Kai

Mindonne was like any other town in Brintosh, filled with quaint and modest people as loyal as they were ignorant of the world around them. Were it not for its proximity to the border of Hintar, an old and bitter rival, it may have remained so.

The seventh bell rang as Kai came back from hunting. He’d spent the day in the Atoli forest to the north, a safe, bright place to go, if one was set on the foolhardy task of becoming a hero. It was the only occupation Kai could ever imagine, and though he lacked the skill and constitution for such endeavors, he continued to try.

Today’s work, or rather the lack of it, had been frustrating, to say the least. He’d set out to hunt the gray hares that lived among the pine and maples, but only happened upon a few squirrels. Not the bushy-tailed red squirrels that were much preferred for their pelts, but scrawny black squirrels that always, somehow, looked to be a single rotten acorn from death’s door.

He gathered them from the simple but effective snares he’d set the day before. There was no need to be wasteful. Even though the creatures gave next to no ether when killed—a clean knock on the head with his cudgel was all it took—he was grateful for every little bit.

Then he’d skinned them and wasted several more hours searching for gray hares. He’d had no luck; the woods were empty. The squirrel population had been severely diminished, mostly due to his own efforts, and larger game rarely came so close to town.

At least it’s beautiful, he thought to himself, as he trod the endless tracks of hunters' trails.

Back in town, his first stop was to submit his few squirrel hides to the scrutiny of Yelda, the tanner’s wife. The woman was of middling age, and, if seen from a distance, almost looked kindly and approachable. When haggling though, the Hintari tradeswoman was sharper than the javelins her people carried to war.

She saw Kai approaching and her eyes narrowed to slits. Somehow, he knew he would always disappoint this woman. “Hares for me today, Kai?” she asked, hand already on her hip.

Her disdain stung more than he wanted to admit.

Yelda was the only other person in town with Hintari blood, and he’d assumed, quite foolishly, that because they had that in common, she’d take a liking to him. Her face was as golden brown as the polished leather her husband produced, and if truth were told, Kai thought her beautiful.

Yet when she looked at him, her features drew into a scowl of incomparable potency.

He managed to respond without sarcasm, “Sorry, no, not today, ma’am, just some squirrel pelts.” Kai placed the three bedraggled skins on the table and cringed when Yelda practically boiled with frustration.

Finally, she snapped, “Did you flog the poor beasts before you killed them?” Kai bit his tongue, remembering the one he’d had to strike several times before it had ceased thrashing in the snare. “Shivving gods below, boy. I’ll give you 2 coppers is all.”

He winced, and held up a hand to complain.

She cackled, her teeth flashing yellow. “Three, then. If you haven’t noticed, you’ve killed near every squirrel in these damn woods, and few want their pelts any longer. Three, or nothing at all.”

And so Kai relented, watching another day’s labor swept disinterestedly into a sack. He picked up the three misshapen coppers she tossed his way and turned to see to his growing hunger.

The next merchant in town he needed to see was Winford, the town baker, a man as generous as Andag himself. It was with a smile and a grumbling gut that he walked through the streets. Yelda and those damned gray hares could go and choke on Yugos’ mighty spear for all he cared. It was time for food.

The bakery stood at the far end of market square, yet the miraculous yeasty smell of rising bread filled near half the town. Kai whistled an old tune he’d learned in childhood, ignoring the casual insults and scowls thrown his way.

This close to Hintar, war had taken a toll on Mindonne and its people. Nearly twenty years had passed since a shaky peace settled things down, but hatred and distrust remained. Anyone with even a drop of golden Hintari blood was treated like pond scum.

As he approached the square, Kai saw the two people he hated more than anything. Roarke and Karsen were young men with vinegar in their veins and heads harder than a winter turnip. They’d found him the other day practicing attacks with his cudgel at the edge of town. No hero can gain skill without practice, after all, but it had prompted the troublemakers to pester him.

Thankfully, a few too many townsfolk were around for things to get ugly, so they’d settled on the usual insults instead of giving him the drubbing they’d have preferred. He knew a confrontation was inevitable; he only wished to be well-fed when it happened.

Kai jogged around the back of the bakery and ducked behind a fence. He watched the two boys pass from a distance. “Shivving bastards. Give me another year and I will best you both,” he cursed.

“I’m sure they look like creeping slimes, but they’re barely men, Kai. Just like you,” Winford said from the back door.

Kai attempted to look casual, but it was obvious the baker knew what he was about. “I know. I just don’t want any trouble,” he explained. “Besides, I’m tired and hungry.”

Winford laughed easily and gestured for him to come inside. “I’m sure you are. Come and have your meal, Kai.”

Wanting to change the subject, Kai held up his prize. “I have three squirrels for the pot if you’ll have them. A bit scrawny,” he admitted, “but good enough to eat.”

Winford nodded agreeably. “Sure. Sure. My stew is already done, but I know just who’ll need these for tonight. Here.” The baker tossed him a brown bundle. “Figured these’ll help you on your next outing.”

Kai caught the burlap sack and thanked the man. Regardless of what had been inside it, Kai knew he probably needed it. After all, a handful of seeds to a poor farmer is as good as gold, they say, Kai thought, weighing the gift speculatively.

“Thank you, Winford. I appreciate the help.”

The baker approached, palming a skinny shoulder in his big hand, and peered into Kai’s eyes. “I know your heart is set on slaying wild beasts and ascending your core, but there are other ways of living. You could make a life here in Mindonne, become my apprentice. Hell, boy, you could have yourself a wife before harvest. I made my vows when I was seventeen, and you’re what, almost twenty?” The man chuckled. “Nothing like warm sheets to make you feel content.”

Kai stared down at his feet, shaking his head. “I can’t tell you how much that means to me, sir, but I could have had the same life at my uncle’s farm. I came here because it is close to the mountains and close to the swamp. I will win a wife when I have made a heap of gold and gathered enough stories to last a lifetime.”

Winford smiled and then clapped Kai on the back. Before the man left with the squirrels, though, he added one more piece of advice. “Kai, the thing with young men like Roarke and Karsen … find a way to earn their respect and they’ll not only accept you, but they might become friends. Give it a try, okay? I promise, they aren’t evil.”

Kai nodded and watched the man leave, then ducked into the kitchen, breathing in the rich scents of potato, herbs, and grease that perfumed the air. Though he’d always had plenty to eat on his uncle’s farm growing up, Kai hadn’t tasted proper cooking until Winford had given him a portion of his daughter’s stew.

Sorcha stood kneading dough for the next day’s bake. When she saw him enter, she pointed to the small table in the corner. “There’s yours. Be quick with it too. I’ve got lots to do and don’t need your creeping eyes about.”

Winford’s only child was not nearly as kind and warm as he was, yet Kai knew she had a good heart. If not, then surely her bread wouldn’t taste so good.

The young man sat and ate, barely allowing himself time between bites to breathe. The rich flavors of rosemary and red peppers danced upon his palate. He suppressed a moan, knowing his company wouldn’t at all approve of such vocalizations.

Each evening, he received a bowl of Sorcha’s stew and a roll of day-old bread in trade for whatever meat he brought or a few copper coins, whichever he had to spare.

Once, Kai had managed to bring in three fat hares and had gone to the butcher instead. He’d sold each coney for five coppers. But when he brought in smaller game, Winford would take it to one of the widows he looked after.

Kai stole a glance at Sorcha. The woman worked with the tenacity and vigor of one who’d repeated the same motions a thousand times. He noticed the hitch and sway of her bosom as it tested the limits of her blouse. By Briga’s sweet breath, and her hips! Stout enough to hold back the coming of winter itself.

Clearing his mind, Kai forced himself to view her in a way his aunt would’ve approved of. Her hands were callused and strong, and she had a fierce determination about her brow that would ensure she finished preparing for the next day’s bread a thousand times to come in the future as well.

Plain and simple, Sorcha toiled away harder than many professionals and Kai knew why her father was proud of her.

Sure enough though, Sorcha caught Kai in the middle of his appraising thoughts, and her eyes bulged in a flash of anger.

“Quit your creeping!” she snapped and Kai dutifully studied the wall, stifling a laugh.

She wasn’t much older than himself, perhaps twenty-one years old. It wasn’t simply that Sorcha’s face was pleasant, nor even the cream of her skin or the bounty of her magnificent chest that pulled his eyes in as surely as the clutches of a miremog. It was also how she snapped at him as she would any other man in Mindonne.

Unlike most of the other girls in town, Sorcha never pretended he didn’t exist.

Kai left the bowl on the small table and scooped the bread into the bag Winford had given him. When he looked inside, he saw four small apples, a bit discolored but shining up at him like rubies. Those would account for dessert, as well as breakfast and lunch on the morrow.

“Thanks, love. I’d be dead from hunger twice over if it wasn’t for your stew,” he said, dodging a well-aimed slap.

Sorcha growled like a feral mountain cat, but continued her work. Kai giggled to himself and headed back outside the bakery.

Dusk fell over Mindonne town, and the few people who scurried about last-minute chores threw dubious glances Kai’s way. He had grown used to their suspicion and mostly ignored such attention. Since he’d arrived here nearly six months ago, little had changed. If you weren’t born in Mindonne, you were never truly welcome.

Cheered by the warm stew in his belly, Kai went looking for his friend. Besides Winford, Jakodi was the only friend Kai had made here. It smarted that both of his acquaintances were older men. His peers didn’t give him the time of day, and the girls in Mindonne weren’t as friendly as those he’d grown up with.

The young man found the wizard on his stoop below the three-faced shrine of Brintosh’s godhead.

The kindly face in the center represented Briga, the mother of all, waves swirling around her image. Andag, the kind and generous father, stood to her left. His element was earth. And on the right, surrounded by gouts of flame, was the stern and deadly visage of Yugos, favored by the Brintoshi. He was the god of war.

Jakodi looked up as Kai approached. The old wizard’s face, somehow smooth despite his long thinning white hair, reminded Kai of an ancient scroll. His skin was parchment thin, branching veins beneath visible even from a few paces away. And of course, Jakodi’s eyes were white and sightless.

The old man smiled and greeted him. “From the forest’s deep returns the adventurer, Kai! Was your day bountiful?”

Kai couldn’t help but grin. Each day he found Jakodi after his evening meal, and each day the same greeting was given. “Well enough to feed myself. Still, I can’t help but wish tomorrow will be better.”

Jakodi nodded, his mouth still crinkled in an honest grin. “Do you wish me to read your progress, young adventurer?”

“Yes, please,” Kai answered, hopeful, despite knowing little had changed since the day before. He focused his mind, allowing the wizard to see within him.

Jakodi peered into Kai’s soul a moment before pronouncing, “Your current Progression is 78. You lack only 22 Progression until you ascend to Crimson 1. Well done, Kai!”

Kai sighed, feeling the slow pace of his first essential goal weigh on him. A single point for the three scrappy squirrels he’d killed was a modest gain, though, so he tried to take it in stride. After all, some days, he couldn’t find any game.

Seeming to sense the young man’s distress, Jakodi encouraged him. “Many in this world never progress at all. Their cores remain diffuse, unfocused. To become ascended, it will take considerable patience and hard work, Kai. You know this.”

Kai nodded, forcing himself to smile. And the old man was right.

He’d come to Mindonne months ago with a Progression of only 17. That had been accumulated from a lifetime of killing the squirrels and small beasts near his childhood home. The normal toil of life, slaughtering chickens or even the occasional swine, granted no ether. For some unknown reason, it was only in combat that ether could be gathered into your core.

It was a frustrating reality, but explained why so few besides hunters, adventurers, and soldiers ascended.

After leaving the farm behind, he’d promised himself to become a Crimson ascended warrior in no time at all.

Life, however, was more complicated than he’d thought. He needed to eat, a place to sleep, and keep his clothes cleaned and maintained. Adding to those modest ambitions, he’d found he needed to add a warm bath once a week if the townsfolk were to deal with him at all.

Jakodi held up his hand and Kai took it, helping the wizard to his feet.

The old man was about as heavy as a sack of wet feathers. Kai supported him effortlessly. The wizard patted his hand when he stepped down, then turned toward his hut at the edge of town.

While they walked, Jakodi told Kai a story. Such was their ritual each evening, and the young man had grown to enjoy each telling despite having long since outgrown such pleasures. Still, he could not afford the luxury of a book, and had few enough encounters that called for polite conversation. He humored the old man, taking each tale for what it was: a gift cheerfully given.

Today, Jakodi began with the tale of Midge the Muck Farmer, and though the story had a bawdy twist at the end that usually brought a smile to his lips—who wouldn’t laugh to hear of a man cuckolded by his own swine?—it reminded Kai too much of the radishes and potatoes of his uncle’s farm.

“Can you tell me of Kevir’s fall?” Kai asked as politely as he could. Then he amended his request, “I’m a young man and haven’t even kissed a girl for a year and a day, Jakodi. Tell me of something other than jaded love.”

Jakodi laughed, a dry and merry sound. “With speed and with pleasure, my boy. Then I’ll tell a story of true love.” Without pause, the wizard began, “The great dragon Kevir was the bastion of Old Hintar. His wings spread wide enough to encompass an entire village, and his fire could melt the stars above.”

Kai loved the way the old wizard told stories. Though the stories rarely changed, with each telling, Kai plucked out some new fragment or detail.

The story meandered along with them, the battles Kevir fought, his growing pride, and the woman whose beauty captivated the beast’s heart.

“And for the first time, a dragon bound itself to this world. Kevir gave half of his strength to the mountain he rested upon, creating the first Earth Core. This new creature, the first dungeon, grew in wisdom and power, fueled by Kevir’s vast stores of ether.

"Within the dungeon, Kevir could take on the likeness of a man, and there he learned the art of quill and parchment, to write the endless depths of his love for the woman he’d seen bathing at the river.

“Soon, he left his dungeon on wings of ambition, finding the small keep the woman called home. The knights there prepared themselves for a valiant death, but were surprised when the great dragon lifted back up into the air again and flew back to the mountains.

"Only a scroll remained on the churned soil where he’d landed, and upon the scroll, an elegant hand inquired…”

Kai cut in, finishing the familiar line, “For a thousand taels of gold and a thousand more of silver, send me the woman with hair of fire and eyes of jade."

Another burst of laughter escaped Jakodi’s lips, and he patted Kai’s hand again. “Why ask me to tell you then, if you know the story so well on your own?”

“Because it inspires me. I hope to find a dungeon one day and claim its riches for my own,” he admitted, knowing full well that all remaining Earth Cores were either shivvered beyond repair or else strictly controlled and jealously guarded by the King’s vast armies. “Still, I wonder,” he mused, “have all the dragons died? Surely, Jakodi, some must have escaped into the mountains?”

The wizard fell quiet for a few minutes before answering thoughtfully, “There are many hidden places in this land. Anything is possible, my friend.”

Kai indulged himself in another question. Jakodi was ever-patient, so he had no fear of irking the man. “I know the Tale of Kevir is part myth, but how much do you suppose is accurate? Do dragons really make Earth Cores? Can they only take human form inside their dungeons, or can they do so outside as well? Oh, and why would a creature so powerful wish to become vulnerable like that in the first place? Kevir’s end, if he truly died in such a fashion, must have provoked the dragons to avoid giving over some of their power to make an Earth Core, not carry the tradition forward.”

“All good questions, Kai. Much of the legend is true, yet the details have all likely gone to meat and mushrooms. Similar taste but different substance. I’m not even sure if there was a maiden. Your last point is quite interesting. I believe the dragons continued on making Earth Cores because it gained them access to novel experiences. Living as a man is much different than as a dragon. Having access to both must have been irresistible for creatures with the intelligence and sophistication of the dragons. They didn’t exactly do as Kevir did either. A great council was held in which rules were defined in how Earth Cores were to be both protected and restricted.”

Kai’s eyes lit up. The details, the precise how and why of past events, always fascinated him. “Tell me that story, then! Or do you have a book on the matter?”

They arrived at the wizard’s small hut, a roof and four walls cobbled together with goodwill and a double portion of hope more so than nails and milled wood. Turning to his friend, he said in a tired voice, “I’m sorry, Kai. You are right to suspect. No story can contain all that passed in the forging of those laws of magic. The books, any we might access in our corner of the world at least, are taken or destroyed.”

The wizard winked, his abundant mirth returning easily. And before he bid the young adventurer goodnight, he placed a hand on his forehead, sending a thread of warmth through his body. The lump on Kai’s head, along with a scraped shin and scratches on his forearm, healed, leaving only the faintest memory of a wound. The injuries were minor, the products of a few careless moments when setting another snare, but their sudden disappearance was a wondrous relief.

“I don’t have the coin for such a boon, Jakodi. Please…”

The wizard snapped his fingers, and chided, “Shush, now, my son. Not even crows like idle chatter. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Then Jakodi shut the door, leaving Kai alone in the street.

The young man hurried home, no longer slowed by his friend’s old and ailing joints. And though Jakodi hadn’t finished the rest of the story, Kai continued to replay the ending in his head.

Kevir waited on his mountain throne with his Earth Core, his only friend. Until one day, a contingent of men brought the woman he’d fallen in love with. The Lord of the land had happily agreed; she was only a servant after all. When they arrived, a handful of knights pulled her along and tossed her in the dungeon, removing the treasure Kevir offered them.

And though the Lord would never have dared attack a dragon, he saw firsthand the humble form Kevir wore. Fair to the eye, but a man as frail as any other. So that night, the Lord sent his men to slay the dragon in his sleep.

The story struck a note deep within Kai. It heralded the beginning of an era, as much as it told of the bitter end of one. Kai would give anything to have seen Kevir in his majesty or any beast so mighty.

Kai could almost hear Jakodi’s voice whisper the final lines. If legend can be trusted, his death gave birth to a hundred more dragons. Each of these made their own Earth Cores, filling the mountains with wonder. The world was never the same again.

Kai shook his head, shaking his idle thoughts away. Imagining the world alive and full of dragons and dungeons deep wouldn’t bring them back to life.

He stared about him at the empty marketplace, the butcher’s stand and the sagging buildings of Mindonne, and for the hundredth time, wanted so much … more. Kind as Winford’s offer of apprenticeship had been, Kai could never settle for such a humble life.

At last, he came to Maeve’s house. He walked up the alley around the side of her home, the back of which served as the town's brewery. The malty tang of her trade suffused Kai’s clothes and filled his nose each night until he couldn’t smell anything else.

The roof behind slanted down and fell almost to the ground. A small but dry storage room rested against the back of the brewery. The walls of his tiny home were warmed by the fires of the burners and boilers beyond the wooden walls. Atop a few empty crates in the back, padded by a thin, woolen mattress, Kai slept each night.

He’d seen the faces of the townsfolk when they occasionally saw him tumble out of his tiny home, but he didn’t care.

It was warm and dry.

Kai gave Maeve eight pennies a week for the pleasure, and she was kind enough to include a mug of ale every Sunday and an old blanket.

So, as Kai pulled out one of the apples Winford had given him, he crawled into his steamy nook, and took a bite. There was frightfully little he could do when the light failed. He’d had coin for a candle to read borrowed books, and for a time, he found a few townsfolk willing to pay a penny for a whittled toy knight.

Those luxuries had been short-lived, however, and besides, he was as tired as a thrice-told joke. He lay down on his rough bed and fell to his first and final pastime, daydreaming of adventures to come.

He would prove himself worthy of being called a true Brintoshi one day, no matter how much it cost him. He only hoped it didn’t take too long.