Money Makes The World Go ‘round

Sitting back to back on the dry grass, Tercius and his brother-in-craft Neiran spent their time shaping raw stone, taking large gravel, chipped stone, or those stones that were too small and too big, and reforming them all to the specifications their master-in-craft, Ciron, gave them. Each block they made had to have a certain length, width, height, and all flat surfaces. Some were cubes, some were bricks, but all were shaped between their small palms.

Since they first got their {Stone Shaping}, the two boys spent their mornings and evenings developing their Skill in this manner with clockwork regularity, persisting even as the continued use of the powerful Skill left them feeling weak. But what was a little bit of unease compared to the power of shaping stone as if it was putty?

The scorching sun and the hot and dry climate of southern Sogea made things even worse. The summer heat of midday could cook a grown man's head, even if it was wrapped properly beforehand. For something like that, not even old Darina, the local Healer, could help. Midday was spent in the shade, always. From farmer to noble, no one disrespected the laws of nature.

During the temperate work hours they also had to take breaks often, to let their magia reserves recover. No Skill ever worked without magia, after all. In those hours of rest and occasional educational content, it happened from time to time that Tercius' maternal grandmother Rona came to spend time with the two of them, bringing good food, cool water, and even better stories of myths and legends to entertain them while they recuperated, hidden from the harsh sun by the shades of lightly swaying trees.

"So I've told that one. I see, I see. Something else is needed, then. I wouldn't want to repeat myself." the woman nodded sagely, a grandmotherly smile on her face and a twinkle in her green eyes as she adjusted the white headscarf that covered her black hair.

There were gray hairs too, a sign of oncoming age, but those were a recent development. His grandfather and master-in-stonecraft, Ciron, often joked that his wife Rona had managed to beat off even old age by sheer stubbornness for years. Contrary to other older women that Tercius knew, his grandmother liked her grays very much. She had been ecstatic when Petra, Tercius' mother, and Rona's daughter, had spotted the first ones just months ago. The grays made her look wiser, Rona was fond of saying. Apparently, she had been waiting for them since she was a little girl.

"Then, did I tell you boys the story of Roggar and Vodjio?" his grandmother asked.

Tercius thought about it a bit and slowly shook his head, locks of dark hair falling over his green eyes. "The names do not sound familiar."

Neiran, who was still chewing through his lunch, also shook his head, the wild mop of dark brown hair flying everywhere.

"Well then," his grandmother's eyes twinkled as she quickly glanced to the side, searching for her husband. Finding the giant man suitably distant and occupied by a particularly large stone block that he needed to insert into the foundations, she turned back to her young audience and started the story with a low voice, one suitable to conspiracies, hushed conversations, and secrets.

"Boys, this is one of those stories that your master-in-craft can't know of. He will be angry with me if he finds out…"

Tercius and Neiran leaned in. She was leaning in and spoke in a low voice. It was time for some religious mythology.

"We won't repeat a word you say to anyone, grandmother. Will we, Neiran?" Tercius said.

His brother-in-craft immediately searched for their master-in-craft, only to answer in a low voice. "No,"

"So you boys want to hear it?" his grandmother teased.

Both nodded eagerly and Rona smiled, her eyes kindly looking at the two of them.

"The Tale of Roggar and Vodjio starts with the unassuming Vodjio, a boy of nearly fourteen cycles of age. He was the oldest son of a tribe leader. Growing up, most of the tribe thought the quiet boy to be a little strange and one day, when the tribe leader went to trade with the other tribes to an oasis far away, the elders of the tribe decided to send Vodjio on a quest. 'To prove to us that you are a boy no longer, and that you have what it takes to become a man of the tribe and its future leader, you must bring back proof that you have slain a mighty beast. Now go and don't come back to us until you can do it.'. Vodjio went out into the desert, a little suspicious of the quest, yet also very eager to finally gain the approval of his elders. Before he left the oasis, all they gave him was a crude knife and a large waterskin—"

"Has old age taken your mind, woman?" a deep voice came from behind them, making them all jump and frantically turn.

A man peeked behind the tree's wide trunk, his graying hair tied behind his head while the aging beard grew freely like an unruly shrub. Ciron, Tercius' grandfather and master-in-craft, was a tall man, wide and bulky, even in his old age. Right now, he had a cross look about his dark eyes and thick eyebrows. Tercius' grandmother wilted before the gaze like one of her more sensitive herbs did when they did not cover it from the sun in time.

"What did we agree on, mere days ago?" Ciron asked.

Like a child caught with one hand in the cookie jar, his grandmother shifted where she sat but did not respond nor lift her gaze off the ground.

"I asked for it, grandfather," Tercius waved, trying to lower the tension. He had never seen his grandfather angry. In the four years Tercius knew him, the man had always been kind and calm, no matter the situation. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"I appreciate the sentiment, but don't ever lie on my account, little Tercy," his grandmother said. "Even things done with good faith and intentions can breed the wrong kind of habits, remember that. The only lie ever allowed is to save the life of yourself or another. You hear me, boys?"

Tercius and Neiran nodded while Rona turned to her husband.

"I've done it, man, and so what? I shall teach these children proper ways and none of this new cra—" Rona's frantic eyes darted to Tercius and Neiran and she grew flustered. Tercius hid a smile while Neiran looked confused and a little frightened. The boy just did not understand these things, as Tercius did.

His grandmother and mother both had a rather distinctive language when they spoke with passion about something. "Fire gets to their spirits much too easily," Ciron would advise his son-by-marriage, Tercius' father Septimus. "When it burns too brightly, and you can easily tell by the color of their cheeks, you better wait before speaking or else you'll be the one who ends up burnt." Still, while they were one way in adult company, both Rona and Petra always tried to keep such language away from Tercius' and Neiran's presence. Once the perceptive Septimus had figured that out, he had spent much more time carrying the baby Tercius around. He had to, with that overactive mouth of his. If Septimus could only follow Ciron's advice for once… But no. Even today, Tercius was his father's shield. Actually, it was less of a shield and more of a delaying tactic. A temporary pause. Neither Petra nor Rona knew how to forgive and forget easily.

"I mean… Ahhh… new… ways. I will have none of these new ways…" Rona said, eventually.

Ciron rumbled a noise at the back of his throat, raising one thick eyebrow and simply staring at Rona with an almost hidden curve in the corner of his beard-covered lips.

Rona's hand rushed to lift the edge of the white headscarf and hide her red cheeks. "Aye… Well, I will keep my stories indoors then… Now, don't just stand there and loom over us like some bloo— broody overgrown tree. Come sit here by my side and have something to eat."

*** *** ***

Snippets of the dream clung to Tercius like some guilt-ridden cloud even as he arrived at the gate of the old artisan district, nearly an hour after waking. Washing up and having a bit to eat took most of that time, but walking there had taken almost as much. He was very aware of the passage of time, for right now that was something that he was short on.

The Seal that enveloped his Well would last anywhere between fourteen and twenty days, which gave him a limited window of action. So far, around twelve hours were already shaved off, be it in travel, sleep, or that strange story that he had no idea what to make of.

Moving against a crowd of early risers, Tercius pushed and circled his way through the narrow streets in search of a specific sign. Tall stone houses lined both sides of the narrow street— houses that almost looked like square towers. The Empire's laws mandated that only nobles could build higher than two floors above ground and each house here clearly followed that mandate, if with a tiny twist. They took the law to the extreme and made two really tall stories. If Tercius built these homes, he would have gone for three, for some maybe even four stories, with the same materials.

Tercius' search had started from the eastern gate of the district, per the suggestion of his mother, and he had followed her directions to the place as best he could. The waves of pushing people made him wish he did this at another time of day more than once.

Suddenly he jerked back, the belts of his backpack digging into his shoulders and torso. A frown crossed his young face and a hand went to his hip for the handle of a knife. Turning around, a dozen people yelled at him for stopping so abruptly and pointed their dirty fingers straight at his face. The words he meant to say died on his lips. Young and elderly, men and women hurried to go around him, and Tercius just stood still in silence and disbelief. What the Hells? One of those people… or all of those people?

Releasing a breath of anger and frustration through his flared nostrils, he moved to the edge of the alley and climbed a few stairs to someone's home. He took off his backpack right then and there. He scowled as he saw that one of the knots was cut and he could see inside. The spare brown tunic that was at the top was gone. A hand went through the opening and touched around. Relief flooded him. The inner bag was still down there, intact.

This time, he wore his backpack to the front. Silly looking or not, he had eyes on the front of his head.

"First that dream, then this, and it's not even morning proper…" he muttered to himself.

The dream.

The rare ones that he had were always some manner of fantasy, but the one he had in the few hours that he managed to shut his eyes was… strange. No weird anomalies, like floating people, animals that could talk, plants that could walk.

Just… a rather vivid recollection of his normal day, back when he had just started learning to write, when the local version of math seemed so strange, and his only obligations in the day… Well, he did not really have any of those back then. He just tagged along with whoever would take him.

When he went with his grandmother, he gardened and learned about plants, about myths and legends of the Old Ones. With his grandfather, he followed to construction sites and learned of stonemasonry and the elusive art that was the local version of mathematics. The two of them worked and practiced in silence together and they were oh so comfortable while doing it.

With his father, he learned to write and read, then eventually to wield a sword and shield. With his mother, he cooked and mended holes in clothes and everything else in general that their home needed. Generally, Tercius tended to spend more time with his grandparents and less with his parents, if only so that he didn't have to be the silent witness to all manner of sounds and images. They were so young back then, teenagers in Tercius' modern mind, and he had thought that their sexual appetite would grow sated eventually, but no. Sun, rain, wind, or earthquake, Petra and Septimus had been at it daily, often a couple of times a day.

If there were ever a poster for hypersexual disorder, his parents would be plastered over it, likely naked and screwing their brains out.

Still, Tercius should be grateful that they were as they were.

Without their daily and nightly moans and groans to disturb him, he might not have developed {Distant Mind}, a Skill that numbed all senses to the point that he was left in a dark emptiness of absolute peace. Founded on the practice of meditation and mindfulness and shaped by months and weeks of being trapped inside a body that did not allow for action or reaction, the Skill had been his way to leave the trappings of his infant body and at least have his thoughts be free to wander around a void of endless possibilities. No sight, sound, pain, or anything else existed there. Even weaker emotions were dulled, to a point.

{Language Acquisition} might have been his first Skill, gained in those blurry months that followed his rebirth, but it was {Distant Mind} which constructed the broad foundations upon which rested almost all the accomplishments he had today.

Tercius found it highly amusing that he owed it all to his parents' active sex life, from his second chance at life and what turned out to be his most important Skill.

Thinking about his family, the glare and frown that he directed at the crowd of early risers and potential thieves eased a bit, but the remnants clung to his face firmly up until his destination came into sight. Even with the time-lapse of a decade and a half, his mother's directions proved true and he walked to the front of the store, a screeching wooden sign with 'Theodorus' Fine Tailoring' swaying from two small chains above the entry. The house was weathered, lines of light yellows and browns and grays leaking from the roof down the walls and onto the cobbled alleyway. Honestly, Tercius was impressed. Water only managed to leave such a mark on the oldest of houses. The windows on both floors had thick rust-coated metal bars on them, while the aged inner and outer wooden shutters stood open. Inside, long white curtains blocked the direct view into the shop itself.

At least the visual part.

"No! Not like that, you idiot! That goes over! Over! Not under!" A voice thundered from inside, almost heard over the commotion of the crowded alleyway.

"Don't you think I know that? I am trying something new!" another male voice yelled, though this one sounded younger.

"You'll just ruin the material! Is that what you want?! You want to ruin it?!"

"Shut it, you old windbag! For the love of all the Divines just shut it for a little while! Give me some peace while I work!"

"What?! What did you say?!" the old man snapped. "Speak up! I can't hear you!"

A growl of frustration followed, as if from inside the belly of a haunted beast of some kind.

Tercius sighed. He could sympathize. Ciron had been nearly deaf until recently, but even in his worst months his grandfather had never resorted to yelling. Deaf or not, Ciron had proved himself as a man of few words.

Quickly shifting his backpack back where it belonged, Tercius climbed up two stairs and knocked on the wooden door.

The heated mix of arguments continued without stop, both the elder and the adult just throwing words at the other, one of them deaf and the other soon-to-be. Tercius waited for a little bit before he knocked again, only this time a little bit harder. The door rattled to its hinges.

"Ups…"

Within moments, the thick door creaked open. A long-faced man was there, smiling at him. "A young customer. This way, please."

"Err… I suppose that I could be a customer…" Tercius murmured under his breath, thinking of his recently stolen property. He followed the man into a spacious room, where folded tunics and pants covered the furniture, while shawls and dozens of items that he had never seen before decorated the walls. Everything had a certain order to it, an arrangement that… had something… peculiar to it. He stopped, rooted in the doorway as something about the showroom drew him. At the back of his mind, he could feel a warmth expand like a glowing web and cover the room.

He saw that the clothes on the walls were arranged by length and color. Immediately to his right, the clothes were all white and it got progressively darker until it got to all black. He could see the straight lines repeating themselves, over and over again. Long strips of cloth were folded over if only to stand at the same height as their neighbors, creating perfectly aligned horizontal waves of overlapping clothes from ceiling to floor.

Someone coughed and Tercius snapped out of his fugue.

The man smiled. "What can Theodorus' Fine Tailoring do for you? As you can see, we do all kinds of clothing—"

Tercius blinked. {Pattern Insight} was a peculiar Skill, developed back when he had started adapting himself to the local version of mathematics with Ciron's help. Its scope went even beyond mathematics, appearing when triggered by an observation of his– or more rarely by a mere curiosity about something or an absence of something that he knew should have been there. The Skill simply made things of interest stand out, be that thing a sound or image or something else entirely. Its synergy with {Language Acquisition} was considerable.

Sometimes the skill could get in the way, interrupting him mid-sentence for example, but rare were times when Tercius minded at all. In fact, he had noticed long ago that a person will rarely have an Skill that did not suit a certain part of themselves.

"—the motifs are varied, as you can see, but—"

Tercius focused away from the needless explanation about the motifs and colors, the cuts, and the different styles the man started to praise. Instead, he started to compare the man to the description Petra gave him.

The man's complexion was a light shade of brown, only a bit darker than Tercius' own. His eyes were brown and his hair dark brown, close to black. Below a long straight nose were lips as thin as paper. The man was tall for a Sogean and rather skinny-looking. The only thing lacking from the description were two silver earrings in the left ear, but those could have been taken out at some point in the past fifteen years since his mother last saw the man.

Tercius raised his hands to halt the man. "I do have to buy a tunic or two, but I don't mind the decorations, the cuts, and colors, as long as it won't constrain me and won't fall apart at the seams within the month—"

The man's eyes widened comically. "I assure you, customer, whoever said that my work falls apart is either misinformed or outright lies. Here, have a look." Taking the first thing that came to his hand, the man started tugging it apart. "Only the highest quality thread is used for the stitches and my Skills—"

Again, Tercius showed the man his palms. "Master tailor, I spoke poorly. I didn't mean to offend your work. The only word I have of your work gives it glowing praise. What I meant was that I simply want the sturdy creations, the ones that will endure a lot of wear and tear. I need things that I will be able to use outside of the city, if you have something like that,"

The man lowered the pants. "Oh… Pardon me then. I… My competition often uses such base lies… Ahem. I do have plain working clothes, but they are kept in the back. They will serve you for years to come, you have my word on that. I strongly recommend we have a fitting. That way, I can modify any issues on the spot. It can take a while, but that way you won't have any complaints."

Tercius thought about it and shook his head. That might take too long. "No need for the fitting. I will just take two tunics that are close to my size. But that can wait. You are Isidorus, are you not?"

The man stood taller, his brown eyes narrowing. He measured Tercius up and down, seeing a tall kid of fourteen or fifteen.

"I am Isidorus, yes. Can I ask how you know my name?"

"My name is Tercius," Tercius said. "I am Valeria's son."

Once upon a time, Tercius' mother and grandparents had other names, but those had to be left behind when they were forced to leave their home behind and escape Spheros, so many years ago.

"Valeria…" It took Isidorus but a moment to place the name. The tension slipped off his shoulders and his eyes turned dreamy. "Now that is a name I haven't heard in a while… It must have been… What, fourteen or so years?"

"About that much, yes,"

"And how old are you, Tercius, son of Valeria? You can't be older than fourteen. Where are your parents?"

"I'm old enough," Tercius defended himself, keeping a frown from forming.

The topic of age, for him, was somewhat sensitive. If he told the man that he was only twelve and a half, physically, then all the chances were that this Isidorus wouldn't believe him. He was tall for his age, seemingly following the footsteps of his giant of a maternal grandfather. What he recently had a confirmation, however, was that other more magical factors had been involved in the accelerated maturity his body had. If all ended there it would have been plenty, but there was more. Mentally, Tercius was around forty years old.

"And your parents?" the man asked.

"They are not in Spheros, master tailor. Neither my mother nor my father."

The man visibly deflated, the glimmer of a rising hope extinguished as disappointment started radiating off of his tall, skinny form. Tercius observed the man's forlorn expression with a critical glint in his eyes. Still pining for Petra? Still, Tercius could not blame this man. His mother was beautiful, with a fiery personality like Rona and a kind temperament like Ciron.

"You have your mother's eyes, do you know that? They are exactly the same…"

"Yes…" Tercius cleared his throat into a closed fist and glanced at the front door of the shop. "Is there somewhere more private we can talk?"

Once the man got his grip out of nostalgic dreamland, Tercius was led to the back of the shop, where a workshop suitable for tailors waited. Needles were glinting everywhere, scissors and sharp knives, and more cloth on every wall than a large family used in a lifetime. There, in the middle of the room, was a comfortably padded sofa.

On it, peeking behind a truly massive blanket, was the top of an old man's head, bald and seemingly polished to a shine. His leathery face showed wrinkles that had grown on others of its kind.

"Isidorus! Isidorus! You have a customer!"

Isidorus entered behind Tercius, waving to calm the old man. "I'm here!"

"You have a customer!"

"He's not a customer!"

"EH?! Speak up a bit!"

"He's not a CUSTOMER!"

The old man seemed taken aback, but his confusion lasted only a moment. "What kind of a question is that?! Of course it can be custom-made!" A finger of aged leather and stiff joints pointed at Tercius and the rheumy eyes judged him. "Half of the money is upfront!"

Tercius nodded to the old man and glanced at Isidorus.

Isidorus sighed and pointed at a free chair. "Take a seat."

While Isidorus started rummaging under scraps of leather and cloth, Tercius took a seat. The old man glared at him, muttering something into the blanket. Isidorus came with a piece of paper and a small piece of wood, its tip charred. He wrote out something, burning the wood on a candle flame every so often, and showed it to the old man. Theodorus took his time reading it, the paper barely a few centimeters away from his cloudy eyes.

"Who's Valeria?!"

Isidorus snatched the paper and scribbled something. The old man took another close look.

"My apprentice?! Are you daft, boy?! I don't have an apprentice! Haven't had one in years! Not since that pretty one ran away… What was her name…"

As the old man lowered the paper to think, Isidorus sighed and pointed at a few words on the paper.

"I see, I see… Valeria… yes, that could be it… sounds familiar…"

While the old man mulled on his thoughts, Isidorus turned to Tercius. "What did you want to talk about?"

Tercius took off his backpack, careful of disturbing the cluttered surroundings. He reached inside and took out the smaller bag, fishing out of it three small pouches that he specifically separated from the rest. He placed the hefty leather pouches on the cloth-covered table, close to Isidorus.

"My mother sends her apologies for everything that happened to you and your father all those years ago. The events and people that conspired against her were beyond what she and her parents could handle, so she had no other recourse but to run away and hide."

Tentatively, Isidorus opened one. A glint of light reflected itself off the finely shaped and smoothly polished tretas, the single eye of the profile of Empress Hortensia looking at the crowd. Isidorus' looked at the pouches as his larynx bobbed. Old Theodorus' frail neck started extending, his unblinking eyes drawn by magnetic forces.

"My mother knew I was heading here and asked me to stop by and leave this with you."

"She did?" Isidorus whispered, his eyes never leaving the silver coins.

Tercius had no idea just how much money tailors in Spheros made, but speaking as an apprentice stonemason who was in the know of the financial side of the jobs, the money there was around six to eight months of pure profit for a master stonemason like Ciron. And that was six to eight months of a good year, where each month was filled with plenty of average-paying jobs.

With her cheeks aflame, his mother had asked him to do this and he had no trouble whatsoever in doing it. Solving a certain problem of his family had left him with a sizable sum, a sum that he had no specific idea on what to spend, so he might as well help Petra sleep a little easier. Heavens knew she needed it after the way the entire year of his absence had been.

If his money could buy something as valuable as peace of mind, then it was money more than well spent.

Each time when Tercius thought about his first departure from home, nearly a year and a half ago, he wished that he hadn't done it. If he had just stayed in Nurium, then maybe nothing of what was happening to his family would have come to pass. Maybe, just maybe, he could have solved all problems as they came, one by one. Another pair of hands to help with the children and around the house would have certainly made a difference.

But if he hadn't gone, then he wouldn't know of the Well and the pain it carried. He wouldn't have gotten one of the world's most knowledgeable Magos to be his Mentor, nor would have his mother and grandfather gotten to consume something as rare and unique as a perfect potion of regeneration— made entirely out of largely decent ingredients, but with the superb skills and equipment of a Mistress of Alchemy, a potion that was then enhanced by pure and neutral energia, a potion that proved to have little to no side-effects and whose intended effects would work again within days and weeks, not years and decades as the others do.

As Isidorus and Theodorus finally started showing signs of movement, Tercius shook his head out of his clouds and sharpened his focus on them.

"That was my mother's apology. I, however, have a personal plea to ask of you, Isidorus."

"Wh—" Isidorus' voice broke and he had to clear his throat. "What is it?"

"I need to speak to someone in the temple of Divine Balance—" Tercius saw the man's eyes flash with a little bit of suppressed panic, but they calmed down when he realized with whom he was speaking. Isidorus didn't only know Tercius' mother, but also his grandfather and his grandmother. There were no Imperials here, as far as Isidorus knew.

"I need to speak with someone trustworthy from the clergy there. Someone who won't mind answering a few urgent questions I have. If you can help me meet someone like that, preferably right now, I would be most grateful to you. Most grateful indeed." Tercius meaningfully looked at the man's eyes and then lowered his gaze at the small fortune on the table.

"I… I do know someone like that…"

Tercius nodded as he stood up. "Then I will wait for you in the other room. I noticed earlier that you have leather belts. Do you perhaps have those belts that go around the thigh and can hold throwing knives?"

"To the right of the entrance. Feel free to take any you like."

"You have my gratitude, master tailor,"

Tercius waved goodbye to the old man Theodorus and left the wide-eyed duo to hide their newly acquired money. Hopefully, the two of them would know to leave the money out of their 'normal' conversations. If not… well people had been robbed for less. Maybe he should mention something to Isidorus? A thick sturdy new door, new hinges, and a better lock were all good uses for a part of that money. Sound isolation of some kind? The stonework he saw could also use some work, to speak nothing of the inner woodwork…

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