by J. T. Wright
For the first time, the Earth Elemental made a noise. Its irritation was expressed by a sound like pebbles falling to the ground as it zigzagged its way up to the Fairy. Trent held his breath as the Spirit pushed the small figure out of the way. He was surprised when the Fairy moved aside willingly and more surprised when the insect-sized brown ball proceeded to fly forward, bouncing off his nose.
Trent activated Earth Manipulation and tentatively extended it toward the aggravated Elemental. An image of his own hand picking the flower flowed back to him through the connection established by his Ability. In the image, his fingers touched the base of the yellow flower’s stem, and a flash of light appeared.
The image repeated three times before he finally understood. The flash of light was Mana, his Mana, severing and sealing the stem. Trent checked his Status. His MP was currently at 11/130. He cast a glance at the Fairy observing his actions while he tried to communicate his lack of power to the Elemental. Was the gardener standing by because he was about to pick the flower, or because he had been using the wrong method to do so?
It took another hour for his Mana to rise to 50/130. He still wasn’t comfortable using magic, especially since he wasn’t sure how much it would take, but the waiting had become unbearable. Those sixty minutes had felt like days as he sat under the watchful eyes of a Fairy, with an Earth Elemental occasionally bouncing off his nose impatiently.
His hand touched the stem, and he willed the smallest amount of Mana he could manage to his fingers. The flower’s stem broke, and Trent caught it before it could fall. He froze like that, sitting with hand extended, as he waited for the Fairy's reaction.
It…she?... the figure wore no clothes, but its gender wasn’t apparent. There was a feminine air about the figure that made Trent want to refer to it as a she, but in truth, the figure was sexless.
The Fairy’s wings buzzed when the flower fell and… nothing. She continued to watch him with tiny arms crossed. There was no sign of anger or displeasure. That was good, probably.
The Elemental spun in happy circles and bounced off his face again. Trent stored the flower. He started to stand up, but the Elemental wasn’t done. It drifted back to the flowerbed and hovered over another yellow plant. Trent swallowed nervously and picked that one as well.
The next few hours saw an increase to Trent’s Herbalism, but none of the clarity the Garden's name promised. The Elemental led him around and around, without rhyme or reason. The Garden wasn’t large, no more than a square mile, but by the time the Elemental finished leading him to and fro, he felt like it was far bigger than the Land of the Undying Lord had been.
He visited every flowerbed. Some plants he recognized, but most he didn’t. At each stop, he picked two or three plants and placed them in his Storage. Each plant had a slightly different way of being picked. There were a few that could be picked directly, but most were like the yellow flowers and needed to be collected by utilizing Mana.
Each time he reached for a plant, Trent cast a nervous glance at the Fairy that continued to monitor him. At the slightest hint of displeasure, he would freeze. The Earth Elemental would then bombard him with chaotic images related to the plant it was hovering over.
Just the petals of this flower, only the stem and leaves of the next. One herb required him to take the roots and then tear up and scatter the plant itself. Trent almost began to see a pattern in his actions. Beasts, Skills, Classes, and Abilities had Ranks. Maybe plants did as well?
He was nearly certain that the plants that could be plucked directly were Common herbs, and the ones that required Mana were Basic. Did that mean the ones that required more exotic means, like the plant where he had to pluck the petals and then rub them carefully against the pollen, while constantly allowing Mana to flow to his fingers, were Advanced or above?
He dismissed the idea of their being more than Advanced ranks the first time he encountered a plant he couldn’t take with him. That one required tools, a silver trowel and knife, that he didn’t have. Communicating his inability to Harvest the plant to the Elemental had given Trent a serious headache.
The Elemental had no concept of systematic exploration. It led Trent from one corner of the Garden to another and then back again. It stopped at flower beds at random, skipping some, only to come back to them later. It was hours before it led him back to the table with its big nets. He plucked his last flower, a single rose, that hadn’t bloomed yet.
The Earth Elemental whizzed up in front of his face. It bounced and zoomed playfully past his eyes and ears, then landed on his nose. He felt it urging him to provide more “food," but when he cast the Dust Charm again, it continued to beg, its requests becoming slightly sullen.
The Elemental was not pleased that Trent hadn’t managed to learn a more powerful Earth Spell in the hours it had been guiding him. Finally, after Trent promised he would do his best to learn more Spells, the Earth Elemental ambled its way slowly to rest on his vambrace. It settled there, next to the red jewel and, without further ado, it went to sleep. Trent’s vambrace now had a shiny brown rock to compliment the red jewel, and his headache started to fade.
Trent had one hundred slots in Storage now that the Ability had reached Level 5, but he had only one slot left. Storage was full of various pieces of equipment he had gathered in the Land of the Undying Lord, and now herbs and plants from the Garden of Clarity. The rose he had picked filled the last slot, so he would have to find another way to carry anything else he acquired in this Trial.
Maybe he could just toss some of the equipment away? He was wearing or using the best pieces of armor and weapons. The rest had been stored just in case, and he had outgrown most of it. Swords that had been amazing when he put them in Storage, he now knew were common or basic blades that were only good if you were fighting the Undead. Even the one-handed sword at his side wouldn’t be much use as he leveled up and encountered stronger opponents. If only Sorrow and Strife hadn’t broken. He wondered what they would have grown to become.
He sighed and stored the rose, completely filling his Storage.
Special action performed. Gathered 75 different types of plants, Awakened has Level 6 Herbalism and Level 5 Storage. Potential to learn Herbalist Profession, Greenhouse acquired.
Trent was as pleasantly surprised as he was dumbfounded. It wasn’t the first time he had read a message like this. In the Land of the Undying Lord, after he had gathered one thousand copper coins, he had received a similar notification. That one had been about the Bank. One hundred coins could be stacked in one slot of Storage. A thousand had taken a full ten slots.
However, once Bank had been acquired, all those coins were moved to a different part of Storage. Now any coins he stored were separated and inventoried neatly into copper, silver, or gold. Not that Trent had any gold. Trent, Tersa, and Orion together had only earned five pieces of silver. Orion had said that this was related to the threats they overcame. Harder opponents meant better gains.
Tersa had grumbled over this even though a thousand coppers were equal to ten silver, and that was twice the yearly salary of a Guard Recruit. Trent hadn’t cared. He still wasn’t clear on the use of coins. Bank had excited him not because it made it easier to keep track of his wealth, but because it freed up space for the things he did value, like weapons.
Greenhouse was much better than Bank in Trent’s opinion. Another one hundred and five slots of Storage had been made available. One hundred of these slots were restricted to herbs and plants he stored. The other five were for seeds.
The new knowledge that came along with the change to his Ability told him any seeds put in these slots would grow! In time seeds would become actual herbs! Not only that, but they would also grow at an accelerated rate! It was his own private garden. He didn’t know how useful it would be, but it wasn’t a bad thing to have.
Only he didn’t have any seeds. The Elemental had only taught him how to harvest herbs, not how to gather seeds. That was something he would have to learn himself
. For now, he could only wait.
Trent heard a sound that fell somewhere between a bird’s whistle and a bell’s chime. Before he could look for the source, the Fairy that had been observing his romp throughout the Garden, flew forward to look him in the eyes. Or rather, in the eye, singular. The miniature person was too close to see more than one at a time. Trent stood still, resisting the urge to leap back.
The Fairy issued another bell whistle. The sound that had startled him had come from her. She seemed excited, though Trent couldn’t tell why. The Fairy darted back and then rushed forward to tap against his nose. His eyes couldn’t help but follow as the Fairy trilled again than landed on the table that he stood next to.
The bug nets were gone, and in their place were five ordinary brown pods and a large thick leaf. The Fairy urgently gestured at the new items and then pointed at Trent. Obviously, these things were for him, he hoped.
He couldn’t put his finger on exactly what bothered him about the numerous Fairies in the Garden. He knew they weren’t Trial Beasts, that much he was sure of. But if they weren’t creatures of the Trial, what were they? Why were they here?
Slowly, Trent picked up the seeds and Stored them away. The seeds went directly to the five open slots meant to grow things and sat there. Accelerated growth didn’t mean instant maturation, after all. At the continued urging of the Fairy, Trent picked up the leaf to examine it.
It wasn’t a leaf. Green, with jagged edges and an oval shape ending in a stem, the item looked like a leaf, but it was clearly not. Trent doubted any natural leaf could be so heavy, or thick. The leather feel of the green object was another good hint, as were the gold letters that appeared on the leaf when Trent picked it up.
The letters spelled out the words, Fairy’s Garden. The leaf was a book. A book on Herbalism, Trent discovered as he opened the cover. It was a much more detailed book than the ones he had read in the past. A casual flip through the pages revealed many of the unknown plants he had discovered today. With careful illustrations and ponderous descriptions of the plants’ uses, the book was a treasure trove of information that any Herbalist would drool over.
Trent was only mildly interested in the book himself. His life so far hadn’t given him much time for studying or casual reading. He closed the book and stored it. He was grateful but, in the end, more interested in finishing the Trial. He bowed to the Fairy and muttered a thank you.
The Fairy returned his gesture with a solemn and graceful curtsey. The action only lacked a dress, otherwise it was formal enough for a queen’s lady-in-waiting. Rising from her curtsy, the Fairy pointed an imperious finger towards the center of the Garden. When Trent looked to see what she was pointing at, the Fairy flashed away, flying, and beckoning for him to follow.
It wasn’t long before Trent found himself standing before the gap in the hedge that he had noticed earlier. This was the only part of the Garden he hadn’t explored. He had circled around the square hedge for hours, but not once had the Elemental led him inside. He touched his sword hilt nervously. If this Trial held any threats, they were surely inside.
Chapter 12
Tersa held her breath. Every muscle in her body tightened as she struggled to keep herself utterly still. Where had Sergeant Cullen sent her? She trembled. Fear, a lack of oxygen, and the tense way she held herself combined to wreck her plans for stillness. Before too long, Tersa found herself bent over, sweating and swearing as she panted for breath.
Stupid, stupid, Sergeant Cullen! He’d set her up! This was a punishment for choosing the Brute Specialization! It had to be. That conniving, piss drinking bastard had always had it in for her. This was just like the time…
Here, Tersa was stumped. She couldn’t actually remember a time when the Sergeant had put her in harm’s way. Oh, he had made her fight enemies above her Level, and there were many instances she was sure she had almost died from running laps, but she hadn’t died. Cullen would never allow a Recruit to die before their training was over. She had never even been seriously injured under the Sergeant’s watch.
So why would he thrust her into this devil’s nest alone now? Tersa shivered as she raised her eyes from the ground to look about once more. Maybe she hadn’t seen what she thought she had seen. Inch by inch, she examined the Garden again.
Pretty stone walkways neatly formed and carefully swept; those were good. Flower beds, and plants, they were okay, though she could do without them. Some flowers made her sneeze something fierce, but Tersa’s nose wasn’t twitching now. So far, so good.
A tiny winged humanoid flew past her face, and Tersa’s eyes snapped shut. She hadn’t seen that! That was not a Fairy. It couldn’t be a Fairy! Tersa’s arms swept up to cover her head as she protected herself from harm in a way she hadn’t had too ever since… well ever since Sergeant Cullen had knocked her pa on his ass that day.
Tersa didn’t need the Identify Skill to recognize a Fairy. She had never seen one in real life before, but still, she recognized them. These were the winged, baby-eating horrors of her childhood. Never seen, but often talked about, Fairies were the stuff of Tersa’s nightmares.
Tersa hadn’t had the most conventional of childhoods. She had learned to pick pockets not long after learning to walk. Her father had taught her that. Even before learning to pick pockets, she had learned to fetch beer. That skill had been passed on by her father’s mother, Old Gram Cromwen.
Gran Cromwen liked to drink more than anyone Tersa had ever met. Tersa supported her grandmother in this pursuit. Gran Cromwen wasn’t very nice when she was drinking. She also wasn’t very nice when she was sober, but at least with a beer in her hand, the old woman was less likely to throw things. After a few drinks, she might even be inclined to share a story.
Stories told between the third cup and the seventh were mostly “educational” ones. Tales of young thieves who were fast and clever and who always listened to their elders. Tersa hadn’t really liked these stories about smart Rogues and dumb, easily fooled, Guardsmen. Gran said the lies that the thieves told were clever, but those falsehoods sounded obvious to a younger Tersa.
Not that Tersa ever said so to Gran Cromwen. The Guards in the stories might be stupid, but Tersa wasn’t. Gran didn’t like smart-mouthed brats who interrupted and talked back. Story time ended and beatings began when she was interrupted.
Gran was the only person in the Cromwen household that Liam Cromwen, Tersa’s father, stepped carefully around. He left her alone when his mother required the girl’s attention. While Gran Cromwen was talking, and before she was too deep in her cups, Tersa could sit quietly. She didn’t have to dodge the angry fists of relatives or strangers. She wasn’t forced to wonder if this would be one of the times she was caught stealing.
It wasn’t until after drink number seven that Tersa began to wonder if beatings were preferable to stories. Drink seven marked the end of tales about clever young thieves and the beginning of Fairy stories. These stories Tersa would purposefully interrupt. She did so every time, and it never worked. Six drinks, Grandma was clumsy and slow. Seven drinks, Gran never spilled a drop, even while holding a mug in one hand and swinging a switch in the other.
At seven drinks, Gran talked of Fairies. She called them stories, but they were more properly just descriptions. Descriptions of stupid, slow, ugly children being caught and cut. Descriptions of snot-nosed, back-talking brats with no sense, being hung up by their toes so that Fairies could drain their blood and strip their flesh.
Many nights, most nights, Tersa went to sleep clutching her pillow over her head. This wasn’t to protect herself from Fairies but an attempt to block out the old woman’s voice. Night after night, she fell asleep to Gran Cromwen’s harshly whispered depictions of young girls kept alive for days under the knives of the Fey. Gran Cromwen’s tales of thieves were easy to see through and repetitive, but Tersa couldn’t remember a single time the girls in Gran's Fairy stories shared the same fate.
Under the influence of Sergeant Cullen and two y
ears of training with other young Recruits, Tersa realized the Fairy stories she had grown up with were different from the ones told to other children. Rationally, she knew most of what she had learned as a child was false. But even Gran Cromwen’s tales held a bit of truth.
Fairies were old magic. Before Statuses and Awakeneds, before the Trials and the Adventurers Guild, the Fey roamed freely. If they weren’t the horrors that Gran Cromwen described, they still weren’t to be trifled with. Fairies didn’t use magic. They were magic.
There were numerous stories told about the Fey. Recruits entertained each other by telling some of them, while huddled around a campfire during training, or after lights out in the barracks. While Tersa wasn’t sure whether her fellow recruits’ charming tales or Gran Cromwen’s horror stories were true, she was sure she wanted nothing to do with the Fey.
Even in the traditional tales, champions who boldly confronted dragons didn’t upset the Fey. When happy or amused Fairies were helpful and kind, angry or slighted Fey were spiteful and cruel. Whichever type of tale you chose to believe, one thing was certain. Never cross a Fairy.
“Not doing this, I'm not,” Tersa muttered to herself. Her lips quivered as she gulped and turned to flee. “Rather be a thief or…”
There was no gate behind her. Instead, she saw a table with four bug nets. Beyond that, the Garden extended until it met an impossibly large brick wall, a wall with no opening, as far as Tersa could tell.
She ran to the wall in a panic, nearly tripping over her feet in her haste. Her hands touched the brick that she was inwardly begging to be an illusion. She spun and saw the wall rising up in all directions, solid and unyielding as it defined its territory. She was trapped! She whirled back around, her hands forming fists to batter at the uncaring stone.