone. Which I flexed and showed off to my mother and sister. They giggled and oowed and awed over me. My mother proclaimed me her ‘little hero’.

I didn’t want to be treated like a kid, I just wanted to celebrate. But parents and siblings are going to do what they do, I suppose. Who was I to deprive them of that just because of my pride? These were good people after all.

Until one day, near the end of the month just a few days from Tabitha’s coming of Age ceremony, I woke up, my body burning all over. I cried out and my mother woke and turned on our small oil lamp.

My body was red from head to toe. Sweat and grime coated me despite having already taken a shower that night. The best way I can describe it is the worst possible sunburn I had ever experienced, mixed with muscle fatigue, and a hunger that I’d only felt after marching for three days on quarter rations.

In short, I was miserable.

Until it ended, and I lay there covered in grime and awful.

My mother helped me stand, and I realized the world wasn’t, it wasn’t as large as it had been before. I was still a child, but I was taller now. The right height for a tween rather than the size of an eight-year-old.

Tabitha, Mother, and I sat at the table as I ate every piece of stale bread and dried jerky we had in our pantry. I was like a black hole. After I took a shower, and got cleaned up, my mother hugged me as tightly as she could.

“I’m so proud of you!”

Tabitha took a turn after she released me. “Your hard work is paying off, little brother,” she said, and I found tears running down her smiling face as she looked at me.

“What happened?” Was all I could think to ask.

“Your foundation. It’s healed. Finally! Wait till your father hears about this!”

***

I didn’t have to wait long. Only about an hour later Tomas arrived and set about his nightly routine. He had taken back to the night shift on those days I couldn’t come with him, and so his sleep schedule was constantly in flux.

A good soldier can sleep anywhere, anytime, I thought, remembering another saying the drill sergeants burned into my brain in basic. And my dad is a good soldier. That realization filled me with pride as I hid in the bedroom, waiting for my mother and sister to greet Tomas.

They cooked him a full meal: bread, cheese, and freshly cooked meat stew. “This is great love, but why?” he asked, confused. “It's late, you two should be in bed.”

“This isn’t just for you.” Mother chided him. “A growing boy needs to eat too, you know.”

That was my cue. I opened the door and walked out. I had grown nearly a foot and a half. I reached to Tomas’s belly now, rather than his waist.

His eyes went wide as he saw me, and as quick as lightning, he had me wrapped in a hug. All your hard work is paying off, my boy!”

I won’t confirm if he cried or not.

He did. But just don’t tell anyone.