The quaint stone building stood at the end of the street relatively secluded from the rest of town. Enormous oak trees provided shade from the sun and pines over ten fence posts high protected the north side from the wind.
Dra’kor admired the stonework, which was tight and well chinked. The door was solid. Hagra opened the door and stepped inside to prepare for John. Once inside, she opened the shutters to the single window and pushed a slab table to the center of the room. She waved the boys to bring John in and pointed at the table.
“Set him on the table, don’t worry about the mess, I’ll clean it up later,” she said, showing them where she wanted him.
Dra’kor and Men’ak hefted John over the threshold and laid him out on the small table in the center of the main room as directed by Hagra. They used his belt to lift his backside up and move him to the center. Dra’kor gripped his knees and bent over to rest. Men’ak collapsed on a stool.
“Turn him around, I need more light.”
“Now?” Men’ak moaned.
“No,” said Hagra, as she set her hands on her hips, “— tomorrow morning …”
Dra’kor and Men’ak staggered to their feet, spun the man awkwardly, and almost dropped him off the table.
“Careful!’ Hagra yelled.
Dra’kor nodded, Men’ak just sneered.
Hagra pushed his legs over and yanked off his boots. She mumbled something about making themselves at home, as she wasted no time seeing to John’s wounds.
She grabbed a very sharp knife off of a cutting board and used it to cut his shredded pant leg off. She deftly moved, acting as if she were filleting a fish. She pulled out a bucket and a rag and wiped down the blood from around the wound, nary a care that the raw flesh she was rubbing was inflamed and tender.
Men’ak had to look away or he was going to lose his stomach’s contents.
Dra’kor’s first impression of the cabin was how neat and clean it was, given that the floor was stone and packed dirt. Her collections of medicines caught his eye and he was mesmerized, busy examining the very substantial herb and root collection that she had neatly arranged on the back wall over a small counter. She had them ordered in small clay and glass pots.
“Nice collection,” Dra’kor said, under his breath. “Root of tor — very rare. Oh look, jettle weed! You have jettle!” he proclaimed, turning to Hagra.
“Ye got a name?” she asked over her shoulder as she tossed the pant leg into a big bucket by the door.
“I’m Men’ak,” he replied. “I guess you already know Dra’kor.”
“Already know yer name …,” she nodded at Dra’kor. “I think, I’m pleased to meet ye Men’ak, I’m Hagra.”
Dra’kor rolled his eyes, “Can I ask you a question?”
“Can always ask …,” she replied as she continued her work.
“How’d you know?” he queried.
She looked up briefly. “Know what?”
“How did you know we were wizards?” said Dra’kor, getting straight to it. “We weren’t casting any spells —”
“Medallions!” she said, pointing at his chest with her knife. “Only Keep wizards wear them silly things. Rest of us don’t need them.”
“Y-you don’t need them?” Men’ak stuttered as his jaw dropped. “How can that be?”
“Nope, useless!” she said, waving her knife back and forth. “I learned how to control aging before I was a teenager.”
Hagra grinned at the stupefied expression on Men’ak’s face.
“Most of the other races do too!” she said, going back to work.
“Really?” Men’ak mumbled in disbelief not even hearing the second part of her reply. “I never heard of an anti-aging spell —!”
“Pffft!”
“Wait a second … you said other races control their ages too?”
“Well of course! How do you think elves and dwarves live to those ripe old ages?”
“Magic —?”
“You’re a funny little man,” Hagra replied to Men’ak, staring into his eyes. “You seem a little slow ….”
“What?” said Men’ak, rather insulted as he turned to see Dra’kor’s reaction, “I’m not —”
Dra’kor chuckled out loud, unable to contain his laughter any longer.
“— Slow. I am not …” Men’ak insisted, raising his voice.
“Can ye give us a hand, Honey?” she motioned to Men’ak as she held the wet rag to the wound.
“Huh? Oh, sure,” he said, still irritated as he stepped up to the table. She grabbed his hand and set it on the rag.
“Now push down hard and hold this for me,” she said.
She turned to the many clay pots and began gathering ingredients. She dumped them into a small metal pot and was busy crushing them with a pestle.
Dra’kor leaned over her shoulder watching what she was doing. “Can I help,”
“Sure Honey, you can cast a weave on that wound to make sure it doesn’t get septic,” said Hagra as she stirred the small pot that she had put the ingredients in. Satisfied, she moved it over the fire to cook for a bit.
“I could just heal it …,” Dra’kor said, looking into her eyes.
“Could you now?” she muttered, raising he brow.
“I could,” said Dra’kor, with a nod.
“Hmm, but then you’d have to go on explainin’ how a bad cut like that got healed so fast — and I don’t suppose you’re up to that!” she said with a big toothy grin that exposed the fact that a few of her teeth were missing.
“Suppose you’re right,” Dra’kor said, in resignation. “I just—”
“Of course I’m right,” Hagra nodded with a confident smile.
Men’ak moved the rag as Dra’kor pushed up his sleeves and wove his spell. Nothing happened, “It’s not working!”
“Course not; yer beast magic won’t work in this house, now out of the way. Let me do my healin’.”
“Won’t work?” he asked. “What beast magic are you talking about?”
“In a second,” she mumbled to herself. “— I got things to do right now.”
She held her hand over the wound and chanted. The wound bubbled a bit. She bent over and gave it a sniff. Satisfied, she put a damp cloth back over the wound.
“Now push,” she told Men’ak.
Hagra opened a drawer and pulled out some thin strips of catgut and a long bone needle.
“About the only thing a cat’s good for,” she said as she closed the drawer.
Men’ak was shocked by her statement, but decided not to say anything. Hagra could see she had gotten his goat.
“What’s the matter Sonny, cat got yer tongue?” she said, breaking into a huge laugh at her own cleverness.
Men’ak just rolled his eyes and clamped down on his tongue before he said something he’d regret later.
She threaded the needle and leaned over the table. She took a deep breath and motioned to Men’ak to move his hands, “Here, here! Let me at that.”
Men’ak moved his hand and Hagra moved the moss out of the way. She reached over to the fire and grabbed the pot. She poured a little of the hot liquid over the wound, which bubbled as the liquid leached out the dirt and poisons from the wolven.
“Well, lookie there! It’s working good,” she mumbled to herself. “Never knows for certain ifin it’ll work, magic’s a bit funny thatta way!”
She grabbed the needle and held it over a candle before she made a stitch right in the center of the wound. She deftly tied a tight knot, pulling the skin together. She repeated this several times, each time stitching between each of the previous stitches until the entire wound was stitched up. She poured more liquid over the wound and patted it dry with a piece of clean cloth. She stood back and admired her handiwork.
“Nice,” said Men’ak, as he bent over to take a closer look. “Why did you start in the center?”
“Ah, so ye can ask an intelligent question,” she commented wryly. “Because if I run out of gut, the woun
d will at least be mostly closed, but it won’t heal pretty. Pretty ain’t too much of a concern out here, but I do take pride in my work.”
Men’ak ignored the dig and figured she and he just weren’t going to be the best of friends.
Hagra reached up to the top shelf and grabbed a clay pot. Opening the lid, she used a small wooden spoon to pull out a glob of thick, sticky liquid. “Honey and herbs for healing,” she said as she wiped down the wound with the pitch, licking her finger when she was done.
“No sense wasting good honey,” she smiled.
She set the pot down and dressed the wound with some clean cloth strips, tying the last securely after wrapping it around his leg twice.
When she finished, she took a little of the liquid and poured it in a small cup. She waved her hand over the cup and chanted some words that were very strange to Dra’kor. Dra’kor watched as the liquid hissed and bubbled.
Dra’kor pointed at the cup, “What are you doing?”
“Just casting me a little sleep potion. John here needs his rest, and we need to talk,” she answered as she gave him a crooked grin. She poured the warm liquid down John’s throat while she held his nose, forcing him to drink. He coughed and sputtered, but was soon snoring away.
“Ye boys want to help me move him to the chair over there,” she said pointing.
Dra’kor and Men’ak nodded. Each grabbed a leg and an arm and grunted under the man’s weight as they shuffled him over to the big chair sitting in the corner. Hagra grabbed a small stool and set it under his leg.
“Good, he should be out for most of the day!” she grinned.
“So when you cast the spell, I didn’t recognize the language you’re using,” Dra’kor murmured.
“Of course ye don’t, honey! Ye mages don’t study the old ways anymore …” she said with hint of sadness in her voice.
Men’ak was confused, “Old ways? What ‘old ways’ are you talking about?” Men’ak said, looking over at Dra’kor and rolling his eyes.
“Ye be kind of cute when yer confused, which is about always,” she said, setting her hand on Men’ak’s cheek.
“Of course ye have no idea of what I’m referring to,” said Hagra, getting back to the question. “Now ye asked back a while ago about why yer beast magic didn’t work. Well, truth is, the cabin’s spelled. Yer beast can’t enter. And I was referring to old magic, real magic, before the Ten made that confounded creature you all control these days.”
“Creature? You mean the Zylliac?” Men’ak frowned.
“Is that what you call it,” she spat. “Well, back in the day, wizards was wizards. Face it, ye ain’t wizards! Neither of you —!”
Dra’kor’s face twisted realizing that she was going somewhere with her story that wasn’t going to make either him or Men’ak happy. He was beginning to get this haunting feeling that she was less than impressed with them and wizards in general.
“And so, what are we then …?” Dra’kor wondered, confused as ever.
“Well,” she said, standing straight and looking him in the eye. “To tell ye the truth, I ain’t quite sure what to call ye, but ye definitely — ain’t no wizards!”
Men’ak chuckled, “Of course we’re wizards — what else could we be?”
“Ye got no magic, so’s ye can’t be wizards then can ye?” Hagra said, putting her hands on her hips, staring him down.
“We have plenty of magic,” Dra’kor shot back getting into her face.
“Back off, mage,” she yelled as she released a spell that threw Dra’kor to the back wall.
Dra’kor tried to cast his own spell, but it wouldn’t form. “What the Ten was that for?” he screamed as he struggled to his feet.
“For getting in my face and arguing about something ye knows nothin’ about! How come ye ain’t got no wards about ye?”
“I was just saying that we have magic,” said Dra’kor, motioning to Men’ak and himself. “And I have wards —”
“Bah! Ye ain’t got squat,” she said flatly. “Yer wards are worth less than the air it took ye to mutter em. Ye control a beast and the beast has magic, but ye got nothin’!”
Dra’kor rubbed his chest and looked at Men’ak confused, then back at Hagra. “What do you mean, we don’t understand?”
Hagra sighed heavily. “Look! Back in the days of Ror, wizards of the Keep were highly trained. They had magic, controlled magic. When the war dragged on, either the Ten found or created the creature, we don’t know which, and taught all the new mages how to control the beast’s magic because it was easier than training real mages. So, ye ain’t mages! Yer pretend-ta-be’s.”
“What do you mean,” Men’ak snarled, as his eyes narrowed, “— real magic?”
Hagra stared back. She lifted a piece of wood, waving it in the air and it burst into flame at the end. “Try that mage. Show me some real magic.”
Dra’kor tried to light the wood on fire but he couldn’t. He tried several times. “I can’t seem to do it …” he stuttered.
“Bah! That’s what I thought. That’s because inside of these walls you cannot reach the beast. Like I’ve been tellin’ ye; the cabin is spelled. These walls are protected with magic to prevent people from any form of scrying, and that includes mentally reaching the cursed beast ye called the Zylli whatever.”
“But you lit it …” Men’ak said, not yet understanding what she was implying.
“I did, didn’t I?” she said smugly. She turned to Dra’kor, “You sure he ain’t slow or something?”
Dra’kor closed his eyes and shook his head.
Men’ak’s eyes narrowed. “What are you? Are you a sorceress?”
“Me? No, I’m a witch, thank you very much,” Hagra replied with pride.
“What’s the difference?” Dra’kor ignorantly solicited.
“Well, to tell the truth, not much, but we witches never got along with the Ten and refused to join their little club,” she said self-righteously. “We chose to remain outside the Guild and not be party to all that politicking and whatnot, which is a waste of time if ye ask me! Main reason though, was we didn’t believe that magic should be used to control folks. Magic’s a gift. It should be used to help folks.”
“So they just left you alone?” Men’ak sputtered.
“Oh, heavens no! They tried their evilest ways to get us to join. Most of my kind was killed in them Hunts.”
Dra’kor strained trying to remember his history. “The Hunts? Wasn’t that when they rounded up all the dark mages?”
“Yes. Well, dark mages weren’t all the Ten were rounding up …,” Hagra said, in a hushed voice as she recalled those dark times. “I lost my parents and most nearly everyone who was dear to me in those days. I was just a young woman in them days — barely knew up from down.”
“So you knew the Ten?” Men’ak was astonished.
“Sure, I knew them, met with them countless times and we witches actually fought by their side for most of the war, although I didn’t do much. Like I said, I was young, young and new to the arts. Oh, I wanted to learn, and I was good at it, but they needed seasoned witches to fight against the demons. I didn’t know squat about no demons.”
Dra’kor was curious to hear a perspective that was different from the Keep’s. “What were they like? The Ten, I mean?”
“They were brilliant, driven, very proficient magi, but they were something else too. They were ruthless and self-centered, self-serving to their core. I think they were just as evil as the dark mages, but they played the politicking game better. They scared the crap out of me, most of the others too.
I remember that when people disagreed with them, those people either ended up dead or just plain disappeared, although their deaths always seemed like accidents — I’m just saying …,” Hagra finished.
“Who trained you?” Dra’kor questioned. “You said you never went to the Keep.”
“I didn’t say that,” Hagra corrected Dra’kor. “I said I never joined the Keep. Anyway, after
my parents died mysteriously and we were all being hunted, a kindly old elf took me under his wing, found me hiding in a tree’s crotch scared out of my wits. He took me in and taught me everything he knew. He hid me with his kind until the Hunts passed.”
“I eventually had to leave. From there I picked things up, here and there,” she said, shrugging. “Sheila’s father taught me a thing or two, but mostly about the herbs and leaves and plants. He also taught me about healing.”
“So, I still don’t understand how come you can light the stick and Dra’kor can’t,” Men’ak said, trying to get back to the subject at hand.
“Of course ye don’t Honey! Simply put, I have old magic. Sadly, ye don’t,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Ye see, ye understand so little of the magic world. You’ve been put up in that big stone heap of a Keep for centuries all by yerselves and all of ye have forgotten what little magic ye ever knew. Ye may not be believing me and what I’m saying, but it’s the sad truth. There are no magi no more.”
Men’ak refused to grasp what she was saying. “Of course there are. We are here and we’re from the Keep and —”
Dra’kor interrupted, “Shhh! So what you are telling me is that what we call magic is not and that all we do is pretend to have the gift?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. Being able to control the beast is part of the gift, but in a way yes, ye don’t know how to use the most important parts of your gift,” said Hagra sadly, as she hung her head.
Dra’kor was speechless. He got what she was saying, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to believe her, “So you can lift the clay pot over there and move things and weave air and move the dirt while in this house, and outside?” he asked.
Hagra grimaced, nodded unenthusiastically and demonstrated all three of those tasks easily at the same time without even raising her head while he and Men’ak just stood and stared. She sighed and sat down in the small chair next to the fire.
“You didn’t say anything or form any runes with your hands,” Dra’kor said in amazement.
“Course not! That stuff is all for show. The real magic is all in yer head,” she said, pointing to her ear. “Although the chants and runes can help ye remembers stuff sometimes.”
The Legacy of the Ten: Book 01 - Eyes of the Keep Page 46