Gifted

Before I knew what was happening, Grandma Lucille had Etta and I by the arms and was pulling us inside. The old woman’s fingers were like an iron vice around my arm as she forced us through the backdoor in a hurry. Behind us, Gramps had been moving to meet the Adventurers. I didn’t see where George went.

The moment we were in the backdoor and Grandma Lucille’s grip loosened I grabbed Etta by the hand.

“Follow me!” I charged up the stairs heading for my room with Etta following close behind.

Grandma Lucille might have been following us but I didn’t notice. Charging into my room I pulled myself up onto my clothes chest beneath the window. The view was somewhere between perfect and horrific. Etta joined me a few seconds later.

In the distant tree line, two hulking forms pulled themselves free of the Horndale pines. It was hard to tell from so far away, but I thought they must have been around four or five metres tall with long, gangly arms that hung down to their knees. Their faces were wide and flat with sunken eyes above a wide nose. Swept back wiry black hair stood out starkly against their mottled grey and green skin. The moment the two trolls were free of the trees they roared their hunger at the adventurers and began loping across the barren ground with long strides that ate up the distance at a truly terrifying rate.

The adventurers were still in full retreat and had already crossed almost half the distance to the safety of the outpost, though I had to wonder if the building would be able to stand up to an attack by the trolls. The closest adventurer to us was a female archer with short, dark hair, wearing brown leathers, and a handaxe slapping against her thigh as she ran. Behind her was another woman who was short with a squat, but buff build, and a bald head. She wore dark brown leathers as well, with a spear in one hand and a shield in the other.

The rear was brought up by a big man wearing a helmet and breastplate holding a large metal shield that would have covered him from his chin down to his knees. His other hand held a battleaxe. While slower than the two women, he was still moving at a decent clip considering how much weight he was carrying. It was still slow when compared with the trolls though.

Seeing the adventurers run, I knew that the man bringing up the rear had no chance of reaching the outpost before the trolls caught up to him. He must have realised it too as he spun and planted his shield in the ground. It didn’t do him any good as the first troll barreled into him swinging one of its long arms in a backhanding motion. The adventurer went flying through the air, landing several metres away. I was surprised when he immediately climbed to his feet, clearly ignoring the dent in his shield and planted himself like a tree in the troll’s path.

The troll kept coming and I thought for a moment that the man was going to get punted a second time. Instead, the fleeing archer spun, skidding in the dirt and rocks as she drew and released an arrow in one fluid motion. Etta gasped next to me and a second later I realised why as the arrow ignited mid-flight. She had sensed the aether used, I realised. The flaming arrow descended in a smooth arc towards the troll and I thought it was going to get hit in the eye but the monster turned its head at the last second. The arrow scored a thin line along the side of the troll’s head, deflected by the bone beneath.

In the wake of the attack, the other two adventurers leapt into the fight. The spear-wielding woman charged forward, her spear stabbing out short of touching the troll. Yet when she lunged the troll bled despite the lack of contact, even if it was only for a few seconds. Another skill I realised, something to project her weapon beyond its physical range. It didn’t do her any good though. I watched the troll’s wounds stop bleeding in the time it took her to reset her stance. Just like the stories from my past life, trolls possessed a form of regeneration. Could the ability be just the nature of trolls or was it an Advanced Attribute they possessed racially? I didn’t have time to continue the thought as the adventurer with the shield had waded back into the fray to meet the second troll. Again, I expected the man to get punted by the charging troll, but this time the troll’s charge was arrested by a ball of liquid fire hitting it in the face.

I cheered, noticing Gramps standing nearby with balls of flame circling around him. As I watched, another fireball launched towards the troll landing on its chest. The troll bellowed and I wasn’t sure if it was in anger or pain. The burn marks healed more slowly as its mottled skin charred and blackened.

Powerful as the fire blasts were, and even with the wounds caused by flames healing more slowly, it quickly became obvious that the trolls weren’t going down easily. One of the trolls swept its arm towards the spear-wielding adventurer so quickly that the movement was basically a blur to my eye. She was launched away, her scream of pain a worrying accompaniment to the whooshing sounds of fireballs launching at the trolls. When she landed I could see that she was bleeding heavily from three claw marks across her chest, abdomen, and legs.

Next to me Etta vomited while I barely held onto my lunch. The adventurers’ guts were hanging out and I doubted she had long to live. The archer rushed to her side and I felt tingles rushing up my arms as I realised we might be in real danger. With only one front liner left and two trolls still very much alive would Gramps be able to hold out? And why wasn’t he doing more? I thought he was supposed to be a powerful fire mage? The fireballs seemed strong, but they weren’t doing enough damage to the trolls. Then I remembered that morning and how he’d spent time fixing the prospector’s house followed by teaching us. Was he low on aether and conserving it?

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I got my answer a moment later as the shield-wielding adventurer was snatched up by one of the trolls in one hand and squeezed until he popped like a balloon. It happened so fast he didn’t even have a chance to scream. Bile rose in the back of my throat and I was just glad Etta hadn’t looked up to see what was going on yet. Instead she crouched down behind the window next to me and cried softly. The trolls were incredibly strong, highly resistant to damage, and possessed regeneration. Perfect killing machines.

Then one of them died.

Blue flames coalesced around the old man’s outstretched hand and the lead troll ran towards him in a mad dash to cover the last stretch of rocky ground to the outpost. The monstrous beast was too slow. A lance of blue flames hit the troll in the neck, then punched straight through it, burning a hole out the other side. The head rolled free, bouncing along the ground as the body collapsed in a heap. Little spurts of vibrant green blood painted the barren rocks near my mother’s garden that had sat their pristine and unmarred.

The other troll screamed in fury and charged right as Gramps collapsed to his knees, the flames circling him little more than wisps. Still, I saw the flames around him stir in response, shooting forth in a staccato rhythm of tiny fireballs that each made a small oomph noise.

“No!!!” I screamed, banging my fists futilely against the window as the troll ignored the mini fireballs peppering it and charged headfirst towards Grandpa.

I didn’t want to watch the old codger die and I was about to look away when the troll tripped, going down in a tangle of limbs that sent vibrations through the outpost.

Then I saw George moving, a shining silver sword in his hand as he crossed the distance to the outpost. I had fought with George for over a month now, so I knew how he moved when we sparred. This was nothing like that. It was like the ground was ice and he was skating, each step landing and carrying him forward. The troll clambered back to its feet just in time for George to arrive, the first swing of his blade being deflected by one of the troll’s clawed hands. The blade left its mark on the troll but as with the other attacks, it had stopped bleeding almost as soon as the blade left its skin.

I shook Etta as she cried next to me. “Your dad’s fighting.”

Telling her that proved to be a mistake.

“What?!” she screeched, pulling herself back to her feet and ignoring the vomit on her clothes. “Daddy! Run, Daddy!”

She immediately tried to clamber down and run for the door, but I kept her on the chest, fighting to prevent her from putting herself in danger while also watching George. The Adventurers had been young, perhaps a little over twenty. A similar age to George. The difference between their capabilities was night and day. As I held onto a frantic Etta, I watched through the window as George dodged a claw, sliding along the ground on one hand and knee only for the ground to literally push him back to a standing position in one fluid motion.

Earth magic, I realised. George’s aether coins were brown. He was using earth magic!

George didn’t waste a single bit of movement, always avoiding the claws by the smallest margin while exacting bloody vengeance with his blade. George danced back out of range of a particularly vicious swipe from the troll. When it followed, the ground gave out beneath it and it toppled down once more. The troll was just starting to push itself up when George stepped to the side of it, his sword swinging down in a perfect arc. I had seen how little damage the adventurers’ weapons had done and expected the same result. My eyes lit up with shock as the sword passed cleanly through the troll’s neck and then embedded itself in the stone below. Then, as though it had been a knife through butter, George raised his sword again without any sign of strain.

I wondered if he’d even made the ground release his sword from the grave he’d buried it in.

When neither troll moved I finally let Etta go.

She was out the door in a flash as I rushed after her. We ran downstairs and out the back door with Grandma Lucille in tow. She had been waiting at the bottom of the stairs, probably to prevent Etta from doing the exact same thing I had. Though I noticed that the old woman looked a little more pale and worried than usual. Mum was already outside helping Gramps back to his feet as he muttered darkly. The one remaining adventurer wept nearby, kneeling over the spear-woman. I avoided looking towards them, not wanting to see the spilled innards and blood.

George walked towards us, vibrant green blood dripping from his blade. Etta ran to meet him and I watched as she was scooped up at the same time I arrived next to Gramps.

“You okay, Gramps?” I asked, tugging on his leg.

“I’m alright, Bastian,” he replied reassuringly as he patted my head before grumbling. “The damnable cold mountains make it hard to create fire. Good thing George was here to help or that could’ve turned out even worse. Penny, mind fetching some of my vials?”

My mum nodded. “What are you going to do, Dad?”

I stared up at their faces as the old man looked at my mother, a sadness in his visage that I had only seen once before.

“Try to console the inconsolable.”