The Humble Life of a Skill Trainer

It was uncomfortable being the odd man in this strange family reunion. The Baron remained silent, leaning against the fireplace and occasionally sipping from a silver flask hidden in his inner jacket pocket. Ashen-Arm-of-the-Mountain had cried after his admission of guilt, but it was Blood-of-the-Snowfed-Spring who I pitied. When she looked to either Alexis or her father, a shadow of sadness and regret would flicker across her face. Still, it would quickly be locked away behind a stoic mask. Ashen-Arm-of-the-Mountain seemed to have found some form of solace from his admission and absolution in Alexis’ acceptance of his actions if not a forgiveness of them. Blood-of-the-Snowfed-Spring neither asked for forgiveness nor seemed willing to accept it.

I was careful to contain my questions while the three discussed the past. When they reached a seeming lull in the conversation - an awkward moment where Blood-of-the-Snowfed-Spring was gathering her courage to talk to the Baron - I stepped in with my own questions.

“Do the ancestors have any other demands of Blood-of-the-Mountain-Cat?” I asked, my words cutting across the group like a knife.

Blood-of-the-Snowfed-Spring nodded, then glanced at the Baron before her eyes came to rest on her daughter’s. Giving her child - now grown - a sad look, she said, “Blood-of-the-Mountain-Cat had only one path to survival. He must win in an honorable duel to the death with Snow-in-Blood. If he survives, the treaty with the kingdom will eventually fail, and he will come under the sway of the kingdom, but he will rule until his death. There are paths where the Northmen remain as they are, but those trails are few and narrow.”

Slamming a fist into the fireplace, the Baron stepped forward.

“So you knew? You knew she would be challenged, and you did nothing? Another betrayal?” The Baron shouted with a face red from both strong spirits and anger.

His anger seemed to unlock something within Blood-of-the-Snowfed-Spring as she stood straighter, her head no longer bent under sadness.

Staring the Baron in the eyes without flinching, she said, “The ancestors showed me two paths on the night of the meet. I could have you for a night and a daughter, or I could have accepted your offer and had you for a lifetime but never know the joys of motherhood. The ancestors command, and I follow, but I have always chosen the path that offers the most for our daughter.”

The pair were silent, locked eye to eye until the Baron broke his gaze away and stomped from the room.

Blood-of-the-Snowfed-Spring closed her eyes, her breath coming in a slow pattern that matched Snowy’s [Arcanum of the Blood] Skill. The room became still and silent as the ambient mana…shivered. It wasn’t the same as when a mage would cast a spell or the inrushing mana of the undead. This was a subtler effect, spreading across the room and out, likely further than I could sense. While the world’s mana slowly pulsed and shook, Blood-of-the-Snowfed-Spring’s head dipped back down, her eyes opening to show grey orbs clouded by rolling pulses of mana.

Glancing with a smile at Ashen-Arm-of-the-Mountain and Snowy, Blood-of-the-Snowfed-Spring turned her inhuman eyes to me.

“Choices are still to be made. Paths yet to be taken. Much rests on which paths you will choose,” the Shaman said, her voice still her own but a subtle whisper of other voices joined her. Whispers that I recognized, that I had heard when passing into my soul with [Meditation].

I didn’t realize I had stepped forward aggressively until Snowy was there, holding me back and pulling me into her arms. It was uncomfortable to be held protectively by Snowy in this way. Despite my discomfort, we had found a balance and measure of support in each other. This was no different. Still, I had questions.

“What paths? You’ve given others choices and told their futures. What of mine?”

The ancestors riding behind Blood-of-the-Snowfed-Spring’s eyes smirked, the look foreign on her sad face.

“Who are you that we should care? You do not provide tribute. You do not commune with your ancestors. You meddle in that which is ours and demand our mysteries? No,” she said, her voice remaining a monotone, though her face flexed through emotions as she spoke.

“Then why-” I began, but my questions were waved away by the Shaman in a sharp gesture and annoyed look.

“You did not fight us when you were warned. You rejected the broken magic. In this, you showed prudence, and it gives us hope for the future. We will provide this warning as none of your paths will change the North’s fate. You will be offered a deal. Consider it carefully,” the voice said.

At that, Blood-of-the-Snowfed-Spring shook violently, her eyes rolling back into her skull as she swayed then gasped forcefully. Taking deep breaths, she stood, her hand reaching for Ashen-Arm-of-the-Mountain, who helped hold her straight. When she seemed able to see again, Blood-of-the-Snowfed-Spring frowned at me.

“Most of the ancestors did not like you. You are not of the North. There was more to their sight, but most did not want to share. But, none forbid me from sharing what I could glean from their vision,” she said, her words coming through a throat slightly raspy from abuse.

Nodding at the woman, I waited, unsure if she would share and uncertain if I would accept what she said even if she did.

The Shaman smiled at her daughter sadly before looking back at me.

“You will be made an offer, one that hinges on Snow-in-Blood surviving tomorrow. If she dies, the offer will die with her. In every future where you reject this deal, you suffer. In some, you suffer only the loss of my daughter, in others…” she said, then shook her head.

That was uncomfortably vague. Not that I needed another reason to keep Snowy alive. Now I was concerned about this deal's details and if I would be willing to agree to it even if Snowy killed Blood-of-the-Mountain-Cat.

When pressed for more, Blood-of-the-Snowfed-Spring refused to offer anything else of substance, claiming she had nothing else. I wasn’t sure if she was telling the truth, but it was clear that she wouldn’t tell us even if she knew more. Eventually, there was nothing left to be said. The night was late, and Snowy needed to rest in preparation for tomorrow’s duel. When we scanned the Duke’s ballroom, we found the Baron slumped in a chair, a large flagon of warmed spiced wine beside him. The flagon was clearly something he had asked the servants for since it matched none of the decor. Not that the man cared what anyone else in the room thought of his choice. He was resolutely drinking from his container, ignoring the whispers and sideways glances. Red-eyed, the large man swayed when Snowy approached, though he recovered amazingly quickly. He was only sloshed, not hammered, but if he continued to drink as he was, it would only be a matter of time.

Before I could comment on his unwise actions, I noticed the Baron’s stance firming. His body straightened as a subtle swirl of magic streamed into his body. Even the irritation in his eyes was gone. Clearly, he used a Skill to sober himself. For a second, I wondered what Skill he used, how he earned it, and what could be done to improve it. It was only a flash of distraction, but I noticed and kept it in mind, unlike in the past. This was a symptom of [Meditation], and I needed to let the effects fade before returning to my practice.

“I’ve talked to the King. Unless there is more, we should leave and prepare for tomorrow,” the Baron said, while slightly slurring his voice, his eyes flicking to those standing near.

I didn’t know if Snowy noticed her father’s change, but she agreed with him all the same.

We gathered into a group and went looking for the Duke. Finding him in a corner, we thanked him for hosting us and then turned to the other prominent corner of the ballroom where the King was still mingling with his followers. Approaching the King, we mouthed yet more platitudes, though more heartfelt this time, and left the mansion. Waiting in the cold outside, we huddled together, Snowy taking a moment to lean on her father. The large man looked away at this show of support. The Baron then draped his cloak around Snowy’s shoulders and gave her a hug hidden in the act of protecting her from the cold.

I was glad to see that Snowy was aware of her father’s fears and sadness and was acting to show him she would not abandon him or betray him. The man had been hurt by life, repeatedly. He seemed to be desperately grasping onto his duty as his final lifeline. Desperate people could be dangerous, but more, it was good to see Snowy knew that her father needed her and that she was willing to show him she cared. As much as I had grown to respect and admire the man, there was little I could do to comfort him as she could.

When the Baron’s stablehand brought around the carriage, we quickly stepped away from the Duke’s mansion and huddled within. There was a comfortable quiet among the three of us. Though, it was one filled with a worry over the future. Snowy was a capable warrior, competent and strong, fast, able to heal herself, and filled with a near-endless endurance because of her Skill. But it wasn’t genuinely endless; as much as she could continue to use the active effect, it came with a mental strain. Even then, while Blood-of-the-Mountain-Cat was a Skilled warrior, lithe and fast, he was not known as one of the North’s great warriors. If she had been paired against Ashen-Arm-of-the-Mountain, I would be terrified, but with Blood-of-the-Mountain-Cat, I was only profoundly concerned.

When the carriage came to rest in front of the estate, I froze in horror. Shining through the mansion was a gigantic wave of mana. The mana flowed into a point in the front parlor, the swarm of glowing light clearly marking the creature’s location.

“There is an undead mage inside! In the front parlor,” I said, my eyes blindly trying to see through the walls at the creature of magic inside.

Snarling, Snowy kicked through the door only to pause at the sight of Marcus.

“Madam,” the butler said with a calm smile, “I would have gotten the door for you.”

At Snowy’s pause and non-plussed look, Marcus gestured toward the sitting parlor where a young man waited.

“Your guest is waiting for you in the front parlor,” Marcus said.

The Baron stood next to his daughter and glared into the parlor at the creature who waited calmly.

Turning to Marcus, the Baron said, “You were ordered not to let anyone in.”

Tilting his head in confusion, Marcus glanced at the thing that appeared to be a young man in the other room, then back to the Baron.

“But, sir. He is your guest? You ordered me to wait for him,” the butler said, his voice clearly showing his confusion.

Nearly roaring in anger, the Baron shouted at his frightened butler, “Where is Mason? Abigail was to be guarded!”

Again, the butler flashed a look of confusion to the still-waiting guest and back to his master.

“But - you asked your guest to guard Abigail? He asked Mason to leave, so, I, uh?” Marcus stuttered in confusion. His words became befuddled as the situation’s apparent strangeness slowly began to break through his charmed state.

Realizing the futility of the hidden knife I had pulled from my belt, I slipped it back and stepped next to the Baron and his daughter. While the three of us stared at the peacefully waiting mage, Marcus flopped onto the second step of the stairs, confusedly trying to parse through the conflicting orders.

Without rising, the undead mage, still swallowing a world of magic, gestured to the chairs in the parlor.

“I mean you no harm and have arranged things so that we may talk. Please, sit,” it said, with a calm voice that ran a line of ice down my spine.