The Smoothskins are masters in one thing, overcoming their own weakness. This is often accomplished through their creations. Blades to make up for a lack of claws, earthbone shells to make up for their soft flesh. We too must look into adopting such things, in small amounts, to force them closer to their own redemption, and to keep us from our own fall.
-From Aphorisms: 16:3-6
Crack!
The neonate jerked in surprise, curling into a knot with an embarrassing squeak. The sound had been sharp as her claws, echoing across the surging river.
At least her camouflage had returned and had stayed in place. It hurt but she ignored it.
When she had gained the confidence to chance a look, she peered around the sunning stone once more.
Tok had snapped off a thick branch and was knocking the burning thatch off of the roof, exposing everything below. The precipitation did a lot of work to put out the fire, steam and smoke boiling blackly into the night.
The thatch, for the most part, he left to the elements. Some splashed into puddles and went out immediately with a hiss. Others stubbornly burned longer, sputtering and popping only to eventually be snuffed out by the unrelenting downpour.
Tok’s tongue slid out, eyes narrowing.
Head snapping around, growling like thunder, he lifted the tree limb high!
She cringed.
His gaze shifted lower twice before his sanguine red eyes locked onto her.
Shame. This was the second time she had urinated in fear in front of her Provider.
The rain washed her as she shrank back, his study of her more contemplative than it had ever been. And the neonate didn’t know if that was weal or woe for her.
He’s seen me. Hasn’t done anything yet…
Won’t. Provider.
But I-
Her Instinct snapped within her mind twice. No more cringing.
She set her jaw, her blistered hands clenching painfully as she embraced her newfound determination. She had nothing to fear, everything she had done was in line with the traditions of the trial.
Maybe… Uncertainty remained in the far corners of her mind.
The neonate forced herself to stand anyway, pushing past the fear that made her legs tremble. Reverting back to her usual pattern of green, yellow, brown, and black. Boosting the saturation of the brighter colors to be more visible to him, wincing slightly. The rain washed off the mud, helping with that.
He stared at her for a long moment, then nodded. “It would be you.” He said with a slightly calmer sibilance than before, though there was still a growl in his tone.
He is impressed.
He is frustrated. She knew she would be if she was in his place. She forced her Instinct to silence, shoving down the sunlight inside her as well.
Her hindbrain pushed back against that though, squeezing out one last gasp of impressed before getting smothered into silence.
She blinked, surprised that her Instinct felt so strongly about it.
It made sense once she gave it some thought. Her Provider would play a key role in her life, in all of their lives, even after the trial.
Her Instinct squeaked. Can be both. Frustration and pride.
Perhaps.
Hope sprouted.
She stood taller, the rain’s chill not bothering her anymore. She carefully moved out from behind the sunning stone.
She still felt fear, acknowledged it even. Around the Blackscale, any intelligent being would. She just rebelled against letting herself be controlled by it anymore. She looked up at him, meeting his eyes, planting her feet next to what was left of the pole structure, under the cover of a cypress tree.
A long moment passed, the rain rattling against his thick scales.
Tok. Blinked. Ponderously.
He turned back to his work, grunting once.
She made sure to stay out of Tok’s way while still having a good view of him. It felt good to be out of the rain as she watched the titanic male work, to rest and recover in relative comfort, relaxing her pattern.
Soon I will have the power of fire at my clawtips!
The neonate scooted a little closer to the cookstone. It still radiated a surprising amount of heat, which she craved. She held her hands over it, letting it warm her fingers. They no longer hurt, her scales had protected her from the worst of the embers getting off of the roof.
The warmth enveloped her, her belly no longer empty because of the dried meat she had stolen, both things lulling her battered body. The neonate started to doze in spite of her best efforts.
The smoldering reeds steamed for a while in the mud where they had been knocked down while lightning and thunder danced again in the heavens.
The ground shook as he sat down next to the firepit, waking her with a jolt. She looked around, seeing he had finished.
Using a log, he shoved the cookstone aside, the wet wood sizzling against it. He looked up at her, eyes half lidded once again.
She glanced down at the wet coals before looking back at him. He stared at her, so she did it again, not moving, desaturating the color of her scales for a moment to show respect and thanks.
He grunted, focus shifting back to the fire pit.
The neonate grunted back.
She watched silently as he placed tinder on the bottom of the firepit. Each piece parallel to its neighbors. It was like he was building a little raft with them.
No! A nest for the fire to hatch! She glanced at the muddy ash at the bottom of the pit. Out of the water.
Her Instinct hissed. Content. Appreciating the analogy.
Sitting cross legged, Tok picked up a larger piece of wood. His bright blue tongue slid out, waggling close to the endgrain. He set that log aside, selecting another and repeating the ritual. Tok set his second choice in front of himself, holding it vertically against the ground with one hand.
Taking a claw, he split the piece of wood along the grain. Pressing into it with ease. When it was about a third of the way in, Tok twisted his wrist sharply, and the log split the rest of the way with a crackling pop.
As he did, the Provider hissed, the sound deep and slow. A strange counter tone to the rain on the fresh thatch.
A rhythm forming.
It called to her, and she couldn’t resist. The neonate hissed in time with him, just like the lessons when the Greenscales had just hatched.
It was the tune for the story of Baha’an, the god that brought the mortals fire and gave them thumbs. A fitting tune for the moment.
I missed this…
The Blackscale raked his claw along the now exposed wood, slicing off long thin curls. They rustled in his hand, clearly dry. He didn’t look at her, but he paused and rustled the shavings for a moment longer before pouring them onto the little nest he had made.
Could scrape with the hand ax to do that. It was a bigger pile than she would have thought was necessary, but it was quite damp outside. Maybe that was why?
Then came sticks and twigs, slowly increasing in size until he had a good-sized pile. She also noticed that he made sure to have plenty of space between the pieces. Why..?
Her eyes widened.
Airflow! So fire does breathe.
Yes. Needs to. Her Instinct hissed. She could see why that part of her liked the nest metaphor. Fire lived, in its own way.
Her tongue flickered out. Impatience for the actual lighting of the pile growing like strangle vine inside her. For a moment she wondered if it would be a magic spell. Her tongue moved even faster as excitement joined in too.
She remembered a moment when she thought the Provider had used arcane powers. Interrogating her about the corpse she had found. That strange pressure she felt. The gesture he made.
Maybe he knows fire magic! That would change everything!
She couldn’t ask directly, any answer he gave would be interfering with the trial. But she hoped it was true. He had told them all about the mage emperor, the strange powers he had, how he had used them to conquer the Smoothskin lands.
I could burn my enemies with it! She really liked the idea.
Finally, a bundle of whiptail reed fluff joined the rest of the tinder. The Provider got it by splitting them down the middle and scraping out the fluffy material that was in between the segments.
Come on! Hurry up! She wasn’t sure she could contain her excitement. Even if it was mundane means, the warmth, being able to cook, to dry out, it would change everything for her.
Tok looked at her again, as if he could sense her thoughts. His tongue slid out lazily.
She waited, silent, out of his way. She didn’t move. Apart from her rapid-fire tongue.
He grunted, turning back to his work.
Reaching behind himself, he plucked out a straight length of wood, delicately thin in his massive hands, the bark peeled away. He also took a flat piece of wood with several notches cut into it. Some of the notches had blackened holes bored through them.
She felt a little crestfallen that it wouldn’t be magic.
Focus!
For once that came easily to her.
Have to learn all I can.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
She aimed her flickering tongue at the notched plank. Faint resin, faint sticky sort of smell. No… not faint, muted.
Pine. Aged. Dry as fresh ashes.
Then at the rod. Almost no smell, but the color and shape made it obvious to her.
Pillarwood.
Why different woods though?
Watch, idiot. Her Instinct hissed.
With wide eyes she watched as the Provider spun the pillarwood shaft between his palms. Hands moving down the length of it as he pressed down. And again. And again. And again.
He was clearly exerting some pressure, as he placed a stone under the notched piece and the stone sank into the mud. The spindle bending slightly each time.
Eventually, smoke curled out from the tip of the spindle, just a tiny waft of it. But to her surprise he didn’t slow. The opposite in fact. Faster and faster, the wood squeaking as it ground together, until there was quite a bit of smoke billowing up.
When he finally lifted the spindle, there was a little pile of black dust that formed as he spun, smoke coming from it as a little ember glowed there. It had collected in the notch of the flat piece, and it took her a moment to realize he was gently blowing on it to keep it burning.
Slowly, the Provider moved the flat piece of wood to the bundle of reed fluff, tapping the ember into it and picking the bundle up.
The neonate could see that Tok was being incredibly gentle about it, only breathing on the ember rather than blowing. His large black scaled hands cupping around the bundle protectively so that it was sheltered from the wind of the storm.
The smoke increased, obscuring everything for her but she could hear him slowly breathe harder on the bundle. Then blowing gently. Smoke wreathed his whole head. And suddenly the bundle burst alight, the flame chasing the smoke upwards like a mawfrog pouncing into a flock of ducks.
Fire!
She thought she could manage that with some practice! It was a wonder her head wasn’t glowing from all the sunrise yellow flooding through her mind.
I can finally cook those tubers!
Tok pinched the burning bundle between a pair of claws and placed it into the center of the burn pit, on top of the tinder he had stacked up neatly. He continued to coax the little flame. Before long he was adding modest pieces of wood to the growing fire.
It smoked horribly, making her cough and snort.
Wet, makes smoke. Her Instinct wheezed from her burning eyes.
She’d have to make a shelter like his then too if this rain continued. Smoke could give away her position. Make her a target.
She coughed again, but the neonate didn’t move away. She kept watching instead, even how he moved some of the wet tinder closer to the fire to dry out as he built the fire up higher.
She looked up at him, and found him again looking at her, judging, examining. His eyes shifted to the wound on her chest, which was now little more than a scar. He nodded with an almost silent snort.
He looked back at the fire.
They sat in silence, him tending the fire, her taking advantage of it to warm back up and finally dry off.
The fire crackled and popped, its vocalizations joining the rain and the thunder. The flickering light of the flames joined the lightning.
The only sounds and sights in the night between them.
After the neonate was dry, still basking in the heat of the joyous yellow flames, Tok held his hand out to her, palm up. She looked, and saw her hand ax was there, small in his mighty palm.
She reached for it, but he tilted his hand and it fell into the growing bed of coals of his fire before she could catch it.
She hissed, full of anger.
Mine! He has no right!
Why?
She looked up at him, confused, fighting back her rage and meeting those crimson eyes of his.
He grunted.
“Do better.”
The words resonated inside of her. Literally and figuratively.
She looked away, unable to meet his eyes, and her scales went pale in deference, the pain of pushing past the sprain in her skin only driving the point home further. He continued as it sunk in, “Luck and innate skill only take us so far, little one.”
She nodded, staring into the fire, at the now too hot tool in the center of the coals. “I will.” If it had been one of the others, they would have beat her senseless at the very least.
Idiot. Remember this. She had a long road ahead of her.
He grunted.
She sat there with him for some time, watching the dancing blades of it waver in the growing dark.
The last admonition had tempered her joy at her success, but she was still elated at the new knowledge she had. She was excited to make her own fire now. She’d spend the night in the log, then find somewhere to build a shelter.
The rain came down, and she felt somewhat naked without the hand axe or her cordage.
The grave. Her Instinct reminded her.
Her eyes went wide.
True! She changed direction, heading for the nest instead. How could she have forgotten? The tools from off island! The tools of a full Initiate.
Maybe, just maybe, whoever Gix had been would have had something that she could use. It seemed unrealistic for a full grown adult to not have something useful on their person when they died. Especially if she had to deal with smoothskins and their earthbone armor.
With another flash of desaturated respect, she left Tok’s shelter behind.
Her Instinct grunted and she probed the impulses and sensations that it consisted of.
He called you skilled. The neonate’s Instinct whispered.
The heat of the fire worked wonders, it was a while before she noticed the rain again.
Another raindrop landed right in the neonate’s eye, and she glared up at the canopy, sloshing through flooded undergrowth.
She had had to stick to the ground as she retraced her steps to the nest. Her burned and blistered hands just made it too difficult and painful to climb into the canopy. She could if pressed, but she didn’t want to deal with pain she didn’t need to.
The nest! Dig! Dig now! Her Instinct drooled greed into her mind. It had been since she left.
Slowly! Respect is owed, and my injuries can’t get worse. She entered the original nesting site, walking over to the grave marker.
She moved the earth she had so recently replaced once more, setting the skull next to the hole with what she felt was the proper degree of reverence.
This is a hero!
This is true... Her Instinct sighed, sounding… mournful?
She dug easily into the mostly sandy earth of the nesting site. Taking her time because of her injuries, and not wanting to damage anything before having the chance to use it.
Her claw hit something. It was an odd shape.
Gently! Perhaps fragile.
Slowly the neonate pulled, wiggling the thing and scraping along the outline with a single claw.
Finally, the sandy earth released it from its grasp. Lifting it up, she couldn’t identify it at first.
Rain.
Finding a stream of water falling from a branch above, she held it under the flow, wiping away soil and debris with her hands. Picking into crevasses with the tips of her claws. Carved lines, drilled holes, and smoothed curves appeared.
An idol of Haan-Kezk al’Shezd. God of conflict, of challenges.
Fitting. Her Instinct mused.
Everything is a fight for me.
She placed the statuette of the bloody god next to the skull.
Digging a little deeper, she felt something softer. Scraps, woven strands. Perhaps clothes? Tok had mentioned such things. When traveling to smoothskin lands, you had to adorn yourself with them. They might be useful.
Gix was a traveler.
She wondered if she would want to travel, if she survived the trial and earned a nameShe could see the world, find a place of quiet. A place to watch the world go by.
That line of thought was almost instantly shoved aside when she found what was under the clothes.
It was worn, made of leather, and patched in a couple places. Curious, she pulled it out and saw that it was a pouch of some kind.
It flared into light and she hissed, dropping it and leaping back.
Glowing symbols, runes and shapes, flickered in and out of existence. They formed a strange spherical design in the night, but her eye for pattern and color noted that there were gaps in it. Spaces that needed to be filled in.
Scars.
It flickered with every raindrop.
She watched as the blue glow changed something about how the rain moved, but what exactly she couldn’t decern. The flickering made it hard to see, not just with the afterimage in her eyes, but whatever was happening was only happening when the light was there.
Magic. Her Instinct hissed, suspicious behind her eyes as they narrowed.
The bag continued to flicker and flash. Thunder rumbled.
It could be dangerous… She wanted to toss it away.
No! Hoard. Mine! Her Instinct gnashed from her hands, forcing her to clench onto the bag.
She struggled against herself, tossing it away before noticing that her claws hadn’t torn the material.
Interesting… She decided to watch for a while, to make sure that it was safe. You could never tell with magic, or so the Provider had told them.
But the bag only flickered and flashed with runes and geometry. Eventually the neonate tried poking it with a stick. First lightly, then more firmly. When it still didn’t do anything, she decided it was probably safe.
A stick! What a delight! I adore folks who don’t understand the complexities of magic. Sorry, I had to jump in. I’ll go back to counting bricks. Might start naming them soon.
A bit dubious now, she reached back into the hole to keep on digging.
She could see… something.
She dug around it to try and see what it might be.
A… cylinder?
Wrapped in leather, firm to the touch. She took it in her hand, pulling on it to get it out of the compacted sand and clay that surrounded it. It held, and she pulled harder. She planted her feet, then grabbed with both hands.
Come on! Get out of the-
Some earth shifted, and it slid free much more smoothly than she was expecting. She fell backwards onto her haunches, her hand gripping it.
It was a sight to behold.
A knife! Her Instinct named it the instant the neonate held it up.
She stared in awe. It was double edged, with a crossguard and pommel. The grip had a swell in the center, which fit her hand wonderfully. No, perfectly! Even wet it wasn’t slippery. It was meant to stab, to slash, to slice. And she cherished it already.
Such an elegant and simple thing.
Earthbone. Her Instinct hissed as she tapped the blade with a claw, and it rang softly. A beautiful call to her. ‘Use me’, it seemed to say.
The only thing marring the blade was a series of markings, runes, carved into it. They too appealed to her, though. Completing the blade somehow. Best of all, the weapon was matte black.
Good coloring for the shadows.
She ran her one hand along the flat, adjusting her grip with the other. Lightning flashed, and she could see that the dusky weapon came to a fine edge, no knicks, no rust. Thinner than shed skin.
She slashed at the ferns, and the knife didn’t even ring softly as it connected with the stem of one, the leaf slicing free and falling silently to the ground.
Sharp. Good.
This is what changes my prospects. This is what helps me pass this trial.
Golden yellow filled her thoughts. She gave the figurine a nod, not sure if the Bloody One was behind her getting such a fine weapon and tool, but it seemed prudent to be thankful all the same.
She could see that the sheath was still in the hole. She’d need-
Crackle. A twig.
Danger! Her tongue shot out.
Reek of rot behind her!
She flattened herself to the sandy soil, matching the pattern.
There was an explosion of noise behind her, snarling and the wet muddy slapping of feet rushing towards her.
Pivoting to face the sounds, staying low, she saw One-eye sail over her. Snarling and snapping his jaws right where her head had been before landing in a sprawl. She got into a crouch, standing on her feet but staying low. Brandishing her new weapon fiercely.
The male scrambled up from his tumble. She could see the light of his single remaining bloodshot eye. See the terrible hunger smoldering in them.
Her own eyes widened.
The monster! Her Instinct hissed, and she verbalized it, louder than the barrage of the rain.
She had to cull it from the world.
Cut it out of the cycle.
It could not be allowed to continue!
Not here, not anywhere.
Part of her was surprised that the main emotion that she felt was something much closer to anger than fear. Not that the fear wasn’t there, but the sense of inevitable duty that filled her soul looking into that bloodshot eye was more powerful. She could see the madness within.
And never again. I am a Predator, not prey.
Survive!
The neonate snarled in answering challenge.