Donare Donum: The Gift Giver's Chronicle

Stephen Argentum was born with his head in the clouds. He was a large boy, with broad shoulders and the chiseled face of a fighter. His black hair and pale skin were common to his region and his only truly unique feature was his shining silver eyes. These eyes gleamed with an intelligence that contradicted his imposing figure. Often, however, they were clouded over with abstract thoughts or some form of daydream.

He was born and raised in the village of Bryn; its’ buildings dotting a rocky but mostly flat Mesa. The Mesa was practically smothered and surrounded by a sea of Mist, a seemingly endless miasma. It even had the indecency to surge upwards, just at the edge of the Mesa, practically walling off any sight beyond their little gray home. The only thing this suffocating barricade let in or out was the dim grey light of the early morning. He hated it.

He often dreamed of the world beyond the Mist. His teacher, Victor, shared this curiosity and was one of the only scholars who researched and theorized on what little information Bryn had about the outside world. Victor had told him stories of massive seas of water and sand, hovering rocks, and flowing purple rivers. Tales of mighty stone giants and lakes that burned with white fire.

He dreamed of soaring over one of these lakes, its’ heat nipping at him, but not painfully. Its’ fire undulated beneath him in a threatening but hypnotizing fashion. Wingen, little dark gray vermin with long fluffy tails and fragile webbed wings growing from their backs, circled overhead. The squeaked little warnings at him, telling him of the lake’s danger. He rolled over on his back midflight to smile up at the creatures, mildly taunting them.

“Come on guys,” He murmured, “It will be fine.” The little fellows hesitated, then one of them opened its’ little mouth and spoke. “Steve, it’s time to wake up! If you’re late to practice, Hobbs is going to kill you!”.

…

I started, ripped from my dream, and bolting upright immediately, nearly knocking heads with my annoying sister, who danced gracefully out of the way.

“Be grateful I was nicer to you this morning than last time.”

She smirked, then strutted out of my room. Ann is a year older than me and built along the same lines. Tall, muscular, though with a lither feminine form, and eyes that sparkled with the same mysterious silvery sheen that mine did. Though hers sparkled more with enthusiasm than with intelligence, I wryly thought to myself as I hurried to get dressed.

I rushed downstairs and saw my family eating breakfast. Adrian, my father, a great bear of a man who had given both me and Ann our looks, sat at the head of the table to my left. The only real superficial difference between him and I was the well-groomed black beard covering the lower half of his face and the scars crisscrossing his head.

“Morning,” he rumbled while polishing off his food, “You’ll want to skip breakfast. Exercises are starting soon.”

He stood up and strode toward the door, sharing an affectionate kiss with Mom where she sat at the foot of the table, before leaving. Mom, aka Corinna Argentum, was also tall, though she was willowy and feminine, with long brown hair, pleasant blue eyes, and a heart shaped face. She smiled at her husband before turning to me and winking.

“I packed you something.” she said and pointed towards the countertop across the table. “These practices sure start early, and you really do need sleep at your age.”

“Thanks Mom!” I belted out before hurrying around the table passing my 8-year-old sister Hope.

She watched me silently, as was typical, before muttering a quiet “Work hard.” and going back to her food. I turned, grinned at her, then grabbed my food and headed for the door, giving mom a peck on the cheek before leaving.

…

A fist screamed directly towards my face, and I immediately ducked before striking back and nailing my assailant right in the ribs. He grunted and stepped back, blocking my follow up kick to his right with his forearm. It felt like kicking a steel beam, and I immediately also tried to retreat but he wouldn’t let me, coming after me with a steady stream of jabs which I carefully blocked.

We were sparring in one of the 4 circles within our large square gym room, lit by the orange glow of Firelily lamps in the corners of the ceiling. The yells and sounds of fighting could be heard in other rooms and in the floors above them, as well as the shuffling of feet and the occasional pained cry of fighters in the other 3 circles. Every now and then, a boom would reverberate around the building, primarily from the adult training rooms in the same building.

My opponent was a boy of around my age and height but with a slightly skinnier build and brown eyes set in narrow face. Nevertheless, his punches and kicks tore the air and moved with a speed that mine lacked. I had been blocking and dodging these powerful blows for minutes now and regularly striking back with hits of my own, though these hits seemed to bruise me more than they did him. My whole body was coated with sweat, aching from the bruises from so many blocks and strikes. I hated these stupid bare handed combat days, but I would find a way to bring this bastard down or die trying. Maybe.

I see my chance when he overextends, again, with a long right hook. I dodge while grabbing his arm, before pivoting and using his own momentum to throw him forward onto the stone floor with everything that I have. He hits the ground with a satisfying BOOM that echoes around the room.

“Argentum, Nills, enough!” I hear from behind me.

Hobbs, our instructor, is a massive wall of a man with a bushy brown beard and similar eyebrows, set over piercing green eyes. Dressed in the white robes of an instructor, he gestures to us that the match is over and that we need to make way for the next pair. Nills, to my satisfaction, is still groaning and trying to get up. I hesitate, before sighing and extending a hand to help him up. He slaps it away with a grunt, then stumbles to his feet, walking away from me.

I wrestle a fresh pang of anger down before clearing the floor and letting the two others behind us, both slender and graceful women, to have the ring. Sitting down on a bench on the wall, I am still trying to catch my breath after that grueling fight when I hear a voice pipe up from my left, “Nice match Steve!”. I turn and see a redheaded girl with sparkling green eyes of her own smiling at me and handing me a towel, which I gratefully take.

Julia Clement has been a friend of mine since childhood. The daughter of one of Dad’s old Fighter buddies, our families are close to the point where we were practically forced to play together as kids. Even simple proximity, however, is plenty of room for a close friendship to bloom and Julia is one of the few people my age who has always had my back. Bonus points for the fact that she is basically the prettiest girl my age as well, of course. I dry my face off as I listen to her talk, thinking about how much nicer her eyes are in comparison to Hobbs’s.

“What do you think is going to happen with this upcoming Hunt? Do you think that the seniors will let us have free reign this time? We need serious fighting experience if we are going to fill in their shoes, so I hope they will, but what if we run into something really terrible like an Arthus? I’ve never fought one of those before…”

Julia continued to mutter about the Hunt, vacillating between nervousness and excitement at the prospect of being allowed to cut loose and venture into the most dangerous areas of the region below.

The Hunt happened once every two months. For reasons totally unknown, the wall of Mist that normally surrounded Bryn would move back from the Mesa’s border and retreat many miles in every direction. It was basically suicidal to brave the Mist without this change, the low visibility making any exploration tantamount to guaranteed death. When the Mist did recede, though, it was a totally different story. The Fighters of the village would go down the Mesa, into the lowlands we called Corynth, to seek out the various treasures that lay within.

“They will definitely let us go south.” I supplied. “But free reign? Probably not. We can fight it out at the edges of the forest with some of the younger Manicheas. Pick some Gleanberries, grab some Firelilies, even snatch a young Brightpearl fruit or two before coming back. The deep southern forest is a serious threat.”

“Which is why we should be willing to brave it!” She countered; her eyes gleaming with the same dangerous look that my sister tends to get. “We need a serious challenge if we are going to be the ones defending the village one day!”

I shook my head with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “Why are all the girls my age tigresses?”, I mutter.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Anyways, I was planning on…”

“Argentum, Clement, pay attention to the matches!” Barked Hobbs. “Argentum especially. A Giftless whelp like you needs the extra finesse!”

Much of the class snicked at that and a couple of the boys sent me dirty looks. Julia glared at them, especially Hobbs, but held her tongue. We had both been dealing with Hobbs and the others for long enough that we learned not to rise to the bait.

I pretended to pay attention to the matches as class wore on but of course my mind wandered elsewhere. Specifically, I began to look inwardly at the Giftseed that dwelt within my heart. All of Bryn’s children are taught this meditation technique from a young age, allowing them to see the source of their future in life. For any young child, the Seed would be a dull gray. They would be later taught to awaken the Seed, changing its color/size, and determining their Gift. The Giftseed would supplement their training dramatically and allow them to perform superhuman feats. But mine was the same dull gray that it always has been. Dormant.

I am called up to fight again, this time with a boy of around my size but a year older, by the name of Jacobson. Despite his size, the man came at me like a hurricane, jumping and dodging and feinting, seemingly all at once. He was clearly Gifted with Agility, so his punches didn’t hurt as much as Nills’s, but there was a constant onslaught of them. I got in a few licks but was eventually knocked to the ground and defeated. Class ended, and we started filing out, me pointedly ignoring derisive looks and murmurs of “The Patriarch’s son truly disappoints his father.”

I leave the gym and start heading south before I hear, “Wait up!”

I wince and turn. Its Julia, of course.

“What’s up?” I say, casually leaning against the wall, before wincing and pulling back. My arm is nothing but bruises.

“Are you really going to Victor’s today? They really came after you even harder than usual this time.” Her eyes betray nothing but concern as she looks me over.

And she is right. I’m a total mess. But my afternoons with Victor aren’t as often as I’d like, as he was usually busy, and I wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass. I give her a lopsided grin “Relax. I will survive just fine. I learn a lot with Victor. I’ll get to see Lynn, too.”

She sighs, “OK, then I will come with. Surely Victor can teach the both of us something.”

Nodding in response, I turn around and continue walking, feeling her following me. I let out my own sigh and quicken my pace, wincing all the while.