Chapter Fifteen: Both the Marble and the Sculptor

Tom decided he needed to talk to Gad somehow. He couldn’t stand not knowing what was coming. The only issue was that he couldn’t see how to achieve that.

They were never left alone even for a moment. His best chance would be at night time, when they were only watched by a single orc, but that orc would still beat them senseless if they tried to talk. The other orcs all slept a decent distance away - Tom assumed that for them sleeping close to the humans would be like sleeping in a kennel - but the single orc watching them was always close enough to count their pores.

There was another hitch in his plan too. Gad was beside himself. Utterly terrified. Tom didn’t even know if he could talk in that state he was in, and had no idea whether he would talk even if he somehow managed to get a hold of himself. Courage was not amongst Gad’s foremost virtues. Still, Tom had to try. At the end of the day it was worth Tom taking a beating for it.

They carried on for another day, and Tom got no opportunity. He bided his time, patiently waiting for his chance.

On the next night, the fourth after being captured, they stopped to rest beside a small river. The orcs seemed to be arguing with themselves after they stopped. Eventually, the massive male beat a smaller one round the head until it squealed, and after that the group set to chopping down trees with their crude stone axes.

They stopped for the night after felling several smaller trees, set up their cookfire, and fell into their usual wild squalling. Tom supposed it was good-natured on their part, but it included a lot more brief fights and snarling than a human camp. The trees rested in an untidy pile between the humans and the orcs.

They must have been arguing over whether to bother transporting us across the river or not, Tom thought tiredly. The orcs could surely just swim across if they weren’t burdened with captives. He couldn’t muster up much enthusiasm that they hadn’t decided to just kill them and be done with it.

Tom lay awake for hours that night. The orcs had all fallen asleep, bar the guard watching them with its beady eyes.

His hands ached. His wrists burned. His ribs were a mass of bruises. He was exhausted. His stomach felt like it was turning itself inside out. He had never been so miserable.

If I wasn’t such a useless excuse for a person, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe I could've stopped this, Tom lamented. If I had the Sword, Clairvine wouldn’t have been so exhausted. I could’ve shared the burden. Maybe the rest of the Guards would be alive too. Elensfield might not have had to sacrifice himself for us to flee.

Pain built up inside him. This was worse than enduring endless bullying with no friends for respite. Worse than returning from two Reapings, not having manifested. Worse than his father’s love slowly turning to hate. Worse than lying awake at night wondering why his mother wouldn’t stop it.

He recalled Ella’s conversation with him, knew he was falling into a spiral. He’d fallen into it too many times before not to recognise it. The fact that he’d found some measure of clarity from her words, had made improvements, was so close to some kind of revelation, only made the fall greater this time. This was failure. True, utter and abject.

In a strange way, he relished it. At least when he tortured himself as a fuck up, it was within his control. At least when he flayed himself for his failures, he was feeling something.

Around midnight the orc watching them stood and stretched, wandering away to the main group. Tom rolled over, looking for Gad, and found him lying near to his feet. He looked like he was asleep. Tom nudged him with his foot, and he startled awake, gasping.

“Gad!” he whispered furiously. “Gad! We don’t have much time. They’re switching guards. What’s happening? Where are they taking us?”

Gad just stared back at him his eyes wide and full of tears. He shook his head furiously.

“Gad! Talk to me! What have they been saying!?” he urged.

Gad kept shaking his head, his eyes scrunched up tight. Tom nudged him again.

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…” Gad whispered back at him, his voice trembling.

Tom let his head fall back against the earth. It was pointless. Gad was too terrified to be of any help at all. Hopelessness swallowed Tom once more. His thoughts fell back into a spiral, harried in their fall by Gad’s pathetic whimpering.

At the edge of his perception, he noticed the replacement orc guard wandering over to them.

“Shhh, Gad! They’re coming!” he whispered desperately at him.

Gad’s face went wild with fear. He snorted like a piglet, over and over, as he struggled to bring his breathing under control.

The orc arrived. It snarled at the disturbance and kicked Gad in the kidneys. Gad squealed and writhed about in the moist river soil.

Tom couldn’t deal with this. It was too much. Please, Gad. Just shut up. Please, shut up.

Gad kept whimpering. The orc stared down at him impassively. In one hand it held Tom’s leaf-bladed short sword. This male orc, while not as big as the leader, still made the sword look more like a knife. It looked over to where the rest of the orcs slept for a long minute. Finally, it seemed to come to some conclusion. It slowly drew the short sword and dropped the sheath to the ground. Then it crouched over the top of Gad.

He started trying to wriggle away from the orc on his back. It grabbed Gad by his neck, pinning him in place. It pointed the sword right at his eye, making strange, soft growls at him. Almost cooing.

Gad looked torn. On one hand, he seemed to want to press himself right through the earth so as to get as far from the steady sword tip as possible. On the other, he seemed compelled to read his wisp, perhaps hoping for some clue as to how to avoid more pain. His eyes flickered back and forth as he read. Whatever he found, it wasn’t good.

Luckily the orc didn’t seem to notice him reading something in thin air. His breathing became more laboured even so. It slowly prodded the sword tip into the flesh of his cheek and drew a line of blood down his face. Gad screamed into the night.

A throaty bark sounded from the orc camp. The massive orc leader glared at the lone guard from across the pile of logs. The guard snarled back at it, gesturing to Gad dismissively. The leader stared at them for a pregnant moment.

Come on! Tom willed at the leader. Come and put this guard in its place. Assert your dominance!

The leader muttered something at the guard, then gave a bassy snort and disappeared. The guard turned back to Gad, and if Tom had to put a name to the expression on its face, he would call it deep satisfaction.

Oh, Gad. I’m so sorry, Tom thought. The reins were clearly off, and the guard would do as it pleased.

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It drew the sword slowly across Gad’s chest, opening a long cut right the way across it. Again, Gad screamed.

This is all my fault. I should never have tried talking to him. Guilt and horror surged in Tom’s gut.

The orc cut Gad again. And again. And again. Slowly, almost gently, like a lover tracing the lines of their partner whilst they lay basking in the afterglow. Each cut extracted a scream, but each scream grew more ragged, weaker. More reflexive and resigned, less outraged and disbelieving.

Goddess save him, Tom pleaded. The orc drew yet another scream from Gad, almost casual with its butchery.

It was a horror show. The orc was going to torture Gad to death right in front of him. Tom had hated Gad for many years, but he would never be able to live with himself for causing this. A good thing he didn’t have long to live either, then.

The minutes dragged past. Gad’s voice gave out under the screaming, and they turned into weak expulsions of breath. He blew snot all over his jaw and chest. He begged the orc for mercy, and received a punch to the mouth for his troubles. Teeth were spat into the soil.

No, no, no, no, no, Tom repeated to himself over and over.

A pressure built up inside him. It felt like he was about to cry, was about to fly into a rage; painful, but with the promise of sweet release.

This was far too much. Tom felt his mind, his emotions, strain under the pressure. He could handle being beaten and bullied every day for years. He could not stand to see someone, even someone he hated, tortured on his accord. It brought Tom an entirely new type of pain. One he had no experience with fighting, one he had no hope of resisting.

It scoured him, wracked him inside, until he felt like screaming himself.

And then, suddenly, something inside Tom snapped.

Something inside him flowed, like a dam had burst. Strength flooded his limbs. His aches receded. His exhaustion fled. His mind sharpened.

And a pink ball of light materialised in front of him. No, not materialised - manifested.

Goddess, I finally did it! I manifested! Tom thought. He could feel a wellspring of energy inside him, waiting to be used. So this is what mana feels like. I can’t believe it. Finally!

Another scream from Gad stifled his excitement and brought him back to himself. The orc was amusing itself by wavering the sword point directly in Gad’s eye again, chuckling to itself as he desperately tried to shift away.

The pink wisp bobbed around in the air. Tom knew you were supposed to control them with your thoughts, but learning about it and doing it - especially under pressure - were two different things.

He managed to pull it over to himself so that it hung in the air directly before his face. There were a load of common commands one could give a wisp to get information from them. It was how Idealists learned exactly what their skills did, gave them voice commands to transfer to party members’ wisps, and translated other languages.

Status, he thought at it.

Ideal manifested.

Ideal One (Classic): Suffering.

Skill One (Classic): Agony (Active).

Mana cost: Low.

Cooldown: Short.

Range: Medium.

Duration: Moderate.

Damage: Low.

Damage over time: Moderate.

Inflict pain on target. Damage and damage over time is typeless.

His heart dropped a little. Not the Sword, then, Tom thought. I’ve never even heard of Suffering as an Ideal.

Well, I'll have to worry about that later. Resolve flooded him. If Suffering is to be my Ideal, then so be it. Suffering has always been my lot; I may as well turn it to my own ends.

The thought tickled something in his mind. Has suffering always been my strength? I can endure much more because of it.

It is, Tom decided. My life has changed me. I suppose it’s true what they say: “There is no growth without change, no change without suffering.”

He felt the truth of the declaration ring through his soul. The grass around him stirred in a sudden breeze.

The wisp - his wisp - pulsed with pink light.

Skill manifested (Suffering).

Skill Two (Classic): Sweet Suffering (Passive).

Debuffs and poisons are negated, and instead give an equal and opposite buff. Buffs last for as long as any debuffs would have. Immune to disease and damage-over-time effects.

Skill activated: Sweet Suffering (Passive).

Infection - Negated: Minor buff applied to total health and health regeneration. Duration: Long.

Blood Poisoning - Negated: Minor buff applied to total health and health regeneration. Duration: Long.

Tom’s eyes widened. That was an epiphany! Epiphanies were greatly sought after by Idealists. They gave a boost towards manifesting or uplifting skills from gaining a deeper understanding of one’s Ideals. Skills could still be trained the normal way, via regular use, of course, but epiphanies were a valuable, if unreliable, shortcut. Some Idealists at later Tiers sequestered themselves for years searching for them.

Reading the description from his wisp, his mind reeled at the implications. It was definitely a strong ability. His body felt much more hale already. He hadn’t even realised he had an infection, being unable to check himself properly with his hands bound. It was not surprising though, given his condition.

Goddess, I can't die now. I need to do something, Tom thought.

He looked over at Gad, now absolutely covered in blood and deep cuts. As Tom watched, the orc lifted his hands in front of him and indifferently sliced off one of his fingers. Gad goggled at the stump, his mouth working like a fish, then his eyes rolled back and he passed out.

The orc grunted in disgust at the weakness. Its eyes lingered on Gad’s prone form for a moment, then it snorted, looking over the rest of the group. Its eyes locked on to Tom as it noticed him watching.

A growl issued from deep in its chest and it stalked towards him, brandishing the sword.