by Aaron Oster
It wasn’t easy, though. Before, walking the short distance would have been as easy as breathing. Now, he had to scrape and claw his way across the ground, leaving bloody handprints in his wake. He gritted his teeth as sharp needles pierced his palms – it seemed there was a plant nearby that produced them in vast quantity – and poked at the exposed skin of his stomach and chest.
This pain meant nothing to him, not next to the way he’d been treated all his life. Sure, he was a cripple but that was no excuse. Just because he didn’t have the use of both his legs, didn’t mean he wasn’t just as capable as those who did have them. And just because he lost his connection with his Core, didn’t mean he could give up and die.
Finally, after nearly ten minutes of hot, sweaty, and bloody work, Roy finally reached the shade of the glowing trees. As soon as he entered the shade, he collapsed, lying there and panting hard.
It took him nearly fifteen minutes to recover his breath, and once he had, he pushed himself up onto his bleeding palms once more. They burned horribly as the needles were pushed further into his skin, but he needed to find a couple of stout branches before he could tend to the wounds.
After spending a couple of minutes searching, he found a likely candidate. A forked branch lay on the ground just a few feet from him, half-hidden by the tall, luminescent blue-green grass. Dragging himself over, Roy got ahold of the branch, then flipped onto his back, placing it against the trunk of one of the odd trees.
It was only then that he got a good look at his hands. He grimaced once again when he saw the mess he’d caused but thankfully, none of the wounds looked too deep. Slowly, he picked the small, thin thorns from his palms, ignoring the small drops of blood that welled up. It didn’t take him long to remove them, and only two were stuck deep enough to give him any trouble.
When he’d gotten the last of them out, he pulled a few of the torn strips of robe from his pocket and bound them tight, berating himself for not binding them before leaving.
Oh, well, he thought as he finished tying them off. Nothing I can do about it now.
When he’d finished binding his hands, he moved on to his stomach. The front of his robes wasn’t as badly torn as he’d first thought they were, but there were several ragged holes that he would be unable to patch. There were a few scrapes and needles to be removed, but overall, not too bad. He didn’t have anything to wash the wounds with, but he was sure he’d come across a stream or river at some point.
Next came the hardest part. Lifting the branch, Roy carefully turned and braced it against the tree trunk. Then, he pushed his chest up against the end and pushed. It took him a few tries, but he soon got the branch to crack pretty evenly down the center, leaving him with two stout – if slightly glowing – branches.
He then removed the dagger from his makeshift belt, cutting away yet more of his robe. Once he had several long strips, he rolled them out on the ground, then twisted and braided them together. When he was done, he had three firm lengths of string. That wasn’t enough, so, with a sigh, he cut away yet more of his robe.
Once he had eight such lengths, Roy placed the two branches to either side of his now lame leg. Then, he bound two around the top and bottom, and drew two more diagonally across in an X above and beneath his knee. He then took two of the strings and tied them together, slinging the loop over his left shoulder, leaving the bottom half of the loop near his right hip.
He wound two lengths near the tops of the branches and tied them both to the bottom of the loop. Since these branches would need to serve him as a brace until he could find a proper one, he had to make it as secure as possible. With a regular brace, he didn’t need to worry about it sliding down his leg. But with this makeshift one, it was a possibility. That was why he had the top of the brace tied to the sash he’d thrown over a shoulder.
It wasn’t a perfect solution by any means, but it was the best he could do with what he had. Roy had plenty of experience making braces for his leg, since Shah Koya had delighted in breaking it whenever he could. The entire process took him less than half an hour, by which time he’d calmed somewhat, but that wasn’t to say he wasn’t still furious at his treatment.
Anger still burned hot in his chest, keeping the fear of the unknown at bay. He was out in the wilds of the Lighted Fields all alone. With no food, water, map, or way to protect himself.
“No,” he said to himself. “I can and will protect myself!”
He still had the dagger, and with it, he could fashion himself a spear. All he had to do was find himself a proper branch. But first, he had to get up. Roy looked around for a branch low enough to the ground that he could hoist himself up with. But. of course, he had absolutely no luck. Growling low in his throat, Roy began the painful process of bracing and pushing, using far more effort than was necessary to get to his feet.
He finally managed it, and after swaying unsteadily for a few seconds, he settled into his familiar stance, leaning heavily on the left and using his right to keep his balance. It had taken him a few seconds to readjust his posture, seeing as he’d grown used to standing evenly after his leg had healed.
But, now that he was standing, another problem presented itself to him. He had no shoes. The Path of Power was very damaging to clothes in general, and any time he’d tried channeling Essence through his feet, his shoes had been blown clean off. But then he’d discovered something interesting- he didn’t actually need shoes.
Roy still wasn’t sure if that had to do with his Path or his body simply being tougher due to having Essence. Now, with his Essence gone, he could distinctly feel the prickly grass and small stones and branches poking into them. Yet another obstacle to overcome.
Setting his jaw, Roy began limping deeper into the strange forest. The first thing he needed to do was find a stout branch with which to fashion a spear. The next thing would be to find running water. After that, he would need to get some sleep. Though he was running on adrenaline now and didn’t feel at all tired, it had been well over thirty hours since he’d last slept. And if he kept going for much longer, his body would crash.
It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for. A long, green, yellow, and red branch poked from a purple and green tree. It was roughly five feet long and capped by odd-colored bulbous fruit. It took him a bit of work to crack the branch from the tree, and though it came out a bit splintery on the bottom, it was perfect.
He leaned against the tree, not willing to sit and have to stand back up on his own. He also suspected that should he sit down again. he would fall asleep as soon as he did. Taking the dagger from his belt, Roy hacked the thinner branches and fruit from the end, smoothing it out. He then placed the dagger against the top of the branch and used a rock as a makeshift hammer, pounding the ticker end of the blade.
He cut two notches into the top end of the length of wood, measuring with the dagger handle until he had the desired length. He then parted the branch, slotting the handle into the space and binding it with a few more strips of his robe.
Roy looked at the spear, quite proud of coming up with the idea. This way, he had reach should he be attacked by a wild animal or Beast. He then looked despondently down at his robe, which now ended just below his waist. It had once hung past his knees, but after removing so much cloth, the garment looked more like a short jacket.
It didn’t really matter to him, though. The robe was the sign of a Martial Artist and he was no longer one of them, so he did not deserve to wear it. Shaking off the morose thoughts that threatened at the corners of his mind, Roy set out once again, stalking through the strange forest and looking for signs of water.
Though everything shimmered with strange colors, he still found traces of moss growing on the lee side of a few trees. He used the butt of his spear as a walking stick, as well as his hands, for clearing away deadfall to see how moist the ground was beneath. He hobbled along, trying to ignore the occasional rock or sharp branch that stabbed into the soles of his feet. The entire time, he p
rayed he wouldn’t step on any nettles and even debated tearing more of his robe and perhaps stripping some tree bark to fashion a pair of sandals. But his raging thirst drove him on.
The forest was on a slight incline, making him need to work twice as hard as normal to stay on a straight path. He used the spear to push between trees to keep him from going in circles, as one tended to do when lost. But finally, after over an hour of painstaking and exhausting work, his efforts were rewarded when he heard the familiar sound of rushing water.
With a cry of relief, Roy sped up, moving as quickly as his deformed leg would allow him to, making for the stream. He could see the trees thinning up ahead and could practically taste the water! The trees thinned out and then opened into a small clearing. Roy froze, feeling his heart rate pick up.
There was indeed a stream flowing through the center of the clearing, the water dark and clear, running swiftly down the slight incline that had been giving him such a hard time. But perched on the far side of the clearing, standing right out in the open, was a small hut made of woven branches and grass.
A small firepit sat before the hut, with a spindly and crude rotisserie built over it. A rack stood off to one side, with several pieces of meat drying over it, and the pelts of more than one animal were stretched over another similar rack next to it.
Roy stood by the very edge of the tree cover, staring at the small and obviously man-made camp. He felt his anger flare once again, cursing inwardly at his bad luck. He had no idea whose camp this was, or whether they would be friendly towards him or not. If this person was living out here, they were obviously a Marital Artist, which meant they would not react kindly to a freak like him.
Then again, it didn’t appear that anyone was around right now. So, maybe if he moved quickly enough, he could get some water and disappear back into the forest before they got back. His stomach rumbled at the sight of the drying meat, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten in over a day. Though the tree branch he’d used to fashion his spear with had had fruit, he really couldn’t be sure if it was safe or not to eat. And when it came to unknow food, a good rule of thumb was to play it safe and not take a chance. Taking another Martial Artist’s food probably wouldn’t be too good for his health either, but his growling stomach was quickly overruling his common sense.
Still, he was hesitant to approach, so he waited, standing still at the edge of the clearing and watching the small camp as well as the surrounding forest. It was, admittedly, a bit hard on the eyes, as the constantly shifting colors seemed designed to befuddle the senses. And, after about twenty minutes, Roy began to feel his head spin.
He knew that the longer he waited, the bigger the chance was that whoever this camp belonged to would return. Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Roy stepped out of the tree line and began hobbling over to the stream. At first, he was afraid he’d be spotted right away, but when no alarm was raised, he began moving a bit faster, using the butt of his spear to help speed up his shuffling gait.
Getting down to drink from the stream was a bit tricky, but Roy had ample experience sitting with his deformity. Using the spear as a brace, he shot the leg out before him, then used his upper body and left leg to lower himself to a sitting position. From there, he flipped to his stomach and leaned over the fast-flowing stream.
Roy felt pure bliss and a sense of relief as the cool water rushed down his dry throat, cooling him from within as it traveled down to his stomach. He lay there for a few minutes, taking small sips. In between sips, he unwound the makeshift bandages from his hands and washed off, hoping he wasn’t too late to prevent an infection.
Then, soaking the strips, he tied them back around his hands. He sighed in relief as he wrapped the inflamed skin and pushed himself back into a sitting position. He couldn’t help himself, and he eyed the rack of meat on the other side of the stream. The only problem he had was how we would be able to get across. While not very deep, the stream was nearly ten feet across and flowing very quickly. With his crippled leg, he could easily lose his balance and end up soaked.
Trudging through the woods soaking wet would be a miserable experience indeed. But when he noted the few small leather bottles sitting near the hut, it was decided for him. He didn’t have any way to transport water so having a few bottles could mean the difference between life and death. Wild animals and Beasts weren’t the only things that could kill him out here.
Roy rolled up the cuffs of his pants, then, using the spear as a brace, slowly entered the fast-flowing stream. He immediately felt the current try and sweep him off his feet, as well as the sharp and slippery stones poking into his feet. He determined to fashion himself some slippers as soon as he was safely away from this camp.
He began to struggle once the water reached mid-calf and had to work for each small step. He pushed the spear butt out to the side, using it to push off, but even then, he nearly lost his balance several times. Finally, sweating, panting, and completely exhausted, he reached the other side.
Legs shaking from fatigue, Roy pulled himself up onto the bank and stumbled over to the rack. He quickly stuffed a few strips into his pocket, then moved to grab some of the water bottles. He hated stealing, but it would be necessary for his survival. All his belongings had been confiscated by the clan who’d captured him, so he had nothing.
It took a few more minutes to get the water bottles filled and tied to his makeshift belt. The entire time, he fearfully watched for the returning camp owner, hoping against hope that they wouldn’t show up. As soon as he was back on his feet, Roy quickly left the camp, hobbling as fast as he could into the surrounding forest, and heading to the southeast. He didn’t know if there was any civilization in that direction, but it would be the easiest to follow in this part of the world, due to the sun’s position here.
He was completely exhausted and knew he had to find somewhere to sleep, but he didn’t even allow himself to begin looking for a camp until he’d walked for well over an hour. His feet were sore and blistered, and his eyes were drooping by the time he stopped at the base of a tree, noting a small hollow within.
Slumping tiredly down into it, he pulled some of the deadfalls over himself to break up his shape and hopefully avoid any predators. One might be surprised at the amount of knowledge he had about surviving in the wilderness, but Roy, whose life had been a miserable existence with the Shah, had spent countless hours studying how to do so. He’d never had the courage to attempt it, but now that he was effectively stranded, he was very glad for all the accrued knowledge.
He set the spear across his lap and stuffed a few pieces of meat into his mouth, chewing as his eyes closed. He barely managed to swallow before exhaustion finally claimed him, and he fell into a deep sleep.
15
A light prickling sensation over the back of his scalp and the sense that he was in immediate and great danger woke Roy from his slumber. His eyes flicked open, blinking rapidly as they adjusted to the bright fluorescence of the surrounding foliage. It was nighttime, though he couldn’t guess exactly how late, as the moon was hidden by the glowing fiery leaves overhead.
It took him a few seconds to realize what had woken him. It was silent. Way too silent. The usual sounds of the forest- birds, insects, and the like- had stopped. In a forest such as this, the silence was deafening, and Roy knew why. There was a predator nearby.
He felt his heart rate increasing at a rapid pace as he shifted around and tried to get up. He knew hiding would be pointless, as whatever was coming would easily be able to sniff him out. All he could do was hope it was just a regular animal and not a Beast. Though, if it were, a Beast wouldn’t really have much interest in him, seeing as he didn’t have any Essence to give.
Regardless, he had to be prepared. Pushing himself to his feet, Roy placed his back to the tree and mentally prepared himself to be found. His muscles were cramped and painful from the uncomfortable position where he’d slept against the tree, and he did his best to stretch while remaining alert.
A light rustling in the undergrowth straight ahead was the first sign of what was to come. Roy braced himself, placing his left leg back for support, and lifting the spear to point forward, the tip dipping a bit due to its poor balance. He had no idea how to fight with a spear, other than thrusting with the pointy end. He really hoped that would be enough for him to succeed.
The brush parted, giving him his first glimpse of the attacking creature. Roy felt the blood freeze in his veins as a rat the size of a horse pushed its way through the trees. Its body was covered in gray-black fur spotted with flecks of green and brown. In any other forest, this would have been great camouflage, but in the Lighted Fields, it stood out as much as he did.
Its claws gleamed a bright red, matching the color of its two sets of eyes, one set placed forward and the other on the sides of its massive head. Its nose twitched, and its eyes locked onto him.
Roy could feel his body shaking as the Beast tilted its head to one side, staring at him in confusion – likely not sure what it was seeing. Roy appeared to be a living creature, but one that did not contain the food it was looking for. It was something the Beast had never encountered before, so it was quite understandable.
Roy stood as still as he possibly could. He’d never seen a rat this big before, which meant that the Beast was likely well into the Blues, perhaps even pushing Purple. Not that it really mattered. He doubted in his ability to even kill a Base White Beast in his state, let alone a creature this powerful.
The worst part would be its intelligence. At this stage, the Beast would likely be able to speak if it so desired, though living out here in the wilds, it may never have picked up that particular skill. Regardless, it would be just as intelligent, if not more so than him. If he was hoping to outsmart it, he would be sorely disappointed.
