Chương 49: Saint Cormac

The stillness of the fish pond was broken often by the watery rustle of trout. Little insects walked across the surface tension of the water, only to be snatched up by the quick lunge of the bulky fish. The water was shockingly clear, so when Miriam looked down into the hole she saw a parade of colorful fish swimming in lazy circles, waiting for their turn at the dinner table. The hole continued unfathomably deep, going from clear to a rich blue before the light's reach ceased.

She was here to finish up her fórsa weaving. It had been more than a week since she and Cian had unlocked the ability to isolate her fórsa natures and she didn't think she'd spent more than half an hour idle. Cian had run her through drill after drill, working on technique after technique.

"You have more raw power than anyone here," Cian had said.

"But you're really far behind in your development of that power, and you have three times as many different things to train. You don't have a moment to lose." Miriam had agreed with his fervor at first, but after an intense week was less enthusiastic. Why was there such a hurry? She understood Róise and Cormac were eager to get back to the rebellion happening in their home country, but that was a fight of years, it seemed, not weeks. She resolved to take a day off soon.

Maybe tomorrow - well, no probably not tomorrow. The next day? She shook her head. There never seemed like a right time to stop working. A flaw she'd suffered through in her original life as well. The first third of each day was spent completing her First Ring fórsa weaving. Water she had mostly completed with Eoin in Solas's basement, but Life was still not finished and Blight had never even begun. She allowed her mind to drift back to Eoin for a moment.

She knew from conversations with Sol that Ultán had not killed him, but it was clear he had chosen not to follow them into Cianán's Walk. She couldn't really blame him, but Miriam felt a little bit of irrational hurt that he hadn't dived in after them. She wasn't sure if she'd ever see him again. She shook her head to clear it. Not important. There were plenty of people she never got to say goodbye to, but left her life anyway. She would just have to accept it.

Unlike Blight weaving, acceptance of unpleasant truths was a skill she had mastered. Cian had been fascinated by her "anatomical" approach to weaving her fórsa mesh. Not unheard of, he claimed, but most people in the Tir didn't have enough knowledge to map out their bones and organs like this. Even Róise's new method only targeted the joints - very obvious and clear to anyone. Skin now encased in Water fórsa, bones wrapped in Life, all she had left was the Blight in her heart. The heart was a muscle, she knew.

It needed to be flexible, like the water fórsa in her skin. However Cian had advised against using the same method.

"Blight, converse to expectation, only grows. It can't be used to create, like Water or Life. So I think you should try to take a page from Róise's old book and weave it like roots!" Except, that hadn't worked. Any structure she tried to build from the Blight nature around her heart just fell apart. Cian had scratched his head and shrugged.

"I think maybe this is going to have to be a you-figuring-it-out thing." Still, his description of Blight had resonated. Blight did grow - death crept ever forward. So she envisioned moving the black threads, not through the muscle tissue that made up the heart, but letting it bloom out through her veins. Like the fungus networks she would sometimes see while hunting in her days outside Marybel.

It had not taken her long to finish - she piggybacked the pumping of her heart to spread the Blight to all the little veins and capillaries it would have been impossible to envision. Here, at the pond, she felt the last vein, a small one near her right ankle, finally accept the bloom.

"Just in time, it seems!" Cian's voice called from across the pond. Around him were the rest of her friends, the only notable absence being Maitiú. It seemed he had taken his decision to go native in Cianán's Walk to heart. She had even seen him often in the company of the local woman she'd met her first night - Luíseach? Good for him, she decided. He was showing remarkable resiliency in the face of a terrible situation.

"What's the occasion?" Miriam asked, picking herself up off the ground and walking around the pond to meet them.

"Are we having a party? I expected everyone to be busy right now."

"No party, unfortunately! Training!" Cian gestured to Cormac and Róise.

"These two will be doing some combat training with you."

"It will be my pleasure!" Cormac said, bowing.

"This is more for you than her, idiot," Róise said, elbowing him. Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. He looked at her, hurt.

"I know Cian has some doubts about my prowess, but I assure you that I am skilled enough to take on a new First! No insult meant, of course, Miriam!"

"Of course," Miriam said with a wicked grin.

"But I'll have one of my arms tied behind my back, since I won't be able to use Blight on him."

"Who said that?" Cian asked.

"Róise will take care of the Blight. In fact, that is her only job here today - to make sure that if Cormac gets hurt, he doesn't stay hurt."

"Her too, right?" Cormac said.

"If I accidentally hurt her?" No one answered.

"Guys, this is getting hurtful. I am a Third, you know." Miriam looked at Róise. By now they had all heard about what happened in the minstrel's cottage and Róise's new technique. If it worked as well as they said it did, she might actually be able to go all out against Cormac. Especially now that her Blight was fully woven and stable. That said, in spite of everyone putting Cormac down, she knew he was no joke.

His luck would be extremely difficult to overcome, not to mention the intense physical strength he had just by being born a Third.

"What about you, Sol?" Miriam asked the quiet man standing next to Cian.

"I just wanted to watch," he said. Cian moved them to Miriam's fallow field - no point in Blighting up a healthier part of Láthair Maol. He and the other two backed up to the edge, leaving enough room to not get in the way, but close enough for Róise's technique to be effective.

"Ready?" Miriam asked Cormac.

"I've been training pretty hard." He grinned.

"I'll go easy on you." Good luck with that, she thought as Róise started Róisín Dubh. Miriam launched towards Cormac in a technique Cian had called Vine Leap. A rush of vines exploded from her exposed feet, hurtling her into the air at high speeds. For any other First, it would be a prohibitively wasteful move, but Miriam had fórsa in spades. While airborne, she summoned vines into her right hand and used her dryadcraft to sculpt a fine quarterstaff, finishing just in time to bring it down on the former Captain.

Cormac's eyes went wide at this display of power, but his threads were already hard at work. He had not told anyone except Cian, but the same night Róise unlocked the potential of Róisín Dubh, he had taken on his Adept Class. He was now officially Luck Nature, Saint Adept, as much as the terminology rankled. It gave him a wide range of specialized techniques he could learn, but also greater control over his luck - though it would help most when applied to people other than himself.

As the staff came down, Miriam was pulled slightly off course. Was it the wind? A bad takeoff maybe? Who could say, as only Cormac could see the weave of purple-black threads that tugged at the weapon. He shifted slightly to the side, so that the strike would just barely miss him. Miriam's Life Nature tore his threads to bits. The staff cracked against his shoulder, still a little off target, but enough for Cormac to hear something snap. He bellowed in pain.

"What the hell?" Miriam landed thunderously, twirling around again and taking one hand off the weapon to thrust it at her opponent. Jets of pressurized water tagged him right in the eyes. He stumbled back, flinging his threads out again. This time, they succeeded, as Miriam slipped in the now muddy soil. Vision blurry, he redoubled his curses at her, laying them on as thick as he could. For as much of her as he could make out, she was encased in dark threads.

For a moment it seemed like that would be enough, as Miriam struggled through a series of mishaps. A swing with the staff went wide - mistimed. A lash of water meant to pin Cormac to the ground had just a little too much fórsa in it in the wrong place and disintegrated. Then to Cormac's horror Miriam just powered through. His black threads all snapped simultaneously as she brought her incredible inner reserves of fórsa to bear. She lunged in close and grabbed him by the neck. Suddenly he couldn't breathe.

The pressure she was applying wasn't enough to bother him - she still only had the physical strength of a First, after all - but it felt like there was something in his throat - dusty and murky at the same time. His skin began to sting and he tasted rot and bile. Blight, he realized. He'd never been on the receiving end of it before. Clawing at his throat, he collapsed to one knee.

"I think that will do," Cian said. Miriam removed her hand and he suddenly felt the reinvigorating lament of Róise's Róisín Dubh begin to wash away the rancid obstruction in his throat and knit his shoulder back together.

"Pixie above," Róise breathed.

"Thanks for going easy on me," Miriam said, with a friendly nudge to the shoulder.

"Well," Cormac coughed, disturbed to see dust puff out from his mouth.

"That was humiliating." Cian floated over to him and knelt down.

"I didn't set this up to embarrass you, Cormac. What did you learn?" Cormac sighed.

"I'm not good enough with my Luck yet. To be fair, I don't count Miriam as a true First, so I will keep some shred of my ego intact!" He pointed at Miriam, who continued to grin.

"No, that's not it at all," Cian said.

"You have absolutely zero fighting style. You had an enormous advantage over Miriam, but you were too focused on out-Lucking her to use it."

"What advantage is that?" Cian thumped him on the side of the head.

"You've been saying it all day. You're a Third, idiot. You're so much more physically strong than Miriam it would have been a slaughter if you'd managed to land even one punch. Although that would have taken you actually throwing a punch to achieve." Cormac scowled.

"That's just so inelegant! And it gives me away." Cian shook his head.

"Combat isn't about elegance. If you think it is, you've watched too many plays. And what does it give away? I know you like to play the clown, stay both in the center of attention and in the back of the room while your Luck defeats opponents without them even knowing you're fighting. If you want to make it out of the Walk, that is not going to work." Róise offered Cormac her hand to stand as her technique wound down, the world no longer swaying.

"Cormac, Cian's right. You've always relied on setting me up to knock them down, but I won't be out there. You have to learn to do it on your own." Cormac took her hand and stood.

"Ok! Ok! The message has been received. Cian, how do I fix this?" Cian smiled.

"Starting tomorrow you and Miriam are training partners!"