A low crackling fire illuminated the alcove in the Shattered Tooth Mountain with an inviting orange glow. The air was cold yet still, the wind was smothered by the thick evergreen trees in the pass. Ainsle’s pale blue eye glinted in the warm light as she reclined on an elbow. Jor’s sleeping form, tightly wrapped in mismatched fabric, laid between the Berserker and the Priestess, or Keeper as she had asserted to be. Ben sat opposite to his three companions and huddled close to the warmth of the fire.
“So, let’s get something straight,” Ainsle spoke in her usual raspy voice. “Now that you’ve made good with the thing inside you, you’ll be able to call on it to help you in a fight. We’ll yap about that later, but the important thing to remember is; you’ll fuck yourself over if you think it’s gonna make you strong enough that you don’t have to train. And you’re gonna need to get strong, everyone does, ‘cause shit’s been going sideways for a while and it only seems to be getting worse.”
Ann nodded in agreement as she absently plaited her long, loose hair. Ainsle paused to offer Ben half of a roasted, unidentifiable fowl, which he gratefully accepted and ate while listening intently to the old woman.
“Avatars just augment who we are, if that makes sense. I don’t know what you have but I can tell it’s old. Probably older than mine... Yeah. Anyways, remember all that about you starting from zero?” She asked.
“Yeah.” He affirmed as the woman seemed to wait for a beat for an acknowledgment.
“Well, Ol’ Ain wasn’t shitting you. You see, most folks don’t choose their Path, they sort of just end up where they end up. As a runt, you can dream of becoming a Swords Master all you want, but it means bugger-all if you spend most of your days tilling fields and shoveling shit. That’s a sure way to become a Farmer and not a Warrior. You, Benny boy, on the other hand, aren’t deeply rooted into a Path yet, something’s there but you feel like a boy whose balls haven’t dropped yet.”
Ben’s brows furrowed in confusion as his eyes wandered to the upper corner of his vision, as he searched to find a hint to solve the old woman’s cryptic ramblings. The Berserker seemed to notice his confusion and she sighed and turned to face the Priestess.
“Honey, can you explain that to him? I know he’s quite dim but I expected a little more than this.” Ainsle said in a cheerful tone.
Hey… I’m not that dim…
“Of course,” Ann said without missing a beat. She faced Ben and spoke. “Most people have an established Path at around fifteen to twenty summers. Before that time, their presence is cloudy and shapeless as they have yet to find a calling. Ainsle’s referral to you as appearing pre-pubescent means that your aura is beginning to take shape into something.” She glanced at Ainsle, who nodded. The Priestess continued. “Through our bond, I can feel, perhaps more clearly than others, something akin to the early phase of a martial Path beginning to take root.”
The young man considered the women’s words for a moment and tilted his head once more.
“I think I get it. I should focus on one discipline?” He asked the pair.
“Pretty much, though I think if you practice the forms I taught you, that should be enough to steer you in the right direction.” The old woman paused to drink from her waterskin. “So, keep it up and you’ll figure out the rest.”
Ann cleared her throat. “Ben, Ainsle told me that you can enter your domain at will, is that correct?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say at will, but yeah, I go there in my dreams.” A thought came to him. “Does this mean I won’t be able to have regular dreams anymore?” He asked in a tone of consternation.
The Keeper smiled and nodded as if she confirmed a question, she had posed to herself.
“That bodes well. As for your dreams, I can’t say, as I first learned of the phenomenon from Ainsle.” She dipped her head towards the Berserker before addressing the young man once more. “Most Wielders that I’ve met, including myself, cannot enter their domains at will. We usually find ourselves there during times of great inner turmoil or significant convergences in fate.”
Ainsle chuckled and her eye appeared to light up. “Yup, we’re fucked. No more wet dreams of pretty, blonde-haired Priestesses. Your mind will feel tired after a few years, but you’ll work out how to deal with it when the time comes.” The Berserker leaned forward. “On the other hand, one night of rest will be like a couple of days inside. Our lads are old, grumpy bastards, you see? They’re powerful but pretty set in their ways, so take what you can and use it.”
Ben gazed off into the distant skyline as he considered what the old woman had said about his Avatar being old and set in its ways.
So, I can train and improve my technique there, but what about power?
He thought to himself before the Berserker tore him from his musing.
“You’re probably thinking, ‘What power?’.” She grinned, as Ben’s mouth fell agape.
That’s scary.
Ainsle continued. “Well, don’t get too excited, cause everything, and I do mean everything, has a price. The stronger the power and the deeper you draw on it, the greater the cost.”
This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.
A chilly breeze caused Ben to huddle closer to the fire. Ann shifted closer to him and leaned against his side. She gazed into the fire and spoke.
“Some Wielders can call upon more than one concept, as long as they understand it and it aligns with the ideal their Avatar represents. The closer the concepts are to the Avatar, the more tangible they become and as a result, more powerful.”
Ainsle hummed in agreement before adding: “Yeah, and some of us can call on our Avatar directly. It happens when you really master all the concepts. Like trusty Ol’ Ain.” She wiggled her brow as she pointed with her thumb to her chest. “But you gotta pry those concepts from that reluctant bugger, yourself.”
The young man nodded and imagined as if he stood at the edge of a precipice in an obscure and ominous abyss. Once more, Ainsle interrupted his drifting thoughts.
“I think I’ll rest these old bones for a while. Don’t stay up too late.” She said with a wink and a grin before lying down on a makeshift bedroll.
“Good night, Ainsle,” Ben said and the old woman hummed in acknowledgement.
The Keeper tilted her head to face Ben and smiled with her soft blue eyes.
“Shall we retire, my heart?” She spoke in a near whisper.
He regarded the woman and decided that it would be for the best to get an early night. Jor would probably wake the party up at the crack of dawn and Ben wasn’t excited at the prospect of a long trek while grumpy from lack of sleep.
“Sure.”
Ben found himself in the dark, foggy clearing near the cave in the woods once more. Although it hadn’t manifested itself, he felt the presence of the Beast in his domain. He stretched and headed towards the cave to retrieve the halberd, and found that it had been replaced by the weapon wielded by the unknown woman he fought prior. He picked up the ornate halberd, with an inverted crescent blade, from against the rocky wall of the cave and tightened his grip around its smooth haft.
Ben walked back to the clearing while he swung and thrust the polearm to try and become accustomed to its, surprisingly light weight. He saw movement in his periphery and Ben spun to find a person kneeling with hands clasped together on the foggy forest floor, in the spot where he had just been moments before. The figure was a man with dark skin and a shaved head. He wore richly-dyed, loose-flowing robes of yellow, gold, and brown; a simple, black pendant shaped like a diamond hung loosely from his neck. The kneeling figure did not have any weapon that the young man could see yet his slender frame was wrapped in tight, twisting muscles.
“Who are you?” Ben asked as he readied his halberd to answer an attack.
The bald man looked up from his prostrated position and opened molten, crimson eyes.
TOIL
LEARN
The entity conveyed the ideas to the young man and Ben nodded in understanding.
“All right then. Let’s get started.” He said as the ebony-skinned man launched himself at the young man.
The pair dueled for hours in the dark, foggy clearing near the cave in the woods. The Monk, as Ben had dubbed him, used a devastating unarmed style that was comprised of fluid movements and powerful punches and aerial kicks. At one point, he had misjudged a feint and suffered a diamond fist to his temple that sent his vision reeling. The Monk had waited for him to recover as he stepped back and knelt on the ground in deference until Ben was on his feet and ready to resume the spar. The unpredictable movements of the bald man made it difficult for him to land any significant blows. Those which he did manage to deliver were casually blocked by palms or shins seemingly made of steel. Ben felt as if the overwhelming techniques and feints of the man were an insurmountable mountain that he couldn’t hope to climb in his lifetime.
He trusted in the fundamentals Ainsle had taught him and rode the currents of the contest, each movement of his became ever so slightly quicker and his thrusts, slightly more graceful as time went by. Eventually, after what seemed like an entire day of tireless sparring, Ben managed to pierce the Monk’s chest in a reckless, over-extended, thrust that would’ve left him exposed to a counterattack if he hadn’t been successful. The Monk stumbled and fell on his back to the forest floor while clutching at the chest wound that bled profusely. The figure went still and smiled. His bloodied lips spoke directly to the young man’s being.
BOON
Ben felt the intent settle in his mind as he relaxed his stance and wiped the sweat from his brow. He watched as the dark-skinned Monk dispersed in familiar wisps of black smoke. A concept formed in his mind and with it, the blissful understanding of its meaning.
OVERWHELM
THEM
ALL
Ben dipped his head in thanks to the entity and spoke, for the first time, without words.
“Overwhelm.”
Ben awoke to the sound of splashing water and found that he was the last member to rise. Jor had roasted a large, lean bird on the fire, and the party broke their fast together. They packed their gear and left the scenic alcove behind as they continued their trek down the pass of the Shattered Tooth Mountain range. Their trip was uneventful and, fortunately for Ben, mostly downhill. The group camped out in the open sky and were unharried by the denizens of the woods.
Evenings were spent quietly, with few words shared, as the fatigue from days’ worth of hiking, slowly started to affect the general mood of the party. Ben spent his sleeping hours, training in his domain with the dark-skinned Monk and he felt that his techniques were improving at an astounding rate.
Jor had become more aloof as time went by, only engaging with the group when absolutely necessary. Ainsle remained her usual coarse, cheerful self and would often share terrible puns and suggestive remarks at Ann’s obvious infatuation with Ben. The Keeper had begun to settle into her familiar doting habits once more, referring to Ben as ‘my heart’ or ‘my darling’. Ben was grateful that she seemed happy, and he was content to let her be.
On the third day, the party made it to the foot of the mountain pass and trekked through overgrown woods. Ben stood on a pale, sandy beach and gazed out at an empty coastline to his left, bordered by the sheer cliffs of the mountain range to his right. The sea glistened a deep, shimmering blue in the midday sun. In the distance, he could make out the dots of structures that Ann had informed him to be the port city of Honeydew.
Jor’s whistle disrupted his appreciation for the scenery.
“Riders approaching. Be ready.” She said in an even tone.
Ben scanned the coastline once more and spotted the group of horses the Archer had referred to. He turned to look at the Squad Leader, whose posture relaxed and she returned a crude arrow to the quiver on her hip.
“Boys in black?” Asked Ainsle in a low rasp.
Jor nodded. “Yes.” She turned to Ben. “We might not get the warmest reception so let me do the talking.”