The journey back was awful. At first, carrying the shorlus head wasn’t too bad. It was like carrying a 30 lb medicine ball—he was able to lift a lot more, but the longer the journey went on, the more his muscles ached for relief. It was made worse by the fact that his soreness from his morning run seemed to compound with all this walking and his ever-tiring arms.

  He glanced over at Elarissé, who was carrying the rear of the shorlus. It was difficult to know just how much it weighed, but he guessed it was at least 50 lbs worth of meat and bone. How was she managing to do that? She was a girl after all.

  While her muscles were exemplary for a female, they were no larger than his. No. They were considerably smaller. It made him wonder how different ekari anatomy was from humans. Perhaps their muscles were denser, like those of chimpanzees. Who knows? Yet when he looked at her face, he was relieved to find it twisted in discomfort. She was really struggling, and he couldn’t resist taunting her.

  “Need some help over there, do you?” he teased. The signs of pain quickly vanished from her face. In its place, a stern glare formed.

  “Help from you?! Don’t be ridiculous,” she scalded, “If you’re struggling, just say. I can take yours as well!” He laughed an over-the-top mocking laugh. There was no way in hell she could do that, but he’d love to see her try and fail. Shame he wouldn’t get the chance. His pride was on the line—even if he was carrying a lighter load. He had to haul it back to the village himself.

  Turning his attention elsewhere, he watched Krag beside him, and while the weight was giving the ekari noticeable discomfort, he seemed to bathe in it. Almost enjoying the torture. Thomas guessed that it was just one big workout for him, and based on his size, this dude loved to work out.

  Luran was leading the pack, so he couldn’t see his face, but his body language said it all. Luran’s back was hunched, his feet dragged along the ground, and both hands strained under the weight of the branch holding the shorlus as they tried to relieve the pressure on his shoulder. Strangely, this gave Thomas a sense of enjoyment. Luran had put him through the wringer these last few days, and the guy seemed perfect at everything he did. It was nice to see him struggling for once.

  When they crossed the village gates, Luran threw the thick branch to the side, and the front section of the shorlus clattered to the ground with a resounding thud. Krag then shoulder pressed the log off his shoulder and dropped it to the ground. Seriously? He just shoulder pressed that after an hour of walking? This guy wasn’t human! Well, of course he wasn’t… this guy wasn’t ekari! No. It didn’t have quite the same ring to it.

  After they’d all caught their breath, Thomas attempted to make a prompt escape to the library. He’d done his hunting for the day as instructed, time for him to pursue some work of his own. However, Luran was quick to crush this plan.

  “Where do you think you are going?!” he commanded. Thomas stopped, motionless, as if on a landmine.

  “To the library. You said I’d do hunting today,” he motioned to the dead shorlus on the ground. “Hunting complete. Unless you want to go for a second hunt, my job here is done.” Why did he have to suggest that? Surely Luran wasn’t insane enough to suggest a second hunt, was he?

  “What about the processing of this animal? Do you know how monsters are harvested?” Thomas shook his head begrudgingly.

  “I thought as much. Fizo really did a terrible job showing you around, didn’t he? Let me guess, he wasted all your time showing you armor?”

  “Something like that,” he answered.

  Barring Krag, the entire group were spent lugging back the felled beast to the village, and although their destination was nearby, nobody was in a hurry to get back to lifting. It was therefore decided that they should use a cart for the remainder of the short journey. It was barely up to the job. The beast was too large to fit, its overhanging legs ground against the floor, and the wheels protested under the heavy load.

  The first stop was the butcher. The building had a raised metal area in the middle of the room resembling the shape of a coffin. This struck him as odd because he was used to butchers doing their work behind a counter—this was right up close to anyone who entered the building. On a more intimidating note, various tools such as saws, hammers, and pliers lined the walls. You name it, the tool was there. He dared to think there was a tool for any job in here.

  The butcher was a fat and bald ekari with puffy cheeks. His apron was covered in layers upon layers of blood stains, and while the apron had done its job keeping blood off of his clothes, it did nothing to keep blood from his bare arms. It covered them right up to the elbow, and his long forearm hair clung to his skin as if it were glued on. As soon as Luran dumped the shorlus on the counter, the man got to work.

  He moved with speed and precision, neatly organizing the carcass into its constituent parts. Luran was spot on when he said they were averse to waste. Everything went into a metal container for later use. Even all the organs and brain went into the container with the meat. He wondered if he’d eaten any brain without knowing. The thought made him queasy.

  By the time the butcher was finished, Krag and Elarissé were long gone. They’d stuck around initially, but Krag had grown bored, and Elarissé just seemed to hate his face, so she’d scarpered as well. This left him in the company of Luran, or “Mr Prissy Perfect,” as he had started calling him, although he’d never tell him this.

  With daylight dwindling, the pair rushed around the village, dropping off the various metal containers at their specified destinations. First, it was the Eating Hall for the meat, then the tanner for the hide, weaponsmith for the claws and horns, artisan for the teeth, and finally, they came to the bonesmith. This was another of the places he hadn’t had the time to properly visit.

  He was keen to meet the bonesmith for no other reason than his amusing attitude, which was evident from outside the building. Unlike the other buildings, which were not clearly named, the bonesmith had decorated the front of the building with a wall-mounted plaque that spelled out “The Bone Guy.”

  As if this wasn’t amusing enough, two skulls with smiles etched into them adorned the wall on either side of the plaque. It was quite a sight to behold.

  “Arvad, we’ve got a delivery for you,” Luran called as they entered. The man was nowhere to be seen. He tried calling again with no luck, so he decided to put the bucket of bones on the counter, ready for Arvad when he returned. As the heavy bucket resounded on the wood, Arvad burst out from behind the counter where he had been hiding.

  He and Luran both jumped back in fright, although Luran was the only one to make for his weapon. Arvad howled in laughter, and Luran released the hilt of his blade.

  “Do you have a death wish, you stupid old man?!” Luran scalded. Arvad continued to cackle.

  “Killed in my own shop? I’m not sure even your reputation could take it!” he jabbed, giving Thomas a wink. “So what have you got for me this time?” he asked, before diving in to have a rummage around.

  “Shorlus bones!” he answered, before Luran got the chance. “I can do a lot with these!” It seemed he had been spot on with his characterization of the bonesmith. He was eccentric and had a great sense of humor. And although he could not comment on his skill, he certainly had a keen eye, being able to identify the bones in only a few seconds.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  “What are you going to make out of them?” Thomas asked, genuinely interested. Fizo had been brief on the topic of bonecrafting, so he was eager to hear more about it from a supposed expert.

  “A fan of bonecrafting, are we? Hmmmm?” Arvad asked, leaning over the counter with a smirk and getting far too close to his face. “Well, why wouldn’t you be?! Bonecrafting is clearly the most elite of all the trades.”

  He withdrew a long, thin bone and twirled it eagerly. “Wouldn’t this make for the most exquisite flute? And ooo. What about this?” he asked, swapping it out for the skull. “Imagine how intimidating this would be as a helmet!” Thomas studied the skull. He was right on the money there. If someone charged at him wearing a bone skull, he was pretty sure he’d run in the opposite direction. And as for the flute idea, he was rather intrigued.

  “You can make flutes out of bone? Can you make any other instruments?” he asked curiously. Arvad was already back to rummaging when asked; he stopped at the question.

  “Why of course. Drums, harps, horns, I make all kinds of instruments,” Arvad exclaimed.

  “Aren’t they traditionally made out of wood?” Thomas thought out loud. Perhaps bone was the material of choice in this world. Arvad scoffed, insulted by the remark.

  “Wood? Please. It’s the most mediocre of mediums. Look around you. Wood is everywhere; it’s the common man’s material. Now, bone, that’s a different story. It’s sacred. Scarce. Requires actual work to harvest. Nothing like just felling a tree. Urgh,” Arvad sneered.

  Thomas smiled, finding the aversion to wood more than a little ridiculous, but said nothing of it. He wanted to probe further, as Arvad hadn’t exactly answered the question he asked. Was wood the go-to material for instruments, or wasn’t it?

  As the bonesmith continued exploring the piles of bones, he caught Luran looking at him out of the corner of his eye. He turned to face the ekari, who shook his head, discouraging him from inquiring further. Thomas pouted in defiance. He wanted to know.

  “So… are most instruments made from wood, then? I imagine it’s easier to work with.” Without delay, Arvad’s head snapped in his direction like a cyborg detecting a hostile life form. “Have you been spending time with Fodarn? He’s got your claws in you, hasn’t he? Look. Bone is an unrivaled material, and that man is a shoddy excuse for a craftsman. He doesn’t know his alder from his birch! You can’t trust a word he says!” Arvad exclaimed, shaking his head erratically and making chopping motions with his arms.

  “Bone is stronger, more resistant to wear and tear, better at transferring sound, and undoubtedly more beautiful. Only a fool would choose wood over bone. You are not a fool, are you, boy?”

  Thomas found the corners of his mouth curving into a growing smile. A fool, he was not. And this guy was great—his burning passion was quite infectious. Who cares if wood was the standard material for instruments? This guy had him convinced that if he ever wanted an instrument made, bone was the only way to go.

  He had hoped to make his escape after a short conversation to increase his time at the library. However, the bonesmith babbled on about the various uses of bone, from its medicinal qualities to its use as a fertilizer. He found it all rather interesting, but the time lost at the library clawed at his mind. Luran had been right not to provoke him. Upon leaving, he punched Thomas in the arm for not listening to him and went about his business.

  By now, the echoes of daylight had hushed to a whisper, so Thomas rushed to the library without delay. He wouldn’t have much time to check it out if he wanted dinner, but he was set on making use of whatever time he could.

  The library was large in comparison to the other buildings he’d visited, but it paled in comparison to the libraries back home. Bookshelves stretched from one wall to the other and almost to the ceiling, making use of every possible available space. The walkway was in the middle, splitting the library into two sections, and tucked in the corner on the left of the entrance was a small desk. It was vacant, and so was the rest of the library. Perfect. No ekari. No distractions.

  He walked along the shelves, skimming the books. Thankfully, he could read the texts. He’d forgotten that his status as a Summon auto-translated unknown languages. Fortunately, this extended to written languages as well. How frustrated he would have been after all this longing if he arrived at the library to find he couldn’t read any of the damn books.

  They were arranged alphabetically and covered all manner of topics. What should he start with? He was keen to learn more about the forest and the dangers that lurked within it, but he suspected that it would take some time to track down. There would also be extensive material to learn. He doubted he’d make much headway in the short time he had today.

  Besides, he had his mind on another objective, his most pressing issue. Electricity. As a Summon, it was his greatest strength, yet he couldn’t wield it. He needed to understand why, so that's where he began.

  To his dismay, his search came up almost empty, with but one text entitled “The Primal Force of Electricity.” It was worryingly thin.

  He flicked to the contents. Unsurprisingly, there was no mention of Summons here. The chapters detailed other electrical sources; perhaps they could provide some useful information. Turning over to the first chapter, it discussed lightning—the most powerful source of natural electricity. He was familiar with lightning, as all people were, so after a quick scan, he moved on.

  The next few chapters detailed the various monsters who could wield electricity, such as the Thunder Unicorn and Stormfang Wolf. The former projected electricity from its horn, and the latter had hide that crackled with electricity and discharged it from its bite.

  Yet while the book listed the attributes and behaviors of these monsters, there was no mention of how they activated their power beyond what was observed. And there was certainly no mention of defective beasts who were unable to wield electricity.

  Feeling disgruntled, he turned to the “Effects” section. It listed and described the various ailments electricity could inflict. At the top of the list in bold red writing was death. Although he was aware that electricity could kill, he couldn’t help but gulp. He continued to read down the list: burns, immobilization, irregular heartbeat, seizures, loss of consciousness, scarring—wait.

  He turned to the page dedicated to scarring.

  “Electricity may appear to attack the body indiscriminately, especially when vast quantities are injected. However, this is not the case. Electricity permeates the local site of impact and travels along the superficial blood vessels. Therefore, while the effects can be widespread, they are focused along these travel sites. If the quantity is sufficient, superficial burns occur along the blood vessels. This is quite different from standard electrical burns, which can cause blisters and deep tissue damage, among other ailments.

  Below the body of text was a sketch in pencil. It displayed a strange electrical burn in the shape of a fractal pattern. He looked at the scar on his arm. It was one and the same. Delighted, he read on, but there was little more information. The sketch was entitled “Tree root scar,” and was described as exceedingly rare.

  It explained that usually the scars disappeared in a few days, but in rare cases they could be permanent. It seemed he was one of these unlucky cases. Unfortunate, but it was a small price to pay to be alive. He was just happy to know what the scars were.

  Thomas chastised himself for not realizing sooner. Of course the electric chair wasn't powerful enough to inflict his scars, but lightning was more than up to the job. That's what the deafening sound had been upon his arrival in this world. No wonder his body felt numb afterward.

  Returning to the page of electrical ailments, the last condition caught his eye: “Emotional harm.” He rolled his eyes. Surely, this wasn’t what ailed him. He read the chapter.

  “Contact with severe electrical charges can damage not only the body, but the mind. These can cause anxiousness, deep fear, and nonsensical behavior. An effective remedy is gradual exposure.”

  He shut the book with a slam. He didn’t want to believe it, but he had already been growing in suspicion that something psychological might be to blame for his block. As frustrating as it was, it made sense. Dying had been traumatic, and he was attempting to wield the very power that killed him. It was hardly a shock his mind would resist.

  He let out a half-hearted laugh, acknowledging he was suffering from PTSD. He of all people? PTSD? He couldn’t believe it. But then again, he had all the telltale signs. Flashbacks, cold shivers, shortness of breath. There was no point denying it anymore.

  With a somewhat fruitful reading session at an end, he put the book back on the bookshelf. It had recommended gradual exposure as a cure. But how could he do that? The ekari didn’t use electricity, and he suspected the human kingdoms weren’t quite there yet either—not that the ekari would let him go there anyway.

  The only sources of electricity he could think of were lightning and the various monsters listed in the book. Lightning was out. No way was he putting his life on the line for a lightning strike. That was anything but gradual exposure. And tracking down electrical beasts seemed to be similarly poor options. What was the likelihood of him finding one? And even if he did, they would attack him on sight. No. He needed to think of an alternative solution. One where he doesn’t end up worse than he started. He couldn’t wield electricity if he was dead.