The three walked through the door, Garret mumbling something about the door needing a sign saying ‘push’. They were welcomed by many strangers’ stares and the strong scent of ale and garlic. They looked around quickly and met the gaze of the barkeep who smiled at them widely, and welcomed them in a deep booming voice to the Sunrise Inn. They each nodded to him in response and quickly located somewhere to sit. Choosing a table in the corner, Garret led them to it so that they could keep their backs to the wall and face the expansive room ahead of them. They looked around, appraising the many people seated throughout the common room. There were three men at the bar laughing drunkenly at their own jokes. Many of the tables were occupied by men and women of varying ages. Some of them were obviously travelers like themselves, but more than half showed no sign of travel, their hair well kept, their clothes clean.
One man in particular caught all three of the boys’ attention, though Garret was the first to spot him. He was old, shriveled by age. His hair hung in long white cascades over his shoulders, nearly reaching his waist. He had a full snowy beard as well, nearly the length of his hair. He was dressed in a peculiar gray garb that had once perhaps been black, but faded by years of wear and travel now had a muted earthly stone color to it. He seemed out of place. It wasn’t his clothes that seemed made in another time, in a fashion no longer used. It also wasn’t his age that seemed to keep him apart from the others here in the inn. Something about his posture, his too graceful movements, left a feeling of unworthiness to those around him, as if the man were some holy artifact that was too great to touch or even look upon directly. Yet everyone within the room had looked upon him, and left him to his own musings, sitting in the opposite corner from where the boys had seated themselves. Garret watched the man from the corners of his eyes, pretending to look around the room again and again. So caught up in his secret appraisals of the old man, Garret hadn’t noticed the woman when she approached their table. Apparently his companions were too distracted to notice as well.
“Hello fellas,” the woman greeted the boys, scrutinizing their clothes as if to measure their worth. Assured by the quality garb the twins wore she smiled at them all and continued in a softer, nicer tone. “Welcome to the Sunrise Inn. What can I get for you?”
The boys frowned at each other, puzzled, not having decided upon anything yet. Seth and Ashton looked to Garret as if to let him answer for them all. Garret took their meaning, returned the barmaid’s smile and gave his reply.
“Miss, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, we’d each like a cold mug of your finest ale, a hot meal and a room if you have one to spare.”
“Well,” she began her reply, “tonight we are serving spit roasted hog, spicy bean soup and oven toasted bread. The ale is neither fine, nor is it very cold, but I’d be happy to get you some, and as we are quite filled to capacity tonight, I only have one more room available, with two beds, if that will suit your needs for the night. Perhaps if you’re here for an extended stay tomorrow we should have a few more rooms free.” She said all this with practiced perfection as if she had made this same exact statement a thousand times before. Assuming somehow that he was their leader, she looked to Garret, waiting for a response.
“Miss, I believe the room should suit us fine for one evening, and we will take the food and drink as well,” Garret replied with a wink.
“Well then sir, the room is a silver, and the food and drink is twenty five copper for the each of you.” The woman kept her gaze fixed on Garret, who nodded in response before she whirled on her heel and headed for the bar, Garret appreciatively watching the swaying of her hips as she departed.
Each of the boys pulled from their belts a small coin purse, but Garret, raising a hand, signaled for them to put their money away. Seth looked at Garret questioningly, while Ashton’s look was one of relief.
“I’ll pay this time,” Garret said. “Next time one of you guys can pay. We will take turns.”
Both boys nodded in agreement, and Seth and Garret met eyes a moment. Both of them had noticed Ashton’s face when he realized Garret would be paying for him as well. Both twins came to the conclusion that he must not have much money and they agreed silently to save him any embarrassment by paying the majority of the way for their newfound friend.
All three companions sat silently a moment, their eyes flickering around the room again. It wasn’t long before the woman returned with her unremarkable smile, this time carrying a tray covered with mugs, plates and bowls. The mugs were filled to the brim with a light-colored ale that, after a few tastes, became evident that it had been watered down a bit. The bowls were filled with a fragrant, steaming melody of beans and cabbage that tasted delicious if not also rendering the consumer thirsty after every flaming bite. The plates too were piled with thick cuts of pork roasted and peppered, and each plate also held a toasted half loaf of bread. Eyeing all the food, unsure how any normal sized person could eat so much, Garret paid the plump, smiling woman two silver and instructed her to keep the remaining twenty five copper for herself. She thanked him graciously and handed him a key with the number eighteen engraved upon it.
The boys sat stuffing all the delicious foods into their ever reddening faces, attempting every so often to quench the heat with a large mouthful of ale. The trio was lost in their meal, oblivious to everything around them when, as if the world had ceased to exist, the room went unnaturally silent. Practically in unison all the inn’s gathered patrons inhaled as if witnessing some great event. The three boys looked around in sudden wonder as to the commotion, or rather lack thereof, and saw immediately the cause for the disruption.
All eyes were locked on the old man in the corner. He had stood, as if to leave, the only really significant thing he had done since the boys arrived. Instead of leaving, however, the old man glanced around the room, pausing briefly when his gaze fell on the boys. It was as if he was appraising their worth, as if he was the only person there who hadn’t seen them arrive. He stepped nimbly to the great polished stone slab bar beside the three drunken men. Turning his back to it, he placed his hands behind him, each to one side, and rested them palms down on the edge of the stone surface. Despite his apparent age, despite his withered features, he lifted himself gingerly to sit upon the edge of the stone surface with grace beyond that of those around him. The room remained silent, everyone fearing to move or make a sound as if that might scare the old man back to his seat.
The white haired man looked around the room again as if remembering where he was, and then inhaled silently to speak. Everyone in the room leaned nearer as if his ancient lips would not be able to make a sound big enough for them to hear. He spoke then in a melodious tone to the dozens of unworthy human ears.
“Would you be so kind as to let me recite a tale both old and glorious?” It was as if music escaped his lips when they parted. The entire audience, already enthralled, sat silently waiting for him to continue, and he did.
“Once was a man blessed with powers so grand,
The women could not help but adore.
Unite his race was the mission he had,
Given to him by his god Gorandor.
It took him no time to travel the land,
His body’s size of a man times four,
Yearning to save his race of man,
Whose conditions of life were so poor.
Though peace he wanted, he did understand
To save them he must make war.
Many armies he crushed beneath his heel,
Improving man’s life with his sword.
Banners rose, his cause gaining strength,
His race was united once more.
It would not be long, he was assured,
Armies would march with him by the score.
They cleared the lands of the evil it had,
And brought peace to his world’s doors.
His quest fulfilled, but man not safe,
For evil is like a festering sore,
Needing to ensu
re the safety of his race,
Knowing all too well their ancient lore,
He built a great city, named after his fathers,
Then arose from the stone, Castle Valdadore.
For many hundred a year peace was protected,
The King now growing old and sore,
He passed his kingdom to his only son,
Known now as King Sorantore.
Evil again strikes at our borders,
Always into the shields of Valdadore.
But each day the evil grows stronger,
As dark armies amass once more.
It seems the dark ones test our defenses,
Anxious to settle the score.
Too soon it seems our world again,
Will be drenched with the blood of war.
It falls to you, the young and the strong,
Blessed by the gods at your core,
To pick up the banners, and the cause,
And fight for your King Valdadore!”
The song was like none that the boys had ever heard before and the entire room sat enthralled, hanging on every word the old man sang. Even the drunkards at the bar had quieted their clamorous jests to listen to the old codger singing. Finally, when the song came to an end, many a man in the room lifted his mug and shouted, "Long live Valdadore!"
The old man scrutinized the small crowd, most of them still sitting with their jaws agape. It seemed to him his words had had the effect he intended and so, with effortless grace, he launched his body down from the bar and strolled straight across the room and out the door.
A few moments had passed since the old story teller had departed. Most of the people within the inn looked from one another in astonished glances, not feeling the warning the grave tale had told them. People started talking again, in hushed voices at first, repeating parts of the tale. The large room grew louder and louder as the twins and Ashton looked at one another, knowing all too well that if the tale were true, The Choosing would be much more uncomfortable than anticipated.
The boys were engrossed in discussing the old man’s tale when a loud thud followed by a bone shattering crack broke the tension in the room. Across from them, at the bar, stood one of the drunken men holding a stool in his hand. Next to him on the ground lay another drunk, writhing in pain and clutching his face as blood spilled out between his fingers. Several men in the inn stood up. The barkeep, large as he was, ducked behind the counter as if to hide. The large, burly drunk scanned the crowd measuring up those who had stood to intervene. Still holding the stool raised above him in one hand like a club, he turned back to the bar as the barkeep emerged from behind the counter. He was now holding a small crossbow, drawn and loaded. If the drunk persisted, he would drop where he stood.
“Its time to call it a night, John,” stated the barkeep coolly. “Why don’t you go home? We can square up your tab tomorrow.”
The drunk, apparently named John looked the barkeep in the face, and then glanced down at the crossbow. Hesitating momentarily, he lowered his stool then let it drop to the stone floor with a clatter. He looked at the man at his feet, turned and walked unsteadily to the door, muttering something about not gonna fight for Valdadore anymore, and how someone was gonna answer for his ruined night. Then he strode, somewhat unevenly, out the door, slamming it behind him.
Everyone in the room watched him go, apart from Ashton. The gangly blonde bounced out of his chair and weaved himself between the stunned patrons towards the injured man. Coming to his side, Ashton dropped to his knees and closed his eyes, his face turned skywards. His childish features relaxed and he spoke soft words then in prayer to his goddess, and opening his eyes he looked down to the man who lay before him. Lightly grabbing the man’s protective hands, he peeled them back to assess the damage. Several people who had gathered around him, including the twins, gasped at the sight. The man's jaw was broken and ripped wide open, spurting blood, and his nose was almost completely detached from his face. Ashton composed his expression to one of un-terrified concern. He lowered his own hands above the man's face, leaving a hair’s breadth between them and the man's mangled features. Chanting something nearly inaudible, Ashton’s features seemed strained with some unseen exertion. Yellow and white light began to glow at his fingertips slowly, steadily encompassing his entire hands. With each repetition of his chant the light increased in intensity. Sweat beaded on Ashton’s forehead, and his body began to tremble slightly. He chanted louder and louder though his words were incoherent, something foreign. The light from his hands now encompassed the face of the injured man and Ashton’s body shook more violently. Almost as if a cold wind blew down the young healer’s spine, his body shuddered as the magic took him over, racing through his blood. His whole body was consumed in light for a moment as he regained control over the power that coursed through him. As if struck with an arrow he suddenly stopped chanting, his eyes popping wide open, he grinned in the direction of the twins and then went limp, falling to the floor. Ashton lay, eyes wide, breathing shallow, still grinning at the amazing sensation coursing through his blood.
CHAPTER 8
Ashton
The injured man lay next to Ashton in a pool of his own blood. He looked up at the faces around him, mouths wide open in wonder or horror, he couldn’t be sure which. All he knew was that most of the pain in his face had abated and the ringing in his ears had vanished completely. Not knowing how to react, he put his hands back up to shield his face, to try to stop the blood. But there was no blood, not now. Reaching up to touch his face, he found with his bloodstained fingers that it had been completely and utterly restored.
CHAPTER 9
Garret
The guests all stared at the man on the floor and the boy beside him, speechless. Only Garret and Seth reacted. They raced to their fallen friend and reaching down, each grabbed Ashton under an arm and dragged his limp form through the crowd before resting him in a chair.
“Water!” Garret shouted, and a moment later the barmaid came hustling to their side with a large mug of clean water.
Long moments passed as Garret tried unsuccessfully to make Ashton drink. The boy just sat there propped up in the chair, a crooked grin on his face, eyes wide open but oblivious to the world outside his own mind. The injured man had since regained his feet and was towering in front of Ashton with a look of unsurpassed gratitude lighting his features. The barmaid too was standing nearby in case the boys required anything further. The barkeep had come around the bar at some point and was standing behind the small crowd, easily looking over their heads at the comatose boy. Ashton blinked. The crowd froze. His lips settled into a straight line. The crowd still refused to move. Most of them stared at him with anxious faces, their eyes wide and Garret realized his own mouth was still agape. Ashton took a deep breath and shook his head as if to clear it of some invisible fog. The crowd roared a cheer as if the boy had just slain a dragon.
The rest of the boys’ evening was filled with people approaching to congratulate Ashton. It was obvious that this made him more than a little uncomfortable, and often he replied that it was his goddess who had performed the healing, using him as her vessel. After the common room had cleared out a bit, with locals returning to their homes and travelers retiring to their rooms, the twins finally had time to ask Ashton the questions they had been dying to ask for the last few hours. Garret started with questions about his limitations.
“What if an arm is chopped off or a leg?” Garret asked. “Can you heal that?”
“Not yet,” Ashton admitted with a weak grin. “Perhaps when I have more practice and training I could do it, but thus far his face was the hardest thing I’ve done. I nearly pushed myself too hard. Untrained healers are known to die for pushing their limitations. Wielding the power of a god is taxing, but it can be rewarding too.”
While Ashton explained all this to Garret, Seth sat silently, absorbing the information. When he was finished, Garret listened as Seth asked just one question of their friend.
“What does it feel like? I mean, what is it like when your goddess feeds her power through you? It almost seemed that you were enjoying yourself while performing, and then when you finished healing the man, it was like you were drunk or something?”
Together Garret and Seth watched as Ashton thought for a moment, pondering the best way to explain it. It showed plainly on his face that an explanation was not easy, but even so, Ashton tried the best he could.
“Well, I guess you could say that it feels wonderful to channel her power. It is kind of like a drug I guess, you feel it throughout your entire body like it is surging through your blood. It’s the best feeling you could ever imagine! For me it is like I can actually feel Lorentia’s love like a physical thing pumping through me. It’s hard to explain really.”
Seth nodded in response, taking the answer as it was.
“I’m curious if it is the same for all magic users?” Seth asked. “Perhaps I might get the chance someday to ask other magic users if they feel it the same way.”
“Maybe,” Ashton agreed.
“Let’s get to our room and rest up,” Garret added after a moment lost in his own musings.
Thus decided they left the common room, deciding unanimously to get an early start in the morning. They found their room quickly and unlocked the door. Clamoring inside, they took turns removing their packs before piling them in a corner. It was a small, simple room constructed from the same stone as the exterior of the building, with a desk and two beds. Since it was an interior room there was no window, only a small lamp that hung off a peg in the wall. Seth was quick to give up his place in a bed for the night as it was obvious that Ashton was worse for wear, looking well beyond drained. Ashton argued that he should sleep on the floor being as the twins had been the ones to pay, but both of the twins squashed his argument and so it was decided. Garret and Ashton undressed and climbed into their beds. Seth pulled his blanket from his pack and curled up on the floor, his back against the door. The trio was quick to find sleep this night. None tossed or turned, all exhausted from their long day. When morning came, none would remember having any dreams. It would be a peaceful night.
Age of the Gods: The Complete, twelve novel, fantasy series (The Blood and Brotherhood Saga) Page 6