by Tom Hansen
She stood to pace, the tip of her tail swishing back and forth across the tops of the grasses.
“Healers are unique in that our purpose lies not in destruction. We protect, preserve, and sustain. Shaman are an insulation to the inevitability of entropy. That being said, we are not defenseless.”
She stopped her pacing and pulled her Spirit magic forth, her fingertips glowed, and a cylindrical object with bulbous ends materialized in her right hand. Gold glimmered between her fingers in the cool moonlight. She gripped it like a weapon and thrust it through the air with a violent motion.
A long, curved blade of concentrated lightning shot out of one side. Radiance from the weapon bathed the immediate area in a stark purple light. She held the sword out, the blade crackling and popping, leaving light streaks in the air as she waved the weapon in a practiced motion.
She looked at him, sharp electricity dancing in her eyes, the same crackling energy as the weapon in her hand.
Her voice was hollow and reverberant, matching the glow in her eyes.
“You will be able to summon a Vajra one day, but you must start with the basics. It may be deadly, but its purpose is to save lives, not to take them. For every offensive ability you gain, you will learn four more for saving, protecting, and supporting. Some can be used on yourself, others are for the rest of the group or anyone in need.”
Scarhoof sat there in silence. He’d never seen anything so violent in his life. When she summoned that blade, he’d felt the overwhelming power of the spell sputtering off the crackling edge, pulsing to the unheard beat of Spirit. Whatever it had been, it was a high-level Shaman power, and he suddenly looked at Nitene with a newfound respect.
He knew to his core that she had the power and the means to destroy. He shivered, suddenly uncomfortable on his stool, the fur on his limbs standing on end.
Then, just as fast as it had materialized, she opened her hand, and it vanished with a crack.
She flexed the hand that had held the weapon with a practiced movement and sat back down, staring intently at him, her eyes back to the soft brown he was familiar with. They were warm, loving, and inviting.
“Life is precious, Matuk Scarhoof. We only have but one to live.” She pointed a slender finger away from the ocean, gesturing toward the greater world to the east. “Out there, you only get one chance. There is no rebirth or respawn.
She paused, her face twisted in emotion. A single tear flowed down her cheek, rolling down her fur and disappearing around her jaw. “Our creed is to protect life at all costs. ‘Defense of life’ is the mission for all Shaman, a mission you must fully embrace if you are going to progress to be a master of the class.”
She leaned forward, placing a hand on his knee and another on his shoulder. Her grip was strong and shockingly warm. He felt magic pour from her hands into his flesh.
“Promise me you will follow The Way as much as possible. I cannot teach you otherwise.”
He thought about the Kobolds he had killed earlier, and the feral boar. She hadn’t seemed this bothered by the lives taken then, had she? Or had he not noticed because she had saved him at the last second?
He then remembered Spirit Boon. He had obtained that earlier for completing a quest without loss of life. Maybe that is what she meant. You could take life if you must, but there were more benefits to be had if you chose a pacifist lifestyle.
He nodded. “Of course.”
She seemed visibly relieved. “Then let us begin.”
She stood and pointed to the back corner of her hut, where a stand with a straw-stuffed humanoid leaned. “Place the target dummy there and stand back while I show you the two spells you have gained.”
Scarhoof moved the dummy closer to the beach, about ten yards from her, and came to stand next to her.
“First thing you need to know is that once you level up, you are eligible to learn new spells. You will need to seek out a trainer, to learn the spell in its full power.”
“Full power?”
She nodded. “While you are eligible to cast the spell or use the new skill, you will only be able to perform it with limited effectivity until you can learn the full usage by way of a trainer.” She cocked a thumb at herself. “Me!”
He gave her a bemused nod. “I can use it, but really need a trainer. Got it.”
“Good. So, the first spell you missed was Spirit Shock. This is your first offensive spell. Similar to the Vajra, you will summon Spirit in an attack form. This spell will cause a spark of Spirit to slash at enemies.”
He glanced at the spell’s details again.
Spirit Shock: (Offensive Skill):
Damage: 40 Damage. Cost: 40 Mana. Cast Time: 1 Second. Shocks the target with a spiritual blast. Each successful blast increases the target’s vulnerability to future blasts by 1%, raises critical strike chance by 1%, and lowers the cost of mana by 1%. Max of ten stacks.
“It has a stacking effect that you can use to your advantage, assuming you aren’t needed to heal. The vulnerability lasts ten seconds, so you will need to cast the spell once every ten seconds to keep it fresh on your target. Now watch my hands.”
She darted her fingers around in a jagged way this time, different from the smooth flow of Mending Force. She released the spell with a word of power and the target dummy was hit by a brilliant spark of white magic.
She cast it again and again, the spell stacking on the target dummy until she had reached ten strikes, for a total of 10% extra vulnerability.
He watched her hands carefully, noting the finger movements and then focused on the words.
“Now you try.”
He concentrated, imitating her actions and words. Despite the unknown nature of magic spells until today, it was rather easy for him to emulate.
Power built up between his fingertips and his palm, then released with a jolt at the target dummy. The smell of ozone hung in the air, and he felt a surge of adrenaline rush through his veins.
Soon, he had his own stack of ten, keeping it refreshed every nine seconds.
“Good! You are picking these abilities up like you had done them in a previous life. Okay, let’s move on to Tendrils.”
Summoning Tendrils was more like Mending Force but also contained some of the jagged movements of Spirit Shock. She showed him twice, each time summoning roots that grew out of the ground, encasing the lower quarter of the target dummy.
“I think I have this.” He knew he did. He needed to try.
She took a step back, holding her palms out to him. “All yours. Let’s see what you can do.”
Already the different parts of the spells were starting to make sense. Some caused damage while others healed. Some were localized in your hand, others would modify the spell to be cast at different locations. One of the components unleashed all the spell effects in one instantaneous burst, while a different one allowed the spell to linger, dealing its effect slowly over time.
Tendrils was a unique mix of all the different modifiers he learned thus far. It was a physical spell, and it was cast on another object, the training dummy in this instance. Scarhoof recognized the component for what it did but didn’t fully understand its nuances since this was the first time he’d used it. Lastly, it had a damage over time component while it held its target in one location.
He unleashed the spell, realizing too late that he had put in the wrong component for localizing it to himself.
Spirit magic churned out of the ground, grabbing at his ankles, burning his fur as they rooted him.
Thick barbs across the octopus-like arms of the tendrils dug into his flesh, preventing him from moving without great pain. Even the slightest movement drove the magical barbs deeper. He soon stopped struggling and waited for the spell to run its course.
Nitene giggled. When he glared at her, she laughed all the harder, toppling the stool and wiping her eyes.
She was still laughing at him when the tendrils spell abated.
Chapter 12
Scarhoof g
lared at her. He tossed a Mending Force on himself to heal the slight bit of damage he’d done to his calves, then recast the spell on the target dummy this time.
Nitene snorted once as her last chuckle died out then took a long audible breath. “That was very good.”
He had to admit, it was kind of funny, but the pain in his ankles from that little mistake hadn’t been. Those thorns hurt!
Nitene got serious. “All joking aside, how did you cast it on yourself?”
The look she gave was chilling. Something in her eyes warned of danger.
He had to think for a second. Was she testing him? Angry? He wasn’t sure what had caused the swift change in attitude.
“I just swapped out the spell word components.”
She took a step to the right, starting to circle him. “That is very astute. How did you learn the spells had components?”
Her question seemed innocuous, but she there was caution behind her words. Worry crept into his mind. Had he done something to violate some kind of Shaman ethics?
“I just noticed when you cast them. It’s pretty simple to see that all the spells are broken down into syllables, and each syllable modifies one of the spell’s attributes.”
“That’s exactly correct. And you learned that just by observing me?”
Scarhoof nodded, his tongue suddenly feeling very dry. His eyes darted between her and the target dummy, as the tendrils broke off and disappeared back into the sandy ground.
“Do it again, but this time, hit me, the target dummy, and you.”
Scarhoof immediately started to work the spell with his fingers but stopped just as he opened his mouth. “I don’t know the component for that.” He knew it would have to select multiple targets, but he wasn’t sure what that one was.
Nitene visibly relaxed. “It’s good that you don’t, at least for now.” She righted her stool and took a seat, patting the stool next to her. “I still don’t know how you managed to pull that off, but it’s impressive. Spirit is strong with you, Scarhoof. That is my only explanation.”
And there it was again. The implication not matching up with her words. She was hiding something. He felt like he had done something wrong, stumbled upon a secret he shouldn’t have known.
She looked out into the black expanse of the ocean to the west, the moon halfway to its apex.
The bonfire would start in a couple of hours. Scarhoof glanced down the beach at the piled wood, ready for summoning the Aspect of the Spiritmother.
“Shaman rarely discuss the components. A master might mention it to his apprentice with a word of caution, but that is it. All magic wielders are like this. We don’t discuss it because using the wrong components can be disastrous.”
She pointed to the huts behind her. “What if you can’t control how many targets that spell affected? Tendrils is a relatively innocuous spell, but what if you used Spirit Shock or one of the other high-level spells, untethered and unfettered to a large group of people? What if you tacked on a damage over time, a root, a bind, a teleport, or a curse?”
She wrung her hands, concern creeping across her face. “There are those in this village that wouldn’t be able to survive even a low-level spell like the ones you can perform. This is the power of magic and the burden all adventurers carry on their shoulders. As Shaman, we are here to protect life, not harm it unless we are defending against a direct threat.”
She turned to him, a softness in her eyes, the previous worry gone. “Just promise me you won’t dabble in magic building. It can be dangerous. You could unleash a cataclysm, and you don’t know enough yet to do it safely and carefully. There is a reason the spells are taught this way. As you grow, you will learn more; tried, true, and trusted spells. You will be able to modify those spells with talents, but we have the approved spells for a reason. Without them, disaster could be unleashed on the world.”
With her words, a shiver ran up Scarhoof’s spine. Dozens of questions surged through his mind. None of them seemed important however, not important enough to break the silence. She had been very clear, but she’d said more with her facial expressions. He had stumbled upon something that could cause untold problems. He knew he needed to put the pieces of the spells out of his mind for good.
They sat in silence for a moment before he dared speak. “I promise.”
She gave him a nod. “I trust you. I know you will be careful.”
The two stared off into the sea. Scarhoof finally got up the gumption to ask. “Is Eldermother really your mother?”
Her mouth quirked up at this question. “Yes, she really is, and I’m sorry if you noticed any strangeness between her and me.”
He didn’t know what to say, so he nodded. She let out a long sigh.
“Do you remember the Eternal Plains?”
Scarhoof shook his head. “Vaguely.”
The realization that he had lived in the cove longer than he had memories from his previous life was a shock. Being one of the only able bodied Tau’raj in the Cove, even with a permanently damaged leg, he hadn’t had the time to relax. There were always things to do, mostly planting, but also fixing things in between all the normal guard duties.
It had become his life, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had thought about life outside of the Cove.
She gave him a curious look. “How long has it been?”
“Twenty years.”
“That’s a long time to be cut off from your friends, your family. That’s just about how long it’s been since I saw my mother; but Spiritmother has a way of guiding you to where you need to be, and now I’m here.”
She didn’t elaborate, and Scarhoof didn’t want to pry, though he still wanted to know why she was here.
He decided to change the subject.
“How are things in the Plains?”
“You mean the war?"
“I mean, how are the clans? How is our race handling things? My only contact with the outside world has been missives, rarely seen one from the Chieftain, or the occasional refugee who are either too young to talk, or too old and damaged to want to share.”
This brought a wistful expression to her face.
“I can’t say much about our race. I have not lived among them in some time. But I have travelled the Plains. They’re not what they used to be, but they are beautiful.”
She kicked at the sand. “Not like this. Tau’raj aren’t meant to walk on sand. I don’t like it. It grinds our hooves too fast, and it gets everywhere. The Eternal Plains is hard-packed dirt with oceans to the east and west, and a gentle slope spanning the entire continent. Cliffs to the south and the Spiritmother to the north, it’s a beautiful sight, but it’s changed since I left.”
“Left?”
She nodded, pointing to the bo on his back. “Can you hand that to me?”
He took the bo from its strap and handed it over. As she took it in her hands, he felt a transfer of power go with it. She spun it around with a deftness that shouldn’t surprise him but still did. She stopped the spinning and pointed the blunt end at him. “See this gouge?”
He looked carefully. Despite the beatings he’d given with it, the bo was in impeccable condition. He noticed she pointed to a specific gouge in the wood he’d never noticed before. He nodded.
She whirled the bo back, spinning it before embedding it in the sand to her side. “That gouge was due to the enemy tripping on my bo as I tried to get it out of the case. I fell on my face and embedded my horn in the desert clay. I should have died but the Nagos tripped as it came for me and fell on my staff, creating this gouge with one of its poisonous fangs.”
She ran a loving hand up and down its smooth surface. “It was given to me by my mother when I went off to war.
“After that first fight, seeing the broken and bleeding Nagos on my staff, I couldn’t do it. I ran away. I ran away from my tribe, from the Eternal Plains, I ran across the ocean, and I continued running until there was nowhere else to go. I met the Litlins, on the top of a mou
ntain and I lived with them for many years.”
Scarhoof tensed. The Litlins were a curious race of small humanoids that used airships and other mechanical aberrations to fight against his race.
The words came gushing out, along with an incredulity that she would spend time with the enemy. “How could you live with them?”
She gave him a half smile before standing up, taking the bo with her. She walked a few paces and dropped into a crouch, the staff extending along her outstretched hands. She pivoted on her hoof, raising her other leg and bending her torso in the process. She kept the bo positioned above her head the whole time as she pivoted back and forth.
“The Collective isn’t all that bad. They just have a different philosophy than us. I know you have a lot of hate for the Collective. We all do, but their individuals aren’t bad, even if their leadership is.”
She swung the bo out in an arc. As she lunged back he thought she would throw it like a javelin, but she snatched it out of the air at the last moment and brought it back in close to her body. Her forearms crackled with purple energy, shooting sparks between her fur and running along the length of the bo.
“I spent twenty years with the Litlins, and I learned a lot about their culture and their way of life. You won’t see many on the battlefield, but they man their airships and are the mechanics for most of the Collective’s army. Many of them are pacifists.”
Scarhoof stood. Watching her spin and duck and twirl make him feel lazy. Standing up didn’t help, however. His knees popped, and he let out a groan as his lower back protested his sudden movement.
“Doesn’t helping the Collective mean they aren’t pacifists?”
She smiled, something he barely caught as she spun around, bo outstretched before her. “You have a lot to learn, Scarhoof. The world is not so black and white as you might see it now. To answer your question, they simply make the machines. How those machines are used is not their concern.”
She shot the bo out at his face, then stuck it into the ground. “This bo could just as easily be used to plant your corn, or as a walking stick for when you grow older. Or it could be used to break someone’s knee. It’s a tool. Any damage done with it is not the fault of the tool.”
