Unpredictable Fortunes (The Memory Stone Series Book 3)

by Jeffrey Quyle

  He’d try to do something extraordinary, he decided.

  He’d use his white magic, his new-found power, to take his first great traveling step of the day as his very first step. He’d completely escape the sodden woodlot, and take his first step onto a drier spot. And he’d have plenty of time to recover during the morning, so that he could take a second day’s step forward later in the day. He’d have a chance to shock the Voice by packing two – or perhaps even more! – days of travel into his second day of practicing the new magical talents he was exploring.

  He hoped. He wasn’t feeling particularly refreshed, after sitting in the tree trunk and trying to sleep; it was far removed from the cot he’d slept in while staying at Glory’s, which had been less comfortable than the bed in the Warrell mansion before that.

  Theus took a deep breath, and put the past aside, as he focused on his present need. He wanted to use the white magic power to move towards Steep Rise. He recalled the implanted memory that the hidden memory stone had given to him, the spell that triggered the ability to travel a day’s distance in a single step, then he searched within his soul and found the point through which he could access his life force.

  Was it dangerous to be able to find one’s very life force so easily, he wondered? Perhaps it was, given the way in which Donal and the black magicians were able to reach in and steal energy away from victims. But was there a way to prevent such a magician from reaching in? Was there a riposte – as in fencing – that would allow him to defend himself from the fatal theft of his life? He wondered about the possibility, but realized that he knew too little to conjecture on the matter, and he turned back to his own immediate desire to move forward.

  He grasped the power, firmly, as firmly as possible, alerted by the previous day’s multiple failures. He would do his magic the correct way, and he would succeed with his first effort, he told himself determinedly.

  And then he brought his efforts to a climax, and took a step outward from the tree.

  He landed in another open pasture, a pair of startled deer, prancing away from his arrival spot. The sun was shining on the eastern horizon, and the ground was firm and dry.

  “I did it Voice!” he crowed. “First thing in the morning, and I’ve done it!”

  He was breathing heavily, and stooped over, he realized. He felt exhausted, but jubilant.

  There was no answer from his companion, so after three minutes of catching his breath, he started walking south. That’s when he realized that there were mountains in front of him.

  “Voice,” he called again. “Do I have to go over those?”

  “Did you ever look at a map?” the Voice replied for the first time that morning.

  “No,” Theus answered shortly.

  “Those are the Westland Mountains. They run from Stoke almost to Great Forks, and they make the Westlands River run along their eastern roots,” the Voice explained.

  “Do I have to go through them?” Theus asked plaintively.

  “It would be the shortest route, a direct line. But you could go slightly west and skirt the edge of the mountains. They are a narrow range,” his advisor answered.

  “And congratulations on your work this morning,” it added.

  “I plan to make a second step later today,” Theus reported.

  “That’s ambitious,” the Voice said in a neutral tone.

  Theus began walking to the west, away from the sunrise, wanting to angle himself away from a path that might lead him into the mountains. He soon felt hunger pangs, and realized he hadn’t eaten in over a day. He kept his eyes aimed at the ground, searching for plants he would recognize as edible, and slowly found select items scattered in one spot or another, enough to alleviate his hunger.

  By the time the sun reached its zenith, Theus felt ready to try to make a second long trip through the power of white magic. He was no longer huffing and puffing, though he didn’t have any zest in his step as he trudged across the empty countryside.

  He once again went through the process of invoking the memorized spell, then seizing his life energy, and applying it to the trip he would undertake with his next step. He deliberately aimed himself towards the southwest, to make sure he would cut around the corner of the end of the Westland Mountain chain, then he released the spell, and strode forward.

  He found his step completed on the banks of a small stream, at the boundary of where the stream exited from a forest and entered a quiet, sun-drenched glade.

  He immediately knelt in exhaustion, breathing heavily and feeling weariness in his soul. It was only the middle of the day, so he knew that he would have all afternoon to recover. Even so, he knew he wasn’t ready to try a third extended magical step as part of the day. The two days’ worth of energy had drawn enough of his stamina to leave him nearly paralyzed.

  After a minute, he groaned and forced himself to his feet, then started trudging slowly southward, across the open glade. Within a half hour he was back in the surrounding forest, and he followed the stream as it headed generally southward.

  He didn’t leave the forest for the rest of the afternoon. He remained under the shade of the collection of trees, passing through a forest that was slightly warmer than he expected, thanks to the sunlight that passed down beneath the mostly leafless trees. He walked slowly as a result of his fatigue from making two of the white magic trips across the countryside, but his confinement to the forest was a result of the size of the majestic arboreal spread, not due to his slow pace.

  “I’m going to stop now to rest,” he finally declared aloud.

  “No, you’re not,” a voice declared, startling him.

  Three men materialized, seemingly from nowhere, as they stepped out from hidden positions among the trees and bushes near him.

  “Where’d you come from?” he asked in astonishment.

  “We’ve been following you for two hours while you’ve been crossing our clan’s land,” one of the men said. “You’re trespassing across our territory without the permission of our high chief. We’re taking you as our captive to our village so that you may be tried and punished.”

  The words and the posture of the men were ominous. Although Theus had a sword, he felt too tired to attempt to fight his way to freedom.

  But he could perhaps muster enough energy to make one last use of the white magic, a way to safely extricate himself from the unexpected captivity he had just stumbled into. He began his internal efforts. He wasn’t going to find nearly enough power within himself to make a full day’s trip, he knew. But he didn’t need to; he wasn’t trying to travel far at the moment, only far enough to leave his captors behind.

  He found his power and grasped it, then took a step forward, and suddenly he was alone in the forest once again. And he was kneeling again, exhausted again.

  “Voice?” he gasped out the word between deep, ragged breaths. “How far did I just travel?”

  “A fair distance. Less than a full day’s worth, much less, but still a very good distance, especially for your third long step of a single day. You should find someplace to go sleep right now,” the Voice praised and advised.

  Theus raised his head and looked around the forest. A patch of shrubs was nearby, still sporting green foliage amidst the wintery nakedness of the larger trees around and above him. He dragged himself over to the patch and made a cursory search for the best spot, then curled up beneath the long canes that arched above the ground. He quickly fell fast asleep.

  He awoke in the middle of the night, once, when he felt something on his collar. He brushed at it sleepily, then, without even thinking, or meaning to, or knowing what he did, he made his fingertip glow, providing illumination to show that he had brushed a mouse off his neck; he came to an immediate state of wakefulness as he squeaked a gasp of surprise. He sat up straight and looked around wildly, waving his finger in all directions as the startled mouse scampered to safety among the leaves and litter on the forest floor.

  Minutes later, his heart rate settl
ed down to a slower pace, and he willed the light in his fingertip to extinguish.

  “Did you see that, Voice?” he asked in the darkness. “I made my finger glow without even trying!”

  “Yes, very good. Now go to sleep. You stressed yourself with all that you did today,” the Voice answered curtly.

  Theus felt dissatisfied with the lack of enthusiasm in the Voice’s reaction to his unexpected display of white magic, but he did lay his head back down, resting on his hands, and he quickly nodded off to sleep again.

  When he awoke in the morning, the sun was shining through the tree boughs, having risen above the horizon. As soon as he sat up, Theus felt hunger gnawing at his stomach.

  “Voice, can I find a place to eat today? Is there a tavern I could travel to?” he asked as he stood up and scratched at spots that itched, where bits of leaves and sticks had penetrated his clothing overnight. He shivered in the cool air as he waited for a reply.

  “If you travel one step to the southwest, you’ll be near a fishing village on the Wedded River,” the Voice answered. “But you’ll be out of your way as far as making a straight trip to Steep Rise to save your friend.”

  “I’ll make it up,” Theus pledge earnestly. “I’ll take a second step later today, and I think a third one as well.”

  “One step at a time,” the invisible advisor murmured.

  Theus stepped out of the patch of bushes, then oriented himself from the position of the sun. He spent a minute going through the process of preparing for his use of white magic, then released his power as he stepped forward, and found himself a split second later atop a treeless bank, looking down upon a river valley that flowed towards the west. There appeared to be a slight pall of smoke in the western sky, which Theus hoped indicated the village of homes and hearths where he might find a cooked meal.

  He began walking along the top of the ridge that looked down at the river, strolling slowly as he collected his breath after his long, magical stride. The landscape was empty and beautiful, he thought to himself, though flatter than the Jewel Hills. He walked for half the morning, then saw a pair of small boats on the river, and soon afterwards, he saw a mill on a stream that fell into the river, while the village that was his destination came into view.

  He gave a sigh of relief at the sight of the settlement. He’d eaten a variety of grasses and other plants he found as he crossed the prairie, but he longed for anything with more substance. He thought about the meals he’d eaten in Stoke while he’d been with Coriae, and later her brother too. It was the first time he’d thought of Coriae since he’d begun to experience the extraordinary white magic powers, he realized, and he grew despondent at the recollection of the ruined relationship, something he silently dwelt on until he reached the edge of the village.

  “Where did you come from?” a woman in the window of the outermost house of the village asked him as he walked past. There was no road per se in the settlement, but a long open gap between the buildings seemed to provide a general corridor that ran parallel to the river bank.

  “I’ve been walking for a few days,” Theus said non-commitally. “Is there a place to eat?”

  “The green painted building is the tavern,” the woman replied. “I’ve never heard of anyone walking in from the east. It’s a regular wonder, I tell you,” she smiled at him and waved before she turned back to her chores in the interior of the building.

  In the center of the village, Theus entered the building described as the tavern.

  “Who are you?” a servant asked bluntly. “We don’t get strangers in here...ever.”

  “I walked in from the east,” Theus said cautiously. “I’m hungry for meat. Do you have any bacon or chops or a roast?”

  “We’ve got some fish stew, and there’s a mutton roast from last night,” the man answered.

  “I’d like both,” Theus settled himself into a table by a window, and watched as people hurried through the village, hustling to visit each other.

  “I’ll have those for you in a minute,” the servant agreed, and he disappeared into the kitchen.

  At the same time, the door of the tavern opened, and a woman looked in.

  “Yes, it’s a real stranger,” she shouted back out to the street, where Theus saw a number of people were gathered, apparently drawn by the fascination of a new person arriving in the isolated location.

  “Do you accept gold?” Theus asked the servant a moment later, when the man came back to his table, carrying a platter with a large wooden bowl filled with soup, beside a heap of slices of slightly dry-looking mutton meat.

  “Gold? Gods in the river, no, we don’t take gold. We couldn’t make change if we did. We take copper and brass,” the servant answered.

  Theus dug into his purse and pulled out the smallest coin he could find in the cache that he still carried around, the supply of money given to him by Lord Warrell during happier days.

  “We can’t accept that,” the servant shook his head as he saw the coin.

  “What about if I give you some healing craft work then?” Theus asked. “I’ll try to put together a remedy for an illness, if you’ve got the things I need to mix the remedy up.”

  “My master’s daughter has a cough,” the servant said. “Let me go ask him what to do,” the man answered, then headed up the stairs to the upper floor of the tavern. Theus greedily gobbled down his meal while the man was gone, pleased to have the chance to eat the meal.

  “Come see the girl,” the servant directed five minutes later. There were local men sitting at a couple of the other tables in the common room, observing Theus closely.

  He was glad to avoid their scrutiny as he went up the stairs behind the servant. The servant knocked on a door, and a man opened it, then motioned for Theus to enter.

  “Since you’re a visitor and all, we won’t make you pay if you can’t afford,” the man inside the room said. There was a bed, and a girl lying under a tattered gray sheet, her eyes closed as she rested. “You don’t need to do anything here. There’s nothing to be done,” he spoke softly as he stood with his back to the girl.

  “What are her symptoms?” Theus asked. It was a question he had heard time and time again among the healing memories stored on the stone he had examined so often in Falstaff’s shop.

  “She started feeling weak ten days ago, and coughed a great deal. She doesn’t eat anything, and only drinks water. She hasn’t woken up since yesterday morning,” the father said tearfully.

  “What did she do before this all started?” Theus asked.

  “She was swimming in the river, then we served dinner to the fishermen, and she started feeling ill right after that. She’s been poorly ever since,” the man answered.

  “Did anything happen while she was swimming?” Theus had no clue about the illness, based on the answer, and decided to ask more.

  “No, nothing out of the ordinary,” the father said.

  “May I examine her?” Theus asked.

  “I’ll stay here to watch you,” the father said firmly.

  “Of course,” Theus agreed. He stepped over to the bedside and lifted the blanket off the girl. She was wearing a shift that ended at her knees. He dropped the blankets by her feet on the bed, then lifted one foot slightly to examine it, without finding anything remarkable. He leaned over and lifted the other leg, and as he did, he saw a pair of faint red bumps on her calf.

  “Did something cause this?” he turned to ask the girl’s father.

  The man shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t notice it before. Does it make a difference?” he asked.

  Theus didn’t hear the rhetorical question as he stood absorbed by his inner dialog while he perused memories of healings, sensing that an insect bite might have such an impact, and might require a certain remedy. He stood static, still holding the foot elevated as his eyes stared aimlessly at a corner of the ceiling, until he found the memory that provided the answer.

  “This was a bite by a spider that lives at the edge of th
e water, along a river or a lake or a pond. It can cause some people to have an allergic reaction,” Theus said. “What’s this girl’s name?” he asked.

  “Halcyon,” the father answered.

  “There’s a cure,” Theus reported. “We can save Halcyon. We need several ingredients for the remedy.” He wondered if the isolated village would have all the things needed.

  “Are you a doctor? How do you know?” the man asked, but Theus could see hope in his eyes.

  “I worked in a shop in Great Forks, and I learned many remedies there,” Theus gave his patented response. “We’ll need turmeric, blue straw poppies, feathers from a kingfisher, some river water, a drop of her blood, cat tail tubers, and one of the spiders that bit her. Can you gather all that?” he asked.

  “Perhaps, but are you sure this will really create a remedy?” the father asked. “I hate to put everyone out looking for all these things and build up false hope.”

  “If we wait much longer, it’ll be too late,” Theus said harshly, stunned by the man’s answer.

  “I’ll go down to the river and look for the tubers and the spider, if you’ll get the other things. Can I meet you in your kitchen?” he asked.

  “You believe this truly, don’t you?” the father asked. “It makes no sense, but so do I. I think I can trust you.”

  “You can,” Theus said earnestly. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said. He finally lowered the limp leg of the girl Halcyon, then left the room. He went down the stairs, out the door, and paused, as he oriented himself and recollected that the river would be behind the tavern. He went around the corner and down the slope to the river, drawing stares as an outsider in the village where every inhabitant knew every other inhabitant.

  When he reached the water’s edge, he found a number of small docks had been built, so he strolled upstream along the bank, away from the settlement, and he soon came to a patch of cat tails growing along the bottom of the bank. He knelt so that he could pull the plants up by their roots, and tossed the tubers higher up on the bank, then turned his attention to the water, looking for one of the spiders that had bitten his new patient.