Soul Caller 1 - Chapter 25 (Patreon)

Crouching low against the thick brush, Merrick decided not to make the throw and worked his way a little bit closer, stepping carefully over the sticks and loose rocks that littered the canyon floor. It took him almost ten minutes to move a few feet, but he didn't dare rush for fear that the deer would hear him and run away. Keeping a watchful eye on the sky in case it started snowing properly, he saw the large doe had the same idea. She looked up at the rolling clouds overhead, glancing away from Merric's position. In that moment, Merrick saw his chance and stood, hurling the short spear. Like a deadly arrow it flew through the air and sank deep into the deer's side, piercing its heart and killing it instantly. The other two deer leapt in fright and began to run, quickly vanishing into the underbrush as Merrick ran over. Bending down, he removed the short spear and field dressed the deer as quickly as he could.

Gathering up the meat, bones, and skin, Merrick returned to the cavern at a swift trot. He could feel occasional snowflakes drifting down, but he didn't let them stop him as he put the deer meat down next to the boar meat and went back out to hunt again, this time heading in a different direction to look for more prey. Unfortunately, he found nothing, and as thunder rolled across the canyon, Merrick knew he was out of time. He was only fifteen minutes away from the cavern, but even that was dangerous. Instead of heading directly back to his makeshift home, he ran as fast as he could to the canyon wall as the snowflakes started to grow thicker and fiercer. Suddenly, right before he arrived at the canyon wall, the wind roared and a solid wave of white washed over him, burying him in freezing flakes that bit at his exposed skin.

It was as if the sky had broken at once, dropping a torrent of snow down upon him and the canyon. Within minutes, it was too thick to see more than a dozen feet, but Merrick had already reached the canyon wall and by following it, he knew he would come to the cavern where he was making his home. The snow started to pile up around him so he picked up speed, not worrying about saving his energy as he moved as fast as he could. The cold was fierce, and as the snowflakes landed on his skin, he began to tremble from the piercing cold. Worried he might not make it, he fumbled for the water flask he was carrying, nearly dropping it as he tried to get the top off. Taking a small sip of the glowing water from his canteen, he felt a burst of energy inside of him, heating up his body and counteracting the cold.

It should have only taken him fifteen minutes to get back to the cavern, but because of the snow, it took Merrick twice as long, and when he did finally find the gorge, he realized the entrance to the mine was almost covered. It had only been half an hour since it really started snowing, and already the snow was piled two feet deep. He had heard legends about how fierce the first winter storm was in the mountains, but had never experienced it for himself. He now knew that the stories weren't exaggerating. If anything, they had understated the ferocity of the winter blast. Carried by the wind, snow blew off of the edges of the gorge, getting trapped down inside of it and piling up at the mouth of mine.

Even when he got close, he could barely see the entrance due to the drifted snow and he had to feel his way as he pushed his way in. Tumbling into the mine’s entrance, he slapped at his body, trying to shake off the extra snow, and made his way into the cavern. His fire had been reduced to nothing but coals, so he added more wood, growing the blaze once again. He had done his best to gather wood earlier, but it was clear that what he had wouldn't last very long. His hope was that it would last until the first storm had blown over. Unfortunately, that could be days or even weeks, which meant that it was likely he would have to go out in the storm to collect more firewood.

Wishing that he had had more time to prepare, Merrick shook his head. He had been so focused on leaving that he had not even considered what would happen if he was trapped by the storm. And trapped he was. Soon, the snow would completely bury the mine, forming a thick barrier across the entrance. If he wanted to get out, he would have to dig a tunnel, but doing that in a snowstorm seemed like a terrible idea. The saving grace was that he still had a large amount of boar meat and the fresh deer that he had just hunted. As his mind spun over the problem, a sudden thought appeared unbidden in his mind. If he could master the meditation skill, he wouldn’t need to worry about firewood, and would even reduce his need for food by a considerable amount, increasing his chances of survival.

With the snow howling outside, Merrick sat down next to the crackling fire. Closing his eyes, he placed his hands on his thighs, his feet folded under him, and straightened his back. He began the breathing exercises that Barak had taught him with seven seconds breathing in through the nose, five seconds of holding his breath, and seven seconds of exhaling. He'd been practicing ever since the first hunt, and was starting to find it easier to maintain the rhythm of breathing, even without thinking about it. But that was not what concerned him.

He knew that given time, breathing in this way would be as simple as walking, an unconscious action that he never even thought about. Simply repeating the exercise enough times would ensure that. The real challenge was the strangeness of his connection with the Song of the World. Merrick had just assumed that everyone could hear the Song of the World the way he could. But from what Barak had said, only spirit warriors who possessed the ability to meditate were able to tap into it. What then was his connection to it?

He had been hearing the Song of the World for as long as he could remember. The gentle thrum of the earth beneath his feet, the playful whisper of the wind as it brushed through the grass and trees, the sounds of the birds and the insects mixing a sweet melody in the air. The sounds of life had surrounded him since childhood, and he found it strange to think that meditation should somehow unlock it. His only thought was that maybe, just maybe, most of his tribe members had forgotten how to listen to the Song of the World. His own experiences supported this hypothesis, as he had found from a young age that the more time he spent inside the tribe, the fainter the Song of the World became. Conversely, when he spent time outside of the tribe, away from others, basking in the glory of the Song, it grew stronger and brighter in his heart. This was one of the main reasons he liked to run so much. But if he didn't need meditation in order to connect to the Song, what then was the point?

From the way Barak had explained it, through meditation, one could become aware of the Song, connecting to it on a fundamental level and bending it to their needs. The ability to borrow the strength of the Song, concentrating it in his core, and using it to guard him against the cold was what Merrick sought now. But in order to do that, he had to be able to affect the Song, which was something he had never done before. Always he was the passive receiver, the observer, the one listening to the music. And now, he needed to grow beyond that. He needed to join the Song himself, learning to be, to engage with it, draw it closer, and even change it.

Continuing to breathe, he soon lost track of time, immersed in his thoughts about what he was trying to achieve. Before he knew it, hours had passed, and the rumbling of his stomach woke him from his trance. A faint frown furrowed his brow as he considered what he had just experienced. The practice of meditation did seem to have an impact on the Song. It did seem to strengthen his connection with it. But how to affect it? Barak had not mentioned that, saying only that it was for each of them to discover. Merrick wondered if his method of connecting with the Song might be different than others. But hundreds and thousands of other spirit warriors had been able to tap into and use the Song of the world through meditation, and he didn't see why he would be any different.

Cutting some slices of venison from the haunch of the deer, he began to roast them over the coals, adding little bits of wood to ensure the fire would continue to burn. It didn't take much to heat the enclosed space, despite its size, and the fire that had been burning for the last two days had warmed the space considerably. Though it was still colder than Merrick found comfortable, he was not freezing, and for that he was grateful. As he ate, his mind continued to dwell on the problem of his connection to the Song of the World. How should he interface with the Song of the World? Suddenly, a thought struck him. Did the warrior connect to the Song? The question rang in his mind, and he found himself growing increasingly curious.

The warrior, in the memories and visions and dreams that he saw, was incredibly powerful, was able to use manatech weapons and overpower gigantic foes. In fact, it was safe to say that the feats he achieved were unheard of, even in legend. Though his memories of the dreams were fragmented and faded, Merrick decided to try and delve back into them, searching for any indication that the warrior had used meditation. Maybe he could learn from the warrior’s experience, just as he had learned how to properly throw a spear and properly observe the world.

After satisfying his hunger, he took a sip of the glowing water from his canteen and settled back down to meditate again. He was determined to learn this skill, no matter how long it took. Concentrating on his breathing exercises, he quickly fell back into the empty-minded state that he had come to know. But instead of remaining there, he began to press in, sifting through the faint memories that lingered in his head. One by one, he peered into them as best he was able, often getting nothing more than faint impressions. Always, the question burned in his mind. Did the warrior meditate?

Yet no matter how many memories he examined, he couldn't find any indication of the warrior meditating at all. At the same time, it was clear that the warrior often tapped into the Song of the World, using it to navigate across battlefields, pausing to listen before making decisions, and surrounding himself with it in moments of peace. If anything, in the few memories that he was able to see relatively clearly, it appeared that the warrior was even more tapped in than Barak had been. While Barak had been able to access the song during meditation, the warrior seemed to be in a constant state of communication with the Song of the World.

At that moment, it was like the sun had burst over the horizon, illuminating Merric(k)'s mind. The warrior appeared to be in a constant state of communication with the song because he was. As soon as that thought took hold, Merrick knew it was the truth. The warrior didn't need to meditate because he was always connected to the song. Slowly, as if that realization had opened the gate a little further, allowing Merrick to peer through, he began to see more of the memories clearly, noticing more instances when the warrior borrowed the power of the song. There was one instance when he saw the warrior sprinting fleet as the wind across a battlefield, dodging past enemy attacks as if he had a complete awareness of their trajectories before pulling on the power of the earth to deliver a furious blow to his foe, shattering the creature's bones in a single strike.

Merrick was familiar with the way the warrior ran. After all, he had, on occasion, felt that same lightness. It happened when he ran through the mountains. Every so often he would reach a point where it felt as if he was one with the wind around him. Not a boy running, but a faint fleet breath of air carried by the wind wherever it would go, and it fascinated him to see the warrior exhibiting that same connection. He started to wonder if he too could reach that level of skill of being able to access that state at will. Determined to try, he wanted to continue to study the warrior's movements, but the faint scratch of a claw on stone would not let him.

Adrenaline spiked through Merric's body, and in one smooth motion, he ducked his head and rolled to the side as vicious pincers slashed through the air, chomping down where his neck had been a moment before. As he rolled to his feet, he saw it in the faint light of the flickering fire and the glow of the manastones dotting the walls and ceiling: a glistening black carapace with eight-inch mandibles and dozens of sharp legs. A centipede that had to be at least six feet long hissed at him, furious that its prey had escaped.

Merric's hands dropped to his side, but all he grasped was air. His two short spears were a dozen feet away, behind the monstrous insect crouching. Merrick grabbed for the knife in the sheath on his leg and scooped up one of the branches that had been in the fire. Embers still burned on its end, and as he waved it in the air, it left a trail of red light behind. The giant centipede glared at him, its mandibles moving, inching open as it got ready to strike, and its legs clacking together as it gathered itself, beginning to coil.

Merrick didn't like the look of the hard-armored carapace on the insect and knew that he was in trouble. For a brief moment, Merrick and the centipede stared at each other, each willing the other to give up. Just before the centipede struck, a ripple passed through its legs, and Merrick saw its lunge. He moved immediately, dropping to one knee and diving forward, his body parallel to the ground as the centipede launched itself into the air like a coiled spring, flying over his head.