Chapter Eighty: Exhausting Exercises (Part Four)
Closing his eyes, he focused intently so as not to repeat the same mistakes that he had made so many times in his attempts at lighting candles, and then carefully cupped one of the potatoes in his hands. Mindful to use the smallest amount of energy possible, he willed a light layer of flames to cover his hands, which were completely unaffected by the spontaneous heat source. It wasn’t that his flesh was immune to being burnt, but that he was focusing intently on the last remnants of his swordsman’s aura to protect his skin, which would come to harm in the event that his focus was broken. Still, he’d done this hundreds of times in the year that he had been practicing under Mr. Albeck, and he now had a considerable amount of control over the basic fire magics.
The potatoes cooked quite poorly in the end, edible on the inside but completely charred on the outside. This didn’t matter to him, however, as he was so hungry by now that his stomach was constantly grumbling in complaint of its neglect. Taking up the little twig again, a thought crossed his mind and he tossed it aside, instead relying on his index finger as a medium for the tiny amount of swordsman’s aura that he carefully formed at its tip. Like this, he cut both potatoes cleanly in half, his mouth watering as the resultant clouds of steam directed a starchy smell up his nostrils.
He ate the simple meal with a fervour that he hadn’t shown since his days in Crystellum, back when he had been forced to eat that same, tasteless porridge day in and day out. He left the training grounds as soon as he finished his meal, aware that even the older kids were watching him as he made his way across the practice grounds. Just before the shaded courtyard disappeared from sight, he saw Mr. Ashel walk over to the benches where he’d been sitting, the man stooping down to pick something up. It was the twig that Alistar had used to poke holes in his potatoes.
***
Alistar stood outside of Mr. Herst’s little cabin that was located near the base of the Hanging Hill, which he had just rounded at a desperate sprint. It had taken him over four hours to cut the remainder of the log away, mostly because he had been experimenting with different arrangements of energy in an effort to improve the method that he had first come up with. He hadn’t made much progress in the end, but had still managed to sever the log in question, at which point he had rushed away from the collegia and sprinted all the way to the Hanging Hill despite the exhaustion that had come with using up so much of his swordsman’s aura.
Running through Mayhaven had reminded him of Kaila, of how they had spent countless days playing tag within the upper levels of Crystellum, of their younger days when they had been ignorant of the realities around them and had truly enjoyed their time playing together. The days when their families were still intact.
“Good lad,” smiled Mr. Herst, who had just opened the door despite the fact that Alistar hadn’t knocked. “Why the long face?”
“S—sorry that I was l—late.”
“No need to worry, now. Just catch your breath and then come on inside. I’ve got some stew on the fire and it’s nearly finished.”
Alistar took a few moments to relax his lungs and then followed his friend inside. The cabin wasn’t large—about six times the size of Alistar’s bedroom—but it was comfortably furnished with wooden furniture, much of the floor covered by a large rug of rich furs. A hearth burned brightly off to the right side of the room, lined with stone bricks that were neatly arranged beneath a chimney of carefully crafted clay.
The room smelled of boiled beef and veggies, along with some unknown spices that teased Alistar’s taste buds with every passing moment. Stomach grumbling, he took a seat at the round table opposite the fireplace and helped himself to a cup of milk that the old man had handed him almost as soon as he’d walked in.
“The sword master really puts you to work, doesn’t he?” Mr. Herst took a seat on the other end of the table, which was bare save for two wooden bowls that he had placed there in preparation for their meals. “I’ve never seen you look this spent.”
“Hard work is the best way to see results,” smiled Alistar, who sat up a little straighter at the thought of all of the progress that he had made today. “I’ve been learning how to use my swordsman’s aura to cut things.”
“How impressive,” smiled the old man, whose pale, greenish skin took on a healthier tone in the firelight. “Just remember not to push yourself too hard. Everyone requires some downtime here and there, even the best of us.”
“I know. I took it easy yesterday, and it was quite relaxing.”
“Oh? What did you end up doing?”
“I went fishing with Zech and Jaden. We caught thirty-two fish!”
“That’s more than many of the local fishermen manage to catch.”
“It’s the most we’ve ever caught. Zech was going to take them home for his parents to serve at the tavern, but Woods ended up coming by and eating most of them. They weren’t too big, but it was still a lot.” Alistar had no idea how Woods could fit so much food into his stomach, which was seemingly endless. “Zech was so impressed that he didn’t even get angry.”
Jaden, on the other hand, had wanted to bring some home for the other orphans, and had flown into a rage when he’d returned from a brief trip to the orphanage only to find that his portly friend had roasted and eaten his fish. He’d wound up punching Woods in the stomach so hard that the boy had vomited everything out with tears in his eyes, cursing the stronger boy all the while. Alistar didn’t tell this part of the story, of course, for he saw no point in sharing it.
“Oh, I worry for that Woods sometimes. He needs to pay more attention to his health.” Mr. Herst subconsciously traced a finger over one of the many black marks that covered his body, which looked as if someone had drawn circles within circles within circles on his skin. “How are those boys these days? They haven’t come to my classes in months, and I do wish that they would return.”
“They’re doing fine. Zech and Jaden are still practicing with me by the river most days, which is a lot of fun.”
“As long as you young ones are careful, I’m glad to hear it.”
Alistar scratched at his cheek, thinking about how Jaden had accidently broken Zech’s wrist just a week ago. He’d had to ask his uncle to heal him, after saying that the injury had been the result of a careless fall.
The old man stood up and walked over to the hearth to stir the stew, giving the door a dismissive glance on his way over. Alistar could sense a few life signals hovering around the dirt road just a short ways away, though these quickly left the area after the ground outside the cabin reported a small thud.
Did they throw something?
Alistar got up from his seat and made to go outside to check, but Mr. Herst invited him over to the large iron pot to accept a piping hot bowl of stew, so he left off.
“Mr. Herst,” said Alistar as the two of them waited for their food to cool. “I’ve been wondering this for a while now, and I hope it’s okay that I ask it. You can also do magic, right?” If he wasn’t mistaken then his elderly friend should be quite capable in regards to the arcane. How else could the man have sensed those life signals with such ease?
“I used to be able to,” he sighed, a tired exhalation. “But in order to settle here, I had to let Bishop Rendel seal my magics. I still have my awareness, though.”
Hearing this upset Alistar. “It’s because you’re a Drunaeda, isn’t it?”
“Aye, lad, but it’s just the way things are. Though if I really wanted it, a magic crystal might allow me to cast a spell or two.”
Alistar wondered if it was the same for Ruk and the other Drunaeda that he knew. He had observed them quite carefully during the times that he’d helped them with their work or spared them some coins for lunch, and he was sure that they also possessed magical awareness, with quite the acute senses at that.
Chapter Eighty: Exhausting Exercises (Part Four)
Closing his eyes, he focused intently so as not to repeat the same mistakes that he had made so many times in his attempts at lighting candles, and then carefully cupped one of the potatoes in his hands. Mindful to use the smallest amount of energy possible, he willed a light layer of flames to cover his hands, which were completely unaffected by the spontaneous heat source. It wasn’t that his flesh was immune to being burnt, but that he was focusing intently on the last remnants of his swordsman’s aura to protect his skin, which would come to harm in the event that his focus was broken. Still, he’d done this hundreds of times in the year that he had been practicing under Mr. Albeck, and he now had a considerable amount of control over the basic fire magics.
The potatoes cooked quite poorly in the end, edible on the inside but completely charred on the outside. This didn’t matter to him, however, as he was so hungry by now that his stomach was constantly grumbling in complaint of its neglect. Taking up the little twig again, a thought crossed his mind and he tossed it aside, instead relying on his index finger as a medium for the tiny amount of swordsman’s aura that he carefully formed at its tip. Like this, he cut both potatoes cleanly in half, his mouth watering as the resultant clouds of steam directed a starchy smell up his nostrils.
He ate the simple meal with a fervour that he hadn’t shown since his days in Crystellum, back when he had been forced to eat that same, tasteless porridge day in and day out. He left the training grounds as soon as he finished his meal, aware that even the older kids were watching him as he made his way across the practice grounds. Just before the shaded courtyard disappeared from sight, he saw Mr. Ashel walk over to the benches where he’d been sitting, the man stooping down to pick something up. It was the twig that Alistar had used to poke holes in his potatoes.
***
Alistar stood outside of Mr. Herst’s little cabin that was located near the base of the Hanging Hill, which he had just rounded at a desperate sprint. It had taken him over four hours to cut the remainder of the log away, mostly because he had been experimenting with different arrangements of energy in an effort to improve the method that he had first come up with. He hadn’t made much progress in the end, but had still managed to sever the log in question, at which point he had rushed away from the collegia and sprinted all the way to the Hanging Hill despite the exhaustion that had come with using up so much of his swordsman’s aura.
Running through Mayhaven had reminded him of Kaila, of how they had spent countless days playing tag within the upper levels of Crystellum, of their younger days when they had been ignorant of the realities around them and had truly enjoyed their time playing together. The days when their families were still intact.
“Good lad,” smiled Mr. Herst, who had just opened the door despite the fact that Alistar hadn’t knocked. “Why the long face?”
“S—sorry that I was l—late.”
“No need to worry, now. Just catch your breath and then come on inside. I’ve got some stew on the fire and it’s nearly finished.”
Alistar took a few moments to relax his lungs and then followed his friend inside. The cabin wasn’t large—about six times the size of Alistar’s bedroom—but it was comfortably furnished with wooden furniture, much of the floor covered by a large rug of rich furs. A hearth burned brightly off to the right side of the room, lined with stone bricks that were neatly arranged beneath a chimney of carefully crafted clay.
The room smelled of boiled beef and veggies, along with some unknown spices that teased Alistar’s taste buds with every passing moment. Stomach grumbling, he took a seat at the round table opposite the fireplace and helped himself to a cup of milk that the old man had handed him almost as soon as he’d walked in.
“The sword master really puts you to work, doesn’t he?” Mr. Herst took a seat on the other end of the table, which was bare save for two wooden bowls that he had placed there in preparation for their meals. “I’ve never seen you look this spent.”
“Hard work is the best way to see results,” smiled Alistar, who sat up a little straighter at the thought of all of the progress that he had made today. “I’ve been learning how to use my swordsman’s aura to cut things.”
“How impressive,” smiled the old man, whose pale, greenish skin took on a healthier tone in the firelight. “Just remember not to push yourself too hard. Everyone requires some downtime here and there, even the best of us.”
“I know. I took it easy yesterday, and it was quite relaxing.”
“Oh? What did you end up doing?”
“I went fishing with Zech and Jaden. We caught thirty-two fish!”
“That’s more than many of the local fishermen manage to catch.”
“It’s the most we’ve ever caught. Zech was going to take them home for his parents to serve at the tavern, but Woods ended up coming by and eating most of them. They weren’t too big, but it was still a lot.” Alistar had no idea how Woods could fit so much food into his stomach, which was seemingly endless. “Zech was so impressed that he didn’t even get angry.”
Jaden, on the other hand, had wanted to bring some home for the other orphans, and had flown into a rage when he’d returned from a brief trip to the orphanage only to find that his portly friend had roasted and eaten his fish. He’d wound up punching Woods in the stomach so hard that the boy had vomited everything out with tears in his eyes, cursing the stronger boy all the while. Alistar didn’t tell this part of the story, of course, for he saw no point in sharing it.
“Oh, I worry for that Woods sometimes. He needs to pay more attention to his health.” Mr. Herst subconsciously traced a finger over one of the many black marks that covered his body, which looked as if someone had drawn circles within circles within circles on his skin. “How are those boys these days? They haven’t come to my classes in months, and I do wish that they would return.”
“They’re doing fine. Zech and Jaden are still practicing with me by the river most days, which is a lot of fun.”
“As long as you young ones are careful, I’m glad to hear it.”
Alistar scratched at his cheek, thinking about how Jaden had accidently broken Zech’s wrist just a week ago. He’d had to ask his uncle to heal him, after saying that the injury had been the result of a careless fall.
The old man stood up and walked over to the hearth to stir the stew, giving the door a dismissive glance on his way over. Alistar could sense a few life signals hovering around the dirt road just a short ways away, though these quickly left the area after the ground outside the cabin reported a small thud.
Did they throw something?
Alistar got up from his seat and made to go outside to check, but Mr. Herst invited him over to the large iron pot to accept a piping hot bowl of stew, so he left off.
“Mr. Herst,” said Alistar as the two of them waited for their food to cool. “I’ve been wondering this for a while now, and I hope it’s okay that I ask it. You can also do magic, right?” If he wasn’t mistaken then his elderly friend should be quite capable in regards to the arcane. How else could the man have sensed those life signals with such ease?
“I used to be able to,” he sighed, a tired exhalation. “But in order to settle here, I had to let Bishop Rendel seal my magics. I still have my awareness, though.”
Hearing this upset Alistar. “It’s because you’re a Drunaeda, isn’t it?”
“Aye, lad, but it’s just the way things are. Though if I really wanted it, a magic crystal might allow me to cast a spell or two.”
Alistar wondered if it was the same for Ruk and the other Drunaeda that he knew. He had observed them quite carefully during the times that he’d helped them with their work or spared them some coins for lunch, and he was sure that they also possessed magical awareness, with quite the acute senses at that.
