Reading was a skill Mal had picked up late in life. He’d never particularly paid attention to his age, but he estimated he was in his late twenties or early thirties when he’d finally sat with the company chaplain to take lessons. It wasn’t required for a sergeant to read, they only needed to relay orders at high volumes. But it helped if those orders could be issued in written form. It also helped with inventories and requisitions, although Mal would have just as soon not be entrusted with those responsibilities.

Dueque had seemed a little surprised when the old soldier had asked for stationary to send a message to the Torvan Company, but had happily obliged.

The guard captain had come by in the late morning to interview Baturya, washing away the inked Tracking sigil afterward. He had seemed reluctant to admit that he didn’t feel comfortable erasing Mal’s yet. Not until he could establish for certain that the men and the old sergeant had no prior relationship. He may believe Mal’s claims of a terminal illness, but he could imagine an old soldier might want to take a few less loose ends into the next world with him.

Which meant that Mal’s hand would itch until the wounded man woke up and explained that he’d never seen the old sergeant before, or testimony arrived from either the mercenary band or the Makavian’s home. Mal had simply waved him away and promised to inform the guards if he had any intentions of leaving the area. An itchy hand was better than suffering in a prison cell.

The celebration of Mal’s heroism had carried over into the second day, and it was as they were drinking wine and eating a fine lunch that the old soldier broached the acquisition of the boy. Dueque was perfectly happy to oblige; Shaji had never been particularly fond of Baturya to begin with, and although both the guard captain and the father were satisfied that the boy was uninvolved with the latest abduction attempt, the young master remained suspicious.

“He would have been a good attendant in a few years, but little Shaji wants nothing to do with him as a playmate any longer. It’s a shame, but he has been traumatized, and perhaps it’s better for him to focus on blaming the slave for the misfortune,” Dueque said, sighing theatrically. “If anything it’s his own fault for running off to begin with. We have bodyguards for a reason. But little Shaji is reaching that age where the desire for privacy and mischief begins to override the measures his family has taken to keep him safe. It is a shame to loose such a fine young slave, but if that’s the price I must pay for my son’s safety, then I’ll gladly part with him on generous terms.”

Ah, Mal thought, so the man’s shrewdness had returned after all, and he planned to sell Baturya. He had figured as much in the letter he had sent to the company earlier and the instructions he had issued regarding his finances. He had named the boy his heir, because after all there was nobody else to leave everything too. He had been planning on simply allowing the company to divide the coin among his brothers, but his luck was tickling at him to do otherwise now. His brothers could simply curse the Fates, because the boy needed the coin more.

Pleading exhaustion, Mal retired early to his room and spent the afternoon in agony. Perhaps a day of revelry had not been the best idea.

~~~~~~~~~

Baturya had been excited to learn that the mysterious old man had already arranged to purchase him, although he was told that both parties were still waiting on the coin to finalize the deal. Preemptively relieved of his other duties, he had excitedly reported to his soon-to-be master, only to find the man writhing in pain.

“What’s wrong?” the boy asked nervously.

“It’s nothing to worry about, I’m not dying yet,” Mal answered gruffly. “Go practice your circulation in that corner there. I’ll be fine with a bit of time.”

“Not dying yet? Are you ill?”

“Yes. I’m not much longer for this world,” the soldier admitted. “I was hoping to avoid all of this, but then the damn fates threw you into my path. They’re always funny like that.”

Baturya, to his shame, could only think of the consequences of the man’s death to himself. The soldier could see the boy’s concern in his expression, and it actually cheered him. “I’ll live long enough to set you down your First Steps, don’t worry about that. I have months left, maybe a year. I’ll arrange a proper education for you before I die. That sounds like a fine last act, don’t you think? Some good karma to bring into the next world with me. Much better than the blood of other men, even if it is the blood of criminals and enemy soldiers. Now I’m serious, go practice your circulation.”

Somewhat reluctantly, the boy obeyed his new master, sitting in the indicated corner and working on the breathing exercise he had been taught the night before. It took him some time to get into back into the mentality, but once he had been focused on his flowing ki for several minutes he lost track of time.

Evening came, and he didn’t even hear the servant knocking on the door and bringing them their meals. Mal was still guest of Dueque and had an extravagant platter, while only an extra loaf for the boy. But the old soldier had no appetite, so when he had shaken his student out of his meditation he allowed the child to feast on what was likely the finest meal of his life.

“What disease do you have?” the boy asked, somewhat insensitively, with his mouth half full of breaded fish covered in lemon-butter.

“It’s my liver. The surgeon says I have growths in it,” Mal answered.

“And it’s going to kill you? Can’t they cut them out?”

“Cutting a liver is a pretty sure way to kill a man,” the soldier said with a chuckle. “Even if I survived the cutting, I’d likely die soon after, and in a great deal of pain. No, I’m not going to roll those dice. Perhaps with a Grandmaster Surgeon, who could heal me even as they cut, I would have a chance. But there are perhaps five of those in all the world, and I’m not worthy of their attentions. I couldn’t afford it, anyway.”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“You can afford to buy me,” the boy argued.

“I couldn’t if your old master realized that you were Awakened. He thinks that I’m just being sentimental. Which I suppose I am. But you’re really not costing me too terribly much. I have years of savings, and it’s much cheaper to buy slaves when they’re young than when their old enough to actually work for the food you have to feed them,” Mal explained.

“Hey, I work hard! When Shaji isn’t dragging me around and hitting me with that stupid wooden sword of his I’m always helping someone.”

“Of course, I meant no insult,” Mal mollified, chuckling. “But if you were grown, you could be put to tasks which are beyond your abilities at the moment. That is all I meant.”

Baturya frowned, but although he was proud of his work ethic, he knew very well that he couldn’t do the tasks of men. Not yet. So he was forced to accept the man’s words. “Will that change now that I’m Awakened?”

Mal snorted. “Didn’t for me. Only thing that changed once I’d opened my gates was that I had to spend more time maintaining my new skills in addition to all my other duties. Which isn’t to say that they didn’t keep me alive a time or ten. It’s like carrying a blade. You either let the blade sit in the scabbard until its rusted and useless, or you practice with it, and you oil it, and you sharpen it. Except right now, child, you’re at the stage where if you don’t practice with it, you’ll be cutting yourself. Once you’ve control of your Gates you’ll be safe.”

“But you keep telling me to leave my Gates alone,” the boy argued. “I know where they are now, I can feel them. Why shouldn’t I--”

“If you force them open as you are now, I’m not certain we’ll be able to close them, even working together. That’s why,” Mal answered. “Look, child, although opening your Gates is one of the first steps of being recognized as an Adept, Adepts don’t run around all the time with their Gates opened. It’s the opposite, in fact. They keep their Gates shut tighter than the unawakened. They only open their gates in combat or cultivation, but you’re not ready for either of those things yet. Focus on establishing your ki control inside the channels where its meant to flow. Especially now that you’ve eaten; doing so after a meal, before sleep, and when you awaken are some of the best times for it.”

“Oh,” the child said, but he ate for another five minutes before going back to his corner. He practiced as instructed for the rest of the evening and into the night. It was easy for him to lose track of time once he was circulating his ki, and only his master’s warnings kept him from poking at the eddies and forcing them open. He was quite certain that he could, but the man had shown him kindness and given good advice so far, so he decided to follow instructions and left them alone. Aside from the occasional poke.

It was after midnight when he fell asleep, still sitting, but slumping against the wall.

~~~~~~~~

The coin arrived the next day, along with the papers formally discharging Mal from his duties with the mercenary group. The parchment was years old, written in advance and ready for issue at his request for more than two decades, but he’d been such a good sergeant in training up boys into young men that they’d kept him around. That he was Lucky was a big part of it too. With the transaction satisfied, the Makavian party moved out, leaving Mal his new room, paid for a week in advance, although he would be responsible for meals himself. He didn’t complain about Dueque’s generosity, despite the way it seemed to have faded so quickly.

The man whose head he had hit with a sling died before he could be questioned, but between the testimony of the messenger of the Torvan company and the envoy returning from lands to the east where the ruffians were said to have originated from, the guard captain was satisfied that the killings were legal and came by the inn to erase the Tracking sigil from Mal’s hand. He also handed over a small purse containing the bounty which had been on the men. Less than if they had been taken alive, but the boy would likely need it.

Mal spent the next day writhing in agony while Baturya ran around looking for a doctor who would give him poppy-seed extract.

On the third day, he purchased a mule and supplies, and on the fourth they set out to the southwest.

“Keep practicing as we walk,” Mal encouraged the boy.

“You mean my ki? I can do that?” Baturya asked, amazed by the suggestion.

“You can do it anywhere, anytime. I’m doing it right now, even speaking with you. Masters are so adept at circulating their ki that they need to consciously choose to stop doing it, or else they’re always at it. Except the way they circulate is more complex. It’s not worth explaining to you yet, you’re years away from that stage. Anyway, I only know about it in theory. I barely reached my first Reformation. You’re not considered a Master until you’ve reached your third Reformation. I’m just an old Adept.”

“And what am I?”

“Newly Awakened. And a pain in the ass with your questions. Just do what I tell you. Lead the mule and try to circulate at the same time. Once you can do both things at once, then you’ll be ready to start reopening your Gates.”

The boy was quiet after that, although Mal couldn’t tell for certain whether he was actually following his advice or not. In the evenings, after unloading the pack mule and making camp, Mal ran the scrawny boy through the exercises that he ran all raw recruits through, showing him how to stand in a fight. Legs planted but ready to move in any direction. Fists up or weapon held defensively. How to read an enemy, how to tell a feint from a real attack. He could drill for hours, but instead simply talked until the boy was exhausted, then fed him the stew that had been simmering and sending him to circulate until he fell asleep.

On the journey, he talked. He scolded Baturya whenever he thought the boy was focusing more on his words than cultivation, but Mal spoke of things which he had never told anyone before. Of his life, of his past, of his Luck.

They made it three weeks before they ran out of poppy-seed extract. They didn’t make it very far after that. Feeling his Luck tickling at him, Mal walked straight up to a crofter tending his field.

“I’m dying,” he told the man in lieu of a greeting. “I’ll give you this mule and the supplies if you’ll bury my body respectfully and take care of the boy until he’s old enough to be on his own. He’s a hard worker and a fast learner, and feel free to provide any correction if he proves me a liar on either account.”

The crofter took a moment to recover from his surprise. “I could use the mule, and I’ve got the food for an extra mouth if he earns his keep as you say. You’re certain your days are numbered?”

“It won’t be long. I’d like to stay in your barn if--”

“You can use the cottage. You don’t seem like the sort to haunt a man. The boy can sleep in the barn though. No offense, but it builds character, and I might be committing to watch him a while but he’s no son of mine,” the crofter said.

“That will be fine,” Mal agreed. “I’m not certain how long I have, but you may want to start digging my grave. You ever buried anyone before?”

“I know how deep to dig so as the animals don’t come sniffing, if that’s what you’re asking,” the crofter answered. “Won’t be anyone to consecrate it until next spring at the earliest though.”

“I never particularly expected to lie in consecrated ground to begin with. A respectful grave is all I ask. Whatever that means to you is fine.”

“Mal, what are you saying?” Baturya asked.

“My luck is running out,” Mal answered. “We’ll talk about it once we unload the mule. I think I have a few days yet, I’ll keep my promises to you as best I can in the time I have left.

He said that, but once the crofter showed him the cottage Mal collapsed on the bed and slept through the next day.

~~~~~~~~