Chapter 47:

  Steward of The Path

  As Neil led us further south toward the docks, the road beneath our feet gradually grew wider, the stonework broadening the closer we came to the edge of the city. The buildings thinned, then fell away entirely, replaced by open sky and the steady roar of the sea rising up from below.

  When we reached the end of the thoroughfare, a low stone wall marked where the city gave way to open air and the coast beyond. I felt a giddiness come over me as a childlike wonder rose up from within. There was just something about looking down from high places that filled my chest with excitement. I stepped closer, eager to get a better look, and leaned forward to peer over the edge.

  The land dropped sharply beneath us, revealing a series of wide switchbacks carved directly into the cliff face on either side of the port. The road wound downward in deliberate turns, descending far below the city before disappearing beneath the massive stone overhang that supported Salt Brine itself. At the base, a broad stone platform jutted out over the water, large enough to host a small fleet of ships if needed.

  I couldn’t see it from here, but I remembered Hershel explaining that the cliff face beneath the city had been hollowed out into a vast stone vault. It was cut deep into the rock beneath the overhang, where trade goods and other valuables were stored, hidden from sight and shielded by the rocks above.

  As I looked out over the waters and moved along the wall to get a better view of the docks below, Halius stepped beside me and pointed ahead along the cliffside path. It was then that I noticed a modest building set near the edge, overlooking the sea from just inside the stone barrier that separated the road from the sheer drop beyond

  Its design looked remarkably similar to the Church back in Wheat Hollow. Like its counterpart, it was surrounded by a carefully tended flower garden, a soft and living contrast to the harsh, militaristic stonework that enclosed it on all sides.

  “Well, let’s get it done then,” Halius said with a sigh. “Spending fourteen gold is not something I’m looking forward to.”

  “Fourteen?” Neil and I echoed, our voices carrying equal parts shock and horror.

  “Yes. It’s unfortunate,” Halius replied calmly, “but the valley sets aside portions of its profits for moments such as these, especially for its defenders.”

  Neil stared at him, eyes wide. “You’re level fourteen?”

  He shook his head in disbelief. “My father’s only level eighteen, and he’s almost twenty years older than you, if I had to guess.”

  Halius nodded as if the comparison were expected, though there was no pride in it.

  “Martial Domains and Cultivation Domains progress a bit differently, according to my father,” Halius explained. “Combat allows for faster, more consistent advancement. Skills tend to develop quickly when you’re constantly fighting.”

  He paused before continuing.

  “Tradesmen like your father don’t level often, most of their progress happens quietly over time. Years spent refining a single technique, reducing waste, improving control. That way when they reach key progression points along the path, the abilities they hope for will become available.

  He shrugged.

  “It takes longer, but each branch they reach has significant improvments.That’s why many people rank up their skills before coming here to advance their level. If we’re already paying the cost, we make sure the skills are ready for merger or advancement so we can avoid paying twice.”

  As I listened to Halius’s explanation, I considered what Neil had said about his father’s level. To be honest, I was surprised he even knew it. The more I learned about skills, levels, and progression, the more I realized how much my own father had never bothered to share with me.

  He had laid a foundation, that much was undeniable. He taught me how to work the land, how to tend animals, how to endure long days and longer seasons. Yet he had never spoken of the Path in any real detail, never explained the deeper mechanics that now seemed so fundamental.

  The more I learned, the less I understood his intentions, and that absence of answers weighed on me more heavily than I would have expected.

  “I’ve only ever been here a handful of times,” Neil said. “Dad used to bring me along when he was ready to take the next step on his path.”

  He scratched at the back of his neck as he glanced up at the building in the distance.

  “They hold lessons here sometimes, but Grandpa always said they aren’t worth the time if I’m intending on being a carpenter. He said it was better I stay busy and learn with my hands instead of listening to priests talk about paths I don’t plan on walking.”

  Halius nodded approvingly at the statement, but I had a question I couldn’t quite let go.

  “Neil, do you actually want to be a carpenter,” I asked, “or is it just what’s expected of you?”

  “Oh, hells yes I do. Are you kidding?” he replied without hesitation. “It’s all I’ve wanted since I was little.”

  “What would your family say if you decide to walk a different path?”

  Neil slowed, then stopped altogether. For once, he didn’t answer right away.

  “You probably picked up on that bit about my uncle Thaddeus,” he said finally. “He started out on the Carpentry Path, same as my dad and my other uncle. But he wanted to branch off, and do something more specialized.”

  He glanced down at the stone beneath his boots as they carried him forward again.

  “That kind of thing takes a lot of training and preparation, so he went to the capital to learn about runes and the like. He’s been gone a few years now, and ever since he left, the family just hasn’t felt whole.”

  Neil sighed softly.

  “He’ll come back eventually. We support him, truly. It’s not our place to decide someone else’s path. Still…” He hesitated, then gave a small, crooked smile. “It hurts the heart, seeing him gone.”

  There it was. The stark difference in how Neil’s family differed from my own. What in the hell had happened for my father to behave in such a way towards me choosing my own path?

  Despite my good mood, I felt dark clouds stir within me as my frustration toward my father simmered just beneath the surface. I walked in silence as we approached the church, lost in my thoughts, until something ahead of us pulled my attention away from myself entirely.

  In a narrow alley, no more than a stone’s throw from the church, a small group of men and women huddled together away from the publics eye. The shelters in which they took refuge amounted to little more than rickety lean tos that had been cobbled together with broken boards, torn cloth, and whatever other scraps they had scavenged from the streets.

  Some were wrapped in threadbare cloaks that did little to ward off the chill of the steady breeze of the south sea, while others sat hunched forward, bodies wracked by shallow, rattling coughs that sounded far too wet to be harmless. Pale faces stared ahead without focus, eyes dulled by hunger, sickness, and hopelessness.

  I had never seen anything like this before. Where I was raised, neighbors in need did not linger unseen, and hardship rarely, if ever, went unanswered. In my experience, it was a dishonor on the community, and its people if such things were left untended.

  “What is this?” I asked quietly, glancing between Halius and Neil. “Why are these people left to live like this?”

  My two companions grimaced as they moved a few steps past the mouth of the alley, neither of them eager to linger and bare witness to the suffering longer than necessary.

  “It’s different here than where you’re from,” Halius said at last. His voice remained calm, but there was tension beneath it. “There are simply too many people in the city, so some needs go unmet. Some have conditions that tonics cannot heal, diseases that force them away from the public. Others have minds that are too far gone to even communicate clearly.”

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  He glanced back toward the gathered figures, then lowered his voice slightly.

  “The crown imposes payment for healing if it is provided by a priest. The Church is taxed and audited under the king’s law, same as any other institution. If the priests were to heal freely without recording payment…” He shook his head. “There would be consequences. Fines at first. Sanctions after that. In severe cases, the priests themselves are… purged.”

  He exhaled slowly.

  “So they do what they can within the law. And the rest…”

  His gaze drifted back toward the alley. He didn’t finish the sentence.

  As Halius explained the situation, a deep sense of disgust settled into the marrow of my bones. I had never given the king’s law much thought beyond paying taxes and responding to summons. Everyone knew we were expected to answer his call when it came, but I had never truly considered just how far his reach extended into the lives of ordinary people.

  To dictate who could be healed, and under what conditions, felt like a line crossed. The weight of that kind of control pressed against something inside me, rubbing raw against my sense of right and wrong. I couldn’t yet put words to it, but I knew this much with unsettling certainty, this law, no matter its reason, was wrong.

  He had, in essence, decided that those who fell upon hard times were no longer worthy of progress along their Paths. In doing so, the King had declared poverty itself a failing, and those who could not pay undeserving of even the most basic decencies.

  How could the priests tolerate this? How could anyone?

  A quiet fury settled deep inside me and stirred the embers of my convictions to life. This anger felt different than usual. It was sharper. More visceral. It wasn’t the slow burn of indignation, but something with weight and the promise of immediate action behind it.

  I wondered if I was simply projecting the frustrations I carried toward my father onto this injustice, or if it was something else entirely. Something with a will of its own, stirring awake and pushing me forward along the ideals I had held since my youth.

  A thought surfaced unbidden as I recalled the words used to describe my Path.

  Harvesters are stewards of the eternal cycle, gifted with the ability to reap and sow the lingering energies of both beast and man. Their Path is one of balance, wielding harvested potential to fulfill a sacred duty. They do not merely take. They reclaim, restore, and empower, ensuring the cycle endures.

  As I turned those words over in my mind’s eye, I reflected on them in earnest for the first time.

  Steward.

  The word settled heavily in my thoughts as I meditated upon it. I was a steward of the cycle, much as I was now a steward of the valley itself. Responsibility was not something I could set aside when it became inconvenient.

  If the health of the cycle was my charge, then ensuring others were free to walk their paths was part of that duty. Only by doing so could they contribute back to the cycle in full when they passed from this life into the next.

  I had accepted the charge to reclaim, to restore, and to empower. With it came responsibility for those who could not support themselves and had been robbed of the chance to do so.

  “Are you alright, Sam?” Neil asked hesitantly. “It’s just part of city life. There are groups like this all over.”

  I exhaled slowly, steadying myself before meeting his gaze.

  “You two go on ahead,” I said quietly. “There are some things I need to take care of out here.”

  Halius studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Neil lingered, shifting his weight as if uncertain where he belonged. A moment later, both of my companions stepped to my side, their expressions settling into quiet resolve.

  “I don’t know exactly what you’re about to do,” Neil said seriously, “but if I can help, just tell me what you need.”

  I nodded, grateful for his presence. Truth be told, I didn’t know the best way to begin myself. But when my father had first set me to harvesting the fields on my own, he had given me simple advice that had carried me through more than one daunting task.

  Just start. Take it one piece at a time, and keep going till the job is done.

  With that in mind, I took a deep breath and walked pointedly toward the entrance to the alleyway.

  Before I had taken more than a few steps across its threshold, the smell of waste and misery assaulted my senses, and I had to forcibly hold back an involuntary retch.Many expectant eyes turned in my direction as those who lived within took notice of the naive fool who had dared to pay them any mind.

  I stood awkwardly at the mouth of the alley, letting my gaze settle over the handful of people who dwelled within. A quick count told me there were roughly a dozen in all. By my reckoning, at least two were children, five were elderly, and the remaining five were of middling age.

  “Um, excuse me,” I said, forcing the words past my dry throat. “I’m sorry for disturbing you, but if there’s any way I can help, please tell me what I can do.”

  A few of the alley’s occupants looked up at me with guarded, assessing stares. Others barely seemed to register that I had spoken at all.

  “What are you saying, exactly?” a rough voice called out from deeper within the alley. “You here to give us coin or something?”

  At the mention of coin, several of the distant, unfocused faces sharpened with sudden interest, confusion giving way to wary attention as they stared at the red haired stranger who had intruded on their misery.

  “No, nothing like that, I’m just here to…” I began, but the same voice from earlier cut me off before I could finish.

  “Then fuck off,” it spat. “What we need is coin. You’re no better than those damn priests. We’ve had enough of their leftover, stale bread and pitied words.”

  At the man’s declaration, a few faces soured and turned away from me. The gathering of hopeless and hurt people in this alley reminded me of stray dogs, kicked often enough that even the faintest hint of kindness was treated as a threat.

  “I don’t have enough coin to care for all of you,” I said carefully, “but I can heal you, if you’ll give me the chance.”

  A handful of faces lifted again, hope flickering cautiously behind their tired eyes.

  Then the same angry voice rang out once more as a lanky figure pushed himself to his feet and pulled a knife from his belt.

  “Miss Terrah already came by this week and gave us what tonics she could spare,” he snarled. “Why should we trust some drink from someone we don’t know, don’t trust, and who might just be looking to clear us off the streets for good?”

  I raised my hands, palms open toward the man, and did my best to keep my voice steady.

  “Peace, friend. I’m not giving out tonics. I’m offering healing. I won’t force it on you, and I have no desire to hurt you.”

  Silence followed my words. Somewhere deeper in the alley, water dripped steadily from a cracked gutter, each slow plink echoing far louder than it should have. I waited, breath held, but no one else stirred. The only movement came from the tall man standing defensively before me, his knuckles whitening around the knife’s hilt.

  Damien…” a soft voice wheezed weakly from behind the man. “Let him… come to me. I’m… too weak to move.”

  The man turned and stared down at the figure beside him, as helplessness gripped the contours of his face. He clenched his hands in his hair, folding in on himself as a hopeless, ragged shout tore free. When he straightened again, whatever strength he had left seemed to drain away, and his voice finally broke.

  “Alright,” he said at last, his words falling into a defeated whisper. “But if you hurt her, I swear on The Path that has scorned me, I will make you bleed.”

  Even though he had given his consent, Damien did not sheath his weapon. Instead, he stepped back into the alley and pointed at the space he had just vacated, his knife never once lowering.

  “Sam, I don’t think,” Neil began, but I raised a hand to silence him.

  “I’m not asking you to come with me,” I said quietly. “But, this is something I have to do.”

  “Don’t worry," Halius whispered encouragingly, “I can move fast enough to stop him if needed.”

  Without another word, I allowed my Path to carry me forward, one measured step at a time. As I approached the man who stood between me and the woman lying on the ground, his threatening posture unraveled into violent sobs and wheezing coughs.

  I was no doctor, but the man was clearly just as ill as the woman at his feet, and it took all of his strength simply to hold himself upright, let alone maintain the posture he had forced himself into.

  When I finally reached him, his eyes locked onto mine, searching my face with the raw desperation of someone who needed my promise to be real. Despite all of his suffering, the man still had enough left in him to simply hope one more time.

  “I’m going to kneel down and speak with her now,” I said quietly. “Is that alright?”

  He nodded, as he clenched his jaw tight in an attempt to hold back tears..

  “And in order to heal her, I’ll need to lay my hands on her.”

  At my words, I watched every remaining muscle in his frame draw taut, his grip whitening around the knife. As he struggled to accept my words, a pained wheeze escaped the woman at his feet, thin and rattling beneath the blanket, and whatever resistance he had left faltered.

  He nodded again.

  “I promise I won’t hurt her,” I said quietly. “Just give me the chance to prove it.”

  With that, I lowered myself to my knees beside the woman lying beneath the tattered blanket. The fabric was threadbare and stained, barely enough to keep out the cold, and I could hear the shallow, uneven rhythm of her breathing as she wheezed and coughed. The sound was wet and labored, as though her lungs were fighting for every gasp of air.

  “Mam, my name is Samuel Garner, just lie still, and I will do my best to take care of you.”

  The woman wheezed another breath, and I faintly saw her head nod in approval.

  With her consent given, I reached out my hand and laid it upon her frail shoulder. She trembled violently beneath my touch, but despite her fear, she had been desperate enough to call out and ask a stranger for help. A tear fell down my cheek at how hard these people were fighting to simply survive.

  I felt my will inside me bubble up with authority as I drew upon the reservoir within myself. The potential there was filled to the brim, heavy and tightly packed, and I carefully began the arduous process of bending it to my desires. I did not want the potential to run free without control. Poor application, especially with someone this fragile, could cause severe damage to her body.

  As I activated my skill, Cleansing Touch, the power began to gradually flow into her, warm and steady as it left my grasp and entered her body. When it made contact with her vitality, her lungs opened at once, as though something tight and constricting had been forcibly loosened, and the sudden inhale startled me enough that I nearly lost my concentration. The breath tore into her chest, sharp and gasping, drawn far deeper than any she had managed before.

  I felt the man beside me stir briefly, his tension spiking as the sound rang out in the narrow alley, and I knew how easily that single breath could be mistaken for pain. Thankfully, he did not strike me, even as I knelt there with my eyes closed, fully aware that I was completely at his mercy.

  I let the potential do its work as I channeled it into her with all the control I could manage. I held my breath as worry and doubt assailed me, making me question whether or not I could truly make a difference here, in this moment.

  Then the woman who had been wheezing just moments before, struggling to breathe, drew in a deep, luxurious lungful of air. She held it for a heartbeat, as if afraid it might vanish, before bursting out into joyous laughter that echoed throughout the narrow alley.

  Notice: Skill: Cleansing Touch: is now Rank 1: level 3.

  Cleansing Touch: (Rank 1: level 3)- Amplify the vital potential within a target in order to purge toxins, poisons, diseases, and other corrupting effects of a physical nature. This skill scales with the users Spirit Attribute