Chapter 12

The first day I took a grain of sand and grew it to the size of a quarter. During that time, all of my focus, all my effort, was spent focused solely on the task at hand. By the second day, I’d become more accustomed to the job at hand. My experiences over the past four years, my Soul-Breathing day in and day out, making me especially familiar with the process. It was second nature, like, well, breathing. And because of that, as I worked out the process, as I mentally started the cultivation process, I quickly adapted to it. By the end of the second day, I’d taken that quarter, and grew it to the size of a dinner plate.

Some progress was lost each night while I slept, but that couldn’t be helped. I had a feeling, for those who had the luxury of doing this process when they were sixteen, with barely any mana in their cores, this was something they could do in a day. Sleeping wasn’t a worry. But for me, it just meant each morning, I had to cover lost ground.

Even though we were in a wagon train, meaning at night we circled the wagon, Clint and I still traded off watch. I had no qualms with this, as it meant I could spend even longer working on my mana, working to push out the old, and draw in and isolate the raw mana of the world. By the time I did lay down to rest each night, I was so exhausted, mentally and physically, that I didn’t dream. It… was pure bliss.

Of course, all good things must come to an end. And fate always seemed to have a special place in its bullshit for me. Two days of uninterrupted progress was too much of a blessing for me.

“The hell we stopping for?” I asked from within the wagon. We’d only just begun traveling perhaps an hour ago, meaning it was much too soon to be halting. I opened my eyes and looked out toward the rest of the wagons. Clint held the leads in one hand for the horses, while his other hand held a scope up to his eye. Typically, each wagon group traveled roughly a quarter mile apart from the other. And considering we were near the back; it was hard to see what the lead wagons were up to with the naked eye.

“Can’t say for certain,” Clint said as he lowered the brass tube from his face, “but I’ve a feeling we’ll know soon enough.” He motioned in the distance, and I could see dirt kicking up, the telltale sign of horses riding towards us.

“I hope it’s nothing too dire,” Emma said, not even bothering to glance up from the book she was reading. “I’d prefer to get to Lincoln sooner, rather than later, after all.” She turned the page, the dark cover of the book embossed with golden lettering. The name, Mark Twain, stood out to me, and I had to wonder just how much she’d spent on such a thing. Books, well, weren’t the most common thing for people to carry round.

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“There hadn’t been any word of warbands between Bison’s Rest and Lincoln,” Clint said, as he watched the approaching dust cloud. “And last I’d heard, there was supposed to be an outpost somewhere along this route with some army soldiers stationed at it, to keep an eye on any potential dangers towards travelers.”

“An outpost of soldiers?” I asked. For a second my concentration slipped, and I cursed as a small bit of the mana from my last deep breath seeped out of its confinement. I’d gotten the hang of the process, sure, but I was nowhere near a master at the damned thing. “Why didn’t they come down and help with Pickam?”

Clint offered me a smile that told me all I needed to know. “Wasn’t worth their time, eh?” I concluded, and he nodded.

“They’re stationed to keep trade open from Bison’s Rest to Lincoln. Seems Lincoln has been growing quite a bit over the past few years, and the government’s keen to keep it going that way. Considering its namesake, do you blame em?”

Lincoln was named after the late President Abraham Lincoln. The man who’d stood taller than others, and who’d led the Union Army to victory, freed the slaves, and so on and so forth. I’d heard tales of him, sure, but what really spread about him, was his death. Assassinated by a Confederate Sympathizer according to the press. I’d been young when it happened and remembered my parents talking about it. However, that was all it was, a faint memory.

“Did you ever meet him?” Emma asked, folding over the top corner of the page of her book, before she closed it shut. “During your time in the Army?”

“Never personally,” Clint said with a shake of his head. “Only saw him on a few occasions in passing. Man that tall, who made a habit of dressing in a way to seem even taller. He was a giant among most all, and unshakable to boot. Heard whispers he wasn’t the sort you wanted to mess with either. Tough as stone he was, and strong as an ox.” Clint rubbed his chin, “I wonder if he was stronger than Holiday.”

“Don’t matter how strong you are,” I said casually, noting the dust cloud was nearly upon us. The riders had been stopping briefly at each wagon, likely to pass on whatever it was that had stopped the wagon train, before riding to the next, “a single bullet and a moment of surprise will kill anyone all the same.”

As I said the words, my memory flashed back to Randal’s death. I felt the heat on the back of my flesh from Pickam’s attack, the shot blocked by a wall of stone Randal had created in order to save me. Had he not done that, had he focused on himself, and not me… would that night have gone differently?

I cursed again as more of my precious, raw mana seeped into my core. By my estimations, if I continued making progress as I had been, I’d be ready to attempt to refine my core to copper in two or three days. Disasters, or lapses in mental concentration, excluded of course.

“We’re all human.” Clint said in agreement, “and in the end, we’re all bound to die.” His voice was solemn, and his eyes distant. I wondered if he was imagining the soldiers he’d fought alongside. The one’s he’d seen die.

“Which is why we need not dwell on such dark things,” Emma said, drawing our attention to her. She smiled and motioned towards the approaching riders. “Now, Mr. Smith, Mr. Miller” Emma switched back to our aliases. Whenever we even close to being within earshot of others, we used them. “Let’s see what’s so important Mr. Grey has decided to delay our travels.”