#8.2 A Legacy (Patreon)

Language Acquisition (20)

Visualization (18)

Serenity of the Mind (14)

The 'tingle episodes' continued to occur at seemingly random times and never lasting longer than twenty-ish minutes. As the lingering effect of the episodes was always seemingly positive, Tercius had gotten used to their occasional impromptu visit. His mana was almost always completely refilled afterward and the few times the tingles happened just when he was about to go to sleep— his bodily need for rest would evaporate.

Tercius equated a single 'tingle episode' with a large dose of caffeine and left it at that, if only for the sale of his sanity.

His third birthday passed with a small family celebration, and that celebration turned out to be a watershed, of sorts, for the way Tercius spent his awake time every day since.

Where he previously lazed about, practiced his skills, meditated, or listened to others talk, now he spent that time with his grandparents, who had taken a more active role in his daily life.

Each day when he woke up, ate, and did his private business, Rona would take him with her to her ever-expanding garden where she would talk to him about herbs for hours on end, sometimes singing about that flower or this mushroom— all to teach him a skill.

During her gardening lessons, his grandmother would sit on the ground and place Tercius on her crossed legs. Taking his three-year-old hands in her aged ones, she would sing while she used her skill to aid the plants in their growth. The goal, as he understood it, was for him to feel the skill in work and learn enough lore of flora and fungi for him to gain a skill similar to the one his grandmother used.

"— and this is?" Rona asked as she pulled a branch of one bush.

"Yellow Biroo," Tercius said clearly and concisely.

"Well done." Rona pointed at a gangly black root near her foot. "And that?"

"Tinnalu Creep,"

"Yes, Tercy, well done," Rona praised Tercius with a gentle pat on his head. "A small, just transplanted, Tinnalu Creep. A single root. I need to grow a whole cluster out of it. How do I do that?"

"Use the knife," Tercius said and then keenly observed with his green eyes how his grandmother made small incisions on three spots along the length of the root. A sweet smell entered his nostrils as a golden sap left each incision place.

"Now what do we do?" Rona asked, patiently.

"We use the skill," Tercius said and slowly crawled out of his grandmother's lap.

"Yes. Place your hands on the root, Tercy,"

Tercius felt the coarse, bark-like, structure of the root as the sticky sap clung to his small hand. Rona placed her hand over his and used her skill.

Tercius did not see anything, but he felt it.

When his grandmother used the skill, he felt something pass through his hands and that something went for the root. The feeling was gentle, soothing even. Minutes passed and he felt movement under his little hand. Never rushing, the movement was gentle and slow— poking and prodding at his palm.

Rona removed her hand off of his after ten minutes and he was able to see the result. The wound on the black root was gone, replaced by less than a centimeter of new growth.

They repeated the same to the other two wounds and left the Tinallu Creep for that day.

"One of the secrets to good, healthy plants is to use the skill as little as possible. The plants know what they are doing, you just… help them along. Give them nudge from time to time, so to speak," Rona said as they moved to the vegetable garden until midday.

The heat at midday was unbearable during the whole summer and most of the fall— most people hid in their houses for three to four hours around midday and waited out for the worst of the heatwave to pass.

Septimus and Ciron would return home around that time, to eat and rest. Those two were out every day, inspecting, building, helping, greasing bumpy relationships between headstrong neighbors… It was horrifying how much work the last part required.

After a sumptuous meal prepared by the sunny Petra, followed by a brief nap, Ciron would take Tercius and do the same thing that Rona did the whole morning.

Ciron's giant palms smoothed out small stones, while Tercius held his small hands in the space between. The giant man and the small child moved on to large stones, evening their surfaces then messing them up and repeating it all over again.

"Fun. Right?" Ciron gruffly asked at the end of each session.

"Very," Tercius answered with a smile. He could barely wait to do this by himself.

Tercius hesitated to say this to Rona, but he felt Ciron's skill much more clearly. The reason he hesitated to say it, was because his grandparents were involved in a cold war.

The reason for the war was simple. Each wanted Tercius to learn his or her skill first, and neither was willing to back down.

Tercius was not sure what Rona—usually kind, yet frighteningly pragmatic—would do to Ciron if she were to find out. He was sure that she wouldn't poison her husband to death—she was clearly attached to him—but a few weeks of severe stomach aches to remove him out of the picture, just enough for her to win?

Tercius wanted to say that she wouldn't do something like that, but… he couldn't. The woman was kind, but she also had zero chill when things she cared about came into question.

Rona was completely opposite to Tercius in that way. He was completely content to ignore someone who annoyed him verbally; denying the complete existence of such individuals and therefore all of their words, while Rona often went on literal crusades to right the wrong of a single word that bothered her— and she rarely used words as weapons. Herbs were her favorite weapon.

So Tercius did what he did best; he kept quiet about that little tidbit and just absorbed the lessons both experienced elders gave.

Months went by and their little village grew from fifteen households to nineteen with four large families taking Septimus up on his offer. A rather large arable land plot, along with the offered help for the construction of a new home was what had brought new tenants around.

The previous months were marked by another kind of a population boom— almost every house in the village had a baby born.

The only exception was their own home.

People had a lot of children in these parts— four to five being a norm of sorts.

Petra's stubbornly flat stomach had attracted some eyes. A lot of talk went on, in certain gossip circles in the village, mostly badmouthing Petra and her 'bad loins'.

Tercius had marked every single chatty face he heard, for later retribution. Visualization was useful like that.

Of course, where growth exists withering follows. Such was the way of nature, as his new grandmother was prone to chant in her soothing prayers.

There was a graveyard now in the vicinity of their village, a resting place for three adults, five elders, and babies, in numbers he did not want to count, who did not make it.

Rona often went there to chant prayers and plant trees for the dead, and Tercius used to tag along. He had never thought about death much, it was just one of those inevitable things that would one day happen.

Then reincarnation happens and he had occasionally started wondering if he was now immortal, in a way. He did not know what invoked more turbulent thoughts in him, death or endless reincarnation. Is there some kind of a middle ground? I hope so…

He was present when one of the 'elders' of the village got buried and witnessed another disparity between his old and new world. The buried 'elder' wasn't even fifty years of age. For Tercius even fifty was still under the label 'adult', certainly not 'elder'. It might be the thirty-year-old modern manchild talking from inside him, but he felt that fifty-year-olds were not elders.

It bothered him that something so trivial bothered him.

His skills were slowly progressing, crawling along with the months.

Language Acquisition (20)

Visualization (20)

Serenity of the Mind (17)

Tercius's lessons of plant lore and basic stonecraft continued daily. Gardening with Rona in the mornings, making stone blocks— perfect for Tercius to play with— with Ciron in the afternoons.

His Language Acquisition had arrived at level twenty a few months ago, and Tercius had guessed that he had reached the ceiling of leveling. It turned out that he was wrong.

When he finally solved the required language barrier, he learned quite accidentally of another kind of barrier. A skill barrier.

"A barrier?" Three and a half-year-old Tercius asked, confused. "What's that?"

Ciron said, "Well, a stone wall is a kind of a barrier."

Rona laughed at Tercius's blank expression. "The boy is asking about the skill barrier, not your stones,"

His grandmother took Tercius under his armpits and placed him in her lap. "Tercy, you know of skills. Well, a skill gains levels, slowly. Weeks for a level, then months, then years. Well, this leveling is not unlimited—"

"Unlimited? What's that?" Tercius asked. The word scratched his ear, but he couldn't quite place it.

"... without end, let us say," his grandmother calmly hummed. "Where was I? Ah! The leveling is not without an end. Every twenty levels a barrier will occur."

Rona leaned into his ear and whispered, "Grandma will teach you how to pass over it if you get my skill first,"

"You crafty woman. I may not hear what you are saying, but I see it in your eyes," Ciron's narrowed eyes and frowning eyebrows calmly rebuked his wife. With gentle eyes, he turned to Tercius. "Grandson, do not be swayed by such bribes. I also know of the method and I will share it with you when the time comes."

Rona seemed unrepentant.

Exchanges like these became more common with every passing day. Septimus and Petra occasionally threw their own name around, using the old 'makers of the child in question' as a prerogative.

In early spring, some six months before Tercius's fourth birthday, things finally came to a head.

Rona, Septimus, and Petra were having a very passive-aggressive verbal spar when the silent grandfather brought out the big guns.

"You would deny my craft an heir?" Ciron said, seemingly devastated. With sad eyes, he looked to the distance. "I'm old, my children. My wife. Six decades in less than two years, I will have under my belt. My end nears, and yours is far away— as it should be. You have time to teach both him and any of the grandchildren I might or might not see…"

Somberly, the trio left, and only when Tercius and Ciron were alone did the elder flash a large smile to his grandson as his eyes twinkled with merriment. Tercius was about to comfort the man, but then he stopped as he realized what was going on.

Tercius was both impressed and a little alarmed at how Ciron outplayed the others.

Following that masterful checkmate, Tercius was left with Ciron— the circular arguments the others had stopped by a stone wall made by one crafty old man.

"Don't worry, my grandson. You and I are going to have some grand fun,"

***

A small breeze carried the scents of flowers of spring, as the sunlight escaped rowing black clouds only to gently warm the landscape. It was a kind of day that any farmer would want every day of the year to be.

Tercius was able to see everything around for seemingly kilometers, as Ciron carried him on his shoulders.

In the distance to the south, the grey and green monoliths towered over the flat land, rising suddenly like swords accidentally stabbed there by some passing deity. Their peaks scared the thick black clouds up there, where sky and earth met.

Somewhere up there, in between those peaks, Hippotion draws its watery roots, Tercius observed the distance with dreamy eyes. The landscape in early spring was a balm for sore eyes. The sun had yet to give its harsh summer judgment, and in this part of the world, that judgment was especially brutal and unforgiving.

Without Hippotion to offer succor, all plant life would dry and wilt, animals and humans die of thirst, the land crack and turn to dust. The river was the lifeline of every being that lived in this part of the world, for four out of twelve months. Those who failed to come near its waters in time often left the world of the living with its image in their wanting, dry eyes.

The bushes of the earth-hugging breed, those that knew when to drink water and when to spend it to survive all year round, clung to the few low rolling mounds of earth.

Tercius turned his head to the north-west to observe a small grove— planted and cared for by Rona— just near the river. The grove was encircled on the southside by a natural rock formation that turned its sharp teeth at any onrushing water, giving much-needed protection to the still-growing trees. Hippotion had its wild side too and claimed as many as it saved, be it fauna or flora.

Ciron's height gave Tercius a great vantage point and he wanted to use it as much as possible. His dark hair swished to the north, as his eyes looked down the gentle hill, that some would call a mound.

A collection of almost two dozen homes made of yellow and gray stone made up the village of Fress. Around every home was a sturdy wall, an absolute necessity in these parts.

Predators, mostly felines close in likeness to lions, sometimes passed by in search of food. They usually stayed away preferring their natural prey to a human, but even a human was as good a meal as any other when the beasts were hungry. The domestic animals, pigs, chickens, horses, and cows were often targeted by these graceful hunters, and households without walls lost more than they earned.

Another kind of danger came from migrations of large herds of wild bovines that came to drink on the banks of Hippotion during the hot summer months. If you got in their path on flat land with nowhere to climb or hide behind something sturdy enough to endure their head-spinning momentum, then you were as good as gone.

In the depths of the unclaimed river, reptilian eyes waited for a chance to snatch their meal and drag it down into their watery world. Because of this menace, people that lived by the banks of Hippotion had long ago started fencing off shallow parts of the river denying access to these ambush predators.

One such river fence made of stone, courtesy of one bored stonemason, was used to ‘tame’ a part of Hippotion that went near their village. Channels for irrigation took water from there and led it to the nearby fields.

Ciron's long legs ate the distance with ease, and Tercius found himself surrounded by those fields of just sprouting barley and wheat. A lot of other vegetables were also grown, but in much smaller quantities. Each house had a parcel of land they worked on as a family, tilling, planting, caring for and using skills and when the harvest finally came around, they turned over half of everything that was harvested to visiting caravans of tax collectors.

Tercius smiled at a thought. Even in another world tax collectors were not well received.

They passed the village and went to their house.

"How was the walk?" Petra greeted them with a bright smile. "Did you have a nice time?"

Ciron grunted affirmatively; Tercius nodded.

"Sit, I just finished the lunch," Petra commanded and they obeyed.

After lunch, his grandfather took Tercius to his work area, behind the house. There was a stone of every form and size, anyway he looked. A small shed, made completely out of stone, was used to store tools.

His grandfather liked to work in the open, under the bough of a tree his grandmother personally planted and cared for.

Blocks of rough stone in various states of progress, Ciron's most recent work, were all over the area— seemingly a child's playground.

"I feel like a fool for even considering this so early, with you being so young, but my instinct is telling me that the time has come. Today we begin with the next step in getting you your skill. Put this on, over your eyes," Ciron extended a small white rag.

"Is this necessary, grandfather?" Tercius asked, doubt thick in his childish voice, even as he took the rag.

"Grandson, if I tell you to jump, you will ask how high. Of course, it's necessary, do you think your grandfather would pull a prank on you?" asked the older man, sounding almost offended.

Yes, you would, Tercius complained for his mind only.

It was his grandfather's prerogative to teach how he wished, and for Tercius to decide if that teaching method suited him.

Even with the chance of a joke at his expense, he put the rag over his eyes and tied it behind his head. Grandfather checked the knot and satisfied with the work he proceeded to guide his grandson into the shade. Once they were sitting on the ground his grandfather began.

Ciron took Tercius's hands and pulled them slowly over an object. His fingers went over it and he said, "A bowl. A wooden bowl,"

His fingers dived into the bowl, getting a feel of the substance inside of it. It was malleable,  a putty of some kind most likely, wet and easily moved by his fingers, changing shape while giving some resistance.

Some sort of clay probably, he thought. Grandfather is above using those shitty pranks, right?

"So what now?" he asked after his fingers played with the clay. Yes, clay. It had to be clay. It better be clay, old man, or a lot of bad things will happen to you.

"Use your hands to make that into a brick shape," his grandfather answered.

Tercius slowly molded the clay into a rough brick, smoothing every edge with his hands until he could tell even without his eyes that everything was as it should be.

"Not bad." his grandfather's tone approved. "Now I know and you know that that is not a stone, but imagine it is. Believe it is. Put into your mind the thought that the brick you have there is a white stone you dug up.

"You toiled a whole day to get it out of the earth. You picked it up and it's the heaviest stone you have ever lifted. Now that you have it in front of you, you see it is of the wrong shape."

"It's too big," his grandfather judged with a tone that brooked no argument. "So what will you do? Will you go get a new one, hoping that it will be the right shape you need? Or will you make it the shape you need?"

"Tercius, what will you do?!" The elder's voice rose, booming about the area. The way Ciron asked and the tone of the words made Tercius shiver.

"Will you go dig and toil again, for a chance at a right stone? Or will you rip that stone with your bare hands? With your fingers like claws, will you split that stone into the shape it needs to be in? Answer me!" Boomed the voice of the elder.

Tercius' brain did not even realize what his hands had already done.

One hand grasped the rag and took it off his head, pulling hair and leaving filth over his face.

I did it! Tercius cheered as a bubbly laugh escaped him.

You have learned the skill: Stone Shaping! Obtain Yes/No?

"I did it! I have it!" Tercius excitedly informed the elder. It had been almost two years ago that he gained Serenity of the Mind, and not a peep since.

Yes, he accepted and immediately thought of the name of the skill.

Stone Shaping (1)

While the skill is in use, your hands can manipulate small volumes of stone. Every skill level increases the effect by a small degree and lowers the cost of use by a small degree.

"Grandfather! I did it!" Tercius grabbed the stunned elder's giant hand, his joy running wild. Months of work had been invested in this and it paid off!

The elder's stone face seemed unable to process the information.

"Your Grandmother put you up to this, didn't she?" finally the man answered, the confusion replaced by a stony expression. "That crafty woman! I knew she wouldn't let it rest! Ohh, I will have words with her…"

Tercius saw that the elder was getting worked up in some fantasy of his, so he decided that 'a show' might do more than 'a tell', and do it a lot faster. "Look. Look!"

Tercius took a small stone into his hands, a gray one that barely fit into his fist. Instinctively, like with all other skills, the knowledge of how to do it just came to him— he pressed his upper hand down and flattened the egg-shaped stone into a gray pancake.

Tercius excitedly looked up, meeting the stunned gaze of his grandfather.

"On the first try… You really did it… You… First… Ha! I knew it. I knew it! My instinct is never wrong!" Ciron loudly proclaimed, pride and vindication thick in his voice. "I told them! You are a mason born! Ha!"

Tercius flew up through the air, as the strong hands of one excited grandfather picked him up. The older man cheered and shook Tercius like a ragdoll, up and down, completely ignorant of what he was actually doing.

In a conical spray of green, the contents of Tercius's stomach showered over the excited elder, washing away the evident glee with its acidic bitterness.