[The Twining] 3. The First Step (Patreon)

Isen still couldn’t see anything but gold in his left eye, and his right was as useless as ever in the absolute dark.

It was hard to keep track of time when all he heard were the rhythmic footfalls of the scaled beast. Now that he was no longer so exhausted, he thought more critically about his benefactor. What did it want from him? Why had it taken him to the golden lake and then refrained from giving him any instructions? He considered what questions to ask it about this mysterious place—and how to convince it that he was worth keeping around.

“Boy,” the monster said, halting. “There is a fork in the path. Left or right?”

He frowned, unable to see what it was talking about. He knew what it wanted him to do, but his sixth sense didn’t obey commands. He couldn’t just ask it “left or right.”

His mind raced as he considered the question—not answering wasn’t an option. “Can I steer you?”

The beast didn’t reply for several long seconds. Then, it grunted. “Come higher, onto my neck.”

Isen pulled himself up, surprised by how easy it was. His legs stuck out awkwardly from the sides of its huge neck, too short to even dangle.

“Walk forward,” Isen said, “and I’ll direct you.”

The vulpine beast loped forward. Isen instinctively clamped his legs tight around the neck, feeling himself slip. He leaned to the left and the beast leaned with him. Isen couldn’t see, but he figured it must have entered the left passage.

For an indeterminate amount of time, Isen guided the beast. Eventually, it stopped calling out every crossroads, simply relying on Isen’s subtle movements. Or at least, that’s what Isen assumed. Maybe they had entered a long stretch of cave that went on without any forks.

As they proceeded, the glow in Isen’s left eye began to fade, replaced with a faint burning sensation. The more the color faded, the more intense the burning until all he could do was grit his teeth and bear the pain, his watery left eye squeezed shut.

“Break,” he forced out. “I need a break.”

The beast halted. Isen fumbled at his belt, pulling free his waterskin. He opened his left eye and washed it, hissing as the liquid failed to have any effect. He blinked rapidly, the water streaming down his cheek.

He needed to do something or he wouldn’t be able to continue navigating. He was half tempted to tear his eye out, the pain was so severe.

“Your eye is absorbing the energy. Crudely, painfully—effectively. Can you ignore it?”

No, he thought. “Yes.” He wetted his lips and took a sip of his dwindling water supply. Hearing the beast’s explanation—that his eye was absorbing the energy—somehow made the pain more bearable. Perhaps it was the fear of ruining his eye that had made the agony so debilitating.

The scaled beast resumed its journey.

“Is this just a test,” Isen asked, his voice ragged, “or do you really not know the way?”

“The test is long since over,” it replied.

Isen wasn’t sure how to interpret the answer. If it didn’t know the way, was it really content trusting him to lead it into the depths? It was a large monster, but it wasn’t the largest Isen had seen. It was trusting a blind human boy to lead it safely in the darkness when said boy didn’t even trust himself.

After what felt like hours, the beast stopped of its own accord, sitting. Isen slid down its back and fell to his feet, absorbing the impact rather than rolling.

“Are the effects of the golden water temporary, or permanent?” Isen wondered.

“Permanent,” the beast said, its golden eyes blinking, “but its effects have diminishing returns. Most beasts here have already gotten all the gains they can from the water—they drink it purely for hydration.”

Isen flinched. “Did I make a mistake, using it only on one eye?”

“You can return to the lake later, if you wish—but all paths to power come with a price. Perhaps it is for the best.”

Isen shivered and sat down. Unexpectedly, the beast used its tail to pull him against its side, sharing its warmth. As he rubbed at his left eye, he asked, “How long have you lived in this place?”

The beast hummed. “A long time.”

“Your whole life?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“I must escape. You will help me, I will keep you alive, and we will leave this place together.”

It didn’t ask him to agree—it was just stating the way things were. Isen swallowed, but couldn’t find fault with the beast’s words. They both shared the same goal, and if it could keep him alive…

“What’s your name?”

Its eyes narrowed slightly, the golden lights dimming. “Whatever you wish to call me.”

Isen wondered if the beast would ask for his name in turn. It didn’t.

“What do you eat down here?” Isen asked. “Other monsters?”

“I subsist off the ambient energy,” the beast explained. “Only the lessers among us rely on eating the flesh of others.”

“What ambient energy?”

The beast chuffed. “You should see it soon enough. For now, rest. Let your body acclimate.”

***

Isen blinked his eyes open. The left eye no longer pained him, but it was weird. He still couldn’t see in the dark, but his left eye could perceive a formless mist that wound though the air. He nearly jumped in surprise.

“Your eye has finished absorbing the golden water,” the scaled beast said. Isen realized that he could roughly see its outline where the mist swirled around it. “Do you see the energy?”

Isen nodded.

“Watch carefully.” Suddenly, the mist churned, then streamed into the monster’s mouth and nose as it inhaled. Thirty seconds later, the beast exhaled, though only normal air came out, devoid of special energy. It inhaled again, taking in a new stream of mist.

The cycle continued.

“What are you doing?” Isen finally asked, unable to make sense of the beast’s actions. It was breathing in the energy, clearly, but… how? When Isen breathed, the mist didn’t respond in any way.

“Have you heard of cultivation?”

Isen shook his head.

The beast sighed. “You should be able to do it. If you can’t, you’ll never have the strength to escape this place.”

Isen’s stomach fell. The mist was that important? As the beat resumed its steady breathing—cultivation, Isen realized—he paid even closer attention with his left eye.

This isn’t helping, he realized. Just being able to see the mist wasn’t giving him any insights. He closed his eyes and tried to feel for what he should do instead, like he’d done when navigating through the tunnels. He’d never needed to rely on his sixth sense so much in such a short time, but then again, he’d never found himself in such dire straits. He wouldn’t call his life until now comfortable, but it had been largely stable. He’d always known when to push his luck and when to retreat, so he’d never gotten in over his head.

Until now.

He breathed rhythmically, taking in slow, ponderous breaths, matching the cadence of the beast’s breathing.

Too slow, he realized, frowning. It wasn’t right for him. He could just tell. He filtered out the beast’s breathing completely, his focus heightening. He felt like he was on the edge of something… But his breathing was still wrong. It was like there was some other muscle, ever unused, that he needed to leverage.

He thought of the Twining and the tear, recalling how the wind had rushed into the gap in reality, dragging him in. The image gave him inspiration and he focused on the sensation of creating a gap within himself, a bead of emptiness to attract the mist.

At first, nothing changed, but he continued the rhythmic breathing undeterred. He knew with absolute certainty that he was on the right track.

Time flowed like water.

Finally, Isen opened his eyes. The beast was staring at him, its massive head resting on the ground in front of him, dwarfing his body.

“Child,” it said, “you’ve taken the first step. How do you feel?”

Isen realized he could see the world around him better than before, the mist thicker and easier to perceive. It painted the world in shades of shadow, highlighting the scales on the vulpine beast’s face. The scar was especially stark, a lightless slash. Further than the beast’s face, the world became a hazy wash of gray, opaque and inscrutable.

“Fine,” he said, unsure how to respond. He didn’t feel very different. He was still hungry. If he told the beast that, however, would it consider him a failure and give up on him?

“Eat,” it said, its tail pushing the corpse of a rodent-like monster.

Isen froze. “I thought only lessers needed to eat in this place.”

“You’ve only taken the first step,” it replied simply. “Eat.”

He stood and walked over to the corpse, nose wrinkling in distaste. He’d never butchered an animal before—he’d never even cooked in his life, unless skewering a piece of meat and holding it over coals counted.

“Can you produce fire?” he asked hopefully.

“No.”

Isen’s brow furrowed. He didn’t have anything on him that he could use to start a fire. He still had a few pieces of jerky, but he knew that wouldn’t last him much longer.

“I don’t think I can eat it without preparing the body,” Isen finally said, studying the scaled beast’s reaction. It seemed unaffected.

“Don’t eat the meat,” it instructed unhelpfully.

For the umpteenth time, Isen resigned himself to trusting his gut. He circled the rodent monster, then sat down, placing both hands on its still-warm body.

Not feeling any inspiration, he looked to his belt. The mist lay over his belongings, allowing him to sort through without being too clumsy. He kept waiting for his gut to indicate opportunity, but it didn’t respond to anything.

Until his hand fell on the sheathed knife.

He pulled it out and held it over the monster. He pressed it against the beast’s torso, then applied enough pressure to cut through.

He gagged, nearly dropping the knife. Either his nose had gotten sharper—which was a possibility, given his attempt at snorting the golden water—or the monster just smelled terrible, like rancid meat.

There was no way he could eat it. Then again, his scaled guardian had already said as much. Don’t eat the meat. But what else was there? Energy?

Holding his nose with his off hand, he widened the incision. He was surprised that the beast’s insides held together. The soldiers always made it sound like people’s insides would spill if cut open. He figured monsters would be the same.

The mist didn’t react to the corpse, providing no clues about what he was supposed to do. Frustrated that the scaled beast seemed to expect him to figure everything out on his own, he turned around and fixed it with a pointed look. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Drink its blood.”

Isen recoiled. He’d rather starve—at least that’s what he told himself. But memories from years ago—a darker time—gave him pause. He knew that if he was truly starving, he’d eat anything. Blood, meat, even the rodent’s marrow. Probably even its skin if he could separate it from the fur.

His fingers tightened on the knife. “Is that necessary? I can breathe in the energy, like you.”

“To live entirely off the ambient energy, you’ll need to skip an entire stage. You will starve long before you advance to that point.”

He didn’t doubt the beast, but the truth was hard to swallow—literally.

“I didn’t take you for a soft human,” the beast mused.

Isen froze, then smiled icily. “Let’s go.”

“You haven’t—”

“I won’t,” he said, cutting the beast off. He clutched the rodent in his left hand, wielding the bloody dagger in his right. He drew it up to his mouth, then licked at the dark stain. “You call this blood, but it’s different from mine. It tastes like a wildfire. It smells like rot. What will happen to me if I drink this?”

The scaled beast just stared at him.

“Either I’ll find a way to sustain myself, or I’ll die. Try this again when I’m desperate.” He tossed the rodent to the side, then wiped the blade on a piece of bandage.

“How did you guess?”

“You taunted me.”

The monster chuffed, then adjusted itself, whipping its tail against the ground. “Come.”