Mercenary of Lastia - BtLH - Ch 46 (Patreon)

Lys jolted awake while her heart pounded in her chest. The darkness of the night was broken by the flickering light of a lantern held over her. That almost sent her rolling out of the cot, but she recognized the other mercenary and restrained herself.

It was Sergeant Yasir Goshen.

“Please tell me I’m not dreaming again,” Lys croaked. Her voice was still hoarse. She wiped the sheen of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand as she sat up.

He didn’t reply. Instead, he sat down on a stool—the same one that she remembered Orin using—and pulled out a small container. He unscrewed the lid and poured a dark liquid into a cup. “Drink this,” he said, holding it out to her.

She eyed the cup warily with a furrowed brow. “What is it?” The sharp question prompted a coughing fit, the familiar dry burning in her chest flaring to life again.

“It’s a remedy for what ails you,” Yasir replied.

Lys bit her lip. “I need to talk to you.”

“Drink,” he ordered. The stern look didn’t look like it would accept any argument.

She hesitated for a moment before taking the cup from his hand. She brought it to her lips and took a tentative sip, wincing at the bitter taste. “It tastes horrible.”

“Drink,” Yasir repeated. “All of it.”

Lys looked at the cup and sighed. It tasted bad enough to be some type of medicine, at least. She tipped it up and gulped it down quickly. The aftertaste brought on a grimace.

“Can I get answers now?” she asked. Maybe more sharply than she intended.

Yasir shook his head. “Don’t use your breathing ability for at least a week. Otherwise, the damage could become a permanent issue.”

“Please help me understand what happened,” she asked. “I don’t know what I’m doing or how it affected me.”

Yasir sighed. “I’ve done too much already. You’ll learn more at Dragonblanc. Your group will be headed there immediately.” He started to stand.

She reached up and grabbed his arm. “You owe me answers,” she said. “The cohort owes me that much, at least.”

Yasir pulled free and his face hardened. “Mind your rank, recruit.”

Lys bit her lip, but she wasn’t going to back down. “I need an explanation, Sergeant. I think I’ve earned that much.”

He grunted. Apparently, he felt the same because he sat back down. “It’s prohibited to instruct or teach about the Path to new members outside of Dragonblanc. You’ll be fully instructed by the elders once you are there.”

He paused, and she thought she was going to have to prompt him again, but she didn’t have to.

“It’s not common, but we find those who have taken the first step on the Path on their own from time to time. We recruit them when we can and encourage them. What I’ve never heard of is someone taking the second step on their own.” Yasir stared at her.

“You’ve done that and have begun to progress from the first form to the second. That shouldn’t be possible without someone—” He huffed. “I’m telling you too much.”

“I need to know. If this,” Lys gestured to herself, “can happen, I need to know what is going on, or I could hurt myself again?”

His gaze was intense. “The first step has you focusing and controlling the energy inside of you for quick bursts.”

“But what I did was the second?” Lys asked.

“I encouraged you to practice, because it takes years to bridge the gap to the second, even with instruction. The second is constantly flowing the energy through your body, with a greater control and ability to pull on more than you can handle for short periods. You’ve made the transition in less than… in a month? You are still doing so, even as we speak—I can see the energy flowing as disrupted as it is. You’re doing it unconsciously now.”

“I never expected you to progress this quickly,” Yasir continued, his gaze intense. “The tea will mute your energies and allow them to rest and that should be enough for now, but if you pull on them as deeply as you did again before you recover, you could easily kill yourself. I am not strong enough to resettle your internals myself.”

“When I was shooting,” Lys said, her voice trembling slightly, “it was almost like I was in a trance. And afterwards, my lungs felt like they were on fire.”

Yasir nodded. “It’s too late to tell you to stop, because I doubt you can. But you need to be very careful when pulling on your core, because you have enough control to pull too much, too fast, from it. That’s why you are in the state you are in now. Also why those who can learn it are only taught under the supervision of the elders.”

Lys looked down at her lap. “Will I be okay?” she asked.

His tone softened slightly. “You will be fine if you don’t repeat the strain and recover. You’ll need weeks, maybe even months.”

Somehow, she knew he was right. She already felt exhausted just talking to him. But the prospect of weeks, or months like this? It was worrying.

“The potion I gave you will help. It’ll calm your core and let your energy roll freely through your body again. But there is no way to restore what you pulled from it already, except for time,” Yasir said, rising from his seat. “Breathing exercises will be fine in a few days, but no more using them actively.”

Lys nodded weakly. Exhaustion dragged her questions away and sleep claimed her.

***

Sunlight filtered through the fabric of the sick tent, casting a warm glow across Lys’ face. A distant shout jolted her awake, the sudden transition from deep slumber to wakefulness disorienting her. She sat up as the events of the previous day came rushing back, including her conversation with Yasir.

She tentatively took a deep breath.

The air flowed more easily than before, the strained sensation from before having diminished considerably. Her lungs still felt weak, but the improvement was noticeable.

She let out a small sigh of relief.

Leaning back in her cot, she waited. Half the injured in the tent that she remembered were gone. She hoped they had got better and were fine, but she knew that some had not fared that well.

Of the medics, there was no sign. It was quiet.

She got a drink from her pack, but it was the end of her canteen’s contents. The need to use the latrine also hit her, and she wasn’t going to wait for permission to do that.

Gathering her belongings, she stepped out of the tent. The crisp morning air greeted her as she made her way through the camp. The scattered bodies of men who had fallen asleep where they had been partying were everywhere. It was the most disorderly thing she had ever seen in the cohort.

Worry gnawed at her as the first latrine she came to was in use by several half-asleep men. She found one that was off by itself and not in use, though. Business taken care of, she headed back to her tent with the regulars.

They were either inside their own tents and still asleep, or passed out in the camp, because no one greeted her. She slipped into her tent and sat down on her bedroll. She actually felt better, like normalcy had been restored just by virtue of being in her tent.

That was weird.

She closed her eyes and mediated, clearing her mind and doing her best to rest her ‘core’ that Yasir had mentioned. Steady breath in. Steady breath out. It was relaxing, and she kept it up until noises around the skirmishers’ tent group broke her focus.

She popped her head out as Sergeant Tilledge’s booming voice called for them all to wake up, giving them five minutes to assemble. Dax saw her first and came over.

“Lys, how are you feeling?” Dax asked, his brow furrowed. “Who dismissed you from the medical tent?”

Cole and Lark were surprised to see her as well, and were obviously listening for her answer.

Lys shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “I’m better now. I got myself put back together and came back on my own.”

The three exchanged worried glances as they moved to roll call. Sergeant Tilledge’s gaze locked onto Lys immediately.

“Recruit, what are you doing here?” Tilledge demanded, his voice sharp and authoritative.

The others straightened up, snapping into formation, their eyes forward.

Lys met Tilledge’s gaze, but she straightened to attention as well. “I’m fine, Sergeant.”

“You’re fine,” Tilledge repeated. He pointed to the ground. “Pushups, recruit. Now.”

Lys dropped to the ground, her hands and toes digging into the soft earth as she began the exercise. She completed a set of ten, her arms burning with the effort, and then stopped, looking up at Tilledge expectantly.

“Did I tell you to stop, recruit?” Tilledge barked, his eyes narrowing. “Keep going until I say otherwise.”

Lys gritted her teeth, realization finally dawning on her that she had made a mistake. She lowered herself back down, her arms trembling as she pushed through the pain, her lungs beginning to burn with each repetition.

Anger flared and fueled her determination as she continued, her breaths eventually coming in short, ragged gasps. Her vision blurred, her chest on fire, as she pushed herself to her limit.

Yasir’s warning felt like a weight around her neck. No reaching inside to use her core.

She collapsed, her body hitting the ground with a dull thud. Rolling onto her back, she gasped for her, her lungs screaming in protest.

Sergeant Tilledge loomed over her. “That’s half as many as you managed a few days ago, recruit.” He shook his head and turned to Dax and Cole. “Grab a stretcher for him.”

Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth to protest, but Tilledge cut her off with a sharp look.

“It seems we have a change of plans. I think the group needs a good training day,” he announced. “But our recruit here is injured and doesn’t want to stay in the medical tents.”

Tilledge looked over at Lark. “Get his kit.”

Dax and Cole returned with the stretcher and Tilledge pointed to it, his gaze fixed on Lys. “Get on the stretcher, recruit. And you may not get off of it for any reason. The rest of the squad will bring you what you need.”

A regular down the line groaned. “Come on Sarge, we aren’t recruits anymore.”

Tilledge glared. “You will be if you complain like that again!”

Lys felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment as she climbed onto the stretcher.

“We’re going for a twelve-mile run. Full pack and gear!” Tilledge ordered.

The regulars moved quickly, gathering their equipment and falling into formation. Lys, still on the stretcher, looked up at Tilledge, desperation in her eyes. “Please, Sergeant. I can march on my own. They don’t need to carry me.”

Tilledge ignored her plea, instead turning to Lark and pointed at her kit. “Throw it on the stretcher, too.”

He complied, and the pack went into her lap. Tilledge fixed her with a stern gaze. “Actions have consequences, recruit. You did good yesterday, but I know you were ordered multiple times to stay put and rest.”

Lys felt panic rising in her chest as Dax and Cole lifted her up off the ground and the group began to move out.

No one else argued or complained. She realized they probably had already learned the lesson—they were regulars, not recruits after all.

This was all just for her. It was one thing if she fucked up and the consequences fell on her. This time, everyone was being punished as a group for her screwup.

They weren’t even fellow recruits!

They were going to hate her.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.