Mistrunner - Chapter 53 - The Grieving Templar (Patreon)

I was doomed the moment I was born. The deck was always stacked against me. A young, black man growing up in the deep south. No father. No money. Just a burning desire to escape. I turned to the Army, not because I wanted to fight, but because it was the only option open to me. And as it turned out, I was a born killer. Sometimes, I wonder if I would’ve ever discovered that if I’d have been born under different circumstances.

Jeremiah Braddock III

After traveling for a few hours, I finally decided to take refuge in a huge, decrepit building that was surrounded by acres of concrete. The building itself was confined to one level, but the ceilings were high enough that it could’ve housed a couple of stories. Ivy and other vegetation covered its crumbling façade, but because of the paved surroundings, only a few trees had managed to take hold in the area. The result was a mostly open space, populated only by the rusted-out hulks of a handful of ancient cars.

As I approached it, I couldn’t help but wonder what the building’s original purpose had been. Perhaps my uncle would know. Either way, I approached it with appropriate caution, holding my rifle in a firing position. During my time in the wilderness, I had been surprised often enough that even an apparently empty lot couldn’t lull me into a sense of security. As it happened, my caution was unnecessary, and I reached the building’s entrance unmolested.

I stepped inside, sweeping my weapon around as I studied the interior. The roof was still intact, so the worst of the rain remained outside. However, the humidity had done a number on the place, resulting in an entire ecosystem of fungi and creeping vines. I heard the skittering of rodents, as well, but through Observation, I determined that none of them were large enough to truly threaten me. So, I continued inside.

I wasn’t certain if it was due to my enhanced constitution, the effects of Observation, or some side benefit of my optical implant, but I’d developed the ability to see in the dark, albeit not as well as I could in daylight. A good thing, too, because the only light entering the building came from the open entrance, and even that was muted by the overcast and rainy day. Because of that night vision, though, I got a good look at the building’s interior, and what I saw was baffling.

Along the front were a series of rotted tables, topped by plastic screens. I approached one, and I was a little surprised to see a thin, plastic bag. Further inspection of the area only served to confuse me more, because upon the table was a metal rack, empty but for a couple of sealed tins a few inches long. At the other end of the table was a box with a glass front, inside of which were soda cans.

That, as much as anything else, told me that the building had been some sort of shop. Perhaps it had been an indoor market, though the sheer size of the building suggested a multitude of purposes. Maybe it was something like the King’s Row mall back in Nova City, which housed hundreds of shops. That mall was vertically constructed, but with so much land available, it was understandable that pre-Initialization architects would’ve chosen to build out, rather than up. With that explanation in mind, I moved further into the building.

I spent the next couple of hours exploring the place, but I didn’t find anything of note. Just some old, useless screens, a few tires, and a few rusted-out tools. It had clearly been abandoned for decades, and it looked it. However, my inspection did yield results in the form of an isolated place for me to sleep.

Judging by the still-intact porcelain toilets, the room had been a public bathroom. However, because it only had one entrance, it was a perfect place to hole up for the night. So, once I barricaded the heavy metal door, I re-checked my wounds from the previous battle, cleaned up, and devoured a brick-like ration bar. It didn’t go down easily because I’d been fantasizing about my nightly meals back in the Dewdrop Inn. I’d taken them for granted, of late, and as I chewed on the tasteless nutrient brick, I resolved to change that.

After I was fed and my wounds were treated, I hung my wet clothes up to dry. I knew they wouldn’t completely dry out overnight, but I hoped they would come close because I didn’t have any spares. Not after getting repeatedly torn up in the Rift.

Once that was done, I decided to take a look at my status, and I was surprised to find that all of my skills were on the verge of reaching the fifth tier. In addition, I’d managed to gain a few levels as well. As a result, I felt it wouldn’t be long before I finally attained level ten and got to choose a class. That, though, was a thought for another day. As happy as I was to see the progression, I knew I needed time to decompress.

Leaning against the wall, I took a little time to just think. Usually, I spent any free time I had doing puzzles or furthering my training, but for once, I just wanted to relax – at least as well as I could while camping in an ancient and abandoned building. With a flick of my eyes, I searched my KIOI’s memory and selected the audio file my uncle had given me for my sixteenth birthday. Even as the first Leviathan track began, I let out a long, exhausted sigh.

When my uncle had given me the file, he’d told me that it would help me to get through my training. And at first, he was right. When I was running sprints or trying to improve my time on the obstacle course, it certainly acted as a distraction from the pain and fatigue. However, the longer I kept it up, the more I’d come to realize that distractions were detrimental. If I was going to get the most out of my training, I needed to focus on it fully, to eke every last benefit I could out of my time spent. After all, when you’re dealing in seconds or inches, the slightest improvement can be the difference between life and death.

And given how close I’d come to dying in the Rift, my focus had been well applied. Going forward, I would only be less inclined to distraction because I knew the price that came with waning focus.

For now, though, I just relaxed. I listened. And despite the up-tempo beat and the thrashing guitar solos, it was strangely soothing. Eventually, sometime around the second loop through the file, I fell asleep, and I didn’t wake until the next morning. It was the most refreshing night of sleep I’d had in months, so I rose from the floor, optimistic about the coming days.

Even the taste – or lack thereof – of another ration bar wasn’t enough to dampen my mood as I went about my morning ablutions. It’d been weeks since I’d really felt clean, and I knew that, with the coming journey, it would likely be weeks more before I got back to Mobile and had a proper shower. Perhaps I could find a likely stream along the way.

After engaging in a few calisthenics meant to get my blood pumping, I removed the barricade from the door and exited the room, then the building. Thankfully, the thunderstorm had passed in the night. However, after only twenty minutes of trekking through the wilderness, I began to wish that the rainfall had stuck around. Without it, the heat had become oppressive, made even more so by the climbing humidity. I did my best to ignore it, but within an hour, my clothes were soaked with sweat.

So it went for the next two days while I made my way out of the Dead Zone. I made good time, only stopping when absolutely necessary, and I was relieved when, on the third day, I stepped across that almost invisible line and into normal territory. Looking back, I saw the same vaguely blue tint that I’d grown so accustomed to, and it felt as if someone had lifted a weight off my shoulders. I’d almost forgotten the heavy atmosphere, but now that it was gone, it seemed all the more oppressive.

The moment I was clear of the Dead Zone, I sent my uncle a message, letting him know that my mission had been successful, but he didn’t respond. That wasn’t abnormal, and given that I was in the middle of a test, I never really expected him to answer. However, I wanted to keep him apprised of my progress, just in case he’d started to worry.

I turned back around and kept going, eventually coming across a mostly intact highway. At probably twenty-five feet wide, it was cracked and, in places, the concrete was crumbling, but it made traversal a good deal easier than it would’ve been if I continued trekking through the forest.

However, on the second day after finding the road, I came upon an issue in the form of a convoy of unfamiliar trucks heading north. With Observation, I heard them coming long before they saw me, so I dove off the road and into the nearby brush. I managed to hide just in time, because only a few moments later, a huge, armored carrier rumbled past. I held my breath as I saw that it was manned by men and women who looked strikingly similar to the Enforcers back in Nova City.

Seven more vehicles passed by. Five cargo trucks and one more personnel carrier, the last of which sported a wicked-looking cannon on top. They were well-prepared for whatever issues the wildlife might present. As I watched them roll past, I wondered how I would fare against such a force. There were dozens of Enforcers, each armed and armored, and a pair of cannons that I suspected would pack quite a punch. Even if I could take them, it wouldn’t be a fight I would seek.

Not unless I had a few weeks to prepare, plan, and observe. Otherwise, any attack would be doomed to failure.

Once I was sure they were long gone, I continued along my way. It was two days later that I encountered an issue. Night had already fallen, and I was looking for somewhere to camp for the night when I stumbled upon a village of wildlings. At first, I took them for half-decayed corpses because they were sprawled across the road, but further inspection was enough to establish their identity as the feral, mutated humans. Even as I settled down to watch them, they started to rise, one after the other until they were all milling around aimlessly.

Until one let out a barking yell, silencing them and getting their attention. I looked at the apparent leader, and I saw that the wildling in question was a tall, skeletally thin figure with gaunt cheeks. The left side of his face was a mass of scars, and his eye was completely missing. His hair grew in ragged clumps, but what drew my eye was what looked like a tattoo on his left pectoral.

Never mind that wildlings weren’t supposed to have tattoos. They were the unfortunate creatures who had never had the opportunity to get a Nexus Implant. Without that guiding force, the Mist had twisted them into feral monsters. So, when did the creature get a tattoo?

Using my tried and true hiding method, I’d taken up a position in the boughs of a sprawling oak tree, so I didn’t think they would discover me. Still, I kept my rifle at hand.

“Please do not kill him,” came a soft voice from behind me.

I started, nearly falling from the branch. The leaves rustled, attracting some attention from the wildlings on the ground, but I was well concealed. Besides, I wasn’t really concerned with the threats down below. I was far more worried about whoever had just spoken to me. Still, I managed to mostly maintain my composure as I turned my head to see a man crouching behind me.

He wasn’t much bigger than me, though he had much broader shoulders. His hair was even wilder than mine, and he had a great, bushy beard. He also looked almost as dirty as the unfortunate wildlings below us, except that his outfit – which was completely white – was spotless. I didn’t need to see any more to know precisely what I was looking at.

A Templar, if one who’d clearly seen better days.

I’d only ever seen them from afar, but even with my sheltered upbringing, I knew what they were. Elite warriors who used Mist in strange and terrifying ways, people considered them akin to sorcerers. Before I’d begun my training, I’d thought that part a myth. Certainly, I knew they were probably powerful, but some of the stories I’d heard – some claimed there were Templars who could throw fireballs and manipulate the wind – were so unbelievable that they were patently ridiculous.

But then I’d started my training, and I had seen what even my skills could do. Even as my body, mind, and abilities grew stronger, my skepticism about what was possible faded away.

I was about to say something when he held a finger up to his lips, prompting silence. I whipped my head back to the wildlings, and I saw that they were directly under us. The tattooed leader sniffed the air a few times, but then he and the others moved on. After that, I remained motionless for a long while, just to make sure that they were truly gone.

Finally, after twenty minutes, the Templar said, “You may relax. The Unfortunates have fled the area.”

I turned my attention back in his direction, and I asked, “You’re a Templar, right? Who are you? Why are you here? And why did you sneak up on me?”

“You snuck up on me,” he said with a kindly smile, displaying blindingly white teeth. Clearly, his lack of hygiene didn’t extend to his mouth. Then, he pointed up at the tree’s higher branches, adding, “I was up there when you disturbed my watch.”

“Your watch?”

“The leader of the Unfortunate Ones,” he said. “He was once my apprentice. I had high hopes for him, but alas, the Mist took him.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, more than a little confused.

“I see that you are unaware of our customs,” the Templar said. “I am Frederick, and if you would share a meal with me, I will tell you what I can.”

It was probably a bad idea. After all, I was alone, and, no matter how much I focused on the man, I couldn’t discern his tier. Of course, Observation told me that he was powerful, but beyond that, I knew nothing. However, I was intrigued, and, more importantly, I was tired of eating ration bars. So, with a nod, I said, “Lead the way, Freddie.”

He cocked his head to the side, then cracked a small smile. “Freddie. I like that,” he said. Then, without waiting for a response, he leapt down from the limb and started walking to the west. I hopped down and followed behind him.

We walked for almost an hour, during which time the sun began to slip below the horizon. I was a little trepidatious about walking through the forest at night, but Freddie seemed okay with it. So, I followed without complaint. Finally, we reached a small shack; it was a fresh construction made of logs, suitable for a single person, but it looked sturdy enough. Freddie didn’t stop before heading inside, and a moment later, emerged with a sizable cast iron cauldron.

“Come,” he said. “Let us check the traps.”

He set off without my consent, and, with a sigh, I followed. A few minutes later, we reached the first of his traps, which had captured a wild hare. It was a mundane, unmutated creature, and I was reminded of the rabbit stew I’d tried to cook back in Bayou La Batre. Hopefully, Freddie knew more about cooking than I did. Over the next thirty minutes, night truly fell, and we gathered three more rabbits. Once Freddie had extracted the creatures from his snare lines, he reset them, and then we headed back to his shack. Once there, we gutted and skinned the creatures before he threw the meat into the cauldron. He must have had an Arsenal Implant or something of the like, because he quickly produced a few jugs of water and enough vegetables to populate the stew. In no time at all, he had it simmering over an open flame in front of the shack.

Through it all, he said little, and I took my cues from him, remaining silent as well. Eventually, the stew finished cooking, and he ladled it into a couple of earthenware bowls he produced from thin air. I was just about to ask him about it when he said, “I suppose you want to know what is going on.” He gestured with his spoon, saying, “Eat, and I will tell you what I can of my order. Perhaps that will make sense of things for you.”

I nodded, then dipped my own spoon into the stew. When I slipped it into my mouth, I was pleasantly surprised by the flavor. It wasn’t great, but it was hearty and much better than the nutrient bricks I’d been eating of late. I quickly shoveled another spoonful into my mouth as Freddie began his explanation.

“The Templars do not use Nexus Implants,” he said. “We learn to manipulate the Mist on our own.”

“How?”

“Meditation,” he said. “Cultivation. It’s a whole…process that takes a decade or more before it bears fruit. I cannot and will not explain it now.”

“Fair enough,” I muttered, shoving another spoonful of rabbit stew into my mouth. It was definitely a lot better than my poor attempt.

“The process is not without its dangers,” he said. “The initial stages, they are not possible in tame environments. To make it work, we must be inundated in wild Mist.”

“Like in the Dead Zone or a Rift,” I guessed.

“You have been in the Dead Zone? You have seen a Rift?” he asked.

“Yes and yes,” I said. “The Dead Zone felt like someone had thrown a weighted blanket over me. The Rift was more oppressive.”

“So, you went inside,” he mused. “Impressive.”

I shrugged, eating more stew. When I swallowed, I said, “I guess. It wasn’t fun, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Nor should it be,” the man said, scratching his dirty beard. “But yes, our new initiates are subjected to the environment inside a Dead Zone. Or, if possible, a Rift. This does not come without risk, though. Few have strong enough spirits to withstand the wild Mist, and they succumb to it, becoming like those Unfortunate Ones we saw earlier.”

“So, you drag some kids into a Dead Zone, and they either learn what you’re trying to teach them, or they turn into wildlings,” I said. “You and my uncle would definitely get along. Similar training methods.”

“Is that so?” he said. “Would you like some more stew?”

I looked down to see that I’d finished my bowl, so I nodded and handed it back to him. While he served me a second helping, I asked, “That tall one back there, the one with the tattoo – you said he was your apprentice, right?”

“His name was Elijah,” Freddie said. “And he was a promising young man. All signs pointed to him breaking through and becoming a true Initiate. The Mist had other plans, and almost a year ago, he became as you saw him. A true loss.”

With that, he stood, adding, “Stay in the cabin if you like. I may see you again before you depart.”

Before I could respond, he strode off into the night, leaving me alone. Briefly, I considered following him, but I decided against that idea. He clearly wanted to be alone, so who was I to take that from him. I would be content to eat his stew and sleep in his cabin, and then, in the morning, I would be on my way. I wanted to know more about the Templars, but if I had learned nothing else, it was that we didn’t always get what we wanted.