Chapter 10: A Specialization Has To Be Magical (Patreon)

Zed basked in the warm light of the sun. It was truly nothing special, but with all the blood washed away there was an appreciation for it. That, and the gentle touch of breeze on his skin came together to birth a gentle bliss.

When they’d left their subtle meeting with Heimdall, Jason had dropped him and Oliver off at an almost rebuilt home. It still had a wide hole in the roof on the south side but a house tour gladly given by Oliver showed steps had been taken to keep things like the rain out. Luckily, the hole only leaked into the attic and there wasn’t much in it. Still, a proper tarp held down by glue, tape, and what Zed suspected were stapling pins covered the hole. The resourcefulness was as commendable as the soundness was questionable.

But Oliver wasn’t complaining so it likely held out better than Zed thought.

After the tour, Oliver showed him to a room and brought him a fresh set of clothes, showed him were the soap was and proved more than happy to leave.

The shower was different from the mental sensation he’d felt at the mention of it. It was cold where he’d felt warmth and the amount of scrubbing he’d had to do to get the blood out was hellish. In the end, his skin was left sore and slightly pinkish.

The events after that were simpler. In simple cargo pants and a white shirt, Zed convinced Oliver to extend his tour of the house to a tour of the town, opting for a small level of normalcy before being thrown back into the madness of all things mana related.

The first place Oliver took him was the market. It was—unsurprisingly—housed in what would’ve once been a supermarket. The building was large and old, and the glass double doors no longer worked. Zed came to learn it was a recent mishap caused by children playing what was meant to be a harmless prank, but the way the trader with his stall at the entrance told the story left the notion of the prank being harmless suspect.

The store was lit with activities. People hovered around in trade, buying and selling as was their right. Most of the time Zed caught people haggling prices in a currency he was sure he’d never heard of. It was fun to note that despite it all, everything remained on the amiable side.

Oliver moved him around the stores. They greeted nice old ladies and young men with smiles a little too wide and hands a little too touchy for Zed’s liking. It turned out Oliver was wildly known. He and his sister hadn’t been around long but he carried enough love for both of them.

As they left the market Zed took a certain warmth in the pride the sellers had for the food they sold. He liked to think it was deserved but couldn’t be sure. After all, he had no idea what half the things they sold were, and the other half were words he vaguely remembered. There was no doubt if he was put in a kitchen with all the ingredients the lovely women had advised he cook with, he’d end up cooking the house itself.

The ‘scrapyard’ as Oliver liked to call where everyone got their equipment was nothing but a shed kept separately from the rest of the town. It wasn’t a long way out but it was far away enough that someone didn’t just ‘stumble’ upon it. Oliver’s words.

And they didn’t.

Zed stared at it from a distance, standing beside a line of clothes hung out to dry before they were on their way elsewhere.

It was a nice town undisturbed by the chaos of the world outside it and Zed thanked them mentally for the small reprieve from the blood and terror.

They were still on their tour when a familiar sensation filled Zed at the sight of playing children. The children were gathered in front of one of the houses under the supervision of two dark skin women, playing a children’s game he’d never heard of. All he knew was that it was loud, it was proud, it had moments of silence where a child walked around a ring of sitting children, and the children seemed to be enjoying it quite nicely.

“Oliver,” he said, drawing Oliver to a halt by his collar. “Any idea what that game is?”

Oliver turned to look at the children, then turned back to him. “You mean duck, duck, goose?”

“Looks like fun,” Zed said, dragging Oliver in its direction. “Let’s go see how many ducks we can get.”

“I believe the point of the game is picking the goose,” Oliver muttered.

“Then let’s go trap us a goose.”

………………………………………

The day was darkening and the sun cast the world in an orange glow with an influx of people in what Zed had discovered was the residential part of the town when the rest of the team found him and Oliver.

Zed was engaged in a mystifying conversation requiring all the detective skills and shocking gasps he could muster with Cindy, one of the few children still left in front of the house, as he sat on the porch with her behind him.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Ash laughed as she saw him. “Ollie, where did you drop Red?”

“I swear I was just as shocked as you are,” Oliver laughed.

Jason and Chris simply stood, but where Jason face was frozen, Chris struggled with her ability to speak.

“I know,” Zed grinned at her. “It’s my abundant charm. Just take your time, it’ll come to you.”

Behind him Cindy giggled and Chris’s confusion turned to a frown.

“Forget I asked,” Ash told Oliver. “That’s definitely Red.”

“And what exactly are you doing?” Chris asked Zed, finding her voice.

“Well,” Zed stretched the word, “Cindy here was just giving me the latest piece of information around. Did you know that Kyle holds the highest record in duck duck goose, and Mindy—Ow.” He turned to look back at Cindy. “Careful back there.”

She stuck her tongue out at him and went back to playing with his hair.

He returned his attention to the team. “Now, where was I? Right. Did you know Mindy keeps trying to get her name legally changed to Cindy just because she thinks the boys will like her for it? For some reason, she thinks she’s Cindy number two because of it. Fortunately, her mom won’t let her since there can only be one Cindy.”

Jason looked at Oliver. “What the hell is he talking about?”

Oliver shrugged.

“So,” Zed continued, “what were you guys doing?”

“None of your…” Chris’ words trailed off when Zed looked at her.

She looked stunned by surprise.

“It’s the eyes, isn’t it?” Zed grinned. “I was just as mesmerized when I saw them in the mirror, too. Never knew I had green eyes. Shocked the hell out of me.”

“Wait, what?”

“Oliver here saw me and started looking at me funny so I had to give him the talk about the birds and the bees.”

“No,” Oliver shook his head frantically. “I never did that. I swear I didn’t.”

“We know, Ollie,” Ash assured him. “He’s alright to look at under all the red but he’s not that good looking. Besides, he’d have been better if his hair was black.”

“Dunno,” Cindy said absently. “I think I like it like this. I like red.”

“It’s auburn, love,” Zed told her softly. “Not red.”

He returned his attention to find everyone staring at him in surprise.

“What?”

A lady came up to them just then, taking the attention off him. She wore a nice long gown and a sunhat and she smelled of satisfaction and testosterone.

“Good evening, Miss Bowen,” Oliver greeted with a slight bow of his head.

“Morning, Oliver,” she said. “Morning, Jason.”

Jason inclined his head. “Evening, Miss Bowen.”

She gave the girls a wave and a smile before turning to Zed. “Sorry I had to leave you with the kids, I hope they weren’t too much of a handful.”

Zed gave her his friendliest smile. “Not at all, Jane. In fact, Cindy’s been on her best behavior. Isn’t that right, Cindy?”

Cindy nodded enthusiastically.

It brought a soft smile to her mother’s face before the woman walked up the stairs and passed Zed. She called her daughter in as she opened the door and Cindy gave Zed a gentle pat on the head before getting up.

“Nice meeting you, Uncle Mel.”

Zed got up and waved her in. “Nice meeting you, too, Cindy.” When she was gone, he turned to the others. “Does anyone know what’s wrong with Miss Bowen? She greets good morning for everything. She did it this afternoon and it’s clearly evening now.”

“I asked her once, actually,” Oliver said.

“And what did she say?”

“She said its always morning somewhere.”

“Oh,” Zed mused. “That makes sense.”

When Cindy and her mother were safely inside and Zed was left alone with the team, his gentle smile still on his lips, Ash walked up to stand beside him.

“How’s a guy like you so good with kids?”

The question brought a thought to Zed’s mind and his mood dipped. The smile slipped from his face, gone like a mask that no longer fit.

“I had a daughter once,” he said in a soft voice. “Spent a lot of time with her when her mom was no longer around.” He shrugged. “You pick up a thing or two from a child if you spend enough time with them.”

Zed was certain it wasn’t his memory. He knew he didn’t have a daughter. He knew the memory belonged to the loving father he could scarcely remember properly. Yet he couldn’t push it. He couldn’t outweigh the sense of loss that came with knowing he’d never see his daughter again.

Even though she’s not, fucking, mine! He thought, slowly slipping from grief into to anger. He noticed it and it only served to worsen his mood. I guess I get that one from my good friend Berserker. He took a deep breath that failed to calm him. Shitty memories.

He turned away with a frown and said, “Oliver was telling me something about getting signed up with the camp management and getting my job as one of you guys assigned. Let’s go do that.”

He strolled away from them even though he had no idea where camp management was and didn’t turn back.

Left behind, Ash turned to Jason. “He has a daughter.”

Jason shrugged, his mood drab.

“Isn’t he too young to have a daughter?” Chris asked, staring at Zed’s departing form. “And, by the way, Oliver, I’ve got a question.”

“What’s up?”

“What happened to his shoes?”

…………………………………………….

The path to camp management was long. They walked a good distance, strolled out of the residential zone which wasn’t as large as Zed had led himself to believe. Their path moved into a ring road and they turned down another path. When they arrived at camp management Zed was confused.

The path they’d taken was unnecessarily lengthy. They could’ve bypassed it all if they’d taken a different turn. He’d been in the town barely a day and knew the lay out was wrong. His face was a thoughtful frown when he realized what had happened. He’d been the one who’d stomped away, leaving them to follow in his wake. Only after a while of his misdirection had Oliver subtly taken the lead. On his part, Zed had been too occupied in his own mind, disagreeing with the cognitive dissonance of memories that were not his, no matter how broken and incomplete. Was reviewing the new pocket memory really necessary? Who was to say anything good would come from it. He might not be the best version of himself now, but he liked who he was.

His mind rummaged around in itself as they came on the location of the camp management. It was a stack of caravans, containers used for shipping large quantities of goods overseas.

The containers were stacked on top of each other. They varied in color spread between blue and brown and black. One stacked on top of another. There was a massive square hole cut into the side of the bottom container and Oliver led them to it.

Inside an older man sat behind a long desk. He had the look of someone already tired of the day. He wore faded clothes and glasses with a crack in one lens.

“What’s up George,” Oliver greeted.

“For the fifth time, Oliver, it’s Gregory,” the man droned blandly.

“What’s up, Greg,” Jason greeted. “What did we miss?”

“Nothing.” Greg looked up. His gaze took them in before glancing to the side where Zed stood, looking around. “Who’s the new guy?”

Zed spared them a glance at the table, shrugged, then went back to staring.

“Name’s Zed,” Jason answered. “We came to register him.”

Greg raised a brow and lowered his glasses to look at Zed again. “You sure?” he asked. “I heard the guy you came with’s got more blood on him. Although,” he pushed his glasses back in place, “maybe Bruce was just talking about his hair. Been a while since I last saw someone with red hair.”

“Auburn,” Zed said, rubbing a finger down one side of the caravan. He peered at it before blowing it out.

“Pardon me?” Greg asked.

“It’s auburn not red. I’ve got no idea why I’m so hung up on that but,” Zed shrugged, “it is what it is. And you’re pardoned, by the way.”

Greg snorted and turned back to Jason. “Weird guy, too.” Then he looked down at Zed’s toes. “What happened to your shoes?”

Zed wiggled his toes, enjoying the feel of it. “I’ve got a fear of shoes.”

“A fear of shoes,” Greg said, skeptical.

“Yup,” Zed said. “Some long medical name. Latin sounding apparently. You might’ve heard of it.” He paused thoughtfully. “One of those words that end with a phobia.”

“You have a terminal fear of shoes?”

“Gods no. Not me. My feet. Like feet claustrophobia.”

“Your feet have claustrophobia. But not you.”

“I know right. I was just as confused as you are when they told me.”

Greg shook his head and reached under his table, tired of the conversation. He pulled out a drawer, dug around inside it, slid it back in and pulled out another. He moved through it, raising files and books. From where Zed stood, he could see what the man was doing and didn’t stop himself from taking a peek. It gave him no new or useful information.

A while later Greg pulled out a pen and a large book, the last of three in the drawer, and dropped them on the table. The book landed with a loud thud.

“Haven’t had anyone new since that kid last week,” he said, leafing through the pages. “Ah, there it is. Grant.”

He stopped at a page and tapped it with his finger.

“Come on, Zed,” Jason said, looking down at the book. “Time to put your name down in ink.”

Zed walked up to them, his mood still somber from the effects of his thoughts despite the little show he had just put on. He picked the pen, rolled it between his fingers. It was a familiar feeling, an odd feeling. His fingers simply moved as if he’d been doing it forever but he didn’t know how. It reminded him of his uncertainty towards his own thoughts as he bent over the table.

He scratched a single word into a column and dropped the pen.

“There,” he said, with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m a part of you now.”

Greg looked down at the book.

“First name, Zed.” He looked up at Zed, then, as if deciding better of it, turned to Jason. “He’s still got more to fill.”

Jason looked down at the book, read it, then turned to Zed. “I know you’re probably going through a few things right now but you’ve got to fill the book.”

He picked up the pen and held it out to him but Ash snatched it from his hand.

“Job role,” she read. “Hunter. Specification. Mage. Rank. Beta. Surname?”

She turned to Zed.

“Nyborn,” Zed answered.

“I thought it was Mel,” Chris said.

Zed paused. “Why would you think that?”

“The little girl called you Mel.”

Zed shrugged. “What can I say, I’m a man of many names.”

Ash read through the remaining options and dropped the pen. “Can’t answer the others. Come fill the rest, Red.”

“You know,” Zed said, picking up the pen. “You’re beginning to grow on me, Ash.”

“I’d rather not.”

Zed bent over and scribbled additional words in. “What’s specialization?”

There was a pause.

“Every mage can cast magic or spells, depending on who you ask,” Greg explained after a while. “But they need spellforms to cast them. But most mages develop a specialization before they hit Beta rank.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, sorry.”

Greg opened his mouth then paused. “What am I, some kind of lecturer? I’m not here to teach you what you’re supposed to know. Just fill the darned book and get on with it. You can leave it empty if you want. Most people do, anyway.”

Zed flipped the page back and noted some names, true to Greg’s words, had nothing written under specialization. As for ranks some simply had the word ‘Awakened’ under it.

“Alright, then.” Zed flipped the page back, scribbled a word in and turned the book. “That should do.”

Greg read what he wrote and frowned. It was the first real expression on his face since they got here.

“Is something wrong with the kid?” he asked Jason.

“Why?”

“Look at what he wrote.”

Jason turned the book to look at it.

“Specialization,” he read, “Tomahawk.”

Everyone turned to Zed and he shrugged.

“Specialization is magic based,” Chris said. “A tomahawk is a weapon. A specialization has to be magical.”

“You should see me with a tomahawk,” Zed said. “I’ve been told it’s magical.”

Chris groaned and abandoned the conversation.

Jason turned to Greg, diplomatic. “Can we leave that in until we get his specialization?”

“What do I care?” Greg said, and picked up his pen. “Age, nothing. Since he looks like he’s twenty-five and has the brain activity of a twelve-year-old I’ll just go ahead and put him down for twenty-three.” He looked up after scribbling it down. “Any objection?”

They looked at Zed.

“Nothing from me,” he said. “More than happy to be young. Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Greg said. He reached back into the drawer to replace the book and brought out another one. “Hunter’s test.”