by Noam Oswin
“Flattery belittles you Shutila.” She said simply. “Also, do not think you have grown enough to hide your spirits from me.”
Her apprentice’s smile vanished. The spirits around her were wispy, vague, as the art of masking one’s spirits from another was something that took decades to master, and her apprentice did not have time as a teacher.
“I do not wish to discuss it Kadulja.”
“Your spirits –”
“Ignore my spirits. Their confusion will die in time.” she said. “I cannot allow myself to be sidetracked.”
“Being my successor does not exempt you from pursuing your own desires.”
“Even if that were so, there is my pilgrimage,” said Shutila. “I don’t know how long I will be gone. A winter? Seven? Fifty? A hundred? Should I expect him to wait?”
“He would.”
“That doesn’t comfort me,” said Shutila. “Life must move forward Kadulja. I will not be the same person when I return, and he will be waiting for a person that no longer exists.”
She dipped her hands into the river, the water facing the obstruction, and following the path of less resistance. Kadulja watched her apprentice, her own eyes closed as she remembered a time, similar.
“Enough about Vuna. There are more important things to talk about. I noticed the dark spirits have been increasing in number.”
Kadulja frowned. “Shutila – I hope you have not attempted purifying them on your own.”
Shutila hesitated, and Kadulja felt her concern skyrocket. “Shutila! Answer me!”
“No!” her apprentice replied. “No – I – I haven’t. I almost tried, once – but – I didn’t. I wasn’t sure if I could.”
“Do not attempt it.” Kadulja said. “Ever.”
“But –”
“Ever.”
Her apprentice grumbled something under her breath. “I could, if only I –” She stopped and went ramrod stiff. Kadulja nearly questioned it, until she as well possessed the exact same reaction.
There was an odd chill in the air. A pressure of wind. Rhe spirits all around them fled and scattered, an odd, foreboding pit of darkness emanating from the depths of the forest.
“Kadulja.” Shutila said, shuddering. “I felt something, just now. In the woods –”
Kadulja closed her eyes. “As did I.”
“It – it was dark Kadulja. Dark, and cold, and hungry. Desperate and self-loathing and miserable – victorious and angry and – wrathful and –”
“Shutila!” Kadulja shouted. “Come to your senses!”
Her apprentice shook like a leaf in the wind. Kadulja rushed to her side, already seeing the sweat pooling around her, her breaths increasingly frantic and heavy. Darkness replaced the moonlit shine her eyes possessed, and most alarmingly, her spirits crashed and smacked into each other, darkness growing on them like an overzealous weed.
Kadulja chanted without respite. She urged her own spirits to come together, to cast the respite and form the magic of [Dispel Curse].
“Breathe Shutila – breathe. Control your spirits, as I taught you – purge the darkness from your soul –”
Her apprentice breathed. In, and out, to the rhythm of the melodies hummed by the spirits of happiness. In, and out. The darkness receded from her eyes, and the darkness encircling her spirits washed away.
“W-what... what was that?”
Kadulja shook her head. “It is what I feared.” She rose, striking her staff upon the ground. “You are not yet ready for your pilgrimage.”
The young and her spirits froze as one. “What? Kadulja – I –”
“You have always possessed a greater sensitivity to the spirits than most of the tribe. No, of the tribe, you possess the greatest affinity to the spirits than anyone else, myself included. But for this same reason, you are weaker to influences of darkness; weak to negativity and can easily be overwhelmed by greater wills.”
“Kadulja – no, I – I was unprepared – it was sudden – if – if I had been prepared –”
“Outside of the boundaries of the Sanctuary, no one will wait for you to be prepared.”
Her apprentice flinched. “I – I will be ready.”
Kadulja closed her eyes. “Three winters.” She opened them. “You will be ready, in three winters.”
“Three winters? Kadulja I can’t –”
“Then I will find an apprentice who can.”
Crickets chirped idly in the background. The spirits around them were both silent. The spirits in the trees watched and those in the river poked their heads to witness the proceedings.
“...as you wish, Kadulja.”
“Your words and your spirits say two different things.”
Her apprentice did not respond. Kadulja resisted the urge to sigh and smack the girl with her staff. She did neither, because to express a sigh would be to give her apprentice the ammunition needed to press the issue, and one did not merely use the Staff of Mudar as a rod to punish recalcitrant saplings, a sentiment that the staff appreciated.
If she will not listen, then you must find another apprentice. The ancestors intoned. Her affinity with spirits already raises concerns. We must never have another Zlosta.
The tiniest hint of some youthful obstinacy and you are comparing her to the worst Kadulja in our history? Kadulja shook her head. Shutila is nothing like that.
Before Zlosta was the worst Kadulja, she was the best. Her madness began as she sensed too much and was overwhelmed until she cared too little. Does this not sound familiar?
Kadulja did not deem the comment worthy of a response.
“That... darkness I felt...” Shutila began, the change in topic being neither subtle nor unnoticed, but Kadulja welcomed it regardless. “Was it a masakh?”
Kadulja’s gaze turned skywards. She closed her eyes, for a second, reaching out the spirits dwelling much deeper in the Sanctuary. They opened, and her head swayed to the side. “No. No masakh has entered the Sanctuary for over a thousand years. Many have tried, none have succeeded. Not even those from her forest.”
“Then –” she hesitated. “Is – is it them? The... Krvavi?”
Kadulja’s launched a piercing stare at her apprentice. “You have been listening to Kurjak’s stories. I told you explicitly –”
“I could not help it! He’s the only one other than yourself to leave the Sanctuary and return – and if I am to do so someday I needed to know!”
“No.” Kadulja interrupted sharply. “You did not need to know. You wanted to know. You desired to know so much about the Krvavi that you would go against my explicit instructions!”
“But –”
“Listen to me Shutila!” Kadulja roared, slamming her staff into the earth. The Staff of Mudar sent waves of power and wind traveling in all directions from the impact. Shutila flinched at the fiery gaze upon which she had never before seen from her mentor.
“The point of the pilgrimage is for you to form your own opinions of the Krvavi! For you, to see and decide for yourself if the tribe will continue to remain in the Sanctuary, or if we will extend an olive branch. For you to see yourself the creatures of red blood with chalk and charcoal skins and decide if you could come to trust the beings who so haphazardly fell entire forests and vanquish spirits to great cold! The Kadulja must be objective and decide what is best for the tribe. But to have your head filled with stories from Kurjak –”
“Why do you hate him so much? You travelled together –”
“And he sold me to the Krvavi!”
Her spirits roared. Red, the red spirits sprung to life and the wisps of destruction surrounded her and sent other spirits scurrying away. Her apprentice cowered, eyes wide as she witnessed for the first time what the red-flowers of ruin that the Kadulja could unleash in her fury appeared like.
The wisps vanished. The smell of smoke lingered along with a dry heat. Kadulja sagged, appearing for once, as old as she was.
Shutila audibly swallowed. “He – he never said –”
Kadulja pushed her palm against her face. Tired, she pressed her fingers against her nose, closing her eyes. “He was younger then. Younger and foolish. He never understood what he did. He did not know the extents. He did not know of the cruelty of the Krvavi.”
“And... you still let him back into the Sanctuary?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I am the Kadulja.” She affirmed. “It is my duty as overseer of this Sanctuary to give refuge to all of our kind, be it those fleeing from the masakh, those fleeing from the Krvavi, or those who have committed offences against another. As long as it was not done in the Sanctuary, I must grant them refuge.”
The spirits hummed a lowly tune. Soft. Placating. Calming. Kadulja knew it was the blue spirit. It was always the blue spirit. It loved to sing at moments like these.
“The Krvavi... do... do I have to meet them?”
“Yes. You must.” Kadulja declared. “On your pilgrimage. To the West of here is a dense forest of earth and stone erected entirely by the Krvavi. It is a land called Alhamis. It will be your first step on your pilgrimage, and you cannot continue without passing through its borders.” Kadulja reached out the blue spirit. The small creature danced on two legs atop her fingers. “But you are not ready for that. Not yet.”
“As of now, we must focus on controlling your sensitivity. The creature we sensed within the Sanctuary, the spirits cannot identify it as Krvavi or masakh. We will investigate, and perhaps, use it to help you prepare.”
Shutila did not complain. Kadulja could not tell if it was because her apprentice was digesting the information, or for once, starting to understand the scope of the responsibilities that lay before her.
“Will it be dangerous?”
“I do not know. However, as long as The Ancestors protects the Sanctuary, nothing truly dangerous mere enter. We are safe within its boundaries, as we have been for thousands of years.” Kadulja said.
“I see. I understand, Kadulja.” Shutila rose to her feet. “I am off to rest. This has been a long and trying night.”
Kadulja watched her apprentice. “Are you having second thoughts?”
“About what Kadulja?”
“Everything.”
Her apprentice gave her a smile. Her spirits sang again, or so they tried. She watched, marveling, as one by one, her apprentice’s spirits faded from her own perception, until there was nothing but a single green spirit.
“No, Kadulja. I have no doubts.”
/∞/
“Dear Spirits –”
The rotting corpse of rabbits was the first sign that something was wrong. The manner in which they were killed indicated poison, yet, at the same time, their necks were broken. The creatures were eaten, consumed, but only halfway, and only about three of them. The rest were killed, yes, but they were not eaten.
They were killed for sport.
“What could have done this, Kadulja?” Her apprentice asked, cradling one of the dead rabbit within her hands.
Kadulja could not answer.
Dead rabbits littered the environment, rotting away under the sun. Kadulja checked the environment for tracks, attempting to find clues to the source of the creature responsible. She followed the trail of down a winding path, coming to stop at a small clearing. A small clearing littered with dozens of dead animals.
Ants in the majority. A sea of dead fire ants, and around it, numerous dead lizards, birds, and smaller creatures. None of these creatures were eaten, and she could tell at a glance that there was only one method in which they died.
Poison.
It seemed they came across the dead ants and ate them – unaware that the ants were killed with poison, poison which entered into their system. Kadulja did not know of any animals that could secrete enough poison to do this. She did not know of any animals that would be bothered enough to kill so many, many ants.
This was not the work of any animal.
“Kadulja?”
“Shutila, you must tell no one in the tribe of this. Do you understand?”
“I –”
“Do you understand?”
Her apprentice nodded. “Y-yes, Kadulja.”
Kadulja’s thoughts raced heavily. A masakh... here? It was not, should not have been possible. This was the Sanctuary. The Ancestors blessed the Sanctuary and prevented any masakh from entering within. Years without danger or incident turned her people peaceful. They knew not how to wield weapons or fight danger. It was the Kadulja, the protector of the people, the one gifted with the Staff of Mudar, who stood as the sole defense against danger and death.
“It is likely that a masakh has entered the sanctuary grounds. We must find it and eliminate it before it is found by others, or before it finds our village.”
“Eliminate a masakh? On our own?”
“If it preys on rabbits, ants and smaller creatures, it is most likely a small creature itself. Were we to meet and seek assistance from Silva Wolves at the top of the mountain, or perhaps the Yonder Bears beneath it... we should be capable of taking it down before it grows in strength.”
“Are you certain, Kadulja?”
“I am. Hurry, we must make haste. I will seek out the wolves, you, meet with the bears. We must find and end this threat as quickly as we can.”
Thankfully, the masakh were unintelligent creatures ruled by instinct. They were a threat, yes, they were a threat that could be handled by herself and her protégé. The same could not have been said if the creature had been something else.
Thank the spirits it isn’t a Krvavi.
In the end, it was just a masakh, Kadulja told herself. They could handle a masakh.
Chapter 8
Success
Limbs were beautiful.
It was easy, to take them for granted. The ability to stand or pick up objects, the ability to move a part of your body and use it for creation of tools, utilization of said tools, survival, combat, navigation and recreation –
Even something as banal as rising up to change the channel required utilization of limbs. Something as rudimentary as picking up a portion of your meal or wiping your mouth utilized limbs. As a human, I never realized just how greatly I took them for granted until I died and no longer possessed them. There were hundreds upon thousands of anecdotes about one not recognizing the value of something they possessed until they lost it, and never once did I even think that such a thing would apply to something as basic as limbs.
No, not just limbs. To eyes as well.
The first thing I did upon the completion of my evolution, was to run.
I forgot what it was like to simply run. Not in fear of any danger, not in chase of any prey, but to run simply because I could run. I scurried back and forth across sand and grass. I raced up trees and down rocks, I moved, I swiveled, and, with significant amount of effort, stood on my hind limbs, a comical sight that was not expected of creatures of my species.
I could, once more, see.
I could see the grass. I could see the sand and soil. I could see the sky, the leaves, the trees, the numerous, numerous piles and piles of dead red fire ants. I regained not just my ability to move, but to see as well. The colors were nowhere near as numerous as they should have been, but even if I were seeing the world in black and white, I would not mind. Sight was invaluable. Movement was invaluable.
This was all granted to me with my new species.
Status
Name: [Unnamed]
Race: [Mutated Reptile]
Specie(s): [Purple Tongued Skink]
Level: 1
HP: 70/70
MP: 20/20
HP Regen: 35/Day
MP Regen: 10/Day
Negative Effects: [N/A]
Positive Effects: [N/A]
Title(s): [Reincarnated] [User] [Gorger] [Larvae Slayer] [Jonah] [Parasite] [David] [Agkistrodon Slayer] [Genocidal] [Retaliator]
I was a skink. A creature often mistaken for a gecko and often mistaken for a snake.
Numerous types of skinks were simply ‘legless lizards,’ however, I was not amongst the category of the ‘legless’ anymore.
I. Have. Legs!
My attempt to scream out those words came out as a long stressed, nigh inaudible hiss. It sobered me immediately. Indeed, I regained arms and legs, however, I was still considerably far from my goal:
A creature that can laugh.
A creature capable of expression of the broad range of distinct emotional states. Once I attained a creature like that, I would be content, and I could begin focusing on finding the being responsible for my transformation into a worm, and vividly express my lack of amusement to it.
[You consumed a significant number of creatures as a Small Toxic Leech]
[Due to the title {User} you have attained the cumulative skills of these creatures as you evolved.]
[Do you wish to install the skills of the creatures you have consumed?]
[Yes]
[No]
The skills... of an entire ant colony?
[You have chosen to install the skills.]
[Installing {User} skills...]
[Skills Installed]
[You have attained the skill {Ant’s Strength Lv. 1}]
[You have {9999+} copies of this skill.]
[Combining copies...]
[This process may take a while.]
Surely, this was profitable.
[Copies Combined]
[{Ant’s Strength Lv. 1} has undergone massive evolution into {Herculean Strength Lv. 9}]
Herculean?
[You have attained the skill {Ant’s Exoskeleton Lv. 1}]
[You have {9999+} copies of this skill.]
[Combining copies...]
[Copies Combined]
[{Ant’s Exoskeleton Lv. 1} has undergone massive evolution into {Steel Exoskeleton Lv. 9}]
Was... was this... was this what I believed it was?
[You have attained the skill {Crawling Lv. 1}]
[You already possess this skill. You have additional {9999+} copies of this skill.]
[Combining copies...]
[Copies Combined]
[{Crawling Lv. 5} has undergone massive evolution into {Cheetah Sprint Lv. 9}]
How I craved the desire to laugh as a madman.