by AO Spade
Yes, the water was fast enough to carry the bundle away and take him with it. That was, if it didn't sink to the bottom, something that he did not want to find out. If only he could move things with his magic like the ancient people.
Alvarr crouched by the water and focused all his energy into a rock, willing it to move. Lift, just a little. Nothing. He shifted to four-legs and glared at the small stone. Move. No light came from his horn, but the surface coated with green moss. He huffed and swished his tail.
It was no less than he expected. He was an earth mage; his power was for asking Nature to grow, not changing its shape. At least, not on purpose.
But not all the ancient people had magic. If they were anything like the current tribes, very few had power. And yet, they managed to make wondrous things with their hands and minds. Though magic may have helped craft their amazing dwellings and other things for which he did not know the purpose, the ancient people first thought of them.
He changed back to man-shape and paced up and down the water's edge, his toes touching the cold water at times. What would they have done? Alvarr just had to think like them.
Alvarr pictured the straight-sided platforms, and all the pieces of wood joined together. Maybe they could have made one long platform that they could walk on, avoiding the water entirely. On, nothing that involved. It could just be the thick trunk of a tree, or slender ones put together. That I would somehow fell and move, all by myself? He stamped a hoof into the soft ground. Those kinds of fantasies were useless.
In frustration, he picked up a short branch and threw it into the gray-blue water. The river looked so cold and eager to take him and his items under. It was not that deep, but the current was much stronger than it was when he had crossed. He shivered and wrapped his arms around his stomach, watching the branch speed away.
He turned away and went back into the trees, where he'd left the cloth-wrapped package. Shifting again to four-legs, he looked for forage, something that wasn't plain grass, which he'd kept himself to ever since the vomiting incident.
To his delight, he found familiar leaves under the base of a tree, growing up through the layer of leaves that had fallen. Coolgrass! It grows here? He bent his head and took a mouthful.
And then he spat it out. The smell was so strong, it sent a wave of sickness over him. His mouth dried, even with the taste of the fragrant green leaves in it. How could I ever have liked this?
The mage stumbled away from the coolgrass, breathing through his mouth. The leaves could not have been bad; they tasted perfectly fine. But his body rejected them.
He shifted to man-shape, but the urge to vomit had passed. Plain grass it was, perhaps forever. Alvarr found a hollowed-out trunk of an old downed tree, one that had fallen many seasons ago, and sat down. I can swim this river, even with the current much stronger. But getting his treasures across was the unknown.
The trunk shifted under him as he dug his toes into the earth. The mage stood up to see what had happened. The thick outer segment of the trunk fell off and lay on the ground, curving upward. The outside was rough bark, and the inside was smooth. This tree must be very old.
Alvarr pressed the inside, curious about its silky texture. The wood didn't crumble or crack. Perhaps I could use this, he thought, picking the heavy, curved piece up to look at it.
Wood floated. He put it down and tried to unbalance it, but the curved piece of wood always balanced. Yes. This is exactly what the ancient people would do. His hopes rose as if they, too, floated on the water. If this works, I will be home by nightfall.
Some time later, Alvarr had completed his preparations. After securing his things to the curved tree segment with a precious segment of vine, he had cautiously tried floating his invention in the water, holding it by a short tether. It had bobbed and rocked, but remained upright.
After failing to grow any more vines, he had to use the old, drying vines, and that worried him. The fraying texture was weak, even twisted together, especially in the middle. He could just imagine it breaking when his line was stretched out across the water, pulled by the current, but also pulled by him.
But this was the only thing he could do. It's either this, or stay on this side of the river forever.
He took the end of his vine and wrapped it around his waist until he was sure it would not come undone. Finding two good-sized rocks, he wedged the bark and bundle between them, right at the water's edge where the current was weakest. When Alvarr had swum across and was standing on the other bank, he could pull everything loose with a gentle tug, and tow it across the river. That was his hope, anyway.
In man-shape, he waded into the cold, swift water. The temperature made his breath catch and his muscles stiffen, but he would cross. Nature would not let him perish.
The bottom dropped away from him, and Alvarr took a breath and started to swim, head down in the numbing water. The current fought both him and the woven vine that wanted to pull him off course.
Alvarr angled his body to fight the water's direction, trying to swim the shortest, straightest path to the other side. But the current was too strong, no match for a man. His battle was to keep himself swimming without using his energy, and let the water take him where it would.
The mage kept himself floating, moving his arms and legs. In this way, he inched forward toward the shore, but the water bore him at an angle. I just hope the bundle does not come loose until I reach the other side. It was not a wide river, but neither was his vine long.
The tension at his waist slackened, and he knew that the bundle had pulled free from the rock wedge. He thrashed and kicked; there was no sense in saving energy now, and gasped with relief when his toes touched the rocks on the other side. Teeth chattering, chest-deep in the river, he pulled in the rope, hand over hand, bringing his precious items closer.
He grabbed the edge of the bark and waded to the other shore, clutching it to his chest. Then, he made himself examine the contents. The white material had been splashed, and much water pooled beneath the bundle. He shifted to four-legs to shake himself dry, away from the items. When he returned in man-shape, he unwrapped the vine and felt the things inside. Dry. All are dry.
He laughed out loud, a short, sharp, unbelieving expression of what he had done. He would never have gotten the idea if he had not visited the ancient camp, but he, Alvarr, with his unskilled hands had done this. Without magic. Every stallion and mare can do this. We can go back to the way we used to live.
Alvarr couldn't stop smiling, an expression that pulled his face in unfamiliar directions. The vine had not snapped, and when it did, he could manage the rest of the way on two-legs. He was going to make it. He just had to find the ruined dwellings, which were upstream from where he'd crossed.
He tilted his head. Something was different from when he'd crossed over, and it wasn't just the season.
No romeya. Maybe it didn't reach this part of the land. The mage didn't really believe that. Romeya lived and spread where nothing else could... He took up the vine of his package and ran back upstream along the ground just past the rocky stream bed. He didn't have far to run before encountering the thorny black wood. He smelled just a hint of romeya, but mostly the strange scent of the blood flowers.
Somehow, the new plant had crossed over the water. The vines were predators. The thorny black wood had grown right over the romeya to consume it. Alvarr stared at it for a long minute, imagining he could actually see the thorns slowly growing into the hearts of the romeya flowers.
That's why they are growing in this direction. Predators rarely had one kind of prey; what else did they consume? Alvarr supposed he'd find out.
He remembered touching the beast he had slain with his horn to honor it, and the flower growing, but the mage didn't believe that the flowers were good, just because they were born of magic. Nature was not good, nor was it bad. It just sought balance. Were the blood flowers the balance to the rampant romeya?
CHAPTER NINE
A Mage's Welcome
STOPPING ONLY TO graze on the sparse grass that grew near the river, the mage moved toward the abandoned part of the stallion camp. Where it had been overrun with romeya, now, Alvarr had to step carefully to avoid the new thorny black growth. At least no one will be tempted to eat that.
With new eyes, the mage saw the ruins of the vine-woven dwellings. Alvi's dwelling, which Alvarr now knew had probably been shaped by shape-mages, had stood for many, many generations, but even the other structures made of logs had not been reduced to rotting ruins, the way these dwellings had.
The mage didn't want to stop, but he made himself examine a pile of rotted remains. Without mages, perhaps the stallions couldn't do any better than this. But these dwellings were crude replacements for what they had lost.
Or maybe these vine and branch dwellings were always meant to be temporary, Alvarr thought. The old territory's grass was perfect and lush compared to the stallion territory's. Maybe the early stallion tribe had been so busy foraging and surviving, they had no time to construct anything more, especially if they could not spend much time in man-shape, fearing even the common magic that everyone had.
Or maybe they just lost the knowledge. Alvarr looked at his dirty bundle. No one but the Elders would understand that it held secrets inside. If their knowledge was encoded in the flat leaves, and they left it all behind, and there were no mage, they wouldn't have known. He drew a swift breath as he realized that the mares had not kept the knowledge either. How easily it had all become lost. He would have had no idea if he hadn't seen the cave.
And then, Alvarr was through the old dwellings and stepping onto the edge of the camp's territory. He felt a little dizzy, and stumbled over nothing in his man-shape. It is probably relief that the long journey is over. He kept his head down as he pulled the bundle to the back of the Elders' tent, and then into the center of the camp.
No one is here. They probably had to go far, far afield, searching for forage untainted by romeya. He knew that was the most reasonable explanation, but still, an eerie feeling crept over him. What if the stallions had abandoned this place as well, driven out by the lack of good food?
"Hello?" the mage called. When he received no reply, Alvarr walked through the empty to his own dwelling. When he had left, the vines had been living and green. Now, they were faded to brown, like everyone else's. He touched the outside of it, and a tiny tendril of his magic slowly, sluggishly came up to spark the vines back to life. For all the good it does. If no one is here...
He did not allow himself to finish that thought. Depositing his items on the floor of his dwelling's four-legged side, he went to his man-sized pallet of dried, crackling leaves and twigs. Old vines had fallen from his roof onto it. He was exhausted, but he did not want to sleep there. It looked too unwelcoming, like everything had died.
He walked toward Laren's dwelling, his hair blowing around him in the wind. Every step was more and more difficult. "Hello? Laren?" The leader's dwelling, too, was empty.
But then he heard hoofbeats coming toward camp at a fast pace. Alvarr rushed out of the leader's dwelling to see Laren's great gray form cantering toward him.
When the leader saw him, he swerved, and then shifted to man-shape. Laren raced up to him and grabbed his shoulders in a grip that hurt. "Where have you been, mage?" He shook Alvarr a bit. "Why did you leave us?"
The mage's entire journey raced through his mind, and he searched for a way for it all to make sense. But before he could say anything, stars swam in front of his eyes. "I…" he whispered.
Laren's hands squeezed tighter. "What?"
At last, exhaustion from Alvarr's long journey had caught up with him. He shook his head -- a mistake. "The Elders, take me there," he said. "I think I need help."
Once again, Alvarr was swung up in Laren's human arms. The leader took off at a half-run that jostled the mage, but Alvarr was too tired to care. He leaned his head on Laren's shoulder, and the heat from the leader's skin made him shiver. His teeth started chattering.
"Elders! Elder Sevan, Elder Mastok!" Laren shouted, bearing him into the white healing tent. "Anyone?" He carefully lay Alvarr down on a human-size pallet. Carefully, he moved the mage's tangled hair away from his face, and what he saw must have given him great concern. "You just rest," the leader said in a low voice. "I will find someone to help you."
Alvarr nodded. A part of his mind relaxed in the presence of his leader. Now that he was among others, he realized how hard it had been to act alone.
Laren paused at the healing tent's exit. "Just... stay there," he said, putting compulsion into his voice.
The mage just stared. He knows that doesn't work.
He must have slept after that, because he opened his eyes to the anxious faces of both Elder Mastok and Elder Sevan.
"I knew you'd come back," Elder Mastok said, his light eyes radiating pride.
Alvarr sat up, struggling a bit. "I didn't run away, Elder. Nature guided me, and my path was away from the camp. I thought of you often."
"Laren seemed to think he had driven you off," the white-haired Elder said, a question in his voice.
"No." Alvarr shook his head, causing a moment of dizziness. "There was something Nature required of me, and only I could have done it." He made to get up, but Elder Sevan's hand stopped him.
"You are going nowhere until you are examined," the strong, gray-haired Elder said. "I will prepare the restorative, but you must submit to Elder Mastok's care."
Alvarr bowed his head in assent.
"Just lie back," Elder Mastok said, and hovered his palm over the mage's head.
Alvarr didn't know if he could truly detect the Elder's energy, but his scalp prickled. He closed his eyes as Elder Mastok's dry, wrinkled hand lightly touched his forehead.
"Have you been feeling ill?" the old man asked.
"Maybe a little," Alvarr replied. "I think I ate some bad herbs a few days ago. My stomach has been sensitive since then."
"Hmm. You look remarkably healthy." The Elder felt his neck and put his palm over Alvarr's heart.
"Elder, the grass where I ended up was perfect. Almost too much, too sweet," Alvarr said. "There was no romeya, and it was all still green."
"And how is your ability to use magic? Your power?"
He knows something is wrong. "That has changed, Elder," Alvarr said. "It's different. Worse."
"How so?" The Elder sounded curious, but not alarmed.
"I cannot channel Nature anymore. Well, I can, but it is very weak."
"Before you left," Elder Mastok said, "you were having trouble with your power's strength."
"I know!" Alvarr tried to sit up, but the Elder's hand on his chest made him settle back down. "It could have been the land itself, I suppose. The earth was so dry once I got out of the woods, across the river. And part of the woods were dead as well."
The Elder sighed, but said nothing.
"For a long time, I could not access any power of my own, though I could feel it still with me. And then…" He hesitated, not wanting to tell the story of how he had killed a living creature. The gentle Elders might think worse of him. "In the dry earth, something grew. Something that might be new. But Nature created it, not me. It's a predator-flower that eats romeya." And blood.
He opened his eyes to see Elder Mastok frowning in confusion.
"How do you know it's a predator?" the old man asked.
Alvarr sighed. They should know everything, but he only wanted to tell it once. "I'll explain it all if someone brings Laren here. As for my magic, it has settled, perhaps too much. It feels like it's asleep. Maybe trapped." His hand covered his stomach.
"That's unusual," Elder Mastok said. "Perhaps your energy was depleted from the journey?"
But how much I traveled -- or didn't travel -- didn't seem to affect my ability. Alvarr was going to say as much, but the leader strode into the tent.
"Elders, is he awake yet?"
When Laren noticed Alvarr sitting up, he knelt by the mage
's pallet. His features were unreadable.
"How are you feeling?" the leader asked.
"Better," Alvarr said. He watched Laren's face for any trace of anger, frustration, relief. Anything at all. "I am just tired from my journey, I think."
The leader nodded once, then stood up and took a step back. "Then you can resume your duties," Laren said. "Romeya has taken everything over, and stallions are going hungry." He paused and swept his gaze over the mage's body. "But it seems that you have not had this hardship on your journey."
Alvarr's lips parted, but he could not think of a thing to say. Was this the same person who had carried him to the healing tent and told him to rest? Why would Laren begrudge his good health? Perhaps he is just worried for the tribe. That, I can understand. "I can," he said, but he hid the instant worry that came with his words. What if he could not access his magic? "But there's something you should-"
"Have you lost your mind?" Elder Mastok demanded, as close to angry as Alvarr had ever seen him. "Alvarr, you are highly fatigued."
Is he talking to me? The mage lifted his chin, ready to argue that he was prepared to do what he could.
But the white-haired old man ignored him and stepped right up close to the leader. Elder Mastok poked him in the chest with a gnarled but steady finger. "Unless you are going to talk quietly with Alvarr, you must leave. You are bothering my patient." Making Laren back up a step, he continued. "And you, of all people, should be glad that the tribe's only mage is healthy after he has journeyed so far and so long."
But Alvarr held up his hand. "Elder, I'm all right. I am," he insisted at Elder Mastok's frown. "But I need you and the other Elders here. I brought something from my journey, something you need to see." He rose on mostly-steady legs. "Wait for me."
He managed to exit the tent, but halfway to his dwelling, dizziness descended on him once again. This is not normal. The mage reached out for Nature, but got nothing. He stumbled and put his hands on his knees, breathing through the sickness. Sweat sprung around his hairline.