The old man nodded, and sighed in exasperation. He was patient but was clearly tired from repeating the information slowly to Zack, which made Zack feel a little embarrassed. The old man continued, "So, even with one Tesseract, you have to learn the limits of your own power and to not stretch it beyond that unless it is a life or death situation. Third, and this is the most important limitation, Elementalists are limited by their creativity."
Zack snorted the first time it was explained to him. That sounded so random. He had expected something more mysterious, not creativity. "I don't understand that."
"An Elementalist with half the power and element of another Elementalist can still win a fight," the old man explained. "It will still be a difficult battle, but it is important to think creatively. Mortals who throw power around as if it were a hammer are much less frightening than those who can thread it through a needle. Understand?"
Zack shook his head and answered honestly. "Not entirely, but I'll keep that in mind. You said something about getting other Tesseracts. Does that mean I can gain other elements?"
The old man shook his head. "No. Once you have your element chosen, it is with you for life. Though, I've never heard of a flesh elementalist. It'll prove some interesting results. An Elementalist who gains a single Tesseract is considered to be in their first state. In this state, you are able to interact with your element without getting hurt. Also, like I explained earlier, you will have a natural, replenishable reservoir of your element inside you."
Zack's brows knitted together in confusion. "But my element is flesh. I can't shoot it out like the ice Elementalists do in stories or make beams of energy like lightning Elementalists."
The old man nodded. "You are a unique case. From what you've told me, it seems that you can draw on the natural abilities of the trollbear you bonded with. Somehow, you've absorbed its powers, and possibly even its soul. You've also gained its primal urge, that hunger you've described. You better keep that in check. In many ways, you are similar to the Barrow King."
Zack flexed his left hand which had been completely crushed only a few hours before. It felt new, stronger than ever. He said, "I can heal faster than normal if I eat meat. If I eat the trollbear meat, I can heal almost instantly. It's probably because my natural connection to the trollbear. Plus, the cold doesn't really affect me anymore and I've gotten stronger. Not a lot, but definitely stronger."
The old man seemed to be studying Zack, the smoke from his stick which he called a pipe leak out the end and covering his face, giving him a mysterious appearance. He breathed in the smoke and exhaled it slowly. "Once you gain more Tesseracts, you will increase your power to the second state and beyond. Although, you can't just keep absorbing Tesseracts like they're nothing. Again, they are powers not completely befitting mortals. So, it usually takes a year before you can gain another Tesseract without destroying your body. The limit is five for mortals. And just because you are in a higher state than others, doesn't necessarily make you more power. Mastery of each state is important or else you'll go completely insane."
Zack hummed at the thought. "How do I gain other Tesseracts and what do the other states do?"
The old man shrugged. "To gain other Tesseracts, you have to take one from a dead Elementalist. The Tesseract you found was probably from a dead Elementalist. Or Morgoth is just running around dropping them randomly. Very unlikely. For now, you only need to know about the first few states. Just know that there are five total. Most never make it past three for various reasons."
He cleared his throat and continued, "The second state allows the Elementalist to draw directly from their element."
Zack replied, "I can do that now."
The old man shook his head. "Only by eating the trollbear's meat. Eating the meat of the reindeer helped heal you, but nothing on that scale. Again, you're in an interesting case. When you reach the second state, only you will understand what drawing from your element really means."
"What about the third state?"
"This state is also known among Elementalists as the pawn state because they may grant their element's power temporarily to others, up to two states lower than theirs. This is a pivotal state for most Elementalists because by granting their element to others, they may offset the effects of their own insanity, but only temporarily. Those granted this borrowed power are called pawns. Like the other states, the Elementalist is limited by their sanity and the availability of their element."
Zack whistled. His head was beginning to hurt, but he was finally understanding everything. He said, "You make it sound like Elementalists encounter each other all the time and kill each other. Why do that when they can work together?"
The old man smiled sadly, his gaze seemingly piercing the walls of the igloo. "That's a good question and one I don't have the answer to. I dream of a day when the entire round world is put under a single thumb."
"Round world?" Zack snorted. "Everyone knows the world is flat."
The old man raised an eyebrow and looked as if he finally realized he was dealing with an idiot. Zack blushed. Even if the old man was a little nuts, he had taken the time to explain to Zack different powers. Zack asked, "How many fourth and fifth state Elementalists are there?"
The old man bit the end of his pipe and seemed to be calculating. He said, "Maybe ten or so fourth states and five or so fifth states. It's hard to say because past the second state, the number of Tesseracts you own don't matter so much as your control. There have been many cases of third states killing fourth states."
Zack's head throbbed completely. He decided to change the subject. "You said you had a plan for me."
The old man nodded. "I said I have a potential solution to your problems. After that, you're free to do what you wish. We all are. Anyway, you could leave right here and now to appeal to the Adjutant of Bergen, Nicolas Lagrand. I don't see him expressing any sympathy for a slave considering it was he who implemented Bergen's slave program in the first place."
Zack was never good with numbers, but even realized that didn't make sense. "That'd mean the Adjutant was older than my grandpa."
The old man nodded. "Yes. He, too, is an Elementalist, one of considerable might. Using your element changes you and can even grant some a kind of immortality. But there is always a cost."
Zack asked, "And the other option?"
The old man seemed to weigh his words carefully. "To the eyes of Bergen's laws, you are a slave. No matter where you go in the town or what you say, your word means nothing. However, you can change that."
"How?" Zack asked, a little more desperately than he intended.
"Inside the twenty thousand populace town of Bergen are the fighting Rings. There, criminals fight to gain their freedom at the pleasure and bets of the crowd instead of meeting the swift punishment of the gallows. If you go there as a slave and turn yourself in to the manager, Renton, they will take you in and give you food. There, if you win one hundred fights in a row, you will gain your freedom. Any loss means your win count starts back at zero. Winning also means you get prize money. With that prize money, you can petition to purchase for Yemiri's slave title."
Zack took the words in. The more he digested them in his mind, his heart raced more and more, the blood pumping through his veins. He could do it, he could save Yemiri.
All he had to do was win one hundred fights. He had hammered away at the strongest ice in Astoria for over ten years since his parents died, doing twice and sometimes three times the average slave's share. Plus, he was an Elementalist now, and could only get stronger. Getting to Bergen was no longer an issue with his immunity to the cold and not having to carry his friend on his back.
One hundred fights. A thousand. It could be a hundred thousand. Nothing would get in the way of his and Yemiri's freedom. And with the trollbear's strength, nothing could.
He hated the idea of still being slave, to succumb to the will of others. But this was different. He'd go willingly, and that small choice made the biggest di
fference in the world. Zack realized the old man looked proudly at Zack as if he was able to read his mind.
He cracked the old one a smile and said, "I guess I have no choice."
The old man frowned. "You always have a choice, Zack Maecker. You always have a choice. So, what will it be?"
Zack stood up, gathering his satchel, pick, and snowshoes he had hidden for his escape. "I'm going to Bergen to fight in the Rings. Thank you, old one, for saving Yemiri and teaching me about being and Elementalist. Are you sure you don't want to come with me?"
The old man shrugged and cracked him his familiar crooked grin. "It's not my journey to take. I'll still be here when you get back. I plan on living far longer than you."
"I'll come back for you, old man," Zack promised, nodding. More words were useless. He was never good at them anyway, not like Yemiri. He didn't bother sealing his fur coat since he was immune to the cold and walked out into the open night air.
All around him were the entrances to the tunnels and a few hundred igloos, holding all the people he had ever known. Standing in front of the ice steps that lead up and out of the Demon's Prospect stood the giant ice statue of Morgoth and his Tesseract. Nothing about what he was seeing ever felt like home to him.
Yemiri was Zack's home, and he needed to save her. All it would take was one hundred battles.
He walked up the steps of the Demon's Prospect, ignoring the hushed murmurs of the other slaves, gossiping about how his grief was leading him to his own suicide out in the cold. There was no point in telling them what had happened and what he was about to do. He barely believed it himself.
Soon, his legs carried him hundreds of feet past the Demon's Prospect, farther than he had ever gone before. He had expected elation or even a little sadness. Instead, he felt the hunger, the rage simmering in his belly. He couldn't tell if the anger belonged to the trollbear or to him. It didn't matter. They were one and the same now.
The cold winds from the Frozen Sea that his people had feared for three generations swept across his face and the opening of his fur. It felt good, waking his mind like never before, filling him with a sense of clarity.
Only then did he realize that he had never asked why the old man knew so much about Tesseracts and Elementalists. Or why the old one looked so much like the statue of Morgoth.
5
The din of the small arena crowd was almost unbearable. Six months in the Rings and it was still difficult for Zack to adjust to the noise. He had spent his entire life listening to the subtle whistles of the wind and creaks of the ice in the tunnels of the Demon's Prospect.
Now, hundreds and maybe even thousands of people had formed around the pit that was his battle arena, screaming the name they knew him as, Zack the Troll.
The fact his name was already a foreign one to Astorian ears only added to his uniqueness among the fighters of the Rings. Word had gotten around that a slave of the Demon's Prospect had escaped only to show up at the Ring's doors, urging the owner of the Rings, Renton Goldeneyes, to give him a shot at his freedom by winning one hundred battles in a row.
Fighting in the Rings was a right to all criminals and slaves. Most chose to fight instead of the swift justice of the gallows, but apparently, only one in the history of the Rings had won their freedom.
Adding on to that, the word was the slave was only a seventeen year old boy who was skinny as a sapling and looked he'd snap like a twig. Zack had ignored all the talk and gossip. None of their words meant anything to him all the way from his first battle to now, in his ninety seventh battle.
In that time, the rumors about him had not only grown, but changed. At first, he had been a small piece of a gossip, a laughing stock. But within a week inside the Rings, Zack Maecker had quickly become Zack the Troll, a name that garnered both respect and fear.
He was different than any other fighter they had ever seen -- slightly dark skinned and dark hair, compared to the light hair and skin of typical Astorians, a man who fought weaponless and without technique, but who would come back at his opponents twice as fast and savage.
None of that compared to his rage. Spectators had gotten to see first hand what would happen if you maimed what you couldn't kill. The gossip had transformed to truth, and the truth was that you couldn't put down Zack the Troll.
Three more battles after this one until he was the second slave in the history of Bergen who freed himself through onslaught. Three more battles after this and he would be free. Zack was never good at numbers, but he could count backward from three.
Right now, the only number that mattered to him was one, one man by the name of Grumbal Holtzenaffer, or who the locals called Grumbal Four-Hands. The man wasn't built like the overly huge twins Zack had fought consecutively in the previous two fights. Grumbal was cut, his posture so straight Zack almost mistook him for a noble.
Having grown up a slave only to see that even the poorest of the people of Bergen lived like kings compared to him, it's not like Zack was ever any good at spotting nobles anyway.
Grumbal's thick, blond beard was tied in several warrior knots, bound at the end with some sort of beads Zack had realized was the fashion among the people of Bergen. One of the other fighters had tried to give the skinny on Grumbal before their fight, like what his opponent's crime was that landed him in the Rings. Zack didn't care. He was just another body to put to the thumb of Renton's judgement.
From the way the man stood in front of Zack -- his posture, balance, and steady gaze -- told him to be careful. The way Grumbal held his twin battle axes like they were an extension of his arm gave Zack pause, putting him on his heels to check his own balance just in case he need to get out of the way.
He could heal a lot faster now that they gave him as much meat as he wanted after fights, but you couldn't heal if your head was lopped off.
Zack decided to let Grumbal make the first move, which Four-Hands was obliged to do, closing the distance between them in a single bound. In front of his opponent's hands were a blur of grey iron.
If it had been fifty fights before, or three months earlier, Zack would have made the mistake to duck or sidestep the edge of the weapons, surely getting his head or arm chopped off in the process. But he had made friends since then.
His spars with Fabiola of the Twisting Sands had taught him that dodging or blocking weren't the only possible moves. You could parry.
Even in their daily spars, Zack had never gotten the rhythm of parries down. It required too much finesse and technique, something he never had. Instead, he pushed forward in reply to the twin blades of the axes, arcing downward from opposite directions to meet his neck.
What did you do if you were threatened by something? You showed them you were the bigger threat.
Zack's hands palmed Grumbal's elbows, causing his opponent's eyes to widen in shock and teeth to clamp together. Good old Grum probably hadn't expected Zack's thin but cut frame to carry so much power. It was another reason why he walked into every fight with his shirt off, for his abilities to be mistaken on sight.
As soon as he saw weakness in Grumbal's balance, Zack felt the hunger beginning to take over. He tried to tame it, to squeeze his stomach in the meditation techniques that his friend Astrid had taught him to calm his mind, but it had the opposite effect. It only made the trollbear's spirit inside of him rage all the more, like a monster trying to break into the safety of your house.
Grumbal skipped back, swiping in neat, intricate arcs to keep Zack away. As the trollbear's hunger took over, a part of Zack's mind realized why they called Grumbal Four-Hands. The axes moved with changing speeds so you could never get used to his rhythm.
But rhythm and technique and all of those things belonged to soldiers, fighters, and warriors. Zack could no longer contain the hunger. Everything he saw had a thin film of red over it. He rushed forward to Grumbal.
One of the warrior's axes dug into Zack's shoulder, but Zack only grunted it off, causing his opponent more alarm. In a blink. Zack's hand w
as a tight iron coil around Four-Hand's neck, his breath pulsing weaker with every second. The remainder of Grum's axes had fallen to the ground.
The Flesh Elementalist Page 4
