“And you two?” Scorio put his hands on his hips. “You about to swear?”
They exchanged a glance.
“Truthfully?” Leonis grimaced. “We’re waiting to see how you both fare. We’re not swearing without you.”
“Bah,” said Naomi, throwing up her hands and stalking away.
“Thanks.” Scorio felt warmth steal into his heart. It had been too long, too many weeks since he’d felt connected with his friends. “But I’ve a ways to go yet. Don’t let me hold you back.”
“You haven’t yet.” Leonis sighed and cracked his neck. “Anyways, time to eat. We’ve been working hard down there. Got an appetite.”
Lianshi scowled and elbowed the big man. “Not funny.”
“I thought it was funny. Actually, where does all the food go, Scorio? Been meaning to ask you. You’re eating twice as much as I do but you’re not getting fat. What’s your trick?”
“My trick?” asked Scorio.
“Ignore him,” said Lianshi. “You want to come? I’m sure Dameon would understand you celebrating.”
“No, thanks.” Scorio frowned. “If I’m to catch up, I need to work.”
“You do nothing but work,” said Leonis. “Seriously Scorio, you’re starting to look legitimately scary. Like a cross between an anatomy chart and old shoe leather. You were always in good shape, but you’re making me feel self-conscious.”
“Then maybe you should drink less each night,” said Lianshi sweetly.
Leonis looked shocked. “What? Drink less? Are you mad?”
“Come on.” Lianshi tugged Leonis away by the arm. “Good luck, Scorio.”
“He doesn’t need it. What he needs is a week in the Fiery Shoal’s steam pools. Soak some softness back to him.” Leonis raised his hand in parting and turned away. “How could you say that to me? Drink less?”
Scorio watched them walk toward the hall, half-fond, half-bitter. Then with a heavy sigh, he turned to where Naomi was already slamming her sledgehammer against a partially shattered rock.
The huge pile had been split open by Jova’s power. Had she done it on purpose? Taken a large rock to save them the work?
He thought of the dark look of triumph in her eyes.
Surely not.
A coincidence.
Hefting his heavy hammer, Scorio marched back to where he’d been laboring, inhaled as he drew the sledge back, then brought it down with all his force.
Chapter 38
The months of isolation and pointless drudgery took a surprising toll on Scorio and Naomi’s sense of self. Scorio realized it one rare night as he lay in his bunk, body drained past exhaustion, his skin feverish, his mouth parched, debating whether to get up for a drink of water or to just lie there till sleep claimed him once more.
He didn’t feel like a part of Manticore. He and Naomi had become a subclass. They didn’t train with the others, rarely had the same mealtimes, and though they shared the same bunkhouse with their old companions, the distance between them was only growing.
Leonis, Lianshi, Zala, and Juniper had become very close over the past few months, and developed their own friendship, their own inside jokes, an easy camaraderie that fell apart when they tried to include Scorio and Naomi. He saw pity in their eyes, and guilt; there was nothing they could do about his purgatory, but their easier and more rewarding lifestyle drove an artificial gulf between them.
And changed him as well. Scorio frowned at the wooden slats of the bunk above him. He’d taken to keeping his eyes trained on the ground when he walked about camp. He hadn’t developed friendships with the local Manticores, not even the couple of Emberlings who hurried about, harried and hopeful.
He hadn’t exchanged words with a Dread Blaze in weeks. Occasionally Ydrielle would pass by, pause, and gauge them. He knew what she was doing. Probing their bodies with her refined mana sense, seeing how much more they had to go. Each time his heart swelled in his chest, and each time she shook her head and walked away bitter tears flooded his eyes.
Shame.
That was the word for it. The memories of his accomplishments were like ashes in his mouth. If only the people of Bastion could see him now. So what if he’d once spoken with the White Queen in her Council, so what if Sol the Just had sponsored his return to the Academy? Scorio grimaced. Coming first in the final Gauntlet run had been his final spark of brilliance, earned by a power that had whittled his future to nothing.
He thought of his Black Star farm in the ruins. The tinctures and pills he’d drunk. How he’d recklessly done anything and everything just to make Emberling, then, in his time of greatest need, reached Tomb Spark.
For a few glorious days, the world had been without limit.
Now?
He ached. His body was febrile every night from overwork. He was always tired, no matter how much he slept. His appetite was diminishing. His interest in what his friends did, his curiosity as to the world outside.
His mind was a careful chart of all the boulders and rocks he had to demolish, the optimum order, the angles of attack.
To hide from his shame he’d devoted himself body and soul to his fruitless task, but when he wasn’t standing there, swinging his hammer, oh how it galled him.
To have fallen so low.
He’d knowingly mortgaged his future for that moment’s glory, and now he had to pay the bitter price.
Scorio grimaced and turned over on his side to stare at the wall. In some ways he’d benefited; there was no denying the lean, wolf-like state his body had transformed into. He felt impervious to pain, to exhaustion. Months of pathetic wrestling with Crush or whatever Flame Vault showed up to humiliate them had left him wiry and wily, cunning and quick. Better yet, he’d drained his body of almost all the Coal he’d absorbed. He must have. It had been five months now. He felt hollowed out, empty of emotion, without memory of the glory of Igniting his Heart.
Scorio closed his eyes tightly.
Shame.
He didn’t want to meet anyone’s eyes anymore because he didn’t want to see their pity, or worse, their amusement.
And he had nobody to blame but himself.
What a bitter harvest.
Earlier that day he’d tipped the sled so that a half dozen rocks clattered into the Chasm, and in his exhaustion, he’d slipped. His foot had gone out from under him. He’d probably just have crashed down on his ass, but his stomach had lurched, the Chasm had yawned, and for a second he’d thought he was going over.
And he hadn’t been too fussed about it.
If I fall, I fall.
Naomi had grabbed his shoulder and hauled him back, scolding him furiously all the way back to the diminished mound.
If I fall, I fall.
It had been an alarm. A warning.
He could keep this up, he knew. Could keep shattering rock, hauling the sled, and being beaten mercilessly every day.
But something fierce and raw within him was dying.
I can’t keep doing this, he realized. Either they let me begin training for real, or…
He thought of the vast forest, the shadowed valley, the Golden Circuit, and the Farmlands beyond.
He’d just take off. Ask Naomi if she wanted to come, and walk away. Keep walking till either something killed him or offered him a job.
But he would hammer stone no more.
The resolve warmed him, soothed him. Scorio exhaled, a pressure lifted, and he slipped into a deep and dreamless sleep.
The next morning he surprised Naomi by not heading to the equipment shed but instead searching for a Dread Blaze. He found Simeon and Ydrielle seated outside their tiny hut, cracking jet black nuts and feeding the meat within to each other.
Ydrielle closed one eye and sized him up as he approached. Simeon looked mildly surprised. “Is all well, Scorio?”
“I’m done,” he rasped. Not angrily, not resentfully, but a mere statement of absolute fact. “I’m done crushing stone. Hauling rock. Being beaten down by foes I’ve no chance of defeating. I want to begin proper training.”