TALENT BEYOND LIMIT: Stacking Many Talents

Simon had already decided where he would be going next, by the time he turned fifteen.

Blackwood.

More specifically, the guard.

He had been talking about it for so long that nobody in the household needed the rest of the sentence whenever he began with, ”When I leave—”

The opportunity was real enough.

Simon had reached Middle Skin Tempering, and although his Static and Dynamic Foundations remained at Minor Success, years of practice had made both stable and mature. For someone from a farming household with limited money, his progress was better than most.

Part of that came from work.

Part came from luck.

And part came from a position Simon had earned several years earlier.

Hall had begun using him as a martial assistant well before he turned fifteen. Simon was not an instructor and had no authority over advanced trainees, but he could supervise younger groups, demonstrate basic exercises and correct the obvious mistakes that did not require Hall’s personal attention.

The work came with three medicated meals each week.

For a wealthy trainee, that might have been a modest benefit.

For Simon, it mattered enormously.

Lily made sure he ate more than the younger children whenever the household could afford it, particularly during harder periods of Skin Tempering, but there was only so much grain, meat and medicine a farming family could provide. Three proper medicinal meals every week did not erase that disadvantage, but over several years they reduced it enough to matter.

Hard sessions cost him fewer days.

Recovery became more consistent.

Small strains that might have forced another poor trainee to stop for a week sometimes settled in two or three days.

The advantage accumulated slowly.

Simon had not become Alex.

Nobody confused the two.

Alex had reached Late Skin Tempering at fifteen, possessed stronger backing and had been exceptional enough for Theodere to arrange an early path into Blackwood.

Simon was simply doing very well with what he had.

That was more than enough for him to want the same opportunity.

Lily disagreed.

”You’re not going.”

Simon stared at her across the hearth.

They had been discussing the upcoming Starlight arrangements when she said it so calmly that for a moment he seemed to believe he had misunderstood.

”I haven’t taken the assessment yet.”

”You won’t.”

”That’s the assessment that decides whether I can go.”

”I know.”

”Then how have you already decided?”

”Because I’m your mother.”

Simon looked toward Mike.

Mike immediately became interested in adjusting a piece of firewood that did not need adjusting.

”Father.”

Mike sighed. ”Your mother has concerns.”

”You have concerns too?”

”I have thoughts.”

”That’s not an answer.”

Pam answered instead.

”People die.”

Simon turned toward her. ”People die farming.”

”Not because something in the forest tears them apart.”

Mary looked up immediately.

”What tears them apart?”

”Nothing,” Lily said.

Pam began, ”I heard—”

”Don’t.”

Pam frowned. ”You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

”I’ve heard everything you’ve been saying for three weeks.”

That was true.

The trouble had started after Pam heard that a guard from a nearby village had returned home badly injured. Where she heard it changed depending on the day. Sometimes it came from a woman whose sister lived near Blackwood. Sometimes it was a merchant who had stopped for water. Once it came from someone whose cousin’s son supposedly worked with a man who knew the injured guard personally.

The details shifted.

The danger did not.

Another story involved a patrol attacked outside Blackwood.

A third involved some kind of mutated animal.

By the fourth retelling, the animal had grown large enough that Joe privately suspected it would soon be able to eat Blackwood itself.

He trusted almost none of the details.

Unfortunately for Simon, the general conclusion was reasonable.

Guard work was dangerous.

Lily folded her arms.

”You’re fifteen. The Hall still supports you another year. Why do you need to leave early?”

”Because I can.”

”That’s not a reason.”

”Alex went at fifteen.”

Lily answered immediately.

”You’re not Alex.”

The room became quiet.

Simon looked as though she had slapped him.

Lily’s expression changed slightly, but she did not retreat from the point.

”Alex was already Late Skin Tempering. Master Theodere arranged protection for him, and he had people in Blackwood who could help him settle. You’re doing well, Simon. Very well. That doesn’t mean I have to send you away the first moment somebody says you might qualify.”

”I’m Middle Skin Tempering.”

”I know.”

”Do you know how many people my age is Middle Skin Tempering?”

”Yes. You tell us constantly.”

Pam laughed.

Simon ignored her.

”Then why doesn’t that matter?”

”It matters enough that I’m proud of you,” Lily said. ”It doesn’t matter enough that I want you taking an unnecessary risk one year early.”

Pam nodded. ”One year isn’t long.”

”It is when you’re the one waiting.”

”Then wait loudly.”

Simon stared at her.

Pam stared back.

Joe lowered his eyes toward his bowl before either of them noticed he was trying not to laugh.

Simon continued arguing for another half hour.

Nothing changed.

He would stay.

Starlight arrived after the harvest.

Simon was still complaining.

Not constantly.

Only often enough that the entire household knew what he meant whenever he sighed at nothing.

Green Hollow changed with the festival as it always did. Traveling carts appeared along the packed-earth road, temporary stalls crowded the square, and people from nearby villages arrived early enough that unfamiliar faces became common for a few days.

Smoke from cooking fires mixed with roasted grain, meat, sweet cakes and the earthy smell of autumn leaves crushed under hundreds of feet.

The Seven First Fires stood waiting for sunset.

This year’s largest attraction was a storyteller.

He arrived with one of the merchant groups and claimed to have performed in three cities.

Pam accepted that immediately as proof that he was probably important.

By midday, a crowd had gathered beneath a stretched canvas awning while the man told the story of a wandering martial artist who apparently possessed three great talents: defeating dangerous enemies, drinking absurd quantities of strong wine and encountering beautiful women wherever he went.

Joe listened for a while.

The similarities were uncomfortable.

Change several names, replace cultivation terms with sword techniques, and the story could have been one of the adventure novels from his previous life.

Simon loved it.

That made Lily suspicious of it almost immediately.

The wandering martial artist eventually rejected an official position because, according to the storyteller, ”A true man belongs beneath the open sky, where no lord can place a roof over his spirit.”

Simon slowly looked toward Lily.

Lily looked back.

Her expression clearly suggested he should appreciate having an actual roof.

Joe laughed.

Simon turned toward him.

”You’re supposed to support me.”

”I support you.”

”You laughed.”

”I support your continued survival more.”

”That’s exactly what she says.”

”Maybe it’s a strong argument.”

Simon muttered something and returned to the story.

The hero soon arrived in a city where two beautiful daughters of powerful families both wanted to marry him.

Joe left before discovering how that crisis was compared with being attacked by mutated beasts.

The merchant stalls interested him more.

Merek’s shop could supply most of what Green Hollow commonly used, but traveling merchants sometimes carried herbs from regions farther north, warmer valleys or areas closer to the larger cities.

Rare ingredients remained expensive.

Common ingredients did not always.

If a merchant had more stock than he wanted to carry onward, prices could become surprisingly reasonable near the end of a route.

Joe walked between the stalls with Mary following closely.

She had little interest in herbs.

She had considerable interest in ensuring that Joe did not buy anything sweet without sharing.

At the third medicinal stall, Joe found several dried leaves and two roots he recognized from common nourishing preparations.

The merchant named his price.

Joe picked up one bundle and examined the darker edges.

”Too high.”

”They’re good.”

”They were damp before they finished drying.”

The merchant looked at him more carefully.

Joe picked up another.

”And these were stored too close to smoke.”

”You’re a healer?”

”Apprentice.”

”Then you know they’re still usable.”

”I know why you brought them here instead of selling them in Blackwood.”

The merchant stared.

Mary tugged Joe’s sleeve.

”Are you fighting?”

”No.”

”You sound like Mother.”

The merchant laughed.

Joe got the lower price.

He bought enough ingredients for several experiments.

Healing medicine had become increasingly familiar.

Nourishing medicine remained harder.

Healing preparation had an obvious target. Reduce swelling. Support damaged tissue. Help recovery.

Nourishing preparations were less straightforward.

They had to provide material the body could actually use, support the production and replenishment of blood energy, digest properly and avoid becoming nothing more than very expensive food.

Merek’s own recipe remained guarded.

Joe no longer minded.

He had stopped wanting to simply copy it.

He wanted to understand enough to create his own.

That required experiments.

Experiments required failures.

Cheap failures were preferable.

Mary looked into his bag.

”None of that is food.”

”Technically some of it probably could be.”

”Good food?”

”No.”

”Then why did I come with you?”

Joe bought her a sweet cake.

The problem was solved.

That evening, the Seven First Fires burned against the darkening sky.

Simon stood beside Joe watching another fifteen-year-old talk excitedly about the guard assessment he had been allowed to take.

His expression darkened.

”You could stop looking miserable,” Joe said.

”I could’ve gone.”

”You can go next year.”

”I could’ve gone this year.”

Joe looked toward Lily.

Simon followed his gaze.

Their mother was already watching him.

He sighed.

”Next year.”

”You’ll be stronger.”

”If I don’t get selected because I waited—”

”You’ll probably have a better chance because you waited.”

Simon frowned.

Joe added, ”And Mother is less likely to follow you to Blackwood and drag you home.”

Simon considered that.

”She might actually do that.”

They both looked toward Lily.

Neither laughed until she turned away.