by Aire, D. H.
“Now, lad, tell me this tale of yours.”
Casber swallowed hard and did.
His grandfather listened intently, holding a firm gaze upon the stuttering young elf. As Casber finished his recounting his grandfather exclaimed, “Of course, you must go back in the morning!”
Casber knew his father would not gainsay the order. And his kin would find no more reason to laugh at him!
“You are to report anything you see, but I admonish you to take great care. This is a responsibility to your whole clan! Whatever you saw, whether man, beast, or act of nature, you must report it to me right away, understood?”
The boy nodded wholeheartedly.
“Now get a good night’s sleep and be there at first light!
“Yes, Elder! Thank you, Elder!”
“Have that mother of yours set aside food for your vigil too!”
Balfour smiled as he saw the lad run out of the tent and across the encampment. He entered the tent and saw his father furrowing his brow.
“Don’t tell me you believe his tale, Father?”
The old man merely looked back at him with no answer.
Promptly at sunrise, Casber was at his post, looking out over the Great Waste. He waited and watched as the sky grew light. Full morning soon lay across the lowlands as he looked for any sign of movement, anything to support what he saw the day before.
Yet he did not see anything. In frustration, Casber pounded his fists against the rocky outcropping.
“It was there! I didn’t imagine it! I know I saw it!” he exclaimed, pounding his fists on the ground.
Stone suddenly shifted, the soil beneath his outcropping perch began to give way. He gasped in horror as the rocky shelf twisted beneath him and slid downward. He cried out and grabbed desperately for a hold as he lost his purchase.
He flailed his arms, screaming, trying to stop plummeting. Rocks cascaded off the cliff face even as a hand reached out for him and pulled him to a halt. Casber momentarily found himself dangling over open air, then felt something brush his mind. He heard a voice.
‘Scan complete.’
Casber looked upward. A man held his forearm and muttered something Casber couldn’t understand. A dull pain raced through him, then a moment of incredible warmth and peace.
‘Language acquired.’
“Hold on!” his rescuer shouted, then drew him up.
Eyes wide, he stared silently at his rescuer, who clung to him with an almost cruel grip. The man’s gaze was unfocused. He gasped for breath and relaxed his hold.
“You’ll be fine. But I suggest a better choice of perch in the future.”
Casber nodded vaguely, staring at the man who had a wooden staff strapped across his back. The man glanced to the right, “That way looks to be the fastest to the top, I think.”
“Where did you come from?” Casber asked.
The man ignored his question.
“Stick close, young man.”
They ascended the mountain path.
Casber’s mind raced with questions. He stopped and asked, “You climbed the mountain from the Waste, didn’t you?”
“So many questions,” the man replied, taking his staff from his back and preparing to use it as a walking stick. “Why should it matter where I came from, anyway?”
“Well, if you really came from the Waste, my family wouldn’t laugh at me! They think I’ve been imagining things.”
“Hmm, I could see how that might be important to you then.” He glanced back down the trail. “Is that why you were up there?”
Casber nodded, “Yesterday I saw something, so the Elder ordered me to keep watch and report anything I found. Everyone else thinks I just imagined it! They know nothing about life in the Waste, they think it’s just a dead place.”
“Well, no desert is ever really lifeless; although, it may look like it… And I’m certain a few might be less than pleased to hear it called a dead place.” The man seemed amused. “You should actually just be thankful that I was there to save you from your folly.”
Exasperated, he muttered to himself, “And if I hadn’t been so busy looking for you I’d never have fallen in the first place!”
The boy followed his rescuer as they continued walking up the path toward Casber’s home.
Chapter 5: Unexpected Company
Casber was grinning as he came up the trail with the stranger. His younger cousin Cort was the first to see them. He paused to stare back at his cousin in triumph, his companion by his side, then he ran off, shouting, “Papa, Papa!”
That brought uncle Wane and his father, who grabbed their bows as his mother came running, “Casber!”
He stopped and looked down at himself.
“Oh.”
He must look quite the sight, he realized, having nearly fallen down the side of the mountain.
“Uh, I’m fine. It was just a little accident.”
His mother grabbed him about the shoulders.
“What happened?”
The stranger by his side said helpfully, “The cliff side gave way. I caught him before he could fall far.”
“Bal! Someone get Bal with his herbs!”
“Valens, I’ve got them!” His elfblooded uncle shouted having quickly ducked into his tent to fetch them even as Casber’s grandfather, the Elder of Winome Clan, came out of the tent behind him.
He stared at Casber’s companion and his walking staff that was almost as tall as the man who bore it.
“Who are you?!” Casber’s father Daffyd demanded.
“Hmm? I’m George.”
“Gee-orj? What kind of name is that?”
Casber’s grandfather, the Elder, said, “It’s an ogre name.”
George looked at him thoughtfully. “An ogre name? How fascinating.”
Daffyd glared at him. “You don’t look like an ogre.”
“That’s because I’m not,” George replied, glancing at Casber’s uncle Balfour who began cleaning the boy’s scrapes and scratches.
Casber noticed that Gee-orj seemed particularly interested in his uncle’s pointed ears.
“You must be thirsty,” his grandfather said. “Someone get our guest some water. I think we would all like to hear your tale.”
George leaned on his staff as Casber looked up at him and smiled.
‘It could be worse, George,’ his DHR model computer whispered in his mind.
“How?” he muttered.
‘They could be trying to kill you like so many of the last folk we met.’
Wasn’t that the truth. He had made a few friends among them. Then again, plenty of the people, rather large in fact, seemed to think he’d committed blasphemy and wanted to kill him, making his recent leave-taking a bit more rushed. Coming across wyverns hunting him in the Great Waste hadn’t made his day yesterday any better.
“Thank you,” he said to Casber’s mother as she brought him a tin cup filled with clean mountain spring water.
“Thank you for saving my son’s life. He’s quite the dreamer, which tends to get him in trouble.”
George nodded, dreams having become a problem for him as well lately.
‘Perhaps, life is but a dream,’ said the staff.
He was careful not to reply to that. Talking to one’s self could be considered the mark of a madman, and he had enough problems as it was.
The Elder took his seat across from George and frowned. “Gee-orj, if my grandson is to be believed, you have come from the Great Waste.”
“Just passing through.”
Daffyd grimaced as Balfour placed a poultice on the deepest gash on his nephew’s side.
“No one just passes through the Great Waste. Nothing can live there,” replied the Elder.
“I wouldn’t tell that to those who do, if I were you. I’ve found that they take pride in being able to do just that.”
The Elder said, “You’ve lived with the trolls?”
George leaned forward. “They call themselves humans.”
Daffyd shouted, “Father, this is madness!”
The Elder motioned and Daffyd quieted. “Many call themselves human, but clearly are not…at least not any longer. So, they yet live in the Waste,” the Elder mused.
“Yes. But I wouldn’t suggest trying to pay a visit. They don’t seem partial to strangers.”
The old man laughed, “No, I don’t suppose trolls are. But that begs the question of where you come from. By your outlandish dress, you are not from the Empire. But that cloak of yours makes a statement all its own.”
Casber like many others in the large tent, examined George’s cloak, which seemed to be made of a different material than when he had first seen Gee-orj.
Balfour gasped, “You’re wearing wyvern hide!”
“Hmm, yes, nice isn’t it? Quite warm actually. It was a gift.”
The Elder laughed louder than before, “Quite a gift. First you have to kill the wyvern before it kills you.”
Daffyd was even less pleased by the guest than before.
“You shall join us for a meal and we shall continue this conversation,” said the Elder.
George was quick to add, “I, uh, don’t eat meat.”
Casber’s father said, “After eating wyvern, I guess, I can understand that.”
All laughed.
“Ahem,” the Elder uttered and the group fell silent.
“Cheese all right?”
“Yes, just fine.”
“Valens, would you be so kind as to see to that?”
After the meal Balfour studied Casber’s injuries. Casber had recounted his harrowing escape during the mid-day meal. He realized that the boy had to have taken much more serious hurt, at minimum a bruised rib or broken bone. That he had not suggested something almost impossible.
This Gee-orj might have had the healing gift, but that was certainly not true. He clearly didn’t have elvin blood, which was necessary to wield healing mageries. Furthermore, Casber had made no mention of being healed, something the boy couldn’t help but notice, since they required such complex spells.
But if Gee-orj had the gift, perhaps he could…
No, he thought to himself, don’t even think it. It’s hopeless. I don’t have the gift.
Balfour had been tested and tested again. Oh, he learned all the lore, but still couldn’t affect a single healing magery.
Still, he watched the stranger, never letting his walking staff stray an inch from his fingertips, wearing the wyvern cloak like a mage out of some fable. He concentrated, focusing on the cloak, poring over its leathery scales. Who was this man to wear such a thing?
Casber, meanwhile, was tasked as George’s guide. He showed him every aspect of life in the Winome encampment after Balfour released Casber from his examination.
George learned of their wintering in the Fastness, where their herd of sheep were kept safe and fed on the summer stores of grain and grasses.
Balfour glared at his younger brother as he went out to look after the sheep. Casber grinned, no one was laughing at him now.
George assured his young guide, “No one’s going to laugh at you ever again, my young friend.”
Casber grinned all the broader.
The Elder peered from behind the woven curtain of the doorway, watching his grandson and Gee-orj.
“Balfour,” the Elder called.
“Yes, father?”
“You must tell him.”
“What?”
“Something has happened. Don’t ask me how, but I know this man from somewhere. Not him precisely, not his face, but his aura. There’s an enchantment shrouding him. One I haven’t felt for many years, except for a passing moment days ago.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He’s being Summoned, lad,” said the Elder.
“But that’s madness! Only an adept can—”
“Bal, we’ve both known adepts.”
“Summoned?”
“He’ll need a guide and I am far too old for any more adventures.”
“Father…”
“You must do this and tell him, tell him all about your failure. Why you are wasting your potential when you should be a real healer!”
Balfour lowered his head. “It’s no use.”
“And a man who speaks of trolls who still think themselves human, have you ever heard of such a person in any of the tales?”
“Never.”
“So dare to believe in yourself, lad. Perhaps he has the answers you need too.”
Casber‘s cousin, Grace, offered George a cup of watered down wine.
“You must be thirsty, My lord.”
“Uh, thank you.”
She smile at him and joined Casber’s other teenage girl cousins, who giggled.
George shook his head, “I don’t want to know, do I?”
Casber chuckled. “You look a sight better to her than the clansman she’ll likely be matched with come winter.”
“Matched with? She can’t be more than fifteen.”
“Fourteen, the same age her sister was when she married in Chasome Clan last winter.”
“Hmm,” George said, even as a little voice whispered in his mind that Grace’s Earthly equivalent age was close enough to fourteen as to make no difference.
Balfour came out of the Elder’s tent and met his brother and George.
“Gee-orj, I would like to speak with you.”
Casber looked up at his uncle when Balfour added, “privately.”
“Oh, I’ll be off then,” Casber said, scurrying off.
George nodded, “What can I do for you?”
“I believe there are truths to be spoken.”
George didn’t quite like the sound of that.
“Truths I need to share,” the half-breed, elfblood, said.
“Oh.”
Balfour gestured for him to accompany him and they walked down the path out of the settlement. The elfblood did not speak until they were out of sight of the camp.
“Gee-orj.”
“George. It’s pronounced, George.”
“Jee—orj.”
“George.”
“Jeeorj.”
“Close enough,” he said, chuckling.
Balfour relaxed.
“What I am about to tell you is difficult for me to admit. But, I have not always lived with my clan. When I was young I traveled with my father, Elder Win, after my elvin mother died. Father did not take the loss well. Elves normally live far longer lives than humans. For her to die so young – it was a great tragedy. It was years before Father found love again and when he did, I was of age to be trained in the healing arts.”
He said this as if George should have understood completely. George just patiently listened.
Frowning, Balfour went on, “I went to the Imperial Capital and stayed with my uncle Ofran. I was admitted to the Healer’s Hall for training, I learned much, though I couldn’t master the magery.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Although I have elvin blood and should be able to wield magery, it is as if I’m human like my father. You must understand that in the Empire they believe that you must have elvin blood to do magery because elves have souls, unlike humans.”
“What?” George muttered with a laugh.
“I know it’s a cruel belief. My father has more soul than anyone I’ve ever met!”
“Bias is a funny thing, isn’t it?” George said.
Balfour nodded, “But when someone such as I cannot affect even a simple spell, even given time, well, life becomes unbearable in the Empire. I returned home to Father, my brothers were grown and were marrying by then, starting families…. I am a Clan oddity. But since our mother’s death it has been I who has looked after Father.”
“Your father loves you very much.”
“Yes, which is why he feels I am supposed to guide you to the Empire.”
George stiffened.
“Father is certain that is where you are going, Gee-orj. He says you have been
enchanted, a Summoning draws you.”
George leaned heavily on his staff, “An enchantment, how quaint a description—and damn painful.”
Balfour reached out and touched his arm. His fingers tingled at the contact and George recoiled.
‘Telepathic dampener’s engaging.’
“What?”
“You heard that?” George said.
“Who said that?” Balfour asked.
‘Me.’ The walking staff glowed ever so faintly to Balfour’s elvin second sight.
“What?”
“This is Staff – my often sarcastic companion and left side of my brain these days.”
‘I am a DHR model computer with full humanistic functionality.’
“Huh?”
George said, “I think we’d both better sit down on those nice logs over there.”
Balfour listened, eyes wide as George told the tale of his arrival.
“You fell through the Gate?”
“It was definitely a Gateway of some kind, but like nothing my people have ever seen.”
Nodding, Balfour said, “It must have been the Highmage’s Gate. That you ended up out there in the Waste and not in the Empire is bad. The Highmage would never have intended something like that.”
“Really? I suspected that when the dragons fought over whose snack I was going to be.”
Balfour leaned back, “But why did the Highmage–and it had to have been the Highmage himself—summon you through the Gate?”
“My question is simpler: how soon can he send me back?”
Balfour shook his head, “The Gate’s been sealed for millennia – since the Great War. Gee-orj, I must ask this. I was going to for personal reasons but now I must know for others as well.”
He looked deeply into George’s eyes as he asked, “Did you heal Casber immediately after his accident?”
George paused a moment, then shrugged and said, “Yes.”
“What were his injuries?”
The staff glistened and Balfour mentally heard, ‘Broken ankle, two fractured ribs—’
And images unlike anything he had ever imagined filled his mind, he saw the damage inside Casber’s body.
“And his arm snapped when I grabbed hold,” George finished.
“By the Gate, you’re a healing mage!”
“What? Oh, definitely not. Staff and I just did some basic first-aid.”