The Humble Life of a Skill Trainer

When the first party invitation arrived, the Baron returned it with a handwritten letter that basically allowed us to beg off for a couple of weeks to recover from the trip. As it was explained to me, this was almost an unwritten tradition among the nobles. It was nice to have the breather since it allowed Abby and Snowy to have new dresses prepared in the recent court style. I’d commissioned some clothing for my debut to noble society before the trip. I fully expected that any order I made in the capital would be rejected or conveniently sabotaged before I could claim the finished product. Snowy insisted that I should have a full outfit prepared. To my surprise, three days later, it was delivered to the mansion with everything in order. I had honestly been hoping to avoid the tight-fitting ensemble draped from left shoulder to right hip over a white cotton shirt. I felt lopsided and exposed, but I was assured that it was the style. During our ride through the fancy district, I had seen other nobles wearing more toned-down versions of the attire. At least the britches were cut to allow free movement. My mother had described some outfits that consisted of long strips of cloth hanging about the wearer, or styles that were as much air as covering. What I had was uncomfortable, but covered my body and didn’t feel like I was being delivered hog-tied to slaughter.

During those two weeks, I spent time poking around in my soul and discovered a few exciting things. I couldn’t prove it, but I didn’t believe that [Meditation] was required to manipulate the mana and Skills in my soul. It was something innate to the soul itself, likely it could even be duplicated without soul sight, but I couldn’t imagine the difficulty. It seemed likely this was the case given that anyone could create soul links by sharing their Skill list. The Skill list itself might even be an example of innate soul perception. At the same time, I thought that [Meditation’s] internal view was an odd by-product of the Skill. I couldn’t prove either of those suppositions. Still, they felt correct, given what I knew about how [Meditation] messed with my focus and how it distorted my perceptions.

Which was the other significant discovery made during those two weeks. How and why [Meditation] was destroying my self-control, focus, and altering my perception.

To be fair, it was as much my own fault as the Skill. I forgot that Skills could be used, but they also used you at the same time. In the case of [Meditation], each time I slipped into using the active effect of [Meditation], it messed with my focus and my perception. Both were enhanced, but self-control and focus were a limited resource. This put a massive strain on my mind. One of the Major active effects of [Meditation] was ‘improved mental effects.’ Each time I used the Skill, I was essentially draining my mental resistance to the mind’s everyday distractions and lack of focus. Worse, each time I activated the effect, this drain would compound and become worse and worse. It wasn’t fatigue. I wasn’t suffering from mental tiredness. It was more like it drained my ability to pay attention and stay focused, and to resist the ordinary mental temptations that I would typically casually shrug off. It traded future cognitive capabilities for current needs. [Meditation] was a mental lens, focusing my mind on the moment and diluting my faculties until I recovered.

My habit of slipping into and out of [Meditation] constantly was the core of the problem. The long period of abstaining from using [Meditation] during my recovery, followed by only occasional use, had highlighted the symptoms. It wasn’t like Snowy’s Skill that seemed to recover as much as it cost her, leaving her only stressed at its passing. [Meditation] had high short term costs and repeated use amplified this into a chronic deficiency. Now that I wasn’t suffering under the constant drain on my self-control, it was apparent how it affected me. Even the issue of time loss from using [Meditation] to focus inward had been the result of repeated usage, rather than random as I thought. My attempts to maintain [Meditation] for as long as possible had to be the worst way to train the Skill. Every failure had compounded the damage to my own perceptions. This creeping danger was hard to avoid since I was damaging the very thing used to examine the symptoms.

With my new knowledge of the dangers of [Meditation] or at least one of them, I returned to my practice. This time, I avoided repeated usage and long term activation, shifting to a more nuanced use. Sitting in the back garden on a small tiled courtyard, the sun gently cutting through the shading tree, I breathed deep as I tried to feel my mind as it slipped into [Meditation]. It wasn’t a sense of calm or nothingness, or even when my thoughts became ordered. I was familiar with those sensations. [Meditation] was akin to when I noticed my own self noticing. It was the mental equivalent of turning your eyes inward to stare at your own brain. It was odd and intrusive and self-referential, but still soothing for all the strangeness. Here was the thought where I noticed that I was thinking about noticing my thoughts. Odd.

Then I slipped past my perception of my mind and dropped into my soul. This hinted that the inner vision of my soul wasn’t directly a part of [Meditation]. It felt like my soul - me - was trying to make myself aware of the detritus floating throughout my soul. It was foreign - useful - but still foreign, and my soul wanted me aware of it. Nevertheless, these were just hints. Whispers that might have been my own mind playing tricks on itself. But now that I was slowly rationing my exposure to [Meditation], instead of poking at the dangerous tool like it was a toy, I was gleaning insights. These whispers and hints went beyond the words of my soul. I could also feel gentle sighs. Small voices on the wind. Each speaking to me about my Skills and the potentials. This didn’t come from my soul. It was external, and always at the transition from mind to soul. I was trying to prolong this transition. Focusing on the movement from awareness of the world outside myself into my soul. I had seen traces of progress, but only hints. The long delays between practice sessions, which I now thought necessary, didn’t help.

“Sir? You wished to be made aware of your afternoon appointment?” Marcus asked. The whip-thin butler always seemed to make a question out of every statement, but he was still a handy man to have around. With his assistance, I was directed to a tailor with a reputation for completing his orders, no matter the difficulties. I was forced to pay a premium, but I had appropriate clothes, so I accepted the trade-off. He had also taken to riding herd on my schedule to ensure my attendance at the formal dinners and the afternoon dance practice. It was clear to me that these were crash-course practice for Abby and me, but I was still tempted to slip off to a back corner of the garden and carve for a few hours.

Breathing deep the fresh garden air, I followed Marcus around the winding stone steps to the mansion. The garden surrounded the estate and took up most of the grounds, an oddity for the city. I understand that the manor was given to the Baron when he was awarded his Barony. The grounds were wedged between two larger estates and was eclipsed by both, but it was still lavish to my sensibility, and I knew a shock to Snowy’s. Yet, over the last couple of weeks, I had developed a comfort with the dark hardwood paneled walls, fitted stone ground floor, and polished wood dance floor. Part of it was the excellent food and the private time spent with Snowy. Partly, it was my recovery from [Meditation], bringing the world suddenly into focus again.

When we stepped into the dance hall, I was surprised to see Snowy in silent tears standing next to her father while Abby tried to comfort her. The musicians hired for our training were standing awkwardly in the corner of the room. One, I noticed, was blatantly staring. Striding across the polished wood, I stopped next to Snowy, who quickly drew me into her arms, dipping her head to hide her eyes in my hair. I cradled Snowy, a move that once was awkward with our size difference that had somehow become familiar and comfortable. From the corner of my eye, I shot a question to Abby.

Before I could ask, the Baron said, “A messenger just delivered a missive for Alexis. It seems that her mother and Ashen-Arm-of-the-Mountain will be attending Duke Fenstall’s Spring Ball.”

I could feel Snowy shiver for a moment at those words, and by the sudden wetness in my hair, it was followed by tears.

While I held Snowy, her father gestured the musicians out. Abby was pacing while Marcus and Mila directed the musicians and the dance instructor out. When we were alone, Snowy suddenly stood and wiped her eyes.

“That should work,” Snowy said while wiping away her tears.

I was left with my arms held out, confused as to the sudden emotional shift.

“What?” I asked.

“Yeah, what?” Abby said, her pacing coming to a sudden halt.

Giving me a guilty look, Snowy turned to her father.

“The king made sure I was informed about Fenstall’s little surprise when we entered the city. I let Alexis know so she could be prepared. I convinced her to not let you know to make it easier for you to act surprised,” the Baron said with a smile.

Snowy frowned at him.

“You insisted, father. Joshua has a social Skill and would have managed,” Snowy said.

I was annoyed, but I could only shrug at his shameless smile.

“I don’t like it, but it was the right call. My mother always said the best act is no act at all.”

Flopping into a chair, Abby brushed out her dress and said, “You should have told me.”

Huffing a bit, Abby crossed her arms then dropped them, “I don’t get why you aren’t mad.”

Stepping next to Abby, Snowy gently gave the young woman a side hug and faced me while answering her question.

“Oh, I’m furious. With Blood-of-the-Mountain-Cat and Ashen-Arm-of-the-Mountain, not my mom,” Snowy said, though I noticed that her father didn’t seem to agree with her on the last bit.

“One of those bards will slink back to Fenstall, or whoever put him up to this and let them know how sad I am. They won’t be ready for anger,” she said with bared teeth.

“Is there more of a plan than just not doing as they expect?” I asked.

The Baron nodded, and Snowy smiled at me, her vicious grin reminding me of the look she gave when she pulled free her replacement helmet. Blood-soaked and ready for violence.

“They still think I am that little girl. Whoever is putting them up to this will push them to hurt me further. When they do, I’ll strike.”