by Rosie Scott
Every student mage was trained to kill using the elements they were predisposed to. I was no exception. The only difference was that simply knowing the element of death criminalized me, so the people I might have once fought beside were now my foes.
The same doubts I had after taking a life would likely occur in the heads of all mages who ever saw battle. It wasn't using necromancy to kill that bothered me; it was the simple act of taking a life and doing it well. Yet, each kill was easier to pull off than the last as if killing the first allowed me to shift identities from a child to a merciless murderer of men. Killing a man made me feel more enlightened about things I should have already known; the dwarven trader who took me to Sera tried to convince me the world was cruel and required one to respond in kind to survive. At the time, I'd known nothing but a peaceful life with parents who loved me. Now, though? Now I understood what she meant.
At the Seran University library, I'd read through many books before deciding which kinds I liked best. My least favorite were fables that told fictional stories of righteous heroes who rose to fight a tyrannical and powerful villain. Even when young and naïve to how cruel the world could truly get, I'd understood such stories were bullshit. Every hero would make it through to the end despite their weaknesses and somehow slay a villain who was more powerful than them. Sometimes, their methods of success were overly convenient and relied on luck or nonsensical resurrection of the fallen. The real world was not so virginal, nor was it so dumb. No heroes or villains could exist when primal human nature drove us all. The idea that forces of good only fight forces of evil was not just false, it was dangerous to believe. The only way to survive was to be willing to resort to barbarous actions against those who threaten you.
And so far, I'm doing a damn good job of it.
The image of the impaled woman came back to me. My arms still felt like two heavy stones on either side of me, protesting their massive efforts. With the leeching high gone, every muscle in my body screamed for rest and healing. I tried to recall everything the necromantic book mentioned about such power. The terms leeching high and leeching rage were interchangeable. The book stated that the sudden surge of power felt comparative to the highs of some illegal and dangerous drugs, and such ecstasy could become addictive if one cannot control it. Thus, the necromancers of history had referred to their bursts of strength as leeching highs. But to witness a necromancer under the influence of a high was terrifying for foes, who were more likely to call them leeching rages due to their similarities to the berserker rages of orcs.
Leeching highs could only be acquired by accumulating an excess of life force in the system. The book stated the average high took the life force of six men to obtain, but when thinking back to my battle, I hadn't leeched from six. However, I remembered how the griffon's life force was stronger than that of a man, and I'd killed more than one. I had plenty of time with which to study the limits of leeching, so for now, I focused on what I knew. The book mentioned that while leeching highs were massive benefits that could change the tide of battles, they could also be dangerous. Not only because the brain could react in wildly different ways including lusting for more power after experiencing it, but also because the highs sharpened all senses but dulled pain. During battle, the inability to feel pain was a blessing and a curse. On one hand, I could ignore wounds for long enough to finish off a foe in time to heal myself. On the other hand, just one wound I wasn't aware of could kill me with blood loss or sudden disability.
I abruptly remembered the injuries I sustained throughout the day and went to heal them in the darkness. The cut along my temple from the Twelve archer's arrow narrowly missing my eye had scabbed over, but as I urged it to heal, flakes of dried blood fell down my skin as the life magic evicted them from their new home. Life magic was either white or clear depending on the spell, but when surrounded by blackness it glowed, lighting up my pathetic temporary home like a mini grounded moon. Next, I healed the hand I'd broken open at Red's tavern. The energy I used fatigued me only slightly, so I dug through the satchel at my side for food. I ate the bread first, for the rain had spread its fingers through the wrapped canvas. It was soggy and fell apart in my hands, but I had little food and knew that the dried meat and fish I'd found would last longer.
I ate the entire loaf, desperate to use it for sustenance before time and mold could claim it. Afterward, I rested alone in the darkness, listening to the never-ending rain that tried its best to lull me to sleep. Despite my fatigue it took me hours to fall asleep, for the most uncomfortable subjects refused to be put to bed.
Ten
Birds tweeted happily like they were oblivious to problems. I admired and envied their ignorance and inwardly thanked them for their waking song, for the rays of light that broke through the canopies angled downward, confirming the sun was overhead rather than rising. It was unlikely that anyone was currently after me; Sirius would only send more soldiers or mercenaries once someone found and reported the Twelve casualties. Still, every minute I spent walking east was another minute I could be ahead of them.
I collected my things from under the tree and brushed dead pine needles out of my hair before relieving myself. The simple act of urinating reminded me that I needed something with which to gather water. For the first time, I scrounged around through the satchel I'd looted and found a half-empty water flask. I mumbled a curse at my oversight, for I hadn't thought to look for such a thing the night before when the rainstorm offered me opportunities to refill it. I'd kept myself hydrated on the way to Thornwell by eating snow and sucking on icicles, but when the weather warmed I relied on the moisture in berries. Until I came across a water source or it rained again, I would eat berries and use the water flask as a last resort.
As I started my trek east for the day, it bothered me that I didn't outwardly mourn my parents. I'd never been the most demonstrative person; perhaps I'd found myself so attracted to Kai's outgoing nature since in many respects we were total opposites. Rather than cry or wallow in self-pity, I moved on with nothing more than a hole in my chest and a to-do list in my head. Still, moving on felt disrespectful, somehow. It was as if I expected one of my parents to jump out from a conifer before me and ask, “Don't you care?”
I do care. The hole in my chest craved to be filled once more with their love and influence, and my active brain's ramblings only sought to distract me from inner torment. I'd felt enough pain in Sera when Kenady and the others treated me with nothing but cruelty. I'd felt enough pain when the friendly and confident girl I'd fallen in love with was given a death sentence by fate. When fleeing Sera, I found dwelling in denial more comfortable than facing the truth. I worried about leaving Kai alone with no friends and no methods of dealing with her horrible father other than blacking out from alcohol, and I feared she would either die young because of her talent or commit suicide before getting the chance. The what-ifs and questions that plagued me during that trip were torture. So I hid everything in a far corner of my mind where everything collected dust. I could do nothing to change some situations; all the worry in the world couldn't fix anything.
I'd felt enough pain. So I quit focusing on it and moved on. That didn't change that it was still there and hidden in a shell of protection. I may have lost everyone I loved, but I found merit in solitude. If I were destined to be forever alone, the only person I could lose was myself, and then I would feel nothing.
The Seran Forest made for a delightful companion and protector as I walked east over the next few weeks. Beds of red pine needles scattered between carpets of lush mosses so green I almost questioned their authenticity. Split trunks littered throughout the forest, some degrading with time and others deliberately cut by passersby long ago. Clusters of mushrooms poked their heads out of malformed trees, parted foliage, and rich dirt. The deeper into the forest I traveled, the more it hugged me from all angles with higher canopies and thicker brush. It also became easier to find water and possible sources for fish. Moist earth parted for tri
ckling streams that sprung out of rock formations, and some held hands with small ponds to exchange ecosystems. I glimpsed fish in these waterways, but I had no fishing rod. My mother taught me how to make one long ago, but while there were plenty of flexible branches I could use for the rod, finding the line and metal for the hook proved more difficult.
A fishing rod or materials for one rose to be the first thing on my list to trade for. I needed a weapon and armor, yes, but such things weren't useful if I died from undernourishment. I wasn't feeble, for hauling heavy supplies and cutting my way through dense foliage was building muscle, and I still had food from the Twelve. But I wasn't yet strong enough to wield a weapon effectively without a leeching high, and my supplies dwindled. I bolstered them with what I could find from foraging, but I wasn't skilled at recognizing which plants and fungi were edible, so I stuck with gotton and twilby berries. An alchemy book wiggled its way onto my necessities list.
I lost track of time, for I didn't count the sunrises. I simply kept moving. So when I came across another traveler for the first time, all I knew for sure was that it had been a while since leaving Thornwell. The sun still conquered each day with glaring bright rays that penetrated the gaps of needled canopies, so surely the seasons hadn't yet changed.
The other traveler clearly heard my approach before I saw him, because as soon as I detected something in my peripheral vision and spun to look, I only saw a friendly smile.
“Hail,” he greeted. The man was a Celdic elf with fair skin and curious brown eyes, and he had chestnut-colored hair that he pulled back in a lazy ponytail. The Celd sat alone on a fallen log. A full backpack weighed down his shoulders, and a large open bag sat at his boots. In the shadow of its flap I could see a book and some alchemy tools.
I thought twice about speaking to him at all. I could trust no one. But I desperately needed to trade, and the endless days I'd spent walking encouraged me to ask for directions.
“It's a beautiful day,” the Celd went on when I'd said nothing, motioning to the rays of sunlight that reached greedily toward the mosses of the forest floor.
“Have I traveled so far I've reached the Cel Forest?” I pondered aloud.
The Celd burst into laughter until he wiped at an eye. “No, friend. You have a long way to go if that's where you're headed.” His smile sobered as he noticed my blank stare. “Are you lost?”
“I don't know,” I admitted.
“That sounds like a yes,” the Celd surmised. “Where are you headed?”
Brognel. I reconsidered admitting that and only replied, “The Cel Pass.”
“You're on the right track,” he informed me, leaning to the side to jerk a thumb farther east. “Keep going east until you hit the mountains. If the path looks treacherous, don't take it. Head south. You'll recognize the pass because it has a sign marking it and you'll be able to see its various routes.” He pointed above him as if to reference where I'd need to look.
“What do these routes look like?” I asked.
“Hanging bridges,” the Celd replied. “Rope and wood.”
“Thank you.”
He nodded once. “You're welcome.”
I hesitated. “Why are you out here alone?”
The Celd chuckled. “I could ask you the same thing.” When I said nothing, he went on, “I like to travel every once in a while. Get out of Celendar and see the sights of the rest of Chairel.” He motioned to the sprawling pines around him. “It's much different here. Celendar is marvelous, but one can only appreciate it when compared to other locales.” He twisted his lips to the side. “I also carry some things travelers like you might be interested in, but you look a little young for some.”
“Drugs,” I surmised. If I knew anything about Celds from my time in Sera, they loved hobbies, entertainment, and smoking just about any herb.
The Celd laughed at my dry tone. “Don't sound so enthused.”
“I have things to trade,” I said, realizing how random it sounded only when it came out.
He lifted an eyebrow. “I'm sure you do. It looks like you had yourself a spat with the orcs. Lucky you made it out alive.”
Orcs. I glanced down at myself. My clothes were still bloodstained, and I carried multiple looted weapons. Perhaps he suspected I'd fought orcs since there were few other great threats in this forest. I'd let him think it.
“I'll tell you what,” the Celd continued after some silence, “I won't question your choices. If you're already addicted to something at your age, nothing some stranger says will stop you.” He readjusted on his seat to pull the backpack off and set it on the log beside him. He dug through it as he asked, “What's your poison?”
“Food.”
The Celd glanced up, noted my serious face, and sighed with relief. “Thank the gods. Now I don't have to feel like a piece of shit for selling drugs to kids. Take my advice: smoke all the herbs you want, but stay far away from rempka.”
Rempka. It was a hard drug notorious for degrading the body before leading to death unless users overdosed first. The poor district of Sera had offered glimpses of its crippling touch, for many of its people had lost teeth, hair, and fingernails. As far as I knew, the drug was a clear syrupy liquid that could either be drank or injected in the veins. As the Celd scrounged through his bags, I noticed tiny bottles of similar liquid within and connected the two.
“You advise to stay away from rempka, yet you sell it,” I pointed out.
“The best part about rempka is the gold, friend,” the Celd replied. “I can't make anything off it if I'm my own best customer. I have a mind for business, you see.” After a few more moments of digging, he announced, “I have dried Celdic fruits. Some fungi.”
“Do you have any meat or fish?”
“I apologize, friend,” the Celd replied. “I'm a vegetarian.”
A vegetarian drug dealer. I couldn't help but smirk with amusement, and he noticed.
“Kill an animal for food and it has no choice,” he mused with a grin. “Kill yourself with drugs, and you made your choice a long time ago.”
“Your logic is sound,” I mused, taking another step forward to glance in his bag. “I will trade you for fruits and fungi if you can spare them. All I have on me is meat.”
“And gold, I presume?” he asked, eyeing the military satchel hanging over my shoulder. It was a quality-made bag, so he might have thought my wealth was greater than it was.
“I have little gold,” I replied. What I had was looted from the Twelve, and they'd carried little since it hadn't been necessary for their mission. Remembering that Celds were known for their ranged abilities, I offered, “I have a bow.”
The Celd nodded as he eyed the bow in its scabbard on my back. “I appreciate the offer, but that bow is made of low-quality timber. I prefer the wood of the Cel Forest. It lasts generations.” He nodded toward my left hand. “I'll trade you for the ring. Metal jewelry is rare in Celendar.”
I glanced down at the ring my parents gave me. “This ring is sentimental. I have others.”
The Celd tilted his head curiously. “All right, I respect that. Let me see them.”
I walked over to the log he sat on, resting the satchel some distance away and searching through it. I didn't want to risk him seeing the official Seran warrants I still carried with my face on them. Pushing them to the side, I withdrew a small pouch that held the rings I'd looted from the Twelve. Though they hadn't used magic on that awfully hot and windless day, all three had clearly been mages. Between them all, I'd looted sixteen rings of various sizes.
“Good gods,” the Celd mused, taking the bag when I offered it and fingering through the selection. “Where did you get such quality rings?”
“It is best not to ask.”
He stopped and glanced up at me. Eyeing the bloodstains on my clothes in a new light, he asked, “Will someone come looking for them?”
“Not anymore.”
The Celd chuckled and returned to studying the rings. “How old are you, kid
?”
“I don't know. What's the date?”
“The 26th of High Star.”
I marveled at that. Only twenty-three days had passed since Thornwell, but it felt like longer. “Then I'm fifteen.”
“You know how to take care of yourself,” he mused. “You seem like you've been alone for awhile. Since you have no one to teach you better, let me save you some frustration by telling you to understand the true value of things.” He lifted one ring and squeezed its band as if to call attention to its thickness. “This is quality dwarven craftsmanship. Did you know that?”
“No.”
“I could give you most of everything I have on me for this and still get the better end of the deal,” he said. “And that bow? As much as it isn't to my tastes, it'll make a fine weapon for somebody. The more desperate they are, the more they'll give you for it. Regardless, that bow should fetch you a good...” he trailed off and tilted his head, “five hundred gold or so, I'd say. You almost traded it for food worth only a dozen gold pieces.”
“I'm not looking to get rich. I'm looking to survive.” My detached tone seemed cold to someone who'd only been genuinely helpful, so I added, “Thank you for your honesty and advice, though.”
The Celd smiled at the sudden politeness and handed me back the pouch as he held a single silver ring. “You should go to Brognel if you're already headed through the pass,” he said. “The dwarves pay more than anyone else.”
