Call Of The Tamer - Chapter 8: Two Vows

"Small child. Are you alright?" Sharasn found him slumped on the wall. He set down his basket and placed a gentle palm on his chest. Not wanting to worry the old priest, Michael forced himself up and brushed the straws off his clothes. He sniffled and wiped the tears as Sharasn palmed his head and prayed. After ending his prayer, Sharasn asked again, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine now. Thank you." Michael didn't want to admit it, but the moment of silence spent listening to Sharasn's prayer calmed him. His stomach growled. Embarrassed, Michael turned away and put his basket on, intent on finishing his job. A fragrant piece of bread presented itself before him, dangling like a good bait from Sharasn's hand. Blushing to the priest's teasing chuckles, Michael swiped the bread and devoured it in two bites, hurrying outside to work and repay his debt. Swiftly, his sickle and hand moved, cutting down row after row of wheat. He avoided looking up at the forest, opting to lower his head when nearing the end of a row, which always exposed the lines of tall trees.

"Ah! Mikhael!" Sten called out, his voice loud and lively. Michael glanced up, having finished half the field, and saw the farmers gathering at the farmhouse. Sten pointed to a hill. "The kids usually play around this time when we're all on a break. Why don't you run along and meet them? They should be having fun over yonder that hill. Go on now. A kid should be working then playing hard."

Michael hesitated, unwilling to get too close to anyone, but one look from Sten told him it wasn't a suggestion but to go and play. His grandfather, a former farmer, was the same; he was very stubborn and set in his ways, but he meant well all the time, always eager to take care of him when his mother worked two jobs after his father's death. A part of him couldn't help but compare the two. In the end, he relented and nodded, earning Sten's pleased smirk, the exact same as his grandfather's. 'Ah, geez. I guess I have to act the kid part. I hope I don't cause any trouble.'

Climbing over the hill, Michael heard the clamors of children, mainly rowdy cheers of either uplifting words or insulting phrases. On the other side, a dozen children, looking to be around his new age and younger, grouped behind one who held a makeshift bow of curved branch and string. Their shouts ended once the boy nocked his arrow, a thin branch with a slight sharp tip. The boy nudged his head to the side while squinting hard, trying to find the best shot. He loosened the string and fired the arrow toward a bundle of straws tied into a circular target, red paint dyeing the center.

A few disappointed wails and boisterous mocking cheers resounded as the boy hit far off the mark, sending the arrow whistling past the target. The boy, clearly angered, threw the bow on the ground and sprinted, presumably to pick up the arrow. Next, a girl ran in the front and held the bow. She accepted the arrow from the boy and fired a shot, hitting the target on the edge. At least she didn't have to run far since the straw caught the branch, but she received just as many jeers and cheers. One of the onlookers sitting on the hill noticed him and shouted, "Hey, it's the new kid!"

Everyone turned to him, a few of the girls whispering with faint blushes on their cheeks while the boy lifted their chins as if looking down on him and sized him up. 'Maybe I should have worn a mask.' Michael avoided the burning gazes of the girls and put on a wide smile, waving his hand, "Hello! I'm Mikhael. Nice to meet you."

"Hello! I'm Amber. Me dad's Mort, the Captain." Amber swooped in before anyone else could, garnering a few hateful gazes. She wore her hair in brown pigtails and was garbed in a simple, rough dress and vest. She had been the one who fired the arrow just now. "We was playing a game. First one to hit the target wins and gets to order everyone else one thing. Want a turn?"

As Michael went along with the flow and grasped the bow, one of the boys jeered, "Look at 'em. He's got no arm to pull that string. Heck, the arrow will drop to the grass." His mocking roused the other boys to whoop with laughter, stomping around and sticking their tongues out. One of the girls warned them to shut up, joined by the others who defended him. Amber rolled her eyes and gave him the arrow before shouting at them to be quiet.

'Ah, man. This is so embarrassing…was I like when I was twelve? Is it because all of the girls are focused on me? Jealous?' He thought as he nearly went back into his memories but shook it off, choosing to bury what embarrassing moments he might have forgotten. The curved branch was firm in his grip, and a simple pluck of the string made it wobble like the loose string of a violin. The arrow stretched the string back, building tension between his fingers. As he inhaled and aimed, Michael heard the System give an alert.

You have gained a new Trait: Bow Mastery [FFF]

Trait: Bow Mastery
Rank: FFF
Type: Earned
Description: You have the talent to master the bow! It allows you to deal more damage with a bow! The more you master it, the more damage you can inflict. Awakens the Passive Skill: Marksmanship
Restrictions: Must be a bow.

You have gained a new Passive Skill: Marksmanship [FFF]

Passive Skill: Marksmanship 
Rank: FFF
Type: Earned
Description: You value extreme precision in your ranged attacks. The accuracy of your strikes is increased.
Restrictions: It can only apply to the weapon in which you have a Mastery Trait.

Something nagged at him from inside his mind, an irritating tick that refused to go away. Michael controlled his breathing to the proper method he somehow knew of, lifting his diaphragm and sucking in his stomach. One more adjustment of the position and angle of the arrow and bow freed him of the irritant. His Marksmanship skill was the cause, not on purpose, but because any other position was uncomfortable to his newfound sense of aim. 'I guess it was worth coming here.' Michael thought as he exhaled and fired the arrow, sending it bolting through the air and striking dead on the red mark in the center.

"He did it!" The girls squealed while the boy complained and suggested he cheated.

"Thank you. Thank you." Michael walked over and pulled out the arrow, pointing it at the crowd. "Does that mean I can grant one order to each of you?"

"Damn. Damn. Damn." One of the boys stomped and wailed. "I'm not going to eat another mud ball!"

"Ok, I'm not going to do that. Wait, someone made you eat a mud ball?" Michael couldn't help but grow curious.

"Shane made me!" The boy pointed at one with black hair and black eyes, glaring with hate.

"Cause you made me eat a worm when you won, Davin!" Shane shoved Davin and was shoved back. Amber palmed her face as a fight broke up, the two wrestling in the dirt and grass.

"Ok! Enough!" Michael felt a headache coming on. He held up the bow and asked, "Is there another bow?"

"We have another one," One of the girls presented the second bow, humming and swaying her head as if expecting his thanks.

"Alright. My order to all of you is to make me five arrows a piece. And I'll be keeping this bow." Michael found his new path, training in the bow. The only problem was the lack of arrows for practice. Thankfully, a good solution came in the reward for winning. The children groaned but kept to the child honor he recalled having in the past. Years ago, when he played in the playground with his friends, no matter how harsh or disgusting the punishment was, even as they stomped in unfairness, they followed through. The children rushed to the edges of the forest and picked up many straight branches.

Bow Mastery is progressing!

Michael didn't want to waste time and trained his bow as he waited for the children to finish their five arrows. His Bow Mastery hadn't ranked up, but the System told him progress was being made. He liked it. To have an audible confirmation of his efforts was soothing and ignited his passion to continue. He fired one, sprinted, retrieved, and fired again. One after the other, his arrow sang a whistle of delight as it landed on the mark over and over again. Sharasn's chirpy voice called out, so he stopped.

"Training your bow? Does the Sustenance God smile on you, too?" Sharasn smiled, seemingly surmising his newly gained powers.

"Something like that?" Michael graciously received a clean rag and wiped his sweat. Apparently, training to rank up his skills drained his stamina faster than doing rigorous farm work. "Is the break over?"

"For us. I stayed to speak with Old Sten. It is time to earn our keep in the next place." Sharasn looked over to the children, who were still hard at work making the arrows. "I'll inform them to drop off the arrows later with the supplies. Come, small child."

At the local smithery, Michael and Sharasn worked with Garo, the blacksmith, helping to rake the coals and cleaning the workshop. Despite the few attempts, he never learned a skill or trait related to smithing. Sharasn informed him that it was related to the Class and could not be learned by any other Awakened, so that ended his hopes of learning a trade. After they finished here, Sharasn asked Garo to attend the sermon at the end of the week, but the smith gave a lackluster reply. Their long day of work carried on to the others, working and helping, yet everyone gave the old priest the same excuses and vague notions of rejection toward his earnest plea for them to attend the sermon.

'Why do they keep rejecting him? Is it not enough to go once a week?' Michael clenched his hands.

In the late afternoon, Michael helped Sharasn up the hill and noticed a basket and a bundle of arrows at the church's doorsteps. The basket contained the pound of cheese Old Sten promised, along with two loaves of bread, some fresh vegetables, and a piece of dried meat, a thin strip. He clicked his tongue at the small morsels, but Sharasn praised the Gods and thanked them and the villagers for this bountiful harvest.

"It must be thanks to you. They added in a little extra. Good things do happen." Sharasn unlocked the chains and entered the church. Michael stared blankly at the priest's back and the basket in his hands. So much work for so little. Yet, the priest worked hard every day for this small meal and even shared it with him for a month. He wanted to yell and scream at the unfairness, but all of his rejections fell apart at the priest's unending praises and laughter. He could swear he was standing in front of a warm sun that tossed away all of the anger and frustration that had built over the day. Sharasn chuckled and brushed his small head. "Fret not. Worries are not meant for small children. Rest and eat. That is how you live."

Michael waited at the kitchen table and smelled the aroma of the sloppy stew he had eaten for the past month. Now, it no longer disgusted him. It wasn't a food he had to tolerate anymore. No, he found it a pleasant smell and dipped his spoon in the hot stew, bringing it to his lips and gulping it. It tasted good. He could no longer deny it. Glancing from his bowl to the priest's, he flattened his lips and felt more grateful, his eyes watering. The thin jerky had been plumped up in the boiling stew, but all of it was in his bowl.

"How was it? Did you like the village?" Sharasn smiled, revealing his wooden dentures, seemingly eager for his reply. "It's a nice village."

'Nice?' Michael chewed on a bite of meat. The villagers were indeed good people, but he still hung on the fact they avoided the priest's request to attend even one service.

"Don't blame them. It's hard times for faith to thrive. So many years far from the glorious days." Sharasn seemed to know his thoughts like usual and rubbed his head endearingly. "One day, they'll gather at the church. Pray to the Gods. Lay themselves bare with faith and longing."

"How can you be so certain?" Michael asked, wondering what drove the priest to be such a man.

"I have faith. Yes. Faith. One day, my prayers will be answered." Sharasn went silent. Perhaps he didn't believe his own words. That was the impression Michael got. Was he simply living on because he had nothing else of worth in his life?

Exhaling sharply, Michael replied, "I'm staying for a while longer." The issue with the forest still unnerved him, and he could not risk going out if he suffered another panic attack. But more than that, he wanted to accompany the priest for a little bit longer, not minding to spend more time here. Where else could he go when he was so weak and fragile? The priest was a lonely man and dying. He didn't know how long, but all the signs said it was soon. 'I'll be with you, old man. I'll stay until you pass on. I can only give you that as thanks for everything.' He silently proclaimed in his thoughts. The old priest smiled and prayed.

In the dead of night, when Sharasn's wheezes and snores filled the empty assembly hall, Michael crept down and slowly opened the main entrance, wincing at every squeak, afraid of awakening the weary priest who needed all the rest he could have. Mong hurried past him and pranced on the surrounding grass, rolling and digging in pure joy. Grace flexed her wings and soared, letting out a caw of delight. They had been cooped up inside for a month, their joy understandable. While his companions played, Michael checked all of their statuses.

Name: Mikhael
Age: 12
Class: Beast Tamer [FFF]
Strength: FFF
Endurance: FF
Vitality: FF
Agility: FF
Magic: FF
Active Skills: Tame [FFF]
Passive Skills: Unlimited Evolution [???], March Of The Beasts[???], Pain Blocker [FFF], Marksmanship [FFF]
Traits: Pain Resistance [FFF], Bow Mastery [FFF]

Name: Mong
Race: Golden Retriever [FFF]
Strength: FF
Endurance: FFF
Vitality: FFF
Agility: FF
Magic: FFF
Active Skills: Bite [FFF], Claw [FFF]
Passive Skills: Sense Danger [FF]
Traits: Enhanced Smell [FFF]

Name: Grace
Race: Crow [FFF]
Strength: FFF
Endurance: FFF
Vitality: FFF
Agility: F
Magic: FF
Active Skills: Dive[FFF], Stab[FFF]
Passive Skills: Cover Of Dark[FF]
Traits: Treasure Seeker[FF]

"Mong, Grace." Michael summoned them. Mong sat in front as Grace perched on the dog's head, looking up at him. He crouched and rubbed their faces. "We have to train hard. That bear is still out there, and we have to go past the forest to leave this place. Let's get stronger and beat the hell out of that bear."

Mong barked lowly and lifted his paw. Grace flew down to his arm and extended her wing on top of the paw. Michael raised a brow, then chuckled, placing his hand over the other two. "One, two, three. Let's do this!" Grace cawed, Mong barked, and he cheered as they lifted their wing, paw, and hand. Their path was set. The moonlight beamed on them as if smiling on their renewed vow. Michael rushed out to the side and pulled his bowstring, firing. He first vowed to stay with Sharasn until his death and vowed again to become stronger.

…….

"My lady?" Keya searched for her lady. Somehow, her beloved lady had wandered off the campsite, slipping past the guards and overturning the camp into chaos. She adjusted her helmet and bit her lips, cursing at her mistakes. 'This is no time to mope!' Her thoughts turned to her lady, and the worry gripped her heart in an icy grasp that chilled to her toes. Sprinting past a set of bushes, she saw her lady, the moonlight glancing off her radiant blond hair as if shy of even ruining her fairness with its light. Keya heaved a sigh of relief and bowed, "My lady. We must return to the camp. It is not safe in these woods."

Her lady twirled around, fluttering her long white robes and beaming a smile that made the spring lackluster; even the finest flowers and beautiful jewels would surrender and become lackluster before her. 'That smile…again.' Keya thought and clenched her teeth. The smile matched the one she had after leaving the bookstore. Following her lady's previous gaze, Keya pinpointed the direction to be toward Meades City, but not directly on it, just a few angles shy. 'That makes no sense…what is she thinking?'

Unable to discern her lady's thoughts and motives, Keya gave up and guarded her lady on the way back. She didn't need to think, only guard and obey. That was her purpose.