Monroe

Chapter Two Hundred and Twenty. The nature of magic, and the magic of nature.

Bob leaned back against the wall of the Dungeon. He'd finished building out another floor and was taking a breather before heading back up. He'd seen the effort that the Old Guard had put in back in Glacier Valley, where they'd truly impressed him with their dedication. That had paled in comparison to the work they'd accomplished at what they were calling 'The Redoubt.'

They'd mapped out the area with mana sight and had recreated the map Thidwell had used. The plateau would house thirteen Dungeons, twelve of which could be driven thirty-seven floors deep, while the final Dungeon could be driven down fifty floors.

The retired Marines were working hard to erect the buildings they'd need to house the veterans that were due to arrive in a bit over a week.

Mike had been a little cryptic in regards to exactly what Eric was up to, citing the fact that what he didn't know couldn't be held against him.

Bob wasn't sure how he felt about that. On the one hand, he trusted that Mike wouldn't take deliberate actions that would hurt him. On the other hand, he had a feeling that Eric was going to do something big. He didn't know how many wounded veterans there were in the country, but he had a sinking suspicion that Eric was planning to bring them all over to Thayland.

The disappearance of that many people wasn't something that could be easily explained to the general public.

He sighed and took a sip of water. It wasn't, strictly speaking, his problem. The government had made clear that they would be handling the exodus of Earth, while Bob would be relegated to an advisory role at best.

He'd handed the problem over to other people, and he was only responsible for helping people who sought out his aid.

Bob shook his head to clear his thoughts and carefully formed the pattern for a Control Air spell. Without the system, it took nearly a minute for him to form the pattern, but ultimately he held a small swirling ball of air in his palm.

Casting spells manually was difficult because he had to hold his focus on each strand of Mana, whereas the system held the pattern in place while he filled it. Additionally, he had come to realize that not all Mana was created equal. As he formed a pattern and filled it, different strands seemed to have different properties. Some were solid and slow, some quick and eager, with many degrees in between.

Holding his concentration, he cast the same Control Air spell with his other hand, using the system.

His Mana filled the pattern smoothly, but as he watched closely, he could see several points in the pattern where his Mana was somehow altered by the system, matching the arrangement of the spell he'd created by hand.

"Trebor," Bob said slowly, "are there different types of mana?"

'Yes,' Trebor replied, 'just as there are a wide variety of different types of radiation, there are an even larger variety of different expressions of the energy called mana.'

Bob nodded slowly. He'd fallen into the mental trap of accepting that he could see was all that there was.

'As you continue your apotheosis, if you choose species that have the capacity, you will gradually gain the ability to differentiate the different types of mana,' Trebor explained.

"That's a little frustrating," Bob grumbled. "Isn't there a spell that will allow me to see more?"

'Unfortunately, the functionality of all spells is limited by your spell score, and thus, your tier,' Trebor explained. 'It isn't just that you can't grow to five times your natural size, you also can't shrink down an inch tall. Seeing Mana is possible, but you can only see so far, and you can only see so deeply.'

"Would having a natural affinity for Shadowmancy make a difference?" Bob asked suspiciously.

'Yes, it would,' Trebor replied, confirming Bob's suspicion that Mana Shaping and Mana Tracing, the natural gifts of the Yheeldar, were linked to the ability to see more of the spectrum of Mana.

He released both spells and stood up, rolling his shoulders. While he wouldn't mind taking a few hours, days, weeks, or even months to explore the intricacies of spell casting, he had other obligations to attend to first.

Elli was ecstatic. Henry had been willing to demonstrate his skills in exchange for Elli going through his forms again, this time for his advanced students.

He'd spent the entire day and most of the evening at the Dojo, watching Henry instruct classes ranging from complete novices to experts who had clearly been training for years.

Now Henry had offered to introduce him to his friend Teddy, who had been his opponent in the demonstration bout.

"That would be fantastic," Elli grinned, "I was planning to seek him out as well, but an introduction would be great."

Henry nodded. "Teddy and I grew up together as friendly competitors from differing schools, and over the years, we became close friends," he smiled, "we are likely each other's reason for continuing to train as intensely as we have, for as long as we have."

Elli nodded in return. "It's important to have someone walking alongside you to keep you moving when you'd rather stop," he agreed.

He knew that when they'd lost their team, it was only the desire to keep up with Harv that had kept him delving. Harv had later confessed that he'd felt the same way. They'd agreed at that point to slow their progression in favor of teaching freshers the valuable lessons they'd had to learn the hard way.

Bob had once relayed a common saying from Earth, that rules were written in the blood of less cautious men.

"Fridays are quite busy for both of us, so he suggested we meet on Saturday morning," Henry continued. "Teddy moved his Dojo to a new building a few years ago," Henry paused for a moment, then sighed. "Over a decade ago, actually," he shook his head, "but he still has his original Dojo, and he suggested we meet there."

"Don't you have classes to teach?" Elli asked.

"Part of both of our traditions is that as a student approaches mastery, they begin to teach others, which not only ensures that those who seek mastery are prepared to share their knowledge and skills but also serves as a framework to reinforce the foundation of their knowledge," Henry explained. "The process of teaching the basic techniques to novices can provide insights that weren't available when they were first learned."

Elli nodded his understanding. "So Saturday morning it is then," he agreed happily. "Shall I meet you here, or should I meet you at another address?"

"What is your cellular number?" Henry asked, "I'll send you the address. My son insisted I spend the time learning how to operate a smartphone properly," he confided, "and while I think they've claimed far too much of the attention of our youth, I can't deny their usefulness."

Elli rattled off the number for the cellphone in his pocket. He'd been a little surprised that he'd needed to have another one, but Jack had explained the situation.

"Eight o'clock?" Elli asked hesitantly. He was still getting used to the idea of everyone keeping time so closely.

"We will see you then," Henry nodded in agreement, then sketched a short bow, which Elli returned. He knew a dismissal when he heard one, so he headed out of the Dojo, pausing to put his shoes back on, but leaving his tie off.

He pulled out his smartphone and used the Uber program to request a ride back to Carol-Ann's.

Jessica smiled as she looked out over the station they'd established. One of the Endless, Sereh, had been providing a daily portal service to Holmstead, and some people had found religion. Orin, the God of the Hunt, and Gaia, the Goddess of Nature, had found willing, even fervent followers amongst the Australians who had sought refuge on Thayland.

There were over a hundred plots of land that had been laid out in neat rows and columns, each one devoted to either a garden or a crop of some sort. Where the initial mass of tents had stood, there were now broad three-story buildings laid out along broad boulevards.

Someone had been busy planting shrubs and trees in the middle and alongside the broad streets, and they'd clearly been serious enough about their work to have used mana crystals. Apple blossoms laced the air with their subtle scent, complemented and complicated by what might have been pear trees and lilacs.

The buildings that lined the lovely roads were more or less of the same design. A pair, or even a trio of shops on the bottom floor, then apartments in the rear and above. Most of the shops were vacant at the moment, but the first few blocks had boasted a butcher, a grocer specializing in vegetables, a baker, a leather goods shop, a clothier, and an honest to goodness blacksmith.

Some of the shops had been converted to classrooms, and she'd seen children being taught not only how to read, write, and their maths, but also the way skills and paths worked, as well as the cycle of waves and the theories behind monster tides. The class on how a properly built and curated Dungeon prevented monsters from appearing in the surrounding area had included topics that were new to her.

She didn't try to restrain the wave of pride she felt at the way her friends and family had grabbed this opportunity with both fists. They'd built a small community out of nothing, adapting to the system with remarkable flexibility.

Jessica was pulled from her thoughts as an unfamiliar voice called out to her. "G'day, mate!"

A young man with a shock of blonde hair pulled back into a rather messy man-bun was cresting the hill. He was sporting a brilliant smile and looked for all the world like a young, handsome version of a swagman before the sun baked their skin to leather and squinted their eyes.

"G'day," she replied.

"You're Jessica, right?" The man asked.

"I am," she agreed pleasantly.

"Jeb," he said as he approached, offering his hand.

"What brings you up the hill, Jeb?" Jessica asked as she shook his hand.

Now that he was in front of her, she could see that he really did look like a swagman. He was wearing a duster, dungarees, a leather vest over a thick shirt, and sturdy boots. He had a wide-brimmed hat secured with a leather thong that was hanging over the top of the swag he had slung as a pack over his shoulders.

"Well, I was at the station for shearing," Jeb explained, "and I heard someone was chucking a barbie." He gestured broadly as he spoke. "Not being one to turn down a coolie, I tagged right along, and after what might have been a few too many, I found myself here."

He scratched his chin for a moment, drawing Jessica's attention to the fact that he might be a few years older than she'd initially thought. He had quite a bit of stubble, but it was so blonde as to nearly escape detection.

"Now, I'll be the first to admit that I'm a bushman through and through," Jeb shrugged, "finished my eighth year of school and started making the rounds, shearing, herding, fencing, what have you. My whole family are bushmen and station hands, you see, so it was the family business. Just so happened that I was the only one at the station for this season's shearing, the rest of the lot were a thousand kilo's or so away."

"Are you looking to get back to your family, or bring them over?" Jessica asked, having determined where the man's rambling speech was headed.

"Yer a sharp one, alright," Jeb tugged at his man-bun. "I reckon they'll be keen to come over," he began, "I've kept up delving the Dungeon, and I can't imagine that any one of them wouldn't be eager to get a bit of these skills and spells." He shook his head and produced what looked for all the world like a pair of shears, although she was pretty sure that she'd never seen a model that glowed with a mustard yellow light. "Summon Mana-Infused Object," he said, looking down at his shears. "Bloody brilliant, never need sharpening, and that's only the start of it. That one spell could improve our lot so much."

"Anyway, I was wondering who I should talk to about getting them over, and a couple of the folks I asked sent me your way," he finished.

"When do you reckon they'll be finished with their current job?" Jessica asked. It hadn't been that long ago that her family had been bushmen. Her great-great-grandfather had been the one to move their family into a more settled life. She'd grown up hearing her grandfather repeat his grandfather's stories, and she'd fallen in love with the romanticized image of the swagman traveling from place to place, working hard, then moving on, sending his pay back to his wife and children.

"Another two weeks or so," Jeb replied, "but it'd be best to get word to them a bit before they finish, that way, they can get everyone together to come over."

"Well, I can't portal someplace I haven't been," Jessica admitted, "so we'll need to drive there, and I don't have a car."

"I've got a ute," Jeb grinned, "one of the reasons I was at the station alone was that I'm one of the family members that go check out a station, see how many people they might need, what the conditions are like, if they've got a place for the families to camp, how friendly they are to bushmen," he finished with a shrug. "The Scanlin family name is good enough to get us work, but there are a few stations that are a bit too rough and tumble for our tastes, and as the family keeps getting bigger, we're always looking for good places to work. For it's worth, that station was quite nice."

Jessica nodded. The Scanlin family was fairly well known. They'd been working on stations for generations, and while they could handle cattle well enough, they were regarded as being gifted when it came to shearing sheep. Some stations would delay shearing for a few weeks, waiting to hire the Scanlin family for the job, as every gram of wool counted, and the Scanlin's left the sheep sheared to the skin, nary a nick to be seen.

"You thinking the whole family will want to come over?" She asked.

"Too right," Jeb agreed, "once the apocalypse comes and goes, we're going to want to be ready for life afterward. Can't see working on a station without being able to keep the odd monster from snacking on the livestock."

Jessica nodded. That was one of the things that had been brought up. With the ability to grow grain, or even just grass, and the need to keep a Dungeon curated, things would have to change. Stations were just too big, there wasn't any way you could keep enough Dungeons open and curated. There were already plans being drafted up to build a series of Dungeons that would need a dedicated team of curators who would keep them cleared, ensuring the livestock had enough range to graze, with a little help from some ritual plant growth spells.

"Alright, say Monday of not next week, but the following?" She asked.

"I'll meet you here at daybreak," Jeb promised, "but for now, I've got a delve in a bit, cheers!"

Jessica watched him head back down the hill. Having a whole clan of station hands come over wouldn't be the worst thing. At the moment, despite the abundance of people, they were actually short on hands who could keep the stock in line, and the focus on handling the construction needs of people had left building fences on the side.

The Scanlin family might be just what they needed.