#6.2 Fuel (Patreon)

Language Acquisition (17)

Visualization (11)

Serenity of the Mind (7)

Tercius's second birthday came and went. His new family held a small morning ritual– Rona officiated the ceremony– a brief ceremony in which another small goat found its end. He got some blood to drink– just a sip, for protection according to Rona's words–  and that was it. The rest of the day passed without any additional fuss, after all, people had jobs to do.

Since his second birthday, almost a month had gone by.

A year and a half ago he got his very first skill, Language Acquisition. Since the very first day, he had used it daily and the skill had aided him in his efforts to grasp the strange language people here used. Tercius now had enough of a foundation in the language that he could follow sentences with little to no effort, each individual sound, word, and sentence quite clear in his ear and mind. New words still came by, occasionally, mostly specific names of specific things.

One example was the word for ‘candlestick’.

On his last trip to Nurium, the town that was closest to their little nameless village, Septimus had brought one made of metal, engraved with flowers along its length. A few finely made wax candles came with the candlestick– his gift for Petra. That day Tercius learned a new word of the new language. Candlestick.

His mother used her gifts sparingly, treating them as treasures.

Wax candles, in some ways, were a treasure.

Besides its use in cooking and a few other uses around the house, animal fat was used to make candles. Ciron would make small, narrow bowls of stone and give them to Rona. His grandmother would make short ropes out of plant fiber, dry it and place this rope in the middle of the bowl, then fill the bowl to the brim with melted fat. The fat would then cool and these candles could be used within a day of making. The only problem Tercius had with them was that the smell they released when lit.

Some of the candles were gag-inducing.

Wax candles, on the other hand, had no side effects.

The fat that was used for these homemade candles was the one that was the oldest at the time, and even the spoiled fat was used. Waste not, want not, and all that.

Tercius’s family had two sources of fat in their household.

The chicken-like fowls, that had very little fat, were the secondary source.

The hairy pig creatures, a non-native animal in these parts, had some fat on them which Petra and Rona would get by literally placing small parts of the pig over a strong fire. The fat would melt, they would collect it, leaving behind delicious greasy treats that Tercius liked to snack on.

The furry pig was a preferred animal by the locals– especially for your common villager-- for a simple reason. The pig was a trove of materials for almost anything a household might need. Additionally, the rate of offspring births was twice per year, with litters that went up to sixteen babies. These pigs could eat almost anything, plant, meat, whatever came their way.

The hair from the creature– once washed, combed out, dried, bleached, and then cleaned all over again– was incredibly durable, and it felt like cotton even though it looked a lot more like wool.

With proper care, during a single year, one of these creatures would give enough material for a pair of pants and maybe even a shirt to be made from it. Considering that families kept at least a few, that amount of material was enough to clothe a single adult member of a family from head to toe in a single year. These clothes would often last for years upon years-- sometimes even decades– that was how durable the material these hairs were.

The bleaching was done by a process that Tercius found incredibly interesting if a little gross. The cleaned and combed wooly hairs were placed into a massive stone tub, made by Ciron, and the tub was then filled with urine. Human urine. These hairs were then left to soak for a few days. From there, people– mostly large and heavy men– would strip down to their underpants– most took off even that– and jump into the tub and stomp for hours on end.

This was even turned into a song and dance, at times, if alcohol was present.

The hairs inside the tub were in collective ownership until they were divided into small messy lumps. Each household then got a certain amount of these lumps corresponding to the number of furry pigs the household had.

After a thorough washing, the hairs were combed and spun into thick light-brown threads. The process of weaving the hairs into threads– both thin and thick ones– was time-consuming, taking weeks of slow work by hand.

Finally, the threads were woven, again by hand, into long cloths which were often rolled for easier handling. From these cloth rolls, outlines were cut out and finally sewn into proper clothes. It took a lot of time, patience, and skill, Tercius had to admit.

That was only the hair of the pigs. There was the fat, and then the leather, meat, bones, tendons… It went on and on. Every part of the animal had a use.

Tercius' little clothes were homemade, by Petra, his new mother. The woman’s deft fingers had woven the cloth rolls then cut out and sewn every single item on him, from his small shirt, pants, underpants to his little indoors footwear.

He had two pairs of footwear.

One for inside the home, the ones made by Perta, were basically socks with a glued hard wooden layer on the bottom. With every step, he would make a low, hollow sound, one which made sneaking around the house difficult.

For the outside, the people used two varieties that he saw so far. In Nurium he saw sandals, made with a wooden or leather underside with straps that went around the foot and ankle.

If people in the village used the same thing they would most likely be dead in a week. Snakes and small poisonous insects aplenty, made thick leather boots an absolute requirement. The leggings of pants would often have two layers of cloth, just as a safety precaution. It was hot as hell in them, Tercius imagined, but better hot than dead.

His second pair of footwear were small leather boots that went well over his knees, bought by Septimus.

“Just look, he can swim in them,” Petra had said the first time she saw them, shaking her head critically.

“Do you know how costly the pair was? He’s a growing boy, he’ll fill them out soon enough. When they start to constrict him, I will buy another pair,” Septimus had said in a practical tone. “And we can keep the pair when he outgrows them,”

He had observed a curious thing once the little village grew around their home.

His parents and grandparents did not belong to this world.

Not like Tercius, a complete outworlder, no.

The villagers and his family members were of a different type, socially.

His whole family knew to read and write, for example. From his observations, the villagers knew how to count– every farmer had to know that– but something like his grandfather’s plan for a house had thrown many a villager for a loop. Tercius heard from their own mouth how much they admired Ciron for knowing writing and reading— almost every house tried to send a child to be his apprentice.

The way the villagers talked by leaving out a lot of sounds, sometimes shortening words differed from the clean sounds Ciron or Septimus enunciated. He had to admit that this was a flimsy argument, as he was a non-native speaker, yet he was able to hear it.

Last but not least, the thing that made the large portion of the wall between the two sides was that his family members were not accepted, but rather respected.

Granted, Ciron probably wouldn’t fit into any society for two simple reasons. The man spoke more in grunts and actively avoided people, to an even greater extent than Tercius himself did. Ciron was that ideal neighbor– made after Tercius’s own heart– one that Tercius never had the pleasure to have in his old life. The only time Tercius heard the man talk with someone outside the family was when he explained some facts about construction, and that was in the manner of a teacher. Few gruff words with a stern glare from a muscular giant made people uncomfortable, Tercius observed.

Rona spent a lot of time with the villagers enlightening them of her deity the She of Infinite Lives, Giver and Taker, Restorer of Balance– M’ti’mya, if Tercius caught that right.

Respect, and even some fear, was what villagers had for the black-haired lady. Her behavior did merit both. She helped everyone, but she could get a bit… intense. She never harmed anyone, yet she always gave off the impression that she could. Tercius was never a religious person, not even after he thought that his reincarnation might have some religious underpinnings. He wasn’t dismissive of it, he only never thought about it– a response to most things he didn’t know enough of.

What impressed him about Rona was the energy with which she tried to convince people to make offerings to an anthropomorphic cat– the pure intention behind it. The Goddess helped her when she was a little girl, Rona often said, so it was only proper for Rona to repay her somehow.

Without a moment of hesitation, Tercius would admit that if he had met Rona in his old life he would have kept his distance. She was the pushy type he generally avoided, with no sweat off his brow. The first few months of his new life he would have run away if he had a body that could do it. Now, almost two years later, he wasn't sure that would be his reaction– at least regarding Rona. He didn't know if this was some kind of forced slow exposure therapy or Stockholm Syndrome, or something along those lines, but somewhere along the road he gained some respect for the unyielding lady. Oh, and a large dose of fear, definitely.

Septimus was the big boss around the village, he who owned the land, so it went without question that people would tread lightly around him. Being a literate ex-soldier gave Septimus all that he needed to claim a land grant. Along with the usual taxes, an additional sum was paid each month for this grant. The land was considered private property from the moment he signed a contract and would be his as long as Septimus never missed a single monthly payment for ten years straight. This contract was five months older than Tercius, so his father was already a quarter of the way there.

Tercius could see why a grumpy-looking teacher, a borderline zealous priestess, and a big boss would find it hard to socialize, yet his mother was neither of these things but even she didn’t fit in.

The village women feared her, Tercius observed, while the men avoided her. Neither was a reaction that the kind young woman merited by anything he saw. Tercius had to say that he felt a lot of anger on her behalf. She was the only one of his new family who actively wanted to fit in with the villagers, and yet they didn’t let her.

Tercius' suspicions about his new family social station were confirmed by a conversation he overheard.

“We’re close to collecting all the money we need to buy out the land,” Septimus had said after dinner was finished.

There was a silence following those words. Looks were exchanged between everyone at the low table.

“How much is missing?” Petra finally asked.

“300 dwetas,”

Ciron grunted and crossed his muscular arms over his chest.

As if understanding what his grunt meant, Rona patted Ciron’s arm and said, “We’re not those people anymore, old man,”

"You are responsible for this, Rona, you and your herbs. The rates I got for the last bunch was much more than what I usually get. Two brewers from town are harassing me to meet you, so each offered better prices," Septimus said with a smile. "If the weather serves, the harvest and prices are good, we'll have enough money in less than a month. I don't feel comfortable having that much money here,"

“Give it to me,” Ciron said with his deep voice. “No one will find it,”

"And what if something happens to you, old fool? How will we find the money?" Rona asked. Ciron shrugged in response and Rona proceeded to berate him for his thoughtlessness.

Petra and Septimus chuckled and Tercius almost joined them. Knowing Ciron, he would make a map on some piece of paper, so Rona’s mock reproach was completely for the crowd to loosen up.

“I think we should buy the land,” Septimus said finally. “I don’t plan on ever going back. My place is not there anymore,”

“How about we see a plot in town?" Petra said. "It’s not safe out here,”

“I’m not sure how wise that is, considering…” Septimus bit his tongue and shook his head. “No, we shouldn’t go to a town. We would need much more money for a plot there and the monthly taxes are much higher, you know this,”

"If we move there, I could make clothes again," Petra said with some hesitation. "You can sell them, Septimus, I don’t have to go out,"

"Too risky," Rona said, shaking her head. "We can't move to a town, you know this,"

"So what? We stay here? I'm going crazy, Mother, cooped up in---"

"I know, I know. It weighs heavily even on me. I dream of our old home and wake up with tears. But we can't, Petra, we can't," Rona said and hugged her daughter.

The two women cried silently in each other's arms, while Septimus awkwardly shifted Tercius to his other knee.

Tercius of a year ago would have used his skill, Serenity of the Mind, to give these people privacy during the delicate conversation. This was something he did for every single stranger who wasn’t clearly in some life threatening danger. Other people's business was none of his business.

It was only when Rona and Petra started crying that he wanted to disappear— or do something… anything— just to stop them from making those noises. But he did not know what to do! Not even Septimus was not as calm as he seemed outwards, the arms that held Tercius did so with a force that he never felt.

Tercius didn’t want to intrude on the moment in any way— he had no right to. He was an outsider.

So he tried to use his skill Serenity of the Mind. It would dull the pain, both physical and otherwise.

But he could not do that, as he lacked a prerequisite. Skill fuel.

There was a cost to the use of skills. The very first skill he got had a line about a cost of some kind.

It was only when he got his latest skill that he learned what this cost was. Fuel. The skills ran on this fuel and when it was gone, the skills wouldn’t work. When the fuel was completely spent, there was a physical backlash. Migraines that tore his head and made him look drunk, but these passed quickly in a matter of a dozen minutes. His stomach was also upset for a few hours afterwards– he felt like he would throw up.

With Language Acquisition and Visualization he never learned of this cost. He did know of it, only he had never run out of it. His best guess as to why this happened was that these two skills used this fuel in smaller capacities than what he was able to generate. The skill fuel was somehow rechargeable with no prompt from him, this he knew with complete certainty.

Serenity of the Mind took a week of use to level from level 1 to 2 and during that slow week, he had been able to make a few observations. Very imprecise ones, yet he had to start somehow. He was able to use the skill for around three minutes before he ran out of skill fuel. He made sure to do this in the morning, right after waking, to make sure his fuel tank was full.

An hour later he had been able to use the skill once more, only it didn't even last twenty seconds before the skill turned itself off.

For him to be able to use the skill for three straight minutes he had to wait at least eight hours, the time from breakfast to lunch in their house.

At level 7, the level he had now, had almost ten minutes of use yet the time to recharge the fuel was longer than before, taking from dawn to dusk.

The skill description said that the cost of the use of the skill would go down with each level.

The fact that time of use was growing longer and the time of recharge of fuel was also going up, led him to two possible conclusions.

Recharge time was constant and his fuel tank had expanded.

Recharge time might also be increasing, but at a speed that was much slower than the expansion of his fuel tank. Two hypotheses, yet no proof for either.

This fuel for skills, Tercius named mana. The name appealed to a part of him that spent years playing fantasy games, reading books, and watching movies. From there, he defined two different terms.

Mana pool, as the amount of mana his body had.

Mana regeneration, as the rate at which spent mana was restored.

He did want to make some kind of a scale for both, but he had no actual way of making an accurate representation of either. He had no frame of reference-- especially if they changed with each passing day like he suspected that they did.

It seemed like a job for a whole team of people, measuring devices, and a lot of time.

Approximations would have to do, for the time being, he thought as the hold on his chest became too tight.

“No,” Tercius said and tried to push away Septimus’s iron grip.

Like waking from a dream, Septimus' hand let go of Tercius’ torso as the misty eyes of his father turned to Tercius. “Sorry little guy. Did I hold too tight?”

“...No worries.”