Chapter 88
Chapter 88
Batrire fought back the desire to cry out as Max’s flames washed over her for well over the hundredth time. Her skin melted away, replaced as the healing over time spell she had cast on herself fought against the torrent of magic.
Focus… find the flow of mana…
Over and over she had repeated that mantra, her mind set as she tried to sense the flow of mana around her in the arena area they were practicing. It was there, just on the edges of her skin and the first time she had felt it, Batrire had believed the next part would come easy.
“Heal and rest!” Max shouted, cutting off the steady stream of fire he had been bathing her with.
Gasping for air that didn’t burn her lungs, Batrire only grunted once, casting her normal healing spell and healing all the injuries she had sustained in the last minute.
Burnt sections of flesh regrew, the signs of what she was enduring gone like a breath on a cold morning. They had been there, easy to see and now she looked like they hadn’t been at this for well over a day.
“Any changes?” Max asked as he came toward her.
“I… I can sense it when it touches me beyond my skin… my flesh, there haven’t been any changes,” Batrire sighed. “I know Jazzjak said it would take time, but we’ve been doing this for so long.”
She watched as Max smiled at her and shook his head. “One day doesn’t count as so long,” he stated. “How long has Fowl been working on his resistance skills?”
“Fifty years,” she grunted. “I know… It’s just… well, first, I’m smarter than he is, and second, why does it have to be this way?”
Max summoned the same two chairs he always did when they took breaks and set one down for her, plopping himself down in the other.
“That’s a question that isn’t very specific,” he said. “Why do you have to learn this way, or why do you have to learn this at all?”
“You know why I have to learn this,” Batrire replied. “I mean… I know why I have to learn this. I can’t be the weakest member of this group any longer.”
Max snorted and shook his head. “We both know that’s not the truth. You’re not the weakest, you’ve just never been combat-focused.”
“Because I don’t like inflicting pain upon people… unless it’s Fowl.”
She and Max both chuckled as they sat there.
“Why did you want to be a healer?” Max asked.
“I’ve already told you this story,” Batrire sighed.
“Does it matter? You need to regain mana and I think you need to remember why you chose this path over being a brewer like your family…. Which is hilarious since you and Fowl are both brewing now as gods.”
Rolling her eyes, Batrire shifted in her chair, acknowledging the irony of that truth as she had a few times over the last hundred years.
“Because Fowl wanted to be a warrior and I knew he’d need someone to keep him out of trouble,” she stated. “I mean, we’ve both seen how easily he pisses people and monsters off. You have no idea how many brawls he got into as a young dwarf.”
Max shook his head at her, frowning.
“But there’s more. I’ve mentioned it before, as has Jazzjak. You need to ask yourself why you became a healer. You could have been a mage, a warrior, a rogue, or any other kind of adventurer. Sure, the combination of warrior and healer seems easy but what was it that drew you to it? Why did you want to be that kind of dwarf?”
Batrire said nothing, seeing the gaze Max was giving her. She had seen it multiple times in the last year as he forced each of them to push harder and work at being stronger. This wasn’t a bone he was going to let go.
Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back against the chair.
Why… why did I become a healer other than to keep the dwarf I love safe?
Memories flooded her of the multiple times Fowl had tried to defend her honor or stand up for himself against his older brother. She knew those were reasons why she was glad she had taken this path but also knew that wasn’t the real reason.
A memory came from when she was barely twelve years old. She felt her heart stop for a beat as the memory appeared in her mind.
***
“Run!” her mother shouted. Her voice carried a tone her mother had never used before.
Batrire weaved between large metal containers as the flames of the brewery grew.
“Jataic! She’s over there!” her uncle cried out.
Coughing and barely able to see, Batrire moved along a path she knew so well. This was her play area. All her life, she had lived among these containers, watching her father and his brothers make ale and other drinks.
Her head hurt. Something had happened a moment ago and the force had slammed her into one of them. Touching her left eyebrow, her fingers came back wet, sticky and red. It explained why she was having trouble seeing from that eye.
“I see her!” she heard her father’s voice over the cacophony of noise.
Dwarves were hollering. Loud whistles of pressure being relieved rang out like banshees. Noise was everywhere and yet she could hear the voices of those she loved.
Something got in her way and she tripped, slamming into the wet, hard floor. The taste of dirty ale and something else got in her mouth as she spat, unable to hold back the coughs as smoke billowed around her.
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Glancing up, Batrire saw a wall of fire between her and her parents, both of them near the edges of it. Each seemed scared, their eyes locked upon her. The flames danced along the liquid, drifting across the floor, a river of fire coming in her direction.
“Mommy!” she cried out, unable to stand, her knee hurting and not able to take a breath.
As the flames drew near and she felt fear grip her heart, understanding how bad of a situation she was in, a pair of hands suddenly enveloped her.
“Hold still little one,” her uncle Gormord said, tossing something over her.
Batrire wanted to fight against what felt like a blanket as she was turned around, the object wrapping her up like one of Mom's breakfast tacos. Breathing had been hard enough before that and now it felt impossible.
Yet a moment later, she was being bounced like grain in a sifter. Something hard kept banging into her side and chest and then she felt weightless before her back hit something hard and the little bit of air she had in her lungs was forced out.
Darkness took over as she heard panicked voices and Batrire fought to call out once more for her parents but couldn't.
***
“He… he died for me,” Batrire said between tears.
“Aye, he did,” her father said softly, his cheeks wet like hers.
“Why?”
All around her, dwarves were silent, none speaking as she stood beside the casket where her uncle Gormord was inside.
“Because he loved you,” her father said, squeezing her a little tighter in his arms.
Batrire watched as his massive hand rested against the dark wooden coffin. It smelled like ale, some of the old wooden casks a part of his final resting spot.
The memory of what had happened and what her uncle had done was forever etched into her mind. He had raced through the fire that was spreading. Every dwarf knew it was a death sentence. Yet he had endured it, wrapping her in a blanket and carrying her back to her parents.
“And no one could help him?” she asked, feeling the sting of the tears that continued to fall.
“No lass… no healers were nearby. He was gone before one could arrive,” her father said softly. With ease, he spun her, their eyes fixed upon each other. “Listen… he knows you’re going to be a great dwarf one day. He always loved you as if you were his own. But that’s what family does. We sacrifice for each other. We endure the pain if we can so that they don’t. Gormord did that. He…”
Her father swallowed and a dozen or more tears streamed down as he tried to speak, his mouth not working for a moment. “He… asked us to make sure you were okay. Even as he was dying. He smiled when we said you were. And then he closed his eyes, letting Ockrim take him home.”
Batrire sobbed, pulling herself close to her father and burying her face into his massive chest. All she could think about was how it wasn’t fair. He was such a kind dwarf and often snuck treats to her when she wasn’t supposed to have them. Out of all of her father’s brothers, he was the kindest.
If only there had been someone who could have healed him… he would be alive…
Blinking back the wet drops that clung to her eyelashes, Batrire turned and looked at the coffin once more.
“I… I’m going to… be a healer… so no one else… suffers,” she said between pained breaths.
***
Tears rolled down her cheeks again. It had been a while since any had fell and Batrire didn’t wipe these away.
She looked up at Max, who sat there, silent, not saying a word, just a simple smile on his lips and a slow bob of his head.
“I remember why I became a healer,” Batrire said, feeling the conviction in those words.
“Then use that,” Max replied, standing immediately. “Don’t endure what we’re doing because of some other reason. You chose your path for a reason. Embrace it. Own it. Use that to help drive you to become what you must.”
“A real healer,” Batrire said softly.
“No,” Max replied, shaking his head and holding out a hand. “You must become a god who embodies the very essence of why you wanted to take this path. Somehow, you, Batrire Hammerfall, must become a god who is more than just a healer.”
Taking the offered hand, she stood, feeling a sense of purpose and direction.
“You know… It’s moments like this I’m glad I let Fowl adopt you as his brother,” Batrire teased. “You’re getting pretty good at these speeches.”
Chuckling, Max reached out and hugged her. “And I’m grateful you did. Now let’s get out there and try again.”
She nodded, hugging him once before moving back to her spot. Setting her feet, Batrire closed her eyes, focusing upon the mana in the room. She could sense the mana inside her and at the edge of her feet, where the floor seemed to almost want to drink it all in.
“Ready?” Max asked.
“I’ve never been more ready in my life,” Batrire said, casting her healing over time spell upon herself.”
Max didn’t reply with words. Instead, he answered with another gout of flames that washed over her.
She didn’t grimace or cry out from the immediate pain. Batrire focused upon the essence of magic and mana. She took all of the knowledge she had gained about how spells worked and the different kinds of mana that made them up.
And then she opened herself to trying to sense them.
***
“Again!” Batrire called out.
Max didn’t hesitate. Once more, fire poured out from his hand but she could sense it before it struck.
Three days of non-stop training had led to this moment.
She had ignored the desire to give up a day ago after no major improvement. In her mind, she always pictured her uncle Gormord. His smile, his laughter and the way his presence could lighten a room. The smell of his coffin was a stronger memory than the smell of her own burning flesh.
Yet then Batrire changed all that. She realized that who she was and what she wanted to become was more than a single decision. It had set a path she had walked for all this time. She was doing all this because she wanted to be more than just a healer who sat back and hoped nothing dangerous reached her. She no longer wanted to feel weak or unable to protect herself.
Batrire was tired of every match she was put up against being so one-sided. Each time her name came up, the pit in her stomach and the dread she felt were awful.
And so she gave into the training, knowing that Fowl’s family had taught her something about forging a weapon. It had to endure the process of refining. Fire was needed to remove the impurities. No blade was heated once, struck with a hammer one time, and suddenly a perfect weapon. It took constant heat, steady and skilled strikes. So much went into the creating of a tool or weapon.
Like a bar of metal that had finally reached a temperature when it could start the process of being shaped, Batrire sensed that moment.
Threads of mana came toward her. It was hard to make them out as anything more than a force of countless ones, all racing toward her, but she could sense it. She could feel it. Each one that burnt her flesh had its own force and power. The ones that blew past her had their own.
Even as her flesh melted and her body suffered the pain of another attempt, Batrire smiled.
[ Sensory Control Skill Acquired ]