Chapter 07

He paused before the shop on noticing the wooden board swaying in the breeze over the door: a shield, a knife, and a coil of rope. This wasn’t where the shop had been before. He walked in and had to step around a wooden box. A man, wrapped in layers over layers of clothing, stood up from behind the counter and Tibs smiled.

He hurried to him. “You came back.” He hugged the man tightly before he could move and slipped his finger into the hidden pocket he felt under folds of fabric; he couldn’t help himself.

“Of course, I came back,” Darran said, gently prying Tibs from him and stepping out of reach. “How else would I get to see my favorite little rogue?” he gestured. “Now, hand it back.”

Tibs gave the merchant an innocent look while trying to determine what he held by the shape and texture in his palm. It was long and narrow. A rod of some sort? Definitely leather and there was a seam going around it, close to the thicker end. It didn’t have essence.

“Come now, I know you took something.” Darran smiled. “What kind of rogue would you be if you hadn’t?”

At least the merchant wasn’t outright saying Tibs had been clumsy. His fingers had spasmed slightly. He handed the sheathed weapon back. A narrow knife only the length of his palm without a guard. He’d never seen its kind before.

He extended his sense as Darran secreted it away again. He had multiple enchanted items on his person, all small, and… Tibs couldn’t determine more. Unlike the essence running through people. Items didn’t have an intensity to give him an indication of strength.

“Did you feel me taking it?” He asked. Darran was one of the few people he could take from and then ask for pointers on how to improve.

“No, but I know you, Tibs. Those fingers have a mind of their own when it comes to pockets, plain or hidden.”

“They do what I tell them to,” Tibs replied, mildly offended. Well, most of the time, and more before the corruption.

Darran laughed. “Oh Tibs, you wouldn’t be the accomplished picker of pockets you are if that were true. The best pickpockets are the ones who end up with items and no idea how they acquired them because the habit is ingrained so deeply their fingers move without thoughts. Which reminds me.” The merchant handed Tibs a sheathed knife. “I believe this is yours.”

Tibs reached to his belt, where the knife should have been, then took it out of Darran’s hand. He’d known the merchant was a rogue, well thief since he didn’t work for the guild, but he hadn’t expected him to be light enough with his fingers that Tibs wouldn’t feel them. Merchants were usually more adept at stealing with their words than their fingers.

“Why aren’t you in the other building?” It was still empty; Tibs had checked the day before.

“This has a larger workroom, so it will be easier to make alterations. I hadn’t expected so many Runners to be this young and to outgrow what I sold them.” He looked Tibs over critically. “You should bring yours in before you go into the dungeon, so I can adjust it. Don’t worry if I’m not open yet. You get special treatment.”

Tibs shook his head. He didn’t want to be treated special, but it wasn’t all. “It’s still comfortable.”

Darran’s expression turned concerned. “Are you eating properly? You should be growing faster than bamboo at your age.” He looked around the crate-littered room. “Still, bring it when you can and I’ll make sure you simply haven’t grown used to how it pinches and binds. And in a few days, all this will be in place and you can start spending all those wonderful coins the dungeon hands you.”

The merchant didn’t even bother hiding the greed in the smile he gave Tibs,

* * * * *

Tibs looked at the lake. He was on the town’s side of a post that marked its limit, with nothing else to keep him from leaving if that was what he wanted. He didn’t, but he wished he could go to the lake. Soon it would be within the town, and he’d be able to touch it.

He’d touched the ocean—that was what all the water on the eastern side of MountainSea was called—and it had been an amazing experience, he’d even tasted it and had been surprised it didn’t taste like the water he’d drunk during his trek up the mountain to have his audience with Air. It was salty, and instead of earthy, the taste had reminded him of a weak, not particularly good, version of the fish stew Kroseph has served him at his family’s inn.

But the ocean wasn’t the lake, his lake. He wanted to touch it, see if it tasted different, more like this place. Maybe he could—

“Hey You!” a man yelled with the authority that had Tibs nearly run over the town limit to escape a guard. “You can’t leave—oh, it’s you.”

Tibs stared at the guard, now busy smoothing the green and black shirt they all wore over their simple leather armor, the surprise at being recognized and the man’s pace slowing instead of increasing rooted Tibs in place.

Tibs looked around. Maybe there was someone else? No, he was alone, at the edge of the town, looking, for all the guard knew, like he was about to escape. The idea he’d been bribed by the noble to remove Tibs crossed his mind, but the guard wasn’t reaching for his sword.

Were there any other reasons he might know him? Alistair wasn’t in the habit of having guards track him down unless it was urgent, and Tibs hadn’t broken any rules, not with the way his body betrayed him unpredictably.

“You’re Tibs, right?” the guard asked, seeming to doubt himself.

Tibs considered lying. There weren’t many good reasons a guard knew who he was, but this was a small place. An angry guard could make his life difficult without breaking any of Harry’s rules.

“Yes.” He relaxes his body and readies himself to move.

“Okay, good.” He nodded to the post. “Then this is fine.”

This? What ‘this’ was the guard talking about. Tibs wasn’t doing anything wrong.

The guard turned back.

“Wait,” Tibs called, and almost asked what the man meant, but instead of accidentally admitting to something, he pointed to the lake. “Do you know when the lake will be within the town’s borders? I’ve been wanting to touch it for a long time.”

The guard chuckled—amusement instead of mockery. “Why don’t you go touch it now?”

“I’m not allowed beyond the town’s limit.”

“The Runners aren’t allowed,” the guard said. “You’re Tibs. You saved the dungeon and the town. We’ve been told that unless you’re committing an actual crime, we’re to leave you alone.”

“Isn’t leaving the town a crime?”

“It’s a rule.” The guard frowned. “Don’t ask me how that’s different. I just follow the orders I’m given.”

“But what if I just leave?”

The guard shrugged. “You fought for the dungeon, so I guess they figure you aren’t interested in leaving. If you are, don’t tell me. I’ll have to bring you back with me and I don’t want the work.” He turned and walked away.

Tibs watched him, trying to work out how he felt. He didn’t plan on leaving, but to be trusted like that felt… He was a rogue. Outside of his team, everyone should be worried about what he’d do. Maybe being part of the guild changed that?

Was this a trick? The noble, looking to make Tibs’s life difficult? Only he’d only encountered him a few hours ago, and why settle for making his life difficult? Nobles removed annoyances, not played with them.

He rubbed his temple. Why couldn’t he be left to the running and nothing else? He didn’t need the headaches of trying to figure out what was and wasn’t a trap. At least with Sto, that stopped the moment he stepped outside the dungeon.

He looked around at the back of the buildings. The limit was over nine-nine steps away. He’d stopped counting that. Carina said he would be fine with simply adding the one before to represent the hundreds, but it was easier to just stop, since he didn’t need to know the exact number.

He was alone.

He turned toward the town, and ‘tripped’, regaining his balance on the wrong side of the post. When no one appeared to catch him and bring him to a cell, he looked at the lake again.

Well, if they came for him, he’d tell Harry a guard told him he could do it, and that would be the truth. The lake was three-five steps from the town’s limit. The length of a building and street. What would they do with the lake once it was part of the town?

One of the cities he went to on his search for his had a river cutting it into two. It had been dark and murky, from everyone dumping their garbage into it. He’d have to make sure it didn’t happen to his lake.

It was clear, showing the sandy bottom until it was too deep and the water turned dark green, or maybe blue, Tibs wasn’t sure of the color. He crouched and touched it. It was cooler than he expected. The air was warm, and even the largest puddle, or rain barrel, ended up warm by this time of the day. He sensed the essence in the water.

A lot of water, as he expected, air, earth, and even a little fire. Essence wasn’t the element, but it still surprised him to find that here. Water put fire out, and it wasn’t warm. What was fire doing there?

He pushed his essence in and maintained control when the current pulled on it. It came from under, and moved toward the stream, on the other side, and to his left. His range with water was greater than with the other elements, or Carina and Jackal. At first, Tibs thought it was because of how dense his essence was, since it corresponded to more powerful adventurers within the guild. But for that to be right, the range wouldn’t be limited to water.

Harry and Tirania had the densest essence in the town, then Alistair and the other instructors. Even the old, uninterested ones who trained the Omegas had dense essence. Bardik had the densest of anyone else after that. Tibs now had more than the other Runners, but other than his range with water, he could hardly do anything like the others.

This told him that his understanding of what the density of the essence meant was wrong, or incomplete. Considering he had no one to explain things to him, that was understandable. What had become clear was that the more he learned about… everything, the more complex things became. His belief in the simplicity of the world around him had been shattered around the time he’d arrived in this town, and definitely when he chose his element.

He pulled the water essence back, refilling his amulet, then his reserve. It was effortless now. Absorbing it and moving it to the one he wanted. So long as he touched the amulet, it was effectively an extension of his reserve. He could sense it when he wasn’t touching it, but the essence within no longer felt like his, and it was difficult to manipulate it then.

He pulled his hand out and frowned at the water still coating it. The leftover essence from what he’d done. As with the pool room in the dungeon, and the other times he’d practice, he ended with more essence than he started with. It wasn’t much. If he had an amulet to put it in, it would hardly be noticeable, but he still didn’t understand how he could… capture more.

Without a place to store it, he let go, and it dripped into the lake.

If it happened on its own, could he make it happen? Was that the way to manipulate and sense at the same time?

He calmed his breathing and called a palm-full of his reserve into his palm. He felt it and extended the sense to include the lake. He sensed the essence there too, as well as that subtle ‘not his’ that it had. He shaped the water in his hand and immediately the lake vanished from his awareness.

He cursed and tried it again, more gradually this time, but with the same result.

What was different?

He put his hand in the water and let his essence flow out, mixing with that of the lake. He sensed for the moment when the lake’s essence became his, but it didn’t happen. His essence flowed within the rest. He could shape it and with it, he could affect the lake’s water, shape it, turn it into ice, move it opposite the current. So long as it was within his range, he could use one to affect the other, although the more distant it was, the more concentration it required to do anything precise with it.

He pulled his essence back to himself, and when he took his hand out of the water, it was still coated. Again, he had more than what he’d used.

This should be impossible.

He chuckled.

Impossible was a word from before he was a Runner. Now, things only seemed impossible until he figured them out.

So, how had this happened? How had essence that hadn’t been his become his without him doing anything to make it happen, without him feeling it happen? How could something different from his essence then be the same?

A shiver ran down his back.

Essence was and wasn’t.

He looked over the lake. How had he not understood that sooner? It was so simple.

He stood and expanded his sense of the essence around him. He removed air, fire, and earth from what he sensed and only focused on water. It was everywhere around him, a large concentration where the lake was, but there was also a… fog of it all around.

Essence was and wasn’t. Essence wasn’t the element. Essence wasn’t what he held. They were simply ways for his mind to understand something that was… not beyond his understanding, but that he wasn’t in full understanding of.

An illusion of sorts, so he could still make what he needed happen.

There was no ‘his’ essence and ‘not-his’ essence.

Only essence.

This sense that some of the essence wasn’t his, was no more than an illusion. And this time, it was working against him, instead of helping him accomplish something. He willed the illusion away and took hold of the essence that made the lake.

The water within his range stilled, turning into a reflection of the sky. He made a column, then let go, retaking hold as the water splashed, stilling it again. Drops in the air fell and bounced on the solid, but not iced surface of the water.

He smiled and took out his knife without letting go of the essence. He focused on the essence around him, without letting go of the lake. He manipulated that around him closer.

While doing that, he sent essence from his reserve to the knife and pulled more into the reserve from around him.

It strained him, and it wasn’t as fast as when he did it with ‘his’ essence, but it happened. He could add more and more to the knife without depleting his minuscule reserve.

The need to focus forced him to Etch the ‘X’ slowly, but it was happening, using only his unchanging reserve. He’d need to practice, to do this with any kind of speed, but…

He stabbed the center of the ‘X’, and gasped as he had difficulty maintaining the focus needed to keep the essence flowing into this reserve. The pull was faster than him and when he had to let go of it, the attack released, and the center of the lake exploded into a geyser that went high enough that it came down as thick rain, dousing a laughing Tibs.