Stepping Up, Draft 1, CH 58 (Patreon)

The street was busy with people, even if it was mostly dark. Lanterns were hung on temporary poles for light as they work on clearing out the burned husks of the buildings surrounding the transport platform. Here and there, families looked through what was left of their home for anything meaningful that might have survived.

Tibs took a step toward one family. He’d done this to them. The least he could do was go and offer comfort, explain he hadn’t—

“Where are you going?” Kroseph asked.

“To explain to them I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“You can’t do that.” The statement was firm. The server had spent the previous evening on a similar walk, cuddling and explaining the reasons, but in his current state, Tibs didn’t reason well.

“But their suffering is my fault.” Tibs understood the reasons. How taking responsibility for the fire would bring him to the attention of the guild for having multiple elements; would make them hold him and never let him go. But what did that matter when someone suffered from his actions?

“So? Think Tibs. Use that mind of yours. Don’t let your emotions govern you.”

“I am using my mind,” he replied petulantly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have used that tone. You’re trying to help me.”

Kroseph chuckled. “And I can’t tell if that was you apologizing, or the water, which I suppose is an improvement.”

Jackal had wanted to be part of these walks, as had Carina, but Kroseph had pointed out this was a ‘dealing with people’ problem, not a ‘dealing with monsters’. Of the three of them, he was the most qualified.

Tibs looked at the family, the father, mother, and four children. The oldest girl probably already worked with whichever parent had a shop or a craft. The boy, a little younger than her, kept the two youngest by him as they cried, and Tibs’s heart broke.

But he didn’t go to them. Kroseph was right, taking responsibility wouldn’t help them, it wouldn’t help him and it wouldn’t help the town. He had to remember that his decisions couldn’t be about this very moment, this one pain he saw. As difficult as it was to look past the now, he had to think about the days and weeks to come.

But it was hard.

Constantly having to remind himself consequences mattered was exhausting, but he needed the training. It was the only way he’d get better at it, and as Kroseph pointed out, he was improving.

“How do you do it?” Tibs asked. “See the pain and not act to comfort it?” he remembered doing the same, but right now, thinking about anything not in the now was difficult.

“I act on it when I can,” the server replied, “but I’m not an adventurer. I don’t have an element I can channel and fix everything. And sometimes it’s not about fixing something.” He looked at Tibs. “It’s also not always about telling people you did it. Giving them a target for their anger rarely helps, in the long run. It just makes them angry. Sometimes it’s just holding them and listening to their problems. Sometimes, it’s giving them an ale and not charging for it so they can numb themselves for a little while.”

“There are different ways to comfort someone,” Tibs said. “That’s what I have to remember.” He still wanted to go to them. He wanted to undo the damage he’d done. Not have channeled fire. Not have been angry. “I wish Sebastian had never come,” He said through gritted teeth.

“Is that anger?” Kroseph asked, surprised.

Tibs frowned. Was it? Could he be angry when channeling water? “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, ashamed.

“And now shame?”

Tibs looked at the server. Why did he sound so happy? Somehow Tibs was losing some of what it meant to be water. That wasn’t a cause for happiness.

Tibs kicked a stone away and pouted.

* * * * *

“Okay, explain to me again why I’m doing this?” Quigly asked, sword in hand, looking at Tibs.

“Tibs needs the practice with his sword,” Carina said, “and you’re the only one Jackal trusts with helping him.”

“He’s got his element,” the fighter said, “what’s he need knowing how to fight with a sword?”

“Are you scared?” Tibs asked.

“Scared of hurting you,” Quigly replied. “You know what Jackal’s going to do to me if I cut you?”

“Tell you to be more careful,” Jackal said from the crate he lounged on. Because they didn’t want too many people to see Tibs’s eyes yet, they’d elected to train in one of the unused construction zone instead of on the training fields.

Tibs made the water flow to his hand and shaped it into a sword.

Quigly stared. “Your eyes, they’re blue now.”

“He can’t control it,” Carina said. “It comes and goes.”

“That’s a thing? Mine didn’t do that.”

“It’s his age,” she said.

Tibs looked at the blade he held. How jagged it was. He didn’t want this. This was something that inflicted pain. It was wrong to use water to make it.

He fought the instinct to melt it, and this time, won. Over the last three days, Jackal had forced him to make the sword. The first day Tibs had denied him. He didn’t care what explanations the fighter gave, he would never wield something designed to inflict pain.

The previous morning, Jackal had convinced him to make the blade, and one look at it had made Tibs sick. The rest of the day had been spent getting used to seeing it, holding it. Contemplating the pain it could do.

Tibs had wrapped himself into the comfort water provided when it had been time to sleep. He’d needed it, knowing what today brought.

“Tibs?” Quigly asked, and Tibs nearly flung the blade away in surprise.

“I’m okay,” he said, calming his breathing.

“You don’t look okay.”

I’m about to learn how to inflict untold pain. How can I be okay? “Maintaining the sword isn’t easy.” He’d practiced the lie, both with water and without. Lying while channeling water was tricking, because lies that hurt tended to stick in his throat, while the innocent ones came out as easily as normal.

He’d learned that it didn’t matter what he told himself about how innocent a lie might be. The water knew the truth. So he was practicing that too now.

Lies were tools of the rogue, and Tibs would remain a rogue, no matter what he might feel about it when channeling water.

“Alright. What kind of training have you had?”

“Some with a metal sword, but those are heavy.”

“That isn’t?” Quigly asked.

“It’s water,” Tibs replied. “It’s my essence. It’s part of me.”

The fighter contemplated something. “How’s the balance?” Tibs looked at him uncomprehendingly. The fighter tapped the hilt of the sword he held. “This is for more than protecting your hand. It’s balancing the weight of the blade so you can make easy movements. On a well-made blade, it should be about here.” He placed the flat of his blade on his index a little more than a hand-span of the guard. The sword tipped up, and he caught the hilt. “This isn’t a well-made sword.”

Jackal snorted. “You’re going to have to ask a merchant if that’s what you want, and you’re going to need coins. Lots of them.”

Quigly looked at Tibs’s blade. “I took metal as my element, so I’m hoping I’ll be able to do what Tibs did. Make my own. Easier to carry and I never have to worry about not being armed.” He smiled. “Although I’ll make mine not quite as dangerous looking. I’m good enough I don’t need to scare my opponent.”

“I don’t have the practice yet to make a better one.”

“Okay. So about the balance on it?”

Tibs took the blade and placed the flat a hand-span away from the guard on his finger. The sword was perfectly still.

Quigly approached and looked at it. “Okay, on this length, it should be closer. Can I touch it?” Tibs nodded. “It’s not as cold as I expected.” He positioned it a finger closer to the guard, and the sword remained still. The fighter frowned. “Did you change anything to how it’s balanced?”

Tibs shook his head. “I’m holding it the same way I was before.”

Quigly looked at the sword again. “You’re not talking about how it’s on your finger, are you?”

“It’s my essence, that’s what’s holding it.”

Quigly stepped away and raised his sword before him. He stared at it. Looked disappointed and lowered it. “Is that a water thing, or will I be able to do it too?”

“When you’re at a higher rank,” Carina said. “You’re going to learn to do more than use the essence you have in your reserve. I expect that’s one of them.”

“What rank are you?” He asked Tibs.

“I’m Rho,” he answered, “but because of my age, I’ve had to learn differently, so it might take you a higher rank.”

“And metal isn’t an element known for being malleable,” Carina added. “So that could mean it’ll take you even longer.”

He nodded, “but I’ll be able to do it.”

“There’s no reason you won’t be able to,” She said. “Essence isn’t limited to what we think of the element. It’s purer than that. Once you understand—”

Jackal groaned. “No teaching, please. This is about Tibs learning swordplay.”

Carina blushed. “I can tell you more later.”

“I’d like that.” Quigly looked at Tibs. “How long can you make the blade?”

Tibs frowned. “Why would I want to make it longer? I want to learn how to use a short sword.”

“No, you don’t. You want to use the longest sword you can manage. The longer the reach, the safer you are. You were limited to a short one until now because of your shorter size and lower strength. At your height, you’d have to wear anything longer than a short sword on your back and that’s not useful if you need to draw it quickly. Carrying isn’t a problem anymore since you can just absorb it in your reserve. It’s weight… well, that’s what’s going to govern the length you can manage.”

Tibs felt the sword in his hand. “It doesn’t have any weight.” He extended the blade until the point pierced the wall next to the crate Jackal lounged on. He took a step back, and pulled the tip out, and nearly scalped Jackal as he maneuvered it. “Sorry.” He shortened it back to short sword length. How could he have been so thoughtless?

He glared at the sword. “Maybe this is a bad idea.”

“Well, something that long certainly isn’t a good idea for precision,” Quigly said pensively, “but being able to change the length like that. That’s quite an advantage, and with training, it’ll let you adapt to your opponent.” He grinned. “I hope that’s something I can do too.”

Tibs felt sick. He’d have an advantage when it came to hurting people? People trying to hurt him, he forced the thought. He wouldn’t initiate a fight, but Sebastian had shown him that there were people with whom offering comfort wouldn’t help. Then, what Tibs needed to do was keep them from hurting others. And that could require taking up arms and hurting them.

Tibs hated the idea.

He straightened and raised his blade. “How do we start?”

* * * * *

“I hate this,” He grumbled.

“Come on,” Jackal said before cheering at the man and woman fighting in the middle of the crowd. “Enjoy the show.”

“This isn’t a show, it’s two people needlessly hurting each other.” He hadn’t known the town had a fighting circle. It was clear Harry didn’t either, with his stance on fighting outside the training fields. If Tibs had known about it, he would have put a stop to it. He didn’t want his town to be a place where people hurt one another. The dungeon was hard enough on all of them. As soon as this exercise was over, he was putting a stop to it.

“There’s nothing needless about it, Tibs. That’s why I bought you here. It’s not pretty, but this is vital to our town’s survival, especially if you want to keep violent crimes to a minimum.”

“Don’t they get enough of fighting in the dungeon?” he demanded.

“What did I do when the dungeon was healing, Tibs?”

“You visited Kroseph’s family in MountainSea.” It was getting easier to move out of the now. And he wasn’t sure he liked it. There was a comfort in not worrying about what was coming, or what had happened before.

“And?”

Tibs sighed. “You nearly got yourself killed in the arena.”

“I wasn’t going to die. It doesn’t look good if a fighter dies outside of a deathmatch.”

“You weren’t in good shape when I reached you.”

Jackal smiled. “But I wasn’t dead, was I?”

“What’s your point?” He demanded in exasperation.

“I’m a violent man, Tibs. I’m not like you. I don’t accept that violence is something I need to do. I crave it. I rejoice in it. Yeah, the dungeon gives me an outlet for it, and it’s better than any of the fights I’ve been in, but I don’t get to visit it all that often.”

“You’ve fought here?”

Jackal nodded. “Who do you think started this?”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Tibs was loud enough silence fell. Even the fighting stopped and Tibs looked around, a mixture of embarrassment and anger at them. “How can you do this to one another? Didn’t Sebastian kill enough of us? Are you looking to do his work for him?”

“I’ve got this,” Jackal said as looks turned angry. “No one’s killing anyone here, Tibs.”

Tibs pointed to a man lying on a bench. His face bloody, an arm at an unnatural angle, his chest cut and bruised. “What do you call that?”

“Alive and in a fucking lot of pain.” He grinned. “But alive. He’ll get healed when it’s his team’s turn to go in the dungeon. Until then, he’s gotten the fight out of his system.”

“When Harry finds out, he’s—”

“Knuckles isn’t finding out, Tibs,” Jackal said, all levity gone. “We’re making damned sure of it.”

“But—” Tibs couldn’t find the words. How could Jackal think this was anything like a good idea? How could his friend set something up that hurt his town?

“Tibs, the guild pulled us out of cells. Every Runner here was a criminal of one sort or another. Us fighters? We were all in a cell because we hurt someone, and only a few of us did it because we didn’t have another choice. This last batch? You should hear what some of them did. If we don’t have something like this. We’re going to find other places to fight. This place has other fighters supervising the fights, our strongest ones, making sure no one goes too far. Only fists are allowed, no element. We settle scores, get the fight out of our systems, and have a good time.”

Tibs shook his head. “I can’t—” He turned and walked out.

* * * * *

Thump fell into steps with him and whined.

“You know,” Serba said. “I swear he’s more loyal to you than to me. Anytime he catches your scent, it’s all I can do to keep him at my side.”

“Go away.” He should have climbed a roof.

“My brother does mean well, you know?”

“He’s encouraging them to beat on each other. We’re supposed to help one another, not hurt.”

“He’s giving them an outlet.”

“We have the dungeon for that!”

“Not unless you can go in anytime you need to get your fists in someone’s face.”

He glared at her. “You fight in there?”

She shook her head. “I work off my frustration in other ways.” The smile she gave him told him how.

“I want the town to be a safe place.”

“The ring is part of that. My dogs need to be able to run and snap at one another, the thugs need to hit people.”

He sighed and looked at the sky. Torus was alone there at the moment. Maybe he felt as lonely as Tibs did. Or maybe he had the world to look down on. “I hate that I’m getting used to the fact that I have to let people be hurt.”

“You’re only getting used to that now? I thought you were street.”

He closed his eyes. A mix of frustration and sorrow. Normal reactions that felt so out of place in him at the moment. At least he didn’t need to lie to answer her. “I thought this place was going to be different.”

She squeezed his shoulder. “It’s one of the lessons this world teaches us. Doesn’t matter where you are. It sucks anyway.”

He nodded.

“You good?”

He snorted. “No. But that’s getting to be normal too.”