Vignette- Under the Sea Lake

Caleb moved the wooden rake through the loose soil of the lakebed. Throwing the silted earth up in swirls and floating clouds. It wasn’t precisely necessary, the gentle flow of the lake waters threw up enough to keep the clams fed. But then, wild grapes grew uncultivated in the old world, they didn’t make the best wine.

His clams were the best pearl producers in the lake. That didn’t happen by not doing every optional step. Besides, the clams liked it. The constant low level mirages they created kept the carnivorous wild life away so that was worth a lot. He placed his tongue against the roof of his mouth and thocked. He listened to the echo, both physical and mystic, as it was transformed into a mental image of the nearby area. Yet another benefit of his long term modifications. The ‘gillman special’ as they were called. Gills to breathe underwater, webbed and extended fingers and toes, and a short range sonar. It took some getting used to, but the underwater world it opened up was worth it.

A cluster of piranha’s near the edge of his perception, well outside the mirage borders. No threat there. The only thing swimming close to him was his pet, Octword. His second line of defense against unfriendly visitors. Man’s new best friend, in his opinion. Freshwater octopi were gentle souls, feeding on the detritus of aquatic life, the hoover vacuum cleaners of the lake and river bottoms. Shredded flesh and blood? They’ll eat it! Algie and growing mold? Yum. Just so long as it had been shredded up sufficiently they would eat nearly anything. And surrounded and protected by a constant shroud of ink oil they were left alone by even the most vicious predators. An impressive claim considering the kinds of scary shit that infested these waters.

They weren’t hard to tame. Treat them well, play with them regularly, make sure they’re well fed and you’ve a friend for life. At something like 8 feet from mantle to tentacle tips Octword did take a bit of feeding, but he was worth every pound of it. Most harvesting squads moved in groups. Five to fifteen ready and willing to fight off the piranhas, arapaima, catfish, riversharks and whatever new ungodliness the waters threw up. Caleb managed it alone. He didn’t have to force his clams to give up soul pearls, he coaxed them into it. He didn’t constantly fight the swarms, he slid through or around them in a cloud of ink oil. All it took was not being a dick. Was that such a hard thing?

He shook his head, throwing off the familiar complaint. He finished stirring up the portion of the bed he had set for himself today and pulled a wood metal torpedo shaped buoy from a tether. It was a carefully balanced buoy, as close to neutral as Caleb could make it. With a bit of will it would float at whatever depth it was set to. Underwater sled and extended backpack in one. He undid the complicated latches, Octword was rather clever with his tentacles, and pulled out a burlap sack of finley mulched tiered leopard. ‘Chameleon Cats’ they called them, and landers claimed his home was dangerous! In far less demand than Hog meat it was plentiful and affordable at less than a tenth the price.

The first handful went to the suddenly present octopod. That and a good few minutes of scritches for his mantle and he was begrudgingly permitted to spread the slop to his king clams. The largest and oldest he could find, they gave him a Soul Pearl when he first achieved their friendship. That was the better part of 4 years prior and it might be another year or so before another was ready, but he was hopeful. The lesser variants could be harvested every other year. Sure they were a bit smaller that way, but still beautiful and enchantable. Soul Pearls were also worth over 50 times as much. That value was tied to their size though. With time they would layer nacre in delicate layers over a bit of grit. Growing the pearl in size day by day, month by month. Each extra layer improved both the utility as a confusion or trapping foci and the price it would command .

That was a wild pearl from what an old powerful clam could dredge up on its own. Well fed with potent meat and with constant care what would they produce? He was really counting on the coming harvest. Years worth of work coming to fruition and he’d been living decidedly austere to manage it. The income from his initial sale had made him wealthy but five years of dumping that wealth back into his clams had fixed that.

He paused, twisting his neck to check the area. There was the edge of a buzz in his senses… It felt almost familiar but he couldn’t put his finger on it. A soft cloth on his normally acute awareness. He didn’t like it! He placed his tongue against the roof of his mouth again and … stopped.

Familiar.

A thock would paint the area, but he wasn’t the only thing that could listen. Not a bad thing if he wanted to scare away a danger, but…

It just might be…

With careful, silent movements he put away the mostly empty sack and sealed the torpedo buoy. Pulling a cord around his neck up from under his shirt he placed a beautifully carved reed whistle between his lips. Sometimes landers called it a siren’s call, the preferred focus for underwater work. It was made from a hollow lakeside reed with a colorful survival strategy. Tall, slender and prone to growing in intertwined thickets, they offered ready-made shelter and plentiful hunting. Until the wind blew through the woodwind orchestra of the damned. Sonic overtones rose in a discordant cacophony to break minds and destroy sanity. Minds whose bodies then fed the reeds and baited in a new group of inhabitants to start the cycle over again. A standard sample of the world's vegetation. Enjoy eating it, it would return the favor.

His hands flicked through a series of precise shapes and poses, priming the focus between his lips, filling its delicately carved channels with mana and the directed intent that turned a simple note into a deadly attack. He held it in the corner of his mouth, open and not pursed yet.

Thock!

He let the pulse out, watching like a heron.

There!

The whistle snapped into position and he blew a jet of water through it.

It hadn’t been much, just an eddy that formed without a reason. But he knew these waters. Knew their flows and twists like the back of his webbed hands. It didn’t belong there.

The focused shriek reached out and struck an empty bit of water, then a massive fish faded into view. Scales that were no longer reflecting the dim aquatic light just so could not hide its massive bulk. A concept required a working mind. Even one as simple as purity. Pure like the water, pure enough not to leave a scent, purely impossible to find. Or at least close to it. A Tambaqui, nearly 10 feet long and a thousand pounds of the best tasting fish in these waters.

Its simple concept applied to more than just hiding, the remnants of it stayed in its meat. Purifying the taste and, if prepared correctly, purifying the body of the eater. All that leftover residual intent from high tier beast meat could be broken loose with a simple meal instead days or weeks of focused effort.

It was no surprise that it’s flesh was solid gold on the market. IF he could manage to keep it.

His feet flicked, elongated toes spreading the webbing as wide as possible as he darted through the waves faster than an olympic swimmer. Even under water a thousand pounds was no joke, and he was beyond the protective range of both clams and Octword. It was going to be tight. He popped his lips repeatedly, in a summons for the octopus, but until he arrived Caleb would have to defend his catch solo. Already he saw distant piranha’s scenting the water, no Arapaima, thank whatever gods that be. His fingers fluted and snapped into new alignments as he began a slow fluting song on the flute. A piece of Octwords shed skin protected him from the spell, but just in case he specified the area with a few gestures and began to fill the surroundings with subharmonic reverberations.

Not enough to kill, that would cost more mana that he might need later, but enough to destroy the fish's sense of balance and their ability to tell up from down. Most would instinctively flee. Any that didn’t he would have to waste mana on. He just had to hold for a half minute. Octword knew the signals and knew the tasty treat that was his reward for a quick response. The offall from the fish beside him would more than fill the bill. If he could just hold on they would both eat like kings tonight. And the following nights for a couple months. The first stirring of a swarm began to form. Individual piranha's signalling their brethren to come even as they flinched away from the sonic zone.

One, floundering a bit in panic, didn’t choose to go back, half circling and twitching it tried to force its way through. Caleb's hands switched positions and he blew a sudden high note, reverberating a bit painfully even in his own ears, the piranha in the heart of the focused blast died instantly and his brethren outside the zone flinched and convulsed in agony.

A warning and a bluff. Just to make them hesitate. He couldn’t afford many more. He was already down a third of his available mana. It would take hours of relaxation and some food to recover already. Hours he might not have. Everything rotted quickly and as a concept purity once tainted with rot was no longer pure. The swarm recovered and his heart sank as they gathered head to tail, fin to fin, in the dense cloud of a feeding frenzy. Where one failed, many would succeed. They would rush him soon. Not even pain and agony could overcome the tantalizing allure of Tambaqui.

But they hadn’t started the unstoppable charge yet and a thin cloud of oil was rising about his feet, soon he would be hidden in both sight and scent. NOW! His hands switched positions and he released a high pitched warble, punching the sonic zone to a much greater size and potency. A massive dose of confusion and disequilibration. More precious mana, but he didn’t have a choice.

Piranha’s didn’t bother with octopi because they weren’t worth the effort. But enough of them together certainly had the ability to disperse the oil cloud with jets of water. He had to break contact now, and damn the cost. They weren’t that bright, just so long as no higher tiered beast led them and his people culled such as soon as they evolved, if they didn’t see him hide in the cloud they likely wouldn’t make the connection. Or at least it would take them longer to do so. Long enough to make the safety of the clam’s mirages!

He slid a long thin cord through the mammoth creature's gills and out its mouth, still instinctively breathing without a mind to control it. Not for much longer though. Tying off the cable he began to swim downwards, dragging the fish behind him. Two tentacles slid up past him and suckers attached themselves as additional tow ropes. Damn he had a good pet! He was no green Guardian with old world muscles, but a thousand pounds was still an awkward burden even for the both of them.

But they succeeded! He released a jet of held water from his mouth in excitment. They did it! He flicked his hands through the disarm, tucked the whistle away and darted down to pet the hell out of Octword. Who's a good octopus? That's right. You are! So very good! A minute of scritches later he pulled away regretfully. There would be more time for that later. He reached into his pouch again for a small bottle of fish flakes, opening it he flushed the resultant wet mess in a haze of glitter. A reward for Octword to tide him over until the tambaqui was properly filleted and the offall could be removed.

He picked out his favorite king clam for the privilege of being the slaughtering site. The offal was Octwords, but simply filleting the fish here would make a mess. Fish scales, blood, skin. All of it a prize for the clam beneath him. Waste not, want not and all that.

Tying the fish down with a series of tethers, he pulled the filleting knife from a sheath at the small of his back. He breathed in deeply through his gills then formed a series of complex gestures with his left hand. The preservation spell was a requirement for any halfway decent hunter. Meat went off far too quickly without it, even in the landers world above. Down here? Snowballs and hell came to mind. But a thousand pounds of meat after a full day's work and a fight, brief as it had been, was not going to be fun.

This was going to be a long evening.

Chapter 3

The door closed behind him as he paused, briefly, to pulse the privacy wards to full. He loved her dearly, but there was no way his Ma was going to forgo the use of her son's name.

“Welcome home Timothy, still in one piece I see. One fragrant piece in fact.” She raised an eyebrow in half disappointment.

“Give me a break Ma, I just got in and if I’d missed dinner for a bath you'd have given me hell.”

The dull rumble of his Da’s laughter as he stepped in from the living room stopped any rejoinder she might have offered. “You would’ve too, love. Let him be, a bit of honest sweat is hardly going to put me off my appetite.”

Regi’s equally massive frame followed him into the dining room, “Not sure the second coming could do that Da.” Timothy always expected the floor to quake and rumble when the two of them walked into a room together, even if it was over 10 feet of solid essence stone. It wasn’t going to rumble for anything less than an earthquake, but the childish image in his head, of the two mountains of his much older brother and da able to hold up the very sky, was difficult to change.

Da crossed his hands over his heart, glancing back over his shoulder in comically feigned shock. “And you me own flesh and blood? For shame!”

James followed them both in, a decently sized man who had put on a great deal of heavy muscle recently. He still looked deceptively puny by comparison. After failing to take advantage of the tutorial Timothy had long worried about his youngest brother, but that worry was finally dissipating. With hard work and study he was well on the way up the ladder of Guardians. Timothy was surprised to see him actually, last he heard James had joined a team of prairie harvesters at threshold Dorado a good 20 miles to the south, south east. He offered a wry grin to Timothy but with a significant glance at Regi and Pa he didn’t say anything.

“A bit of the ol’ pot calling the kettle too.” Ma remarked with an angelic smile.

“It’s true. Look what your cooking has done to us Ma.” Hamming it up, Regi pulled a bodybuilder's overhead flex. Pulled it off quite well at that. Da had been a mountain of a man in the old world, and Regi a chip off the old block… if by chip you meant bigger than the original. But a steady diet of higher Tier Hog meat had exaggerated the issue enough that the door frames around the hold we're getting more than a bit tight.

“Alright, alright, enough of your blarney. Have a seat, dinner’ll be out in a jiffy.”

“Bit light aren't we? Where’s Lissette Regi? Are Jenney or Marry going to be joining us?”

There were a few moments of awkward silence as Ma avoided his eyes, bustling about to put a series of lidded pots and trays on the table. Da hesitated, but in the end spoke with a grimace. “Your eldest sister doesn’t leave her garden anymore, Timothy. You’ll drop in and speak with her won’t you?” The command, for all it was politely phrased, was not something Timothy was looking forward to, but he did need to try. Sometimes it even felt like it helped.

Trying to salvage the mood Regi piped up,“Lissette’s in Paradise to visit her folks with the littles. She’ll be back in a couple days. I’ll make sure she knows you asked.” He paused for a second and grinned. “I’ll even pretend you asked for the pleasure of her company and not of her table!”

It was a fair point. “Do I have to pick one over the other?”

Regi snorted in good humor. Timothy noticed no one bothered to mention Marry. Her frequent excuses were beyond ridiculous at the best of times. For a while it was good for a joke. What new silliness had she come up with this time? Like celebrating the six month anniversary of little William learning to walk, or little Margarets first tea party! It was always something and even a good joke gets stale when constantly retold. Timothy had long suspected the real reason was Ma. She wouldn’t tolerate the fits his niece and nephews were prone to throw. After raising five of her own successfully, well four at least, she had no compunction about offering advice and instructions to her daughter. Any sympathy Timothy might have had, putting up with Ma's overwhelming personality could be difficult, was long since lost considering the hash Marry was making of them.

They sat down, and Timothy had a moment of sympathy for the chairs. He had long since replaced the simple wood with condensed hardwood soaked in strengthening potions, more as a practical joke then because it was needed. They still creaked and groaned as they took his father and brothers full weight.

She didn’t cause a groan but even ma was partaking and no longer shorter than him. A sad day indeed. Bad enough to have a family that towered over him, but to no longer have anyone to tower over in turn? Terrible!

He shook off the silly mood and gratefully snagged the pot from Ma’s hands. The food had been good last night, but it didn’t make up for a week of half burnt meat skewers over a campfire. When they could risk a campfire! The cold trail rations were energy dense and deeply nutritious, but hardly something you wanted to eat on a regular basis. Tomorrow, he promised himself, he would be back to raw vegetables and tiny amounts of meat. But today? Today he had colcannon!

In Mountainview Hold there were nearly alpine meadows that sprouted potatoes. If you didn’t mind multi colored ‘potatoes’ that grew in odd bunches. Perhaps in defiance of expectations, they were not as large as his head. More like half a fist. Jenney claimed they were huge for their species, a ‘wild’ potato rather than the specially bred russets or yellows he was used to. Being on the smaller size they seemed to grow quite quickly. Especially as there were draconian requirements for harvesting. Always replant, or else. It was an expensive and valuable food crop. Like most starches it took up a considerable amount of land to grow, and that made it expensive. An expense Timothy was more than happy to pay for, at least for a special occasion. Then again his logic was a bit circular. It was Colcannon with family, that was special occasion enough.

It was the smell of home.

Very little talking occurred for a time, aside from ‘please pass the - ‘ or occasionally ‘would you like another slice of pork?’ Still, in time even good things must end. Topped off they leaned back and began to interrogate Timothy.

“-more than a few high tier two passels of hogs. No way that many live in the same place without a chief of chiefs to hold down the dominance fights.” Timothy obediently explained.

“A Tier 3 then.” Da said with a sigh.

“At least. Could be mid or high Tier 3 for all we know. My next few weeks are going to be a bit hurried while I track it down. Brother Father, you might be needed sooner rather than later.” He ducked the leftover piece of mashed potato Regi chucked his way, snickering. Rune Father was bad enough. But Brotherhood Father? Ridiculous. There was a reason Regi preferred more formality to less. Father of the Brotherhood was wordy, but a bit less ridiculous. It also bypassed the confusion from having both his father and his brother in the room.

Damn silly ass titles.

“Forget it, I shouldn’t expect anything else out of the man who made laser spatulas. You have no skill at naming.”

“Hey!” He wasn’t that bad… was he?

Regi ignored him, “Back on topic, I’m already feeling a might stretched. The continual support of the Thresholds we have is taking a lot out of me. I’m really hoping the up and coming pathfinders can take some of the load.” Frowning, Timothy dropped his sight back into the magic field. It was obvious once he disregarded privacy and bothered to look. The mana bonds that made up his particular magic discipline were noticeably strained. Not damaged, not yet. But like muscles after a very heavy work out, they needed a rest. If they got it then they would come back all the stronger. But if they didn’t get that rest… keep pushing past a certain point and you went backwards, not forward.

“That's not very polite, brother mine.” Regi rumbled, it took him several moments to notice before he attempted to throw up a screen. Not that the screen did any good. Regi’s power was the real thing. He could connect the entire brotherhood together and transfer a portion of that pooled strength to embattled holds or thresholds. It was one of the main reasons the forward fortress strategy worked.

The Cardea handled normal assaults without help. But when beats several levels above them struck they could use the fixed defenses to stall for time. Time for help to arrive. Considering the full day's travel between thresholds, it was usually to the Brotherhood that the call for help went. Then a hammer of magic would return to smite the interloper. A lightning bolt would strike, the earth would open up and swallow them or perhaps a blast of freezing air would turn the attackers into a beastcicle.

All powerful options, but hardly subtle ones. It was a sledge hammer applied to crush the problem, not a rapier searching for weaknesses. His screen followed the same trend. A rough woven piece of chain mail to Timothy’s sight. It would protect him from massive blows, but Timothy’s sight was as fine as a single thread. He could slip right through the links.

“If politeness lets you hurt yourself, then screw it. You’re on the ragged edge there, brother. Noble suffering is just noble stupidity through the glass of self-righteousness. We need you for the future too, not just the present.”

Regi grimaced, but he had bigger problems than Timothy now.

“Reginald, what does he mean?” Ma’s voice froze the conversation, and Regi’s facial muscles as well. It was good that, for once, he wasn’t on the wrong end of that tone. Time for some payback!

“He’s damn near tearing a mental muscle. It’s what happens when he pitches in for so many holds. When their own Pathfinders don’t rush to help because they know they can rely on him. How long have they been slacking off, brother mine?”

“You just going to throw me under the bus like that?” Regi muttered out of the side of his mouth, eyes bulging a bit in disbelief. He cleared his throat a bit then sighed, “Most pathfinders have been helping where they can, Ma. They rotate from Threshold to Threshold to give their people, and me, a break. But they can only protect one place at a time. I don’t have that restriction. If a Threshold goes down then we lose a lot of damn good men,” he ignored her muttered “Language!” and continued speaking, “Men we desperately need. It’s also an opportunity. Not ‘noble suffering’. Every time I step in to save lives, the Brotherhood's stock goes up. It’s cementing us together as an organization as much or more than the flow of trade goods.”

“You said ‘most’.” Her eyes tightened, “That means some aren't giving the support they promised and they are doing it at your expense.”

He smiled, shark-like, “Yes. Yes they are. And it’s going to bite them in the ass soon enough, Ma. I’m not one to simply take it. Those jackasses ‘forget’ when spinning their bullshit that there is a stage of Truth in every town. I just need to hold it together a bit longer, give them a bit more rope to hang from.”

Da broke in, concerned, “Satisfying as that might be, is that to the Unions benefit, son? If you have a talk with them now, you’ll get some work out of them. We don’t have so much slack that we can afford to throw away even bad tools.”

“I could, and they would get better. For a time and just so long as I was watching, as soon as I turned my back it would go right back to how it is. I learned the hard way in the navy, you can’t ‘fix’ lazy people. They don’t stay fixed because they don’t want to be fixed. The only thing you can do is get them the hell off your ship.”

He paused for a drink, the mug almost disappearing inside his big mit. “This lot isn’t incompetent. They, and their holds, would never have survived to join the union if they were. It’s just, now that the immediate risk is less obvious, they’re falling back on old world habits. Coasting through boring jobs because the hard workers didn’t get paid anymore for the extra effort they put in.”

“I’m going to throw them back to the deep end where their own life will depend on that effort. That’s what ‘hanging’ is going to entail Da, a banishment to a Threshold manned by their own people. You’re right. We can’t afford to throw away even bad tools.”

Timothy stared, he forgot sometimes that while both his magic and looks were overlarge, blunt even, there was no lack of subtlety in that big head. It was just what and where he chose to apply it. Regi believed in this unified human ideal, and was willing to work and scheme to make it happen.

Seemed a bit silly to Timothy, humans were far better at backstabbing and civil war then they were at unity, but to each their own. He at least seemed to be good at it, and that was enough for Timothy. Hell, even if he was a villain of the worst stripe, he had better be a badass one. Incompetence was a disgrace on the entire family.

He paused for a moment, that might be why he was so annoyed by Mary's shenanigans. She put her full focus on her children and didn’t appear to be any good at it. He pushed the familiar rage aside to pull his focus back on the subject at hand. He couldn’t interfere anyway, even if he knew what to do!

There was that old saying about plans and first contact with the enemy. What Regi was saying sounded good, but Timothy would just have to wait to see. He was good at that.

“Walk with me, Silver?” Short for Silver Tongue, Timothy thought it was a fairly appropriate handle as these things went. He snagged his brother James’s arm as stepped through their parents front door into a large arched avenue in the undercity.

“I don’t suppose you’ll take no for an answer?”

“Nope.”

“Fine, where are we headed?”

“Well I need a bath, but it can wait if you have plans.”

James shrugged and started down the hallway. “I don’t.”

“Good. I didn’t expect to see you here. I’d heard you were out adventuring at threshold Dorado.”

“Was and will be again soon. It’s my team's R&R rotation. I’ll introduce you, they are probably hanging out in the baths. Still the most happening location in any hold I’ve visited. Damn fine idea Brother.”

Timothy scratched his two weeks of scraggly beard awkwardly, “I have a hard time taking too much credit for it. I half created them as a way to twit Ma.”

“...That’s right, you made the main pool unisex to bug her, and because you were too lazy to make a bunch of individual baths in each home.”

“Busy, brother. The term is ‘busy’ not lazy. Besides, just putting all the damn sewage emptying runes for new construction is a huge time sink. I don’t want to imagine what individual bathing rooms would do to my ‘free’ time.” He gave a comic shudder, but it was only half faked. It was one task he was more than looking forward to pawning off on an apprentice. It would ‘build character willpower’! He snickered internally at the overused phrase.

Hitting the end of the residential hallway, they took a quick right into a small alcove with a sealed essence stone door. James gestured and the door slid up into the ceiling revealing a familiar looking 10 foot diameter transit shaft. Hey, if it worked, beat it to death! It had not taken Timothy long to copy the design in Runehold, he did make a point of giving credit where it was due. The Cardea who originated the idea got a portion of the fee every time Timothy built one.

The doors were just so to prevent dumb kids or drunk adults from getting themselves killed. It was a rather long drop to the bottom without magic. Over ten stories at this point. The hold had expanded considerably to take in the various refugees and castoffs. The vast majority were norms, refusing to realize the realities of the new world. ‘Give me your tired, your needy…’ Ya, that wasn’t so much the case. More like we’ll take your rejects and protect them in exchange for the kids they might have. The upper floors were now reserved for families with at least one magic user in them. They were also considerably bigger and nicer, with running water and sewage in each home. Bait and reward in one go.

The Norm housing far below had communal bathrooms for each 10 homes and large public fountains of purified water. Buckets were provided. Da, with considerable help from a vast number of soft hearted folk, went out of his way to make sure they weren’t mistreated, but the occupants often didn’t see it that way. They did what they could. Those who wanted to help, not just leech, were offered many opportunities to do so.

There were still a few jobs that could be done by the mark 1 human. The weaving houses made cloth from various joined fibers on warp weighted looms. It was apparently an icelandic tradition that one of the more crafts oriented norms had done as a hobby. No one had managed to remember anything more sophisticated and if they had it would have likely taken magic to power, thus defeating the purpose. The resulting cloth, though painstaking to make, was a luxury good in much demand. That wasn’t their only option. The mushroom rooms always needed tenders and there were the various cleaning chores required to keep an indoor city free of disease. Easier to do them with magic, but magic users had a lot of other things they could be spending their limited energies on.

In exchange there was pay as well as access to the shopping centers in the middle floors. Various luxuries were available, from Tiered beast meat and non-jungle cloth clothing to garden access with a view of the sky. If a body worked at it, a sponsored awakening was not unusual. Without the right attitude and hard work none of these were available.

The only exception was the children, they were the point after all. Every child received two meals a day of food that included low Tier beast meat, seasoning and plentiful fruit. They received in depth age appropriate teaching on the various tasks and potential jobs they could hope to fill. Even the coveted privilege of running free in Jenney’s garden under the open sky was provided free of charge.

It was expensive, having donated a good portion of the funds for the project Timothy knew that first hand. Guards to keep them safe outside, a valuable slot to visit Jenney’s garden, food bought from the harvest teams and teachers paid to take time away from the teams to provide the voice of experience.

It was all to a purpose. Preparing them for better things while showing them what they had to lose if they didn’t work for it. The one meal a day they ate with their parents in the norm quarters was an abject lesson by itself. A reminder of what life could be like and an incentive to do their best in school. It goes without saying that classroom disruptions were not tolerated. The teachers were highly paid professionals, parents all, taking time away from a very lucrative, if dangerous, career to help out. They didn’t have the time or inclination to tolerate nonsense. Ejection for a month at the first offense, and progressively longer if the warnings didn't stick. Each time it was back to a steady diet of bland squashmeal and unseasoned pork (little) and vegetable (lots) soup.

Timothy shook the thoughts aside, they weren’t dropping below mid level today. The bath they were aiming for was not the same as the one the norms used. Opening the hatch at the bath level they both stepped out, able to continue the conversation. Made out of stone instead of wood the shaft didn’t muffle sound very well. A yell could be painful for everyone involved. “I’ll be happy to meet them, I’m grateful that you have each other's back. But I also want to hear about you.”

He took several steps keeping an eye on James out of the corner of his eye. “You didn’t speak more than twenty words at dinner. If I hadn’t snagged you as we walked out, Ma likely would’ve. Spill Bro, what’s going on?”

James glances around at the more or less constant trickle of people passing by them on the opposite side of the corridor as well as those in front and back of them. It was hardly a private place. But it also wasn’t going to save James this time. With a snap of his fingers, for presentation more than necessity, he activated a privacy charm dangling from his belt. It was a bit of a resource hog to use, he hadn’t found any materials that strongly emphasised privacy, but the current mana charge would last for an hour or so.

They could still hear a steady trickle of chatter from around them, but their own voices were reduced to meaningless babble to any listeners. The charm contained intent and what was communication if not intent laden sounds? Strip the intent and you just had noise.

James grimaced, recognizing the enchantment, “Alright! Yes, I’m a bit depressed. But there’s nothing you can do about it. Nothing anyone can do about it, now.” He paced on for a dozen steps, “Whatever I’ve done, I’ve done it at the top of the class. From Lawschool to competitive sports. I’m good at what I do. I work twice as hard to make sure of it! But I screwed up. I threw a fit at the loss of my perfect life and now I’m seven years behind the curve. I’m working like the brotherhood's mascot dog to catch up and it’s not enough. Not when they have twice as much time in grade as I do. I’m grateful to have the opportunity, don’t take this as a complaint. But I’m bottom middle right now. Barely above the time wasters and the ‘cautious.’” The air quotes were obvious in his tone, “My ‘team’ is a bunch of kids who were in stasis during the change. I’m too old to be where I am, and it’s obvious.” He sighed, “And now I sound like a whiner. Let’s drop it. I’m grateful that you care enough to ask. But you can’t fix this. It’s my fault, and it will take me a decade at least to catch up.”

“Oh, ye of little faith. We can carve a few years off that time table.” Timothy smiled in satisfaction as James skidded to a halt to stare at him. Several people following them skidded to a halt or half skipped around him, complaining all the while. James quickly stepped over to the wall to let them pass, giving an apologetic gesture in lieu of pointless noise. “The hell do you mean? How can you make me stronger?”

“No one else can make you stronger. Only you can do that. Even Tiered meat has its limits. You know this. Eat too much of the strong stuff without processing the intent and it’ll mess you up. What I can do is point you in the right direction and give you some very unpleasant work to do. Do you remember cramming for law school? Well get ready to do it again.”

“..What?”

“You’ve got a pretty decent grounding in will and focused intent now - Silver,” It was hard to remember handles over names, “Now you can start taking advantage of understanding. A strong will can make an enchantment work whether the wielder understands it or not, but a knowledgeable user can do the same thing with much less mana and will. You already know that. To get where you are you must have practiced religiously with your weapons. Not just repeating the same dumb movements, but trying to better understand how and why it works. How about you come up to my lab later and pick up some of the text books I’ve been writing for the new pathfinders? They’re not ready for the general public, and I may never release them as such. Knowledge is power, and getting it for free makes it so people don’t value it.”

Timothy scratched the fuzz on his chin. It was a problem he didn’t have a perfect answer for. Making people work for power made them more responsible with it… but too high a price and it would backfire. He didn’t see a weak humanity as a good thing. The balancing act was not one he was prepared to just jump in and attempt. It would take some careful thought and probably his Da’s advice.

“...I have my pride, Brother. I’m not sure how many more handouts I can accept. It’s not like I haven't noticed ma always seems to have High Tier beast meat on for dinner when I visit.”

“Who said it’s free?” Timothy grabbed his now much taller brother's arm and started walking again towards the bath’s entrance.

His mouth opened and closed like a fish, stuck between gratitude and shock. Charging family for help? Outrageous! But then, he’d just complained about the opposite. Timothy was highly amused at the dichotomy. The emotional war fighting back and forth across his visage. But out of kindness he tried to hide the amusement. Tried and apparently failed as James gave up his indecision in favor of a glare.

Suddenly serious, Timothy broke it down. “I need a proofreader and content spotter. You’ll owe me an essay a week. Feel free to send me four at the end of a month, but fall behind that and I’ll ask for the books back. Each essay will explain a chapter, or a subchapter if it's particularly heavy, in depth. You will mark any typo’s and ask for clarification on anything that isn’t immediately clear. All this while keeping up with your team's harvesting duties. You’ll get your special treatment for being my brother, but I can damn near guarantee no one will be envious of the privilege.” Teams had been broken up for smaller things. Best to put the proper face on it.

Reaching the lockers beside the male only cleaning pool, Timothy released the privacy enchantment. Ordering a platter of drinks and light healthy snacks from an attendant while he striped down. His belt went into the locker, his staff was still upstairs locked in Ma’s stave case, but several rings, ear clasps and a necklace came out of a small pouch. Made from copper and plain bone they were good enough to protect him from his fellow humans. At least those here in the bath. No way in hell would he risk facing Donald or Regi with these toys. They did have the advantage of being waterproof.

He quickly donned the small set of jewelry, then hopped into the frothing pool and snagged a scrub brush. It took a few minutes to get the day's sweat and detritus of several small scale skirmishes off his body. But off at last it came. He nodded at the attendant and tapped the wooden clackers hanging beside the cleaning runes. Glancing over at him, and the cloud of mud, sweat and bits of tree bark now fouling the pool, the occupance nodded and stepped out of the pool. Timothy activated the cleaning enchantment, waiting while a ward checked for humans, not finding them; it allowed the remainder of the enchantment to proceed. The water was instantly clean again.

Nodding in gratitude, he walked towards the main pool while the other occupants climbed back in to continue scrubbing. James had gotten a head start on him and was no longer in sight, but he did have options available to him. Dropping his vision back into the magic field he pulsed his own aura, searching for a resonance. They were family and he knew his name, it was more than a close enough connection for a simple trace. He followed the resonance, diving into the pool to minimize the splash and carefully swimming around the massive pillars towards the stage.