TALENT BEYOND LIMIT: Stacking Many Talents

The harvest was good that year.

Not extraordinary, but good enough that the grain stores were full and Mike had already begun discussing how much of the surplus could be sent to Blackwood for sale. After weeks of work, everyone in the household was tired, yet the mood remained better than it had been after poorer harvests.

On the morning of the Starlight Festival, Joe woke before anyone called him.

He had expected that.

For months, he had told himself the test was simply something he would attend when the time came. He had prepared what he could, accepted what he could not control and reminded himself repeatedly that worrying would not change whatever the stone measured.

The reasoning remained perfectly sound.

It did very little for his nerves.

Mike noticed Joe was already dressed when he came inside after checking the animals.

”You’re awake early.”

”So are you.”

”I have work.”

”It’s Starlight.”

Mike paused, then smiled.

”Not field work.”

For once, almost the entire household would spend the day away from ordinary work. There was little left that could not wait until tomorrow, and Mike intended to enjoy the festival after speaking with the village elder about the group travelling to Blackwood with grain.

More importantly, Joe had his test.

Mike had been increasingly confident about it as Starlight approached.

Lily had not.

That disagreement had produced several quiet arguments over the previous week, usually ending with Lily telling Mike to stop raising Joe’s expectations.

Joe had not asked either of them to discuss his expectations.

That had not stopped them.

Breakfast that morning was better than usual.

Lily served coarse grain porridge, an egg and a piece of chicken left from the bird slaughtered the previous evening.

Joe looked at the bowl.

Then at Lily.

”What?”

”Nothing.”

”Good.”

She moved away.

Joe knew exactly why the better food had appeared.

Simon knew too.

His eyes went first to the chicken, then the egg, then Joe, and finally Lily.

Lily caught him before he could say anything.

”Don’t.”

”I didn’t say anything.”

”You were about to.”

”I was only looking.”

”Look at your own bowl.”

Simon did.

For approximately ten seconds.

Then he said, ”When I tested, I only got an egg.”

Lily turned slowly.

Simon immediately added, ”I’m not complaining. I’m remembering.”

Pam laughed.

Lily pointed toward him.

”You have eaten better than everyone in this house for three years.”

”Because I train.”

”And today he tests.”

Simon looked at Joe’s chicken again.

”Still looks bigger than mine was.”

Pam shook her head.

”Ten years old and fighting with a memory of a piece of chicken.”

”I’m not fighting.”

Mary reached toward Joe’s egg.

Joe moved his bowl away.

”You already had yours.”

”Mine was smaller.”

”They came from the same chickens.”

Mary considered that irrelevant.

”They can lay different sizes.”

Joe looked at her.

That was technically true.

Mary took his hesitation as victory and reached again.

Lily slapped the back of her hand lightly.

”Leave your brother’s food alone.”

Mary pulled her hand back and looked offended.

”But—”

”No.”

The argument ended.

Mary might be the most spoiled child in the household, but Lily’s patience disappeared quickly once food, work or safety became involved.

The ordinary family noise helped.

By the time they left the house, Joe felt calmer.

No matter what happened, he had done what he reasonably could.

Pam’s earlier words still remained at the back of his mind, however. Whatever Simon had drawn from the surroundings while growing, Joe might simply have been born too close to him to gather enough of the same thing.

If that explanation was even remotely correct, preparation would not matter.

He would know soon enough.

Green Hollow barely resembled an agricultural village that morning.

The square was crowded with people, temporary stalls and makeshift shelters. Travelling merchants had arrived with cloth, metal tools, dried goods, cheap ornaments, liquor and dozens of smaller things villagers rarely saw during the rest of the year.

Smoke and the smell of cooked food hung over everything.

Children ran between adults while parents shouted after them with little visible effect.

Someone near the grain store performed tricks with cups and small stones, making objects disappear and reappear while a crowd of children argued about how it was done. Farther down the road, another performer spat a stream of fire into the air.

Mary looked ready to split herself into several people so she could watch everything at once.

”Lily!”

”I’m holding her.”

”She’s leaving.”

”I’m not leaving!” Mary shouted while actively pulling away.

Joseph caught the back of her shirt.

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Mary turned.

”Grandfather.”

”No.”

”I only wanted to see.”

”No.”

Joseph continued looking toward one of the food stalls while still holding her shirt.

Mary pulled once more.

He did not move.

She gave up.

Simon was hardly better.

His eyes moved constantly between the merchants’ stalls, especially those carrying medicinal herbs and dried roots used by martial trainees.

Some were common enough for him to recognize from the Hall.

Others were stored inside small wooden boxes or wrapped carefully in cloth.

Simon slowed near one stall displaying several dark red roots.

Joe noticed.

”So that’s what you stare at every Starlight.”

Simon kept looking.

”I wasn’t staring.”

”How much?”

”Too much.”

That answered enough.

Simon had trained seriously for three years and had progressed well for a village child, but resources mattered. Wealthier trainees could afford medicinal foods, recovery herbs and other things that allowed them to train more consistently.

Their family could not.

Simon understood that much better now than when he was seven.

His best chance would probably come through Blackwood.

Theodere regularly recommended promising trainees for the town guard. The position was difficult to obtain without sponsorship, but it provided steady pay, food, status and continued martial training.

The arrangement also benefited Theodere.

A trainee who left the Hall for the guard through Theodere’s recommendation was expected to repay part of the cost of his training and inheritance. Families with enough money could settle the amount before the trainee left, while others agreed to have a portion deducted from the trainee’s future salary until the debt was cleared.

Joe had initially thought the arrangement sounded harsh, but the more Simon explained, the more reasonable it became.

The Talent Hall had spent years teaching those children martial arts, providing instruction, maintaining the training grounds and, for the most promising among them, helping create opportunities they would never have found on their own. A position with the Blackwood guard also paid considerably better than ordinary village work and came with continued training, status and access to opportunities that most farming families could not simply purchase.

For many households, giving up part of that future income for a limited period was still a worthwhile exchange.

Nobody was forced to take Theodere’s recommendation, and a family capable of arranging another path could do so. Even so, very few trainees who received the opportunity turned it down.

The repayments also helped explain how Theodere continued operating the Talent Hall year after year.

He spent years teaching children without knowing which of them would ever progress far enough to return that investment. Many would finish their supported years with only the foundations or the earliest stages of body tempering and eventually become hunters, caravan workers, guards or skilled laborers rather than powerful martial artists.

The few who succeeded well enough to earn valuable placements helped support the next group coming behind them.

Repaying the cost of training did not free a student from the inheritance contract. The financial obligation could eventually end, but the restricted martial methods still belonged to Theodere’s inheritance, and anyone who later wanted to pass those methods to someone outside the contracted group needed permission.

Joe found the arrangement strict, but it made sense in a world where martial knowledge could change a family’s future. Theodere was not simply teaching exercises; he was protecting something valuable enough that families were willing to pay for access to it.

The testing took place in a wooden building beside the village square.

A line had already formed.

Ten seven-year-olds from Green Hollow were testing for the first time that year, along with several older children returning after failing in previous years.

The outsiders were easier to notice.

Families had travelled from nearby villages specifically for the test. Unlike children from Green Hollow, they had to pay for access.

That alone told Joe something.

A poor farming household did not spend scarce money travelling to another village on a vague hope unless it believed the child had some chance or the family could afford disappointment.

Many of the outsiders wore better clothing.

Some arrived with horses or carts.

Their food was packed in proper containers instead of wrapped in cloth.

The test was free for Green Hollow because the Talent Hall belonged to the village.

Everyone else paid.

Mike joined the line beside Joe.

Lily followed automatically.

Joseph caught her arm.

”One guardian.”

Lily turned toward him.

”I know.”

”Then why are you coming?”

”I can stand outside.”

”Theodere doesn’t like people crowding the testing room.”

Lily looked toward the building.

Then at Joe.

Then back toward the building.

Joe said, ”I’ll be fine.”

Lily frowned.

”You always say that.”

There was no affection in the words, but there was plenty behind them.

She adjusted Joe’s collar even though nothing was wrong with it.

”If Hall tells you to run, don’t try to be clever and run faster than everyone just because you think it proves something.”

”I won’t.”

”And don’t argue with him.”

”I don’t argue with—”

Lily’s expression changed.

Joe corrected himself.

”I won’t.”

Simon laughed.

Lily looked toward him.

”You be quiet. You argued with Victor your first week.”

”That was different.”

”Everything is different when you do it.”

Pam smiled.

Joseph tugged Lily gently away from the line before the argument could continue.

Mary was already pulling them toward something noisy nearby.

Simon followed more slowly, though his attention kept returning to the herb merchants.

Mike remained with Joe.

The line moved steadily.

As they waited, Mike looked unusually relaxed.

”You’ll pass.”

Joe glanced at him.

”You don’t know that.”

”No.”

”Then why say it?”

Mike shrugged.

”I think you will.”

That was Mike.

Possibility became confidence very easily once he wanted something to happen.

Joe did not correct him.

When their turn finally came, Mike stopped outside the testing room.

Joe entered alone.

The room was simpler than he expected.

A table.

Two chairs.

Several wooden shelves.

And the stone.

It stood on a waist-high platform near the center of the room. Up close, it looked darker than Simon had described, almost charcoal-black, with faint gray veins running beneath the surface.

Mr. Hall sat behind the table.

Joe greeted him.

”Mr. Hall.”

Hall looked up.

Recognition came quickly.

”Mike’s younger boy.”

”Yes.”

”Simon is your brother.”

Joe nodded.

Something in Hall’s expression shifted slightly.

Not disappointment.

More like lowered expectation.

Joe noticed and said nothing.

Hall gestured toward the stone.

”Hand on the surface.”

That was all.

No encouragement.

No ceremony.

Joe stepped forward and placed his palm against it.

The stone was cold.

For several moments, nothing happened.

Joe waited.

Then warmth spread beneath his hand.

A faint white line appeared inside the stone.

Another followed.

Then several more.

Soft light moved through the gray veins.

Hall straightened in his chair.

Joe looked at the stone.

The glow was not especially bright.

It did not need to be.

The stone had reacted.

Eight months of uncertainty loosened almost at once.

Joe took a slow breath.

He had passed.

Hall was still watching the stone.

After several seconds, he looked at Joe.

”Take your hand away.”

Joe did.

The light gradually faded.

Hall leaned back and studied him more carefully than before.

”Interesting.”

Joe waited.

Hall rarely wasted words.

Apparently today he had found a reason.

”How do you feel?”

Joe checked himself.

”Slightly tired.”

”Dizzy?”

”No.”

”Headache?”

”No.”

Hall nodded.

Simon had emerged from his own test pale and exhausted after the full examination.

Joe felt tired but otherwise normal.

Hall tapped one finger against the table.

”Your brother qualified three years ago.”

”I know.”

”You shouldn’t have.”

Joe looked at him.

Hall immediately corrected himself.

”Not impossible. Unlikely.”

That sounded more useful.

Joe waited.

Hall glanced toward the closed door before continuing.

”What people call talent begins with spirituality.”

Joe became more attentive.

This was the first direct explanation anyone had given him.

”Spirituality exists naturally,” Hall said. ”In people, animals and the land around us. Most people possess some, but possessing some and having the foundation necessary to control energy are different things.”

”Energy?”

”Blood energy is the first kind you’ll learn about if you enter the Hall.”

Joe remembered the term from Simon.

”So the stone measures spirituality?”

Hall shook his head.

”No. The stone checks whether you possess the qualification needed to use it.”

”Not the amount?”

”No.”

That distinction mattered.

Hall continued.

”More spirituality can be useful. It can improve control, endurance and how much energy someone can draw upon, but the relationship is not simple. Twice as much spirituality does not make someone twice as strong.”

Joe nodded.

That at least prevented an obvious numerical interpretation.

Hall glanced toward the stone again.

”The reason two children from one household rarely qualify close together is that spirituality does not gather evenly.”

That matched Pam’s gossip surprisingly well.

”It accumulates?”

”Slowly.”

”In the family?”

Hall frowned slightly.

”Not exactly.”

He considered the question.

”Think of rain falling into shallow ground. Some places hold more water. Some hold less. People absorb spirituality while growing, especially when young. When one child draws enough from a small area to form the necessary foundation, another child growing nearby soon afterward usually has less available.”

”Usually.”

Hall looked at him.

”Usually.”

Joe appreciated the distinction.

”So Simon absorbed enough first.”

”That would be the ordinary explanation.”

”And me?”

Hall looked toward the fading veins inside the stone.

”Luck.”

Joe almost smiled.

Hall apparently recognized that the answer was unsatisfying.

”There are unusual places, unusual births, changes in the environment and other factors people don’t fully understand. Sometimes spirituality gathers faster than expected.”

”Could someone gain the qualification later?”

”Naturally? Rarely.”

Hall paused.

”There are treasures capable of creating or restoring the necessary foundation.”

Joe’s interest rose immediately.

Hall noticed.

”If you ever find one, don’t eat it.”

Joe blinked.

”Why?”

”Because you’d be eating something valuable enough to buy most of Blackwood.”

That settled the matter quickly.

Hall leaned back.

”Those things are not for people like us.”

Joe understood what he meant.

Not insult.

Economics.

Using an absurdly valuable resource to turn an ordinary person into a beginner martial trainee made little sense when selling it could support generations of a family.

Hall picked up a small wooden tablet and wrote something on it.

”You passed the qualification test. There are still physical checks, but looking at you, I doubt they’ll cause problems.”

Joe glanced down at himself.

Hall noticed.

”Your brother wasn’t built like that at seven.”

Joe chose not to explain years of deliberate preparation.

The remaining examination was straightforward.

Joe ran.

He jumped.

He held several positions while Hall checked his balance, joints and limbs.

There were questions about illnesses, injuries and whether he had ever suffered serious weakness after a fever.

By the end, Joe was tired but not exhausted.

Hall made another mark on the tablet.

”Report to the Talent Hall tomorrow before sunrise. Bring your father. The inheritance contract must be signed before training begins.”

Joe nodded.

Hall waved toward the door.

”Go.”

Apparently the extended conversation had ended.

Mike had been waiting outside long enough to become visibly restless.

The moment Joe stepped through the doorway, he moved closer.

”What happened?”

Joe looked at him.

”I passed.”

Mike stared.

”What?”

”The stone reacted.”

For several seconds, his father simply stood there.

Then both hands landed on Joe’s shoulders.

”You passed?”

Joe smiled.

”Yes.”

Mike laughed loudly enough that several people still waiting in line turned toward them.

”I knew it.”

Joe almost pointed out that Mike had not known anything.

He decided to let him have the moment.

”My boy passed.”

Mike said it again, louder.

Joe had the sudden suspicion that the rest of Green Hollow would know before they found Lily.