09

San awoke confused, he lay in a straw filled bed and the smell of woodsmoke and faint sickness filled his senses. He looked to the roof above him, still shrouded in darkness in the early morning, but clearly made of thatch and thick wooden beams. The room he was within was warm, but there was a chilly nip to the air.

He sat up, looking at the small one square foot window that was installed high in the wall. It wasn’t a glass window, but some kind of other material. San suspected it was horn, he remembered reading once that windows were made out of animal horn or oiled paper before glass became common place. He sat in a small room that was about eight feet by eight feet, more a cell than a place to rest. He stretched his arms and cracked his neck.

Two days had passed since he had arrived to the village, dragging the fourth man with him. He had caused quite the stir, people shouting, yelling, and guards handling him roughly. He hadn’t been killed, so that was a plus. His injuries had been cared for and there had only been a slight beating at the hands of a guard who had known the men he had fought. He had claimed he had set the monsters upon the men, that he was some kind of witch or demon.

For two days he had been a ‘guest’ within the hospital of the village. San thought of it as a hospital, it was a fairly large longhouse that held over three dozen people within it. From what he had overheard and what the old healer who treated him stated, the village he arrived at was renown for their healers. Most surrounding villages sent their truly ill for them to oversee and heal, such that they had a dedicated hospital from which to treat and care for their patients.

There was a knock on the door and it opened immediately, a short white haired woman entered. San glanced at the two armed men who stood by the door, his ‘protectors’ just in case another guard with family connections tried to attack him.

The old woman nodded to him, setting a tray with two bowls of barley porridge on a small table and setting herself down on the bench along the wall. San got up and sat on a small stool across from the woman, sliding a bowl toward himself.

“Good morning, San,” the woman said.

“Yeah, morning, Amara.”

“Sleep well?”

“No nightmares, no pain, just wondering when I can leave.”

“You heal very quickly,” the woman took out a wooden spoon and began digging into the porridge.

San did the same, taking out a stainless steel camp spoon he had carried with him. He preferred his porridge with milk and sugar, but the villages preferred theirs with a bitter herb and some kind of pickled vegetable. The meals were all the same in the last two days, barley porridge, but in the evening it was porridge with some jerky or meat chunks and a cup of sour beer.

On a brighter note, the village elders or leaders had returned most of his items. He had been stripped of everything, even taking his boxers and socks, to have one of their shaman look him over for signs of being a demon. Then the elders and others had dug through his pack and examined everything, there was much shock and wonder at the items, but from what San could tell, none of it had been stolen.

He was glad to have his sleeping bag back, the itchy woolen blanket they had given him hadn’t been enough to keep the small cold room comfortable. He also had to learn to use a chamber pot to do his business, one of his guards tasked with taking it out for him.

“Must be the food you serve,” San said, taking a spoonful of the porridge.

“So you keep saying,” the old woman said.

“How’s the kid?” San asked, as he had every time he met with the woman.

“Terrinath is doing fine. He will live and he will carry the scars of his stupidity for the rest of his days. Although, the scars he carries on his soul will take far longer to heal. It is not everyday one is abandoned to die by people who you thought were your friends.”

San nodded, thinking back on the poor kid that was left behind. He too had been left behind to die while the others had escaped, but for some reason, San realized he had no hard feelings about it.

“Savol, Hazani, and Nexion will be fine too.”

San nodded again. The first two names he recognized as the first and third men in the group. Nexion was the second man, the big man, the leader of the little group of scouts that had volunteered to see why smoke was coming from the Cursed City.

Rumor, even for one locked away as San, was everywhere. The four men had volunteered to scout out the smoke, then they had come back only half a day before San arrived. They claimed they were attacked by a Mage that sent monsters after them. They claimed, Terrinath, the fourth man, had died bravely and allowed them to escape.

They too were injured pretty badly. San had seen them momentarily before he was attacked by one of the guards. Nexion had long cuts on his chest, Savol had a broken arm, and Hazani was still reeling from a concussion and several deep cuts. The fact that they were all bloodied and beaten, nearly dead from hypothermia, while San was only injured from the spear thrust that Nexion had given him, had also fanned the flames that he was some kind of demon.

Even poor Terrinath had been nearly killed through fear and suspicion. The three men had claimed he died fighting, but the fact he was still alive, only caused more fear to fill the village. San didn’t judge them too harshly for their superstitions, there were literal monsters out there in the world. Creatures that could speak and capture souls, for all he knew there were some that would take the form of other people just to later kill them.

Mostly everything had been resolved when Terrinath could speak again, albeit barely. He told them that he had been left behind, that the Blessed Mother had come to him and rescued him. San had to chuckle at being called the Blessed Mother, apparently the forest tribes’ main diety.

“The headman and the Elders will meet today,” the woman said. “They will decide what to do next.”

San had met the headman, briefly. Enough for San to tell him that the Flesh Horror was dead and the villagers souls were freed from the Chief’s curse. The headman hadn’t said anything, but left rather quickly.

“Returning my sword and being set free will be enough,” San said, smiling.

“You have over turned many things, lies and old hard beliefs have been called into question,” the woman said. “You bring too much chaos, especially in this bitter winter.”

San ate his porridge. From what San heard in passing, food was scarce even with winter barely beginning. Harvests had been difficult for the last few years, the weather bad, too much rain or too little, the river occasionally running with foulness that killed the fish or poisoned the water. Game had become scarce, the migrating herds of deer had not come, stripping them of what was supposed to be a guaranteed source of meat and furs for the winter.

It was the hospital that was keeping everything together. Other villages sent food and supplies, to heal their sick and wounded. It was the healers that were keeping the people fed and alive. They were also the ones who kept San alive, who kept his gear safe, and whose support prevented him from being tied to a pole to die of exposure.

Terrinath was the head healer’s grandson. The old woman who sat before him, who shared a bowl of porridge with him because the guards would take it from him if he was alone. She was a soft power in the village and she used it to keep him safe.

Her reasons were in part for saving her grandson, but also because he was strange and carried strange things. He was a mystery to her and the old woman wanted to solve it.

“What should I expect from the Elders and headman?” San asked.

The old woman shrugged. “Tovano, the headman, was a great admirer of the Mage Chief. He fought alongside him in the Imperial Wars, sent his sons and daughters to fight for the Empire. Nexion, who you know, is his grandson and the last of the ones we sent South to fight. Four years ago he returned, after the news of the Mage Chief’s death.

“The issue is Nexion,” the woman said. “Many claim he is a great warrior and soldier, but there are others who claim he abandoned his men to die to save himself while fighting for the Empire. This issue with Terrinath only reinforces those rumors, casting one of our warriors into a bad light. He is a level 1 [Soldier].”

“He has a level?” San asked.

“Yes, some who went South gained levels in the wars. Those that survived anyway. That was where I met my husband,” the old woman smiled at the memory.

“You fought for the Empire?” San asked.

“I am a healer and always have been,” the woman said. “There are two ways to gain levels, one is through killing the unholy monsters that come into our world; and the other is through death. A lot of death. For every ten soldiers that die, the eleventh gains a level.”

San raised an eyebrow.

“Too many injured men and women came to my healing tent,” the old woman looked into the distance. “I could not save them all, so many died. From their deaths, I gained levels.”

“Is it a guaranteed thing?” San asked.

The old woman shook her head. “No. I knew a soldier who fought for the Empire for ten years, in many battles. Survived where other men did not, but he never gained a level. Some called him cursed, others unlucky. He eventually died from drinking too much. Could never understand why he lived and never gained a level.”

“Now your people don’t fight for the Empire,” San said.

The old woman snorted. “That is a good thing. Our people would have all died if they kept supporting the Empire with soldiers. We were fodder to them, allowed to charge heedlessly into battle with little weapons and gear. Just so we could die and the real soldiers would gain levels.”

“So how are you going to gain levels now?” San asked.

“The old ways; monster hunting,” she said. “The world is filled with horrid creatures from Beyond. They must be destroyed and when they are destroyed, one gains the mana gem from their heads. Gain enough and you gain levels. A lot less people die that way, and it is the skilled and careful that gain levels, not just the lucky.”

There was a knock on the door and it opened to reveal a young girl, around sixteen years of age. She carried a small tray with medical supplies.

“Mistress, it is time to change his dressing,” she said.

“Go ahead, child.”

The girl quickly cleaned and checked San’s wound. He was surprised to see that it was already healing, the days of strain he had put upon it fast fading. Pulling along a travois loaded with supplies and a half dead man had not done his injury any service.

“The unfairness of having levels,” the old woman said looking at his injuries. San raised another eyebrow. “You don’t fool me, boy. I know when someone has levels or not. If you did destroy the Flesh Horror, then you surely obtained its mana gem.”

“Perhaps,” San said.

“What is it you gained? Soldier? Warrior? Beast Slayer?” she asked.

“Brewer,” San replied.

The woman laughed. “Fine, keep it to yourself.”

The girl finished up, bowed to the old woman and quickly left. The woman watched her go, shaking her head.

“Poor child.”

“Seems like a good nurse,” San said.

“Indeed, she is a good healer in training. Knows what to do, does not panic, and has steady hands,” the old woman said. “But she will never gain a level and be truly great.”

“No wars?”

“Her blood,” the woman said. “When the Mage Chief died, the Pretender arose. He tried to gather up all the tribes again; Sofona’s father rallied to the Prentender. He fought for him and was eventually killed in the battle where the Pretender was captured by the High Chief. The Pretender was then tied to a pole and left to die. Many see her as a supporter of the Pretender, especially in this village.”

“She can’t leave?”

“To where?” the woman asked. “All the surrounding villages support the High Chief. She is destined to only be a shadow of what she could be.”

“The High Chief wouldn’t be Azalobana, would it?” San asked.

The woman laughed. “No. That foolish boy fled South when his grandfather died. Said he was going to learn as his grandfather did and return to slay the Flesh Horror. I guess someone’s gonna have to tell him not to bother.” She laughed again and finished her porridge.

“Do you know where he went?” San asked.

The old woman looked at him suspiciously. “Perhaps. But most is rumor and the South is a big place, the Empire even bigger. Why do you wish to know about the boy?”

San shrugged. “Just wondering.”

The old woman snorted. “Many say the sword in your possession was the one the Mage Chief carried. That you robbed his resting place of it,” the woman said.

“It was laying on a bed,” San said. “The dead don’t own anything, or so someone said.”

“And the book?”

“Just a little light reading,” San replied.

“Many say that it is a magical tome, although it appears to be blank.”

“This ‘many’ seems to be making a lot of unsubstantiated guesses,” San said.

The woman laughed again. “It is winter, child. There is naught but to gossip and weave during that time.” She stood up, groaning as she straightened her back. “Come, we shall meet with the Elders and headman.”

“Now?” San asked.

“Do you have other plans?” the woman asked.

***

The village was called Forest River, as it lay beside a river and sat on the edge of the forest. It was what San would have imagined a typical medieval village would look like, the houses were small thatched huts, there was a stout eight foot wooden fence surrounding the village, and beyond that lay miles of winter fallow fields and irrigation canals.

San didn’t know much about the history of the land, but even to this day there was a low-key state of war due to the death of the Mage Chief. The walls were newer, created within the last couple of years. From what the old woman said, occasional raiding parties from other non-affiliated villages would come. The Pretender had spent two years fighting for control over the tribes against the High Chief, and now three years later, the High Chief was finding it difficult to subdue the Pretender’s followers. Leaving him to die of exposure, tied to a pole, was a punishment only given to those that were considered evil.

The thought was only reinforced when San caught sight of a figure who was tied to a thick wooden post. He was raised nearly eight feet off the ground, thick bands of ropes around his legs, hips, and wrist. He was also naked and San could see much of his body was already frost bitten.

“Demon worshipers,” the old woman said. ‘They come out in the winter, seeking blood and flesh.” She spat in the figure’s direction. The dying man’s head lifted up slightly, his unfocused gaze locking upon San’s. He began laughing, his lips cracking and bleeding.

“Why blood and flesh?” San asked.

“There is ancient magic in blood, cursed magic. Only those evil use such magic. And the flesh? Because they’re hungry.” The woman chuckled and continued walking through the village.

San watched as a group of children began throwing stones at the dying man. They laughed and spat at him, before running off.

The main longhouse was much bigger than the hospital, but built in the same manner. It was timber structure, made of thick logs and two stories. He saw actual chimneys rising from it and when he entered he was surprised to see polished wooden floor boards and brightly colored rugs. The main room was warm and light shone in from many small windows high on the walls.

San had to remove his cloak, boots, and wash his feet with a damp cloth before entering. It was a strange ritual, but even the old woman did it. The guards who had been shadowing them, stayed by the entrance, spears and shields ready.

“A headwoman twenty five years back built this,” the woman said. “She fell in love with Imperial buildings, had all these crazy ideas that turned out okay. At least we have the best longhouse of all the surrounding villages. Makes us very proud, even the Mage Chief spent several nights here, claimed it was better than his own keep.”

The village Elders turned out to be exactly that. A group of seven old men and woman who sat on cushions and low seats. They were all grey or white haired, slightly hunched, and most of them were knitting or spinning yarn.

A younger man, relatively speaking, with some red in his grey hair sat in the center of them. He was the headman.

“San the Foreigner,” he said.

“San King,” San replied.

“What?”

“That’s my name. Or to be more accurate, Sanjay Elias King,” he said.

The headman frowned and San figured he might have pushed it a little too far. “San the Foreigner,”the man said. “We, the Elders of the Forest River village, have decided your fate.” San stood silently as the Elders stopped what they were doing and peered at him. “The Mage Chief was a powerful man, great in his power. There is no denying that, but like all men who seek power, it corrupted him. He was the forest tribes’ greatest Mage, but he was also our greatest downfall.

“The Flesh Horror killed hundreds, it destroyed our greatest works and sent the tribes back on the path of war when there had been only peace between our villages for nearly forty years.”

“Many were sent to defeat the monster,” an old woman spoke. “Scores of warriors with levels and power gained from the Imperial wars. They did not come back.”

“You must be one hell of a warrior,” another old man said. He grinned at San, his eyes nearly swallowed by his wrinkled face.

“I am just a man,” San said.

“Who claims to have defeated the Flesh Horror,” the headman continued. “Who carries the Sword of the Mage Chief and who bears his magical tome.”

“Who also returned my grandson that was abandoned,” the head healer added.

Annoyance crossed the headman’s face, but he did not say anything. A chuckle rose from the old man who had grinned at San.

“We have sent more experienced scouts to the Cursed City,” the headman said. “What you speak appears to be true, the Flesh Horror is gone, the village and keep burned, and the animals that once avoided the place have now returned. There were sightings of deer in the forest once again.”

“The Curse of the Mage Chief might be lifted,” a different old man said. “Many years we have suffered from it, wars, disease, and bad harvests.”

“Nothing remains of the Rippers,” a woman spoke. “The creatures that had wounded our boys so.”

“Sightings of a horned wolf were reported,” another man said. “Bad tidings.”

“How so?” San asked.

The old man looked at San, his eyes squinted. “The Rippers are beasts from Beyond. If those foolish boys had been in the right mind, they would have harvested the mana gems from them. The Rippers are not great monsters, but ten of their gems would have made any man, woman, or child gain levels. Instead they ran like children. If the horned wolf has consumed the Rippers bodies, then it shall also have consumed the mana gems.”

“They work upon animals too?” San asked, surprised.

“All life is changed by the mana gems,” the man said. “Already the horned wolf is a dangerous animal, it is intelligent and solitary, if it has consumed the gems, then it shall be even more of a danger.”

“I pledged my spear to the Mage Chief,” the headman said. “When I was younger, I fought with him in the Imperial Wars.”

“We all did,” an old woman interrupted, causing another glare of annoyance from the headman.

“No one denies the power of the Mage Chief, nor that he ruled this land. But great men still fall and the void he left behind had to be filled. I still owe my allegiance to the man, not the idea of the man or his title, but the man himself. He saved my life many times.

“The High Chief rules this land now. He has placed a bounty upon the Flesh Horror, to give lands, cattle, horses, and weapons of iron to any who would kill the monster.”

The headman was silent for a long moment, eyeing San. San didn’t know what to think, he neither wanted nor cared for land and cattle. Mary might have, she always loved the idea of raising animals and the life on a farm. He had always preferred cities, the ease and accessibility to everything made life far more enjoyable.

“That’s an impressive bounty,” San said. “But I do not wish for any of it.”

“We weren’t going to give it to you anyway,” an old woman cackled, causing another look of annoyance from the headman.

“Oh.”

“You have shamed us all,” the grinning old man stated. “We, who proclaim honor and dignity above all else, have been brought low by your actions. We, who since the days of my grandfather’s grandfather, claimed we were the most honorable and bravest among the tribes have been shown our own lies.” The old man laughed and some others joined him. “The folly of our pride and cowardice has been shown to all.”

The headman was fuming, but he said nothing as the Elders spoke.

“The scouts that were sent,” another old woman said, “their lies have been exposed. They abandoned one of our own, to die of exposure like some cursed criminal. You say Nexion attacked you, we have seen the injury and have spoken to the healers. It is an injury that will heal and one that wasn’t meant to cripple, but to disable.”

“Doubly shameful,” the grinning old man said. “That our brave warriors would act in such a manner.”

“All deeds, good and ill, are done on the battlefield,” the headman said. “We all know this.”

“To leave men behind to be killed by the Creatures from Beyond, even such actions were never taken by the Imperials,” an old man said. “You have heard the stories, that those the Rippers do not kill, they turn into one of their own. Their souls cursed forevermore.”

Silence fell among the Elders as they mulled over the words.

“Your fate is your own,” the headman said finally. “You shall be allowed passage from our village, a token given to you to show that you are not to be harmed by the others who have pledged their spears to the High Chief. You will go south, following the Trade Road, and out of our lands, never to return.”

“We seek to send you away, after your great deed,” the grinning man said. “To hide our shame and protect our false honor.”

“Enough,” the headman snapped at the old man.

“Do you wish to hear the lies we have woven to protect our village’s honor and that of foolish boys?” an old woman asked.

“Sure,” San replied.

“You are not the Mage that attacked our boys. You are but a foreign adventurer, who got lost. The Flesh Horror was defeated by our brave boys, where they discovered it had been injured in battle against this Mage. Terrinath was not abandoned, but was captured by the Rippers, to be turned into one of them. You saved him, the Blessed Mother look favorably upon you, and brought him back to the village.”

“Great gifts will be heaped upon those boys,” the grinning man said. “They shall be sung as heroes who have lifted the Curse. They shall bring much honor and supplies to our beleaguered village. Nexion shall gain great wealth and those that share his blood will benefit from it.”

The headman turned purple with barely contained rage. Yet he did not speak.

“It is only because of the healers that you have not been killed,” an old woman stated. “You have saved Terrinath, foolish as he might be, he is still the head healer’s grandson and that life is worth much.”

“You’ll be given supplies, better gear, to head south. Ten days of travel in the spring will be twenty days in the winter, there you will find the Blackened Bridge. Seven days travel from there is the Barony city of White Tower.”

“Do you have a map?” San asked.

The Elders laughed. “Follow the Trade Road. Do not deviate from it, it shall lead you where you need to go.”

“My sword and book?” San asked.

“The Cursed City was burned by the Mage, there was nothing salvageable from it. Although the boys defeated the Flesh Horror, the Mage was powerful and forced them away by sending Rippers after them. They could not obtain the mana gem from the beast,” the grinning man said. “You are a rich adventurer, rich enough to afford an enchanted sword.”

“I am free to go, then?” San asked.

“As free as any bird,” the old man said.

“You shall never return,” the headman added.

“No problem.”

A pair of women in robes entered from a side door. They carried a bundle each. The first woman set it down and unwrapped the cloth, within it was the broadsword within its sheath. Beside it was the tome of the Mage Chief.

The second bundle was the rest of his weapons. The bear mace, the revolver, the broken spear, and short sword he had found, along with the knives, saw, and other tools he had in his pack.

“Your tools and weapons are impressive,” an old man stated. “You carry a pistol like those of the Imperial nobility. If our honor had not been stained so much, we would have relieved you of the weapon. It is not often the Imperials relinquish their hold on gunpowder weapons.”

San raised an eyebrow at the words. They knew about gunpowder? He stilled his face, not showing any surprise. So much for introducing gunpowder and getting filthy rich off of it, he mused.

“Thank you,” San said.

“We should be the ones thanking you instead,” the grinning man said. “There are few honorable warriors in this new generation, boys like Nexion have only been scarred by war. The vicious southern fighting for control of the Empire has only turned to cruelty and bloodletting, not honor and righteousness.

“You have lifted our curse and we cast you aside. We hold onto lies because our morale is so weak now, we heap praises on thieves and backstabbers because we cannot even face our own shame. I thank you, Sanjay Elias King.”

“You honor me too much,” San said. “I only did what was necessary, the souls of the villagers needed to be freed. No one should suffer that existence.”

“Only if we were not so weak and corrupted, we would have you among us,” the grinning man said. “My sister and her entire family lived in the Cursed City, they all died there, taken by the Flesh Horror. You have my eternal gratitude, son. Let no man ever question your honor.”

The old man bowed his head. He was soon joined by the rest of the Elders, although the headman only glared at them and then at San.

The healer tugged at his sleeve and they got to their feet. The women who had brought in his weapons, rewrapped them, and then followed them out of the longhouse.

The cold winter air hit San. There was a breeze and he took it in, a smile forming on his lips.

“That went well,” the healer said.

San nodded and they returned to the hospital. As he passed the tied up man, San shivered as the man’s crazed eyes latched on him again. The dying man laughed as he stared with unblinking eyes.

***

The Elders and headman were true to their word. San received supplies and new clothing during the remainder of the day. He still had his tattered clothes, but the oiled leather and fur of the winter clothing he had been given was far better.

“Terrinath’s father,” the healer said, “married my daughter. He is a good leather worker, made those for you himself. He will gain far more riches now that the foolish boy is considered a hero.”

“It is fine,” San said.

“Not many would say such a thing. Power infects all mankind, to be Known is sought by all. Even I wanted to be known as the greatest healer among the forest tribes.”

“Aren’t you though?”

“Of course,” the woman smiled. “But it is due to years of work and so much death. It is one thing that those who only dream of power never realize, power can only be obtained through death and misery.”

San nodded as he loaded his pack. It was bulging now, more food and some clothing had been added. He had packed heavy before, but now it was almost comical in the amount of gear he had with him. The old healer had even supplemented his first aid kit, after she found out what it was. There was even a small packet of catgut for stitches.

The fact that he could carry far more than he used to didn’t escape his notice. He had been moving easily with his loaded pack during the fight against the rippers and he had been surprised at how light Terrinath and the load he carried were. Of course, over the hours of lugging him around it became nearly unbearable.

“When you leave in the morning, do not stop or rest until night has fallen completely,” the woman said.

“You suspect there will be trouble?” San asked.

“Always. You carry great wealth and you have shamed too many already. Many claim their honor can only be assuaged through killing.”

The old woman’s words stayed with him when he slept. He felt he should have been more angry, more outraged, but he wasn’t. Although the village seemed like a nice place to live, he did not want to spend his remaining days there. Not when there were supposed great cities to the South and peoples he had yet to meet.

Exploration and seeing new things had always been a part of him. It had only grown since he arrived to this world. It was one thing that Mary and he shared, the joy of exploring new trails and places. Now he could explore a whole new world, by himself.

Sleep was uneasy and San awoke before dawn. There was a hint of morning light entering the small window. Enough for San to pack his belongings and ready himself for the journey.

The winter clothing was impressive, warm and well fitted. He still wore his normal clothing underneath, but Terrinath’s father’s work was very good.

The old healer was awake also. She watched as he exited his room, the guards had left the day before. Now that the citizens of Forest River had swallowed the new truth of their situation, they hadn’t any anger or rage toward him. He was free to go and it would be a relief for many when he did.

“Safe travels, San,” the old woman said. She dug into her robes and pulled out a small bag. She handed it to him and San felt the clinking of coins. “For your travels. I have not much need for Imperial coins, but it is still useful in the Barony Lands and beyond. Other villages will take the coin also.”

San looked down at the small pouch of coins, he tucked it under his coat and into one of his jacket pockets. He dug around for a bit and then pulled out a small plastic sandwich bag.

“Here,” San gave the woman the bag. “For your help and healing.”

The woman gasped as she looked into the bag and ten small green mana gems reflected in the soft lamp light. “Why?” she asked.

“You are kind and you helped me. Give it to the girl, the other healer. The world needs more healers and skilled ones at that.”

Tears glinted in the woman’s eyes as she hugged San tightly. “Blessed Mother watch over you.”

San smiled and left the hospital. The morning air was bitterly cold, but he took a deep breath and headed for the gates. The dying man had been removed from the post, exposure having taken him before nightfall. San had heard the corpse had been burned and the bones would be ground up and tossed away from the village and fields. No one wanted his evil to spoil the hallowed-ness of the village.

Guards were at the gate as he reached it, they peered at him and then at the large ornate badge he wore. The token the headman had mention was a giant colorful prize ribbon. It was stitched with colorful material, beadwork, and even some silver metal that made it glint in the morning light. The gaudiness of the ribbons was to allow people at a distance to recognize what it was. San hoped it worked and that the first person he met outside of the village wasn’t going to kill him.

There were other people already leaving the village, early morning hunters, woodsmen, and other workers who would be laboring around the village. He joined the small crowd, noting the looks and stares he received from the others. No one stood near him, but no one attacked him either, so San was pleased.

The Trade Road was easy to follow, a slightly raised roadbed that snaked away from the village and headed south. He could see more forests and occasionally the glitter of light off of the river he was to follow.

San glanced back at the village and then hefted his pack. The world was waiting and he was eager to see what lay beyond the horizon.

***

Wolfram was no where to be seen. San couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sadness at the wolf ram leaving. He had spent nearly three days within the village, it was far too long for a creature to wait around for its meal to come back out. It was better this way; he would not be able to explain why he was traveling with a dangerous animal that had consumed many ripper mana gems.

He thought back on the camp they had come across, the abandoned boy, and the dead rippers. He had wondered if they were the same as the Flesh Horror, if they were considered monsters from the Void. It turned out they did have mana gems in their bodies and San had spent some time removing them. A dozen bodies, a dozen mana gems.

He could have kept the gems, used them on himself. But what was the point? What would a level two Brewer do? The Sanitize spell was helpful, but truthfully San would be able to sanitize things without it. The power only made it easier, it wasn’t something that he couldn’t do without. Although he did enjoy the extra strength and stamina he had.

Amara, the healer, would have better use of it. Her young apprentice would make a fine healer and that would be a benefit to the entire village. San was content with his decision.

It was around noon when San realized he was being followed. He was no great tracker, but he did spot a figure in the distance as he crested a hill. When he looked again, the figure was gone. He walked a few more hours until he came to a T-junction in the road, with a small stone hut that was partially collapsed close to the river.

San settled down in the leeward side of the hut, took out his camp stove and boiled some water to make tea. He ate some hard travel biscuits and jerky that he had been given and waited.

It wasn’t long before a figure arrived along the road. They stopped as they saw him and then marched forward.

The stern face of Nexion glared down at him as he approached. He carried his spear and shield, also armed with a short sword and a club. San set the revolver down on the stones beside him, watching the man.

“Nice day for a walk,” San said as the man stopped twenty feet from him.

“San the Foreigner, I have come to challenge you to single combat!” Nexion declared.

San turned off the camp stove and sprinkled the dried tea leaves into the steel cup. “Why?” he asked.

“You have besmirched my honor!” he cried.

“I think you did that yourself,” San replied.

Anger clouded the man’s face as his grip tightened on his spear. “You do not know anything about war,” he said.

“Only what I watched on TV.”

“I did not abandon Terrinath lightly, I did it to save the others. He was going to die. You must be willing to sacrifice one to save others.”

“I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear that when he wakes up,” San said, sipping at the tea. It was a more bitter variety than the one he had found in the camp. Amara claimed it was good for traveling, providing energy and warmth for hours. San enjoyed it, wondering if he could make some Kombucha out of it.

“Fight me, foreigner!” Nexion yelled. “Fight me!”

“If you want to kill me, then go ahead,” San said. “I told you before, I am not afraid to die. I once wished to die; I sought it and was prepared to kill myself, but things change. I don’t want to die, but I do not fear it.” San looked at the man. “Killing yourself will solve none of your problems.”

The spear trembled in the man’s hand. His expression went slack for a moment and then tightened back up.

“I came here to kill you,” Nexion declared.

“You came here to die. The shame and guilt you carry brought you here, to die at my hands,” San replied. “I can see the signs, I can see your own emotions tearing you up on the inside. Past trauma and current deeds flowing together, poisoning your mind until the only solution you can think of is death.”

“You know nothing,” the man whispered.

‘Was it during the Imperial wars?” San asked. “Were you forced to leave men behind to save yourself?”

“Silence,” Nexion hissed.

“The greatest burden is surviving,” San said. “When those you love die, when those you promised to protect perish, then living on is a painful burden. Your death or my death will not erase what you feel. It is etched into your soul and you will have to carry it for the rest of your life and maybe beyond.”

“How then?” Nexion asked, his spear shaking. “How do I overcome it?”

“You don’t,” San replied. “You live with it, you carry it, and maybe one day it will lightened or you will get used to it. Terrinath will live, I am healed. Life goes on.”

“They call me a hero, when I am not,”

“Then that is your punishment, for stabbing me, for leaving me to die,” San said. “Bear it. Beg Terrinath for forgiveness and go on with your life.”

The big man seemed to deflate, his spear drooping and his shield hanging from his hand.

“Come. Sit. Have some tea,” San said, turning on the camp stove again. He pocketed the revolver and began heating some water.