Chapter 8:
Struggle
So many sensations all at once, none of them pleasant, and each declared itself the biggest problem. First, there was the cold, with Daniel's weak body struggling to make up for the debt accrued by the sea. Then, there were all of his bruises, courtesy of the savage beating he had taken the night before. There was the stab wound in his gut, bleeding just slow enough to ensure he suffered throughout the night while being tossed by the waves. There was the stinging of his eyes from the salt and sand, which he'd also swallowed to excess. But the worst pain, as it had been all along, was his body crying out for intoxication. Despite all his suffering, some part of him wouldn't let him forget it, wouldn't let him ignore it or focus on anything else.
He didn't know where or when he finally washed ashore; he just remembered crying in relief with what little energy he had. But now, as the rising sun cast its light on him, he wished he had never been brought back to the land and had instead sunk peacefully into the depths, never to return.
He didn't want to feel the warmth of the sun. He didn't want to feel anything. He simply wanted the pain to stop. This was what his whole life had been, and it was only fitting that this was how it would end.
'I should have died on that road. I should have died a long time ago. Of all the people to get this second chance, why did it have to be wasted on me?'
They were coming on stronger now, the cravings, and behind them, his sister's anguished voice, grinding against his cranium like a scalper's knife. He tried to curl himself into a ball, as if that would shield him from the sun on this day of reckoning, and retreated into himself, searching the filthy basement of his subconscious for anything that would block it all out. He thought back to all the songs he had memorized, the patterns of notes he had burned into his soul while working his fingers until they bled.
It wasn't working. No song could give Daniel peace. He ripped them apart, grabbing for scraps of melody and piecing them together in desperation. He began to hum as his mind smoothed over the rough edges of his work. He sounded out the notes, cycling through them over and over while adding something new each time. His left hand, outstretched ahead of him, began to move. His fingertips dug into the sand while remembering the sharpness of his guitar strings.
The pain began to fade, so he kept building on it. He thought up simultaneous rhythms and started adding them on, with each note falling into place like a jewel on a ring. His right hand, without him realizing it, began to stretch out, and with strength he didn't even know he had, he dug into the beach and began pulling him forward. His battered and exhausted legs, which felt like they would never work again, pushed him up, and his face briefly left the ground.
Again, this time on his left side, he lifted himself up long enough to move farther away from the water. He'd gasped for air and groaned in pain each time, but he continued crawling without letting his mind drift away from the song.
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Noah tried to resist it, tried to close his eyes and sleep a little longer. He had returned to his perch in the cathedral to enjoy the last few hours of the night. Now the sun had risen, and unfortunately, his cloister wasn't as peaceful as he had hoped. The people inside and the city outside had woken up, and his growling stomach helped convince him to rise. He packed up his things and left the church on the hunt for sustenance. Some fried fish, hardtack, and an apple served as his breakfast.
Like him, the city rose from its slumber as the flames of ovens and forges were lit, and stalls and shops opened. Men and women, the young and old, set out on their business for the day. Noah even spotted several dwarves, and a few elves among the crowds as tourists from Vandheim and the elf kingdom to the southwest journeyed for the festival.
Today was the last day to make all the final preparations, so no one who planned to contribute wasted time. Any damage or messes resulting from the Red Revelries were cleaned up and concealed, with several belligerent adventures being arrested. Yet despite the many caught, more and more fighters were participating in the Red Revelries. It was taking all the city's strength to keep the violence contained.
Noah's first stop was a garment shop filled with blankets and clothes made of linen woven on a loom and hand-spun wool. The smell of the fibers and dyes muffled all other scents like white noise. After his encounter with the knights and Harajin, he needed a new outfit so that he wouldn't be recognized, and he was open to any excuse for changing out of his sandy clothes. Several coins and even a few weapons were hidden in the linings and secret pockets, all of which he first removed.
After paying for his new clothes, he went to a nearby water fountain and washed the dirt out of his old ones. It was against the law to do so, but the patrolling soldiers couldn't stop what they couldn't see. When done, Noah climbed onto a nearby roof and laid his clothes out to dry in the sun. Then, it was on to the Knight's Sheath. The overnight guests that had yet to vacate were nursing hangovers with the house tea, and Noah went to the counter and ordered himself a cup.
"Is Cyrilo available? I need to talk to her."
"She doesn't see people this early in the morning. You'll have to wait. Say, do you have any idea where Daniel is?"
"He's not here?"
"He went out yesterday at the end of his shift, hasn't come back."
"I haven't seen him, and I'm pretty sure he didn't take part in the Red Revelry if that is what you're thinking."
"You must have been busy yourself."
"Nah, I managed to find a hayloft to sleep in. Did you get any rowdiness here last night?"
"Nothing I couldn't handle, though some furniture and glasses were broken. Bella has been in a foul mood. If she sees you, she might just drag you back to her room and never let you out."
"I suppose I'll make myself scarce, then."
He finished his tea and left the brothel, setting back out with a goal in mind. He lost his bow and longsword in that pit the Harajin created, so he needed replacements. He found a shop specializing in wooden weapons and shields, though most of their inventory consisted of staffs and wands.
"This line of runes, what does it do?" he asked while examining a length of rosewood.
"It enchants the wand with a spell or an effect," the shopkeeper replied. He took his long-stemmed pipe out of his mouth and examined the wand. "This helps speed up your mana recovery." He picked up another, a curved piece of oak. "This one raises the range of fire spells. Wands and staffs are favored by long-range magic casters and are used as tools in magic experiments. You'll find that runes on weapons and armor use magic to enhance the item, while runes on wands and jewelry use the item to enhance the magic. However, depending on the material, the process, and the inscription, wands can either last for years with little deterioration or burn out after a single use."
Noah remembered the Harajin scroll from the night before. His foe's blood activated a powerful earth spell, and the scroll immediately turned to ash. The local goldsmith said something similar when he got his ring in Clive. In the case of Noah's pocket dimension ring, wearable items like jewelry inscribed with runes could apply continuous enhancements or spells.
Compared to organic materials like wood and bone, minerals and metals were a poor material for conducting mana, but they lasted far longer without losing their power or disintegrating. Unfortunately, enchanted items, at least the ones on the open market, didn't work well with others of the same type. His storage ring would become significantly weaker if he wore another enchanted ring simultaneously.
"If a line of runes is broken, would there be a reaction? A burst of mana or something similar?"
"There have been instances of such a thing, but only in legend."
