Stepping Up, Draft 1, CH 01 (Patreon)

Tibs sensed the essence around him as the world materialized. He couldn’t make out the details, as void wasn’t one of his elements, but he could get a sense of how it moved. Of the stretch in it.

Dry heat slammed into him. He’d forgotten in the week in MountainSea, and then his stop in Kraggle Rock, that it was high heat in the kingdom of Pursatia. The seasons changed too much from one city to the other when traveling via transport platform.

He stepped down and to the side, then paused, looking at the column that was an integral part of the platform, even if it was at the bottom of the stairs. Tibs could sense the weave of the essence in it that was connected to the platform. Even if he couldn’t, after the half dozen platforms he’d seen, each with the identical columns around it, he’d suspect they played a role.

This one had a board with a grid with words at the top and side and numbers in each box. Tibs didn’t want to read them, but he’d promised Carina that at each new city he’d learn one of the months. Right now, in Pursatia, it was the month of Burning Brush. It had been the same in the previous Pursatier city he’d visited. That city had been called Tameria, and like this one, was on the western side of the realm.

Tibs had been surprised to discover that not everyone from Pursatia spoke the same. Just like Carina had explained that people from one kingdom who learned the language of another spoke it with an accent as the two tongues mixed. Tibs had found out when speaking with merchants that different parts of a kingdom spoke the same language slightly differently, and one who was familiar with Pursatia had told Tibs he spoke it the way the westerners did.

This had given Tibs a place to start in looking for his home. The other thing he knew was that it had a transport platform. Speaking with the golden robes attendant, he’d learned that only the larger city had them since they were expensive. Unfortunately, those two pieces of information hadn’t helped him narrow his home’s location.

He was in Zaranka now, and it was the fourth western city Tibs visited, hoping to find where he’d been taken from.

He joined the people walking along the main road, leaving the platform. The pain he’d lived with once he’d woken after saving the dungeon had dulled into an ache, deep in himself, as his body had done what it could to deal with the corruption he was infected with. The tint in his essence was faint now, but still there. He could ignore it as long as he didn’t make sudden moves.

After two sets of ten larger streets, he turned left. The area he wanted wouldn’t be close to the platform, or to the major roads. He’d never learned where his Street was located in the city, but it hadn’t been surrounded by anything resembling wealth. The buildings that had made up his street had been in disrepair, and the neighboring streets only marginally better.

There also hadn’t been a wall. So he turned around when he encountered it. Tibs hadn’t known a city was surrounded by a wall. It was what differentiated towns from cities, Kroseph’s mother had told him. When Tibs had pointed out that MountainSea didn’t have walls, and was still a city, she’d laughed and said the mountain cliffs were wall enough for them.

He didn’t head back to the main road, sticking to the smaller alleys, watching for urchins. The urchins of his street weren’t the same as those of the main roads. The ones who begged the tourists and nobles only looked like urchins because the people there didn’t know better. They were too healthy, too energetic. Those of his street hadn’t had food in their bellies for days. They begged any who passed but didn’t have the energy to chase them. If the misery on their small face wasn’t enough to make someone drop a sliver of copper in their hands, survival depended on them being willing to do things that killed other parts of them.

The buildings were in worse shape here, but not as bad as he was looking for. He was in the right area, of that he was sure. Somewhere around here, he’d recognize an alley, the way planks were broken off a wall. He’d find where he’d curled up in the cold season, a small fire the only thing keeping death away. More than once he considered extinguishing it and joining Mama.

“Well, you look like those clothes don’t belong to you,” a woman said, stepping out of an alley in front of Tibs. “I’m thinking we should take them to someone who can make better use of them.” She was tall but thin. The thin of the sick, of those who didn’t eat as often as they wanted or needed. The thin of the Street.

“Once he’s out of them,” a man said, behind Tibs. “You think Grabby will pay to use him?” the man was also thin, and his dark skin had a sickly sheen to it. In this heat and dryness, it took a lot to get someone to sweat. Neither had an element, they hardly had any essence flowing through them.

Grabby wasn’t a name Tibs was familiar with, but he was still outside the street proper. It could be someone he’d never had a reason to learn about since he’d stayed away from the actions they hinted at Grabby enjoying.

They had no weapons, but plenty of broken planks and rocks littered the ground. On the street, weapons were whatever was within reach. Tibs had two knives. The one at his belt, and the one in the bracer on his left forearm. The one of his right at his rogue tools. They were the only pieces of his armor Tibs had kept in his travels. The rest was stored in the room the guild had provided him in the guild building in Kraggle Rock. And he wore what he’d considered his worse set of clothing to better fit in with his street.

Looking at the rags the two wore, Tibs realized he’d forgotten how little people wore on the Street. He’d been gone three seasons at most, and he’d forgotten what it was to wear rags. No wondered they wanted what he had.

“You don’t want to do this,” Tibs told them. He’d had said this even if he didn’t think he could beat them. You never showed fear on the street. Fear got you dead. Once you’d fled and hid, then you could be afraid.

“You hear the kid?” she asked. “We don’t want to do this? Why? because his daddy gave him a pointy stick?” her face darkened. “This is our street. We do what we want here. If you didn’t want to lose what you have, you shouldn’t have come here.”

Tibs turned to watch both of them. She was the more dangerous. The man’s hand was shaking. The essence was frayed, being pulled apart by whatever sickness afflicted him.

“I’m a Dungeon Runner,” Tibs said, “if you attack me, I’ll kill you.”

“Dungeon Runner?” she asked. “What’s that? Some fancy term for bed wetter?” the man snorted. “Get out of those, and we won’t hurt you too badly. Grabby pays more when the boys we bring him aren’t damaged.”

Tibs drew his knife.

“I think we’re going to have to hurt him,” the man said.

“Good,” the woman replied, picking up a thick plank. “I’m looking forward to some fun.”

Tibs ran for her, knife held underhanded. She grinned at him, raising the plank over her head. She wasn’t even trying to protect herself. Tibs would cut her open and it would be over.

His leg buckled under him as blinding pain flared. It was as if the bone had snapped under his weight. No matter how often it had happened these last months, he never got used to it. He raised his hand over himself and coated it in earth and water, icing that for the extra protection.

The plank connected, and he dropped to a knee. He slashed blindly; the pain keeping him from sensing their essence. Her curse, more than the slight resistance, told him he cut her.

“Oh, I don’t think Grabby’s going to pay a lot by the time I’m done with him,” She said.

Tibs forced the pain down enough to sense and pivoted in her direction. His leg wasn’t broken. As real as the pain was, there was no damage there. It was his essence bunching up because of the corruption in it. And just like the flow broke when someone was injured. His body thought he’d suffered an injury in response to the essence.

He almost missed the man running at him because of how faint his essence was, not entirely deflecting the kick, but it had little strength behind it. The pain in his shoulder was nothing compared to that of his leg.

The man staggered back, panting.

“Is that supposed to be funny?” she asked. “You fighting on one knee?”

Before he considered replying, she was swinging at him again. He deflected the blow with a blast of air, then stabbed her in the side. She cried out and fell back.

The pain diminished enough he pushed himself to his feet. He was sweating too now, but he could feel the heat wicking it away. He let it. He wanted to keep his fire in case he needed to scare them further. Stopping the strike had cost him all his air reserve, the coating of earth and water a little. Fire was the one essence he had that could scare anyone who didn’t understand the elements.

She was writhing on the ground, holding her bleeding side and crying. The man looked at him in fear before running off. Tibs leaned against the building, talking the weight of his leg and forcing the essence into the proper flow. The corruption fought him, like it always did, but the pain went back to its usual dull throbbing.

“I thought I’d heard someone scream.” A man said, followed by the sound of an impact and the woman screaming louder.

Tibs opened his eyes and readied himself. The man was older than the one who fled. His face scarred, his hair thin and dirty. The clothing he wore was a patchwork of rags making a shirt, pants, and shoes. He was one of the leaders.

He kicked her in the injured side again before looking at Tibs. “I’m guessing you did this?”

“She attacked me.”

“Where’s her boytoy?”

Tibs nodded in the direction the man had fled.

“Isn’t love grand?”

“That wasn’t love.”

The man shrugged. “They thought it was. Now. As a thank you for dealing with this bothersome bitch. I’m not going to kill you. You’re going to put the knife and pouch down and you’re going to walk down that lane. It’s going to take you to the places where your kind is welcome.”

Tibs shook his head.

“Don’t be stupid, kid. I’m being generous. I’d rather kill you and sell your insides to people with coppers.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“You’re not?” the man looked around, then let out a sharp whistle. People appeared out of alleys. Men and women, younger and older. Tibs stopped counting after ten. Some had clubs, others knives. One even had a rusty sword. “How about now?”

Tibs was terrified, but he didn’t let it show.

“That’s too bad. If you’d been scared, you would have done the smart thing and given me everything. Now you’re going to try to be brave, fight us, and end up dead. One of them will probably end up killing you too. Do you know how boring that’s going to be?”

“Then why don’t you try it yourself?”

The man laughed. “Kid, I didn’t stay alive by accepting stupid challenges like that.” He stepped back. “Kill him, but don’t—”

“Guards!” someone in the distance yelled, and the call was taken up.

“Really?” the man asked. “I get handed this once-in-a-year opportunity and the guards show up? Is it the Rafians trying to scare me off again?”

“It’s the guards,” a man said, running into the alley.

“Why?”

“I just heard something about one of the noble’s kid being missing.”

The man looked at Tibs, who shook his head.

“Scatter!” the man yelled. “Anyone caught is on their own.”

They vanished down multiple alleys, and Tibs picked one no one had gone in. He had no intention of encountering the guards himself. So he cursed when he heard the steps coming in his direction. He squeezed himself under a half-fallen building and watched the feet run by, then gave them a minute before crawling out and running toward the main road. Once there, it would be simple to lose himself in the crowd and try again lat—

“I saw someone!” a woman yelled, and Tibs looked over his shoulder.

A guard was pointing in his direction.

He cursed and turn in the alley. He wouldn’t lose anyone if they followed him to the road.

“There!”

“Stop running!”

Why did they always yell that? Tibs couldn’t think of one time when someone obeyed. He had no plans to now.

The corruption coursing through his essence had other plans.

He put his foot down, and the pain flowed up to his head. The fall barely registered. Then he was fighting to stand, his arms unable to support his weight. He heard yells approaching, then voices.

When the hands grabbed him, he yelled in pain and was let go.

“What did you do to him?” a woman asked.

“Nothing, I was just going to get him to his feet.”

“How often do I have to tell you, you can’t rough up the streetfolks?”

“He’s not one of them,” the man replied.

“Then you really can’t—”

Tibs crawled away, pushing through the fading pain.

“Kid, don’t do that,” the woman said. She grabbed him and sat him against a broken carriage. He reached for the knife at his hip, and she closed her hand on his. “You’re safe. Whatever they might have done, they can’t hurt you anymore.”

He stared at her. She was telling him he was safe? A guard was trying to convince him they didn’t mean him harm? The ones Harry had brought to Kraggle Rock hadn’t been as bad as the guards Tibs had known before, but Harry didn’t let anyone break his rules, not even the guards. Other cities didn’t bother doing that.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

He considered not answering, but it was four of them, in leather armor and with swords against one of him. “Tibs.”

She nodded. “What are you doing here? Did you get separated from your parents? Are you lost?”

He hadn’t been until he had to flee from them. Why was she being nice? “I’m looking for the Street.”

She stared at him. “Why would you want to go there?”

“That’s my business.” He pushed himself to his feet.

“He’s not the noble’s kid.” One of the men said.

“The others will find him and bring him back to his father,” she said, not taking her eyes off Tibs. "This one is still our responsibility." She indicated the way Tibs had come. “The street is in that direction. Maybe a dozen blocks from here. If you’re serious about going there, I’ll escort you. You don’t want to run into the people who live there on your own.”

Tibs shook his head. Twelve blocks made it roughly where he’d been attacked. It hadn’t looked right for his street. He didn’t think she was lying to him. The guards knew where the street was since it’s where they went when they wanted to have their fun, or a noble asked one of them where they could do whatever they wanted. The city didn’t care what happened to streetfolks.

He had the wrong city again. He sighed and headed for the road, ignoring her calls. He had no reason to stay here anymore. Maybe the next city would be the right one.