Book 1: Chapter 31: Pensive
To my immense surprise, I discovered that variation produced patterns. Yes, that was indeed sarcasm. My wit knew no limits, I was proud to admit. Come dawn, I was already awake and conducting my examinations accompanied by the faint pre-dawn light and Artyoms squeaky snores. Gods Above that little windbag had an entire orchestra of sounds down his throat, and I had been his unwilling audience all night.
Back turned to him, I sat upon a crude stool and examined the countertops worth of biter pods. Entombed in glass, they lay in various states of affairs, with remarkably few of them showing any signs of thriving. Who would have thought that sealing organic life inside a glass container could have such an effect?
Predictably, those that had received the least food withered first. That conclusion had been forgone, however. What interested me was how quickly they had degraded. Those that had gotten none were simply dead, cut off from the vine, food and air. Truly, a stupendous outcome. There were faint signs of life left in those that had received some small morsels, amplified in the jars I had left open to the air above.
Those I had allowed to gorge surprised me the most. They positively thrived inside their castles of glass. Several had sprouted vines from what I would tentatively refer to as their backs, and one had gone so far as to behind growing more pods from a thickened vine that curled along the jars floor.
Soil, while optional, was not strictly needed, or so I was led to assume.
The results here fairly lined up with what I had guessed the natural outcome to be, yet I wanted to conduct more advanced experiments. Rather than just figure out a way to grow more, an eagerness to manipulate the conditions further simmered within me. A thirst for knowledge that demanded my attention as if a physical need.
Tentative expression set upon my face, I gathered up those that had perished and left the hut. The husk of those dead I disposed of in a compose pile Ishila had started, and refilled their containers with soil. They could survive in sub-optimal conditions, yes, but how much did it affect them versus those planted in lush soil?
Artyom had woken upon my return and scurried off at my insistence. Morning chores would not perform themselves. He was to feed Gol and check the crops for weeds, along with a small list of other tasks to rotate through day by day. The wonders of being able to rely on competent help.
While he attended to those chores, I further divided up the plants and their conditions. Most got soil, and I watched as the vines of several plants snuggled into the loamy dirt. A few trips back and forth provided some with water, some with food and a healthy variation across all those that remained. This time, I made sure to carefully mark all of the jars to indicate their conditions. Loathe though I was to admit it, but there were only so many details I could cram into my skull and expect to remember it all.
Ishila had returned from the fields with milk pails in hand when I finally emerged, her morning chores already completed.
Thought I was going to be fighting with the cows again today, I admitted as we leaned against the fenceposts and observed Artyom weaving through the crops. Harvest was, frighteningly, weeks away by my estimate. That unsettled me the most. Back home, it had been this immutable thing that occurred on a set pace, and even for all our technology and studies, humans had been able to do naught but speed that process up by a few weeks. Now, a Skill, a power I could not feel and had little control over, hustled that process along by months. Unnatural.
Well then, aint you glad I was in the area to do it for ya? the orc lass distractedly replied, her usual grin just a slight twitch upon her face.
Something was bothering her, and I didnt want to dance around it or pretend like it wasnt a concern. Some people just wouldnt care, as long as it didnt effect her work. Do your job and deal with your problems on your own time, or somesuch. I wasnt one of those people.
You want to talk about it or be distracted from it? I sighed and leaned against the crooked wooden post. I can see something is eating at you. Share, if you are willing.
She frowned and shook her head ever so slightly.
Ehhh, its stupid.
Let me be the judge of that. I reassured her.
Ishila sighed and made a face before she straightened and crossed her arms, a serious expression on her face.
I wanna be an adventurer. Think I mentioned this before. But lately Ive been havin arguments with Ma and Pa about it. Look, I know the whole thing about kids and their parents clashing and then tempers simmering, so dont worry bout that. Its just.. She trailed off with a deep, tired sigh that I felt. I really did.
I know that I have it better off than a lot of young folks my age, and am in a better situation than plenty people round here. Ma and Pa are leaving me the farm and everything, Ive got a great headstart with my Classes, inherited great Skills from both of em, have a fair sum of coin saved up. I could live well once the farm is mind.
And yet. I nodded along, sort of sympathetic and able to empathize with her position.
Its selfish n shit, but I dont want it. Its secure, stable, a good life. But it wouldnt make me happy. I know that. And I got only one life to live.
Of all the things I expected to do this morning, helping a young adult with their existential dread and uncertainty of the future was not among my long list of possibilities. And yet, she had tirelessly helped me all this time, risked her life for my farm. This was the least I could do for her.
Well, I slowly replied and scratched my head. I cant make that decision for you, Ishila. All I can do is offer some advice and share my experiences. How much have you thought this through? Do you have all the necessary equipment and funds secured to be an adventurer? A person can train for it, but no amount of practice in a safe, contained environment prepares you for a life of constant danger and uncertainty.
Im aware. She nodded with a grimace. Ma has told me that a dozen times. You never know whats around the next bend, out there in the world. Or so Ive been told. I have a potential party, but all of us are greenhorns, to put it bluntly. I got my stuff, but theres never a set time for us to set off, yaknow? Just always some vague date in the future that never seems to come.
The worst part is, She continued. Itd break Mas heart so badly. It took her so much effort to leave all that behind and settle down with Pa.
I can imagine. I nodded and really didnt.
Leaving the call of blood and battle is torture for someone of the orc blood, but she did it for me. Ishila sighed quietly. And here I am, off to go break her heart.
No matter what you do, make sure you do it on good terms. Dont let the sun set over regret or anger. And whether or not you stay or go, I just want you to know this, I am thankful to have both met you and had you help me in the past weeks.
Thanks for that. Really. She nodded. We discussed it for a time, content to just stand and share thoughts. But soon enough, other deeds clamored to take precious attention. Ishila led me over to where she had transplanted the clericflower into my house-side garden and I squatted to examine it with a frown.
It seems..sickly. I stated the obvious.
Indeed. She nodded sagely. Was like that when I scooped it out and moved it over.
The golden petals had been drained of color, now an unhealthy off-white instead of their pale gold. The flower seemed to droop, devoid of any prior healing prowess.
Perhaps I plucked too many of its petals. I ventured carefully.
Could be. Could also be its not getting fed enough.
There is sunlight and water aplenty here. I frowned even harder. I was going to say that I had never heard of a plant shriveling up so fast but then reminded myself conventional wisdom had been tossed out the window the second I was forced into this world.
True. But if not water and light, what is it feeding off of?
Ishila shrugged and gestured to the field where she had transplanted the fragile flower from.
Given the past few days, and how you only noticed it after the raid, I would hedge my bets and just say its either blood or death.
I couldnt even make a decent counter-argument against that, given what kind of other flora grew among my crops. They had a very specific ingredient that linked all of them together.
Well then. I nodded. Might as well test it and see, first. Anything we can bleed onto this?
For once, the thoroughness with which the biter pods disposed of whatever meat I had thrown in front of them disappointed me. I would have quite liked something readily on hand to test Ishilas theory. But it was not to be, and so a grabbed the knife and decided to do it myself.
Face already a grimace of anticipation, I towered over the pale bloom and held the knife to my palm. The pain was barely there, but I still shivered as cold steel parted the flesh and blood flowed free.
Crimson was the precious liquid that seeped from my clenched fist into the dark soil below. Droplets splattered across the soil, fat drops of bloody rain that stained the pale petal where they struck. Stains that faded in mere moments as life returned to the bloom.
It hungered, and I gave it substance. The pale gold returned before my very eyes, and we stood, blinking.
Seems about right. Ishila nodded. Any further questions were interrupted as Artyom came tearing across the yard, bounding on all fours.
Riders, yes-yes! He screeched. Barons men!
Not a moment of peace at all, it seemed. Ishila broke off and headed for the storage shack where the weapons were stored. This early in the morning, I hadnt been lugging around my claymore. An oversight. Danger did not chose convenient times to reveal itself.
There was a sense of dread that pervaded the air as I strode towards the road, intent on confronting the riders, and any potential trouble before it reached my home. Ishila met me halfway, axe in one hand and my massive blade in the other. I nodded thanks as she handed it to me hilt-first.
Stay back and watch. Was all the instructions I mustered before she was gone. Back to the storage shed for her armor, I assumed. Gol stirred from beneath the massive tree he snoozed under, but I did not wait for him. Artyom bounded towards him, and I turned my attention back to the road. They came around the corner, a full contingent of armored men with their green banner flying overhead.
And at the forefront, a figure I recognized. The Adjudicator rode in full armor, her draconic helm a sneering visage upon the world as she surveyed all with regal disdain. They saw me at the same time I caught sight of their column.
With a crack of the reins and flick of her boots, the warhorse she rode broke into a gallop, coming right at me.
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