Chapter Eight

  “Among those aged twenty-five and older at the time of the surgence, it would appear that the body reverts to its pre-surgence state upon death. All advancement attained post-immortality is lost, yet for better or worse, any and all memories remain.”

  – Thoren Roxward, Physician

  ~*~

  Before she could press him further, Kaedric excused himself to check the stew and chop more wood for the fire. She watched him go in silence, mind still attempting to process all he had said while the bowl he’d pushed closer waited upon the table beside her. No one had been born in over two-hundred years? How was that even possible? Was the entire population sterile? If that was the case, then what happened when people died?

  Were longer lifespans normal, then? She imagined they’d have to be, seeing as how there were still plenty of people running around. It made her wonder how old some of them were and how old Kaedric himself had to be. Over the age of two-hundred and nineteen, obviously, but by how much? It was a hard thought to reconcile, considering he didn’t look all that much older than she was.

  Blinking herself out of her stupor, she glanced to the bowl and the soft cloth folded beside it. Steam rolled in diminishing swirls from the liquid inside and when she peered into it, she found the mildly soapy water steeped in an assortment of herbs she couldn’t place. A quick inspection with her detect life skill told her they were, in fact, herbs. Beneficial ones too, but she’d already guessed that.

  Liv set to carefully scrubbing her open wounds as she considered what to do next. Much as she wanted to return home, she had to accept the fact she was trapped here. At least, for the time being. There was next to nothing she could do on her own at present, which meant following Kaedric’s lead was her only real option. She hated that fact, if she were honest, but it was simply the reality of her situation. She saw no point in dwelling on things she couldn’t change.

  Fortunately, there were still plenty of things she could control, like what she chose to do in spite of her present circumstance. Finding whoever it was Kaedric knew would be her priority, but something told her advancing her skill tree should be a close second. In a world filled with magic, neglecting hers would likely put her at a disadvantage. She wasn’t sure how helpful some of her skills would be when compared to other magic types, but she’d rather plan for any and all possibilities than be caught unaware. Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst and all that.

  Which meant learning what she could about the flora at her disposal would be invaluable. Seeing as how there weren’t any rigid spells to follow, she supposed her imagination was the limit as to what she might do and how she might apply her abilities. Books on botany or herbalism were probably a good place to start, but maybe Kaedric himself could be a valuable resource?

  At over two-hundred years old, he had to have at least some knowledge of plant life, right? Her bowl of foot-healing tea was evidence enough of her theory as far as she was concerned. If she asked nicely, she didn’t see a reason why he wouldn’t share what he knew. And if she was wrong in her assumption, maybe she could convince him to take her to a bookstore instead?

  Her eyes flicked to the door when he returned, bundle of fresh wood in hand.

  “What did you mean earlier,” she asked, “When you said people like me are either priests or fugitives?”

  “I meant exactly what I said.”

  She sighed, “Let me rephrase: why are those the only two options? With magic being common here, I’d assume there are plenty of people with these animite gemcores.”

  “Not anymore,” he said, kneeling beside the hearth, “Most of them sacrificed themselves alongside their goddess. The priests who remain were chosen to guide us in her absence.”

  “Of course the gods are real here,” she said under her breath, “And the fugitives?”

  “Most people will tell you they’re cowards, that they refused the call of the goddess and turned their back on her.”

  Liv couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow, “And what will you tell me?”

  He tossed a narrow log onto the fire before giving his stew a good stir.

  “I’m not sure everyone received that call,” he said thoughtfully, “Not that it makes any difference. The Type IIIs are all but extinct.”

  She bit her lip, “If someone were to find out what my gemcore is, does that mean they’d turn me in?”

  She could guess the truth well enough, but she needed him to confirm it.

  “More than likely,” he said, “Most do not take kindly to those they see as traitors. Especially those among the Magisterium.”

  “And . . . are you going to turn me in?”

  “No,” he said with a small sigh as he rose and found his seat across from her once more, “Like I said, I don’t think everyone heard Orenthia’s call. How can I condemn someone who wasn’t even alive at the time?”

  “Fair enough,” she said with a breathy laugh, “thank you.”

  “You can thank me once you’ve had something to eat. Now, how are your feet coming along?”

  “Good, thanks to your toe tea.”

  “Toe tea?” He asked.

  “What else do you want me to call it?”

  “A tincture,” he said, reaching for what she assumed was a tin of salve. The creamy, yellowish substance smelled like some sort of herb-infused pine sap.

  “Right,” she said, drawing out the word, “we’ll pretend I know what that is.”

  That actually earned her a small chuckle.

  “Here, smear a bit of this over the wounds and I’ll bind your feet for you,” he said.

  She did so and once he was finished applying the cloth wrap, she slipped both feet into the oversized wool socks. The damn things were a godsend. There was nothing worse than cold feet. Aside from cold, wet, scuffed up ones, she supposed, but thankfully that was behind her and they were on the mend.

  “Can I ask you about something?” She asked, snuggling into a chair beside the fire with the blanket he’d offered her.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “Of course,” he said, minding their dinner.

  “If I’m a Type III and we’re all practically extinct, what does that make you?”

  “A Type II,” he said, “Mind and body make up the Type Is, Elementals the Type IIs and Cultivation and Destruction make up your division.”

  “Are the elements fire, water, earth and air?”

  “They are.”

  Interesting, she thought, noting the oppositional divides similar to the one she’d noted in her own skill tree.

  “Am I right to assume everyone has a gemcore?”

  “So far as I’m aware,” he said.

  “And a spiritbook?”

  Another nod, though he added, “If you’re wondering where they come from, all I can say is that you’re born with one. They’re a part of you. A fragment of the soul the gods made tangible in order to guide their creations.”

  “Is that why mine is so set on giving me suggestions?”

  “More than likely,” he said with a light chuckle, “They reflect who you are, you know.”

  “Well, that’s not the least bit comforting,” she sighed.

  “Difficult book?”

  “Let’s just say it has a bit of an attitude and leave it at that, hmm?”

  “No need to tell me twice. That’s your business to sort, not mine.”

  “Let me guess, yours is as cool, calm and collected as you are?” She wondered.

  “It has its moments. What order have you reached?” He asked, taking a seat upon the lounge chair across from her.

  Liv chewed the inside of her cheek, mildly embarrassed to admit she was little more than a beginner, “The first.”

  “Not your second? Have you not made any skill selections?”

  “I have, but I haven’t looked at my book since I first woke up here.”

  “You’re more than welcome to summon it,” he said, “Most changes are subtle in the early stages, so you’re not as likely to sense when you’ve advanced. You might feel a flutter of your heart or a lightness in your chest.”

  Symptoms that were not all that different from her anxiety. Wonderful. She’d felt plenty of errant flutterings. None that stood out, but maybe she’d overlooked something?

  Great, now she was overthinking things.

  “How difficult is it to advance from one to another?” She asked, willing her spiritbook to manifest itself.

  “That depends on what order you’ve achieved. Progressing through the initial orders happens fairly quickly, but the more you achieve, the more effort you’re going to need to put into your advancement. Quality resources help too. Or treasures, if you can make or afford them.”

  “Makes sense,” she said, seeing the parallels between the magic here and the games she used to play.

  Her spiritbook had settled into her lap, blank pages open and waiting.

  “Can you show me my skill tree?” She asked it.

  On cue, the chart bloomed across the pages, showing her both the first and third order skills like before. Only, the third order talents were a more muted shade of green, whereas those of the first were a lush, verdant hue. Had she not noticed the difference before? Regardless, she assumed the difference in color meant she could access one and not the other.

  At the bottom of the page, the book wrote, You have one selection available to you.

  Her brows shot up in surprise.

  “What is it?” Kaedric asked.

  “It says I have another selection.”

  “You’re making good progress, then.”

  “That’s a relief,” she said, then paused as she remembered something, “Show me my traits.”

  The skill tree vanished, replaced by what she might as well call her information sheet.

  Olivia Lockhard

  Age: Twenty-six

  Origin: Unknown

  Place of Birth: Unknown

  Living relatives: Two detected

  Gemcore: Animite

  Designation: Type III

  Order: First

  Aspect Alignment: Governance

  Access to Arcane Spring: 1st Order

  Active Effects: Forsaken.

  In death, life blooms anew, but not for you.

  The creepy little poem chased a shiver down her spine.

  “Do you have an active effect?” She asked, looking to Kaedric.

  “If you see Immortality listed, there’s nothing to worry about. We all have it. It was a result of the surgence.”

  Liv’s blood chilled, “Mine . . . doesn’t say Immortality.”

  His brow knit and he rose, “That can’t be right. May I?”

  Shuddering, she offered him the book, only for him to flinch back and raise his hands.

  “To look, not touch,” he said, “Trust me, having someone touch your spirit is uncomfortable, to say the least.”

  “Oh,” she said, momentarily taken aback, “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

  She quickly angled the book for his benefit and watched as the two lines between his eyebrows deepened. His eyes danced over the text, then paused and re-read the active effect several times. A growing sense of dread slithered its way into her chest and she found herself holding her breath.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this,” he admitted.

  She’d been afraid he’d say that, “What does it mean?”

  He crouched and sat back on his heel, one hand to the stubble at his chin while the other draped his knee.

  “When Orenthia died, things changed,” he said, “People stopped aging, children stopped being born and those who died didn’t stay that way for long. Within a few days of her passing, the phenomena was deemed the surgence. When someone died, they’d emerge at the nearest spiritstone around a day or so later. It’s been that way ever since.”

  A whole host of questions welled up in her mind, but only one found her tongue, “You really are immortal, then? You can die, but it’s not permanent?”

  He nodded.

  Her eyes flicked back to her book. The forsaken explanation finally made sense. In death, life blooms anew, but not for you. Her lips parted and she drew in a shaky breath.

  “I don’t think I can come back the way you do,” she managed.

  When she met his eyes, she realized he’d already come to that conclusion. Was it because she was from another world? In the grand scheme of things, it meant she was still normal, right? Or as normal as she could be in relation to a place like this. She was human and humans all died eventually on Earth. The revelation shouldn’t have made a difference, yet somehow it felt like a death sentence here.

  “People don’t go around stabbing everyone here, do they?”

  Kaedric gave a snort, “We’re still civilized, Miss Lockhard.”

  “That’s some comfort, at least,” she said, brushing a few stray curls back from her face with a shaky hand, “Do people still get sick? Diseased?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. Our bodies can still fall victim to all the same ailments as before. Aside from aging.”

  “What happens if and when you die, then? Are you still sick when you come back?” She wondered.

  He shook his head, “Our bodies revert back to the were when the surgence occurred, which includes our gemcores. We lose any and all orders we may have achieved.”

  That was slightly unfortunate.

  “What if you were sick or hurt when it happened?”

  “Physically, you have a clean slate. Any ailments present at the time were healed.”

  “That’s nice, at least,” she said, then paused, “Hang on, what happens if you were pregnant at the time?”

  “You’re not pregnant when you return, if that’s what you’re asking. From what I’ve heard, they simply come back as if they weren’t ever pregnant in the first place,” he said, moving to check the stew.

  “I can imagine that was a relief. And their babies? What happens to them?”

  “Anyone born after the surgence stopped aging in their mid-twenties. If they die, their body reverts to the state it was in at that point of maturity.”

  Curiosity got the better of her and she asked, “Were you born after the surgence?”

  “No,” he said stiffly and when he didn’t elaborate, she took the hint: whatever happened around that time was off limits.

  She wondered if it had something to do with whoever had lived here before.

  Sighing to herself, she thrummed her fingers along the pages of her spiritbook in thought.

  “Show me the tree again,” she said and the book obeyed.