Everything Is Worth Killing- Isaac's Tale

by Alex Oakchest

  Then again, what did I know? I was the outsider here.

  “Isaac?” called Mardak, turning around. “Caim?”

  I hadn’t joined them yet. I looked at Tosvig, and I pictured him waiting out here alone, while his fellow clanmates went and had dinner with the clan who’d abandoned him as a child because of his disability.

  “I wait with Tosvig,” I told him. “We make fire and grill hellgre meat before goes bad.”

  “Hellgre meat?” said Mardak. “Delicacies! Can have?”

  Tosvig nodded. He took a chunk of flesh from his bag and threw it at Mardak. It slapped into his chest, staining him with blood. “Have nice taste, Mardak,” he said. Then he turned to me. “Thankie, Isaac. Come; we go to clearing and wait.”

  We set out again in the afternoon. Almost forty of us in total, minus some of the Lonehill women who had decided to stay in the Tallsteep camp. I guess the Tallsteeps’ grudges didn’t extend to willfully ignoring a chance to increase their own population.

  So we left, a bunch of robed refugees walking into the middle of a harsh winter, our white robes blending into the landscape around us during the day.

  We covered twenty miles per day, sometimes more, and would always stop in the middle of the afternoon while it was still light. Someone would start a fire and we’d throw giant stones into it. Then, when it started to get dark and threatened to make the fire stand out, we extinguished it, and each of us took a heated stone and used it to stay warm.

  We had ten days of traveling this way, all told, and I fell into a routine.

  In the morning I would rise before everyone else and I would first practice with my bow. Next, I did push-ups, sit-ups, lunges, and lifted the heaviest rocks in many different ways, trying to tire my muscles.

  With that done I would either try and hunt using snares and my bow. Success was rare, but that rare victory made it feel all the better.

  By the end, I had gained new elementals, as well as some hare flesh that Mardak taught me how to salt, so that it would last longer. The buff the meat gave a person was lessened slightly by the salting process, but it was a trade-off. Without salting it, the meat would go bad and become useless.

  After testing it by eating a piece, I found that hare meat gave me a speed buff. I’ll never forget the first time I ate raw hare meat and then sprinted through the forest. It felt otherworldly, I moved so fast. As if I wasn’t running, but instead was letting the wind carry me.

  All in all, my hunting spells helped build up my inventory.

  Inventory:

  Lonehill Robes

  Snow Robes

  Geld Deer Robes

  Iron sword

  Hunting Knife

  Spellbook: Hrr-Arre: Un gata fur Intermedien

  Spellbook: Hrr-spee: Un gata fur Novicien

  Tincture: Wolflust

  Tincture: Wolfbane

  Tincture: Harelust

  Standard Bow

  Wooden arrows x25

  Skill book: Fletching: Novicien Gata

  Dried nightwolf eyes

  Siddel’s Medallion

  Hellgre flesh pieces [Gives fire blood buff]

  Hare Flesh [Give speed buff]

  Elementals:

  [Fire] x4

  [Human] x5

  [Ice x3]

  [Speed] x6

  [Mapping] x2

  [Sight] x1

  [Corruption] x1

  [Circle Child] x1

  I also practiced spell moves. Sometimes I honed my existing movements to shave a millimeter or two from my casting time, and other times I experimented by combining moves from different spells or changing the order of a spell’s moves.

  I didn’t get much from it. Only once did I feel something happen; hrr-chare was the spell I knew best, so I tried changing the movements within it. Altering some of them, rejigging the order, and that kind of thing.

  It was while doing this that I felt a faint trembling of energy inside me.

  Only for a second, and then it was gone. But I kept note of the moves that had led me two it. I had improvised the first two stances of a new spell.

  But that wasn’t all.

  It was through practicing my already familiar spells that something happened. I had just completed five complete cycles of the hrr-chare spell, when word formed in front of me.

  [Fire] discipline improved by 4%!

  Rank: Grey 26.00%

  So…this was new.

  Until now, I had only been able to improve my discipline rank by actually casting spells, which meant wasting elementals. But I had practiced my spell moves lots of times in the past without improving rank, so what had changed?

  The medallion, maybe? Perhaps Siddel’s medallion, as well as improving my casting time for projectile spells, also let me increase my rank by practicing spell moves.

  To test my theory, I took the medallion off and cycled hrr-chare a few times.

  Nothing.

  So, I put it back on and completed five more cycles.

  [Fire] discipline improved by 2%!

  Rank: Grey 28.00%

  Another increase, but this time only by 2%. At least I knew something, though; by wearing a sophisticated enough medallion, I could increase my discipline rank without casting spells.

  So, what the hell were the medallions made from? Where did the Lonehill clan get them?

  I guessed the materials were hard to get. If it was easy to make a good medallion, then everyone would have one. After all, why not arm your clan with the best tools?

  Already feeling tired, I forced myself to perform hrr-chare five more times without casting it.

  [Fire] discipline improved by 1%!

  Rank: Grey 29.00%

  Diminishing returns. I had found a new way to gain rank, but it would take me a hell of a long time, and lots and lots of practice, and each 1% increase would be harder than the last. At least it was something.

  Armed with my new information, I managed to increase my [Fire] rank to 35% over the next twenty days, as well as boosting [Ice] to 15%, [Shield] to 15%, and [Kinesis] to 12%.

  This was great, but what I really needed to know was about the medallions. Where did they come from? How were they made? What made them powerful?

  Same with the guidebooks; who was producing the novice and intermediate spell books? I guessed it was someone in the clan, and I already knew that spell books were gifted to those who served the clan well. But still, did it mean that someone had a master list of spells and their movements, maybe?

  Every time I asked, the answer was the same.

  A mage must walk his own path to mastery.

  It was getting to the point we were all walking the same path now, and none of us would like where it was headed. I needed to get them to open up about this.

  When I wasn’t exercising, hunting, or practicing magic, Tosvig would teach me how to use my sword. He was a rough teacher, and it was a rare session that didn’t leave me feeling like someone had just beaten me up in an alley. But I kept going, never quitting, and with every minute we spent, I told myself that I was improving my survival chances.

  But soon, all of this improvement led me to a question. One that nagged at me. One that I tried to ignore because it didn’t serve a purpose yet. Again and again, it came at me.

  It was all well and good learning to survive…but for what?

  What was my purpose here?

  I refused to believe that I had been brought to this place just to go from one day to the next.

  When everyone was up and had eaten and had water, we would set out. I made a point to walk with a different person each day. I quizzed some of them about magic, hoping they’d let something slip, but the Lonehills’ inbuilt idea that a mage must learn his own spells didn’t waver.

  Some clanfolks would tell me stories of the clan’s history. Others told me about places they had been to in the world. Others would ask me questions, and become frustrated when I couldn’t remember any of my past.

  But through it a
ll, I built up my vocabulary a lot, and I started being able to both understand others more and get my points across better. I worked my muscles until they were exhausted, and then I went to sleep and let them rebuild. I practiced spell move and spell move, always searching for a second of improvement, or a glimmer of something new.

  On and on we marched. Day after day. We passed one forest and then another, crossed one vast plain of snow, and then the next.

  “How far?” Harrien asked Mardak one day.

  “Two suns,” answered the cook.

  “Old camp will still be there?”

  “You may not remember. You were just babe when we left last camp, Harrien. Happened moons before your little brain awoke properly. But yap.”

  “Why leave?”

  “Soil was sick and couldn’t grow. Safe place, but not good for food. Cannot stay here forever even when we find.”

  It was as I listened to them, that my old familiar question began to nag at me again.

  It was great making sure we survived, but what were we surviving for?

  I realized then that the question didn’t apply just to me, but to everyone.

  “We need plan,” I said.

  Mardak shot me a glance. “Huh, Isaac?”

  “Not just to walk to the camp,” I said. “Not to find a place to hide. This isn’t a life for anyone. We must stop running, and make plan. A plan for our fight. First for the Runenmer, and then the ogres.”

  Tosvig grinned. “Yes, no-color! Yes! A plan for the bastards.”

  CHAPTER 27 – Plans of Ogres and Men

  When we reached the Lonehills’ old camp, I understood what Mardak meant about camouflage, and also about why they left this place.

  We had walked for miles over a vast plain of snow, and the only things in the distance were great hills that swelled so high I couldn’t see anything beyond them. The closer we got, the surer I was that Mardak had taken a wrong turn. There seemed to be nowhere to go, unless we were climbing over the hills. Even then, they seemed to stretch on for miles. There was no way anyone would attempt to make camp and grow things there.

  But when we reached the hills, Mardak led us along their base, and then to a gap between them. It was a small, naturally-formed passageway. No wider than a man, and certainly too narrow for an ogre to fit.

  “This way. Hope you are not scared of darkness, Isaac.”

  “I’m scared of nothing,” I said, and then remembered that I had been more than a little scared of the Runenmer, ogres, and Hellgre.

  He led us into the passageway, which snaked straight through the array of hills like a riverbed that hand long-ago run dry. As Mardak promised, it soon became impenetrably dark even in daylight, as surrounded as it was by the hills towering either side of it.

  We followed this for an hour, maybe more. The darkness and lack of any distinguishable features other than the tunnel played with my sense of time. Eventually, the tunnel widened, until it opened completely.

  There, ahead of us, was a patch of land. It was a valley surrounded by giant hills on all sides, a flat patch of mud that was hidden amidst the great swells of land.

  Unless you knew to head here, there was no way you would ever find it. From a defensive point of view, it was a blessing and a curse. I guessed that it was rare anyone would attack the Lonehills here. But, if they did ever come under attack, they’d be trapped.

  As well as that, the land was completely blackened, as though a dragon had breathed hellfire over it. There was never a chance anything could grow here.

  Mardak pointed ahead. “See marks? That is where we bury. We bury dried foods. Tools. Other things. If tragedy befell us, we were to come here.”

  “I will dig,” said Tosvig.

  “Tosvig, you only have one hand.”

  “So? I can use sword well enough, na? I will cleave Mardak’s head off with one hand if he wishes proof. Using shovel? Pah.”

  “You have served the clan long and served it well, Tosvig. Deserve rest.”

  “I’ll not rest until looking at ogre heads on spikes. Then I will smile.”

  “Then we will all smile, my friend.”

  Those of us who weren’t too exhausted spent the afternoon digging out the cache of supplies. There was dried food, robes, tents, flint, and parceled herbs for Cleavon to use to heal people. All kinds of stuff that Nino set about cataloging straight away.

  I guessed that normally, the Lonehills wouldn’t need to use a cache like this. After all, their magic inventory bags could hold all this stuff. Still, it was sensible to leave things here just in case. It was a kind of bug-out point for them to flee to if shit hit the fan. And right now, the fan was whirring full speed.

  “Some food spoiled,” Nino said, when it was all uncovered and sorted into piles. “Tents ripped. Otherwise, cache as good as could hope.”

  “Thankie, Nino,” said Mardak. “Tonight, we enjoy fire. We have guard at tunnel. Everyone else, eat and then visit dreams.”

  And that was how we spent the night. After erecting half a dozen tents, we lit a fire, Mardak made stew from a few hares we’d caught that day, and we sat around the fire and basked in its comforting heat.

  It was weird, in a way. Sitting there like that, it made me feel nostalgic for the times I’d spent sitting at the campfire beside Rosi and Siddel. It felt like a lifetime ago now. And if that was a lifetime ago, how long ago was my other life? My real life, the one I left?

  Or was that even a life?

  I’d come to accept now that if my memories were going to come back, they’d be here by now.

  I had to forget about remembering, if that made sense. And I had to forget about just surviving, and find a purpose for myself.

  The next morning, we all met in Mardak’s tent. Me, Tosvig, Nino, Cleavon, Harrien, and Mardak. Stew and sleep the night before had worked wonders for us, and though we all had tired eyes, the atmosphere felt different. Maybe even optimistic.

  “Today, friends,” said Mardak. “We make plan.”

  First, Nino gave us a catalog of every single offensive and defensive asset we had. He ran through everything, reeling each item from memory in an impressive way.

  When he was done, I felt my optimism begin to wane.

  “This isn’t enough. Even with elementals, buffs, we still don’t have enough. We need the Tallsteeps’ numbers on our side.”

  Tosvig spat. “Bastards.”

  “Isaac has explaining to do for teaching Tosvig this bastard word,” said Mardak.

  “Tosvig is right; Tallsteep are bastards,” said Harrien.

  “What can I say?” I said. “Cultures learn from one another.”

  “Na join Tallsteeps. The frog trusts the crocodile to carry across river. Then…snap!”

  “Is all your wisdom animal-related, Tosvig?” I asked.

  “Tosvig has good point,” said Mardak. “We trusted the ogres when times were dire. Became biggest mistake of all clan history, since decision to cross Dragon’s tail when I was boy. Big, big mistake. Poor Pendras…Siddel…”

  “I understand,” I said.

  “Na. The words float in your mind, yes, but not in your heart. A person na from clan will na understand.”

  “Maybe. But I understand my own survival. My own life is pretty damn close to my heart. Be realistic; without the Tallsteeps, can we beat ogres?”

  “Even when our numbers strong, even with Pendras and Siddel and Elder…na.”

  “And now we are weaker than before,” said Cleavon. “When the body is weak, it succumbs to infection easier.”

  “And what if we don’t fight?” I asked. “What are our other options?”

  “Find a new home.”

  “Which Tosvig has spent long time in Wilds trying, and finding nothing.”

  “Tosvig finds many places,” said Tosvig. “But Elder says no to them all.”

  Mardak gave Tosvig a kind smile. “Elder had good reasons, Tosvig. He did not say just to hurt pride.”

  “So we can’t fig
ht alone. Can’t find new home. Any other options?”

  “Become as the hermits; wander each day anew. Never sleep in the same place. Just like the Runenmer; you can’t kill what you cannot find.”

  “Is that a life for a Lonehill?”

  “It’s a life for na person. In the wilds, trees without roots are puppets of the wind,” said Tosvig. “Even I must come back to camp for supplies sometimes. Na peoples survive without place to grow in soil, without forests they know to hold game. You can’t rely on the generosity of the wilds.”

  “So we can’t fight alone, can’t find new home, can’t keep traveling. Do you see how allying with the Tallsteep Clan is the only option?” I said.

  Mardak sucked in his cheeks as he thought about it. I knew that as an outsider, my standing here meant less than Nino, Cleavon, Tosvig. Even less that Harrien; he was young, but he was still one of the clan.

  But Mardak couldn’t argue with logic. I just hoped he could see that.

  The only problem I saw in going back to the Tallsteeps was that we’d hiked all the way here, just to leave. But I guessed that this was a place where the elderly and those too injured to fight could stay. A safe place for them while the rest of us tried to deal with this.

  “Even if we wish it so, Tallsteep are selfish people,” said Mardak.

  “Selfish bastards,” agreed Tosvig.

  “Yap,” said Cleavon. “Even their healer would not share his knowledge of poultices with me. A people who care only for own shadows.”

  I nodded. “So we need to persuade them that it’s the only logical way for both clans to survive. But that won’t be enough. A gift, too. Persuasion and gifts.”

  “We could give them more women,” said Nino.

  We all looked at him then. “They are not yours to give,” said Mardak. “What would Pendras think if he heard that? What if Rosi was here?”

  “She would smash Nino’s face,” said Harrien, making Tosvig laugh.

  Nino shrugged. “I am the inventoryman. I have always been the inventoryman. It is my job to think inventory. And in times when the sky is darker than ever before, we must think without emotion. Our people are inventory. Tools.”