First Fist: Seventh Bridge to the Heavens

Chapter 1: The Limitations of Parchment

“A soldier’s greatest burden is not the press and clamor of battle, it is the loss of the life that could have been.”

~Tanlin Garenhall, second son of Third Lord Joff Ferinal

Luca sat in a wide circle of soldiers. All breathed in and out, eyes closed, working through a final cycle of Andaya’s Breath together.

Closing his mouth, Luca drew in another sharp breath. Lungs full, he exhaled through the mouth, releasing his wind slowly. As always, he imagined invisible threads of mana absorbing into his body, strengthening it with the resilience of stone.

The red and gray cloaks his fellows wore matched perfectly. Their faces, though, and the color of their hair differed greatly. It wasn’t their ancestry that bound them.

It was their place in the Stone Bringer Clan.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve wet our blades,” Yondi said, breaking the meditation off informally.

Luca opened his eyes and found the old sergeant smiling. “The snows have melted away. The pass is clear. You all know what that means.”

Yondi rubbed a stone idly as he spoke with his men. 2nd Company, 3rd Squadron, these were the men misfits of Ballum’s Fist. If asked, Yondi would say he preferred it that way.

For though they came from common stock, all gathered here had been tempered by the anvil and hammer of combat. All that is, Luca thought. But one.

Yondi scratched grit from the stone, grimacing as he did so. “Another New Spring, another season of conquest, another chance for you lads to snatch a bit of Ergosi gold.”

The men grunted or jeered in response.

“Fifty two of you swine fuckers are under my command. We’ll trot over the pass, gut some commoners, and mayhap even test our spears against Ergosi soldiers.”

The sergeant bared his teeth at his soldiers. “Remember, those copper capped cunts have thin wrists and soft hands.”

Luca laughed with his fellows this time.

“Their arms are weak, and their cocks shriveled and useless.”

More laughter.

Yondi stood. “But we will keep our fucking eyes open and our minds sharp. I will ride back to Mindea with all fifty two of my men. Is that understood?”

“Aye!” Luca shouted, his voice joining with the others.

The sergeant tossed the stone up in the air and caught it. With deep creases marring his tanned face, and an unruly mane of coarse gray hair, Yondi Shieldbreaker was the oldest soldier in Ballum’s Fist.

He was also among the most respected.

Without warning, he tossed his stone at an unsuspecting target.

The pale-cheeked youth that showed up a few days ago barely had time to catch it.

“We’ve been given a new recruit. Name’s Calvin, I’ve been told. This is both a blessing and a curse. I’d rather ride into battle with a seasoned cook than a boy plucked from the garrison too soon.”

Yondi pointed at Calvin, the muscles in his forearm rippling. “Just because he can dance around real pretty with a sword doesn’t mean you’re a warrior! Do you understand that, son?”

Calvin blinked several times, perhaps unsure if a response was required.

A man sitting beside the boy gave him a bit of elbow.

“Yes, sir!” Calvin shouted, a bit too loud.

Luca grimaced. The recruit’s cheeks flushed red, and he looked close to tossing up his breakfast. Ballum save him, he thought. He’s even younger than Falko when he joined.

The lightning in Yondi’s eyes softened. He smiled easily and lowered his hand. “No worries, lad. You’re one of mine now. We will train you up, get you ready for what’s to come. I do expect you to listen, Calvin.”

Yondi chuckled. “And I’m about to ask you a question. I trust you know how to answer this time… do you understand, recruit?”

Calvin sat up straighter, his brows lifting as he shouted in response. “Yes, Yondi, sir!”

“Sergeant will do fine from now on,” Yondi said with a wry smile. “That brings me to another point. I’d like to ask you, Luca, to make sure Calvin here doesn’t fall on his own sword. You’re the only one among us who still has to ride in without the stone skin.

“With luck, Calvin will awaken his core in due time. If he survives the season,” Yondi said as he pulled out a small wooden jar. “I might even give you this.”

Luca’s stomach tightened at seeing the elixir. He’d had three chances, all any man ever gets, yet his core hadn’t responded. Though accepted by the clan, Luca refused to call himself a Stone Bringer.

He could fight like a caged mana beast, but he could not tap into Earth Mana like the rest could.

“Now, Calvin. I will say this once and only once.” Yondi pointed to Luca, his gray eyes cold. “The man that sits there is Quiet Luca. I’ve seen him gut too many Ergosi to count. He’d been where I’m standing now if the mana had come to him.

“Heed his words and will, Calvin… is that understood?”

Once more, the youth shouted in response.

Luca breathed deeply, not quite appreciating the attention. He’d proven himself time and time again. Though not every man in Ballum’s Fist liked Luca, they all respected him.

Yet no matter how many times his fellows praised him, the attention was never truly welcome.

Yondi clapped his hands together. “Very well! I expect you all to work on your techniques and run through the stances as well. That,” he emphasized with eyes fixed on Calvin, “Was meant especially for you.”

Someone thumped the youth on the back to drive the point home, then Yondi moved on.

“A few of us might have a bit of fun down at the pit later. You’re all welcome to join. Oh, and might get a report tonight. Anything can happen. So, no drinking, no duels, no whores!”

A handful of boos followed the speech and the men stood up, sensing the end to the clan meeting.

Raising his right fist, Yondi spoke the words of the Stone Bringer ideals. Luca called out, his voice blending with those of his companions. “Undeniable! Unwavering! Unbreakable!”

The men drifted apart, all heading back to Fort Glory in clusters.

Luca waited. He wanted to speak with the boy, but he found his friend first, the lanky bastard grinning as usual.

“Can’t believe Yondi gave him to you first,” Falko said. “I’m pissed. Would’a had him running the slopes all night.”

Luca shook his head. “Unlikely. You’d end up testing the lad’s tolerance for ale.”

Falko shrugged, lifting his right arm up, finger pointing to the sky. “As the saying goes, a man’s as stout as his stomach!” He spun around dramatically, finger still held high as he walked away.

Calvin stood twenty feet away. His lips were pressed tightly together as he regarded Luca.

Luca walked over to a boulder nearby and sat. He waved the lad over.

When Calvin finally sat down, Luca gave him a nudge with his shoulder. “Yondi is the finest sergeant I’ve ever served with. Mind everything he says.”

Arcing an eyebrow, Luca added, “He’s also full of shit. Don’t believe anything he says.”

Calvin made an odd sound in his throat, completely taken aback. Then he laughed. Some of the fear melted off the boy’s face.

“I think I understand what you mean, Mr. Luca. I’ll do my best.”

“I’m sure you will. I can give you some training, help prepare you for combat. No training is enough, though. In the end, you’ll learn more in a single charge than with a hundred hours in the practice yard.”

Luca studied the youth’s features. He had strong cheekbones and a prominent chin. But that thin nose, he thought dryly. That’ll break soon enough.

“For now, I want you to focus on mastering Andaya’s Breath. Some Stone Bringers awaken their core with the cycling technique alone. It’s rare, but it does happen.”

Calvin’s response came late and awkward. “Yes sir, I mean… Mr. Luca. I still struggle imagining it all, but I’m trying.”

Suppressing a smile, Luca continued. “Good. How are you with Scalda? Do you spend much time working the stances?”

Calvin’s eyes bulged a little. Wetting his lips, he said. “Some, but not enough, I think. I’m good with Sky Stance. It helps—“

“Yes, of course. You got caught in the short sword, so you think speed and agility are all you need,” Luca said. He furrowed his brow to feign disappointment. “Show me Mountain. I want to know how bad you are.”

The recruit took a half step back, touching his chest with two fingers. “Now?”

“Yes, fucking now!” Luca barked. “Get to it!”

It took an effort of will for Luca not to chuckle. Calvin scrambled back, face going pale. He dropped into a low Mountain Stance, right fist couched near his ribs, his left held before him, palm out.

Luca strode forward, clasping his hands behind his back. “Too low. Just a gentle squat is needed.”

Calvin adjusted.

“Relax your arms, straighten your spine a little. Good, now run through the first forms.”

Letting go of his amusement, Luca watched the recruit critically. Every soldier drilled in the Nine Forms, sequences of choreographed attacked and blocks meant to build up memory in the body. Most veterans neglected to practice on a regular basis, but expecting battle any day now, Luca knew his brothers would do the work necessary.

Luca sighed. On the fourth step, a simple hook that was to be followed by a high block with the elbow, Calvin faltered.

“Sorry, it’s just been—“

“Too sodden long since you’ve practiced,” Luca cut in. He walked closer and planted a finger in the lad’s chest. “Hear me, Calvin. Your short sword is useful only when you’ve lost your spear. Most battles you won’t touch it other than to rest your hand.

“I want you to work Mountain and Cavern Stance today, understand? All Nine Forms a dozen times each. And if there’s any time at all, report to the master of arms. Tell him Luca sent you to work the spear.”

Calvin blinked rapidly. His jaw worked a little, but he composed himself soon enough. “Yes sir!”

Luca let the slip pass. He was no officer, but there was a limit to how much chastisement you could doll out before it was no longer effective.

“Listen to Yondi and your fellows as well. Have you met Corporal Falko yet?”

Calvin shook his head. “Aside from Commander Turien and Captain Aelric, I haven’t really spoken to anyone but Sergeant Yondi yet.”

“There’ll be time to meet the boys, don’t you worry,” Luca said, patting Calvin on the back. “Stay here until you’ve worked the forms like I told you. I have some business to take care of. Make sure to sit with me at supper, okay? I can explain a bit more about the clan.”

Calvin stood, rubbing his hands together. “Sorry to bother, but… well, can I ask you a question?”

“Anything,” Luca replied. “Just be quick about it.”

“Can you tell me anything about the elixir of awakening? Commander Turien said he’d gotten me one cause he saw me fencing. I am good with a sword, best in my last company at least. But Yondi says he’s holding onto it till after we finish our first raid.”

The young man sighed, eyes wide in exasperation. “Wouldn’t it be better if I take it now? I could fight better with Stone Bringer abilities, right?”

Luca resisted the urge to cuff the boy.

Only a naive recruit would ask these questions. No gift of cultivation could save you if you lacked the skill to use it. And of all the men in the Stone Bringer clan, Luca knew the least about what such powers could lend a man.

Swallowing his frustration, Luca did his best. “Tell me, Calvin. What do you know about the elixir? What have you heard?”

“Well, its made up of magical plants, and it’s really expensive. I know that when you drink it, a man can awaken his core and become a cultivator. Oh, also, you can’t always predict which element you’ll get. I could become a Howler with Wind Mana or a Torch with Fire. Then there’s the Mystics. Never dreamed of being a healer, but who knows? Or even a—”

Luca interrupted the boy. “Or a Druid right? With the power of Nature Mana?”

Calvin nodded, smiling. “I wouldn’t mind any of them, Mr. Luca. Druids seem a bit boring, though.”

“Druids are the eyes and ears of the army,” Luca corrected. “There is no finer scout in the world. An army without information is a warrior with a blindfold on.”

Giving the young man a second to digest this, Luca said, “What about Dousers? What if you take the elixir and come out with Water Mana on your fingers?”

The joy and excitement drained from Calvin’s expression. His shoulders slumped a little. “Dousers are children of the Drowned Goddess Elene. They’re evil souls. Wylish folk.”

“Aye, as you say. Possessing the power of the Ergosi goddess, Dousers are feared and hated by all Mindeans. But!” Luca said pointedly. “They also do not choose their path! If you swallow the sludge in that jar, you might become a Stone Bringer, Calvin. It is possible. But you could also become a Douser, condemned as Wylish, an unwanted outcast for the rest of your life!

“And even if you escape such a fate, the elixir of awakening is dangerous! Many die from their first dose alone!”

Calvin stared at his feet. Luca could see the lad was uncomfortable, but he pressed on anyhow. This kind of ignorance needed to be cured.

“Do you recall what Yondi said?” Luca whispered. “About how I alone had to ride into battle without the stone skin?”

Calvin nodded, his eyes still fixed on his boots.

“Calvin, the elixir may also not work. I was brought to Ballum’s Fist because I could best any man in my unit with sword, spear, and fist. I joined the Stone Bringer Clan at twenty three years of age. In the seven years since that day, I’ve taken three elixirs of awakening.”

Slowly, the young man looked up. A deeper fear had been exposed, the terror of not living up to his potential.

It was a fear that Luca knew well.

“The mana in the elixir makes a man sick,” Luca explained. “I barely survived the third attempt. If I take another, I am sure to perish. So, hear me well, young Calvin… wait until fate calls you. Don’t rush to meet her embrace… You might not like what she gives you.”

His words had been delivered.

Luca could only hope some of would sink in.

He set Calvin to working Cavern Stance first. Luca lingered a moment, watching the recruit finish the first three forms. Seeing that the youth performed better now that his nerves had settled a little, Luca turned and walked down the trail.

From the hillside, Luca could see the seemingly endless rows of tents, the stables far below, and the stone fort itself, built over the years to guard Theadran’s Pass.

He walked past the terraces cut out of the mountain. Each belonged to one of the Five Clans. Only the Howlers, cultivators gifted with Wind Mana, stood higher up than the Stone Bringers.

Luca eyed a group of Torches practicing their mana techniques. All five men moved through the Nine Forms, their right fists glowing with energy. The technique was known as Branding Touch. It was a basic form of Fire Mana manipulation, but could be deadly nonetheless.

In a synchronized movement, the men lunged, thrusting both palms out. Gouts of fire roared outward, painting the sky orange and red.

Beautiful, he thought as he pulled his eyes away. So damn beautiful.

Luca knew that technique was called Forge Flame. It was the most advanced technique the Torches knew. Each clan two techniques with the exception of the Stone Bringers and Mystics who had three.

Those third techniques were incredibly rare, though.

None of it quite mattered. Luca had learned the names of these abilities. He’d studied their application to battle, and how best to counter or defend against them.

At the end of the day, however, Luca hadn’t been taught how to perform them. His core had never woken.

The knowledge was both forbidden and useless to him.

Lost in old memories, Luca found his tent at last. It was empty, Falko likely watching a pit fight. Grumbling, he remembered the last he’d neglected to finish.

Clearing his mind, Luca sat down at his too-small desk, knees cracking in protest as.

He uncorked his jar of ink, cleaned the tip of his quill.

Then, with unabated dread, Luca hunched over and wrote the damn letter. He only had one betrothed, and she deserved to hear from him. “It must be done. Out with the stitches, Luca. Quit making things worse than they really are.”

Normally, letters were simple and easy for him to manage. But ever since he’d proposed the two marry, the awkwardness had set in.

He tried again and again, each attempt somehow sounding worse. Each failure was crinkled up and tossed in the corner of the tent. Finally, dredging up as much passion as he could, Luca finished.

Then he read the sodden thing.

***

It is with a joyous heart and soaring expectations that I write, dearest Sara, from the gravel-strewn slopes of the Ballum Mountains. We are sure to strike out into Ergos soon. My greatest ambition is to win you a glittering prize.

I can’t help but dream of our future, tumbling out before us like an unveiling tapestry on the polished floorboards of our entwined lives…

***

Luca crushed the paper in his fist and laughed. “Ballum, save me,” he muttered. “The fuck are you doing? Gravel-strewn slopes? Polished floorboards?”

The paper arced through the air, landing atop his tent mate’s unkempt cot. Falko lacked the discipline and attention to detail that most soldiers possessed.

Living with the beast had taken Luca years to get used to. Now, he hardly noticed.

Reaching into a waxed folder, Luca pulled out the last bit of paper he owned. “Once more, and no fluff this time. You’re not a bard, Luca. Just write the damn thing.”

Luca dipped his quill and scratched out a short and matter-of-fact message to the woman he’d left hundreds of miles behind. He spared no words for poetry, simply accepted the limitations of parchment and completed the task.

Then he cleaned the quill and corked the ink.

Lifting the letter, Luca read the message.

***

Sara,

I hope you’re well. Thank you for watching after my mother.

The snows in the pass have thawed. The scouts returned three nights ago with news of the enemy. Commander Turien plots in his tent as the rest of us sit on our thumbs.

I think we’ll be deployed within a week or two. As I said before, this will be my last service to the king. Should all go as I expect, I’ll come home with a pinch of loot.

Keep well, my friend. See you before summer if Ballum wills.

Soon,

Luca

***

With a sigh, Luca fanned the parchment until the ink dried. Then he folded it neatly and sealed it with wax, pressing his broad thumb down until the heat subsided.

“Poor Sara. The woman deserves more,” he said, taking in the cramped confines of his sleeping quarters.

Folded neatly on the left hand side of the entrance lay Luca’s gambeson. The black padded jacket hid many blood stains, but more than a few cuts had been sewn up with white thread.

His short sword rested on top, sheathed and sharp as a widow’s tongue.

A long coat of oiled chain mail hung from a hook in the corner.

Assembled in a heap stood Luca’s cuirass, pauldrons, and various components of plate armor. Painted the dark gray of wet stone, the equipment reminded Luca of his true purpose in this world.

He’d sworn to protect a king he would never meet.

He’d given his body, mind, and soul to a duty that gave little in return.

Not the sort of man to linger on regret, Luca forced any stray thoughts on the matter down deep. They wouldn’t help him in the heat of battle. Only green men and deserters walked that path.

Luca was neither.

He ducked outside and stretched his back. Born with a twisted spine, Luca had grown used to pain. He twisted his arms from side to side until his ribs stopped cramping. Then he stalked down the slope toward the quartermaster.

Sara had a gilded heart, none could deny as much. She wasn’t hard on the eyes either. She’d warmed Luca’s bed for the first time a few years back. Somehow, she’d stuck around despite his long absences.

Soldiers earned little and couldn’t be present in a way a woman desired. Luca had tasted love as a young man. But year after year of having his roots torn up had left his heart hard and unyielding.

Sara will be a fine mother, he reminded himself. She’ll be my helpmate, and we’ll raise a few children. What more can I ask?

Luca spotted Sergeant Humphrey outside his tent. The quartermaster lacked imagination and ambition, but he was consistent.

Handing Humphrey the letter, Luca said, “Sorry to bother you, but I’ve one last letter to go out.”

The man grunted in response, his gray eyes ringed in red as if he hadn’t slept in a week. “I’ll see to it. That all, Luca?”

Luca nodded, but a glance at the quartermaster’s haggard face urged him to ask, “You getting sick? Or has the commander kept you up with his plotting?”

Sergeant Humphrey stiffened slightly, but a slight smile graced his lips. After scanning behind Luca, the man said in a low voice, “Might be the latter. Might be that you can expect some news soon. Course I never told you.”

Luca thanked the man and spun on his heel. He considered seeking out the camp healers. His back ached something fierce, and if a mission was coming, he wanted to be ready.

Then he remembered his promise to Calvin. Talent with a sword was helpful, but the recruit needed to master his spear.

Luca’s thoughts were disturbed when a ragged rose up in the distance. The pit stood on the other side of the mess hall on the opposite side of Fort Glory.

Someone barked a laugh nearby, and Luca saw Dane, Long, and Willem jogging together. “You sure? I heard he was done with sparring,” Dane said, just loud enough for Luca to hear.

Willem shook his head. “You kidding? Falko’s half feral. The man was born with fangs. Now, shut up and let’s hurry or we’ll miss it!”

Luca rubbed the back of his neck, thoughts drifting to the wayward friend he’d known so long.

Half feral? Yeah, sounds about right, he mused.

A wry smile crossed Luca’s face, and he too fell into a jog. Just because he didn’t approve of his friend’s actions, didn’t mean he’d miss out on a chance to see Falko throw hands.