Sporemageddon - V1 Chapter 9

Black Mould – Nine – A Revelation of Greater Magics and Godly Ties

Things grew a little tense at home as I explained my class and skills to my parents, and then… not much happened. My father had me swear not to tell anyone, then after a long discussion with mom, they agreed that returning me to Martha’s wasn’t a great idea.

The problem was, that meant returning to the old hag’s place, and I really didn’t want that.

In the end I did go back to Martha’s, but only for a week. Long enough for my mom to switch shifts at work so that at least one parent was always home.

What followed was two months of pure, dreadful boredom.

I was at home, with nothing to do, all day, every day. Toys obviously didn’t hold my interest, and the few books we had were all far beyond my meagre understanding, though I did eventually read through the entire thing, if only because I had nothing better to do.

My mom taught me how to knit, and I earned the [Knitting {Common}] skill.

How amazing.

Two things of interest happened during that time. My parents held a small anniversary for me on the day I turned one. It involved a tiny sweet cake, a pair of little boxes delicately wrapped in brown paper, and a bottle of juice.

When they woke me up and presented me with all of my gifts, few as they were, I had to hold back tears. They were so proud.

Hugs were had, and my parents said that even if I didn’t have a name yet, they’d still carve the truth of me in their hearts. I didn’t know what that meant at the time, but I knew that it was a lot.

The cake was perfect, even split into thirds so that we’d each get a part, and the juice was like nectar, refreshing and sweet, almost too sweet for my tongue.

My mom got me knitting needles, long and slender and with a pair of carefully painted mushrooms on the ends.

My dad gave me a book. Old, a little tattered. It was about mushrooms.

I cried, hugging him and the book close.

The other big event happened a few weeks after my birthday. My father returned home with a small box which he placed on the dinner table. It was immediately strange. Sometimes he would bring something back from work, mom too. Mostly it was groceries or cans of something. Once or twice a little bar of a toffee-like candy that he would share with me when mom was out, but mostly it was normal, boring things.

This box was different. It was made of a clean white paper, with bronze gilding on the edges. My mom saw it and gasped. “You didn’t,” she said.

My father looked sheepish for just a moment. “I had to. We had to. We can’t not know.”

“How much was it?” my mom asked.

My father didn’t answer. “It doesn’t matter. We needed it, so I saved up. It’s here now, and I can’t return it.”

Mom wasn’t pleased with that, I could tell, but other than giving him a smack on the arm there wasn’t much she could do. My father turned to me and waved me closer. “Come, little mushroom, come closer.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice, I was curious enough as it was.

The package opened up to reveal a scroll. A long piece of paper, carefully wrapped around a wooden staff and held in place by a blue and bronze ribbon. The box had a name on its side, I noted, Whithallow’s Magic and Sorcery.

“What is it?” I asked.

“This is magic,” my father said. He seemed as excited as I was. With great care, he unfolded the scroll, revealing a mess of lines and tight script filling the entirety of the scroll, all except for the bottom half of it, which was entirely blank. “Place your thumb here,” he said while pointing to a circle in the centre. He was careful not to touch it himself. “Then hold it there.”

He placed the scroll onto the table, and I climbed up onto a chair to be tall enough to see. Carefully, I reached down and pressed my thumb against the space meant for it.

Something pushed up my arm, locking it in place and sending tingles through the limb. Then a cloying, cold… thing pushed through me.

The closest I’d ever felt to the sensation was having a dentist inject something into my gums, but this was going from the tip of my thumb, through my hand and wrist, then up my arm to where it sank into the back of my neck.

Something like a brain freeze hit me, and was gone just as fast. I tipped backwards, only my dad catching my shoulders stopping me from falling.

“Whoa,” I said.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I nodded. The pain was gone. There was a sort of phantom pain left lingering behind, but that was it.

“Did the tingles pass?” my mom asked.

“Yes, I’m okay,” I said.

My mom brushed my hair back. “I hate it when we need to use one of these. It makes me feel sick all day.”

“You’ve used one of these?” I asked.

She nodded. “When you start working you need to touch one. Some places make you pay for it.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Why make you pay?” my dad asked. “Greed.” He flinched as mom smacked him. “Ah, it’s to find out if you have bad skills. Or a Thief class. Someone might also lie about what skills they have when applying for a job.”

That made perfect sense. I glanced back to the scroll and noted that the previously empty bottom half was covered in blocky, bold words. I leaned forwards to see, and so did my parents.

Name: N/A

Race: Human {Common}

Age: 1 Year

Mana: 12/15

Primary Class: [Agaric Cleric {Rare}]

Afflictions

– Black Lung {Common}

– Child of Poverty {Common}

Blessings

– Blessing of Feronie {Unique}

Agaric Cleric Class Skills – Level Forty One

– Mycologic Growth {Uncommon} – Level Twelve

– Druid Sight {Uncommon} – Level Nine

– Mushroom Magic {Rare} – Level Twenty

> [Shroom Zoom]

–

–

General Skills – Level Seventeen

– Running {Common} – Level Six

– Knitting {Common} – Level Eleven

–

–

–

The rest of the page was blissfully blank. So, it was a way for others to see a person’s skill sheet. That was interesting. No breakdowns of what the skills did, but I imagined that would require a much more intensive probe, or a more specific one.

“So, it’s really true,” dad said. He swept me up in a hug and we spun around. “Ah, you’re not just my little mushroom! You’re a special little mushroom!”

I giggled, unable to resist as we went round and round. “Stop!” I pleaded, but there was no stopping, not until it was time for tickles. Really, I was a grown-up, I had no business squealing and kicking out just because someone was poking at my ribs.

“Blessing of Feronie,” my mom read. “Why? Why did that goddess look upon our child? And {Unique} I’ve never heard of that.”

“Is it like {Rare} but more?” I asked.

“Much rarer than rare,” dad said. “Common, uncommon, rare, epic, legendary. And then, next to those, in a category all on its own, is unique.” He patted my head. “Just like you.”

I nodded. It made some sense, it was a blessing directly from a goddess after all. “Is Feronie nice?” I asked.

There was a beat of awkward silence before my mom replied. “She might be. The other gods don’t all like her. They say mean things and… and she’s the goddess of sickness and cruel monsters.”

“But she’s the goddess of nature,” I said.

“Yes, and nature is where most evil things come from.”

I frowned. The logic wasn’t entirely wrong there. If humans did something evil, and humans were natural beings, then nature was the cause of the evil thing. It made sense… if someone didn’t have the faintest clue how cause and consequence worked out.

“There’s no church of Feronie,” Mom said. “What do we do?”

My father hummed, then shook his head. “We keep this hidden, keep ourselves safe. Don’t ever let someone see your class, or your blessing.”

“We could get rid of the class,” mom says. “You just need to want it hard enough…”

Dad shook his head again. “No. Anyone that can see the class might be able to see the blessing, and there’s no getting rid of that. It’s a gift.”

“A gift,” I agree. “And I can use it to help! Really! I can make mushrooms grow. We can eat lots.”

“That’s dangerous,” mom says.

But dad had a look in his eyes that tells me he doesn’t think it’s all that bad an idea. “Maybe when you’re older,” he finally says.

“How old? One and a half? Two?”

My mom sighed as she walked over to the cot. She picked me up with ease and placed me on her lap. “Stop trying to grow old so quickly. There’s a lot of good in being young.”

I wasn’t so sure about that, but I could hardly argue against it when I looked as young as I did.

At least my knees and lower back were both fine.

***