Angon turned around and moved to Jarak’s bed, lowering himself to his knees before the young prince. He put both hands over the wound and closed his eyes. Several minutes went by and nothing happened. Everyone had stepped closer in silent anticipation as Tilden went about preparing a meal of soup, bread, and wine.
“It will take him hours to complete the task. Are you really going to stand over him the entire time?” There were several flashes of light around Angon’s hands and they all stepped back, a bit startled. “Don’t worry,” Tilden continued as he prepared the meal, “that is normal.”
“Come,” Brant suggested, “let us sit and relax. Worrying over his shoulder will only distract him.”
Reluctantly, everyone did as he asked, sitting in the chairs before the fireplace as well as the chairs at the main table. Endler, making himself useful, added a few logs to the fire.
“Rath, I would like to hear more about what you know of the Kynan,” Serix said. “I’ve read many things about them and none of them were good.”
“I’m assuming that when you say you’ve read many things that you are referring to books sanctioned by the Church?”
“Well, yes, I guess I am.”
“I hate to be too blunt, but those books are not only biased, but they paint a picture of the Kynan fraught with lies.”
“But why would they do that?” Cat asked, her tone skeptical.
Rath shrugged. “The Church sees the Kynan as a threat to their own power. The Kynan predate the Great Change and the arrival of Argon and Felina by thousands of years. No one knows their true origins, but we have written records of their existence that go back thousands of years before the Great Change.”
“Why have we never heard of this?” Endler asked.
By this time Tilden had made his way to each person, serving them a cup of wine and setting a tray of cheeses, apples, and bread on the table. “Help yourself,” he said. “The soup will be ready soon.”
Everyone thanked him as Rath continued. “You have not heard this for the same reason that the Church has censored the books that were surely a part of your royal education. They do not want you to know the truth.”
“And what truth is that?” Brant asked, speaking up for the first time.
“That there are so many mysteries…that there was magic before the arrival of Argon and Felina. You see, the Kynan were keepers of this magic. They nurtured it and protected it, using it to heal and to do good. Their knowledge about the world contradicts what is written in the Argot, thus they were considered a threat. They were hunted down and killed, their reputation slowly marred by lies and propaganda until all knowledge of their former selves was erased. The Church then promoted the myths and half-truths that portrayed the Kynan as evil demons to be feared and loathed.”
“How do you know that the information in the books you read were true? What if they are biased as well?” Serix asked.
“That is always a possibility. As a scholar, I must do careful research knowing that the truths are sometimes hidden. I always wondered if what I’ve read of the Kynan was truthful. Without boring you, the historians who wrote the texts that speak of the Kynan can generally be held above reproach. Be that as it may, I think we have our proof before us,” Rath said as his eyes indicated Angon. They all looked at the Kynan and several more flashes of light followed, accentuating his point.
“Perhaps,” Endler said, clearly deep in thought.
Tilden brought over bowls of soup and handed them each one. They grabbed slices of apples and bread and eagerly dipped their spoons into the savory soup. It was a salty broth filled with potatoes, onions, and chunks of meat, simple but hearty. Tilden joined them, sitting at one of the empty chairs at the table. They were silent as they ate, digesting Rath’s words as much as the food.
Finally Brant set his bowl on the table and looked at Tilden. “Tilden, how did you come to serve Angon?”
“I was an orphan, begging for scraps, when he found me. He took me in and raised me, and taught me many things. I’ve been with him since I was six. I know of no other life than this.”
“The way you held your swords…I can tell that you’ve been trained. Who taught you?”
Tilden looked at Angon. “He did.”
Brant raised his brows questioningly. “Angon knows how to fight?”
Tilden smiled. “He is Kynan. He knows many things.”
They talked for several hours as Angon continued to kneel before Jarak. Three more times they witnessed light flashing from around his hands, and each time Jarak’s entire body would glow with a white light. But always it receded, returning the room to the flickering shadows that mingled with the orange glow from the dancing flames of the fire. Eventually they all drifted off to sleep, some dozing in the soft chairs while others lay on the floor covered with blankets they had brought with their supplies.
Tilden woke them at first light. The aroma of warm bread and steaming coffee aroused their senses and it wasn’t long before everyone was up. Angon was no longer at Jarak’s side. As soon as Cat woke she rushed over to Jarak's bedside to see how he was doing. His color had improved, the pallor of his skin slowly giving way to a flush of warm rosiness. And after laying her hand on his forehead she realized he was no longer feverish. In fact he stirred when she touched him. “I think he is waking,” she said with anticipation.
The others quickly joined her at his bedside. “How does he look?” Serix asked.
Jarak stirred again and his eyes fluttered open. He looked about slowly, his eyes adjusting to the light, an expression of confusion on his face. Then, seeing Cat, he smiled weakly. “Where am I?” he whispered hoarsely.
Cat knelt next to him and held his hand in hers. “We are in a cabin. A friend of Brant's has healed you. How do you feel?”
“Better,” he said. “I feel much stronger. Can you get me something to drink?”
Tilden was there immediately with a cup of water. “Here,” he said, handing it to Cat who helped Jarak sit up in bed, his back resting against the wall. Jarak drank the water in several big gulps. “I have some porridge and honey cooking and fresh bread. He will need to eat.”
“I’m famished,” Jarak said. “Who are you? I thank you for your hospitality.”
“I’m Tilden. And you are welcome. If you will excuse me, I will get you some food.”
After they had all eaten and talked briefly of the past events, Jarak fell back to sleep. His color had returned and he was breathing steadily. Several hours later Angon returned and asked for Brant to follow him. They both left and made their way through a moss covered trail that meandered through the thick grove of trees, ending in a clearing about thirty paces in diameter that was blanketed with the same soft green moss. Angon stopped in the middle of the clearing and turned to face Brant.
“What is this place?” Brant asked as he stopped before the Kynan.
“It is a clearing surrounded by trees,” Angon said, stating the obvious, a slight smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “Come closer. I want to show you something.”
Brant stepped closer and Angon lifted both his hands. “What?” Brant asked, puzzled.
“Grab my hands,” Angon said. Brant hesitantly reached out and took hold of Angon's hands. “Good, now turn on your towd.”
Brant was still not very skilled at controlling his towd and it was difficult for him to do without closing his eyes. So he closed them and pictured the shutters of a window opening in his mind’s eye. As he did so, his mind’s eye swam briefly before refocusing on Angon’s bright aura. Opening his eyes he saw a halo of white light shining around Angon’s body, while his own aura appeared as pale gold.
“Good. I am now going to show you something. Don’t let go of my hands.”
Brant nodded in agreement and suddenly felt his hands growing warm. Looking down he saw Angon’s silver aura slowly spread from his hands across Brant's, moving steadily up his arms. Reacting instinctively, Brant jerked slightly, ready to let go, but he stoppe
d himself. “What is happening?”
“Do not worry. I am just opening your aura to mine.”
Brant watched as his own aura was slowly surrounded by Angon's aura. It wasn’t long before Angon’s aura had fully enveloped his body. Warm and comforting it felt like a soft down quilt, and he was no longer alarmed. “I feel warm.”
Angon nodded. “That is good. Now, I’m going to show you the Source. Close your eyes.”
Brant did as he was told. In his mind’s eye he could feel his body as well as Angon’s joined, their auras pulsing as one. Then something else happened. He began to feel an external source of heat slowly rise through their feet and their combined auras grew even warmer. “Now, open your eyes but keep your towd on,” Angon said. Brant followed his instructions and his eyes widened at how bright their auras had become. He could actually see the energy flow from the ground into their feet, feeding both of their auras. As his aura grew in strength, his body felt increasingly strong, as if he could run or fight all day. “Good, do you feel it? Can you see it?”
Brant gazed down at the ground as they drew energy from the earth, a smile appearing across his scarred face. “I can. What are you doing?”
“I am drawing energy from the earth. I have opened up your aura to the Source. Now, release my hands and turn off your towd.”
Brant didn’t want to; he wanted to cling to this wonderful experience, but he reluctantly closed his eyes, shutting his mental shutters, and the connection broke as he released Angon’s hands. Stepping back he opened his eyes, their auras no longer visible. But he felt more alive than he ever had.
“I feel amazing,” he said as he flexed his muscles, reveling in their enhanced power. “Why have you shown me this?”
“I have opened your aura to the Source. Now you can recognize it…you can feel it…and find it on your own.”
“You mean I can now pull energy from the earth?”
Angon smiled. “Perhaps. I have simply shown you the way. I have cracked open a door sitting on rusty hinges. You must work to open the door on your own, inching it open to fully reveal the Source's power. Remember, the door will open more quickly if you grease the hinges rather than bashing it down with force.”
“Grease the hinges?”
Angon smiled again. “Opening the door on your own will require practice and patience, but in time you should be able to fully draw upon this power. It’s a mental game of concentration and focus that takes time to master.”
“I think I understand. Now, I should be able to draw small amounts of energy from the Source, but with time and practice I will be able to access it fully, strengthening my body in the process.”
“That is correct. As a Merger, you are limited to drawing directly from your aura, which draws power from the Source in small amounts. Once you recognize this connection, you will be able to tap this power directly.”
Brant was stunned by the implications. “I will have an endless supply of aura energy.”
“That is correct.”
“Why have you shown me this gift?”
Angon stepped closer and placed an old callused hand on his shoulder. “Friend Brant, our world needs men such as you.”
“Such as me?”
“Yes, men who do not seek power, glory, or wealth. You see the world simply, and you act accordingly. I have given you this gift because I believe you will use it to better our world.”
“I thank you for the gift, and for the confidence.”
Angon patted his shoulder and smiled again. “Come, let us return.” And with that Angon left the clearing. Brant, still energized by this new feeling of warmth and energy, couldn’t help but smile as he followed the old man from the glade.
It was near dusk when Jarak finally woke, clearly himself again, his energy restored as if he had never been mortally wounded. He had arisen from bed, dressed himself, and appeared ready to travel. The only reminder of his wound was a faint remnant of dried and puckered skin that just a day ago had been a raw and festering scab. They were packing their things with Tilden’s help. Angon had disappeared again and Brant was worried that he would not appear before they could say their good-byes. They didn’t have much light left but Tilden said there would be enough to make it to the town of Torset.
Jarak was cinching his saddle bags closed when he spoke to Brant. “I wish your friend would show up. I would like to thank him. What did he do to me anyway? I feel great.”
“I do not know what he did, but we are all grateful and relieved that you have recovered so fully.”
They both turned and were surprised to see Angon standing four paces away smiling through his gray mustache and beard. They hadn’t even heard him approach.
“Angon,” Brant said. “This is Prince Jarak.”
Jarak stepped forward and shook the old man’s hand. “I would like to thank you, Angon. By all accounts you saved my life. Is there anything I can do to repay you?”
Angon tilted his head as if in thought. “A life saved requires no thanks. It is gift enough.”
Jarak smiled. “What did you do to me? I feel fantastic.”
Brant knew that Jarak had not yet heard that Angon was a Kynan. Everyone had kept it from him, perhaps worried that he would have the same reaction as the others had first had. His concern was unwarranted, however, as it seemed Angon was not going to mention it.
“Simple herbs and poultices,” Angon replied, winking surreptitiously at Brant.
“Well I thank you nonetheless. I am more than grateful, and in your debt. If you ever need anything I am at your service. I hope you don’t find it rude, but we must be going. We are trying to get to Tanwen in all haste.”
Angon bowed slightly. “I wish you safe travels.”
Brant reached out and shook the Kynan’s hand. “Thank you again for your help. It means more to us than you know.”
Angon smiled and walked away.
***
Banrigar pushed open the door and Kivalla followed him in, almost stumbling from exhaustion. Their clothes were travel worn and their two week growth of facial hair added to their disheveled appearance. They had experienced a rough couple of weeks. When they had escaped the city, Banrigar, who worked as a bouncer at the Black Cat, Cythera’s premium brothel, had rowed the little boat out into the harbor. The enemy navy had been bombarding the city and docks with deadly explosive projectiles that burst into flames when they landed, and they had to stay clear, hugging the shoreline and beaching the boat just outside the city. They had parted ways with the young family, who Kivalla had tried to help the night of the attack when a group of ruffians had attempted to steal their boat to escape the city. Luckily, Banrigar had arrived soon after as he too was trying to flee the city. He was a brawler and had learned to fight in the Kaelian infantry years ago. With sword in hand he had persuaded the bandits to change their mind. In payment for their help, the family had offered to share their boat with them. After they ditched the boat, Banrigar and Kivalla, King Enden Dormath’s advisor and personal scholar, moved carefully through the trees and grass that lined the coastline. They were close enough to the city that they could still hear the fighting. After quietly discussing their options, Kivalla had convinced the large warrior that they needed to put as much distance between them and the Saricons as possible. Kivalla hoped that the king or prince had somehow escaped. If they had, he guessed they would make their way to Tanwen to warn the people there and rally the remaining Legion. So they decided to head that way as well. And for two weeks they had walked, avoiding the Saricon patrols, and had even been lucky enough to ride for two days with a traveling band of minstrels who they had convinced to turn around and avoid the capital city. Kivalla, as the king’s head advisor, wore House Dormath’s signet ring, and that ring alone carried a lot of weight. They were able to obtain several free meals because of it, something that he never would have considered just a week ago. But times had changed quickly, and he knew they would have to draw upon every means necessary to survive.
Together, they had a few coins, and they used them to purchase supplies for the trip. After eleven days of walking they had nearly exhausted their supplies, but luckily, by then, they had come to a roadside inn just outside a small village. Kivalla knew of it and he was thankful that his calculations had proven correct; after all they only had enough food for one more day.
It was near dusk and the inn was occupied by around a dozen travelers. The Wayward Inn, as it was called, was located about a mile outside the small village of Torset. The little town was a week’s travel from Kreb and nearly two to Tanwen, but the inn, which was nestled along the trading road linking the interior regions of Dy’ain with the two major cities, was a busy and profitable establishment. The road also stretched southeast to Cythera, the capital city of Dy’ain, making it a popular route for merchants. Kivalla had studied nearly every map he could find and read every book available to him, and with his near perfect memory he was able to file away large amounts of information within his seemingly endless mental vault. Everything he read and saw became words and pictures embedded in his mind, and without fail he could bring them forth when needed. There was a reason King Enden Dormath had recruited him. He was perhaps the most learned man in all of Corvell.
The inn was a stout structure, its walls built of thick logs which rose to a height as tall as three men. A large fire burned in the stone fireplace that was centered on the far wall. The bar and kitchens were located to the right of the hearth. To the left was a stairway constructed of rough-hewn timbers which lead to the various rooms provided for the many travelers that frequented the establishment. In the center of the room was a square stone structure about as high as a man’s waist filled with burning red embers, over which a fat pig was being roasted on a spit. A young boy stood beside it slowly turning the handle that rotated the carcass, while droplets of sizzling fat splattered on the coals, filling the room with the enticing aroma of wood smoke and roasted pork. The sun had nearly set and much of the large room lay in shadows, where the light of the flames and the hanging lanterns that lined the walls didn’t reach.
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