#4.2 The Erudite Toddler (Patreon)

Language Acquisition (15)

Visualization (9)

Six months later, with a year and a half under his belt, Tercius was a proper toddler. In form at least, if not in mind.

A lot of things happened, some meriting a footnote somewhere, others not even that.

The biggest, visually notable, change was in the area around their walled-in courtyard. Just under a year ago their house and the walled courtyard was all by itself-- a solitary stone edifice surrounded by large bushes and few trees.

Now, just a few dozen meters from their own, a dozen more dwellings had sprung-- like grass after spring rain. None of the dwellings were completely made of stone while only two had walled courtyards. The only thing they all had in common were the stone rectangle-shaped foundations, his grandfather had made sure of that. Tercius was there watching all of it, on Ciron's insistence-- carried by Rona.

Each dwelling had an allotted land on which they grew crops and tended to their animals.

Tercius’s eyes observed as his grandfather played with stone and made blocks by the handful. In a single day, the man was able to lay half of a stone foundation all by himself. It was crude looking, Tercius had to admit, as none of the surfaces were entirely flat--- but Tercius could overlook it all for one simple reason. The reason was simple: .

His grandfather’s skill used in conjunction with a few of his tools would make surfaces even, but that took more time-- time in which Ciron might have done other, more useful, work. Ciron often would make comments about how he had to sacrifice quality for quantity, and would have liked more time to do it properly.

Ciron was a tall man-- just over two meters in height-- and his arm muscles were in a category of their own. Before Tercius knew of skills, he suspected that genetics made Ciron the way he was. Once he learned of skills he amended his guess to include both, as that made more sense.

But then he saw his grandfather build a wall. The old man lifted stone blocks that came up to his knees in height– width and length were no slouches themselves. Tercius had no idea how heavy the stone blocks were, but he was sure that the body he had before his reincarnation would not have been able to lift a block of that size so high, so easily. He could have maybe lifted it off the ground and held it for a few moments, but to lift it above waist line? No way. He used to be out of shape, though, but even if he wasn't, he doubted he would have been able to do half of what Ciron did.

It was difficult to judge someone's age visually– especially in this day and age when people aged faster, lacking good nutrients and being constantly exposed to the elements-- so he had no real way to know how old his grandfather was. Tercius was able to see that the older man still had the dexterity and alacrity that belied his rapidly graying hair. The man would sometimes complain of back pain; those few times Ciron had complained he had thought that no one was listening while ignoring the present Tercius. He was no expert on these things, but when he took these factors into account, he would put a guess at the late fifties for Ciron's age.

Having that kind of strength at that age was… impossible. If Ciron did not have a skill of some kind.

Ciron’s old age carried a lot of experience in his trade.

All of the foundations of these new dwellings were made by Ciron, all by himself. The rest of the construction was done according to the desires and resources of each individual family— mostly different mixtures of stone and wood. The roofs, in turn, were exclusively wooden and then covered with dried reeds for further insulation.

Here the old man gave counsel to the builders and all stood at attention to listen to his words.

While his grandfather toiled to make blocks of stone, on a new build site, this day it was Septimus that carried Tercius and showed the little toddler around the village.

As if I forgot from the last time, Tercius complained inwardly.

"Good morning," the passing people hailed Septimus.

Their little village now housed some seventy souls; large families with few elders, a lot of children, and some adults mixed in between. These people, much like his parents, did not have enough money to pay the taxes to live inside the walls of the nearby town. Since the local authorities forbid any kind of cramped building around or in the surroundings of the wall, most folks were forced to build communities as the one Tercius lived in right now. Septimus's offer to help new settlers build houses was a large success– from each surrounding village at least one family had moved just for that. This had a few effects on the daily life of his family— and thereby his own.

Ciron was building almost every day. The old man was like one of his five-year-old nephews on a beach; give them wet sand and they’ll stay put for hours building castles. Ciron would leave after breakfast, then had to be dragged home for lunch– only to hurry off as soon as he inhaled his portion.

Rona had taken it upon herself to teach the new arrivals about her religion. A self-styled missionary on a self-imposed mission: spread the words of her Goddess. Most ignored her while a few stayed only for herb lessons, but his grandmother was not dissuaded in the least. Other than that she took care of her garden and took it upon herself to plant the lands with trees that bore edible fruits. If more people were like her, Tercius was sure that few would ever go hungry.

Septimus had stopped going on caravan trips– a highly dangerous, yet also lucrative, affair– and focused on building his village. He mostly helped Ciron with building, but as more people came and settled on his land, he had to take care of rising problems. Goats of villager A had broken into the garden of villager B and ate weeks of growth– ruining the harvest. This was a more serious problem than one might imagine, for a lot of reasons, the primary one was that agriculture was how most paid their taxes and fed themselves. No crops meant no food and finally eviction. Septimus also did any physically intensive work around the household and took care of the books of the estate, most of the time.

Petra was a one-woman army that managed the household. She was the one who took care of the animals, preparation of food, cleaning, taking care of Tercius, and much more. Tercius, being a loner, had long ago learned how time-intensive it was to take care of every aspect of his life, by himself. This woman did not have the mechanical help he had in his old life. Clothes were washed by hand, the fire had to be tended constantly, water had to be brought in… Day after day, month after month.

“Good morning to you,” Septimus would give the answer and then use Tercius’s hand to wave– against his will.

The new villagers would stop and make some polite conversation and try to touch Tercius's cheeks. The hands of those offenders Tercius treated like flies-- nasty insects to be swatted at every available chance. From what Tercius was able to observe, the amount of attention people paid to hygiene was appalling so he did not hesitate to release a scream if a hand came too close. It was a bit undignifying to do it but a toddler has gotta do what a toddler has gotta do. Dignity be damned, he would do far worse than scream if it meant that he would stay clean.

People were fast learners, he was glad to say. Most gave up after their second try.

There were a few persistent ones but those were not there for Tercius. They were there for Septimus. Mostly young girls, sixteen and up, who used a cute baby as a way to start a conversation.

Their intention was seduction, Tercius narrowed eyes saw, plain and simple.

The people here did have marriage ceremonies but only those who believed in particular Gods. Most just… kinda did it. A woman moved in with a man, usually, and that was that. A man was able to have more than one wife and it was here that his father shined.

Septimus, with his land and only one wife and child, was quite a catch. The fact that Septimus was handsome and capable with a weapon were only additional factors that mothers used to send their daughters on the prowl. People mostly ignored Tercius and he was able to hear more details, without even trying, than he ever wanted to know. Some mothers even tried going after Septimus, he had learned, once his father declined the daughters. Jumping ships was not unheard of, so to speak, if a much better ship came along.

His parents had a few talks about this-- they had to, as some of the newly arrived families came and officially offered their daughters as a second wife to Septimus-- and Petra was firmly against it. So was Septimus, Tercius was glad to hear. Under an intense gaze from his wife Petra—for the two were properly married– Rona herself officiated—his blushing father had declined many offers of that kind. Not that Septimus was the only one who received these offers, even Ciron was a target a few times.

What Septimus was not against, was the attention he got. The young man was in his mid-twenties, at most, an age where that kind of attention still stroked his ego.

Tercius himself was never a believer in such grand feelings as love, but he had to admit that he felt that something existed between Septimus and Petra. They made each other happy, just by being there, and maybe that was all there was to this mysterious ‘love’.

His parents from his past life were practical people; they did things in a certain way because it was easier. Not that this was a bad thing, by itself. At least they were that way when Tercius got to know them, maybe that was different before his time. They fought from time to time, but only after they made sure that Tercius and his siblings could not hear anything.

Tercius was the only one of his siblings that knew from early childhood that both of his past parents had relationships outside of the marriage. His parents knew of the extramarital relationships of the other and never seemed to mind at all– prompting Tercius, on multiple occasions– to wonder why they even stayed together. The only answer he could ever come up with was that they did it for Tercius and his siblings.

One of the few regrets he carried for years to come, and was still heavy on him, was that it was his loose tongue that finally unveiled the secret his parents kept for over a decade from his siblings. The fight had started much like all others, with veiled questions about his work, love-life, the usual chit-chat his parents and siblings always enjoyed, for some peculiar reason. He was never prone to sharing such things with anyone, which in combination with a few drinks he had and a day that had already frayed his nerves to literar non-existence— led to a veiled barb as an answer to his parents question. A barb that was supposed to be much better veiled than it turned out to be. His siblings weren’t idiots and they figured it out.

For some reason, they were bothered that he knew since he was a boy and didn't tell them. As if something like that is to be shared. Siblings, Tercius sighed.

It was a stupid and cruel thing he did, he knew now— he knew it then— that almost led to the separation of his parents, under the urges of his siblings who started taking sides. Ultimately, his parents stayed together, which lifted half of the burden he carried. He knew that his past parents weren't unhappy together, but… they were not enough.

They did not have what Petra and Septimus had. There were problems, twists, and turns– but Petra and Septimus placed the desires and wants of the other before their own.

Not give and take, only give freely. It was confusing for Tercius to see it over the years, and it was something he would never believe existed if his own eyes and ears were not witnesses, but it worked— somehow.

When Petra fell ill– Tercius had suspected poisoning, as a girl from the village mentioned that kind of thing– Septimus spent the money meant for taxes on a healer, to come and heal her. It ended up being some kind of worm infection that the healer had to kill using poison, which was only funny to him in hindsight.

Following Petra's recovery, Septimus had to go on a risky trip with his old merchant caravan, to recoup the money, and it was a bit touch and go if they would lose the land. Luck was on their side, as the man was able to make more than enough to pay the taxes and even earn some more on the side, just in time before tax collectors came by.

Tercius learned that this kind behavior was rare, here, even between parents and children-- to say nothing between spouses. It was considered reckless to take a risk in such a way.

Spare kids got thrown out to the street when food got scarce, most turning to stealing and banditry to survive. The mere fact that people used the term 'spare kids' was all kinds of wrong. Kids were not the only ones, as sick and infirm elders were also thrown out in difficult times. Some left of their own volition.

Such was the way of the world, from what Tercius was able to observe and hear from others.

Tercius thought about all the differences that made the two worlds he had lived in, while Septimus, his carrier, preened like a peacock under the gaze of a pretty girl.

"Mister Septimus, mother asked me to invite you to eat with us," Felina said and grabbed Septimus's free arm. The girl was the eldest daughter of Mirna—a friend of his grandmother. The girl's eye had been set on Septimus from the moment she moved here and she angled to make herself a second wife. This much was obvious to anyone with eyes. Felina would often watch over Tercius while Rona spread her gospel and Tercius learned that Felina had no intention of stopping at second place. Apparently, Petra stood in her way.

Tercius did not like the girl-- at all.

She was barely over eighteen, but in this day and age, that was quite old for a girl to find a husband. One of the families that settled on Septimus's land was composed of forty-something woodwork and his two eighteen-year-old, barely, wives and their children-- the oldest of which was a bit older than Tercius. The man even had older children from his previous deceased wives.

While his father had a stupid smile on his face, as his eyes glazed over the busty young woman's eye-catching attributes, Tercius reached for Septimus's earlobe and tugged down-- hard.

The man gave a strangled yelp while his face grimaced.

"Tercius," the man growled with narrowed eyes. "Why'd you do that?"

"Home," Tercius said, with a completely serious face and then faked a grimace as he said, "Poo poo,"

Petra was the one who saddled Tercius with Septimus and he was not going to let her down.

"Didn't you poo poo, just before we left?

Tercius shrugged lightly and used the trick Mr. Sullivan taught him. It worked for a lot of things, from scaring siblings to getting your point across. ‘Sometimes it will work, sometimes it will not. If your eyes can carry the message of your conviction, it will work. If not…’ Mr. Sullivan would say.

Looking Septimus straight in the eyes, never letting his own blink, Tercius said each word as if it was reinforced steel, "Poo, poo,"

"Alright, alright, let's go… why can’t you just use the bushes…"

Tercius had to restrain himself from flashing his tongue to the young woman they left behind, her face twisted with disappointment. It wouldn't do any good for Tercius to make her feel as if he was onto her game. At his age, slow and stealthy was the game. Maybe Rona has some herbal laxative that I can slip to the girl while she takes care of me next time? Something to think about...

***

"Do you hear anything?" Rona asked.

Petra stood still for a moment, not even breathing. "No,"

Both women had small bows in their hands, an arrow knocked and strings filled with tension. There was a quiver full of arrows hanging on the wall near them. A few minutes earlier Septimus had taken his sword, while Ciron grabbed a giant club and both men went outside.

The group of bandits-- a drifting band of hungry young men led by a few older more experienced brigands-- had come and demanded food.

Again.

It happened seven times in as many months and every time the bandits would take some food– mostly vegetables and small animals– and scamper off. Two times blood was drawn by Septimus and his sword, and each time Septimus came out unscathed.

While Petra and Rona whispered and watched the barricaded door, Tercius played with a feather, a small bowl full of green ink, and some used paper.

These kinds of bandit scares had long ceased having a large effect on him. The first few times it happened, he was thrown for a loop as to what would happen if they took him, or if his parents got hurt, or any other of the infinite scenarios he came up with. It was difficult to admit this, even to himself— especially to himself— but he had no way to stop anyone from either harming him or his new family.

The bandits only wanted food– they did not want another mouth to feed, so he was probably safe from that. While there was still a chance of someone from his new family getting hurt, what was he able to do about it? He was no healer. How these people came by their healing skills he had no idea, even though he would have liked to find out. Medical diagnosis with a single touch? How can anything beat that?

To take his mind off of his deficiencies, in times like these, he would either practice his skills, meditate or take Ciron's stash of paper and read the symbols that were present on the plans. The last activity was a recent development, as paper was quite expensive. His father bought some when Ciron said that he needed it to make proper plans. The discarded papers Tercius claimed as his own. There were a few issues with Petra, who wanted to use the papers to help her with fire starting in the morning, but Tercius solved that quickly. He just showed his grandfather what he was doing with the scrapped plans and the affair was as good as settled.

Ciron gave his judgment in Tercius's favor.

The ink he used was a mixture his grandmother concocted from herbs grown in her garden, a thick green liquid that took a lot of time to dry.

Tercius used this ink and a sharpened feather to doodle the symbols he saw written. Some of the symbols he was able to discern as numbers, probably, others as letters, most likely, yet he had no idea what they meant. He would worry about that later, now he had to keep his mind and body occupied.

His Language Acquisition helped his efforts, just as he thought it would. He could remember the symbols with just a few repetitions, no matter how complicated it was. He had to wonder how the skill worked. How did it 'choose' what was a language? Why wasn't his skill able to help him remember lyrics of a song in a language he knew? Weird, loopy characters from a foreign language seemed to spring to mind instantly. Both were tied to a language, both were written, so he had to wonder why. Was it only an acquisition of some part of a language, as the name said? Who chose what worked? Was it his own subconscious mind? Something else? Someone else?

He had pondered these questions since he gained the skill and no question ever got a definitive answer. What he managed to do, instead, was to make new and better questions.

"That's the gate!”  Petra hissed in a whisper and raised her bow up. “Someone opened it,"

Rona raised her own bow and pointed it at the door. "Did you hear the signal?"

Tercius stopped his doodling and focused on the answer. A lot depended on what the answer was.

"No," Petra said nervously.

"Tercius, honey," Rona said as she drew the arrow much further, the tight string giving threats to snap. "Go behind that cabinet there, just like we practiced,"