LIGHTNOVELONLINE Book One: Leap - Chapter Thirty-One: Pressure
I’ve been going without a fire most of the last few days. In fact, I’ve only really lit one to boil water once a day and to cook the hearts of beasts I’ve killed, and that only because I know the Energy in it will be wasted if I wait or put them in my Inventory. Even after finding a safe spot, I haven’t wanted to risk upsetting Kalanthia with smoke filling the cave or Lathani accidentally burning herself either in the fire itself or on the embers left behind.
I’ve been living off the meat I’d cooked in bulk previously – and that’s not too bad, to be honest, since my Inventory keeps it hot – but I’m running low on that and, honestly, could do with some variety. I carefully keep my mind away from all the things I miss. Pizza, pasta, cookies, cheeseburgers...Damn! Evidently, trying not to think of the pink elephant failed miserably.
Now I’ve found a spot I’m likely to stay in for a while, I want to work out which of the local plants can be eaten, and then will probably start cooking with them in hopes that they will give a bit of variation to my diet. But to do all that, I need a chimney which will direct the smoke to the hole in the wall that Kalanthia made, and that means I need clay.
Fortunately, with the hunting I’ve done over the last few days, I’ve also been able to identify a number of really important resources, a likely spot for river clay being one of them. It’s a good hour’s walk from the cave, so I probably have just enough time to go there and dig some out before returning for nightfall. Once more, I thank god – or Nicholas – for my Inventory: the thought of otherwise having to make multiple trips makes me very grateful for it.
As I walk, I keep my eyes open, both literally and figuratively. There is so much to see, between fauna and flora, that I could probably walk this same route a hundred times and still find something new every time. Suddenly, something I see makes me pause. Tracks...of a porcupig. A single one.
They aren’t old, the creature is probably not that far away. I bite my lip, considering. Do I follow them? If I do, there’s no guarantee that I’ll have time to fetch the clay, but the possibilities….
In the end, I make a snap decision and refuse to let myself second-guess it. I follow the tracks, almost automatically by this point shifting into a quieter, sneakier gait. Even as I step quietly through the forest, I marvel at the difference between this and the first time I tried it. I won’t deny that I still make some noise – when the ground is covered in dead leaves, I still haven’t quite grasped the technique of not crunching them a little – but it’s a lot less than at the beginning. Well, I suppose I have had a lot of practice.
The niggling sensation which normally indicates a message waiting in my inbox suddenly appears as I start to hear the noise of the porcupig rustling and rooting through the leaves. Debating with myself, I end up deciding to check: who knows, it could be something important that makes me abort my hunt. I tuck myself behind a tree – after making sure that there’s nothing visible up in the branches above and likely to drop on me.
Then, opening my message box, I read the new notification.
Congratulations!
You have earned a Skill: Stealth
Read Skill description? Y/N
I roll my eyes a little as I choose to see the Skill description. Does any one ever say no to reading a description of the Skill they’ve just earned? Actually, I think suddenly, since when is it possible to earn Skills? I thought we gained access to Skills only at certain level intervals? Though, when I think about that fact, I realise that actually nothing I learnt from the stone says that this is the only way to gain Skills; it’s just the only way that’s specified. Huh. So I can gain Skills outside of being offered them on level-up...somehow. Cool.
Actually...the more I think of it, the better it becomes. Skills have proven to be an important part of my survival strategy. If I hadn’t had Lay-on-hands from the get-go, I’d have been toast on the second day here. Fade seems pretty useful, and I’m about to try one of my other Skills now. Up until now, though, I’ve been limited to the initial Skills I was given and what I can choose on level-ups. Now, though...if I can develop the right kind of Skills somehow, my likelihood of survival will shoot up. I guess I’ll have to figure out how to do that later. For now, let’s see what I’ve just given myself.
Stealth (passive unless actively turned off)
At the cost of a little stamina, you are harder to hear and to detect, especially when staying still. When faced with something that will cause a disturbance, you will have a better understanding of how to either stealthily avoid the area completely, or step on it in a way which will not alert an observer. Higher levels of Dexterity increase your chances of being successful in being stealthy. As Stealth improves, you can either choose to blend in better with the dark or with the colourful. Both of these effects use mana to create.
Close message? Y/N
Not much dissimilar from what I’d have imagined of a Skill called ‘stealth’, although slightly disappointing: apart from the last two lines, it just basically sounds like what I’ve been doing to a greater or lesser extent since I arrived in this world. Or at least, since I absorbed the survival stone and realised I needed to do it. By this point, I’m starting to be able to realise before I step on a crackly leaf or crunchy twig, and then take evasive measures.
Still, I guess the Skill might just make the task easier, though if it drains my stamina and stops me from using Fade as much, I’ll probably turn it off. That’s an interesting point, though – I haven’t heard of a Skill that is passive unless you want it off. All my other Skills, I have to activate, well, actively. So, what? If I improve this Skill then I’ll become a heart attack on legs, padding up to old grannies on silken feet and scaring them into the grave? I make a wry grin at my own morbid humour.
I do hope, though, that the last two lines of the description mean what I think they do: either shadow magic or magical camo would be awesome. Though perhaps magical camo would make Fade rather unneeded… Ah well, we’re too far away from that to worry about it, I think to myself, closing my screen down.
For now, not wanting to risk my hunt with an untried Skill, I deactivate it, but activate Fade. Creeping closer to the porcupig’s location, it soon comes into view. As I’d thought, it’s rooting through leaves, the small horn on its snout easily flipping them over. It’s chewing something crunchy, fully engrossed in its meal. A good opportunity, I decide. Now, how to do this…
The two biggest concerns I have are its quills and it potentially running away. If I had a net, I’d be able to snag both of those with no problems, but I don’t. That said, if I’m willing to make the sacrifice, I have something else that would probably work… I wrestle with myself, but ultimately decide that it’s worth the pain. Grimacing a little, I withdraw my jacket from my Inventory. I’d put it in there for later when the temperatures drop, but it seems like I’ve found another use for it. I just hope that I’ll be able to repair it at some point.
Holding the jacket, Fade still active, I step forward one pace at a time, approaching the porcupig from behind. Three metres between us. Two metres. One...I throw the jacket soft side down over the quills. The porcupig startles as it feels something land on it and whirls around quicker than I had expected.
We’re face to face, both frozen for a moment in surprise. Then that lizard-like snout lets out a snarl and lowers so I’m facing the small horn. A moment later, the creature charges and I only just manage to throw myself out the way. I push myself up as quickly as possible, the porcupig already sliding to a stop. There’s no time to think – I have to just act.
Diving on the porcupig would probably be a death sentence at any other time, but my jacket is doing its job and, although I can feel the quills beneath it, my jacket is stopping them from rising. My weight pushes the creature to the ground, stopping another form of attack: although it might have done some damage with the momentum of the charge, down on the ground with me pinning it is a different story.
It still does its best to break free, thrashing and trying to bite me. It’s a mess for a while, its front paws flailing around, its mouth snapping at anything in range, my hands trying to find a space which isn’t either quill or biting mouth, and my face trying to stay away from the various body parts threatening it. Fortunately, my body weight is pinning its back legs and middle section, otherwise it would be even more difficult to manage than currently.
“Come on, Dominate,” I spit out in between curses. Nothing happens. “Dominate, damn it, Dominate!” My eyes meet the horizontally slit-pupil golden ones of the porcupig and suddenly we both freeze.
The rest of the world fades away, and it’s just the two of us, staring at each other. We’re frozen, unable to move towards or away from each other, or at all, really. Instead, there’s a sense of...pressure. A pressure which mounts every moment. Not a pressure that comes from above, but from between us. It’s uncomfortable, and every instant that passes makes it even more so.
I push back. Not physically, but mentally. It’s more instinctive than thought out, but there’s a part of me that refuses to be crushed, that sets metaphysical hands against the weight and pushes. The pressure lessens. Slowly at first, and then faster and faster. Suddenly, I can move. I step forwards, following the sense of receding pressure. Bit by bit I move closer to the still-frozen porcupig.
Our gazes are still fixed, even when we’re only a few centimetres from each other. The sense of pressure is still there, but I can feel that it’s not directed at me. It’s like I’m standing holding a powerful hose jetting out water – you can feel the power in the hose, the sense that if you let go it will spray everything, including you, but that at the moment you’re the one in control. And the porcupig is in the direct path of the stream of water.
Of course, there isn’t actually any water, nor any physical evidence of the pressure I can feel. No evidence at all except for what I see in the porcupig’s eyes, what I feel emanating from the creature in front of me. A determined resistance that crumbles bit by bit until finally, it gives in. I see the sad acceptance flood the creature’s gaze and it dips its head in what feels like acknowledgment, the first time it has moved since we entered this space.
And with that, the world snaps back into focus, the sudden vibrancy almost a shock to the system.