Beast of Burden Yuki dragged the water skin from inside the fissure to the outside for the sixth time.

Even though Jenny looked exhausted, she pantomimed the request. “Biscuit, please bring,” she mimicked Yuki dragging the water skin, “water,” she pointed inside the container, “for me,” she finished by pointing at herself.

Yuki did as her pet asked, she even mulled over the words in her head. They were easier to remember and make sense of. A lot easier than her own memories of the many attempts to learn more languages in the before. Was it the INT again? She dragged the container the last stretch.

Jenny had forgone any semblance of modesty. After drinking the whole thing in the first run, she had just removed all of her clothes and dumped the water over her head again and again. The girl was bruised all over. Yuki would care for those today; she finally had the magic points for it.

With this last water run, Jenny was already dressed, with just her undies and a shirt. She sipped from the water before placing the container by her side. She looked at Yuki and beckoned. “Biscuit, come here, girl.”

Yuki was conflicted about things. Now that they were almost talking; should she tell Jenny her name? She hopped on the woman’s lap but shook her head when Jenny tried to play with Yuki’s ears. Perhaps later she’d tell Jenny her name, right now, it would just confuse things. Yuki concentrated on the spell she was about to cast, she chanted the words and moved her paws. She tried to learn all it could and couldn’t do. When she finished casting, she settled down and focused on keeping the magic flowing. It would take some time to finish healing all of Jenny’s bruises.

———

Jenny looked surprised at the rabbit. Since when did Biscuit refuse ear scritches? Biscuit said something, her voice strange and unnatural. The hair on Jenny’s neck and arms stood on end, but she recognized the spell. She released a breath held for too long. It was still strange to see a rabbit using the cursed magic openly. How did she combat the corruption? Mother had told her about magic, and to avoid it, lest she lose her mind.

Sorcery corruption was anathema to the tradition passed down by her mother, but Biscuit didn’t seem affected by any adverse effects.

Jenny shook her head, another reason to teach the rabbit the language. She took a deep breath and centered herself. It wasn’t as easy here as in the room she had prepared at the manor, but Jenny was used to this by now. She conjured the empty room, and the world around her fell into nothingness.

Memories from before her mother taught Jenny weren’t as reliable, usually blurred, unless they were about intense emotions or moments. Jenny decided to start from the beginning. The first lessons were the hardest, but they might offer better insights.

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Mist filled the room, and it became blurry and strange. Hidden behind the fog were the manor walls and the trees Jenny was never allowed to climb. The cobbled path led outside to the city, but it was guarded day and night. Father had sent the servants to remove all the flowers and other plants in the courtyard, “they only distract the girl,” was his response when mother questioned him.

Memory-Jenny was six years old. She wore simple clothes, a gray shirt, trousers, and shoes. She held a stick in both hands, trying and failing to maintain a proper stance. Father walked around Memory-Jenny holding the cane. Jenny couldn't see the man's disappointed eyes, in a moment of rage, she had shredded his face from all her memories. She could still conjure the whole memory, but his face was always a blur.

The cane lashed out. Memory-Jenny was too focused on her trembling legs to see it. It hit the girl in the face. She fell, crying out in pain, stick clattering to the ground.

“Get up!” Father ordered, “and fix your stance!” He barked. Jenny dismissed the memory. Too early; these weren’t the ones she was looking for. That continued for weeks on end. Father always finding any possible excuse to lash out and teach his ‘little girl’ how to hold the spear properly. At the end of the day, the man would hug Memory-Jenny and soothe her pain and bruises, always whispering that his ‘little girl’ did her best.

Jenny regretted destroying the memories of her father. Anger burned in her mind. How could she recognize the man now and repay all his ‘love?’

Another memory formed from the mist. Memory-Jenny performed basic spear thrust drills. A step forward, and the stick lashed out. The cane would soon follow. It was never enough. No matter how much Memory-Jenny practiced, it was never enough. Jenny watched it with detached anger. She conjured the memory of yesterday’s fight with the rusted armor and compared both stances. She was still using the bigger weapon like the smaller version. The balance was wrong; the footwork was out of sync with the spear movements.

Jenny dismissed the old memory and summoned another, this one a spar with Father. He wielded a larger quarterstaff like a spear. Even with his lame leg, his posture was impeccable. Memory-Jenny stepped forward and thrust. Father’s staff moved faster and without mercy. It hit Memory-Jenny’s head, and the memory dissolved. Jenny replayed the attack, comparing her own stance to Father’s. She adjusted the legs’ position in her mind and the way she held the weapon. It looked better.

Another memory formed in the mists. This one Memory-Jenny was older, eight years old. They were still in the courtyard. She remembered this day. The sky was overcast, and the wind blew strong. It would rain later and rain for weeks. Memory-Jenny faced Father again. Memory-Jenny held a staff, the same as a short spear. Father and Memory-Jenny stared at each other. Father moved first. He feinted a high trust, only to bring the staff down in a low sweep. Memory-Jenny didn’t see it. She tried to parry an attack that never came and had her legs swept from under her. The additional strike at her ribs was just to remind Memory-Jenny that an enemy would never show mercy.

The girl got up again, her face a storm. Father retook position, as did Memory-Jenny.

Father tried the same thing, a feint, and a sweep, but Memory-Jenny anticipated it; she counter-feinted and evaded the sweep, then lunged and hit Father’s face in the counter. Memory-Jenny grinned; she’d finally done it; she finally hit Father.

The staff lashed out hard and fast.

Jenny went back into the memory. She didn’t need to see the beating again. She still remembered the weeks of pain that followed. Instead, she observed the man’s stances and attacks. She adjusted her own approach with the heavy weapon.

Another memory formed in the mists.