Chapter Nine: Credit Where It’s Due.

The first thing Tom knew was darkness. He knew it was different to unconsciousness, but his addled mind took a second to process how. Pain. That’s how he knew. He felt pain.

He opened his eyes and a smear of green greeted him. Coughing, he began patting at himself, feeling for injuries. His whole body felt sore and abused, but nothing seemed broken. A vision of his arm snapping under him as he put his weight on it flashed back to him, and his mind revolted, shying away from the memory.

Gingerly, he felt his left arm with his right, finding it whole and unbroken. One of the Idealists with them must have some form of healing skill. Not a full Healer though, judging by the pain he was still in. He felt his chest, and found no broken ribs either.

Could be worse, then, he thought. At least i’m still in one piece.

Dull pain bloomed through him as he sat up.

More or less in one piece, he added to himself. I’ve had worse though. At least I’m alive. He was not sure how much value that was to him though; he still hadn’t manifested even after putting his body on the line to protect someone he loathed.

I bet Gad didn’t even get a scratch, the smug little prick, thought Tom.

Assured that he was mostly hale, Tom tried to stand. His vision wavered a little, though he felt okay. Ish. He could hear talking and moving near him, but he still had a little ringing in his ears and couldn’t quite make out what it was exactly. He gave his surroundings a brief scan. There was a woman laying on a bedroll near him, breathing softly, the left side of her face a mass of ugly purple bruises. They’d been placed under a smaller tree in a relatively open patch of forest.

As his vision slowly became clearer he could make out other forms around the tree in various states of injury. Some were sitting, leaning against the trunk, or their packs, others lying quietly under blankets. Groans and whimpers of pain bounced around the group like flies in a kitchen. Tom counted eleven injured, besides himself.

Clairvine and a young student knelt beside a man whose leg was twisted at an impossible angle. The student gently straightened his leg, and Clairvine grasped both sides of the break. Soft pink light shone around her hands, and pulsed like a heartbeat as she pushed it into his wound. There was a grotesque sound - sucking, crunching - and she released her grip. The man lay still, obviously unconscious. His leg was still a mass of bruises, but it was unbroken.

Clairvine slumped beside the man, exhausted. “How’s your mana? Got another one in you?” she asked the young student beside her.

His eyes flicked to his right, consulting his Wisp. “Good. Uh, half-full that is, sir. Just about off cooldown…” He stood, straightening, and took a deep breath. A ripple passed through the air around him, then hundreds of motes of green light puffed from him. They drifted all around him, drawn to and settling not just on the man whose leg they’d just healed, but most of the nearby injured too. It was a beautiful skill.

Tom shivered slightly as the motes alighted on him. They felt like peppermint tasted, and where they touched, his pain receded.

“Thank Goddess for you, lad,” Clairvine said. “We’re lucky you manifested…” She trailed off as she noticed Tom watching them.

“Oh someone’s woken up - good,” she said. “What’s your name, man? How are you feeling? Sure you should be walking just yet?”

“Tom Cutter, sir. And I feel like butter been through a churn, but sore’s no excuse for laying about,” he said, quoting one of his father’s favourite sayings.

“Good man, good man,” she replied, grinning wearily. “We lost four people to those damn pigs. We’re lucky only six people were badly injured, besides yourself. Could’ve been a lot worse.” she sighed. “Wish we had a proper healer along with us. My Heart’s good in a pinch, but I'm no Healer. Guess I don't have to tell you that though. Young Mat here manifested Life right after we put the last boar down. Bloody lucky that is. Well, come here lad, let me check you over.”

Tom was taken aback by the gregarious Guard. He opted for standing there, nodding along. He’d always had the impression that the Idealist protectors of Wayrest must all be stoic individuals, especially in high-stress situations. He didn’t quite know how to fit this impression of Clairvine into his worldview, but he was glad to know they weren’t all serious like Elensfield.

He braced himself slightly as Clairvine approached him, the pink light gathering around her hands again. She waved them slowly over his body, lingering at his ribs and left arm and head, before eventually nodding to herself.

“Nothing broken, seems the healing took fine. You’re a lot sorer than you’re letting on though, or I’m a dwarf!” she chuckled to herself. “Sit here a while, Mat will use his regeneration burst as his cooldown allows, and that should wash away most of your aches.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Tom, giving her a small bow. “And thank you too, Mat.” bowing slightly to him too. “I owe you two my life.”

“Oh fuck off with that, you weren’t that bad. That piggie did give you a good thump though. Surprised you didn’t manifest Flight, with the tumble you took!” she chuckled to herself again. “Sit, sit,” she shooed him with her hands. “Mat, how’s your cooldown..?” and with that she knelt over another of the injured.

Tom realised it must’ve been a few hours at most since the fight. The unconsciousness had left him feeling disjointed. He went and sat where he’d been lying before, and now noticed the rest of the company milling around not too far off.

They were in a clearing, not far from where they’d fought the boar given the wrecked shrubbery around. Most of them sat around in small groups, tending to small pains or checking and cleaning gear. A group of twenty some soldiers were butchering some of the pigs. They’d have as much meat as they could carry. Hopefully some valuable essences too. Tom guessed they’d be leaving the rest behind.

He cast about for his gear and found his pack leaning against the nearby tree, his shield leant against it. He spent a moment deciding whether he had the energy to move the few feet to retrieve them. Eventually he won the battle against himself and stood to grab them, grumbling to himself internally.

He retrieved some jerky from a pocket and chewed it while he checked his equipment. He’d need a new spear, but he didn’t foresee much trouble rustling one up. The soldiers in a unit always carried two on Reapings, for occasions such as these, and soldiers being soldiers there were always plenty looking to get rid of the extra weight. His shield was a little scuffed and battered, but otherwise no worse for wear. His armour had a deep groove, almost a tear, in the chestpiece. If the boar’s tusk had penetrated instead of being rebuffed, he would have had a lot worse than broken ribs. He suddenly felt very lucky.

Tom sat for a while, trying to steady his mind. He’d had a solid opportunity to manifest, and although it hadn’t proved to be his moment, it would hopefully be just the first of many. Overall, he was happy with how the fight went. He’d acted with discipline, trying his utmost to create a circumstance in which he could manifest, but more than that, he’d acted in accordance with his principles, putting his safety at risk to protect someone that he disliked, because it was the right thing to do. He couldn’t ask more from himself.

His thoughts in order, Tom simply enjoyed the brief respite. Soon enough they’d be back to the hunt. Predators would be drawn to the pig blood like flies, and they’d need to leave before the scent caught the attention of something they couldn’t handle. For the moment though, Tom could catch a breath.

Periodically, green motes of light would burst from Mat, floating about their little group like fireflies. They would drift and swirl, and when they came near enough to one of the injured they’d slowly flow towards them before settling on their skin. After a few more sprinkles of peppermint regeneration, Tom was feeling much better. Still sore, but no more than he usually was after a combat class at the Academy.

After a while Tom began to get itchy at sitting still for so long, and didn’t want to bother Clairvine and Mat by hanging about. He thanked them again briefly, got told to fuck off again by Clairvine, and wandered over to the rest of the unit.

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“Ah! The dead walk!” shouted the wiry woman from the village feast. Tom wracked his brain for her name and came up blank. “Good to see you up n’ about! Wouldn’t mind a nice nap myself!”

She was sitting around a small fire with the same group from the night before, alternately checking their gear or dicing or eating, and somehow managing to yell at each other somewhat softly. It was impressive, but not surprising, given they probably would rather not attract any more attention from anything dwelling in the forest.

“You get yourself piss-bowled by a five hundred pound pig and maybe we’ll let you!” This from the loud bald man who wanted to manifest Hammer. Tom was glad to see that they were all okay. They seemed like a good lot, if a bit boisterous for an introvert like Tom.

“Might’ve knocked me pretty good, but I gave better than I got. More’n earned my nap, I reckon,” said Tom, affecting a little bit of their rowdiness.

“Heard you’d gotten the fuckin’ thing halfway on the spit yourself. Mighty kind of you I say,” the little woman said, laughing as she stood to give Tom a bow.

“What’re you on about, shit-boy?” said a snide voice from behind Tom.

It was Gad, of course, looking supremely impressed with himself. His armour was immaculate, not so much as a scratch on it. Ella loomed behind him, a pained look on her face. Gad tossed his chin in the air, one gloved hand resting on the head of the hammer at his belt.

“Are you telling these poor folks lies?” he made a dramatic sigh, then his eyes narrowed. “I was the one who brained that pig. I saved your life, shit-boy.”

Images flashed across Tom’s mind. A body, rolling about like a rabbit caught under a warhorse. Gad standing there with his mouth hanging open. The pig, squealing its lifeblood out in a river.

His fists clenched, blood rushing to his head.

“It’s alright, Tom, boy - I don’t need any thanks. Couldn’t have your head getting too big is all,” Gad said, giving Tom an indulgent look.

Tom’s vision went black. There was a great roaring in his ears, too. He lost himself for a moment. When the world came back he was less than an inch from Gad’s face, Ella’s hand on his shoulder. His teeth bared in a rictus. Tom had no clue how he’d managed not to hit him.

“Contain yourself, shit-boy!” said Gad. His face hung between startled and baffled. “I won’t have it! You owe me your life, sh-”

Gad squealed, and Tom lurched forward. It took a second for him to reach through the fog of anger to parse what had happened. Ella stood between them now, and Gad clutched at his face.

“You’re a Courser! Now act like it, you stupid fuck!” she hissed. She visibly wrestled with herself for several moments. Gad was getting redder and redder. The non-Idealist group was silent. They knew better than to get involved in a spat between nobles.

Ella managed to regain enough control to spit a single word. “Go!” she said, shaking slightly.

Gad opened his mouth, about to say something. His eyes flicked around the non-Idealists, clearly performing some mental arithmetic for how damaging this would be to his reputation. He looked at Tom, then his sister, and decided to cut his losses. He turned and stalked off, trying for his usual unaffected arrogance and mostly managing it. Tom assumed all the practice he got probably helped.

Ella watched him leave, her blonde hair cast almost to rusted bronze in the heavy green light.

"I apologise," she said, finally turning to face him.

"It's alright," Tom replied, "I'm used to-"

"No." she said firmly, her voice strained. "I…" she looked up, noting the non-Idealists who were still trying very hard to seem like they weren’t there. She gestured for him to follow her to a nearby tree some yards away.

Once they had some measure of privacy Tom opened his mouth to speak, but Ella cut him off again.

“I apologise for my behaviour. Acting like that in public is shameful. I will not apologise for Gad though. He’s smart enough to know he shouldn’t act like that, not with the family’s reputation on his shoulders,” she said, sighing.

Tom was hesitant. It was the longest Ella had ever spoken to him, and he’d known her for well over a decade.

“That’s okay. I’m used to it. I apologise for acting in anger too. I just can’t believe he-” Tom said, before Ella interrupted.

“Why do you always do this, Tom?” Ella asked. “You killed that boar single handedly and saved Gad’s life. You had every right to lose your cool.”

Tom was completely lost at this point. “What do you mean?” he said lamely.

“You’re always so reserved. So sullen. You never talk with anyone, like you’re better than everyone ‘cause you’re a Cutter. You act like The World’s out to get you, and maybe it is, but fuck, man, it’s pathetic,” she said, breathing a little hard. “Gad should know better, but it’s no wonder all the spiteful little shits are drawn to you with the wounded puppy routine.”

Tom reeled. He had no idea people thought of him this way. He knew they didn’t think of him kindly, but he’d always thought it was because they thought him a freak because he hadn’t manifested. That his own behaviour might have caused his torment turned his perspective completely upside down.

“I… uh, I don't know what to say,” Tom managed. “I… hadn’t thought about it like that before. Sorry, I guess?”

Ella stared at him for a long moment. Her eyebrows slowly climbed towards the canopy.

“You’re fucking unbelievable. Goddess give me strength… I try my best not to hate people lest I end up like Gad, but you make it fucking hard Tom. Get over yourself, you sop.” Her tirade finished, she stormed off after Gad. She stopped abruptly, spun on her heel, and jabbed a finger at him.

“Thank you for saving his life, you sulky fuck,” she spat at him, before stalking off again.

Tom gaped, his emotions feeling like his body had after the boar hit him. The non-Idealists had gone back to their usual rough and ready behaviour. Tom went and sat with them. They quietened a moment, but sensed his mood and let him be.

People think I act like I’m better than them? That’s why they hate me? Fuck, all this time…

It was a perspective-shattering realisation, and it carried the sudden, unexpected clarity of truth. He knew that it was harsh, and that they didn't know of the trials that made him like that, but his trials had twisted him into this shape all the same.

There was a disparity, between why his peers disliked him and why his father tortured him, one that Tom had never realised before, and that disparity was now an open window, admitting a fresh breeze and a shaft of sunlight.

His father took out his own failings, the slow failing of their House, and Tom's own failure to manifest on him. Tom had always assumed, without thinking, that his peers hated him because he was not an Idealist too.

Instead, they hated the symptoms, and not the cause.

For all intents and purposes, the Cutter House was still one of the oldest and most well respected in Wayrest. His father made damn sure no one new how close they were to the brink, how desperate they were.

Tom hadn't a clue how to stop being so withdrawn when the root of the issue hadn't been dealt with, except to double down on trying to manifest, but he had a way forward now. Perhaps he could even make some friends, even if he didn't manifest.

Tom sank into a deep reverie, silent, surrounded by laughing, joking soldiers, and numbly, almost idly, began to pick away at his preconceptions.