Kai

It was Friday, and though he’d just handed Maeve eight of the twelve pennies he had to his name, Kai left town with a spring in his step and a spirit buoyed with hope.

The past few weeks had been lean hunting. At one point over the past months, Kai’s stockpile had grown to two silver and fifteen coppers, but his stash had dwindled as the red squirrels and fat hares in the surrounding forest thinned.

Desperate to gain Progression and a handful of coin, Kai had unwisely challenged a buck the week before. It had showed him exactly how thick his skin was in a matter of moments. The beast had charged, its great antlers goring Kai in his ribs. After thrashing to and fro, it had bounded away into the forest, leaving Kai bloody and ragged.

He’d hobbled back to town, faint with blood loss and a good deal wiser. Despite his situation, he could not afford to tangle with beasts more powerful than himself.

Jakodi had healed him, but had been so taxed by the effort he was consigned to bed the following day; the old man was forced to charge Kai for his services.

So, rather than buy the wooden buckler or the spiked mace he’d been eyeing in the armorer’s shop, he’d kept his black oak cudgel, cut from a bough near his uncle’s farm. Though the handle curved slightly, the end was formidable, for a chunk of wood at least. An insect had pestered the branch enough that a knot had grown around the wound, forming a dense burl. It was the only weapon Kai could afford, so he treasured it.

Making a meal out of the bread Sorcha had given him and another apple, Kai headed out of town, moving through the trees of the forest before half the town had roused itself. Kai frittered away these first few hours of the morning in fruitless searching. Not a single squirrel or rabbit stirred in the brush. Kai considered heading back to town to beg a bit of work from someone, enough to fill his belly that night at least, before turning south instead.

Kai had meandered to the southern reaches of the Atoli forest, close to the edge of the Mirin Swamps, the endless mire that so many adventurers feared. Only once had he been foolish enough to continue beyond the forest’s edge. After spending a sleepless night in a tree waiting for a pack of wolves to grow bored, he’d run home and hadn’t come back since then.

There was game aplenty there, however, and monsters to fight. If Kai braved the swamps and killed even a few of the creatures that stalked the murky marsh, he might ascend to Crimson this very day! The danger it represented was real. So, it was with a pit of uncertainty in his stomach, that Kai found himself stalking south beyond the Atoli toward the gloomy mists of the Mirin Swamp.

The trees changed first.

Instead of the green and supple boughs of the Atoli’s pines that he was used to, the trees hunched over themselves, becoming twisted gray caricatures of arboreal vitality. Something in the soil may have been responsible, a forgotten waste spilled in the depths of the swamp long ago, or perhaps brackish waters seeped up the delta from the ocean. Either way, only a few trees survived, with a handful of leaves or a stubborn clump of needles the only evidence of their continued struggle for life.

Kai made his way among the soggy hillocks, trying to stay on the diminishing trail he’d started down. The ground he stood on sank as he shifted his weight and he fell forward, his boot sinking into a pocket of mud. Bright pain seared his leg just above the ankle, and he raised his cudgel, afraid he might be under attack. Yet only a shrunken plant stood valiantly against him, some thistle perhaps, tough enough to pierce the tattered fabric of his pants.

When his plight became clear, he focused on pulling his foot free of the clingy, devouring muck, nearly losing his boot.

Sitting down to put his boot back on and assess the bleak situation, Kai spotted movement at the base of a nearby tree. He squinted, doubting his eyesight for a moment, before another flash of movement revealed the squashed and ugly face of a mole peeking up from its hole.

It was huge, for a mole that is, as large as a half-grown hound. Its tiny eyes glittered with malevolence.

This is it, Kai thought, standing and rolling his shoulders back, preparing himself for battle. Swing hard and swing true, you idiot. Don’t screw this up!

Hefting his cudgel, he slogged forward, only to see the animal duck down in its burrow again. He peered down into the hole, aware of a faint musk. Having committed himself to the attack, Kai pondered how he might flush the creature out but came up short. He could start a fire and smoke it out but wasn’t even sure how to go about doing such a thing amidst the damp gloom of the swamp.

So, with a belly full of desperation and strengthened by the ignorance of youth, he stuck his hand down the hole. Due more to the shabby leather gloves that he wore than the strength of his bones, Kai didn’t lose his fingers when the mole attacked his intruding digits. Kai curled his hand into a fist, instinctively grasping the mole’s snout, and yanked the overgrown rodent out of its den.

If an onlooker had witnessed the previous exchange, they would be hard pressed to decide who was more surprised by this turn of events when the mole literally landed in Kai’s lap. The beast squealed and Kai squirmed away, scrambling for his club. They both came to their feet and then valiantly strove to kill one another.

The mole flashed forward, too fast for a mere garden pest, the like he’d grown used to battling in the potato patch. Kai swung his cudgel with full force, but the beast slipped beneath his attack, and leapt up at him. It sank its teeth and claws in the soft flesh of his thigh. Kai winced, stifling a yelp, and smashed the animal on its head.

Tougher than a barrel full of stones, the mole continued to savage his leg until he’d struck it half a dozen times, the sharp crack of its crushed skull and a pink spatter of blood and brain marking his success.

“Shivving bastard! Gods, I need a real bleeding weapon!” he growled, the full extent of his injuries flaring to life.

As the mole’s twitching form finally fell still, Kai saw the telltale threads of ether drift up into the air from its body like smoke. More ether than he’d ever seen before twisted in the air towards him.

When Kai had first learned how soldiers and heroes grew in power, it had sickened him. But it made sense. Taking the mole’s life, he now absorbed the ether it had collected throughout its lifetime, adding it to his own meager etheric density. His skin tingled and his breath grew cold for an instant.

A strange feeling unlike any other, absorbing ether was an exhilarating experience. It felt as if his soul was growing, expanding somehow. That sensation alone was reason enough to seek the adventuring life.

And then it was over, and the inconvenience of reality returned. Kai had to pry the mole’s mouth open to extract its long, sharp teeth from his flesh. In his defense, Kai only came close to passing out once, and it wasn’t from the pain, but when he saw a chunk of skin and muscle flap open, the flash of blood, muscle tissue, and yellow fat making his head swim.

But thankfully his uncle, the taciturn Shem Bremenburr, had shown him how to react to such injuries in a pinch long ago. He tore a strip of cloth from his shirt and wrapped the wound tight, promising himself he’d check it later, hopefully after Jakodi healed him.

The outskirts of the swamp was thankfully far less foul and dreary than its center. A few rebellious trees thrived, despite the poor soil, and the sun shone down in all its glory without a care for who or what noticed. Kai recovered by drinking deeply from his waterskin and resting against the mole’s tree.

The water tasted like wine gone to vinegar, and occasionally he had to spit out flecks of leather. His converted wineskin was too old to be truly serviceable, but for Kai, it was sufficient. He’d been lucky enough to see a man toss it out into the alley near the pub a few weeks back, and he’d put up with the sour taste ever since.

Kai dozed, his body warmed in the sun and buffeted gently by the wind. When he woke though, his legs were stiff, and his wound throbbed madly. Rather than give in to despair, he ate another apple before inspecting his kill.

No mole was cute, but this one took ugly to another level entirely. Its snout looked like a hound’s, more broad and powerful than the common moles he’d seen busy warring with potato patches. The beast’s teeth reminded him of the widows who came to Winford’s bakery once a week for bread—yellow, twisted, and somehow threatening. Most spectacular, though, was the sheer size of the animal. Its compact body, corded with muscle, would have been a match for most of the dogs in town.

Kai used his knife to open up its belly and skin it. The process was quick despite the bluntness of the blade. Kai was practiced by now, having skinned every rodent there was, including mice, since leaving the farm. The pelt he pulled off was glossy and thick. Enough for a fist full of coppers, he hoped.

He finished his task and considered the body. The meat looked off somehow, so he dragged his knife through the thick muscle of the mole’s back and recoiled when he saw white worms writhe out in protest. He thought of taking the claws or the teeth, but they were chipped and rotten. Grimacing, Kai left the remains for whatever lucky scavenger happened upon it next.

Kai was halfway back to town, feeling about as tall and endowed as a stone troll, when he heard voices ringing through the woods. These weren’t just any voices. As he came closer, he picked out one in particular that made him sigh in frustration. Roarke O’Dennihee, one of the finest young men in town and already half famous. What shivving luck I have. Twice in two days! The youth in question was singing his own praises so loud that soon even the dead mole knew of his courage and wit.

Walking along the main road that led back into Mindonne, Kai couldn’t avoid a confrontation unless he broke off through the woods and continued on into town from a different direction. A part of him wanted nothing more than to wait for the group to pass by, but the thought of hiding away yet again was too sour to swallow.

Besides, what had Winford suggested? Win their respect, huh? Kai considered the fine kill and the dire nature of his wounds, and couldn't think of a better way to earn a man's respect. Maybe they weren’t so bad after all.

Roarke’s face lit with a smile when he saw Kai. “Kai, the powerful hero! What have you got there? Another clutch of squirrels?” He smirked, pulling a half-hearted chuckle from Dunny but only a scowl from Karsen.

Kai showed them the skin on the stick, unfolding it to its full length. “It was a mole if you’ll believe it. Thing was as big as Master Connogan’s hound!”

Dunny's face registered shock as the size of the bloody pelt was revealed. Even Roarke paused a moment and seemed taken aback. Karsen’s face scrunched up though. “Where’d you get it? Moles don’t get that big in the forest.”

It was with a sense of pride that Kai pointed back toward the gloom of the swamps and said, “Just a few miles into the swamps is all. Found it quick enough, and though he put up quite a fight, I managed to stove his head in. Only had to use my leg as bait.”

Kai’s attempt at a joke should have worked to bridge the gap that separated the young men, but other than a chuckle from Dunny, they remained obstinate. Karsen was the first to deny the evidence that hung limply before their eyes. “Doubt you killed it. More like you found some dead dog on the ground and skinned it.”

Dunny looked horrified while Roarke grinned. The bigger man nodded to Karsen, adding, “Yeah, and who knows. What if you just stole that from an honest hunter?”

"I am an honest hunter," Kai responded, a bit of gravel entering his voice.

"No Hintari is honest," Karsen growled back.

Kai's hackles rose and he felt his face grow red. Here we go again, he fumed to himself. It always comes back to my Hintari heritage. He took deep breaths to slow his pounding heart, trying in vain to suppress his rising anger.

Roarke cut in again, "I think we should take that skin off your cren-covered hands. Only a real Brintoshi should have such a fine prize."

Kai stepped back defensively. "It's mine. I earned it and I'm keeping it. I just thought you might want to know where I got it from."

"Just give it over, scale skin. No need for things to get rough," Karsen said, his eyes unwavering.

The words that bolted out of Kai’s mouth made no allowances for normal discourse. It came out almost as a scream, “Hells, no!”

The three young men flinched, though two of them would never admit to it. But then, of course, Karsen found his courage again, and his fists.

Though barely older than Dunny and not as tall or broad as Roarke, Karsen, like the rest of his family, had to contend with a father who beat the dust off his jacket near every day of his life. His body had become more deadly than Kai's in every way.

He knew how to fight.

Karsen's fist caught Kai on his jaw, and to the group's shared surprise, the smaller boy didn’t fall. The blow knocked a few of his teeth loose in their sockets, though, and after Karsen punched him again in the gut and once more to the side of the head, the world lurched, and Kai fell to his hands and knees. His head dropped low, pressing into the cool dampness of the ground; the world spun around him.

Laughter rose like day moths from the vines of a neglected tomato plant. Kai’s head lolled loosely from his shoulders. He struggled to get his bearings back, but the last blow had sent his wits sprawling. He spit, focusing on the copper tang of blood in his mouth, praying like mad to Yugos for the strength not to pass out.

Kai’s vision cleared enough to see Karsen stoop down and pick up the mole skin. The boys laughed, then he heard the retreating crunch of their boots on the gravel of the road.

Little in the world can rival the potency of a young man’s self-loathing. Kai indulged himself, calling himself a cren-blooded coward and worse. Rage built up in his heart and pressed against the bruises in his head and body, the pain somehow clearing his mind of all thoughts but two: he wasn’t meant to be knocked down, and he knew he was born with a heart more noble, more true, than any of the boys who’d wronged him.

He thought of Dunny, a kind face held in check by an ocean of shame. He’s no hero! He’s a coward! Roarke’s ruddy face filled his mind next, handsome and strong. But Kai more than anyone had seen how quickly that porcelain visage chipped away, had seen the hate and vitriol it tried so hard to conceal. He’ll never be a hero either. Last of all, he thought of Karsen. He almost pitied the young man. His family were lumberjacks who toiled away in the woods, day after day waging a back-breaking fight to earn enough to survive.

Kai knew, however, that Karsen would never fight back against the cause of his misery, his own father.

There’re all shivving cowards! Kai realized for the first time. Throwing his pain to the wind, and ignoring the rush of nausea that followed, Kai stood up, regaining his full height. His gaze burned into the backs of the retreating boys as he caught his breath, wiping away the blood spilling from his mouth.

Dunny glanced back, and seeing Kai’s sudden resolve, started in surprise. The other boys noticed Dunny’s reaction and turned to look as well. Kai could see them scrambling for some sharpened piece of wit to throw his way. Karsen seemed like he wanted nothing more than to return and finish what he’d started.

Before anything else could happen though, Kai’s voice filled the air, somehow noble and ringing with the clarity of struck brass. “Not a single one of you has any measure of courage, and I doubt you ever will. The lot of you are cowards and you know it!”

Karsen and Roarke both froze, the smirks on their faces shriveling like pruned weeds in the summer heat. Then they turned back to meet a newly valiant Kai.