To Save a World Ch. 06

Magical capacity can be increased with sufficient training, much like how muscles grow with constant repetition. Lydia was a proof of that -- although hers was apparently a much more notable case, since Dusk beings are known to have almost unlimited capacities. Ultimately, it was a concept that Aaron was familiar with, and because of that he didn't mind it all that much.

What he lacked for in quantity, though, he made up with quality. Little though his cupful of magical energies are, he can control it extremely precisely.

Fire magic was just the beginning -- once Aaron realized that magic was the ability to skirt the laws of physics with his mind, he could do virtually everything. Pushing himself to his newfound limits, he could either freeze or boil a cup of water in seconds. He could levitate a rock the size of his fist from about fifty feet away. Closer to him, he could levitate about eight separate object with his mind, four if he made them orbit around him for at least one minute. The best he could do with Shamanic nature magic was make a seed sprout and grow into a five-inch seedling, and although they have not had the chance to test his healing magic on actual wounds, Serche assured him that he would be able to at least completely heal small cuts or bruises.

"You really are gifted, master." Serche marveled. The pair was on their scheduled lessons, although they were still at the point where he was discovering his limits, testing out the things he could and could not do. He had exhausted his magic and was waiting for it to sort of refill. Aaron wasn't exactly sure if he could call it a perk of having little magic, but he could completely regain his reserves in just over an hour.

"Nah, I really don't think so. You can do everything I can and much more." Aaron rebutted with a self-deprecating smile.

Serche shook her head. "You don't understand. It took me such a long time to just be able to light a single spark with magic -- you did it in a matter of minutes! And all these other things you can do..."

"You can, as well." The young man said firmly, "I told you, Serche, the world operates in a set of laws. Think of it like a guidebook... Maybe even a story, if you will. I just know more of the story than you do, that's it. Lydia learned fire magic with the story's help as well, didn't she? That means you can, too."

The conversation lapsed into pensive silence. Finally, the woman ventured. "In that case, it's your superior knowledge and benevolence that is legendary."

"Oh come on." Aaron rolled his eyes, while Serche smiled at him innocently.

Then Lydia burst into their space, panting and panicked. "Aaron! Serche! Trasnu... he's leaving us!"

They dashed through the forest and arrived just in time to see Trasnu swing a pack into his shoulders. He had made a sling bag by rolling up one of the deerskins and then secured it with twine, which he then wore on one shoulder. The pack bulged with at least several days' worth of provisions. The hunter turned to them, surprise and just a little bit of guilt in his eyes. "Oh, come now mistress! I asked you to keep it a secret!"

"Trasnu! Where are you going? You never told us you were leaving!" Aaron asked the hunter.

Trasnu sighed. "I didn't tell you because I knew you'd over react, my master. This is nothing -- I'm off to hunt, and scout. We have to venture far and make sense of this place if we want to get out of here alive." He continued to gather materials as he talked. Two wooden spears, his bow, some arrows, and stone knives all found themselves places in his person.

"It's just that... you're leaving so soon already? Why now? And why did you think we'd over react?"

"He's not well." Serche whispered from beside him, staring at the ground.

"Old God's honesty girl," Trasnu snapped. "You'd think you know by now to keep your better's secrets."

Silence. Lydia gasped audibly. The group reeled -- never before had they heard Trasnu speak in such tones, with such temper. The old man has always been jovial, cheerful and kind -- witnessing him with genuine anger made Aaron uncomfortable, like he was seeing something that he was not supposed to.

"Trasnu?" Aaron tried gently, "What is she talking about? Can we just talk about this, please?"

Fortunately, the hunter stopped his preparations, but he did not put down his things. "She's right, I'm not well. The wound inflicted by a cursed beast will never heal properly without a trained healer -- and there's nothing we can do about it."

"But --"

"But." The Rakan beastman interrupted, "It's nothing but a minor inconvenience. That is not why I am going away. I am simply making the best use of my time."

"What do you mean?"

"I reckon it would be very hectic here in a couple of days. At least one of us needs to work, and besides I am thinking of giving you three some privacy to deal with our Shaman's... condition." He leveled a hard gaze at Serche. Two pairs of disbelieving eyes followed. The Shaman in question seemed to wilt, ears and tail folding unto herself, her golden eyes not meeting anyone's.

"The both of you are being very confusing, right now." Aaron allowed a little annoyance to creep into his words.

"But Trasnu, your wound." Lydia pleaded.

"I am not going to go off to die, if that's what you're asking." Trasnu responded. The young woman flushed, her thoughts read.

"But the monster --"

"Master, there is a reason why I became the youngest Head of the Hunters, and the longest one to hold position. If I cannot kill it, I can avoid it. It is not going to be like last time." Then he sighed. "Look, this is not a big deal -- you were all just caught in surprise because it is so sudden. I am going to go, Serche's going to explain, and after a couple of days I'm going to come back with meat, skin, and hopefully proper bearings for our eventual journey."

When Aaron still hesitated, Trasnu raised a brow and said "Or are you saying that you cannot manage without me, after all these time? Do you still need big, strong Trasnu to protect you from the evil monsters, my master?"

Aaron looked to the side. The truth was, despite how everyone called him master, it came without saying that Trasnu was the ultimate authority in this wilderness. He was the main fighting force, and more than that his very presence reassured their fears and kept their spirits up. Nobody would probably ever admit it out loud, but they did need Trasnu to protect them from the evil monsters.

"Well, if you're sure, I guess. When will you be back?" The young man hesitated. He saw Serche look away beside him. What was up with that? She acted like she was never going to see the hunter again.

"Half a tenday, maybe more. Well, then, I'll see you later, youngsters." Trasnu nodded at each of them, a subtle disapproving frown on his face as he came to Serche, and then turned around and headed off. Before he disappeared, he called over his shoulder. "And master, I know you can go on and on - but try to get some sleep, all right?" The group watched him stroll into the forest, the green swallowing him up after only a few steps.

"Well, I hope you're as good at story telling as Trasnu, Serche, because you've got a lot of explaining to do."

The Shaman looked guilty. "Perhaps we can talk about it over a small lunch?" Aaron nodded.

"We should never have let him leave." The Shaman morosely confessed to the group. "His wound wasn't truly healed. Cursed wounds -- they are like magical poison. Even if the flesh heals and the bones meld, the polluted magic remains and slowly corrupts your essence from the inside."

"But he said..."

"It is his pride, I think." Lydia said in a small voice. "I have a feeling that he didn't want to show us any kind of weakness."

"That's surprisingly accurate" The Shaman noted. "Trasnu... His person has been heavily affected by the passing of his mate. His wife, Graigha, died of the wasting sickness. The wasting is an especially painful way to die, not only for the victim but also for the people around them. You... decline. As a person. Your strength wanes, your flesh hollows, your bones become brittle and your fur falls down like rain. It's hard enough witnessing the death of someone you love, but when your loved one slowly becomes something less than what they were? I think it had a deeper effect on him, I think it devastated him how little he could do, how powerless he was."

The Shaman shook her head sadly, amidst the shocked silence of the other two. "I know both of you would not have any idea, but it is not normal for Rakan hunters to be so well versed about pottery, or about lore. See, the Hunter's Guild has what they call Seven Fangs; each Fang represents a specialty, if you will. Matters like navigation, stealth, medicine. Most hunters have two specialties, notable ones have three or four. Trasnu has all seven. More than that, he memorized stories and lore, studied with the Shamans, learned from the precious few tinkers and traders that made their way into our abode."

"It became an obsession." Lydia whispered, realizing the implications.

"Yes," The Shaman agreed. "An obsession. An obsession on staying alive, if you will. No matter the situation or circumstance, Trasnu resists the thought of death with all of his might. It has turned him to an exceptionally competent Head of the Guild. He stood tall and shone so bright, but it has also left him with a deep shadow, I think. He could not stand the thought of being weak, and helpless."

"So he left because..." Aaron couldn't finish his sentence, a small lump of dread forming in his throat.

"I... I choose to believe that he is too prideful to kill himself." The Shaman hoped. "His reasoning to travel alone made sense. But... I also think that, if the end came for him, he would prefer to die out there, alone, than with us here."

Aaron was silent. His world spun, his concern for Trasnu's well-being became the orbit for all of his other fears, and for a moment it felt like a dark, heavy blanket of dread started to descended on him. He closed his eyes. A small part of him cringed from his unnatural attachment -- they had, after all, known each other for nothing more than months. The larger part of him, however, mourned. Relative stranger as he was, the Rakan beastman was one of his only friend, one of his only ally in this whole world. For him, that was already everything.

"How long do we have?" Lydia spoke. Aaron's eyes snapped up to hers.

Lydia's eyes were afraid, true, and perhaps even a little sad. But more than that -- and what really held Aaron's attention -- was the deep, silent determination that they held. Aaron would not be able to fully explain it. It was something fundamental, a core of hard steel that was tempered and forged by the life she had led. We will do something about it, her eyes said, we will not lay down to die -- we will not allow our friend to lay down and die.

The young man breathed deep. The dread had disappeared. He suspected his Lydia might have something to do with it, smoothing his emotions, her magic lending him unnatural encouragement. Nevertheless, he was grateful.

"She's right." He agreed. Aaron wanted to thank Lydia, but he had a feeling that it was not something to be acknowledged right now, so he tried to tell her with his eyes. She smiled. She understood. "We're not going to let Trasnu die. How long do we have? We'll think of something."

The Shaman smiled, as well, her golden eyes thanking the both of them. "He will remain strong, I think, for some time still. Cursed wounds are notorious for their inevitability, but their progression is rather predictable. It's like an infection that spreads to the rest of the body. I estimate we have at the very least a tenday, but since this is Trasnu we're talking about, I estimate at least a month before a majority of his magic is corrupted to a debilitating degree."

"A month." The young man echoed. "And what would it take to heal him?"

"An exceptionally skilful healer mage, nothing less."

"No chance we could learn it for ourselves?"

The Shaman shook her head. "Healing magic is strange, tricky business. It is tough enough to mend flesh and bones, but the magical energies of a person is another matter altogether, with their own characteristics and laws. To tamper with the inner magical energies of a person... We could kill him with our ignorance."

"So we just need to reach Timberhouse within the month." Lydia suggested, her eyes determined.

"Timber house? What's a timber house?" Aaron questioned.

"It's a city. It belongs to the Three Circle Republic, a frontier encroaching the Great Forest itself. It lies about midway from Searle to the Gate City, as the crow flies, and straddles the Armen. There are going to be healer mages there."

"The Armen? Is it near?"

"It's a river." Lydia shook her head. "And I don't know. The river close to us might be the Armen, and it might be another river entirely. I haven't ever been outside of Searle until now. And we don't even know where we are."

The young man sighed. "Right. Well, I suppose we can't do anything about it right now."

Lydia nodded. Then she turned to Serche. "There was something else -- Trasnu mentioned something about your... condition?" Aaron perked up, remembering. Serche, in contrast, seemed to wilt in embarrassment.

"I... No, it's not much of a matter. You can forget about that."

"Dammit, Serche. We just had a conversation about how much we didn't like Trasnu keeping things secret from us." Then he paused. "Well, not exactly, but you get the point."

"It's not that... just..." The Shaman mumbled something under his breath.

"Just?" Aaron pressured.

"Beastmen -- We... have a condition."

Lydia touched her arm, concerned. "What is it? Is it grave? Are you in pain?"

The Shaman smiled a little at her concern. She took a deep breath, and seemed to collect herself before speaking. "No, I am not in pain. It is just... very difficult to talk about it. For me."

"If you don't want to tell us, then we wouldn't pry." Aaron reassured her gently, shooting a significant look towards Lydia.

"No. It involves all of us here, I think. I am going to go into heat, very soon." The Shaman looked at the ground.

"Oh."

"Ohhh --"

This gave the two a surprised pause. That was certainly not what either of them had been expecting.

"It happens to both sexes, but it is particularly stronger on beastmen females." Serche continued, her voice subdued. At least she didn't seem like she wanted to bury herself on the ground anymore. "We call it the wilding, and for me it happens about twice once every two turns of the seasons. I had almost forgotten about it, with the unchanging weather of the forest, but..." She shrugged.

"Oh Serche. Does that embarrass you? It mustn't. In case you haven't noticed, I'm in heat practically all the time." Lydia said, with a small chuckle that made Aaron blush a little.

Serche smiled at her friend. "Thank you. It's just... I don't know. Perhaps I'm being silly. But the wilding is a particularly... disruptive... phenomena. I would not be able to control myself at all. Unaided, I would be... at the mercy of whoever was around the moment I enter into wilding. "

There was a pause -- and then Lydia was immediately at her side, her arms snaking around the huddled young woman. She tucked Serche's head under her chin, offering comfort. She spoke in a low voice. "It must have been hard for you."

Then it occurred to Aaron. Before all this, Serche had been enslaved. How many seasons had turned? How many times had she entered the wilding in the presence of her captors? Aaron cursed in a low voice, unconsciously balling his fists. The heat of the rage that welled up in his chest surprised even him.

"Thank you. Really, thank you. I have suffered because of it, but probably not how you think. I could not bear the thought of being utterly powerless, more than I already was with the slave collar. So every time it happened, I applied healing magic on myself. Healing magic speeds up the processes of the body, and when I turned it to my own..."

"The wilding passed more quickly. But it can't have been that easy." Lydia said.

The Shaman nodded. "I saved up all the magic I could scrounge for those very moments. My wilding passed in a matter of minutes, but it almost killed me. Every single time. It is not a good thing to tamper with natural biological processes, and I was starved, weak, and deprived of my magic. It was always a gamble, but I always managed to win."

Lydia nodded, understanding. She held the bigger woman in her arms, her soothing magical touch easing her emotions, dampening the fear, minimizing the helplessness. The Shaman smiled at her in gratitude, perhaps noticing her magic at work and caring very little. Aaron still had his fists clenched, feeling profoundly discomfited and frustrated.

"Don't worry dear Serche, you're safe now." Lydia softly whispered into her hair. "We'll never take advantage of you."

"Yes. I... That's actually what I wanted to discuss." She seemed to curl up even more, hugging her knees. She appeared even smaller because of her usually tall stature, her presence. Then, speaking too fast and too low to be properly heard, she whispered "CanIpleasejointhetwoofyouinbed."

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"C... Can I please... I know I'm just an outsider, and I promise I would not come in between the two of you, but it the wilding is really... and I... Can I please... Ask the both of you to... Take care of me?"

Lydia regarded her for a long while, during which the Shaman's embarrassment seemed to double every second. Finally, when Serche thought that she would explode from the tension, Lydia said "I just have to say, you're being unexpectedly adorable. I could just jump you here and now, but that would obviously be inappropriate considering the atmosphere, so..."

Serche hesitated. "Does that mean..."

"Serche, my friend, there was never any doubt. We would be glad to be able to take care of you, for once. Thank you for your trust." Lydia assured her earnestly.

In that instant, Lydia's perception of Serche shifted, just a bit. The older, wiser and more knowledgeable Rakan had always seemed so sure of herself. Serche seemed to always be the one who took care of them, and not the other way around. It made Lydia feel like the woman was beyond the casual, intimate sort of friendship that she and Aaron shared, because they always had to rely on her. Now, though, with her need for their help, Lydia felt more on even ground.

It was an unconscious thing for her, but it was in that moment that she truly looked at Serche like how she looked at Aaron.

The Shaman's face broke into a radiant smile, her worries practically melting from her face. The beauty of her gratitude melted Lydia's heart, even as it slowly lit an ember in her core. 'What can I say, I am of the Dusk,' she admitted to herself, amused. Since she'd already mentioned that the situation was inappropriate for sudden, all-out sex, she settled for a somewhat maternal hug instead, tucking the Shaman's head under her chin again as she knelt beside the grateful woman. Serche relaxed in her arms, her hug sure, even eager.

"Um," Aaron cleared his throat from across the preening girls.

Lydia turned to him with a somewhat surprised expression, as if she had genuinely forgotten his presence. "Master!" Then she turned to Serche again, "We should be kind to him for now. He'll be doing most of the heavy lifting these coming days, I think."

Aaron blushed as the woman giggled. He was suddenly reminded of the expression "thick as thieves", looking at the two conspiring pretty things. When had they gotten so close? "Just to be perfectly sure about this..." He paused. "You guys mean sex, right?"