by TJ Reynolds
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.
3
With Oldest Blood
Kai
Karsen, red-faced and fuming, charged back to defend his honor. Kai realized he was about to get a real beating, one he hadn't experienced since he was caught lifting a few oranges from a tradesman’s cart when he was fifteen. For a moment, Kai had the urge to run, but the words that sprung from Karsen's mouth changed everything.
"I'll show you who's brave, you half-born bastard,” Karsen sneered. “Your own whore of a mother won't recognize you after I'm done with you."
Without thinking, Kai unslung his cudgel and attacked. Roarke and Dunny gasped as Karsen barely managed to dodge the first swing. Then in a flash, Karsen's axe was in his hands. It was just a simple woodsman's axe, light but sharp as the devil's prick.
“Dragon-shivving Hintari!” Karsen screamed. "You trying to get yourself killed?!" He swung with the force and precision of a woodsman, blocking Kai's next attack. The cudgel snapped in two and the hard knob that made the crude weapon almost seem like a mace fell to the ground.
Holding only a stick, Kai lifted his diminished weapon with as much dignity as he could muster.
Roarke’s laugh was harsh and whispered, like the soft whisk of a blade across a sharpening stone, an almost-private sound reserved for solitude or the shared joy of foul deeds.
In two quick strikes, Karsen smacked the stick from Kai's grip and slapped the blunt end of his axe into his chest. For the second time that afternoon, Kai found himself on the ground.
Karsen tossed the axe aside and straddled Kai. "I'll show you how useful courage is," he hissed. Kai tried to push back, to get up, but Karsen pinned him down with his knees and threw punches at Kai's face too fast to block. Several strikes landed about his head as fast as dragonflies before he managed to block a few, but the blows kept coming. They weren't as heavy as before, and Kai realized Karsen meant to break his spirit as surely as his face.
Kai tried to defend himself, but it was no use. Karsen had learned too much from his father.
A voice split the air, somehow stopping the deluge of punches. “Let him prove it then!” Dunny called out.
Everyone turned to stare at the blushing youth, who had already stifled any further outbursts, slapping both hands over his mouth. Dunny looked as guilty as a bread thief with crumbs on his tunic, but he’d spoken too boldly to be ignored any longer.
Karsen growled at his brother, “Shut your trap! The fun'll be over soon enough.”
But caught up in the scene unfolding before him, Roarke held up a hand and called out, “Hold on … what do you mean, Dunny? How could a spineless cren-eater like this prove himself?”
Dunny’s eyes went wider still as he racked his brain for any acts of foolhardy bravery that might be of use.
The moment stretched out too long. Just as Karsen pulled back his fist again, Dunny blurted out, “Have him touch the shivvered dungeon! Only a brave man would do that."
After a few astonished seconds, an intrigued Roarke chuckled. “Or a fool.” He called to his friend, reaching out to keep the raised fist from continuing its punishment. “Karsen, I’m sure you can hold your ire for a moment while we settle this once and for all. If this bloater will walk into the dungeon on the hill and touch its shivvered core, we’ll know him a man of courage. Hells. I’ll even buy you a pint, Kai,” he snorted.
Kai’s assailant lowered his fist, giving Roarke a brief nod, as if to say, I’m listening.
“But,” Roarke held up a finger, “if not, Karsen will give full vent to his wrath, and we’ll tell the town guards you attacked him with a weapon. You’ll have to leave Mindonne and never come back.”
Karsen got up, an eager look of hunger still in his eyes. “Will you do it, Kai?” he taunted in a vulpine tone. “Or are you really just a spineless, Hintari whoreson?”
Kai could feel his face swelling though nothing felt broken, and he rolled up to his hands and knees, trying to clear his head. His mother wasn’t Hintari. She’d been a Brintoshi soldier, but rather than argue the facts or throw another useless punch, he stood instead and brushed himself off. Then he surprised all present, including himself, by accepting the proposal.
“I’ll touch the blasted core.” He scowled. “And you’ll owe me two pints, Roarke, and give my mole skin back. Deal?” He knew he was scrounging for forgotten tubers at this point, but he didn’t see many other options. If he denied this opportunity, he’d get a drubbing, then they’d beat him back to town. His only bet would be to sneak in and find Winford or Jakodi to take his side of things.
It was too risky.
And besides, the dangers of a shivvered dungeon have to be exaggerated, he thought, attempting to justify his decision.
So it was that late in the afternoon that Kai found himself walking in foul company, heading to a foul end at the end of a long and trying day. He couldn’t fathom why, but Roarke’s mood had brightened. The brute decided it was a fine time for banter, and he spoke at length about anything and everything that popped into his thick skull.
The motley group marched away from town and up into the hills, neither north into the Atoli forest nor south toward the Mirin Swamps. The shivvered dungeon they’d all heard tales about was less than five miles from town, tucked under the overhanging rock face of a mesa west of the village.
Karsen led the way, as he seemed to be the only one who’d actually seen the dungeon, with Roarke filling the otherwise-quiet trek with his boisterous and unnecessary commentary. At least that was Kai’s opinion. Dunny had fallen to the back of the group into his usual position as a tag along, grateful to sink again into obscurity and be forgotten.
“And you know what she said to me then?” Without waiting for a response, Roarke continued his rant. “She told me, in a tone that was plain as a page to read, that I’d better come with her to fetch the milk. Now, as my da always says, if a maid tells you she needs help collecting her milk, the only right answer is ‘right away ma’am.’ So course that’s what I did.”
The incline increased, earthy loam growing hard with stones as they staggered up the side of the hill. Karsen looked back, exasperated by his friend’s endless boasting. “Oh yeah? So you shivved Hines’ youngest?” He snorted. “And let me guess, she called your name out to Yugos as she finished twice?”
Roarke replied, the injured tone of his voice rising an octave. “Well, I didn’t exactly mean that I…”
Karsen stopped to look back over his shoulder and cut him off. “Did you shiv her or no? Else, and either way, maybe you can hold your tongue a minute.
Save your wind for the hike.” For once, the big man listened. The only sound that disturbed the rest of their progress was their harsh rasping breaths.
As they neared the top, Kai sensed a distinct air of reverence grow amongst their party, a response to some unseen force, as if they stood amidst the fervent prayers of a worshiping host.
The ether in the air was thick enough to taste.
Kai thought of the danger he was walking into and stared at the mole skin flapping over Karsen’s broad back as he walked ahead. The woodsman had agreed to return the skin, should he prove himself. Trusting Karsen, however, didn't seem wise.
More than likely they'd come up with some excuse to take it anyhow, Kai mused, but somehow he couldn't back down from his pledge. Despite the stories everyone told about broken dungeons with broken minds and the horrific things that happened near them, Kai would not turn back.
The feeling of being watched had them all on edge; the threat of unseen predators lying in wait crept over the youths until they were all scanning the trees. To make matters worse, the sun was falling, and a chill breeze blew down Kai’s neck.
Oh, why must every fear be accentuated at nightfall?
“Might we not turn back?” Dunny suggested sagely. “Supper will be ready, and we can just give him his stupid skin. He needs it more, anyhow.”
Kai gave the boy an appreciative look, but it was Karsen who spoke. “No. He has more courage than all of us, remember. Probably has the blood of dragons in his veins,” the woodsman snorted. “He will touch the shards of the Earth Core as he said. Or would you rather admit you're a coward and head back to your shed to pack up whatever rags you hold dear?”
Kai swallowed the lump in his throat and ignored the comment.
Dunny’s breath caught a moment later, and Kai looked up to see what had excited the boy. A darkness loomed below the overhanging shelf of the mesa. The mouth of a cave burrowed deep into the side of the hill, a crooked and gaping mouth.