Book 9: Chapter 3: Balance

Book 9: Chapter 3: Balance

Darren looked at his plate, then up at Edeya, and made clicking sounds deep in his throat. She narrowed her eyes. “I forgot, Darren—is that one a happy sound or an annoyed one?”

“Happy! It’s like a smile. I love chicken!”

“It’s a chottle hen, according to the woman at the market.” Edeya smiled, then returned to her spot beside Lam on the other side of the fire. Lam mock saluted with a drumstick from her own little roasted bird, then took a large bite. It had been Edeya’s turn to cook, which Darren thought was lucky for her; they weren’t yet in the dungeon but camped a short way outside, eager to enter as early as possible on the next day—the soonest their entry slot allowed.

Trin cleared her throat. “It doesn’t bother you that it’s a, uh, bird?”

Darren clicked—a sound distinct from his earlier one with a longer windup and a more resonant final thump followed by a sort of hum. “I’m a Thunderbird, Trin! A raptor! Haven’t you ever seen a hawk take a quail?”

“I see. No, that makes sense. I’ve certainly seen hunters using hawks to kill game birds.” While she spoke, Darren pulled the meat from the bones with his fingers and deposited huge hunks of flesh into his beak, swallowing the mouthfuls whole. He closed his eyes in pleasure, and a deep, thrumming hum sounded from his broad chest.

Licking some grease from her fingers, Lam commented, “I thought birds didn’t really taste their food.”

Darren opened his eyes and clicked happily. “First of all, I’m not exactly a bird. I’m an avian species now, or, well, on my way to being one. According to Brimi, we’re different than birds in quite a few ways. Anyway, eating is . . . different. I feel a wave of pleasure with each bite. It’s not exactly a taste so much as a . . . I don’t know how to describe—Wait! I do. It’s very similar to an early buzz from alcohol! I get this warm feeling that spreads through me and makes me a little giddy. Different foods give it a different feel, too.”

“Not veggies, though?” Edeya asked because Darren had explicitly asked her to leave her stewed carrots off his plate.

“Nah, I get nothing from ‘em. Mostly meats.”

Edeya nodded, “It’s so strange how much deeper your voice is, Dare.”

“Eh, it’s still me, though, Dey-dey.” Darren put an entire drumstick in his beak and crunched it to pieces before swallowing it down. His beak was incredibly durable, and he’d found that if he guided food with his fingers, he could efficiently masticate hunks of bone that would’ve given a rottweiler a challenge.

“I know.” Edeya smiled and took another dainty bite. Darren leaned back and watched the three women eat for a moment, giving them a chance to catch up. He’d been dismayed, at first, by his new physiology, but after a few days at the lake house, experimenting with food and practicing his speech, he’d begun to warm up to the new features. Not every change had been alarming; some had been immediately positive. His newfound height, his sturdier body, and his fantastic vision had done a lot to make up for the utterly foreign face he saw in the mirror. Putting those things aside, he was also excited by the prospect of growing powerful wings and learning more about his bloodline.

After a while, he grew tired of waiting and tossed the remainder of his bird into his beak, swallowing it whole, bones and all. It was a mouthful, and he felt it going down, but something had changed in his neck; he never felt like he’d choke anymore, and the sensation was pleasurable, like having an itch scratched, but on the inside. He stifled a burp, then pulled out his Sojourn guidebook, a crystalline tablet enchanted with all sorts of interesting information. He was particularly interested in the section about the dungeon they would be entering the next day.

When he found the correct page, he read the section he was interested in aloud for the benefit of his groupmates, “Ahem, ‘The Fungal Fortress is known for its daunting challenges for tier-two iron rankers, but even more so for its healthy list of rare growth treasures. While these treasures are rare, and only one in every dozen dungeon runs results in a single drop, their value makes up for the infrequency. If your party is able to claim a slot, it’s certainly an investment in time that has the potential for excellent payoffs. See the table below for a list of the known growth item drops.’”

He looked up. “Want me to read the table?”

“You already showed us yesterday, Dare.” Edeya walked over and took his plate. “You’re cooking breakfast, right?”

He nodded. “Easy.” He wasn’t hurt that no one wanted to hear the list again. He’d poured over the tablet for days, trying to find the dungeon with the best chance of providing another racial advancement item. Everyone knew why; Darren was desperate to get his wings and push past his awkward, in-between status of half-human, half-avian. The Fungal Fortress had the best chances, and though Trin was the only member of their party who’d reached tier two, they were all close.

Lam handed her plate to Edeya, then nodded to Trin. “I’m just glad Trin’s brother got us on the entrant list. The usual wait time is nearly two months.”

“My father might be an evil sociopath, but some of my kin are redeemable.” Trin produced a fancy wine bottle with a gold-embossed label. “Shall we?” Everyone scrambled to agree, furnishing their own glasses. Darren summoned a glass, but when Trin got around to him, she took it, filled it up, and then handed him the bottle, still nearly half-full. “I’ll take your glass, Darren. You’ll find it easier to pour the bottle into your beak.”

“Oh.” Darren took the bottle, then cocked his head to the side, his throat clicking the way it always did when he felt like smiling. “That’s considerate of you, Trin.”

“I’ve had many avian friends, Dare.” She poked him in the chest. “Cheers.” She held out her glass, and Darren knocked his bottle against it. Lam and Edeya hurried over to clink their glasses against his bottle.

“Cheers!” everyone echoed, and then Darren poured a good portion of wine into his gullet, laughing as he swallowed it down, and a warm buzz began to tingle in his chest and face.

***Congratulations! You have learned a new skill: Spirit Core Cultivation Drill – Epic.***

***Congratulations! Your Spirit Core has advanced: Epic 2.***

“Damn,” he grunted when he realized that he only had two messages; it had felt like more. He’d hoped the advancement would be enough to push him to the next level. Nevertheless, he pulled up his Energy statistics to see how much he’d gained from the Core rank-up:

Breath Core:

Elder Class - Improved 3

Core:

Spirit Class - Epic 2

Breath Core Affinity:

Magma - 9

Breath Core Energy:

2200/2200

Energy Affinity:

Fear 9.4, Rage 9.1, Glory 8.6, Inspiration 7.4, Unattuned 3.1

Energy:

35045/35045

“A thousand, huh?” Victor pushed himself back into a sitting position. He’d gained five thousand when he broke into “epic,” and now it seemed he’d earn another thousand for each rank therein. He supposed that was better than the one hundred he’d gained in previous tiers. Still, for all the work he’d done over the last eleven days, it felt a little underwhelming.

“Well, apprentice, I certainly felt that!” Dar’s voice sounded from the entrance to his chamber. “It seems you managed that more quickly than I’d feared. Excellent. Let’s celebrate with a meal, and perhaps I’ll teach you a bit about proper spirit walking. How does that sound?”

Victor hopped to his feet, turning to see his master in a migraine-inducing set of magenta pajamas decorated with hypnotic yellow swirls. “What the hell are you wearing?” Victor cleared his throat and held up a hand. “Sorry, that was rude. I mean, but seriously, Dar. That suit’s making me dizzy.”

Dar lifted the hem of his shirt and frowned. “You don’t like it? The saleswoman said it was the latest fashion on Foh.” He saw Victor’s confusion and clarified, “That’s the homeworld of some of Sojourn’s more influential citizens. I bought it to attend a gala at Lord Drok’s estate last night. Is it so bad?”

“I mean, to me, but . . .” Victor trailed off, shrugging. He moved closer to his master and clapped him on the shoulder. “What do I know?”

“Indeed. You’re young and have hardly traveled. Come, Victor, let’s eat—I’ve been drinking and carousing for twenty hours.”