《Penitent》


 Ch 1: Old is New

    Michael was barely conscious. He had the vaguest awareness of a rhythmic beeping from his bedside, the fuzzy outline of a few people surrounding him, and the smell of lemon scented cleaner. The only thing that was crystal clear to him, was the feeling of Sara¡¯s hand in his. He knew every crease in that hand. The scar on her palm from grabbing an overheated teapot, the painted nails just long enough to peek over her fingertips, and the many wrinkles that had come from their long life together. Her hand felt hot in his. Not warm, but almost burning. He guessed it must¡¯ve been because he himself was so cold. In spite of that heat he put all that he could into squeezing that hand back. It was a pitiful grip, but she returned it with enough pressure to hurt even through the fog of morphine and failing organs.


    It was just her, he was fairly certain the other shapes he was seeing were doctors, orderlies, or nurses. He remembered his daughter Laura kissing his cheek before she went home to sleep. His son Vick had stopped by that morning, but only briefly as his grandson had only been born two weeks before and his wife needed all the help she could get. He¡¯d been aware enough to be proud of him for making that choice, and he remembered the squeeze his son had given his shoulder before he¡¯d left, and the slight shaking in his voice as he¡¯d said goodbye.


    It was just him and Sara, as it had been when they¡¯d started their life together. He wanted more time. He deserved more time. He wanted to hold his grandson, walk his daughter down the aisle and, perhaps selfishly, he wanted to spend more lazy days with Sara. He wanted to wake up and start his coffee and her tea, sit together with her on their couch and just talk. Three years of retirement. That was all he¡¯d gotten. The cancer had started to affect him the first year, the second year he¡¯d gotten his diagnosis all too late, and his third had been him fighting for his life. He¡¯d always told his kids not to expect life to be fair, but to do their best to make it fair for everyone they could. In that moment though, he cursed life¡¯s unfairness. He wanted more time. He¡¯d worked hard, he¡¯d earned a couple decades of enjoying the fruits of his labor. He wanted to die as a hunched over ninety year old that could barely hear a damn thing and spent all day reading old scifi and watching history documentaries.


    He felt his awareness start to fade again, as if it was being slowly enveloped by a rising tide. Soon the vague understanding of his surroundings was gone. He no longer heard the rhythmic beeping, saw blurred shapes, or smelled lemon. All that was left was his wife¡¯s hand holding his. He knew she would be okay. She was strong, stronger than him. She had been his rock when their second son had died. When he¡¯d been diagnosed she was the one who kept him from giving up. If she¡¯d been the one who¡¯d be dying, he¡¯d be bereft, a useless burden, but she would be okay. She would live a long life, welcoming more of their grandchildren into the world. She would have good days again without him, and he was grateful for that.


    He focused on the feeling of her hand. The heat of it, the strength of her grip. It was all that was left, there were no other thoughts or feelings left to him. Just that last piece of her that clung to him and that he clung back to, desperately. Then even that was gone.


    ¡­


    Michael awoke in a sea of stars. Inky blue darkness surrounded him, and in front of him were a trillion miniscule points of light. It was the most beautiful thing he¡¯d ever seen. He tried to hold up a hand, but saw nothing. He was a spirit without a vessel, floating without form. He started to feel a pull from behind him. A gravity that was slowly drawing him in. He looked back to see a sun behind him. A roaring ball made up of millions of those same points of light he saw in the distance. He let it draw him in at first, feeling the heat emanating from it, almost as if he still had skin on which to feel warmth. Warmth like what he¡¯d felt from Sara¡¯s hand.


    No


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    He started to fight against the pull. He pushed whatever he was still made of away from it, even as the gravity began to strengthen, and dragged him back more forcefully. He pushed harder, and started to break out of the pull. He wanted to live, wanted to have his life back. He moved toward a different light, a small mote that seemed to be idly drifting near him. The pull strengthened more as he moved away from it, but with his destination set he fought even harder to escape, to go anywhere that wasn¡¯t the massive sun burning behind him. He was nearly there and he reached out, realizing he had a single hand floating in front of him. He grasped the little light.


    ¡­


    Michael was in darkness again, but this time there were no lights to guide him. He felt, off, closer to how he¡¯d felt before he¡¯d been floating in the sea of stars, but still somewhere between life and whatever that place had been. He could feel pressure building. As if there were walls around him that were closing in. He realized then that he had a body, but that everything was off. Something was wrong and not just physically. He felt wrong, like a child that had broken some terrible unspoken rule.


    The pressure continued to build and the walls kept closing in as he felt himself pushed headfirst toward something. It all felt familiar, somehow, but he wasn¡¯t able to figure out why, he was too filled with a number of emotions that all felt too large for whatever it was he had become. He began to feel his head pushing against something. It felt solid at first, but after enough time it slowly began to give way. He could feel air on the top of his head. It felt¡­ cold.


    Soon more of his head was cold, and very shortly after that, all of him was cold. He could hear people talking in an equal mixture of excited and concerned voices. He didn¡¯t recognize the voices, but his body seemed to. He couldn¡¯t tell what they were saying, but he couldn¡¯t tell if it was because everything was muffled or they were speaking some language he didn¡¯t understand. The sensation of the cold, his own confusion, and the feelings that all seemed to be exploding out of him, made him scream.


    He heard some laughter, and the concerned voices seemed to all be replaced with excited ones. He could feel warm hands on him, and was swiftly wrapped in a soft fabric that helped against the cold, but seemed harsh against his skin in spite of its softness. As if he had a sunburn.


    He felt himself being moved toward a smell that was somehow familiar to him, but was stopped and handed instead to someone else. These hands were not gentle. They handled him roughly and placed him on a hard table. He could see the vague outline of a person bent over him, looking down at his small form. He could feel the outline staring not just at him, but into him, as if it was reading him like a book. Michael continued screaming, finding that he didn¡¯t have any other option and unable to fully gather anything resembling coherent thought.


    He heard a question.


    He saw the vague outline standing above him, let out a long sigh and shook his head.


    He heard screams.


    He couldn¡¯t understand what anyone was saying, but he recognized what those screams meant. They were of a man and woman. Their cries were a mix of anguish and disbelief as loud as they could be. They were the same cries he and Sara had let out when they¡¯d found out their son had died.


    The intense feeling of wrongness struck him again. The feeling that he¡¯d done something terrible that he hadn¡¯t fully understood. He reacted the only way he could. He kept crying.


    The man that had been staring at him, picked up his small form and began moving. The cries continued behind him, the terrible wails of a family mourning the death of a child, as they walked through the threshold. The air that had been cold grew even colder, as the man with the rough hands carried his swaddled form into the night. He could hear their cries long after the home he¡¯d been reborn in had fallen out of earshot. He would be hearing them for the rest of his new life.


    The man holding him did not hold him close to his chest, nor did he rock him or say a single word. He offered no comfort, and Michael could feel somehow, that he deserved it.

 Ch 2: Drafted

    Michael was left in a small crib with only the blanket he¡¯d been swaddled in before he¡¯d been taken on his first night. He couldn¡¯t see anything in the room, having only the vaguest idea of the shapes that surrounded him, or when something was light or dark. He couldn¡¯t turn his head, nor could move his limbs beyond weak flailing that pushed lamely against the blanket that covered him. He screamed and cried until he eventually fell asleep from overwhelming exhaustion.


    He awoke to the feeling of warmth from a small sliver of sunlight falling across his cheek. He thought for some time that he was back in his hospital bed, but his inability to see and the lack of his family¡¯s voices quickly dissuaded him of that. He had died, gone to something between life and death, and been reborn somehow. He could see that now that he¡¯d calmed down. He had been taken from the people that he guessed were the parents of the body he was in. He heard their cries again. He managed to keep himself from screaming as he remembered everything that had happened, but his instincts were telling him that was what he needed to be doing, and his resistance eventually crumbled.


    Shortly after he began crying, a door nearby opened and he heard the sound of footsteps approaching, but he couldn¡¯t properly move his neck to look in their direction, nor could he see much beyond the edge of the crib. A light was turned on, or perhaps lit? It seemed slower than a light switch. The outlines of two people reached the edge of the crib, and he could hear some quiet conversation. The voices weren¡¯t muffled this time and now he was certain that they were speaking in a language he didn¡¯t recognize. He¡¯d lived in a lot of places in the US, and had heard plenty of Spanish, Mandarin, Creole, Farsi, and even some Japanese from the shows his kids had watched, but it didn¡¯t sound like any of those.


    One of the outlines leaned close enough that he could make out some of their features. It was a man in his mid-thirties or perhaps early forties, with a serious expression on his face. He held a finger to his lips and made a soft shushing sound.


    Michael tried to stop crying, and eventually forced himself into a quiet sob instead, though it was difficult.


    The man gestured to the shape next to him, and that person placed a cross shaped object on Michael¡¯s skin. It was cold, metallic, he¡¯d guess. The shape  placed a finger on the cross and said a phrase and the cross seemed to become a touch colder.


    The middle-aged man leaned forward again.


    ¡°You should now be able to understand me. Blink twice if that is the case.¡±


    Michael felt immense relief at hearing something he could understand and struggled to make himself blink twice, barely managing it.


    ¡°Good. Your control is higher than the last one. Though it¡¯s been quite a few years. Do not attempt to communicate back to me. You will find it far too much of a struggle and it will be a waste of both of our time.¡±


    Michael remained silent aside from his muffled sobs.


    The man nodded. ¡°My name is Vance. You are likely confused as to what has happened. I will explain everything to you once. When I am done, the translation focus on your chest will be removed and it will not be used again.¡±


    Michael didn¡¯t like the sound of that, but didn¡¯t really have any way to respond to it.


    ¡°You have been found out. A diviner has recognized you as a Lifetaker. A man from a foreign world that has taken a life that was due to one of the citizens of Stent. This makes you a murderer.¡±


    Michael barely held himself together at that, hearing the wailing of his body''s parents build up in his ears again.


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    ¡°What you have done is not uncommon in this world. We know that you may have had no intention to do what you have done, and because of this we shall not hang you as is normally done to those who murder children. Instead, you are to be drafted into our military. You will serve a ten year contract with the term starting after the end of your training.¡±


    Michael managed to tear himself away from the vortex of guilt he was feeling long enough to attempt to raise an eyebrow and find himself incapable of doing so.


    ¡°You will not be training as an infant. You will be fed an alchemical mixture that will age your body rapidly. Your training will begin in around a month when you are able to begin walking and talking on your own. In roughly a year, you will physically be around sixteen years of age and ready to serve. If you attempt to desert, or escape, you will be hanged.¡±


    The man coughed a bit and stepped away to drink some water before returning.


    ¡°You¡¯re lucky, the diviner who examined you noted that you had high potential and the family of the person whose life you took are veterans. You will be sent to the Stent Military Academy rather than simple infantry training like the common criminals. You¡¯ll still be an irregular, but you¡¯ll be an irregular with better training.¡±


    The man mumbling the spell yawned for a moment and shook his head to wake himself up.


    ¡°There¡¯s a transport heading away from here at the end of the month, carrying some other recruits and some supplies. I¡¯ll be having an alchemist provide you with your first few infusions later today, and your eyes and ears should be strong enough by tomorrow to begin language training.¡±


    The muttering man reached for the translation focus, but the other man stopped him. Holding up a finger.


    ¡°Because you made an effort to be quiet, I¡¯m going to warn you of something. You will be hated for what you are here in Stent, but you should consider yourself fortunate. Other places would have simply left you to the elements or bashed your head upon a rock. Do not take our grace for granted.¡±


    He nodded at the other man and the focus was removed again. He heard them speak briefly to one another, no longer in English, as they walked away.


    He was alone, with fuzzy vision and an inability to keep himself from crying any longer. He¡¯d taken a life. Taken all the potential of a child in a world he had no claim to. He didn¡¯t know, hadn¡¯t been aware of what he was doing, but that didn¡¯t change the result. He was no better than the drunk driver that had killed his son.


    Shortly after he¡¯d cried himself out, a woman came into the room holding a flask with a leather nipple. She smelled of herbs and blood and said a few things in a language he didn¡¯t understand before shoving the nipping into his mouth. He figured that she must¡¯ve been the alchemist he¡¯d been warned of, and drank. He expected it to taste foul, but it tasted strange rather than bad, kind of like thick warm Gatorade with a grassy undertaste. He realized that there was milk mixed into it as well, likely to keep him sustained. After he finished it, the alchemist picked him up roughly and patted his back from bottom to top until he belched. She then left and another woman entered. He was then changed, cleaned, and left alone again. This was repeated every few hours until night had fallen and he was left alone. He wasn¡¯t a real infant to be coddled through sleepless nights, no one would be sacrificing their own rest for him.


    In between the alchemist and nurse¡¯s visits Michael considered his options. Stent¡¯s system seemed relatively fair in a lot of ways. Making ¡®lifetakers¡¯ as they¡¯d called him, serve their time doing labor for a decade seemed reasonable. He didn¡¯t like the idea of being a soldier though. He¡¯d been a desk jockey his whole life back on Earth. He¡¯d never even been in a fight. The closest thing he¡¯d done was wrestling with his kids. He could run, or kill himself, but the idea of wasting the life he¡¯d stolen seemed worse to him than stealing it in the first place. No, he would serve. If he did, he may be able to help some people. He would live the life he¡¯d taken to its fullest, because doing anything else was disgusting to him.


    In the middle of the night while he was dozing, his body started to feel tremendous pain. It was like there were little fires spreading in limbs. He screamed as it flared up, but very slowly the pain abated to an ache rather than a sharp pain. It was an ache he recognized from a long time ago. The summer he¡¯d turned fourteen and shot up seven inches he¡¯d had very similar pains, though much less intense. He should¡¯ve guessed there would be a high cost for the kind of rapid growth he was expected to go through.


    It was painful, but he¡¯d been through worse during his cancer treatment. He¡¯d felt what it was like for your blood to be on fire, to have his skin tear like paper. Still, his body was driven more by instinct than his own will at this point, and it reacted the way it had since he¡¯d arrived in this new world. He cried.

 Ch 3: Guessing, Growing, Learning

    Michael awoke in the very early morning, the fiery pain in his limbs having subsided enough at some point to allow him to fall asleep. He had a taste of some kind in his mouth which indicated to him that he¡¯d been fed at some point in his sleep and he assumed he¡¯d been cleaned as well. It was an indignity, but one that he¡¯d been very familiar with during his stay in hospice care before he¡¯d passed. He realized very quickly that his vision had improved. The shades of gray that everything had been were starting to become full color, and he could now see far enough to see all of the walls of the room. He lifted an arm, and found that it responded to his will without difficulty. He opened and closed a small hand that he managed to hold in front of his face. It felt clumsy, but it was a vast improvement over what he had been capable of the previous day. He tried to roll himself onto his stomach, but found that to be the limit of his current abilities.


    He looked around and tried to pick out details around the room that would tell him more about the world. There were no vents, at least not on the ceiling or walls, so he imagined they didn¡¯t have air conditioning. The walls were painted a simple shade of whitish yellow, and seemed to be made of concrete, though he couldn¡¯t quite tell from where he laid. The crib he was in was simple, but well made. The wood appeared to be varnished. He knew the romans had concrete, but was varnish around in the middle ages? Or some equivalent? He had no idea. He saw a table on the far end of the room with a number of cloths he guessed were to be used as diapers, but saw no disposal. Were there chamberpots? Or did they have plumbing? If they did have plumbing was it closer to roman aqueducts or something else? His mind grasped for anything he could connect, but found his own knowledge as lacking as the information he could glean. He had a general knowledge of history and old societies, maybe even more than the average person, but he had no way to tell what kind of a society he was in other than they were likely focused on their military given his own treatment. Even if he was able to identify some things, a man had placed a cross on him and translated two languages simultaneously. He¡¯d cast a spell. With magic, who could know how far development could deviate from what he considered ¡®standard¡¯? What he told him also indicated that people from other worlds had been there before and who knew how they¡¯d impacted history and development there. Were all of the people who¡¯d come there from Earth that he knew, or were there some people from worlds he couldn¡¯t even begin to imagine? His mind swirled with the possibilities for a while, and he let it happen. It was better than the guilt. Better than crying. Better than dwelling on what he¡¯d done.


    In the midst of his pondering the door opened and he managed to tilt his head enough to see a woman in gray approach his crib. She didn¡¯t greet him, but simply grabbed a chair, dragged it to the side of the crib. She unlatched one of the sides of crib bars and removed them, then she lifted him up brusquely and propped against the other side, giving him a better look at her. She had a young face, but an old expression with furrowed brows, and her blonde hair was tied in a neat bun that let not a single strand hang loose. She had a stack of thick looking paper on her lap and was wearing what looked like a gray military uniform with silver buttons. Its styling reminded him of something between the civil war and world war one. Were women able to serve in the military regularly here? Or was she just in a support role?


    She held up a card, it was a simple drawing of a man.


    ¡°Tauk,¡± she said, pointing at the picture. She did this several more times, then she held up another card. This time, a simplistic drawing of a woman.


    ¡°Tauch,¡± she said, pointing again. She repeated the word several more times. It wasn¡¯t hard to understand what she was doing. Michael needed to learn the language, and it was her job to get him started. He couldn¡¯t speak it yet, but giving him a basic vocabulary to understand what was going on around him and get him started had value. She spent the entire day with him. Slowly building up the vocabulary, mixing it into simple sentences, and emphasizing a few key phrases.


    There were some breaks for him to be fed and cleaned, but the alchemist visited only once, and the majority of the feeding seemed to be regular milk of some kind. He found that the words actually came very quickly and easily to him. That made sense given his current physical state as a near-infant. His brain was a sponge that was eager to take in everything it possibly could. He wondered how Stent had managed to create this teaching program. It seemed very deliberate and advanced to him. Had it been through the advice of other lifetakers? Or were they societally farther along than he¡¯d thought? He assumed that these teaching techniques were utilized, if in a different fashion, to teach regular children and had been adapted to lifetakers, though maybe it was the other way around. That was another motivator for him to learn the language, he had a lot of questions and could really use a way to ask them.


    The rest of the month progressed in much the same way. He would awake from a night of agonizing growing pains, followed by being awoken for a feeding and a visit from the alchemist. After that was hours of language training broken up only by regular feedings to help sustain his speedy growth. He went from barely being able to move his head, to being able to sit himself up, roll over, stand himself up in the crib, and even say some simple words. They were difficult to say at first, but when his teeth started to come in quickly toward the end of the week he was able to speak a bit more clearly, though at the cost of tremendous mouth pain being added to the persistent burning in his limbs. Any free time he had he spent pondering his situation, looking at the four walls of the room, and missing Sara.


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    The people that interacted with him were cold. They did not smile in his presence, they touched him only as much as was necessary, and their tones ranged from neutral to hateful. He couldn¡¯t blame them, from their perspective he was a monster in the shape of a newborn.


    At the end of the month, instead of a visit from the alchemist, Vance, the man who had fully informed him of his situation appeared.


    ¡°It is time to go,¡± he said. ¡°Can you understand?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± he managed, the word feeling particularly awkward in an unfamiliar language coming from an unfamiliar mouth.


    ¡°Good. I will talk simply for you. We go to a wagon that carries new recruits to the camp. The trip will take four days. Understood?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    He nodded, and knocked on the door. The woman who¡¯d been changing and feeding him came in and jammed him into what seemed like a kind of gown and wrapped him in a simple blanket. The gown was a bit odd, but it made sense that they wouldn¡¯t bother getting him anything fitted. He wondered how many other otherworldly arrivals had worn it over the years. From there he was lifted and taken out of the room he¡¯d stayed in for the last seven days.


    He looked around, absorbing everything he could as he was moved. The room he was transported through seemed to be some kind of office. There were simple desks, reams of paper, inkpots and pens. There were also a number of men and women in dark gray uniforms with silver buttons milling about, writing, and talking though he couldn¡¯t make out all the individual parts of the conversation.


    They walked through another reception style area and made their way outside. The air was cold. Not quite winter cold, but maybe early spring or late fall. His instructor hadn¡¯t told him the words for the days of the week or seasons, so for all he knew this was the weather this world had year round. The streets were paved, with some of them made of brick, and others of cement. Most of the buildings were simple, uniform, and unpainted. He wondered if that was simply their cultural aesthetic, or if it was because he was in a more bureaucratic and administrative part of the town. The only decoration he saw was a marble statue in the middle of a square that showed a young man in a gray uniform holding a sword in front of his face.


    There were a number of people in the street as well. Most of them wore gray uniforms, but a few of them wore more casual clothing. He saw several men in long black and brown coats, and a few women as well, none wearing dresses. It appeared as if even the casual clothing in Stent was influenced heavily by military stylings. He saw a few armed men walking around, but they were wearing green uniforms rather than the gray he¡¯d grown used to seeing. He saw no firearms, instead they seemed to be primarily wielding spears, though one of them had a sword at his waist. There were streetlights, but they seemed unlit and their tops were shaped like ovals. He wondered if they were lit by gas, or magic, but as it was daytime he had no way to tell.


    ¡°Stop moving,¡± said Vance, adjusting his grip on him.


    Michael couldn¡¯t quite manage the word for ¡®sorry¡¯ so instead he simply did as he was told.


    They arrived at the wagons, which were surrounded by a large, but orderly crowd. The wagons themselves were maybe ten feet long, and covered. Powerful looking draft horses were being hitched to them as they arrived. Horses were a good sign, that meant the animal life may not be too far from that of Earth. Though, he had hoped for some exotic creatures to be the norm there. He¡¯d spent a few of the board days in the room imagining that he¡¯d see a dragon, sphinx, or griffin.


    The crowd was primarily of young men, though he saw a few young women as well. They were all holding packs, and many of them were saying goodbyes to older men and women that he assumed were their parents. Most seemed to be around fourteen or fifteen, and he saw that no one else that appeared as young as himself was there.


    Vance moved to the back of one of the wagons, where a middle aged woman in uniform was standing and watching the goodbyes. There looked to be some marker of rank on her shoulder, a silver mark on the black fabric of her left shoulder. He noticed then that Vance had two of those same marks.


    ¡°Evra?¡±


    ¡°Yes sir.¡±


    ¡°This is the lifetaker. He has been cooperative.¡±


    The woman nodded, and took Michael roughly from Vance¡¯s grasp. ¡°Good, the last one was a real-¡± Michael hadn¡¯t been taught the words that followed.


    Vance nodded to her. ¡°I leave him in your care.¡±


    She gave a nod, and balanced Michael roughly as she sharply placed two fingers on the shoulder that indicated her rank in a crisp and practiced motion. A salute perhaps?


    Vance returned the gesture, and he walked away.


    The woman looked down at him. ¡°Alright murderer. If you cry, I will dislocate your arm and call it an accident. If you are quiet and reasonable. You will be okay. Understood?¡±


    Michael regarded her vaguely annoyed features. ¡°Yes,¡± it didn¡¯t seem productive to give any other answer. He didn¡¯t exactly have a lot of options in the most vulnerable state a human could be in.

 Ch 4: New Skies

    The start of the trip to the Stent Military Academy was uneventful. The woman who¡¯d been put in charge of him had little interest in dealing with him beyond making sure that he stayed alive until they reached their destination. She didn¡¯t have much time for the other recruits either, though he noticed a distinct change in her tone and manner depending on which of them she was talking to. He wasn¡¯t moved from the small bassinet he¡¯d been placed in except for trips into the woods to use the bathroom and at mealtime.


    During those times on the first day he tried to glean as much as he could. The road they were on was dirt, but packed solid and well cleared on all sides. The trees and foliage looked much like what he was used to on Earth, though he occasionally glimpsed a patch of flowers that looked unlike anything he¡¯d seen before, or a bird with what looked like scaled wings, but he never got as good of a look as he¡¯d like, and for all he knew those unique things were on Earth too, he¡¯d just never seen them.


    The first night, when he was briefly outside the wagon for mealtime, he looked up at the night sky of the new world for the first time. The stars were unfamiliar, but beautiful, and with the lack of light pollution he could see thousands of them dotting the sky. Among them he saw not one moon, but three. One was green, one silver, and one gold. The silver and gold were near one another, but the green moon was farther from them and seemed larger in the sky than they were.


    By the second day he was no longer fed milk, only the alchemical mixture that was causing his rapid growth. He was also finally able to walk, though wasn¡¯t often given the opportunity to do so. He had his first solid meal since arriving on that day, a simple stew with a mixture of meat and finely diced vegetables. He ate each bite carefully, trying to determine exactly what the contents of it were, but found that he couldn¡¯t. His taste buds were completely different from what they were, and stews weren¡¯t exactly the easiest thing to determine the contents of in the first place. Overall, it was good, and he was happy to have a little bit more of an ability to feed and care for himself. He hadn¡¯t really been able to do so for quite some time even before arriving in Stent.


    The other recruits had sat at a distance from him when they ate and during travel, but that wasn¡¯t terribly surprising. He imagined that every single aspect of his existence was off putting to them. A man in the body of a two year old that had been marked as murderer. He couldn¡¯t say he wouldn¡¯t act exactly the same as they did at their age. He was just grateful that they had the expected volume control of excited teenagers. Listening to them talk was a good way to expand his vocabulary. He found that just as the early language training he¡¯d been given had been easy with his currently young brain, his ability to absorb what other people were saying was equally improved.


    Through his eavesdropping he also managed to gain more insight into the world, or at least Stent. Most of the other recruits were from well respected military families that had been attending the Academy for generations, but there were several exceptions. Some of them had parents that had distinguished themselves as grunts and earned a spot for their children, and others had shown indications of strong magical talent. The few girls that were there were there because of that magical talent, it was a waste to keep them away from war because of their gender. He also gleaned that Stent was currently at war with a kingdom to the north called Tusinia, and while there had been a lull in the fighting due to heavy snows that winter, with the thaw the fighting was expected to restart in earnest soon. Talk of Tusinia was in terse and harsh tones. They spoke of them as slavers, rapists, and thieves who would torture the men and women they captured before feeding them to their dogs. A few of them even mentioned they lost their parents on the Tusinian front. It sounded like wartime propaganda to him, but for all he knew it was true. The most important thing he learned from all this eavesdropping was that these children were excited for war. That told him a lot about the world he was in.


    On the third day they had to have a long stop because a wagon wheel was busted and needed to be repaired before they could move. They had come to a stop in the middle of a large open field and those not working on the wagon were roaming about it freely. Michael had eyes on him, but could tell that they could care less if he wandered off. They were another days ride to the military academy and he was only starting to be able to walk, if he left them he was a dead man.


    He wandered a short ways, but not too far from the carriage, most of the children avoiding him, though a few spat in his direction as he passed or called him words he didn¡¯t recognize, but could guess at the meaning based on tone. There was something funny from his perspective. He imagined himself looking at the scene from above and seeing a bunch of teenagers flipping off a toddler and calling him a fucker. It made him chuckle a bit as he got a bit further from the group. He took a deep breath. The new world smelled similar to the old one at least. He could smell the greenery around him, the horses behind him, and even a few flowers growing upwind.


    He looked up and saw a bird circling above. He squinted, trying to get a better look at it against the sun, but he couldn¡¯t make any details. It circled a little farther, and then he realized it was getting closer. Did it see a mouse in the field? The shadow of it got larger. A rabbit in the field? It grew larger still and he was starting to make out what looked like claws at the end of four legs rather than talons. A Michael in the field? He started running, moving as quickly as his little legs could take him toward the rest of the caravan. The griffin closed in incredibly quickly, and he could hear that it let out a screech of what seemed like less than ten feet from him. Realizing that he wasn¡¯t going to make it to the caravan, he did a swift turn and dove forward under the beast¡¯s claws. It missed him, and in an attempt to turn quickly at the last moment it instead landed hard on its side and rolled across the field, flattening a long trail of grass toward the caravan.


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°Griffin!¡± yelled one of the regular recruits moving toward the caravan.


    The beast was turning around to look at Michael again, but a number of soldiers in the caravan were moving quickly behind it.


    It made the snap decision to go for him, and he started to run again as it moved, but a spear very suddenly embedded itself in the beast¡¯s side. It let out a wailing roar and started to run away, in a direction other than toward Michael. A few more spears were thrown toward it, but none reached it, and soon it was back in the sky, flying awkwardly with the spear still protruding from it.


    Michael ran back toward the main caravan, panting hard, his little legs aching. He¡¯d seen a griffin. He was surprised to realize he was more excited by the encounter than afraid. He looked at Evra, who was missing her spear.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he managed, realizing it was her spear that had saved him.


    She smacked him, knocking him from his feet.


    ¡°You cost me a spear. Stay in the wagon for the rest of the trip.¡±


    He felt his adult instincts rise to tell her to go to hell, but remembered his situation and instead picked himself up, and walked toward the rear wagon. The blow had hurt, but he was fairly certain he could¡¯ve been killed with a single strike had that been what she wanted.


    ¡­


    By the time they arrived at the Academy Michael was feeling, he guessed, around age three physically. He could talk without too much difficulty, and his movements were growing more sure. It felt very strange to be so small. Now that he could move and manipulate the world around himself a little better he oddly felt a bit more vulnerable than he had when he was an infant only two weeks prior.


    He hadn¡¯t been able to see the academy gates on approach like the other recruits since he was trapped within his bassinet in the back of the last wagon, but from their excitement he guessed they were quite impressive. He only got to see it when the wagons grew still and Evra entered the wagon to remove him. He followed behind her as they exited, practically running to keep up with her strides. He wasn¡¯t sure if her pace was out of malice or apathy, but he guessed it was both.


    He placed a hand over his eyes to block the noontime sun from his face. They were in a wide field near stables and what looked to be a warehouse of some kind. He could hear what sounded like metal clashing with metal in the distance, as well as the barking of orders carrying very crisply through the still air. There were five men there to meet them, all wearing the gray uniforms he¡¯d grown used to seeing. One of them had a blank black shoulder, two had a single silver stripe, and two had two stripes making them the same rank that Vance had been.


    The one with the black shoulder stepped forward.


    ¡°Line up!¡± he yelled with practiced authority.


    The recruits all ran to place themselves in an orderly line and due to their speed Michael was forced to take his place on the far end, meaning he had to walk much farther on shorter legs and was the last to arrive. He didn¡¯t run, there wasn¡¯t much of a point, it wasn¡¯t as if he could avoid making a spectacle of himself.


    The man who¡¯d yelled then walked along the row of recruits, staring at each of them in the face for at least a full second before moving onto the next one. Michael could feel the anxiety from the recruits, not that it was hard to see in the faces of young teenagers. When the man reached him, he could tell that he had to keep himself from spitting on his face, but he resisted and returned to stand next to the other men that were greeting them, nodding to one of them with two strips and then nodding at the other and pointing at Michael.


    The other man smiled and spoke just loud enough for Michael to hear.


    ¡°Yes. I¡¯d assumed he was the one.¡±


    The black shouldered soldier seemed to blush a bit, and the one with two stripes he¡¯d been talking to walked over to Michael.


    He was a tall man, as hard as that was for him to judge from his current height, and he filled out his uniform well. He had to be roughly forty, with thinning white hair, and while his movements were sharp and formal, his expression was relaxed, but odd.  His gray eyes looked over everything like a lion lazily regarding his pride, a predator who was ready to strike, but currently saw no need to.


    ¡°You follow me.¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡±


    The man raised an eyebrow. ¡°Picked up some casual language Penitent?¡± he asked as he started walking. ¡°You were only supposed to be taught, ¡®yes¡¯ or ¡®yes sir¡¯.¡±


    ¡°I heard a recruit use it when talking to Evra.¡±


    The man shook his head. ¡°Probably someone whose parents Evra wants to like her. Stick to what¡¯s formal while you¡¯re here. It¡¯ll save you a lot of pain later.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±


    ¡°Feels odd, I bet, saying ¡®yes sir¡¯ to me. For all I know you¡¯re twice my age.¡±


    ¡°Probably not twice your age, sir.¡±


    The man chuckled without warmth and continued walking.


    As they moved Michael could see hundreds of recruits out across the different fields. He saw some practicing archery, some on horseback, others performing marching drills, and a few having some kind of combat practice with what he assumed were blunted swords. They all wore the grey he¡¯d come to expect, and they were all being worked hard.


    The man opened the door to a two story cement building and gestured for him to go inside. He did, and he found himself standing in a long gray room with rows of beds on either side against the wall. He could see a number of people seemingly his own age talking to one another in small groups, all wearing the same strange gowns. For a moment he felt like he¡¯d walked into the most depressing daycare of all time, one for children with cancer based on the gowns they wore, but he knew that the other men there were likely ¡®lifetakers¡¯ such as himself. Recruited to be ¡®Penitents¡¯. He could hear one of them crying in a corner, but couldn¡¯t tell which.


    They all turned to look at him and the man that had brought him there, but the man ignored them to look at Michael.


    ¡°You are going to be locked in here with the other lifetakers until tomorrow. There are bathrooms and showers toward the back. The upstairs is sealed. When the lights go out, go to sleep. I¡¯m assuming you, like everyone here, have a number of questions. Save them, I allow an hour of open questioning every day of training as long as everyone does as I ask.¡±


    Michael nodded.


    ¡°Good. Please don¡¯t try to escape. It¡¯s very annoying to tie nooses small enough to fit you.¡±


    He gestured to a soldier that had entered with him, and that soldier handed Michael a large bundle. He could tell there was a towel and a few more things mixed together. It was a far cry from what he¡¯d started his last life with, but he supposed he needed to start somewhere.

 Ch 5: Warm Welcome

    Michael watched the man leave and turned back around to see that a few of the other lifetakers had approached him. One of them, a short blonde kid with a flat nose, stepped closest.


    ¡°Ni hao,¡± he said with a nod.


    Michael shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t speak any Chinese,¡± he said in English. The words felt very strange in his mouth, and were difficult to form. He hadn¡¯t tried to speak a word in English since he¡¯d arrived.


    ¡°Do you speak¡­local?¡± he asked, realizing he didn¡¯t have a name for the language he¡¯d been learning.


    The other taker threw up a hand and the others began to close in on him. One of them suddenly tried to grab his bundle, but he yanked back, pushing him away. The others started to grab at it, one of them striking out at Michaels face, so Michael made an awkward fist and hit him right back even as he clutched the package tightly against himself with the other arm.


    His small fist struck true. The others backed a way a bit, but then started to get closer, forming small fists of their own.


    A different one approached, this one with brown hair and eyes.


    ¡°Oi oi oi! Lay the fuck off him,¡± the boy pushed several of the others away and they stumbled back. While he had the initiative, he grabbed Michael¡¯s arm and started pulling him away.


    ¡°It¡¯s good that you fought back. Makes them think twice about doing that kind of thing again.¡± he kept pulling him away and Michael didn¡¯t resist. ¡°Did I hear you speaking English?¡± he asked, in English.


    ¡°Yes, you did.¡±


    He gave Michael a firm pat on the shoulder. ¡°Nice!¡± He turned around to look at a small group talking around one of the bunks.


    ¡°Hey boys, we¡¯ve got another one,¡± he turned back to look at him. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about those fellas over there, most of the takers are Chinese or Indian and they¡¯ve been awful cliquey since we got here. All they¡¯d have stolen from you was a blanket, but they¡¯re paper thin anyway. Where you from? Tell me your Australian? Hell, I''d take a Canadian at this point.¡±


    ¡°American, I¡¯m afraid.¡±


    ¡°Oh well, nevermind then you can fuck right off,¡± he shook his head, but quickly broke and laughed. ¡°I¡¯m just playing around. Beggars can¡¯t be choosers after all. Come on, meet the boys.¡± He gestured for Michael to follow and he did, coming to the other three penitents that were gathered around a bunk.


    Once they were there, the brown haired boy pointed at himself. ¡°I¡¯m Ollie.¡± He pointed to a darker skinned boy with long dark hair moving a silver coin between his fingers, ¡°That¡¯s Marcus.¡± He pointed to a boy with wide blue eyes and black hair, ¡°That¡¯s Pyotr.¡± He pointed at the remaining man, a ginger with a broad jaw for a child, ¡°And that¡¯s ¡°Davi.¡±


    He nodded at each of them in turn as they were introduced. ¡°Hey, I¡¯m Michael.¡±


    Pyotr looked him up and down. ¡°American?¡±


    ¡°Unfortunately for us all,¡± said Ollie sadly.


    ¡°There is nothing wrong with Americans, my friend.¡± He paused and leaned forward a bit. ¡°Except for their smell.¡±


    That provoked a chuckle from everyone, even Michael.


    ¡°I take it I¡¯m the only American.¡±


    The redhead, Davi, shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m South American, but it is not the same.¡±


    ¡°Where in South America?¡± asked Michael.


    ¡°Brazil.¡±


    ¡°Close enough for me,¡± he responded. ¡°And you?¡± he asked, looking at Marcus.


    Marcus slid the silver coin through his fingers again. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter.¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah, mister mystery over here. Considering he talks as clear in English as you and me, I¡¯d guess he¡¯s English, Canadian, American, or Australian.¡± said Ollie.


    ¡°Or I just learned it better than these two. Our accents have all been diminished, for all you know I¡¯m Japanese.¡±


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    Michael gestured at everyone else aside from them. ¡°So, none of the rest of them are willing to speak local to get along, and we¡¯re stuck together because at least we all speak English?¡±


    Pyotr shrugged. ¡°We are in an unfamiliar place. It makes some sense to seek out the familiar here.¡±


    ¡°No. They¡¯re stupid. It would make more sense to all talk about our situation and seek advantage,¡± said Davi.


    ¡°What advantage?¡± asked Marcus chuckling. ¡°We¡¯re adults in the bodies of children that have been drafted. Unless one of them popped out of his mother¡¯s pussy with an AK, I don¡¯t think we¡¯re going to have much luck.¡±


    ¡°I think the recoil of an AK would be a bit much for us at the moment, no?¡± asked Pyotr.


    Davi shook his head. ¡°The more we know about this world, the easier it will be to survive. Awareness is one of the only advantages we can build as we are.¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter anyway,¡± said Marcus, flipping his coin. ¡°We already all tried multiple times. I don¡¯t even think they were taught Hume properly. Maybe they had less time to practice it than we did.¡±


    Hume was the local language, he remembered that from an early lesson. He also noted that if they were all from countries that existed on his Earth, that meant that all the takers were probably from the same place. Unless they were all from marginally different Earths with slight differences and that didn¡¯t seem worth the energy to figure out right that second.


    ¡°How long have you been here?¡±


    ¡°Three months in this world. Less than a week here.¡±


    Michael looked at Ollie.


    ¡°A year, less than a week here as well.¡±


    ¡°Six months,¡± said Davi before he could be asked.


    ¡°Eight for me, though I wasn¡¯t keeping the best count,¡± said Pyotr.


    Michael scratched his chin, finding it hairless and smooth which bothered him a bit.


    ¡°So they kept everyone aging at the same rate until they could get here at the same time?¡± He asked.


    ¡°Ah, this one is quick,¡± said Pyotr, nodding. ¡°We just figured this out yesterday. Along with the fact that someone let slip that takers typically arrive in waves. How long those waves are though, we do not know. How long have you been here?¡±


    ¡°five weeks.¡±


    Ollie attempted to whistle, finding himself unable to until he made some adjustments. ¡°And you¡¯ve picked up a good amount of the language?


    ¡°I didn¡¯t have much else to do.¡±


    Marcus shook his head. ¡°Just language and the same four goddamn walls every day to stare at.¡±


    ¡°A disciplined mind can overcome that stress,¡± said Davi, though his brow furrowed a bit at imagining being back in his own blank room.


    ¡°Have you looked in a mirror yet?¡± asked Ollie, seemingly out of nowhere.


    ¡°Uh, no. I haven¡¯t actually,¡± he hadn¡¯t even considered that he had no idea what he looked like now, aside from that he was a child.


    ¡°It¡¯s a real trip, come on,¡± Ollie walked off and Michael and the rest followed. At the far end of the room were two long mirrors.


    Michael stepped in front of one and took a long look at himself. It was disorienting, to look into it expecting to see an aging man bald from chemo and withered away and instead seeing a young child. He had golden blonde hair that was getting just long enough to begin curling, bright blue eyes, and rosy cheeks. Along with the gown he looked like a goddamn cherub from a renaissance painting. He stared for a few more moments, and started to see small motes of golden light in his reflection.


    Ollie patted him on the back, and the lights disappeared. When he looked back they didn¡¯t return. He realized that the sound of crying he¡¯d heard earlier had continued. IT was coming from a solitary bed in a corner.


    ¡°It¡¯s weird isn¡¯t it?¡± asked Ollie. ¡°We¡¯re all fucking adorable. You didn¡¯t make out so bad though,¡± he leaned in conspiratorially pointing a thumb at Davi, ¡°you could¡¯ve been reborn a damned ginger.¡± He feigned a shudder.


    Davi simply sighed. ¡°I was actually a redhead back home, as I have told you many times now.¡±


    Ollie shook his head. ¡°Twice cursed. Can you imagine?¡±


    Michael started laughing. Not at the joke, at least not entirely, but rather at the entire scene. They were a bunch of toddlers cursing like sailors and insulting each other in voices high enough to buoy a church choir. It was absurd. He laughed long and hard until Pyotr was patting his back trying to get him to breathe.


    ¡°You alright, my friend?¡± he asked.


    Michael shook his head. ¡°No, but there¡¯s not much anyone can do about it at this point.¡±


    Marcus nodded. ¡°This guy gets it at least. This is the hand we¡¯ve been dealt. Can¡¯t do anything about it one way or the other.¡±


    ¡°Maybe we can¡¯t now, but maybe we can in the future,¡± replied Davi.


    Michael could hear the cries of his body¡¯s parents for a moment.


    ¡°Why would we do anything?¡±


    Ollie laughed, thinking he was joking, then his smile faded a bit. ¡°They¡¯re going to make us fight a war. Seems like a bad deal to me.¡±


    ¡°We took the life of one of their children. A life they were meant to have. All they¡¯re asking is ten years of service.¡± Michael was still uncomfortable with the idea of being a soldier. He felt no real loyalty to the nation that spared him, but felt it was more likely he could do good for the parents whose child he¡¯d taken if he stayed. Even ignoring the practical reasons to do so.


    Pyotr nodded. ¡°I agree. During the trip here I heard that all those reborn in Tusinia are enslaved. The slaves'' children are slaves as well even though they are born there. This seems a much better deal to me. Not to mention the aging us up. I did not want to have to take my time becoming a man again. I¡¯m far too eager to see how much better drinking will be with my tolerance reset.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t tell if you¡¯re optimists or defeatists,¡± said Ollie.


    ¡°I think it¡¯s bullshit,¡± said Marcus.


    ¡°I thought you said there was nothing we could do?¡± responded Davi with as much venom as a three year old voice could muster.


    ¡°It can be bullshit and we can just have to deal with it. That¡¯s how life was on Earth, so there¡¯s no surprise it¡¯s the same here.¡±


    Davi shook his head. ¡°Well, one point of agreement is better than none.¡±


    ¡°I think I can come up with one more thing we¡¯d all agree on,¡± said Ollie.


    ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°We all really hope they¡¯re planning on bringing us dinner.¡±

 Ch 6: Dawn

    They did bring them dinner, and showed them the facilities which proved that they had at least some form of running water, and assigned them to bunks. There was a heavy emphasis on making sure the bunks were neat, with the hint of severe punishment if they didn¡¯t. The majority of the evening was spent talking to the others that could speak English about what all they had encountered and learned while being there. Some of the other groups pushed to stay awake as well, and Michael could hear chattering in Mandarin and other languages he didn¡¯t recognize on and off for the entire night. Unfortunately, his new body was so worn down from travel that their chatting was just a blip in the deep and persistent blackness of pure sleep.


    Everyone was awoken the next morning by the stomping of feet and the arrival of the man who¡¯d escorted each of them to their small barracks. Bleary eyed toddlers rubbed their eyes to stare the kind of venom at him that could usually only be summoned up by a forty year old woken by a neighbor mowing their lawn at six in the morning.


    The man had the same relaxed expression in spite of the formality of his garb and was flanked by two young soldiers on either side of him.


    ¡°Rise and shine men. Come feel the sun of a new world on your fresh faces.¡±


    There was some mumbled cursing in several languages in voices high enough to only be heard by certain breeds of dog as all of them began crawling out of their beds. Michael nearly fell as he landed roughly off the side of it. He was still misjudging his size. He had it better than Ollie though, who did fall with a cry of ¡®cunt¡¯. Michael moved over and helped him to stand.


    ¡°Thanks Mike,¡± he said as he steadied himself. He slapped the bed. ¡°I suppose I¡¯ll grow into it.¡±


    Pyotr chuckled. ¡°You hope so at least. You may not make it past a meter.¡±


    Ollie shrugged. ¡°Being ugly and short is what made me funny in my old life. Doubling up in a second life will only make me more charming.¡±


    Davi shook his head, lining up and standing formally with his hands behind his back as he awaited additional orders. It looked almost cute, seeing a toddler playing soldier, but it was clear he was taking himself very seriously.


    Marcus was standing leaning against his bed with his eyes still half lidded, as if he may fall asleep at any moment.


    ¡°I am Kline. While you are here, I will be in charge of you. In charge of your growth, your training, your survival, and your failures,¡± said the man who¡¯d awoken them. ¡°Today, I will be guiding you through what will be your typical day. In general, things will be quite simple. When I, or someone else, tells you to do something, do it. If you do not you will be punished. No one here will go easy on you, we know that there are adults behind those children''s eyes that you¡¯ve stolen. Do not leave the group and go where we tell you to. You will not make friends here. Penitents that have gotten separated have been found dead many times.¡±


    One of them, the one that had been crying, stepped forward.


    ¡°Please. I don¡¯t know what¡¯s going on. I want my mom.¡±


    He shook his head, his relaxed look changing to one of disgust. ¡°Save it. Try that again, and I¡¯ll have you thrown in a tomb for the night.¡±


    The crying one stepped back with tears welling in his eyes again.


    ¡°Any day without infractions or problems I will grant a very special reward.¡± He looked around to make sure that everyone was listening. ¡°I will allow questions of any kind for an hour, questions I will do my best to answer.¡±


    Michael looked at Davi who gave him a simple nod. That was a very enticing reward at this point.


    ¡°Alright. Let¡¯s get the day started. The first thing, I will from this day forward expect your beds to be made and uniforms on. If they are not, your hands will be hit with this,¡± he gestured to a guard behind him who handed him a long thin piece of wood. ¡°Now follow close and pay attention.¡±


    Kline turned around sharply and opened the door to the barracks. Everyone fell in behind him and behind them were the two soldiers he¡¯d brought with him. As they walked along one of the paths Michael imagined they all looked like kids being escorted across the street by a crossing guard. They could see some of the other soldiers across the complex and passed by a man with a single stripe on his shoulder who gave a quick salute to Kline as he passed by, and took the time to scowl at them with open hatred.


    Eventually they reached a large building with the space above the front doors marked with a green circle with a single vertical line through its center. Inside of it were rows of beds, much like their barracks, but next to those were tubs of water, towels, metal tools, and privacy curtains between them. On one of the beds was a young man grimacing and holding back tears as a middle aged woman sewed up a gruesome cut on his forearm.


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    It was an infirmary, Michael surmised, and they were escorted to the far end of it. There it opened into a smaller room with its doors already propped open. Inside were hundreds of bottles filled with powders, leaves, liquids, and even some live insects. There were beakers, scales, mortars and pestles, and two chairs, each with straps on them that gave Michael pause.


    Next to one of those chairs was a woman holding a syringe with a large needle, flicking it gently. She was young, maybe thirty, with dark brown hair and dark circles hanging under wide hazel eyes. She was pretty, in a gloomy sort of way, and regarded them with a small smile that didn¡¯t meet her eyes as they entered.


    Kline turned to look at them. ¡°This is Crim, our alchemist. Your day will start with an injection from her to continue your increased growth. Form a line.¡±


    They all did so, and Michael found himself a little bit behind Marcus, whose dark complexion had paled a bit. They watched as the first of them went over and held out his arm. He winced as the needle was pressed into his arm, but she found his vein without trouble and when he was done she quickly cleaned the side of the injection and placed a green leaf over the site of it. He moved to a new line on the other side and waited.


    Marcus paled more, and clenched his hands as they got closer to the front of the line.


    ¡°You alright?¡± asked Michael in English.


    ¡°Fucking hate needles is all. I used to pass out every time I¡¯d get a shot or need my blood drawn.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m not gonna offer you a bunch of platitudes about how it¡¯s going to be okay, but I will say the woman seems to know what she¡¯s doing at least. She¡¯s stuck six of us so far and has yet to miss a vein or take more than a second.¡±


    Marcus didn¡¯t answer, but when it was his turn he forced himself to move forward, shaking a bit and doing his best to hide it. Crim noticed and leaned down, whispering something in his ear. He looked at her with an eyebrow raised and while he was surprised she quickly stuck him, and placed a green leaf on his arm.


    On Michael¡¯s turn he approached and held out his arm. Crim grabbed it and stuck him. Unlike the others, he didn¡¯t wince or flinch at all, and actually watched as the needle went in.


    Crim looked at him squinting a bit, but said nothing as she placed a leaf on him and he went to join the others. He¡¯d dealt with a lot of needles in a very short time before he¡¯d died, this was nothing. He looked more closely at the leaf on his arm. It felt tight, stopping the bleeding quickly, and he could feel a slight numbing coming from it.


    He looked at Marcus. ¡°What did she say to you?¡± he whispered.


    Marcus looked up from examining his own arm. ¡°She told me an absolutely filthy joke.¡±


    Michael smiled. ¡°Wow, even more of a pro than I¡¯d realized.¡±


    After that they were escorted to a small mess hall. It was clearly meant only for forty people or less, and given the number of other recruits he¡¯d already seen, Michael assumed that it was meant specifically for special cases like Lifetakers. They were served a breakfast of starch, meat, and fruit, none of which he could quite place.


    ¡°It tastes a bit like pineapple,¡± said Davi, chewing thoughtfully. ¡°But less acidic.¡±


    ¡°Whatever it is, it¡¯s honestly better than I was expecting,¡± said Ollie.


    Marcus shrugged. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t make sense to starve soldiers, even ones meant as fodder.¡±


    Pyotr closed his eyes for a moment and bowed his head for a moment before opening them to eat. Michael was curious, but decided not to pry. They had all only just met, and while they could have a bit of comradery, it didn¡¯t seem wise to force any conversation.


    ¡°So, how did all of you die?¡± asked Ollie, clearly following a much different line of thought than Michael had been.


    ¡°I was parked in my car and two men stopped next to me in a motorcycle and blew my head off with a shotgun,¡± said Davi, scooping up another spoonful of mystery starch as if he¡¯d been discussing the weather.


    ¡°Shit,¡± replied Ollie. ¡°Why¡¯d they do that?¡±


    Davi forced the food in his throat down. ¡°Not sure. Could¡¯ve been a lot of reasons. I didn¡¯t see their faces. I¡¯d always expected to go that way. It¡¯s hard to be a cop in Rio.¡±


    No one quite knew how to respond to that sensitively, but Pyotr spoke next.


    ¡°A roof fell on me. It had been due to be repaired, but-¡± he shrugged, ¡°we were always putting it off until next year.¡±


    ¡°Guess there wasn¡¯t a next year though, huh?¡± asked Ollie, not expecting an answer. ¡°I was hit by a truck crossing the street. I could swear the walk sign was on, but who fucking knows now. Maybe my girl got some money about it. I hope so at least.¡± He looked at Marcus.


    Marcus shrugged. ¡°I was hit by an asteroid.¡±


    ¡°So you''re about as open about that as you are about where you¡¯re from?¡±


    Marcus smiled and popped a piece of meat into his mouth.


    The eyes all went expectantly to Michael.


    He wiped his mouth. ¡°Cancer.¡±


    Pyotr shook his head sadly. ¡°That would be my last choice of what has been given.¡±


    ¡°Did you at least get to try and sell meth to pay for the treatment first? You know, the American tradition?¡± asked Ollie.


    Michael chuckled. ¡°No. I had good insurance actually. Just unlucky.¡±


    Pyotr chewed his food thoughtfully. ¡°You know, one good of what has happened to us, there are many great questions that it has answered.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± asked Michael.


    ¡°I know now that the colors I saw in my old life are the colors everyone sees. I know that sweetness and savory are similar no matter the body I¡¯m in, even if the amounts I taste are different in this new one.¡±


    ¡°Assuming those perceptions are tied to the body and not the soul,¡± countered Michael, spearing what he believed was pork.


    ¡°Ah, you believe in the soul?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t before, but now? I¡¯d say I¡¯ve seen some strong arguments for it.¡±


    Kline stood up at his own table and projected his voice easily across the large room.


    ¡°Finish up. You have only until first of sun, Then, it¡¯ll be time for all of you to start learning some magic.¡±

 Ch 7: Magic

    They were all in a classroom standing on stools at metal tables in a semicircle facing Kline and a man wearing the same uniform, but with a brown leather shoulder on his uniform rather than a black one. He was a bit younger than Kline, with a full head of blonde hair that was whiting at the temples and a gaunt face.


    Kline took a deep breath. ¡°I¡¯m sure you all have a number of questions before you get started. I¡¯m going to answer a few of those now, and then it will be time to learn. First off, yes magic is real in this world. Almost everyone has at least a small amount of magical talent, but only a handful have their magicka channels opened enough to be true mages. Still, there are a handful of useful spells that all soldiers need to know. We are going to be focusing on magic, military norms, and language until you have all aged more. Your minds at this point are better at absorbing this kind of information.¡±


    He gestured to the man next to him. ¡°This is Teft. He will be teaching you the basics of magic and the small handful of spells you¡¯ll need to know. Once you know all he has to teach, magic studies will cease in favor of other work. If you are found to have magical talent, you will continue to work with him for some time.¡±


    He nodded to Teft, and took several steps back until his back was against the wall.


    Teft looked at everyone. ¡°What I am going to teach, will not come naturally to any of you. People here usually begin feeling their magicka channels naturally over time. For you, it will be like forcing a blind man to see.¡±


    He held up a hand, and a small glowing ball began to coalesce in his palm. He raised his arm, and the light of it grew more intense, then he closed his palm and it ceased. ¡°Before we can work on actual spells, you¡¯ll need to find your channels. Close your eyes.¡±


    Michael did so, taking deep breaths in the expectation that whatever they were doing would be similar to meditation. He very suddenly felt a jolt and fell from the stool he¡¯d been standing on, landing hard on the floor. He looked around to see a number of others on the ground, some others hunched forward, a few more shaking their heads.


    ¡°What I just did was send some of my own magicka directly into you. A small amount that would automatically seek out your own channels. I¡¯m going to need all of you to pick yourselves back up, and close your eyes again. This time, grip the table a little, and pay close attention. Once you can find your channel, you¡¯ll be able to intuitively push the magicka out without being harmed. Until all of you figure it out, all of you will receive the jolt. Now¡­¡± he took a few steps toward the center of the room again. ¡°I believe I said to brace yourselves and close your eyes again.¡±


    Michael listened, climbing back onto the stool and gripping the side of the table tightly.


    A different Penitent seemed to refuse pulling himself out of his seat and onto the table. He cursed in what Michael believed to be hindi as he made rude gestures. Kline walked over to him, and swiftly slapped him across the face with the thin reed he¡¯d been holding in his hand and gestured to one of the soldiers. ¡°Take him to a tomb for two days.¡±


    They scooped up the man who screamed impotently in the body of a child as he was taken away.


    Kline looked back to Teft. ¡°Please continue.¡±


    There was another jolt, and much like the first time it knocked his feet out from under him, but this time he managed to keep from falling by gripping the table. There was another one and this time he thought he could feel a trace of something. A cold line somewhere in his left arm and the top of his stomach. There was a fourth jolt and this time he was certain, he could feel a line of cold, like a river of ice, flowing from his left wrist all the way through to his stomach. He could feel smaller dots of cold too, not flowing like the other one, but sitting calmly like still pools. There was another jolt, and this time, when he felt the burst of magicka hit those channels he¡¯d found, he intrinsically knew to disperse it, and make it diffuse until it was gone.


    He rode a few more waves, and when he was certain he had the handle of it, he forced his eyes open. He could see a number of others who had their eyes opened as well. Pyotr¡¯s were still closed, but Davi¡¯s were open and a line of sweat was dripping from his forehead as if he¡¯d been concentrating deeply. Ollie¡¯s were open as well, but he didn¡¯t look strained at all, in fact, he was looking at everyone with a small amount of confusion on his face. Marcus¡¯s were open too, but he was looking around with less confusion then Ollie, as if assessing what was going on. Michael saw Kline subtly point him, and whisper something to Teft. Teft made a subtle gesture between waves aimed at Marcus, and Marcus didn¡¯t react at all. He did the same thing to Ollie, and Ollie¡¯s eyes registered something, then it went away.


    There were ten more jolts until everyone seemed to have gotten the hang of it. Pyotr had been nearly the last, but he seemed to be having little difficulty by the final one. Two others passed out, and were taken away by the guards.


    Teft looked across all of them slowly and nodded. ¡°That will suffice for class today. Do try to remember that feeling you have now. We¡¯ll be reviewing it first thing in class tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°That was a lot of time to just be standing around with our eyes closed.¡± said Marcus.


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± asked Davi. ¡°It feels like we just got here.¡±


    Kline, who¡¯d somehow heard him from across the room, spoke up. ¡°It¡¯s already been nearly two hours, actually.¡±


    Michael and the others exchanged glances.


    Teft looked at all of them and smiled condescendingly. ¡°You¡¯ll find that practicing magic always takes more than you expect of it. Be glad that in this case it cost you only time.¡±


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    From there we were all taken from classroom to classroom with a short break for lunch. After magic was language, though unlike before there was a focus on writing and learning the alphabet, particularly any words that were going to be associated with military work. After that was bushcraft, learning basic survival skills with a primary focus on what plants were and were not edible, as well as what animals were going to be a problem. He was relieved to find that most of the animals from his world existed in this one, but there were several additions that were completely new to him.


    Near the end of the day, when there was still a bit of light, they were brought out to a large open yard with well beaten gravel and two dozen posts lined up in a neat row. Each post had a single blunted sword in front of it, driven into the gravel. The swords were simple with two edges a black crossguard, and were maybe three fourths the size of the swords he¡¯d been seeing the physically older recruits use to train as he was shuffled from classroom to classroom.


    ¡°You are all too small at the moment to engage in any physical training that¡¯s too harsh, but there is one thing that you are never too young to start.¡± He took a few steps forward and lifted one of the blades. He took the grip in both hands and from a middle stance, he twisted his body to slam the blade into the nearest post, causing it to let out a solid thud. ¡°A perfect swordstroke.¡±


    He drove the blade back into the ground and pointed, surprisingly, at Michael who had made a point to keep himself more toward the back where he could observe before doing anything. ¡°You. Come here.¡±


    Michael complied.


    ¡°Grab the sword.¡±


    He did so again, taking the sword and pulling it from the gravel. It wasn¡¯t as heavy as most would expect. He¡¯d known though, that it would be lighter than it looked. He¡¯d visited a castle once where they¡¯d explained that the average sword only actually weighed about two pounds. Still, not the easiest thing for him to lift, though he was starting to realize that he was a bit stronger than a normal three year old should be in the first place. Whether that was a feature of the world he was in or the alchemical mixture he¡¯d been imbibing he was unsure.


    ¡°I want you to copy what you saw me do.¡±


    MIchael did so, taking a middle stance and giving the sword a swing with as much force as he could muster. The thud he made was much quieter than what Kline had managed, but it didn¡¯t exactly hurt his pride given their size difference.


    Kline nodded. ¡°Adequate. Surprisingly adequate. Your stance is a bit too deep though, raise it a bit, and make sure your grip is firm.¡±


    Michael listened, and squared up.


    ¡°Okay. Now strike, and continue striking.¡±


    Michael did so and as he did, Kline called another person forward. He would have each of them make a strike, make a few corrections, then move on to the next. Soon, all of them were making the exact same movement and he was walking the line.


    ¡°Hmmm. You may have been right handed in your world, but you are left handed here,¡± he said to Davi. ¡°You will be training both hands anyway, but it is a good thing to keep in mind.¡±


    ¡°You,¡± he pointed to one of the takers that had been speaking chinese. ¡°You have some martial training. Forget it yourself, or we will be forced to help you unlearn it.¡±


    He stopped at the penitent that had been crying on and off all day. ¡°For someone who is supposedly actually a child, you certainly picked that up without hesitation.¡±


    The boy started to tear up.


    ¡°Don¡¯t start now. You have to be realizing it¡¯s not working,and I swear by divinity I will have you beaten for it." He gave him a firm smack on the back of the head and kept walking.


    There was one break for watering, but aside from that they all practiced the same swing for nearly an hour, stopping once the sun was down. Michael found that he liked swinging a sword. He remembered play fighting with his kids, swinging sticks at one another. There was something very satisfying and tactile about swinging the piece of metal in just the right way and feeling the force of it as it struck something.


    ¡°Good work. Some of you may make half-decent swordsman.¡± He held up a hand for everyone to stop swinging.


    Michael nearly dropped his sword, but managed to hold onto it. He had started swinging first, and his arm was lead by the time they¡¯d stopped.


    ¡°Follow me. One more lesson before supper.¡±


    They all followed, sweating and exhausted, still wearing gowns that made them look like cherubs, though their expressions and muttered curses were far from angelic. They reached a small building, very close to their own barracks, and were led inside.


    The building had the same layout as the other classrooms, but against the wall rather than a blackboard, there was a single large mirror.


    Kline took the position in the center of the room and looked across all of them. He pointed at the nearest person. ¡°Shi,¡± He pointed at another, ¡°Sanjay,¡± and another ¡°Ren,¡± then he pointed at Davi, ¡°Davi.¡±


    Everyone exchanged glances.


    ¡°Some of you probably wondered why we never asked you your names. That¡¯s because we knew them from the moment you were born. The same way that we knew you weren¡¯t from our world.¡±


    He pointed at the mirror. ¡°In our world, who you are is written across your soul by the divine. Men and women here are made up of their titles and their deeds. Those who can read those titles and deeds on others are known as diviners. They are who held you when you first arrived, who outed you as killers and they are touched by divinity that grants them their powers. You all have a limited form of what they have. You can all divine yourselves, though you cannot read the souls of others.¡±


    He took a long breath.


    ¡°Titles and deeds are a source of strength here. Some titles are granted by the divine, others by those who have great titles themselves. Deeds can be won by anyone, though gaining them can be a fickle thing. I want each of you to line up, and look into this mirror, and tell me what it is that you see.¡±


    Everyone lined up and watched as each of them took a turn at the mirror. They would focus for a moment, and then they would say two things. One would be their names, and the other would be a title that the world had given them. Michael had expected them all to be the same, ¡®lifetaker¡¯, but every single one was different. They all had the same theme though. Pyotr held the title of ''The Resurrected¡¯, Davi was simply ¡®The Renewed¡¯, Ollie was ¡®Two-lifed¡¯, and Marcus was ¡®Lifethief¡¯.


    Michael looked into the mirror, and this time he focused harder on the golden words that seemed to float in front of his face, that had only been on the edge of his awareness before.


    Titles:


    Michael Mann


    The Restored


    Deeds:


    His own title made sense to him, given the withered body he¡¯d left behind when he died, and he imagined the others made sense to them as well.


    Once everyone was done, Kline had everyone return to their seats.


    ¡°It is not only men that can gain titles and deeds. Weapons, beasts, even a mage''s spells can earn them. With them come greater strength or sometimes abilities beyond those of average men. Right now you can only read the titles, but with practice diviners have told us you will be able to read the exact boons that they grant you. This is why there are mirrors in your barracks. Well, this, and to make sure your uniforms are on properly.¡± He smiled at his small joke. ¡°You have all done well today. You will be escorted to dinner, and then to your barracks for the night. In the morning, I will grant you the hour of questioning that I promised.¡±

 Ch 8: Q&A

    Dinner was uneventful, but when they arrived back at their bunks, there were large packs on each bed as well as storage trunks at the foot of each bunk. They were told that they¡¯d be wearing uniforms from this point on and they would be expected to take care of them. Each one was the same gray color as the other recruit¡¯s uniforms and Michael could tell that they were well used, and probably too big for all of them. His assumption was that they were recycled for each new group of takers and once they grew out of them they were taken back for repairs and made ready for the next one. The packs were adult sized and each of them contained a change of uniform, a waterskin, a small knife, a metal bowl, and a canvas of some kind, also gray, that felt as if had been weatherproofed. Michael had not been impressed with the aesthetic of Stent, but he hadn¡¯t had his brains bashed in with a rock the second he was born, so he supposed that was a minor complaint in the grand scheme of things. He moved the spare outfit into the trunk at the base of his bunk and put the rest of the pack into it with everything else inside.


    He was excited to wear pants again. He hadn¡¯t worn them since he was admitted to the hospital. He imagined his body was wearing them back home, along with a suit. He wondered which one his wife had picked for him to wear into the grave. His favorite had been the light gray with the peak lapels, but she¡¯d always favored him in the black one. She said she liked how severe it made him look, like a fire and brimstone preacher. She had an odd sense of aesthetics, and he missed it very much.


    His funeral should¡¯ve been held by now. Though that assumed that time passed the same between the worlds, which he had no idea of knowing. His coffin could just now be going into the ground, or it could be long since rotted away, or it could still be a hospital bed with Sara holding its hand. Well, if he had had his funeral, he hoped that Sara had picked whichever suit she wanted him to be wearing and that his kids were helping her. She was strong, but he didn¡¯t want her to have to be. He sighed as he thumbed the fabric of the uniform on his bed before he transferred it to sit on top of his trunk.


    Ollie looked at him sympathetically. ¡°Makes you feel like you''re fighting to keep slaves, eh?¡±


    Michael chuckled. ¡°Confederate uniforms were a lighter shade, and these actually have a more modern cut to them. Modern for our world, I mean. Despite the fact that they¡¯re training with swords, riding horses, and don¡¯t have electricity.¡±


    Ollie shrugged. ¡°I blame a wizard.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± asked Michael.


    ¡°I could spend all damn day and night wondering why something is one way or another, or¡­ a wizard did it, and I can get some sleep.¡± He did a little hop-climb to get onto his bunk as if to emphasize his point.


    ¡°I suppose a wizard could¡¯ve been responsible for a number of these changes, but I think I¡¯ll just have the fun of trying to figure out what actually happened. It¡¯s not like I have any TV to watch, or any books to read.¡±


    ¡°Oh fuck!¡± said Ollie, sitting up suddenly.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m gonna miss the end of Survivor.¡±


    That prompted a laugh from all of the little English speaking clique, with even Davi who¡¯d apparently been feigning sleep.


    The lights were shut off, likely by a ¡®wizard¡¯ shortly after. Michael had little difficulty falling asleep with how busy the day had been and how harsh it had been on his currently small body. On top of that, the growing pains that night were far worse than any he¡¯d experienced up until this point. With his shins in particular burning all throughout the night. He was used to sleeping through bad pain, but he was awoken a few times to the whimpering or soft sobs of the others in the barracks.


    The next started differently from the last. When the lights went on, they all took the time to bathe and put on their uniforms. Kline walked the rows in front of each of them. Making small corrections to how the uniforms were meant to be worn, or even how they stood to present it. He had them hold out their hands, and he gave them a quick wack across them with the thin stick he carried. When he reached Michael he looked him up and down.


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    ¡°You missed the bottom button.¡±


    Michael nodded, and held out his hand. Kline gave it a quick smack that made him grimace, and moved on. When he reached the taker that had been crying, who Michael had heard was named Xiu, he hit him once for a uniform infraction, and a second time for crying.


    After the inspection, the injection from Crim, and breakfast everyone was shuffled into the mage teachers room before he arrived.


    Kline stood in the other teacher¡¯s place leaned relaxed against the blackboard.


    ¡°As promised, I will now answer any questions you have about this world, this country, this military, or anything else you¡¯re curious about. Raise hands, and I¡¯ll call upon each of you as they come up, but don¡¯t get greedy and cut anyone else off or I¡¯ll shut this down.¡±


    Several hands bolted up immediately, including Michaels.


    Kline pointed at a boy in the far corner.


    ¡°Go ahead.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the mortality rate for takers in your army?¡±


    He smirked. ¡°A practical sort, we usually don¡¯t get to that question until much later. First off, it¡¯s our army. You and the others here will be penitents also called irregulars, meaning you will do work different from the average frontline soldier. Behind the lines scouting, supply raids, hostage taking, Titled beast hunts, the work you do is dangerous, but you''re much better off then penitent criminals that didn¡¯t come to this academy, or even the average footsoldier. During wartime I¡¯d say half of you will survive. Outside of wartime, closer to sixty five percent.¡±


    He pointed again.


    ¡°Magic¡¯s real here, but is there anything else like it? Monsters? Other races?¡±


    Michael already knew a bit of the answer, his encounter with the griffin fresh in his mind.


    ¡°Keeping in mind that monsters to you might be normal to me, we¡¯ve had this question before. There are dragons here, that always seems to be the one people are most interested in knowing, as well as a number of creatures that spawn from the rifts or normal animals that have gained titles and become something closer to monsters. In terms of other races there are dwarves, aelves, the winged. I¡¯ve heard tales of others in distant lands, but here in the Humelands it¡¯s mostly other humans.¡±


    He pointed at Davi.


    ¡°If we are considered criminals, why are we still at the academy? Wouldn¡¯t it make more sense to just grow as as fast as possible and shove us onto the front lines?¡±


    ¡°There are not many alchemists with the skills to monitor you growing safely to your full strength, nor are the regular recruit training facilities able to meet your special needs. There is also the fact that takers tend to be more likely to be mages or have other unique abilities or conditions that make specialized training a necessity.¡±


    He pointed at another man.


    ¡°What kind of life can we expect if we do survive ten years in y-... our army?¡±


    ¡°You will be given a purse of fifty gold, and we will provide you with a work program in one of our larger cities or towns. You will be interviewed about what you did in your previous life and we¡¯ll attempt to match you to an equivalent apprenticeship, or if we cannot, we will provide you a number of options as an official citizen of Stent. We treat our veterans well here.¡±


    He pointed at Pyotr, who was sitting next to Michael.


    ¡°Do you have religion here? Do you follow a god?¡±


    ¡°We had many gods once, but all of their names have been lost. We now have only the divine as a whole. The divine is a tool, a source of energy similar to magic, but with fewer practitioners and less general uses. There are those who have been touched by it, and granted powers by its grace. It is the divine which imbues on our souls Titles and Deeds.¡±


    ¡°Is there a priesthood?¡±


    Kline frowned at him. ¡°That¡¯s two questions, but I¡¯ll allow it since it¡¯s basically the same one. Diviners are those touched by the divine and given the ability to work certain blessings. They are a valuable resource. Some nations still actively worship the divine as a kind of god and even have priests without an explicit connection to it. We are more particular here.¡±


    He pointed, finally, at Michael.


    ¡°What happens to takers that are women?¡±


    ¡°Ah, that¡¯s a good one. They are aged up as you are, but instead of serving the military, they serve the crown. We have found that they are more likely to have skills that aid serving the bureaucracy than the men of your world. If they have no talent in that area then they are made to do manual labor, cook, and clean. Some with a talent for combat and discipline are recruited to local militias or guards. Those who are discovered to have magical talent are sometimes trained in combat, as are our own women if they have such a gift, but taker women are almost never sent to the front unless they show exceptional talent as battlemages specifically, or by special request.¡±


    That answer told him a lot. There was a crown, a bureaucracy, it told him more about their attitudes towards women, and their priorities as a society. All of that was important, but he knew the real reason he¡¯d asked. If he could wind up there, then so could Sara or his children, and he needed to know where all they would wind up. It was a foolish thought, he knew, but he chose to have it anyway. He lived one life a little foolishly, he¡¯d made no promises to stop in the second.

 Ch 9: Routine

    The next several weeks followed the same formula. They would wake up, dress, be inspected, get punished if they messed up, walk to the alchemist to receive the next injection, breakfast, magic, language, then lunch, Stent Military norms, bushcraft, and finally combat. As their bodies grew, the combat and physical training began to gain more intensity, though the focus remained on form rather than force. After almost a month of that, he was nearing, he guessed, a physical age of five or six. His uniform was starting to get a bit snug, but he didn¡¯t have it as bad as Davi who seemed to be near bursting out of his every time he put it on. Michael¡¯s clique stayed the same, as did the other groups. They didn¡¯t antagonize one another, or give anyone trouble, but in such an unfamiliar place they all wanted to cling to what was familiar.


    Spellcraft was difficult for Michael, but he enjoyed it. Feeling the cool channels of magicka in his body, and focusing them to do even simple spellwork had a thrill to it.


    ¡°Spells are, on the surface, a very simple thing. Almost everyone can produce a small flame to light a fire, or cleanse a bit of water. More powerful spells can be done with a focus, usually something physical that allows someone to better channel their magicka. With minor spells like what you¡¯ll learn from me, you will be using words as your focus. Stent recruits are taught specific phrases for each spell, but we¡¯ve found that takers have a lot of difficulty with that, so instead you will be using words or phrases that you personally associate with the basest component of each spell. A language from your world known as Latin is popular for this.¡±


    He reached into his coat and pulled a small candle from his pocket that he placed gently on the table in front of himself. He held a single finger to the wick, and whispered something. A small flame appeared at his fingertip and the wick was lit with ease. He raised his finger to his lips and blew, ceasing the spell.


    ¡°This is the first spell you¡¯ll learn. A simple flame. You will, in some ways, be developing it yourself, but it¡¯s important to keep yourself limited. The first thing you¡¯ll do is reach for those channels of magicka within you. Then you¡¯ll picture a small flame, no bigger than the one on this candle. When it feels clear in your mind, push your magicka a little past your fingertips, and say whatever word it is you want to be your focus.¡± He gestured to the young soldiers watching the doors. Each of them went to small crates and began pulling out candles, placing one in front of each of them.


    Michael looked at his candle, thinking first about what his focus word should be. He knew a bit of Latin, but he had taken more Spanish classes than Latin ones. He supposed he could use English for it, but that felt¡­ lame, for lack of a better word. What was a word that he innately associated with flame, that was also fun to say?


    He felt for the magicka channels inside himself, and pushed the coldness within them toward his fingertip, picturing a small, perfect flame at the tip of his finger.


    ¡°Fuego,¡± he muttered to himself. He felt the magicka surge a bit, and a single spark burned his pointer fingertip.


    ¡°Ow,¡± he muttered, placing his finger in his mouth for a moment.


    Teft, who¡¯d been walking through the rows inspecting everyone, nodded. ¡°A good first attempt, but remember to push the magicka out past our fingertip. Otherwise you¡¯ll get burned.¡± He turned to look at Ollie who was sitting next to him.


    Ollie was sleeping with his head on the desk, his candle lit and burning.


    Teft looked at the flame with an eyebrow raised. He reached forward and snuffed it between his thumb and forefinger, then slapped Ollie on the back of his head.


    Ollie shot up, ¡°Cunt,¡± he said quietly, rubbing the back of his head.


    ¡°Light it again,¡± said Teft.


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    Ollie shook his head and waved his hand vaguely in the general direction of the candle. ¡°Barbi,¡± he said through a yawn. The wick was immediately lit.


    ¡°You pushed the magicka all the way out of your body to the wick so you wouldn¡¯t need to use your fingertips?¡±


    Ollie shrugged. ¡°I mean, my channels seem to push it out an inch from my hands all the time anyway. It wasn¡¯t hard.¡±


    Teft pointed at one of the young soldiers. ¡°Get me this one¡¯s file.¡±


    The soldier nodded, and walked out of the classroom.


    Ollie had already put his head back down on the desk. Teft took a deep breath and shook his head, moving on to the next person. It took almost the entire class time for anyone else to manage to properly cast the spell. Pyotr, despite being one of the last to find his magicka channels, was the third to manage a proper cast of the spell with a muttering of ¡°plamya¡±, as he pointed his finger at the wick. Michael had managed to create the flame by the end of the class, but not long enough to actually light the candle.


    Marcus did not attend the mage class with everyone, instead going to learn about firearms. He was cagey about it at first, but the fact that he smelled like gunpowder the first time he rejoined them let them guess most of what he was learning anyway. He was getting training as a dragoon, one of the magicka-less gun users that Stent used.


    One of the takers, Xiu, who was always crying, actually collapsed when attempting to cast the flame spell.


    Teft went to check on him, gesturing to a soldier to come and grab him. ¡°This is what happens when you try to cast beyond your ability. He probably tried to create a roaring fire rather than a small flame. Only those with naturally strong and lengthy mana channels will be able to do more than a minor cast of flame, it¡¯s a hungry piece of spellwork.¡±


    The whiner was taken to the infirmary, and the rest of the class moved to language class. It was in this class and Stent military norms that Michael thrived. He lacked the embarrassment of getting things wrong in another language that many of the others seemed to experience, and because he¡¯d spent more than thirty years doing office work, learning military codes, forms, and terms came naturally to him. He¡¯d been circling back per people¡¯s last emails regarding the tracking sheets that needed to be converted into 3Fs for management, this wasn¡¯t much different.


    In bushcraft the focus stayed primarily on learning useful local flora and fauna, but as they grew larger they were slowly introduced to new parts of their standard kit. They learned how to pitch the tents, how to dig latrines, how to store food in the wilderness, and other useful skills. They were told that the main force only learned some of these skills, but irregulars frequently had to camp or live off the land, so there was more of an emphasis on it. Michael was middling at all of it, but he at least didn¡¯t have any bad habits to unlearn. Marcus and Davi showed a strong talent for it, but Ollie was completely hopeless, receiving regular smacks on his knuckles.


    Combat training stayed simple and was usually only a little over an hour at the end of the day. Sword strokes, spear thrusts, shield raises, they were all taught with steady deliberation and all issues with form were critiqued by Kline personally. Pyotr had a surprising talent for perfect form, but Marcus was incredibly fast, and Davi¡¯s size quickly made his blows the most powerful. Michael was good all around, and Ollie was okay all around.


    Meals were all hearty and simple. Michael grew to favor a particular dish that reminded him a bit of salisbury steak, but made with, what tasted like, pork. He and the others would shit talk, and tell more about who they were before they arrived there. Davi told stories about kidnappings, drug busts, and murders like most people talked about the weather. Pyotr had been a ballet dancer and then a teacher and always tried to move the conversations into a more philosophical or artistic direction. Marcus said nothing about his past, but it quickly became clear that he¡¯d been involved in shady dealings, and Ollie just joked and shit-talked almost constantly.


    The other takers all seemed to do much the same. The whiner started getting extra helpings from one of the women that served the food in the cafeteria, and while he kept up his crying and complaining and pretending in public, when he was in the barracks he started to give up the act and talk to everyone normally, even forming a bit of a clique of his own.


    Michael found that he was enjoying it. The instructors could be harsh, and the training difficult, but it was clearly designed with their size and abilities in mind. Stent seemed eager to use resources effectively, not waste them, and that was to their benefit. It felt a bit like college to him. Days full of classes, meals with friends, a set schedule. The others had numerous complaints, but even with the hatred and fear he¡¯d occasionally see in the normal recruits eyes, there were worse ways to start a new life. He particularly enjoyed the combat training, he¡¯d never been in any kind of fight in his old life, but the repetition of swinging a sword and trying to make it work perfectly, it was fun.

 Ch 10: Collateral Duties

    One day Ollie was taken out of the barracks and not returned to the rest of the group until breakfast where he sat shaking his head and cursing under his breath as he bit into a biscuit.


    ¡°What happened?¡± asked Michael.


    ¡°I¡¯m a mage. Or, I¡¯m going to be anyway. This body¡¯s parents both had high, but not mage level magical ability, and it¡¯s manifested as high potential that I now have to deal with.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s does this?¡± asked Pyotr, wiping crumbs off his face with the back of his hand.


    ¡°It means no more combat training for one thing. I¡¯ll be spending time learning spells and burning pathways for my magicka channels, which I¡¯m guessing fucking sucks. My aging will also be slowed since apparently it¡¯s easier to learn spells and burn mana channels the younger you start,¡± he shook his head and rubbed his hands across his face. ¡°I¡¯m going to be stuck with a baby dick for almost a year.¡±


    ¡°That shouldn¡¯t bother you much. Isn¡¯t that more than what you had back on Earth?¡± asked Michael with a smile.


    That prompted laughter from everyone, but Ollie who frowned at him. ¡°You¡¯re an asshole, Mike.¡±


    He shrugged, but his smile showed he had no regrets.


    The rest of the day was normal classes. Magic class was no longer linear for everyone, but instead people that accomplished spells quickly were moved rapidly onto the next spell. Ollie was obviously the star, having already learned all of the basic spells they were required to, and Pyotr had only two remaining. Davi struggled the most, being nearly two spells behind Michael. Michael was either the worst of the best or the best of the worst. He was usually working at least one spell ahead of one half of the class, and one spell behind the rest.


    ¡°You have decent magicka channels, but they¡¯re scattered,¡± said Teft as he worked on a spell of tightening. ¡°With the right breeding, in a couple of generations your bloodline could produce a solid mage. Unfortunately, for you it means casting your mana outside of your body is difficult, even though you have solid reserves.¡±


    The spells they needed to learn were minor flame, minor tightening, minor water purification, mark, muffle, navigate, and darksight. Everyone at the academy learned them. Most were self explanatory except for Mark and Navigate, Mark let you place magical marker on something. It highlighted it in your vision, letting you locate it more easily, and you could mark it in different colors or patterns if you willed it so. Michael had to hold things to mark them, whispering ¡®aqui¡¯ as he held it in his hands, but Ollie could mark items across a room without effort. Navigate would draw you to the marked item of your choosing. Most military camps had marking stones for important buildings as well as the camp itself. That way if you were new to the camp, you could simply activate a navigate spell, and find the infirmary, barracks, mess, anything you needed after the first time you found it. Minor tightening did exactly what it sounded like, it tightened straps, belts, knots, and anything similar. It had a lot of uses, the most important of which was that it would allow them to quickly don armor without assistance.


    Michael had managed so far to gain minor flame, minor tightening, minor water purification, and mark, or as he called them, fuego, corto, limpia agua, and aqui.  He still struggled with navigate, or donde, and muffle. After that he had darksight which was apparently the hardest to learn. He knew that his Spanish words weren¡¯t perfect choices, but they made sense to him and that¡¯s what mattered when using them as a focus.


    After a magic class, Michael was taken aside by Kline before he could move on to language and military norms.


    ¡°Follow me, Penitent Michael.¡±


    He did, falling into step behind him, doing his best to keep up with his lengthy stride as they made their way across the campus.


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    ¡°You already have all that you needed to learn from those classes. Your Hume is perfect and unaccented, and you familiarized yourself with all of the requisition, maintenance, and even upkeep tasks before anyone else.


    ¡°I¡¯m guessing that doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m going to relax in the barracks during those classes from now on.¡±


    Kline chuckled. ¡°No. I¡¯m afraid not. You will be receiving quartermaster training.¡±


    Michael frowned, it didn¡¯t seem very wise to give a Penitent that kind of role.


    somehow Kline guessed at his though even though he didn¡¯t turn around to face him. ¡°You will never do the job alone, but there are times where the quartermasters need assistance, and you will be called on to help. Understood?¡±


    ¡°Yes sir.¡±


    They arrived at a large concrete building at the front of which was a counter with a very broad man sitting behind it. He had to be as wide as Michael was tall with a long thick beard that went all the way down to his belt. The man saluted as Kline approached.


    ¡°Knight Commander,¡± he said.


    Kline returned the salute, placing his hand against his chest with two fingers extended.


    ¡°Quartermaster Dugan. This is the Penitent I told you about.¡±


    Dugan nodded, and then suddenly disappeared behind the counter. He then reappeared around the other side, and it was then that Michael realized that he was less than five feet tall.


    ¡°Dwarf,¡± said Michael with surprise.


    Dugan widened his eyes in mock surprise. ¡°Human,¡± he said with an exaggerated inflection.


    ¡°Sorry. I¡¯m still getting used to things here.¡±


    Dugan shrugged. ¡°That¡¯s not my problem. Can you fill out a 1A?¡±


    Michael nodded.


    ¡°Can you polish armor?¡±


    He nodded again, maintenance of equipment had been the most important part of military standards.


    Dugan scratched his beard. ¡°Did you ever take inventory in your old life?¡±


    ¡°Once a quarter.¡±


    He nodded and looked at Kline. ¡°He¡¯ll do.¡±


    Kline nodded back. ¡°I leave him to you then. Have him report back to us for bushcraft.¡± He walked away, back toward the other Penitents and their classroom.


    Michael was still looking at Dugan. He looked¡­wrong somehow. His proportions were all out of whack and it was making his brain hurt trying to remember if he¡¯d ever seen anyone who looked like that. He knew he hadn¡¯t, and that Dugan was a dwarf, which wasn¡¯t something that existed in his world.


    ¡°Do stare at aelves like that too, or is it only dwarves that are so lucky?¡± asked Dugan gesturing for him to follow him.


    ¡°Sorry about that,¡± said Michael, shaking his head. ¡°I¡¯d probably stare at elves like that if I ever saw them.¡±


    ¡°You have seen them, lad. They¡¯re all over the academy.¡±


    Michael frowned. ¡°Really?¡±


    Dugan pushed open the door to the concrete building. ¡°Well, not full aelves. Not since they were made to ¡®conform¡¯, by the king a couple hundred years ago. A lot of the students and instructors have a bit of blood though. Look a bit closer next time, I need someone with an eye for detail to help me out here.¡±


    Inside the building were rows and rows of shelves and racks. They were filled with clothes, weapons, dried goods, raw materials, and everything else Michael could think of.


    They moved through the building and to the back where there was a small stable with a single mule and two carts, one of which was filled with the dull practice swords that Michael had grown familiar with.


    Dugan pointed. ¡°Those were just taken off the practice field. Inspect them to see if they need some smithing. If they do, place them in the other cart. The others can stay. When you¡¯re done sorting, come to me. We¡¯ll fill out a form for how many need repair and then take them to the smith.


    ¡°Is he also a dwarf?¡±


    Dugan shook his head. ¡°Luckily for you, he¡¯s a human man. I worry that another dwarf would shatter your fragile mind. Now get to work.¡±


    Michael nodded, and Dugan left him alone to get to work. He went through each sword carefully, looking for nicks in them, or bends, or even damage to the hilt. It was tedious work, but he had a good view of a training field that seemed to have mages training in it. Occasionally he¡¯d see a flash of light, or hear a small explosion. The change of scenery and new work to do wound up actually feeling like a nice break from the normal routine of his days. Whether it would still feel so novel after a few months of work though¡­ he was fairly certain he already had the answer to that.


    When he was done he walked back in and saw Dugan filling out several papers with his eyes squinted and a quill flying across as he made notes and adjusted numbers.


    ¡°All done?¡± he asked, not looking up from his own work.


    ¡°Yes sir.¡±


    He pushed himself off his chair, landing with a small huff and walked out to inspect the work he¡¯d done. He took a few swords that Michael had put in the ¡®damaged¡¯ cart and moved them back. Then nodded.


    ¡°You were too cautious, these are for training, a few nicks are no problem.¡± He looked over the carts again. ¡°Overall though, good work.¡±

 Ch 11: Reasonable

    Michael snapped awake as the lights to the barracks came on. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked around, seeing everyone else doing the same.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± he asked Davi who was already pushing himself out of his bunk and onto the floor.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he replied, cursing a bit in Portuguese as he shielded his eyes from the light.


    The barrack doors slammed open and more than a dozen soldiers marched in. Real soldiers, not the young ones that they were all so used to having to escort them.


    Kline, looking as if he¡¯d hastily dressed, walked in next. His usual relaxed expression was gone, and had been replaced with a look of anger that would¡¯ve made actual children crumble to see.


    ¡°Line up! Front of your bunks! NOW!¡±


    Everyone complied quickly without a word. Ollie didn¡¯t even mutter something crass as he went to stand in front of his bunk, sensing the immediate shift in the feeling of the room.


    Kline walked in front of all of them, looking at each of them and their bunks as he passed. When he was at the far end of the barracks Michael realized something.


    He didn¡¯t look at Ollie, but he whispered just loud enough for him to hear.


    ¡°Do you hear that?¡± he asked.


    Ollie glanced at him, but didn¡¯t turn his head either.


    ¡°I don¡¯t hear anything.¡±


    ¡°Exactly. No one is crying, and this is exactly the type of thing that would normally cause it.¡±


    Ollie glanced around, looking toward the crier¡¯s bunk.


    ¡°Shit¡­ he¡¯s not there.¡±


    ¡°Quiet!¡± yelled one of the soldiers in their direction, causing them to snap their eyes forward and clamp their mouths shut.


    Kline walked up and down the line, looking at each and every recruit for at least ten seconds each, then made his way back to the door and whispered in the ear of one of the soldiers, stepping outside.


    The soldier pointed at Prakash and to the door. ¡°Follow.¡± He did so. He was gone for fifteen minutes and then another of the Penitents was called. This pattern continued for the rest of the night, and Michael found himself regretting the choice of a corner bunk, as no one was allowed to sit for the duration. One of the other Penitents actually collapsed, having locked his legs as he stood for too long, cutting off his circulation. His collapsed form was ignored by the soldiers, only told to stand back up once he awoke. Michael watched Pyotr, Davi, Marcus, and finally Ollie go. He was one of the last to be called.


    ¡°You,¡± said the soldier, pointing at him.


    His legs ached as he forced himself to follow the soldier out of the barracks. The air was cold as he stepped outside, and he was led quickly across the campus and into a medium sized building outside of which he saw a gallows, a whipping post, and a number of waist high concrete structures that seemed to be built into the ground itself. They all had small slats at the top of them, and when he looked at one, he saw eyes looking back at him and almost jumped. When he looked again the eyes were gone.


    Inside he saw the other Takers all lined up and standing against the wall. They all looked tired and scared, many of their legs wobbling from the effort it was taking to continue to stand. He knew they were all adults in the bodies of children, but the sight was so pathetic it made his heart drop in his chest. He was led through a thick doorway into a small windowless room with a guard in each corner and Kline sitting in a chair looking at him. He pointed at a chair across from him with its back against the far concrete wall.


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    ¡°Sit.¡±


    Michael did so, having to climb a bit to properly get into the seat. He was grateful to have the chance to rest his legs.


    ¡°Do you know Xiu?¡± he asked.


    ¡°He¡¯s the one that cried all the time?¡±


    He nodded.


    ¡°Not personally, no.¡±


    ¡°Have you seen him interact extensively with anyone else?¡±


    Two names came to mind immediately, members of that little group he¡¯d seemed to form recently. ¡°No. I never really paid any attention to him.¡± They may not have been in his own little group, but he knew an interrogation when he saw one, and didn¡¯t have any intention of being a rat.


    Kline stared at him for a moment as if giving him a chance to change his answer.


    Michael stayed silent.


    ¡°Have you noticed any abnormal behavior from him?¡±


    ¡°He cries a lot. Tries to get in good with the natives. Nothing aside from that.¡±


    ¡°Have you seen him talk extensively with anyone who was not a teacher or another lifetaker?¡±


    Michael thought about it. ¡°I think he was friendly with one of the women that serves food in the mess. I don¡¯t know her name though.¡±


    Kline looked at him intently for a few more seconds, then turned his head to one of the guards in the corner. The guard opened the door and gestured for him to leave. Michael pushed himself off the edge of the chair and onto stiff and sore legs. He led him to the wall where the other lifetakers were lined up, and had him stand at the end. The remaining lifetakers were interviewed and soon lined up next to him. Two more of them passed out from locking their legs, but after guards ensured they were alive, they simply left them there as the other guards back at the barracks had.


    Kline emerged from the room shortly after the last interview. He left the building and everyone else was escorted behind him, made to stand in front of the gallows. Neat rows of exhausted men in the bodies of children looking at the swinging ropes as they were blown gently back and forth by a cool breeze. It was morning, and dozens of native recruits had gathered at the gallows as well, curious as to what was happening. There were no attempts to send them on their way, and as they stood there and waited more of the native recruits joined them until there was a medium sized crowd watching the proceedings.


    Three children were pushed roughly up the steps by an equal number of guards. One of them fell as he hit the steps and was grabbed and thrown up to the top step with one hand. They had sacks over their heads, and muffled curses and screams could be heard as they were made to stand in front of each of the three nooses.


    Kline walked out to the front of the gallows with a look of rage on his face and looked out over the gathered takers. ¡° Your fellow takers Xiu, Tash, and Tian attempted to escape the academy today. An already dire offense. In planning for his escape Xiu convinced Jenn Tymond that he was here by accident. That he was no lifetaker, just a child forced to be here under terrifying circumstances. Because of his deception and her kindness, she attempted to smuggle him and his accomplices out along with supplies and an intention to hide them away in her home village. When they were caught, Xiu, who she trusted, took her hostage with a blade to the throat, and killed her. She had three children and has served here for five years.¡±


    He paused for a few moments.


    ¡°We have been reasonable to you. Kind in comparison to our neighbors. Witness what happens when you prove you are exactly what we expect you to be.¡±


    The hoods were removed from each of the guilty, and the faces of three weeping six year olds looked out at the crowd. Kash and Tian struggled and cursed through their tears, but Xiu just went limp and cried trying to use sympathy the way a predator baits prey. The soldiers behind each of them looped each noose around their throats, tightening them very far to make them properly fit around their small necks.


    Michael knew that they weren¡¯t actually children, that they were simply men, murderers even, but that didn¡¯t change what his eyes saw. There were no announcements, no last words. The moment all three were secured, the soldiers simply stepped back in unison, and pulled the levers to open the trap doors beneath them.


    Their small bodies fell, and even at a distance Michael could hear the snap off their necks, involuntarily jumping at the sound, his body shaking. A few of the native recruits cheered or clapped, happy to see evil punished. Michael watched the bodies of children swing back and forth, lifeless. The image of it seared itself into his mind, it would live behind his eyes, coming unbidden, in the same way that the parent¡¯s of his body¡¯s screams came to his ears.

 Ch 12: Brand

    There was one hour to sleep, which few of them in the barracks actually managed. After that they shuffled silently to receive their inoculations for growth, with Ollie receiving what looked to be a half or even one-third of the same dose as everyone else. After that they went to eat breakfast. There was no hour of questions, which was what Michael had expected.


    Michael found it difficult to eat, images of children''s bodies and the scream of the parent¡¯s whose child¡¯s body they took were alternating in his senses. He hadn¡¯t seen much death in his last life. He remembered a man having a heart attack at the office which he didn¡¯t survive. He remembered his grandmother¡¯s body lying still in a casket.  He remembered identifying his son¡¯s body. It was mangled, but his face was unmarked, he remembered kissing his forehead as he cried. He had been stealing himself for the fact that he¡¯d be fighting and likely killing, but that was going to be war, he would have adrenaline in his veins and friends at his side to protect.


    ¡°I can¡¯t blame him,¡± said Marcus, breaking the silence that had hung over their table.


    Davi scoffed. ¡°He killed a woman.¡±


    Marcus nodded. ¡°That I can blame him for. Trying to escape though? I can¡¯t blame him.¡±


    Davi, who¡¯d had no trouble eating, gave a shrug in agreement as he took another bite of bread.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand trying it now,¡± said Ollie. ¡°When we¡¯re so small and weak. Waiting until our bodies had aged more would¡¯ve made more sense, right? Unless he had a thing for it.¡±


    Pyotr shook his head. ¡°He manipulated others through sympathy. That is an easier thing to gain with the face of a child.¡± He looked at Marcus. ¡°I thought you were resigned to your fate here.¡±


    Marcus shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m mercurial. I understand what Xiu was thinking. We¡¯re going to be fighting for this country for ten years, doing what sounds primarily like suicide missions for the chance at amnesty and a job. All because I died and grabbed the wrong speck of light.¡±


    Michael shook his head. ¡°No. We deserve this. If you kill someone accidentally back on Earth, you¡¯d also face punishments, repercussions. Doubly so if it¡¯s a child. We deserve this, and worse wouldn¡¯t be unexpected. Besides, the commission we earn goes back to the families whose children we took from them. It¡¯s the least we could do for them.¡±


    Pyotr smiled at him. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t happen to have been catholic in your last life?¡±


    Michael sighed. ¡°Lapsed, but yes.¡±


    Ollie patted him on the back. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯m sure a priest will arrive soon to bugger you, and you¡¯ll feel right as rain.¡±


    Michael shook his head. ¡°I wish I¡¯d been reborn alone. That way I wouldn¡¯t have to spend another lifetime hearing the same tired jokes over and over again.¡±


    That bit of levity brought everyone out of their funk a bit, and Michael found that he could force down his food a bit more easily if they kept talking. The rest of the day stayed somber, and no one was at their best with the lack of sleep and exhausting night. He struggled to perform even the spells he thought he¡¯d already had a good handle on. The teachers and Kline were far harsher in their critiques and corrections, and the number of young guards had tripled. By the time everyone had gone to their barracks for the night no one stayed up to talk or joke, everyone simply collapsed into their bunks and fell immediately into a dreamless black sleep.


    The rest of the week passed by similarly. There was a somber and oppressive air that had settled over everything. There were a few highlights, with two more Takers being found to have high enough magic potential to train as mages with Ollie, and Michael finding that he had a talent for shields beyond what he¡¯d expected, even managing to deflect a few of Kline¡¯s blows without difficulty, half-assed though they were.


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    At the end of the week, rather than the barracks, everyone was taken to an outbuilding that no one recognized. No one asked any questions, the number of guards, the presence of Crim, and Kline had everyone too nervous to do so. Inside the building there was a middle aged woman there, wearing a black robe and no military insignia. Her hair was black with a few threads of gray and hung loose and wild in stark contrast to the other women at the academy.  There were several pews that had been pushed against the wall, and there was a long metal rod stuck into a brazier in the center of the room. A few yards from the brazier at the far end of the room was a small altar, and a golden symbol of a circle with lines extending from it in alternating lengths making it look almost like a sun. It was probably the most ostentatiously decorated place he¡¯d seen at the Academy so far, and he still found it spartan. He guessed it was a chapel to the Divine.


    ¡°Line up,¡± said Kline.


    They were all in a kind of line anyway, but Marcus shifted himself behind Michael who suddenly found himself at the front.


    Kline looked at them with a frown that hadn¡¯t left his face since he had Xiu and his accomplices executed.


    ¡°Today, you will be receiving your brand. This is usually reserved for when Takers are much older, and your bodies are more able to handle it, but due to recent events we are required to move up the timeline, and all of you are at the minimum age at which survival is a near guarantee. The brand is exactly what it sounds like. A mark seared into your flesh. Those in the Stent army who are required to lead Takers have a brand as well, and through that we can cause you pain.¡± He rolled up his right sleeve a bit showing a scar that looked like an X made up of curvy lines with a line through it. ¡°They are only used in extreme circumstances, and at the end of your term they are removed.¡±


    He looked directly at Michael.


    ¡°Your first.¡±


    Michael looked at him. It made sense, as a method of control, but even with his guilt he found it difficult to come around to being branded like a steer. He took a step forward and hesitated.


    Kline looked at him with what he thought was a bit of sympathy.


    ¡°The faster we get this over with, the faster you can all get back to your barracks.¡±


    Michael didn¡¯t look around, he remembered that there were a dozen guards and he was a child. He moved forward toward the robed woman.


    She looked at him, and through him, and he realized that she had to be a diviner.


    ¡°Remove your shirt,¡± her voice was soft, but had some steel to it.


    He complied, and knelt.


    She produced a small length of rope and gestured to his mouth.


    He took it and bit down.


    She grabbed the handle of the iron rod in the brazier, brought it out, and stepped around too quickly for him to see the size of the brand at its tip. He wasn¡¯t sure if he should be grateful for that.


    There was nothing for a few seconds, then it hit. His jaw clenched on the rope as searing pain hit his right shoulder, tears forming and falling in the corners of his eyes almost immediately.


    The diviner removed her hand a moment later and placed her hand on his head, muttering under her breath in a language he didn¡¯t understand.


    The pain was terrible, but when she finished speaking it became worse. His body jerked backward, and he clenched his teeth even harder, his hands forming into fists as he felt the brand sear into his soul just as it had his body. He collapsed forward again, tasting blood in his mouth.


    ¡°He¡¯s still conscious. That¡¯s rare even for older Takers that are branded,¡± said the diviner as she helped him to his feet.


    His legs wobbled a bit and the rope fell from his mouth along with two of his teeth and a globule of blood.


    Crim came over to examine the teeth and made him open his mouth.


    ¡°Just baby teeth. They were due to come out soon anyway.¡±


    She took him over to one of the pews and gave him a soft cloth to clean up the blood from the side of his mouth while she cleaned the brand. The cleaning was painful, but quick, and she bandaged it swiftly afterward.


    He watched as Marcus took a few steps forward, then whipped around rapidly and tried to run. He did a surprisingly good job, ducking under several grabs and making it to the door, but was grabbed by the collar at the last minute and dragged forward. Despite his small size it took three guards to hold him down as the diviner pressed the brand into his skin. Unlike Michael, he lost consciousness.


    While Crim looked him over, Michael heard her whisper to Kline. ¡°Don¡¯t hold it against him. He has difficulty with needles as well.¡±


    It was a lame excuse, Michael had gleaned enough from Marcus to know that what the brand represented was far more terrifying to him then any pain it would cause. Still, Kline gave her a nod as she went to clean and bandaging his wound.


    No one else tried to run. Pyotr was the only other person to remain conscious after receiving the brand, but Davi awoke from unconsciousness after less than a minute as did a few others. Ollie was knocked completely out. By the end of it, the small chapel to the divine smelled like a barbecue. Several of them were taken to the infirmary for more intensive treatment, and the rest were escorted back to the barracks. Michael slept on his chest that night.

 Ch 13: New Flows

    A month passed without anything else significant happening, and things fell back into routine. Wake up, treatment, magic, language, lunch, military norms, or quartermaster duties in Michael¡¯s case, bushcraft, combat. As they started to gain greater mastery of the magic, language, and norms, more time was devoted to combat. This coincided with their physical growth from small, into large children. It made sense. There was less they needed to learn magically or through language, and they could handle greater amounts of combat and conditioning so it was a smart transition.


    The physical conditioning was made up of mostly running. Running fast, running slow, running while holding something, running uphill, running downhill, it was only occasionally broken up with a number of exercises he recognized from his old world. These included pushups, squats, lunges, and even burpees. It was unpleasant, but he seemed to have less trouble than everyone else. Waking up feeling loose while everyone else had to basically drag themselves out of bed. He wondered if it was just a matter of perception. He remembered what it was like to have old bones and muscles that ached.


    Michael was finding his new body to be aging very different from his old one. His jaw was becoming more defined, he was taller than most of the others, and while he¡¯d been a bit of a pudgy kid in his old body, this time he was lean and strong. Davi was the only one in their close knit groups that was taller than him, and he was also much larger, his jaw already defined enough as a child to cut glass and a naturally angry set to his eyes. Pyotr had an average size and build, but his arms seemed a bit long for his body and his black hair and blue eyes made him look very striking, though the frequent sunburns he experienced from his pale skin ate into that impression a little. Marcus was the shortest of them, aside from Ollie, and had a narrow frame and face that made him look somewhere between a fox and a rodent depending on if you wanted to compliment or insult him, he kept his hair long, somehow managing to hide it¡¯s length whenever they were taken to have it clipped, and he had the darkest skin of all of them, looking greek with a heavy tan. Ollie, of course, was the smallest because his growth had been slowed for magical training, and he did not appreciate that. Between his size and constant shit-eating grin, he was very punchable, but they all had the maturity from two separate lives to keep them from doing so, most of the time.


    In the barracks during the short hour before the barrack lights were shut down, Michael found himself curious about what Ollie was doing. He no longer participated in combat training or bushcraft, and instead spent that time doing additional training with Teft and the others that had shone mage potential.


    ¡°We¡¯ve been learning more spells, but mostly we¡¯re being taught how to weave spells of our own. It¡¯s kind of a balancing act between how much magicka you can channel, how many focuses you can hold, and what you¡¯re trying to do. If I wanted to shoot a bolt of lightning at someone for instance, I would have to be sure my channels could handle what I¡¯m imagining. If I use just a word as the focus, that can make my imagination run too wild. If I have a phrase of words, that can make it more specific, and easier to channel magicka toward. If I have a phrase and a physical focus I associate with what I¡¯m trying to do, then that makes it even easier, though there¡¯s always a limit to what¡¯s possible. We¡¯re encouraged to experiment with only the basics for now, settle on specific spells that we can create reflexively, and not try and do any improv as it¡¯s dangerous. The more settled a spell in your mind the more likely it is to gain a title or deed to it as well.¡±


    ¡°What about the burning magicka channel pathways?¡±


    He scowled. ¡°That shit sucks so much ass you wouldn¡¯t believe. It feels like if scratching a chalkboard manifested as a drill moving through your body.¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± said Michael, gripped a bit by the visceral description. ¡°What does it do, though?¡±


    ¡°It makes your channels stronger. The more channels you connect, the more easily you can move magicka through your body. I thought it was easy enough already, but I do find that I¡¯m much less spent when casting after forging new channels.¡±


    Pyotr, who¡¯d been listening in, piped in. ¡°How do you do it?¡±


    Ollie shook his head. ¡°You guys don¡¯t want to do it. It sucks, it hurts, and you guys still won¡¯t be able to throw fireballs or anything like that.¡±


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    Pyotr shrugged. ¡°I can think of other reasons it would be useful. I want to live a full second life, with drinking, friends, and maybe a woman or two¡­or three. This could help me survive.¡±


    Michael nodded, ¡°Agreed on most points,¡± he wasn¡¯t so sure about the women and drinking, but he¡¯d hold that decision until after he hit puberty again. He knew well that making choices about all that at this juncture was pointless. None of his currently pre-pubescent thoughts on sex were going to matter anymore once the testosterone started flowing again.


    Ollie sighed. ¡°Alright, I didn¡¯t realize you were both such masochists.¡± He flexed his small hands a bit. ¡°The first step is to feel your mana channels.¡±


    Michael did so, feeling the line that moved from his left wrist to the pit of his stomach as well as the dozens of smaller cool pools scattered throughout his body.


    ¡°Now, you¡¯ll need to channel your mana, but just in one of the channels, almost like you''re going to cast a spell, but not quite.¡±


    Michael found one of the small pools that was very close to another one, and started to work up the magicka in the pool, feeling it grow cold like ice.


    Ollie, whose eyes were closed, continued. ¡°Good. Now you need to focus all of that magicka toward the edge of that channel, in the direction that you want to connect it to.¡±


    Michael started to push it, feeling some resistance as he did so.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to have to push harder than that,¡± said Ollie with his eyes still closed. He must¡¯ve been sensing what they were doing somehow.


    Michael listened, pushing the magicka harder, trying to imagine it forming a drill that was rotating at a point. The resistance gave way and his entire body shuddered with so much discomfort that he pulled back immediately.


    He opened his mouth and rubbed his face before shaking out his hands feeling a kind of unpleasant wriggling sensation all through his body, as if he¡¯d just seen a roach.


    Ollie looked at him. ¡°I told you, it¡¯s ass.¡±


    Michael nodded. ¡°Your description was apt.¡±


    Pyotr¡¯s eyes were still closed, and while his face twitched a bit, his expression remained calm.


    Michael, impressed, closed his own eyes again. He repeated all of the steps, but this time he braced himself for the discomfort. He nearly pulled back again when he broke through the resistance, but pushed this time, gritting his remaining teeth. It wasn¡¯t painful exactly, but it felt wrong and it was a very difficult feeling to ignore. Still, after nearly ten straight minutes he connected the two pools. He opened his eyes forcing deep breaths to make the feeling of wrongness leave him. He didn¡¯t feel any different.


    Ollie nodded. ¡°Do that a dozen more times and you¡¯ll start to see some improvement. I¡¯ve had to burn hundreds of the fucking things so far,¡± he shuddered.


    Michael shook his head. He thought he would try it again, but doing it again right after the first one just wasn¡¯t something he could push himself to do after a long day of learning and training.


    Ollie turned to Pyotr who was sweating profusely and frowned.


    ¡°Whoa! Take it easy,¡± he said, grabbing his arm.


    Pyotr opened his eyes. ¡°Ah, did I push myself too far?¡±


    Ollie closed his eyes, shaking his head. ¡°Yes! Three channels at once the first time you do it is way too fucking far.¡±


    Michael shook his head, flabbergasted.


    Pyotr shrugged weakly, seeming exhausted. ¡°I am used to discomfort. It was not so difficult, and you are an excellent teacher.¡±


    Ollie nodded. ¡°I was, and am, yes, but still you need to pace yourself if you do that again. Prakash had to go to the infirmary for rushing through burning channels.¡±


    Michael frowned. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, did you just imply that you were a teacher?¡±


    ¡°At a trade school. I taught mechanics.¡±


    Michael let out an exaggerated sigh of relief. ¡°Thank god. For a second I thought that you¡¯d been in charge of molding young hearts and minds. That would¡¯ve made me question Australia¡¯s sanity even more.¡±


    ¡°Fuuuuck you,¡± he replied in the high pitched tones of a child.


    Pyotr and Michael shared a laugh.


    ¡°That¡¯s what I get for helping you assholes.¡±


    ¡°I do appreciate it,¡± said Michael.


    ¡°As do I,¡± said Pyotr with a nod.


    ¡°Good, your both fucking welcome.¡±


    Almost as if on cue, the lights were shut off. A few people meandered in quiet conversation, but most everyone went straight to their bunks to sleep, too tired to keep talking. Michael sat there quietly for a few moments. It had only been a short while, but he already felt recovered from forging that small channel. He closed his eyes and sensed his magicka again, finding two more nearby ice cold channels the size of small pools. He repeated what he did before, pushing himself through the resistance and discomfort until he¡¯d forged another channel. He panted for a few minutes, and then pushed himself to do it one more time. If he did a few a day, he would eventually have them all connected. Even if he would never be a true mage, having a few more tools in his arsenal could only help.


    The next day Pyotr struggled to get up and move.


    ¡°Try to forge some more channels last night?¡± asked Michael.


    Pyotr shook his head. ¡°No, I am still exhausted from those first three I think. It may be some time until I do it again.¡±


    Michael nodded, but frowned to himself as he did so, wondering if he was doing something wrong that kept him from being so exhausted by the process.

 Ch 14: Hand

    Kline pointed at Davi who¡¯d had his hand raised for nearly five minutes. It had taken quite some time to earn another free hour of questions after what had happened with Xiu, but Kline had finally allowed another one that morning.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you have a ton of guns?¡± he asked.


    That was a very good question, thought Michael. They had access to people from other worlds, and their society didn¡¯t seem exactly backwards when it came to innovation. With their focus on the military, firearms were an obvious choice. He already partially knew the answer, thanks to what Marcus had told him, but he still wanted to know why they weren''t more widespread.


    ¡°We do have guns. It took several takers who¡¯d overestimated their engineering abilities blowing themselves up to accomplish it, but eventually we had rudimentary firearms. Unfortunately, they do not work well with Magicka. The more complicated a machine is, the more trouble it has when someone has magicka, and we found that even very simple firearms were more prone to misfires, or worse when someone with even a low magical potential uses them. There are very occasionally those who are born with no magic affinity, and they are recruited as sharpshooters.¡± He nodded at Marcus. ¡°Dwarves, who have no magic channels, also use simple firearms. It¡¯s one of the reasons no country in the Humelands has ever tried to invade them.¡±


    He pointed at Michael.


    ¡°Are the Humelands the only place with humans?¡±


    He shook his head.


    ¡°There are humans on every continent as far as I know. It is believed that we are the largest concentration of them here, though if that¡¯s true or not was lost during the cataclysm.¡±


    Michael nodded, that made his admittedly foolish dream of maybe locating his wife when she died, or even his kids when they passed even more foolish. They could be anywhere in a large new world that he didn¡¯t even know the scope of. That was assuming they could only reincarnate as humans, or that they would reincarnate at all.


    The Cataclysm was something Kline had mentioned before. Some kind of event that destroyed the Humelands capital and caused massive rifts and monsters to appear. Before it had occurred, the Humelands had been a single country. Stent claimed to have held the true heir to the old throne, but apparently so did every other country.


    Kline pointed at another person, Ogun, he thought.


    ¡°Do you have holidays here? Special days you celebrate?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Kline answered simply before pointing to someone else.


    Michael had noticed he did that a lot when the questions were cultural or recently historical. Marcus and Davi both believed it was to keep them from being able to fit in too well. If they did manage to desert then they would be easier to pick out as Takers and so easier to round up and hang if they needed to. Far away historical events didn¡¯t seem to matter as much, as they were such common knowledge that a few others had already known about the cataclysm before the question had even been asked.


    ¡°What are these Tusinians we are to be fighting like?¡± asked Prakash.


    Kline¡¯s relaxed smile that had only recently returned, faded. ¡°They are savages. They dress in rags, indulge in slavery and serfdom. Their women have no rights, and their men are treated like dogs. They claim that they are owed Stent¡¯s lands due to a marriage more than three hundred years past. They have mercenaries do their fighting for them, because they are cowards.¡±


    Michael raised an eyebrow and exchanged a glance with Pyotr. They both knew propaganda when they heard it. That didn¡¯t mean they were immune to it, but this was a bit less subtle than it tended to be in their own countries of origin.


    After that, Kline¡¯s appetite to answer questions seemed to fade quickly and he only answered two more with quick responses before everyone was shuffled to their next class. Magic class was next, and at this point Michael had learned all of the spells he was required to, so he was instead shuffled early to help Dugan.


    Once Dugan had realized his knack for paperwork he¡¯d started to have him fill out and correct the majority of the basic forms. When he wasn¡¯t filling out paperwork he was helping him to load wagons and move supplies from one area to another, sort out freshly arrived goods, or even help with the maintenance for the weapons and armor. Michael very quickly became an adept hand at sewing buttons or patches onto uniforms, polishing brass buttons, and even hemming pants. When they were working, Dugan indulged Michael in answering the occasional question, though for the most part he seemed very wary of what he said, and didn¡¯t seem like much of a conversationalist to begin with.


    Since their first meeting, Michael had noticed a number of people with strange features he wouldn¡¯t have recognized before. Oddly wide eyes, slightly pointed ears, fingers just a bit too long, even patches of hair in unnatural colors. Whatever had happened to the aelves in Stent, it was long ago that their traits were only minor in their descendants.


    ¡°Do you know how long Tusinia has been fighting Stent?¡± Michael asked as he threaded a fresh needle.


    ¡°Long time.¡±


    Michael sighed at the non-answer. ¡°Do they have a lot of dwarves there?¡±


    ¡°No. Only a small mountain range there. Most of us that live below the Humelands are in Swandia.¡±


    Michael nodded, he¡¯d heard of that country a few times. It was apparently some distance to the East. ¡°Do dwarves worship the divine?¡± he asked.


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    Dugan snorted, startling Michael a bit.


    ¡°Our gods still have names. They live beneath the earth, carving our homes and leaving behind what is needed for us to live. We can touch them, they are not merely floating words of gold and blessings given by some wispy priest.¡±


    Michael raised an eyebrow, that was the most he¡¯d ever gotten Dugan to talk. He was about to ask a follow-up question when Dugan stood up and walked away, returning with a stack of papers for Michael to work through. He sighed. The work wasn¡¯t too dissimilar to what he¡¯d done for a living in his last life, which made it easy, but left him feeling a bit jealous of Ollie being able to spend his time learning magic.


    When he was done he was shuffled back in with the regular group and the rest of the day was normal until it came time for combat training. It was spear practice that day, but instead of being given one, he was instead given one of the no bladed swords and told to stand to the side and wait by Kline. Shortly after, Teft and Ollie appeared.


    ¡°Ollie needs to start more practical combat training,¡± said Kline as he gestured for Michael to stand across from him. ¡°He¡¯s been learning his shield spell, possibly the most important spell in a combat mage¡¯s repertoire, but it needs training in active use. You¡¯re going to be attacking him.


    ¡°Oh?¡± said Michael, brandishing his sword a bit and smiling shamelessly. He was more than a foot taller than Ollie at this point, and while his swordsmanship wasn¡¯t quite at Pyotr¡¯s level, he was able to hold his own against everyone else very well.


    Ollie just shook his head at him. ¡°Brains over brawn.¡±


    Michael shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ve got both over you, so that should be fine.¡±


    ¡°First we¡¯ll establish a baseline,¡± said Teft gesturing to Ollie. ¡°Form a shield a foot in front of you and to the side.¡±


    Ollie nodded, and muttered ¡°oh fuck,¡± under his breath in english.


    Michael raised an eyebrow.


    Ollie smiled through his concentration. ¡°I figured it¡¯s the focus phrase I¡¯d most easily remember when I needed to bring up a shield in front of myself.¡±


    Michael chuckled. He knew Ollie¡¯s flame spell focus phrase was ¡®barbie¡¯, so this wasn¡¯t much of a leap. If he looked closely he could see a slight shimmer of purple light floating to Ollie¡¯s side, and if he reached out with his channeling, he could feel vaguely that something was there, but not ascertain its exact shape. He hadn¡¯t been able to do that before he¡¯d started forging a few channels every night before bed.


    Kline gestured to Michael, ¡°Give a swing at his side, a little to his left. Half strength.¡±


    Michael took his stance and swung. He hit the purple haze in the air, and he could feel it start to give, but his blade bounced off of it.


    Teft looked at Ollie. ¡°Okay, adjust it based on the fact that was half strength.¡±


    He nodded and a bit more Magicka flowed from him.


    Kline looked at Michael. ¡°Full strength this time.¡±


    Michael inhaled, took his stance again, and exhaled, this time putting his full force into the strike. This time his blade smashed into it, but he felt no give at all.


    Teft nodded. ¡°Good. I think you have an idea now, though keep in mind his strikes are going to vary in strength, but your shield shouldn¡¯t. You always want it prepared to take the strongest possible strike your opponent can muster.¡±


    Kline nodded. ¡°Okay. Simple movements, start striking. Keep it slow to start, but put what force you can into the strikes.¡±


    Michael nodded, and started attacking slowly, just as he did with the others when they practiced sparring. His slow attacks were met with Ollie¡¯s shields each time, and they fell into a rhythm quickly.


    ¡°Speed up,¡± said Kline as he started walking in a circle around them.


    Michael did so, though he kept his movements simple, Ollie kept up with little difficulty, raising a hand quickly in front of each blow.


    ¡°Those hand movements are unnecessary,¡± said Teft. ¡°They may act as a minor focus, but with your magicka reserves you shouldn¡¯t need to rely on them for basic attack shielding.¡±


    Ollie gritted his teeth a bit, but slowly stopped raising his hands to move the shield to intercept Michael¡¯s blows, though his hand kept twitching.


    They were sped up a few more times, and Kline encouraged Michael to slowly add complexity to what he was doing. He was getting tired, but he kept up a consistent series of blows that he moved to random points of attack.


    Ollie, on the other hand, was growing more confident, his fingers no longer twitching to block every blow and his eyes slowly stopped focusing on just Michael¡¯s hands, and instead seemed focused on his chest, from where he could see all of his movements in his peripheral vision.


    ¡°To make things harder on a warrior attacking you, you should add some pushback to the shield whenever he makes contact, as if it were a real shield in your hand. This hurts their arms over time, and can throw off their balance,¡± said Teft, scratching his chin.


    The shields Michael was striking quickly shifted from annoying to painful, as he added a pushback to each blocked blow. Soon his arms were screaming at him, but he kept it up.


    ¡°Break,¡± said Kline.


    Michael lowered his blade slowly, trying to slow down his breath. The first few times someone had just dropped their blade, they¡¯d been rewarded with a swift smack to break them of the habit. He placed the sword in the temporary scabbard and got himself some water, drinking greedily from the ladle, though his hand was shaking terribly.


    Ollie got some water too, though he seemed completely fine, and shot him a smirk. He then walked back to the instructors.


    Kline met Michael halfway. ¡°Remember, you have two hands. Don¡¯t hold yourself back too much.¡±


    Michael nodded, taking his place across from Ollie again and readying his sword.


    ¡°Start,¡± said Kline.


    Michael moved immediately, sending out three quick strikes. Ollie was surprised enough that he actually raised his hands to summon the shield, just as he had been doing when they¡¯d first started. Michael stepped closer to Ollie, and threw out a few more, though Ollie was ready this time and blocked all three of them, pushing the shields back at the point of impact to cause some reverberation. Michael did three more full strength over hand blows that Ollie blocked easily due to their predictability, and while he was focused on that, Michael took his offhand off the hilt of his sword, took another step forward, and struck Ollie directly in the middle of his face with a punch.


    Ollie fell backwards, kicking up dust. He let out a pained groan as he brought his hands to his face. Blood was gushing freely from his nose, it was broken.


    Kline bent down to look at him, then looked over to one of the young soldiers guarding them. ¡°Go tell the infirmary to be ready for a broken nose.¡± He looked over to Teft, who nodded back at him. Michael would realize later that this was planned, a common lesson given to combat mages to be prepared for anything, as well as for others to attack them in unexpected ways. At that moment though, Michael found that he wasn¡¯t seeing Ollie hurt in front of him, he was seeing his son Vick, the time he¡¯d misjudged a jump from the swing and broken his arm.


    Michael walked toward him, feeling a familiar heat growing in his right hand. He took several steps toward Ollie.


    Kline and Teft turned to look at him and their eyes widened.


    Michael knelt down next to Ollie, and raised his hand in front of his face, over his broken nose. It was glowing gold, and Ollie didn¡¯t even wince as it touched him. Michael felt suddenly tired, and the glow of his hand faded. He removed it from Ollie''s face, to see his nose completely restored. Only a bit of still wet blood showed that it had ever been damaged in the first place.


    Michael looked at his hand, where the heat lingered still. He recognized it, it was Sara¡¯s hand, the same feeling he¡¯d had when holding it in the hospital as he¡¯d died.

 Ch 15: Divine

    ¡°Touched by divinity,¡± said Kline standing from where he¡¯d been kneeling by Ollie. ¡°And a healer at that.¡±


    Ollie stood back up too, blinking and wiping some blood away on his sleeve. ¡°Thanks mate, didn¡¯t know you could do that.¡± He looked at Michael staring at his hand and flexing it. ¡°Guessing you didn¡¯t either?¡±


    Michael shook a bit as the heat in his hand faded. He didn¡¯t want to lose it.


    ¡°What?¡±


    Teft stood and looked at him. ¡°I¡¯ve heard that gaining blessings like this can be very disorienting.¡±


    Kline nodded. ¡°Don¡¯t think he needs the infirmary, but we were near the end today anyway.¡± He looked out at the rest of the training yard, where everyone was pretending to keep up their drills as they tried to catch glimpses of whatever was going on. ¡°We¡¯re breaking early for dinner. Head to the mess, then to bed.¡±


    He looked back at Michael who was starting to finally accept the coldness of his hand.


    ¡°Go. Eat.¡±


    Michael nodded, his head foggy. ¡°Oh¡­okay.¡±


    He shuffled around behind everyone else, Ollie helping to make sure he didn¡¯t run into anything and helping him to get his tray together before they sat down at their usual spot in the corner. After a few bites of a piece of bread filled with warm cheese and a vegetable that resembled broccoli, he was feeling aware and finally able to focus on what was going on around him.


    ¡°-punch hurt like hell, but the pain and everything was gone the second he touched it,¡± said Ollie through mouthfuls of food. ¡°Kline said something about him being ¡®touched by the divine¡¯.¡±


    ¡°Strange that the god of this place would bless someone from another world. Though the will of god, or gods, or whatever is not for us to know, ¡° said Pyotr gesturing with his spoon. ¡°Not too different from our own.¡±


    ¡°We didn¡¯t have any,¡± said Marcus. ¡°Frankly, I don¡¯t know that they have any here either. ¡®The divine¡¯ could just be some innate thing people have here. Like magic.¡±


    ¡°Well, they said they used to have individual gods before their names were lost. That they were very present before. Is our ability to see our Titles and Deeds not enough proof of their existence? Not to mention what Michael just did.¡±


    ¡°How do you lose their names? Does that make sense to you? These people have writing. How do you lose something like that? Unless it¡¯s all made up in the first place.¡±


    Ollie shrugged. ¡°A wizard did it.¡±


    Pyotr chuckled. ¡°He¡¯s joking, but that¡¯s a good point. There¡¯s magic here, things that are different from the rules of our home. Why doubt it?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s too easy,¡± said Marcus.


    Davi, who¡¯d been busy stuffing his face, nodded. ¡°He¡¯s right about that. The explanation is too simple.¡±


    ¡°Truthfully, none of this matters anyway,¡± said Marcus.


    ¡°You¡¯re the one that started the argument,¡± said Pyotr with the condescension of a professor correcting a student.


    Marcus ignored him. ¡°The important question is whether or not his healing can remove scars.¡±


    Davi raised an eyebrow and nodded, understanding his meaning immediately.


    Michael did too. ¡°If that¡¯s what you want, then I would do it for you, as a friend, if I can. I don¡¯t think that would be a good idea though.¡±


    Marcus nodded, spearing a piece of meat. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be. At least not yet.¡±


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    ¡°Are you okay?¡± asked Pyotr.


    Michael nodded. ¡°I¡¯m feeling okay now. What I did had an¡­ odd impact.¡± He flexed his hand a bit. ¡°But yeah, I¡¯ll be okay.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s good,¡± said Davi, wearing a rare smile. ¡°I would not mind having a friend who can heal my bruises.¡±


    ¡­


    Michael felt much better the next morning, and felt fairly fresh during his morning visit to the alchemist and breakfast, but he was taken out of his quartermaster duties by Kline.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been told by Teft that you have nothing else to learn in this class. From now on you¡¯ll be spending your time with the diviner on base to cultivate the abilities we discovered yesterday, after which you¡¯ll report to Dugan.¡±


    Michael nodded, he¡¯d expected something like that, it was basically the same thing that happened to Ollie when it was discovered he had mage potential, or when it was discovered that Marcus had none.


    ¡°Is it uncommon to have a taker with the ability to heal?¡±


    ¡°Diviner healers with that ability are rare in general. There have been others with a touch of the divine, but no healers in my lifetime. Most healers are kept from the front due to their value, but because of your status as an irregular we may be lucky enough to have one on our front lines¡±


    Michael thought about that. He wouldn¡¯t mind not seeing the front or being sent on any of the dangerous missions it seemed that irregulars were typically assigned to.


    ¡°It won¡¯t keep you from any of the normal assignments, takers aren¡¯t given any exceptions, but if your ability as a healer is significant enough, it¡¯ll give the family of your body a greater price and your decade of service is more likely to be cut.¡±


    Kline seemed to be able to read minds.


    ¡°Our terms can be cut?¡±


    He nodded.


    ¡°There are special cases in which they can be shortened. Severe injury, commutation by a general or royalty such as the king. I know of two mages that served only seven and eight years, and one warrior that was actually elevated to the nobility when he lost a leg saving a general.¡±


    ¡°If our terms can be cut, can they also be extended?¡±


    Kline smiled in a way that didn¡¯t reach his eyes. ¡°Yes, but most of the reasons a regular recruit''s term would be extended, are reasons that would lead to irregulars being hung.¡± He pushed open the door to the small chapel, and walked inside.


    The woman who had branded them was lounging across a pew, reading in a spot of sunlight. When she saw them she pushed herself up to her feet inelegantly, and rested the book open on the edge of the pew to save her page.


    ¡°Meera,¡± said Kline nodding in greeting. ¡°This is the one I told you about.¡±


    She stretched, choking down a yawn and looked at Michael.


    ¡°The first one I branded, I remember you,¡± she held out a hand.


    Michael took it and gave it a firm shake, his years of meeting people once and never again in his old life as an office worker taking over.


    She returned the shake and frowned. ¡°I was hoping for a kiss.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t realize that was a typical greeting here.¡±


    Kline sighed. ¡°It¡¯s not. A handshake is fine.¡±


    ¡°Not for a proper gentleman or lady,¡± she replied.


    ¡°He is no gentleman and you are no lady.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a distant relative of the king, you know that.¡±


    ¡°Yes, and my great uncle thrice removed, and twice returned was the king of all the Humelands himself.¡±


    Michael chuckled.


    Kline turned a bit toward him, as if remembering he was there, and he coughed to clear his throat. ¡°You will teach him more of how to be a Diviner with a focus on his newly realized healing blessing.¡±


    ¡°Yes yes, I know. We talked about it last night, and a little bit this morning,¡± she smiled slyly.


    Kline masterfully kept any expression from his face. It was odd seeing him act so normal. He wasn¡¯t too strict, though Michael''s knuckles were still a bit sore from a swat on them a few days ago, and Michael had the impression that he approached things more informally than the other instructors on the base with two stripes, but he was demanding and showed no favoritism nor did he joke or speak with any of the Takers beyond his role as an instructor. He supposed he was the same at home versus at work, and he didn¡¯t even work with people that were culturally considered child-murderers, well, unless he wanted to count those few times he worked with the audit team.


    ¡°I leave him to you, recruit Dent will help you if he makes trouble, though this one never has.¡±


    She looked at the young recruit standing at the edge of the room who¡¯d followed Kline and Michael inside.


    ¡°I¡¯m fairly certain I can pummel a child if I need to. It¡¯s why I would¡¯ve made such a great mother. You can take recruit Dent with you.¡±


    Kline shook his head. ¡°Not with the incidents we¡¯ve had recently. He stays.¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°Alright then, fine. The poor boy can stay here and be bored looking at an old lady and a man in the body of a child talk about the divine. I¡¯m sure that¡¯s exactly the kind of action he was looking for when he signed up.¡±


    Old lady seemed like a bit of an exaggeration to Michael, she had to be in her early forties at the latest, but he supposed there were some differing norms between worlds.


    ¡°Glad you agree,¡± said Kline, turning around. ¡°I¡¯ll have someone retrieve him later, I expect a report on where he stands.¡± He walked out of the room, leaving Michael alone with Meera, guard aside.


    She looked him up and down. ¡°So, you healed a broken nose yesterday?¡±


    He nodded.


    ¡°Think you could do it again?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not certain.¡±


    ¡°Well, there¡¯s only one way to find out.¡± She started walking toward the doors. ¡°Come on, let¡¯s get moving. The infirmary is a bit of a walk.¡±

 Ch 16: Old Dog, New Tricks

    They arrived in the infirmary with their guard in tow. Meera did not shorten her strides or slow her pace as they walked so Michael had to effect a kind of half-walk, half-run in order to keep up with her. She was tall for a woman, though the people of Stent had so far seemed to tend toward the tall side in general.


    Inside were the usual rows of beds, a few with the curtains drawn, and at the far end was the alchemy lab Michael visited every day for his injections. There were two medics attending to a patient at the far end of the room.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± said Meera, ¡°No more shots of cursed well water and fortifying draught for you today.¡±


    ¡°Cursed well water?¡±


    She kept walking as she spoke, yanking back a few curtains to the surprise of the young recruits inside as she moved.


    ¡°Yes, there¡¯s a village in southwestern Stent where a witch cursed a farmer''s well to cause things to age and decay on his farm. That water is what¡¯s used to age you. It has to be mixed a very particular way though. Without it, I¡¯d bet we¡¯d just be bashing Taker¡¯s heads in as babes like the Svict. We hate to let bodies go to waste though.¡± She pulled away another curtain. ¡°Ah! This one will do.¡± She yanked the curtain the rest of the way to the side revealing a young man who was somehow still asleep. His hand was wrapped heavily in a cast and slightly elevated by a leather strap. She smacked his face a few times, and after a heavy snore he awoke.


    ¡°What,¡± he blinked bleary eyed. ¡°Diviner Meera?¡± He shook some of his sleep away, wincing a bit as the motion moved his hand. ¡°Divines¡­ I¡¯m not dying or something right? It¡¯s just a broken hand from Endo¡¯s damned feint!¡±


    ¡°No, you¡¯re not dying,¡± she said before muttering a bit quieter, ¡°at least not until you get to the front.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    She pointed at Michael. ¡°So, give it a try. See if you can heal him.¡±


    He turned his attention to Michael, his face contorting from confusion into a scowl. ¡°A Taker? Get that bastard away from me. It was bad enough I had to see those creepy little monsters walking to the alchemy room this morning, waking me up.¡±


    ¡°He may be able to heal your hand,¡± said Meera. ¡°I¡¯m happy to wake up a different recruit though if you¡¯d prefer.¡±


    The young man¡¯s face contorted a bit before he nodded. ¡°Fine. I don¡¯t want to fall behind too much.¡±


    Meera looked at Michael, gesturing toward the young man with a nod of her head.


    Michael nodded back to her, and focused on his right hand. He tried to recall that heat he¡¯d felt in it, the touch of Sara¡¯s hand as he¡¯d passed. He inhaled deeply, the sounds of the hospital room fading. His hand started to grow warm, then hot, and a golden glow began to radiate from it. He moved toward the young recruit, and gently placed his hand on the boy¡¯s cast. His hand heated a bit more, and then the glow faded, as did the feeling of his wife¡¯s hand in his own.


    He stumbled back a bit, feeling winded, and flexed his hand.


    ¡°Does it feel better?¡± asked Meera.


    ¡°Uh, I can¡¯t really tell,¡± replied the recruit.


    Meera slapped his wrapped hand, causing him to jump.


    ¡°Hey!¡± he exclaimed, yanking his hand back quickly from her and cradling it. He looked at it, and rotated it at his wrist a few times. He then started to tear off the cast, Meera grabbed his hand again and pulled it toward herself, pulling a small knife from somewhere and cutting off the rest of the wrapping away.


    ¡°Oh, wow,¡± he said, flexing his fingers. ¡°It feels just like it did before it broke. It¡¯s not even purple anymore.¡± He looked at Meera. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    She gestured toward Michael. ¡°Thank him, he¡¯s the one who did it.¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    Meera shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ll leave that up to the divines to judge you on that.¡±


    A medic approached from the far side of the room, a bit of blood on her sleeve. ¡°What¡¯s going on over here Diviner?¡±


    ¡°Just testing this irregular to see his healing blessing in person, Marta.¡±


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    The medic frowned and leaned toward the patient, squinting at his hand and moving his fingers and squeezing parts of his palm. ¡°Well, it¡¯s safe to say that it¡¯s working.¡± The medic looked at the young man. ¡°I¡¯d say you¡¯re good to return to your class. I believe I saw them starting some physical conditioning, carrying buckets filled with rocks across the old jousting lanes.¡±


    The boy frowned. ¡°You¡¯re sure it¡¯s completely better? I mean, I can stay here a bit longer if I need to.¡±


    The medic nodded. ¡°You¡¯re fine. Get out of here. I¡¯ll be letting your instructor know that you left at exactly a third of sun.¡±


    ¡°Yes ma¡¯am,¡± said the young man pushing himself out of bed and gathering some belongings.


    The medic turned to Meera and Michael. ¡°Do you think he could do that a few more times?¡±


    Meera looked at him. ¡°Well, can you?¡±


    Michael took a breath. He was feeling winded, but healing that recruit had felt right. The first purely helpful action he¡¯d managed to take since he¡¯d gotten there. The screams of the family he¡¯d been taken from seemed quieter in his mind.


    ¡°I can,¡± he said.


    The medic nodded, and gestured for them to follow. He was taken to three of the worst cases. A young recruit that had been thrown from his horse and broken his leg, a new cook from the main cafeteria that had accidentally cut her hand deeply, and a recruit whose shield had shattered from a strike breaking his arm and covering him in painful splinters. The last one had taken the most out of Michael, and after he watched the last of the splinters push themselves out, he¡¯d nearly fallen as his legs began to give out.


    Marta caught him, as if she¡¯d been ready for it, and put him gently in a chair, starting to examine him even as she placed him down.


    ¡°Exhaustion. He¡¯s as tired as if he¡¯d been doing an hour straight of intense physical conditioning,¡± She stood and poured him a cup of water that she then took a small amount of powder and mixed into it. ¡°Drink this,¡± she said, handing it to him.


    He took it, and drank it quickly. It tasted a little bit like lemon water, and he felt a bit of his strength return. He handed the cup back to her.


    ¡°Interesting. Recovery from using blessings must be quicker than actual physical exertion.¡±


    Meera raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.


    After a few minutes Michael was able to bring himself back to his feet without too much trouble.


    ¡°I think that¡¯s all for the day,¡± said Meera, ¡°Don¡¯t want you to have to put him in a bed here too.¡±


    The medic nodded. ¡°I mean, I wouldn¡¯t mind, you just saved me a lot of work. I may even be able to get some reading done.¡±


    ¡°Are you reading the new Soldier¡¯s Slave?¡± asked Meera leaning in.


    ¡°Not the new one, I¡¯m two behind, but maybe I can bring that down to one today.¡±


    Meera made a bit more smalltalk, and then they made their way back to the chapel.


    ¡°So, can regular mages do any kind of healing?¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°They can kind of help to heal. They can use magic to perfectly set bones, sew skin back together, or even stop bleeding with liberal application of fire, but mages with those talents are better used offensively than as medics. They don¡¯t really heal anyway, so much as facilitate another person¡¯s ability to heal.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s ¡®Soldier¡¯s Slave?¡±, he asked as they neared the chapel.


    ¡°A very graphic romance. It¡¯s on its fourth issue. The fifth is out, but I don¡¯t know when a copy will make its way here.¡±


    ¡°Is there a library or¡­?¡±


    ¡°There is, but it¡¯s full of history and military strategy. Dry stuff. We usually have to wait for a copy to arrive here and get a mage to do a few ink-transfer spells to make copies.¡±


    ¡°How does the author get paid?¡±


    ¡°Paid? She has a patron that sees to her needs. Every book has a dedication to her. ¡®To the esteemed Countess Seravania.¡±


    They reached the chapel again and walked inside, the door held open by their recruit escort.


    ¡°So,¡± said Meera, clapping. ¡°We¡¯ve established that you can¡¯t only heal broken noses, which is an excellent start.¡± She walked into a door off the side of the chapel, behind the altar, and returned wheeling out a large mirror. Both the recruit and Michael moved to help her, but she gestured them away. ¡°I¡¯m not so old I can¡¯t move a mirror on wheels.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been older than you,¡± replied Michael, ¡°moving large furniture is a two person job no matter your age.¡±


    ¡°Bah,¡± said Meera, leaving the mirror in the center of the chapel.


    ¡°Stand in front of the mirror, and read me out your titles and deeds.¡±


    Michael nodded, and moved in front of it, waiting for the spidery gold script to settle into something he could read.


    Titles:


    Michael Mann


    The Restored


    Deeds:


    Blessings:


    Healing hand


    Michael read out what he saw, noting that the ¡®Blessings¡¯ section was new.


    ¡°You see no information aside from that?¡± asked Meera.


    He nodded.


    ¡°Those touched by the divine all have the ability to be diviners. While all Takers should be able to read their own Titles and Deeds, you should be able to read anyone''s. You should also be able to draw out far more information than what you can see now.¡±


    ¡°How?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Empathy, putting yourself into their headspace. It¡¯s easier to do if you know the person, or if they give you permission to divine them. Once it¡¯s trained enough though, you¡¯ll be able to read people whether they want you to or not, whether or not they¡¯re very different from you.¡±


    The recruit coughed.


    ¡°Excuse me ma¡¯am, it¡¯s nearly the second sun. Michael is to report to Dugan the quartermaster.¡±


    ¡°Oh, guess I lost track of time. We¡¯ll pick this up tomorrow then.¡± She looked at the guard. ¡°You can take him away.¡±


    He nodded, and they began walking out of the chapel.


    Michael could already tell that Meera was going to be very helpful, and not only for developing his skills as a diviner. She had freely shared a number of things about the world that he¡¯d so far only been able to guess at. They had nobility aside from the King, there was a patronage system for the arts, ink transfer spells were used likely instead of a printing press, there was a library on the academy premises, and the inoculation that had been aging them was made up of cursed well water, meaning curses existed as did witches. Unlike Dugan and Kline, she spoke very freely, which meant that he¡¯d be able to greatly increase his knowledge of the world outside of the academy.

 Ch 17: Incentive

    The next few weeks everyone was moving more and more toward some kind of specialization with only a few exceptions. Ollie continued his mage training, with occasional help from everyone else when he needed to learn how to implement his spell during active combat. Marcus was always gone for large chunks of time, only to come back smelling of gunpowder. Pyotr and Davi did not gain any more specializations, but they excelled in combat training, especially Davi as he grew physically larger than everyone else. Michael spent no more time in mage training, language, or military norms. Now his mornings and early afternoons were all about learning divining and supply work. After that was an increased amount of combat training and the start of physical conditioning. They were physically reaching around twelve, and the stirrings of puberty were starting for several of them. Michael had so far avoided that fate; it seemed his new body was a late bloomer.


    Michael stood, staring at the recruit who was doing his best to remain stoic, but had several beads of sweat forming on his brow. Michael could understand that. He was a recruit, from a minor nobility based on the ring that was on his pinky finger. He had standards to meet, and a family to make proud, but he hadn¡¯t really expected to be dealing with a taker, a murderer, in the body of a child staring at him to read his soul.


    Suddenly, Michael could see the boy¡¯s Titles and Deeds.


    Titles:


    Bran Neath


    Deeds:


    Tamer of Heavy-hoof


    ¡°Huh, that¡¯s the first time I¡¯ve seen a deed. Is heavy-hoof a horse?¡± asked Michael.


    The young man gulped. ¡°Uh, yes. He was a titled wild horse that lived near my family orchard. It took me years to earn his trust, but just before I came here I was able to start riding him.


    ¡°Very impressive to have a deed so young,¡± said Meera. ¡°Most of you don¡¯t earn any until you make it to the front, though a few of you manage it in the exercises or During the Festivals in those years they have them.¡±


    ¡°So, I can read his Titles and Deeds at a basic level, but there¡¯s a deeper level that I should be able to see on his and my own?¡±


    She nodded. ¡°Yes, eventually titles and deeds will show you generally what benefit they confer, then later they¡¯ll show what the benefit is exactly. There are some who can even see the shadows of Titles and Deeds before they are going to be granted by the divine, but very few can manage that even after a lifetime of practice.¡±


    Michael nodded. He¡¯d learned a lot about his healing ability and being a diviner, but the progress was slow on the latter, or at least it felt slow. According to Meera he was making progress with blazing speed. It was apparently very difficult to teach actual children touched by the divine how to read anyone but themselves. That didn¡¯t surprise him, he had kids, loved them to death as children, but empathy was a rare attribute for them. As an adult with a near lifetime of experience who¡¯d met many different kinds of people, it made sense that he was having a much easier time with it.


    The rest of the day passed by relatively uneventfully. Dugan and him spent the majority of the afternoon retrieving and transporting arrows for archery practice, and when they were done he went on to conditioning and sparring. At this point they¡¯d learned all the basic movements for swords, spears, shields, and daggers as well as a fair bit of basic hand to hand combat. Michael had noticed that the physical conditioning helped him with his healing as well, which meant as it had been amped up, he¡¯d been able to heal more people in the infirmary every morning and as with the first time he recovered by the time the regular physical conditioning occurred, then he recovered from that by morning, though his fellows always complained of soreness and misery. Maybe his own tolerance for it was just higher, he¡¯d experienced plenty of soreness and misery in his old aging body even before the cancer.


    In the cafeteria, Kline told everyone there would be a series of announcements after dinner in the same classroom that he typically answered their questions when they¡¯d earned the privilege.


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    ¡°What do you think that¡¯s about?¡± asked Ollie, using magic to hold his spoon at the tip of his finger as if he was balancing it perfectly.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter,¡± said Marcus.


    ¡°You going to eat your meat?¡± asked Davi, his voice cracking as he pointed at Ollie¡¯s plate. Ollie shrugged and pushed his plate toward him. Davi tucked in immediately, inhaling the meal.


    ¡°I¡¯m not looking forward to that,¡± said Michael.


    Ollie patted his shoulder. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I don¡¯t think he''s going to eat you next¡­ though I¡¯m not completely certain of that. Maybe they do things differently in Brazil.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure it¡¯s Americans that have the most famous cannibals,¡± said Pyotr, defending Davi whose mouth was too full to respond.


    ¡°Americans have the most famous everything,¡± replied Michael. ¡°Comes with being the largest exporter of culture in the world.¡±


    ¡°Culture and human meat,¡± replied Ollie, affecting a kind of spooky tone to his voice as he spoke.


    ¡°I was talking about puberty. The first time was rough enough.¡±


    Ollie shook his head. ¡°I disagree. I can¡¯t wait to have some hair on my balls again.¡±


    ¡°Hairy balls is the thing you¡¯re most looking forward to?¡± replied Marcus with a grin.


    Ollie flipped him off.


    ¡°I am just glad that I¡¯ll have the wisdom to avoid some of the mistakes I made the last time,¡± said Pyotr. ¡°So many bad decisions that came from having full balls and a beautiful girl watching.¡±


    ¡°That I understand,¡± said Marcus. ¡°Though there are a few mistakes I wouldn¡¯t mind making again.¡±


    Davi finished his plate and the food Ollie had given him with a large gulp. ¡°I think it¡¯ll be a bit tougher here. I wasn¡¯t exactly lacking for girls back in Rio.¡± He looked over at the middle-aged women in the cafeteria. ¡°Already even they are starting to look very appealing to me.¡±


    ¡°How old were you when you died?¡± asked Michael, surprised it hadn¡¯t come up before. They knew about one another''s professions, relationships, favorite movies and songs, but hadn¡¯t spoken much about their deaths.


    ¡°I was twenty-eight.¡±


    That made sense. To him the lunch ladies felt like appropriate targets for lust, but he¡¯d certainly adjusted his standards as he¡¯d aged. He hadn¡¯t exactly been a prize himself before he¡¯d died.


    ¡°How about you?¡± asked Davi, wiping his face.


    ¡°I was sixty two.¡±


    ¡°Ah, no wonder you¡¯re such a grandpa,¡± said Ollie. ¡°I was thirty-six.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s funny, I would¡¯ve assumed you were seven years old with the way you talk,¡± replied Michael, quick to get him back for the grandpa comment. ¡°How about you Marcus?¡±


    ¡°I was thirty-two.¡±


    Everyone looked at one another with surprise.


    ¡°That¡¯s the first time you¡¯ve answered any of the questions we¡¯ve asked you.¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°This one doesn¡¯t matter,¡± he looked at Pyotr. ¡°How about you? I¡¯d guess somewhere in your forties.¡±


    ¡°Fifty-six, but I have a young soul,¡± he said with a twinkle in his eyes. He took a sip of his water and frowned. ¡°What do you think the drinking age is here?¡± he asked. ¡°If they have one at all.¡±


    ¡°I think I heard Meera mention that one of the recruits that was escorting us had the smell of beer on his breath,¡± said Michael. ¡°He went red, so I¡¯d assume it wasn¡¯t allowed, but I¡¯m not sure if that¡¯s because of his age, or because he was on duty. Or both.¡±


    Marcus had a bit of a twinkle in his eye as he heard that, and a smile formed on his face.


    Pyotr pointed at him, ¡°Ah, but that means there is beer on base. I¡¯d prefer something stronger, but I should probably pace this new body for a while.¡±


    They all finished their dinner, and were shuffled to the classroom, standing at their desks as they awaited Kline. Everyone immediately keyed in on the fact that the chalkboard in the middle of the room behind where Kilne would stand, was now filled out. There were multiple categories on it, such as spear, sword, and hand-to-hand, but there were also categories for spellcraft, riding, form and a scattering of other categories.


    After everyone had a few minutes to speculate, Kline walked into the room, everyone going silent as he entered. His relaxed smile had returned, though it had taken quite some time. He gestured to the board.


    ¡°Things are going to be changing a bit around here. I¡¯m sure all of you have noticed that we have been moving slowly away from what you can learn at a desk into what you can learn in the field. From here on we will be dedicated entirely to combat and physical conditioning. A few of you will continue your additional specialized work of course. Along with that, we¡¯ll be implementing a ranking system. All of you will be ranked weekly based on your performance in all of these categories.¡±


    There was some muttering.


    ¡°You may be wondering why you would compete. For one, those who rank first will receive one full day off the following week. They will also have additional food options in the cafeteria, and will be able to request items from the commissary. Finally, you will be given a silver piece to use in said commissary, or to save if that¡¯s what you wish.¡±


    MIchael saw Marcus perk up a bit.


    ¡°The rankings will begin tomorrow. Get some sleep.¡±


    Everyone began standing and were shuffled out of the room. Michael shook his head. They¡¯d waited until all of them were going to be flooded with hormones to add in a competitive element to their training and privileges they hadn¡¯t had before. They knew exactly what they were doing.

 Ch 18: Grit

    The next morning started similarly to the previous ones. The lights in the barracks went on, and everyone got up and got into their uniforms. Kline came in, and inspected everyone¡¯s uniforms. If he found anything out of place, he would have them do some number of pushups, or squats. Michael had forgotten to close his collar and so had to start his day with twenty push ups. They weren¡¯t too bad, his new body was in good shape. Then they were taken to the infirmary.


    Michael was greeted by the medics there while he waited in line for his shot, and one of them asked to borrow him from Kline so that he could quickly heal a broken toe. Kline agreed and Michael healed the recruit, who unlike most others, managed to give him a thank you before getting his socks and boots back on to head to breakfast. He¡¯d become a regular fixture in the infirmary, and as he talked to the medics, most of whom were women, he could feel the eyes of the other takers bore a hole into the back of his head.


    Marcus went to get his shot before him, and he couldn¡¯t help but notice that the alchemist seemed to take extra time with him. He couldn¡¯t quite hear what either of them said, but there was some shared laughter and when she placed the leaf bandage on his arm she did so slowly, her finger delicately checking how secure it was at the edges in a long slow motion. His own shot was quick and clean with no fuss, though she¡¯d mentioned before that she appreciated that he didn¡¯t flinch at all.


    Michael had realized that the mixtures in each of their syringes in the morning seemed to be different from what they usually were as well. Sometimes they had a slight reddish hue to them, other times they were clear like usual, and sometimes they were even slightly blue or purple. They weren¡¯t just different day to day, but they were even different person to person. He assumed that maybe everyone¡¯s doses needed to be adjusted on a case by case basis.


    They were then escorted to breakfast, but it quickly became clear they weren¡¯t heading to their usual mess hall.


    ¡°It would be very bad if they weren¡¯t planning on feeding us,¡± said Davi.


    ¡°We¡¯re an investment. It wouldn¡¯t make sense to starve us at this point,¡± replied Michael.


    Davi was in luck, they were being fed, but instead of the smaller more private mess we were led to the general cafeteria. Kline looked at everyone before leading them in and said.


    ¡°There was a kitchen fire last night, and the usual dining hall is closed for repairs. You¡¯re all large enough to defend yourselves at this point if there¡¯s trouble. Don¡¯t be stupid.¡±


    The general mess was much the same as what they were used to, just bigger. Long tables, receptacles for trash, benches, humans had communal eating pretty much locked down across worlds it seemed.


    The cafeteria was loud, with chatter echoing off the walls and dispersing everywhere, but there were pockets of silence as they entered. Michael could see hate in the eyes of many of them, most of whom were larger than their group. The average age was around fifteen from what he could tell, with only a few being maybe around eighteen. He imagined they were near leaving for the front, or were focused on specialties that needed additional training. He remembered hearing that sixteen was considered an appropriate age to be sent to war. That didn¡¯t seem any less arbitrary than the age that was considered acceptable back home in the states. Though most of those he knew that enlisted at that age had spent all their time blowing money on ugly cars and uglier women. The recruits in the cafeteria with him then were actually expecting to fight a war.


    Han, a taker Michael didn¡¯t know very well, tripped and fell as he got nearer to the food, and Ollie went to help him up. There were snickers from the nearby seats indicating that they¡¯d tripped him on purpose. Michael didn¡¯t think it would be wise to make a scene, but he could feel a few of the others bristle. Still, they all managed to get their food and find seats without any more trouble. They wound up scattered, but all of the little cliques they¡¯d formed managed to sit together at least.


    Halfway through their meal, a few of the regular recruits approached them. One of them leaned against their table and grabbed a piece of bread off of Ollie¡¯s plate.


    Davi flipped the fork in his hand around quickly, but Pyotr gave him a light tap under the table, and he put it down.


    ¡°Makes me sick that we have to eat with you fucking murderers.¡±


    Michael wasn¡¯t certain the word was an exact translation for ¡®fucking¡¯, but it definitely had the same feel to it as it came out of the recruits mouth. He looked at him. He could understand why he was doing what he was doing. He was fifteen, had everything to prove, and a fresh target had appeared in front of him. The two next to him were his friends, and they¡¯d all likely egged one another on to make trouble.


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    Michael was able to pull up the boys titles and deeds. There was only a name.


    ¡°Klint. Why don¡¯t you give Ollie back his sweetbread,¡± said Michael.


    The boy stepped back suddenly. ¡°How do you know my name?¡±


    ¡°Your mother told him in bed last night,¡± replied Ollie with a sneer that looked incongruous on his still youthful face. He was still hovering around being physically nine or ten due to his delayed inoculations.


    ¡°Not helping,¡± said Michael.


    Klint took the sweetbread and crumbled it in his hand over the middle of the table. ¡°My brother was taken. I remember my mother crying as his body was taken away. I hope he died the second he made it to the front. I would even shake the filthy Tussi hand that killed him.¡±


    Michael and Pyotr exchanged a glance. They didn¡¯t want any violence. Marcus, Davi, and Ollie on the other hand seemed ready to throw down.


    Another recruit approached and placed his hand on Klint¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°Hey, mess with some of the other ones. Leave them alone.¡±


    Klint looked back at him. ¡°They insulted my mother.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t care, pick someone else.¡±


    Klint shook his head. ¡°Fine. They aren¡¯t worth it anyway,¡± he walked away with his friends in tow and the recruit that had asked them to leave exchanged a nod with Michael and left.


    ¡°What¡¯s that about?¡± asked Marcus.


    ¡°I healed his hand,¡± said Michael. ¡°He apparently plays the viola in his spare time and if it had healed regularly then he likely would¡¯ve lost some dexterity and been unable to play. He didn¡¯t thank me at the time, but I guess he felt he owed me.¡±


    ¡°How many favors do you think you¡¯ve collected?¡± he asked, his eyes glinting a bit.


    ¡°None. I healed them because they were hurt and it¡¯s what I should do. They owe me nothing.¡±


    ¡°That many, huh?¡± said Marcus with a raised eyebrow. He slipped a small orange-like fruit into his coat, Michael assumed he was saving it for later.


    The rest of breakfast went by without trouble, and from there Michael went to his usual diviner training, but after that he joined the rest of the group for physical conditioning. They were all wearing heavy backpacks and walking up and down a large hill. Even from a distance, Michael could see they were all already drenched in sweat and panting heavily.


    Kline smiled at him and the other specialists as they arrived.


    ¡°Alright everyone. You all can take a short break, get some water. I have to catch these boys up with you.¡± He looked at Ollie, the other two mages, Marcus, Han, and Michael. ¡°I want you boys to put on these packs, run up that hill, walk down it, and run back up. You¡¯ll take a break when I tell you to, and if you fall I¡¯m adding more weight to your pack.¡±


    ¡°Come on, I¡¯m half their size,¡± muttered Ollie.


    ¡°You and the other mages are permitted to use magic to carry them, but if I hear another complaint I¡¯ll make you drag two up that hill.¡±


    Ollie shut up for once.


    ¡°Now, the longer you can keep this up, the longer a break everyone else gets. Keep that in mind.¡±


    Michael looked at his exhausted fellows who were just returning from getting water and were still panting heavily, exhausted.


    ¡°What¡¯re you waiting for? Go!¡±


    Michael ran and grabbed one of the packs, whispering ¡°corto¡± to cast a tightening spell and adjust the straps for himself automatically. He had felt exhausted from all the morning¡¯s healing, but he was mostly recovered by the time he¡¯d arrived at the field. He ran up the hill, arriving at the top just before Marcus who¡¯d had to adjust his straps manually since he lacked magicka. Michael walked calmly back down, forcing himself to take deep breaths into the pit of his stomach. When he reached the bottom, he turned back around and bolted up the hill again, dodging around Ollie and a backpack that floated a foot behind him. This repeated several more times, with him running up the hill, resting on the way down, passing by the others, and then doing it all again. He was tired, but he just stayed focused on putting one foot in front of the other. He saw the others stumble a few times, but he managed to keep his footing without issue. At one point he realized that Ollie and the other mages were no longer on the hill as he¡¯d stopped passing them. Next, Marcus wasn¡¯t on it anymore, then even Han was gone. He didn¡¯t care, he just kept running up and climbing down. It felt good to be so focused on a singular mindless activity. It reminded him of doing data entry, it was almost meditative.


    ¡°Michael,¡± yelled Kline from the bottom of the Hill.


    Michael shook his head, as if coming out of a daze. He was very unused to Kline using his name directly. He looked down to see everyone else at the bottom of the hill, no longer looking tired or sweaty.


    ¡°Come down here,¡± said Kline.


    Michael did so, sliding a bit at the foot of the hill as he came down it.


    ¡°Take that off and get some water. Take ten and meet us at the training field for sparring.¡±


    Michael nodded, and went to the nearby barrel to ladle out some water. There was a guard there watching him, and Pyotr lingered behind.


    ¡°Do you know how long you were doing that?¡± he asked.


    Michael shook his head as he finished the first ladleful of water. He felt exhausted, probably the most tired he¡¯d ever been in his current body, but with even that bit of water he was already beginning to feel better.


    ¡°Nearly an hour.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± he asked, choking on his water.


    ¡°Pyotr! Get moving!¡± yelled Kline.


    Pyotr nodded and started running after the rest of the group.


    He knew he¡¯d been doing it for a while, but running uphill for nearly an hour at his current physical age seemed beyond what he should be able to do. There was something else going on.

 Ch 19: Sparring

    Michael caught up with the rest of the group as they were being paired off. They were starting with sword and shield, which was his favorite pairing, and because he and Pyotr were the last two to arrive, they were paired together. They took some time to put on their lightweight boiled leather training armor suits that smelled of all the sweaty bodies that had worn them before and took their places in one of the small circles made of stones.


    Pyotr dropped into a low and practiced stance very quickly. He was graceful, which made sense, he¡¯d been a member of the Russian ballet before he¡¯d retired.


    Michael took a more conservative middle stance, he didn¡¯t worry about being pretty, just wanted to make sure his footing was stable.


    The guard watching them clapped once, the signal to start, and Pyotr took two elegant steps toward him and lashed out with his sword.


    Michael batted it away with his shield and sent his own blade toward Pyotr¡¯s arm.


    Pyotr twirled, and Michael stepped forward for a shield bash, but Pyotr managed to meet it with his own shield and send out another strike. They went back and forth for a while with neither of them managing a solid hit on the other.


    Kline eventually reached them on his rounds. ¡°Pyotr, don¡¯t go easy on him. He¡¯s not tired. I want this sparring at full speed. I want to know who the best is.¡±


    Pyotr nodded in acknowledgement and Michael pushed forward at that second, trying to take advantage of how distracted he was, he twirled away from him, but that was exactly what Michael wanted. He threw out a leg and nailed Pyotr solidly in the center of his back, moving forward for another blow. The one thing Kline always coached Pyotr on was to never show his back, but it was a bad habit he was finding hard to break.


    Pyotr recovered more quickly than Michael expected and managed to hit his leg with a solid blow causing him to fall over. Before he could recover, Pyotr had a sword pointed in front of his face.


    Kline nodded. ¡°Good reaction, but Michael would¡¯ve had you if he¡¯d chosen to use his blade instead of his foot.¡± He looked up and hollered. ¡°Change partners.¡±


    Next Michael fought Kash, then Ekon, both of whom he had the advantage over for the majority of their fights, then he was unlucky enough to be against Davi.


    Davi already had the square jaw of a man, and red whiskers were starting to grow across his upper lip. He was almost a head taller than Michael, and while they were still using swords and shields that were not quite at the weight of the real thing, he could¡¯ve easily handled them at their full weight.


    Michael smiled at him, and Davi smiled back. He knew he probably wouldn¡¯t win, but he was damned well going to give it a shot.


    When the soldier clapped, Michael tried to take the initiative, rushing forward and swinging above the small round shield he was holding up.


    Davi raised his shield in time to block and brought down his own sword in an overhead strike, mirroring Michael''s own.


    Michael threw his shield up to meet it, forcing it to bounce off. He¡¯d hoped that would make Davi take a step back, but instead he threw his bulk forward, shoving Michael back with his shoulder. He followed that up with a half dozen more powerful strikes.


    The main problem with Davi was, even though he was big, he was also talented. He didn¡¯t rely entirely on his strength, and his technique was nearly as good as Pyotr¡¯s. He was also still very fast in spite of his bulk.


    Michael managed to block or parry all of his attacks, maneuvering himself well to keep from taking the full brunt of any of his blows, and threw out his shield where Davi¡¯s head would be only for him to back up at that moment.


    He knew at this point he wouldn¡¯t be able to win by strength or technique, so he began to consider guile. Old age and treachery always won out over youthful strength, at least a pin he¡¯d been gifted by a young kid he trained to replace him when he¡¯d retired had said so. He began to work his magicka along the longest channel he had that extended through his left arm. He¡¯d managed to extend the range at which he could cast spells to nearly a foot and a half since he¡¯d started forging new channels every night.


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    He stepped forward, feinting with his sword before bringing the edge of his shield toward Davi¡¯s face as if he was going to hit him with it. Davi again dodged before it could land, but this time he said ¡°corto!¡± as his left hand got within range of Davi¡¯s helmet. The clasp on it rapidly tightened and dug into the bottom of his chin, the front of it sliding in front of his eyes. With him blinded and distracted, Michael squared up for a shield strike and slammed it into his shoulder. Davi fell backward and dropped his sword.


    Michael quickly put the metal of his training sword against Davi¡¯s neck.


    Davi started to force himself up angrily, then stopped. He peeled the helmet from his eyes and undid the strap and began to laugh.


    Michael started to laugh too, and held out his hand.


    Davi took it, and Michael pulled back hard to lift him up.


    ¡°Seu cuz?o,¡± he muttered, what little of his accent had come with him into his new body bleeding through, ¡°I was not expecting that,¡± said Davi, rubbing where the strap had dug into his skin.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t expecting it to work.¡±


    Kline walked over to them. He frowned and squinted at Michael, he¡¯d been observing another two takers when he¡¯d Davi had gone down.


    ¡°How¡¯d you do it?¡±


    ¡°I, uh, used the tighten spell to constrict his helmet strap. It pulled down the front of the helmet and blinded him. I¡¯d only expected it to distract him, not blind hm.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not fair,¡± said another Taker from nearby. ¡°We can¡¯t use magic in sparring!¡±


    Kline turned to him with an eyebrow raised. ¡°Who gave that order?¡± He looked out at everyone. ¡°You should all be looking for ways to win fights against stronger opponents. Regulars will be able to rely on their brothers standing next to them, in numbers, but you will all be sent on assignments where you¡¯re much more likely to be outnumbered or up against those stronger than you. That said,¡± he looked at Michael. ¡°That trick won¡¯t work on most helmets, or in most encounters. I wouldn¡¯t rely on it.¡±


    Michael nodded, and Kline tilted his head back up. ¡°Alright, one more round with your current partner and then you savages can eat!¡±


    There were some cheers and Michael reluctantly returned to the pit with a smiling Davi.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to enjoy this, I assume?¡± he asked.


    Davi gave him a smile and a nod. Then he did enjoy their rematch, immensely.


    ¡­


    When they were finally done for the day, almost everyone was beaten and bruised beyond reason. They all ate dinner like zombies and washed away tremendous amounts of grime and sweat in the small cold showers before returning to their barracks for the hour of light they were given before bed. Michael felt rough too, but not nearly so bad as everyone else. Many of them were already snoring heavily in their beds, including Ollie and Davi. Marcus was spending an ungodly amount of time in the bathroom, but Michael wasn¡¯t feeling too eager to find out exactly why.


    Michael readied a clean uniform for the morning, and then walked over to the nearest of the two mirrors used for divining. He usually focused more on forging channels or just chatting with everyone else before bed, but this time he was curious. He looked into the mirror, and started to bring the golden lettering that swirled in front of him into focus.


    Titles:


    Michael Mann


    The Restored


    Deeds:


    Blessings:


    Healing hand


    He didn¡¯t focus any harder, taking a quick moment to make sure there hadn¡¯t been any changes. Then he looked closely at his ¡®The Restored¡¯ title. There was a small amount of text floating near it. Spidery and small, but definitely there. He brought his full attention to it, and very suddenly the text revealed itself.


    The Restored


    Grants: Major Recovery


    He held it in his vision for a few moments, then blinked the divination away. It was what he¡¯d suspected. He recovered quickly after burning magicka channels, after spending all morning healing people, and now with his performance at the physical conditioning. He still grew tired obviously, but he took far less rest than everyone else to recover. Did everyone else have an ability tied to the titles they received as takers? Someone had mentioned that takers tended to have advantages others didn¡¯t. His recovery ability was incredibly useful, not very flashy, but it was definitely the exact kind of thing that could help a soldier. He¡¯d have to try divining the others when he got a chance, though when he¡¯d practiced on them before he¡¯d only been able to pull up that first layer of information.


    He yawned and turned around to head to bed. He took a few moments to do a short walk around the barracks and heal those with visible injuries, for which they were all grateful. They¡¯d mostly been hurt by Davi, so healing them kept them from feeling too vengeful about it, and any unnecessary fights from starting. He arrived back at his bunk and laid down a few minutes before the lights turned off. He spent a half hour burning another two magicka channels, then fell asleep.

 Ch 20: Ranking and Rest

    At the end of the week, their first rankings went up. Michael had attained first in shield and overall conditioning. He thought his performance on the hill the other day was the reason for the conditioning award, but the shield was a very welcome surprise. His other rankings were middling, with his sword being the only thing of note sitting at fifth, but he was last in nothing. Ollie and the other mages obviously crushed in the magic categories, but they were the bottom three in all physical categories. It seemed a bit unfair to include them, but they were starting to catch up physically and there had to be a starting point for them somewhere. Davi was the only other person with two top rankings, sword and hand to hand, but Pyotr had the one for best overall combatant. The rest were scattered among the others, a good reminder that it wasn¡¯t just his little clique that possessed talent. The one thing that was suspicious to him was Marcus. He¡¯d placed fourth or fifth in every single category except weapon maintenance, but of course when he¡¯d asked him about it, he¡¯d deflected. Michael suspected he could have ranked higher in a few areas, but was unwilling to stand out more than he already did.


    With his new privileges Michael got himself an extra pillow, blanket, socks, and gloves from Dugan. These weren¡¯t part of the standard kit, and would be his to keep. He¡¯d bought the socks and gloves a bit larger than he needed, he had a feeling that his body had a ways left to grow. He still had a silver left over, and chose to save it. In the cafeteria most of the others requested something breaded or fried, but Michael asked for something from one of the cooks'' homes, a specialty dish from where they were from. He was rewarded with a delicious fish soup and an extra portion at mealtime from the woman he¡¯d complimented on making it, while Davi and Pyotr had to deal with mediocre fried chicken from a culture they¡¯d never seen fry anything. He understood their impulse, it was food that reminded them of the old world, but it seemed better to focus on what the new world had to offer. At least, that was his high minded thought at that moment, as if his every other thought hadn¡¯t turned to what the rest of his family back on Earth had been doing.


    Pyotr had discovered that there was a small lake on academy property and he, Davi, Ollie, Marcus and Michael had requested to go to it on their day off. They spent the day learning how to swim with odd new proportions and came back to their bunks refreshed from a full day''s rest, though Michael still spent a bit of time with Meera, and briefly visited the infirmary to heal who he could as they¡¯d grown used to.


    When the barracks were clear all of all, but them, Marcus had everyone follow him into the bathroom.


    ¡°I know we''re all getting to that age, but I¡¯d really prefer to avoid the circle-jerk,¡± said Ollie as Marcus made his way to the corner.


    ¡°Sorry man, that¡¯s not the plan today,¡± Marcus said with a smile. ¡°I know that¡¯s what you were really hoping for though.¡± He took out his knife and pried out a large tile from the corner of the room. He reached in, and grabbed a small metal bucket with a lid on it. He angled his face away, and he used the knife to loosen the lid a bit.


    Michael¡¯s nose was immediately assaulted by the smell of alcohol so strong he was certain it was burning out what little nose-hair he had. He shook his head and squinted as Marcus showed off a vile looking brown slurry with chunks of fruit floating inside of it.


    ¡°You made hooch?¡± asked Pyotr with a smile. ¡°Like they do in the prisons?¡±


    Marcus nodded, pride clear on his face.


    ¡°That¡¯s why you were taking all that fruit. I thought that might be the case, but was not certain.¡±


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    He reached back into the hole and pulled out a ladle, one of the same ones used at the water barrels.


    ¡°Dammit, is that the one that went missing? When Dugan reported it missing it got Patel beaten.¡±


    ¡°Patel¡¯s an asshole,¡± replied Marcus. ¡°Besides, I didn¡¯t want to drink directly from the bucket.¡± He dipped the ladle into the brown slurry and held it up. ¡°Who''s first?¡±


    Pyotr grabbed it without hesitation, a bit spilling on the floor as he did so and took a deep long sip. His face flinched a bit as the burn hit him. Then shook his head quickly letting a hiss of air out from between his teeth. ¡°That is disgusting. Is like if a pitcher of sangria was raped by the devil.¡± In spite of his words he took another sip, his face contorting again as he did so.


    Ollie reached for it next, and Marcus pulled the ladle away before he could grab it. ¡°I don¡¯t know man. I may need to see some ID.¡±


    ¡°Fuuck you,¡± replied Ollie reaching for it again and taking a sip.


    After that was Davi, whose pale face immediately flushed from the alcohol, then it was Michael¡¯s turn.


    ¡°Well. I guess it turns out you¡¯re never too old to be peer pressured.¡± He took the ladle and had a long sip of his own. It burned like fire all the way down to his stomach where he immediately felt it start to prepare an unfortunate future for him. ¡°Damn Pyotr. Your description was spot on.¡± He coughed a half dozen times with his eyes streaming tears.


    Marcus then had a sip of his own, managing a slightly more controlled look on his face than the rest of them had managed. Michael guessed he¡¯d been having tastes here and there before he¡¯d decided to share his bounty.


    ¡°Another round?¡± he asked with a smile.


    ¡­


    Everyone, but Michael awoke the next day in a haze of misery as the aftereffects of the alcohol took its toll on all of them. Michael likely would¡¯ve felt the same, but he had the luck of his high recovery preventing him from being too hurt by it. Only Pyotr managed get out of bed at the same time that he did, though he looked miserable doing it.


    ¡°I used to wake up hungover on eggnog and still went to dance as the rat-king on Christmas. This is nothing.¡±


    Michael laughed a bit at that and decided to be proactive for his friends. He retrieved all of their canteens and filled them with fresh clear water, then he helped each of them get into their uniforms and get their beds made so they wouldn¡¯t be forced to do extra squats and pushups with hangovers. In Ollie¡¯s case he had to literally carry him out of bed and toss him into a cold shower to get him moving. He sent some uniquely disgusting Australian curses in his direction for that, but he could stomach that more easily than the hooch he¡¯d ingested the previous night.


    He saw Marcus talking to a few of the other Penitents, the ones that had also earned some silver by making it to the top of the boards, and saw them slip him some copper coins. He approached him.


    ¡°What was that about?¡±


    ¡°Just a little side business. It¡¯s not like we¡¯re going to be able to drink all that shit ourselves.¡±


    ¡°You sure that¡¯s a good idea? They had Lee caned for fighting a regular the other day. Who knows what they¡¯ll do if they catch you with this.¡±


    Marcus shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ll take the risk. Eventually, we¡¯re going to have a chance to get out of here. When we do, we¡¯ll need some extra scratch to get by. The more we can gather before then, the better off we¡¯ll be.¡±


    Michael frowned at that. He knew Marcus wanted out, but on his terms, smarter terms than the ones Xiu had taken that had gotten him hung on a short rope.


    ¡°I mean, you weren¡¯t planning on spending all that silver you earned on gloves and blankets were you?¡±


    He hadn¡¯t really considered what he was planning on doing with the money beyond getting himself a few creature comforts. They were interrupted by the entrance of Kline and his their soldier escorts. They scrambled to stand in front of their bunks and ready themselves for uniform and bed inspections. Michael realized too late that while he¡¯d managed to help all of his friends tidy their beds and uniforms, his own bed was still unmade and his uniform improperly buttoned.


    Kline stopped in front of him, frowning as he looked at him and his bed.


    ¡°Hold out your hands.¡±


    Michael looked at him, surprised as they¡¯d been doing mostly physical exercises instead of the hand beatings since they¡¯d reached a certain physical age. Still he complied, holding out his hands.


    Kline smacked his knuckles twice in quick succession with the thin reed.


    ¡°Now drop and give me fifty. On your knuckles.¡±

 Ch 21: Pubescence

    The next two weeks went about the same. Michael continued his diviner training, and gained more stamina both as a healer and also in general, his muscles, heart, and lungs recovering from exercise and exertion more quickly, meaning they strengthened faster and he continued forging magicka channels before sleeping. He maintained his top spot in physical conditioning, though he ceded his leadership in shield twice to Han who had an equal talent for it, but a smaller frame that made him less able to take repeated blows. By the fourth week, things had changed. Almost everyone had started to hit puberty, including Michael himself. He was around fourteen physically, and the hormones produced by his rapid aging hit him like a semi-truck.


    Within a week his limbs started growing a painful inch longer every night, his emotions became uncontrollable, and he was reminded of how maddeningly horny it had been to be a teenager. He found himself dreaming of his wife as well as all the girlfriends or wished they could¡¯ve been his girlfriends from his old life. He even found himself having fantasies about Meera, Crim, and a handful of the medics. He didn¡¯t act on them, but his fellows made more than a few attempts.


    Those attempts all failed miserably, for reasons that Michael had already figured out, hence why he had made no passes himself. If you were in these women¡¯s shoes, and a fourteen year old with the mind of an old man who you considered a murderer tried to flirt, it would be understandably off-putting. The only woman that ever returned any of the flirtations was Crim, but she was subtle about it, and it was Marcus whose overtures seemed to be the most reciprocated. Something about that made Michael nervous, but he couldn¡¯t put his finger on why, and had to trust that Marcus¡¯s previous life gave him enough sense to not do anything too stupid. Some of the takers were so persistent or even aggressive that they received canings in the yard, though even if the flirtation was very minor, it could still end in canings if the woman pressed the case enough.


    A few of the other Takers gave into their hormones with one another, but Michael pointedly ignored that. He did not want to spend what mental energy he had thinking through all of the fucked up ethical and moral problems that did or did not represent. It made more sense for him to simply turn around in his bed and cover his head with his second pillow to get some sleep.


    Injuries started to become more common as well as their regular sparring matches became more aggressive. Michael was regularly called over to heal broken hands or fingers so that they could continue their training without needing to be sent to the infirmary. Fights outside of sparring became more frequent as well, with everyone seeking any reason to get in one another¡¯s faces and throw down. Michael had hoped that the wisdom and experience of a previous life would keep his hormones from making an idiot of him, but even he wound up in a meaningless scrap over nothing more than once, though he managed to keep his scraps quick and subtle enough that he avoided being sent into a tomb, or getting a caning.


    The worst part was that they were starting to spend more time with the regular recruits. The tension had already been high between them, but now that both sides were moody and hormonal teenagers, and one side hated the other, the results were to be expected. Michael managed to avoid any real trouble with the regulars, he was well known as a healer at this point and at this point had healed at least three or four members of every class. Most wouldn¡¯t go out of their way to help him, but it seemed to reduce the overall aggression toward him and his closest friends. He wondered what the point of mingling with them more was. Was it to increase their combat effectiveness by sparring and interacting with fighters they were unused to? Was it to make them become more tribal and hateful as a form of motivation? Was it to keep irregulars in their place? Was it to bring them closer together by getting them used to working together? He couldn¡¯t figure it out, but given how deliberate everything else about their training regiment seemed, he knew there had to be a good reason.


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    There were two new classes added where they were blended with regular recruits: archery and horsemanship. The reason given was because there was only one archery range and only one field on which the horses were regularly run. The horsemanship instructor was a man named Desdin. He was younger than most of the others, with medium length red hair and dark brown eyes, he walked with an obvious limp that Michael surmised was the reason he was an instructor rather than being on the front. He stood in front of new recruits and the takers, pointing at different equipment, identifying the saddle, then the bridle, and a number of other pieces of equipment. He took an extra moment on the stirrup.


    ¡°These,¡± he said, ¡°Are actually thanks to a taker like all of you,¡± he pointed at where they were all standing, a few yards away from the regular recruits, he went to continue talking when his eyes hit Michael, and he stopped for a moment, staring at him. He looked confused.


    ¡°Are you okay, sir?¡± asked a regular.


    He shook his head. ¡°Oh sorry about that. Little too much sun this morning,¡± he smiled, and there were a few polite chuckles. ¡°As I was saying, stirrups, unlike firearms, have been one of the most useful inventions brought here by a taker. They allow us to put our full force into striking enemies with sword and lance.¡± He continued on for a while, before showing everyone the proper way to mount a horse, and having everyone try once. He seemed to be paying particular attention to Michael¡¯s face when it was his turn, but said nothing as to why.


    Archery class was a bit more simplistic. The teacher was actually a woman, an old huntress and militia member who¡¯d earned a rare commission there for heroic actions during a Tusinian raid on her village. She showed them proper form by firing from her quiver until it was empty, then had everyone else give it a try. Michael was surprised at how accurate the bows were, at least when they were in other people¡¯s hands. He didn¡¯t need to draw the string back nearly as far as he expected to have it sink itself into a target even thirty feet away, and while movies and TV had told him that he should arc the shot upward, it really didn¡¯t seem necessary unless he was very far away, and even then he felt it would just make more sense to wait until his target was closer. The final surprise of archery was how damned much his fingers and shoulder hurt by the end of it, though he was feeling much better than his fellows by the end of the day.


    Michael continued to think about what he should do with the extra coin he was earning by making the top of the lists as often as he was, and he eventually settled on something. He managed, after a number of attempts and requests, to get a short meeting with Kline.


    ¡°You have two minutes, Penitent,¡± he said standing in the classroom where he¡¯d just gone over another hour of questions from the Penitents.


    ¡°I want to send my extra silver to the family of the body I took.¡±


    Kline¡¯s eyebrows raised. ¡°That¡­ is a very unusual request.¡±


    ¡°I know I can¡¯t make up for what I took from them with silver, but I want to make the effort.¡±


    Kline frowned, his relaxed smile falling away. ¡°No one¡¯s ever asked. At least not during my time here. You aren¡¯t allowed direct contact with your body¡¯s family.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need to be in contact. You can send it to them. I just want to do what I can.¡±


    Kline took a deep breath. ¡°I¡¯ll send it for you. I¡¯ll let them know that it was you that sent it. I can¡¯t promise that they will respond. Though I think it would be for the best if they didn¡¯t.¡±


    Michael nodded. Silent acceptance was likely one of the best possibilities. He didn¡¯t really need the silver. He worked in supply with Dugan, who when he¡¯d sold the new gloves to him, had actually smacked him upside the head and told him to save his silver. There would be chances to spend it during peacetime on much better things than old blankets and rags.


    Michael reached into his coat and pulled out the coin he¡¯d gotten so far and handed it to Kline.


    He took it carefully, weighing them in his hands, and nodded. ¡°You¡¯re dismissed. Go back to the barracks.¡±

 Ch 22: Punishment

    After a few more weeks, Michael was looking at himself in the mirror. He took a moment to divine himself, and when he saw no changes and was unable to reveal anything new, he cleared it and instead looked at his face. His blonde hair was long, nearing shoulder length, and fell in waves on either side of his head. His eyes were piercing blue, and he had a strong jaw and fine features. He was as tall at that moment as he¡¯d ever been in his old body, which meant he was hovering just a little over six foot, and would likely grow even more. He had a swimmer''s build, with wide shoulders and a large chest, and under his uniform he knew there was a lot of lean and powerful muscle. He sighed, he looked like a stereotypical version of Prince Charming. He hadn¡¯t been ugly in his old body, but compared to the one he had now he had been a troglodyte. He¡¯d noticed a few stares of female mage students, though they quickly corrected them when they remembered what he was, and even the medics, lunch ladies, and archery teacher had all started treating him subtly more kindly in all respects. Some men too, but he felt it was more likely because of a general subconscious aesthetic appreciation rather than any attraction for him.


    He¡¯d deprived the soul that should exist in that body instead of himself a life of ease, at least when it came to women. There were some benefits to being plain, or even ugly though. Would he have developed a good sense of humor in his old body had he been so handsome? Would he have worked as hard, or been as determined? Would he have passed over his wife for a more beautiful woman? Probably not that last one, she¡¯d be too smart to have been involved with that shallow version of him. He flexed his hand, briefly feeling the warmth of her touch.


    ¡°I know what you¡¯re thinking,¡± said Ollie, appearing at his side. ¡°Hitler¡¯s wet dream.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± asked Michael with a chuckle.


    ¡°I mean, look at you man. You could be on a German propaganda poster.¡±


    ¡°And you could be in an advertisement for dog food. I guess we¡¯re both missing out on our calling.¡±


    They went from the barracks to their inoculation. They were getting smaller doses, he noticed, with less of the well water mixed into them and more of the ¡®strength draught¡¯ that Meera had mentioned. It apparently helped aid the recovery and growth of muscles as well as the density of their bones. It was actually given as a drink to the regular recruits as well, but it was more effective intravenously. There were still variations in everyone¡¯s shots though, with Marcus¡¯s in particular almost always having a subtly different color to it. He¡¯d been able to pick up a lot of new information between her and his visits to the infirmary every morning. He guessed that the well water had ceased because they were already physically where they needed to be to fight, at least if the ages and look of the regular recruits was any indication.


    After that they were escorted to breakfast, but instead of going from there to the diviner, Michael and everyone else were shuffled to a large auditorium. It was filled with several hundred recruits, all of them sitting on hard benches. Michael found himself next to Marcus, and soon after several of the instructors began showing up, as well as Crim the alchemist, and Meera. Crim gave a wave to Marcus and stood only a few yards from them against the back wall.


    Shortly after everyone was seated, a number of Knight Lieutenants like Kline appeared on the stage at the far end, with one of them standing in front of all of them. Michael couldn¡¯t tell his rank from where he sat, but he¡¯d guess he was the general in charge of the Academy. He had white hair brushed back and a cleanly cut goatee, but Michael couldn¡¯t make out any more details from where he sat.


    He heard a giggle from behind him and turned briefly to see Crim talking to a tall recruit with blonde hair similar to his own. He recognized flirting when he saw it. He turned back around when the general started to speak.


    ¡°We are now nearing the time when your training is nearing its end. Starting next week, for two weeks we¡¯ll be engaging in a series of exercises. You will all be divided into teams, with each team being given separate and conflicting objectives. Each team will be made up of fifty recruits, with a Commander selected from the eldest recruits that have remained for officer training. You will be wielding blunted swords, staffs, your hands, and your wits. We expect broken bones, and a healer from the capital has been sent to help to keep you all on your feet, but I advise caution, it¡¯s all too easy to end a life if one is not careful. There will be additional information provided by your instructors, you are diss-¡±


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    Michael didn¡¯t hear the end of what the general was saying as Marcus launched himself toward the man who¡¯d been flirting with Crim and tackled him into the wall. Before the man could recover Marcus began raining down blows on him, undisciplined, violent haymakers and strikes very different from what he¡¯d been being taught.


    Michael leapt toward him and grabbed one of his arms, the archery instructor, Anna, grabbed the other and they yanked him backward, though he kept struggling toward the older recruit who spat out a bit of blood as he pushed himself to his feet. He took a few steps toward Marcus as if he was going to attack him back, but Michael fixed him with a stare that told him he¡¯d let Marcus go if he attempted it.


    Kline appeared, having walked swiftly up to that part of the auditorium. He was wearing no smile, and his face was red with rage. He grabbed Marcus by the collar and gave him a firm open-palmed slap to the face.


    ¡°Calm. Down.¡±


    Marcus pulled against Michael and Anna¡¯s grip again, and Kline revealed the brand on his arm. He clenched his fist, and Marcus doubled over in pain, forcing Michael to hold him up or he¡¯d have fallen over.


    ¡°Calm. Down,¡± repeated Kline, keeping his brand exposed.


    Marcus looked as if his rage would continue for a moment, but he very slowly pulled himself together. He almost seemed as if he was waking from a daze.


    Kline looked at Michael. ¡°Let him go, and heal Clemson over there immediately.¡±


    Michael let go, and moved to Clemson, the recruit stepped back.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, he¡¯s a healer, a diviner,¡± said Crim.


    He nodded, and Michael placed a hand on him, fixing a number of bruises and what he suspected was a crack in the portion of his skull near his eye.


    He was escorted out of the auditorium along with the rest of the irregulars, and taken to where they¡¯d watched their former fellows hang only a few months prior. They¡¯d all grown a lot more familiar with all of it. Having watched one more hanging, twice weekly canings, and a few of them even being put in the underground stone cells called Tombs. They were all made to stand in neat rows and watch as Marcus had his shirt and jacket stripped off, and was then manacled to the post.


    Kline watched as it happened, and rolled up his sleeves with a grim look on his face. A guard appeared and handed him a long, thin, and wicked looking piece of wood. It had a leather-bound handle and was thick on the handle end, growing thinner and thinner further down.


    ¡°I know there have been some fights with regulars. I¡¯ve seen black eyes, and hidden scars, but most of you all did well to keep them concealed and small, as did the regulars. Thanks to that I¡¯ve kept the discipline at a minimum.¡± He gave the cane a few test swings. ¡°This is a lesson in prudence. For attacking a fellow recruit, five strikes.¡± he took a few steps toward Marcus, who was staying stock still, but his hands strained against the chains. ¡°For interrupting general Achen in the middle of instruction. Ten.¡±


    He raised the cane high, and brought it across Marcus¡¯s back with perfect form. The sound made Michael jump, but Marcus didn¡¯t so much as whimper. He stayed silent for the second, and the third, and even the fourth strike. On the fifth he let out a slight groan, and from there it was over. He wailed as the next ten strikes landed, his body jerking violently with each strike. Michael looked away, and caught a glance of Crim standing off to the side, watching. Her face was contorted into an expression of worry, but whenever a strike landed Michael noticed something. The hint of a smile curling at the edge of her mouth, a little bit of light in her eyes. She was excited. She¡¯d wanted this to happen. Had that been why the dose for Marcus was different. Michael tried to think back to the ones he¡¯d noticed were different and who¡¯d been given them. Had they all had fights after? Or been more aggressive? He honestly wasn¡¯t sure, but he was certain of the joy on her face.


    Kline finished and held out the cane for the guard that had brought it. He rolled his sleeves down and pointed at two other guards. ¡°Take him to the infirmary.¡± They nodded at him and moved to remove Marcus from the post. His back was bloody and covered in deep cuts from the cane. Michael couldn¡¯t imagine the pain.


    Kline moved to the rest of the group. ¡°Many of you are older than I am, but that doesn¡¯t mean you¡¯re wise. It doesn¡¯t mean you''re intelligent or capable. It just means that you¡¯ve managed to live in a world where it seems living is a much easier thing to do than it is here.¡± He finished buttoning his sleeve. ¡°All of you can still act like fools, as Marcus has shown, be wary of the fool within you.¡±


    He turned to look directly at Michael.


    ¡°If I see that you healed him, I will add five more strikes to his punishment, and give you five as well. You may heal him the day before the exercises begin so that he may participate. Understood.¡±


    Michael nodded as he looked at Crim with gritted teeth. ¡°Understood.¡±

 Ch 23: Exercise Exercise Exercise

    Michael as well as the rest of the irregulars, spent the rest of the week preparing for the upcoming exercise. There was additional instruction about how to ¡®kill¡¯ your opponents that basically amounted to wailing on them until they agreed they were down or harming them until they could no longer move. After that they¡¯d surrender whatever colored rag represented their team. A number of soldiers would be walking in the midst of the exercise to ensure nothing was taken too far, and to remove anyone who became too harmed to continue so that they could be taken to the healer they were bringing from the capital. Michael was told that he may be removed from the exercise to help if there were any severe injuries, though that wasn¡¯t expected.


    His usual routine of training with the diviner and helping the infirmary to heal everyone was unchanged. Thanks to that he visited Marcus often, but he was moody, and very often he was in the company of Crim who was checking on his injuries. Michael healed him slightly whenever he could, but the issue of his power requiring touch and a golden hand was that it was very visible. Still, he seemed to be able to ease his suffering, at least a bit. Seeing Crim was maddening, but Michael was old and experienced enough to remain professional with people he hated, he¡¯d worked in an office most of his life after all, but this was definitely the greatest test of that skill he''d ever had. He¡¯d thought she was, if not kind, at least neutral and capable, but seeing her forcing down a smile as Marcus was caned had shown him otherwise. Michael was certain she was manipulating him, and he guessed that she was doing so just for the fun of it. She might have had a reason beyond that, he supposed. A brother that had been stolen away by a taker or maybe a child of her own, she was old enough that it could¡¯ve happened. Michael didn¡¯t particularly care though, she¡¯d hurt his friend, and while he felt generally a need to redeem himself for the life he¡¯d taken when entering the world, Marcus hadn''t deserved that.


    He wanted to hurt her, but couldn¡¯t see any wisdom in that, at least not yet. She was literally injecting things into his arm every day as well as those of his friends, so even indirect action against her would be foolish. If he took action before Marcus realized what she was doing to him, it could also blow up in his face. Still, the injections were slowing, and he had far more access to the infirmary than anyone else. He had subtly tried bringing up the idea that she was using him, but Marcus had shut him down quickly, his hormones and her manipulations too fresh for him to overcome in spite of the fact that Marcus would''ve been the last person to show this kind of naivety. Michael knew from raising his children that if he pushed too hard, it would just further solidify Marcus¡¯s attraction, so he left alone. His other option, of telling Kline what had happened, had issues as well. Crim seemed to be a longtime fixture of the Academy, a person whose words had weight. Michael had no way to prove his suspicions about her to him. It would likely be his word against hers, and he worried that he could bring more suffering to himself and the others if he said something without solid evidence. Even with proof there was a good chance anything he said would be ignored. No, he needed to wait for the right opportunity.


    At the end of the week he was finally allowed to fully heal Marcus, and by the time he was done there was not even a scar to remember the injury by. He waited on Marcus to get into uniform and they were escorted under two guards to the morning classroom for their final instructions before they moved to begin the exercise.


    ¡°All other recruits are currently being given final instruction on what their roles will be in the exercise. Those being groomed for command roles are being told their orders, those acting as messengers are being given their routes. You may have noticed that all of you have not received any instructions. This is because you¡¯re irregulars. The jobs you¡¯re going to do on the front will be varied and seemingly random. I¡¯ve seen irregulars ordered on raids, assigned to kidnap nobles, forced to hunt titled beasts that have grown fat on corpses, assigned to guard nobility visiting the front, or even made to kill rats for the cook. The jobs that you do will be decided on by whoever your leader is for this exercise. I will not be there with my brand to keep you from doing anything foolish, but there will be others with a similar brand in the field, watching you. Perform the roles as you are required to, and you will be rewarded. This and the Festival of Blades are the two best opportunities for recruits to earn titles and deeds before reaching the front. It should¡¯ve already been made clear how much those can impact your survival.¡±


    There were some nods from the others, and a few muttered questions about what the ¡®Festival of Blades¡¯ was. Michael had heard about it from Meera, it was a floating holiday based around a week when all three of the moons became sharp slivers in the sky. It happened around once every two years and was celebrated with tournaments and jousts in the ¡®old style¡¯. It was frequently used in Meera¡¯s books as a way for a beautiful maiden to be seduced by a visiting knight, or for a young maiden to receive the favor of a gruff man she¡¯d never noticed before.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be assigning you each to groups of four or five. Blame the foolishness of the dead for a few of the groups being short. The groups are based on who we¡¯ve noticed spends the most time together. When you are sent to the front, all of you will be separated. Enjoy the company of your fellows while you can.¡±


    He arranged a few slips of paper in front of himself on his desk.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to call out the names of each group. Your instructions on who to report to are on the desk in front of me. You will have time to pack your own bags, then report to supply for a breastplate and your weapons. After that you¡¯ll be escorted to the woods north of the campus. The area of the exercise is heavily guarded and monitored. Do not be foolish. There will be much less hesitation to hang you now that you¡¯re grown.¡±


    That statement was met with silence, and he started to call each group.


    ¡°Michael, Pyotr, Marcus, Davi, Ollie,¡± all of them stood and Michael was the one to retrieve the orders.


    Kline held up a hand to stop them from walking away immediately.


    ¡°You are allowed to use any advantage you have, except you¡± he said looking pointedly at Ollie and Michael, ¡°You must stick to shielding and your staff. No fire or lightning. Our healer will only be able to do so much,¡± he turned to Michael specifically, ¡°you cannot ¡®heal¡¯ someone who is already dead by the rules of the game, but if you see a broken bone, do not hesitate to make our visiting healer¡¯s job easier.¡±


    They nodded in response and Kline dismissed them.


    Michael peeled open the letter as they moved to their barracks to grab their packs.


    ¡°We¡¯re reporting to black team in the northwest corner of the woods. Leader is a recruit named Lance.¡±


    ¡°Lance?¡± said Ollie with a raised eyebrow. ¡°Bit on the nose, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Is funny. Word for a lance here is different from English, but still, he has the name. I wonder what other names are like that here?¡± said Pytor.


    Ollie shrugged. "A wizard did it."


    "How does that apply here?" asked Michael.


    Ollie shrugged again. "Ask the wizard."


    They made it into the barracks, and grabbed their packs. Michael made sure to pack an extra blanket and uniform. Being in the woods for two weeks was not going to be a good time. He hadn¡¯t enjoyed camping in his old life, and he didn¡¯t expect that was going to change in this one. Still, it was definitely something he''d need to get used to.


    Once they were packed they went to supply. There was a long line, but none of the other recruits gave them any trouble. In general they¡¯d seemed to grow used to the takers and many of them even acknowledged or made small-talk with Michael in particular since he¡¯d been healing so many of them so regularly.


    When they reached the counter, Dugan waved Michael forward.


    He reached behind the counter, away from where he¡¯d grabbed everyone else¡¯s things. ¡°This breastplate is newer, and should be a bit more comfortable, and I just re-wrapped this sword''s hilt.¡± He spoke without expression, ignoring a dirty look from a nearby regular that had heard him.


    ¡°Thank you, Dugan. I¡¯m surprised you went to the trouble.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a good man. Saved me a lot of work. Crack some skulls.¡±


    ¡°Will do.¡±


    The rest of them picked up their breastplates, helmets, swords, scabbards, staffs, black pieces of cloth, white pieces of cloth and a sack of rations. The black cloth was to mark their team, and the white cloth would mark them as dead so they could walk themselves safely back to the campus if they¡¯d been eliminated. They stepped to the side and slipped on the armor, tightening it with magic, though Marcus had to do it by hand. Ollie¡¯s armor was made of boiled leather since too much iron could interfere with magic at a high level.


    Once they were prepared they made their way to the north exit from the Academy. Michael was surprised to see the horsemanship instructor, Desdin on the way toward the gate, mounted on a white mare. He was staring at them, and when Michael gave him a wave of acknowledgement, he seemed to be looking right through him. Michael assumed the man was going through something and put his hand down. It felt odd, passing through the gate with only a nod from the guards, but they followed the path outward and found a number of smaller trails that led them to their destination.


    The black camp was marked by a large flag in the team''s color, and it was already full of a number of recruits building simple fortifications, patrolling, and generally keeping themselves busy. Two acne faced guards at the gate note their arrival.


    ¡°Mark the flag, then head toward the large tent straight back. The Commander will give you your orders.¡±


    Michael went to the flag and channeled some magicka, before whispering ¡®aqui¡¯ to mark the flag so he could easily navigate to it later when they were returning from the thick forest. He and the rest of the Penitents then made their way toward the large tent in the back.


    It was darker inside, and their eyes took a moment to adjust.


    ¡°Ah, looks like our murderers have arrived,¡± came a voice from deeper inside.