Book 2 Ch 36: Corrections

Michael walked down the road heading south toward the Lake of Beasts with Davi, Tai, Finnegan, Clara, and a dozen or so others that he’d had yet to formally meet. They were headed for the remaining rift that the twins had been unable to seal. The group was small, but elite, having been chosen by the twins themselves.

It was a little after midday, and Michael had fallen into the quiet rhythm of walking mindlessly, listening to the clank of his armor as he moved. He frowned, realizing that his chestplate wasn’t quite tight enough, he whispered “corto” to tighten it and rolled his shoulders a bit to make sure it was on properly. Gurndan had made a few more modifications that went a bit beyond the basic repair he’d initially requested. He felt like he had a bit more mobility, but it felt off. He probably just needed to get used to it.

“Did you just say corto to tighten your armor?” asked Alvarez, a taker scout with a bow slung over his shoulder.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Why would you pick that word?” he asked.

“Uh, it means short right? So I picked it because I’m shortening the straps.”

Alvarez frowned and put a head in his hand. “What, did you only take spanish one oh one in school?”

“I mean… I got to one oh two, but not much further than that. And that was maybe forty years ago.”

Alvarez shook his head. “And this old cracker is who we’re relying on for healing?”

“Hey, hey. He’s a wonderful cracker,” said Davi smiling. “And aren’t you Guatemalan? Can you even call what you speak language?”

Alvarez snorted. “You have absolutely no room to talk.”

Michael shook his head. This wasn’t the first time Alvarez had critiqued his Spanish. Luckily, magic relied more on his interpretation of how it represented the spell rather than the meaning because, as Alvarez had now pointed out a dozen times, he had made some baffling choices in some cases.

They reached a small clearing with signs of previous camping.

“We’ll take a rest here before we move on. We’re going to start pivoting East after this.”

They all nodded and found some places to sit. Michael wound up next to Trina.

“How’re you holding up, kid?” he asked.

“It feels very weird hearing you call me kid when you look like you only have a few more years than me.”

“Trust me, the situation is just as weird for me. I try not to think about it too much.”

She nodded. “Fair enough. Any reason you’ve got that now?” she asked, pointing at the mace on his hip.

“Dwarven blacksmith strongarmed me into it,” he’d just picked it up the previous afternoon. He’d spent a few hours practicing with it afterward, and just like the armor he was going to need some time to get used to it. It was a simple mace, with a long metal handle that ended in an angular head with particularly thick flanges. When he described it in his mind it made it sound ugly, but in truth it was a beautiful weapon. There was a savage simplicity to it that he found appealing, and whenever he swung it, he enjoyed that added momentum at the top of it, especially when he felt the shock in his arm when it struck something. He could also almost feel a kind of continuity to it. A kinship with the weapon itself. Maybe it was all in his head, or maybe the reforging of the metal from his other sword was what gave him that impression, but either way he liked it.

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“You didn’t answer my question, how’re you doing?” asked Michael.

“Still worn out from training yesterday.”

Michael shrugged. “I told you we could take the day off.”

“I know, but… I want to be better. If I’d been stronger at the first rift, more people would’ve lived.”

Michael nodded. “It’s possible that’s true. I have the same motive. That said you won’t always be able to save everyone. We can’t heal a bullet to the brain or anything that kills people instantly. When that happens, and it will, you need to be ready to focus your attention on the next person. You can grieve when the fighting’s done, but you can’t let it get in the way of the fight.”

She nodded, taking a sip from a waterskin.