Red Jade: Book 1: Journeys In Kallisor

by Stephen Wolf

  Like most churches of old, the cathedral was enormous for its purpose. The ceilings were extremely high and carved with such intricate detail; they were a marvel to see. The countless hours of sculpting must have taken lifetimes by teams of artists. Those artists would probably be sad today, though, for the churches no longer served the same purpose they once did.

  In the distant past, people the world over worshiped the gods, making offerings, praying devoutly, partaking in detailed rituals, and singing angelic hymns. Priests channeled the words of the gods and shared them with the populace. Clerics drew the energies from the patron gods of healing to cleanse and repair wounds, to eliminate diseases, and to produce some genuine miracles, according to all the legends. But the daily prayers of the people weren’t ever truly fulfilled. Sure, the priests would claim that the great, almighty lords and ladies worked their miracles in their own ways, granting blessings that would give honest benefit to a soul rather than seeking to appease material desires, but after a time these words felt empty.

  It had been about five centuries ago, Dariak recalled, when a massive famine spread throughout the entire continent, extending even beyond accursed Kallisor and beloved Hathreneir. People everywhere fell to their knees in supplication, begging for forgiveness from the gods who felt this need to punish them. The priests were hard-pressed to explain what the people needed to do to repent for their sins, for many didn’t know themselves. When even the good souls were suffering, it was difficult to imagine they needed to do more than they were doing.

  When prayers did little to alleviate the terrible circumstances, others rose up and fought back against the famine. They worked to till the soil, to find other means of growing food. And in becoming better farmers, they were able to push back and save the people from utter starvation. Some devout worshipers praised the gods for this lesson, saying that by giving the people a difficult challenge, the gods forced them to grow stronger, but those believers were few. Most people turned away from the gods entirely, trusting their own skills, and eventually the tenets of religion collapsed.

  The greatest fear in that regard related to the clerics and their healing powers. What would become of their gifts if they turned from the gods? The clerics held on to the religious routines for a long time, continuing to channel the infinite power of the gods to bestow upon the people in need. However, skepticism abounded, for shunning the gods had not brought forth a dreadful wrath. Soon, the clerics ended their prayers but found that if they continued to reach for the energies and perform the rituals, they could still bring healing to the people.

  As the years passed, others started to recognize the energy around them as well. Where once that energy was blindly associated with the will of the gods or god-granted talents, it soon became known as magic. Anyone who could feel the tug of the energy around them could manipulate it in some form or other. Those who did not feel the energy could often be trained through the old rites of the church, not in prayer but in the chanting and detailed movements. Eventually, magic became a common force in the land, but those who dabbled too strongly were alienated and often hunted down. Fear kept most people from exploring too deeply into the magical arts, and because of that, magical energy became somewhat diffuse in the land, and now it was extremely rare for anyone to gain too much power.

  Hathreneir was unique in that it accepted magic users with welcome arms and even had a few magic schools scattered throughout its borders. Sure, there were restrictions for magic’s use, but a mage could walk around much more freely than he or she could in other countries, Kallisor in particular. Yet as Dariak dragged Gabrion along the aisles, up to the altar where the healers awaited, he understood that even Kallisorians accepted magic when it suited them.

  “The hour is late, brothers,” said one of the healers. “I am Elgris. I bid you welcome.”

  “Greetings, Elgris. I am Dariak, and this is Gabrion. As you can see, he is in need of your services, and I am in need of rest.”

  The healer looked Gabrion over, and his brow creased in deep concern. “It seems you come none too soon, Brother Dariak.” He waved his hand behind him, and two other healers approached and took Gabrion away. “You seem to need some attention as well. Please, do follow, and we will assess the damage, the repairs needed, and the cost for those repairs.”

  “Er, cost?” Dariak hesitated.

  The healer frowned. “Do you think the work we do should go without compensation? Or that the material we use in our work is donated freely by merchants?”

  “Of course,” the mage acceded.

  The healer guided Dariak through a doorway into a nearby room where the other two healers had set Gabrion upon an examination table and stripped off the majority of his clothes and bandages. Elgris quickly inspected Gabrion’s wounds, then turned to Dariak.

  “He will need quite a bit of attention, now that I look more closely.” He gave Dariak a cursory scan as well. “It seems your wounds will hold well enough until morning. We shall focus on him first, then, if you do not mind.” His tone made it clear to Dariak that his opinion didn’t factor in. “Let me show you to sleeping quarters, and we will stabilize him for now while we determine what needs to be done.”

  Dariak grabbed the money pouch from Gabrion’s things and then followed the healer down another corridor to a room lined with beds, some of which were occupied. After Elgris pointed out key exits, the location of the baths, and a small pantry with food, Dariak decided he was tired enough to fall asleep on the spot. He could tend to his other needs in the morning.

  Chapter 5

  Seeking Payment

  Dariak awoke a few hours later, well rested but feeling sore. The sword wound he had received during the battle in Savvron throbbed terribly, and he hoped Elgris would find time to give his arm some attention. He also had numerous scrapes and bruises from the afternoon ambush with the bandits. No one had roused him, so he assumed Gabrion was well enough, and since there was no immediate pressure to get moving, he took his time about starting his day. Elgris had pointed out the baths, and so he ventured there first and soaked in luxury for nearly an hour before grabbing some food from the pantry.

  At last, Dariak returned to the main foyer and sought out the chief healer on duty. “Good morrow,” he said politely, remembering that a form of payment would be requested today.

  “Greetings, Brother Dariak,” said a vibrantly red-haired woman in a white robe. “You seem recovered from your late journey.”

  He pointedly turned his head to the bandage on his arm. “Mostly, yes, thank you.” She simply smiled, then pointed to the door across the way. “Your friend is through there, if you wish to see him. Brother Elgris will attend to you both shortly.”

  Whether he wanted to see his “friend” or not, he understood her dismissal and went through the door. He walked to where Gabrion had been taken the night before, but Gabrion had been moved, so he poked his head into various doors until he found him.

  Dariak had seen his share of magic rituals, but he wasn’t ready for what he saw when he entered the room. Except for a small cloth about his waist, Gabrion lay naked on a sturdy bed that was waist-high off the floor. Fourteen chunks of rose quartz were placed on his body, accented with thin needles sticking out in numerous places, some of which pulsed with his heartbeat. Incense burned softly in the corners of the room and created a soft aroma that instantly made Dariak feel calmer. Sunlight came in through a window on the wall, was focused through a lens, then bounced around the room on mirrors, ending on a large, clear quartz poised over Gabrion’s heart. The refracted light left rainbows all over Gabrion’s torso. Four healers made continuous sweeping motions with their bodies, lunging forward on their legs and swooshing their arms ahead of them, all the while mumbling an incantation in perfect unison. They worked in a circle, sweeping energy down Gabrion’s left side and up the right. Dariak could feel the pull and push of energy like a small tide on a beach.
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  He examined Gabrion’s body more closely and saw that herbs lay over the deeper wounds and pockets of energy hovered over them, which suggested to Dariak that healers had earlier focused their attention on those locations, leaving behind residual forces that would help Gabrion’s body to mend. A translucent jelly coated minor cuts and abrasions in order to prevent infection. The warrior’s breathing was calm and very relaxed, and Dariak wondered if they had drugged him to keep him asleep so his body could focus on healing. Looking around, he saw many other implements in the room had been recently put to use, but he didn’t have time to ponder them.

  A hand grasped his shoulder, and he jumped, startled. “As you can see, your friend will be fine,” Elgris said softly. “Come. Let us not disturb their work.” He guided Dariak to another room, which looked more like an office than anything else. Bookcases lined the walls, lamps were aplenty, and a large, ornate desk spanned nearly the entire width of the room. Elgris took the chair behind the desk, motioning Dariak to sit across from him.

  “You came to us late last night in rather a state,” Elgris started. “You sought healing, but had no thought to payment for that service. I don’t know myself if healing is free in Hathreneir, but here you pay for services rendered.”

  Dariak struggled to keep his composure. Apparently, the healer wasn’t as oblivious as the gate guards had been.

  “You have had a good night’s sleep, a bath, and food. Your travel companion is receiving the best care we can give. Yet we have neglected to tend to your own wounds, as I’m sure you noticed.”

  The mage breathed deeply but didn’t otherwise respond. Elgris had just referred to Gabrion as a “travel companion,” not “friend.” He wondered just how much the healer suspected. Considering they had come in on a war-horse…

  “These services are not free, brother. They must be compensated for. And I am assuming that you do not have a store of funds with which to reimburse our efforts.” He held Dariak’s gaze for a moment. “The wound in your arm will indeed need serious attention; I can tell that much from what I have already seen and from the errant pulsing I feel from it even now. Your other hurts seem as if they will mend on their own. But though I wish I could do all this work out of the goodness of my soul, it cannot be.”

  Growing impatient, Dariak wished he would get on with it.

  Elgris seemed to understand. “The fee to treat your wounds will need to be paid up front. I can tell you now that it will cost approximately seventy-five gold pieces.” He smiled as he watched the shock appear on Dariak’s face. “Your companion’s wounds will be far greater, at no less than five hundred gold.”

  It took a moment, but then Dariak laughed aloud and slammed his fist on the table. “It doesn’t matter what his wounds will cost. I’ll pay you to fix me. He can tend to his own bill.”

  It was the wrong thing to say. Anger lit the healer’s cheeks a deep crimson, and his eyes hardened. “Perhaps you misunderstand, mage. Your presence here in Kallisor is barely tolerated. You are not simply free to go. Your ailments will not be mended until both sets of treatment are paid in full.”

  Dariak did not appreciate the threat in the words. He took Gabrion’s money pouch and upended it on the desk, counting out the coins. “Sixty-three,” he muttered. “Not even close. But you assumed that, and you have something else in mind.”

  Elgris sat back in his chair. “You’re not a fool, at least. Yes, indeed, I have a means for you to compensate us.” He opened a drawer nearby and pulled out a parchment. “We have need of supplies. Take back your gold and procure as many of these materials as you can. We will buy them from you.”

  Dariak took the list and scanned it quickly. “These…These are some expensive things.”

  “It might take you several trips,” Elgris agreed. “But I fear your options are limited.”

  “In other words, if I don’t comply, you’ll set the guards on me. How long do I have to complete this task?”

  “Let us just say that the sooner you return with what we need, the less likely you are to die of infection from that wound. Since you are a mage, we expect that you will recognize quality materials, particularly among the spell components.”

  Elgris arranged his features into the most benign expression he could muster. “Have you any other questions, dear brother?”

  Dariak scooped the coins into the pouch. “Just one. Where do I get a map of the town?”

  A short time later, the mage was wearing a spare set of healer’s robes over his own. Elgris was right; he wouldn’t survive long roaming around a town where mages were hated outright. He had chosen a set that was slightly longer than his own, which meant that it dragged in the dirt, but he didn’t care. He didn’t plan to run this ruse for long. As he meandered through the streets, seeking a local herbalist, he wondered if the healer’s robes would allow him entry into the castle on his own. It was a long shot, but he decided he would at least give it a try at some point.

  The pain in his arm was a good motivator, however. Part of him wanted to abandon all of his alternate plans and just finish this shopping list so he could be properly healed. If only he had paid more attention to those first lessons, he might not be in this mess. But Dariak decided that the energies had been with him so far and this was just another aspect of the journey. He was so caught up in his musing he walked right past the herbalist and had to turn back to the quaint little shop.

  A bell jingled over the door, and immediately he was blasted by too much incense. Sage, lavender, cinnamon, and apple did not work well together, and his nose kept wrinkling in disgust. He checked his list after wiping his eyes and sought out the wares he needed. He quickly found a potted aloe plant, but when he examined it, there were diseased spots all over the leaves. The others were no better. Scratching that, he turned to the other herbs, but everything in the store was of poor quality. It wasn’t a wonder, then, that he was sent to find these items even though this shack was so close to the sanctuary. Ignoring the proprietor when she wafted in from the back room to greet him, Dariak turned and stormed out.

  He had much better luck finding pottery a few stores down. He needed nine small pots with lids and four large bowls for washing. Unfortunately, it would require a sum of nearly two hundred gold pieces to claim all that at once. He tried reasoning with the potter, saying he could take the merchandise and return with the gold, but the owner likened that to thievery with a promissory note. Dariak said it was worth a try, then spent a good part of the hour negotiating a solid price for the entire set. He took five of the small pots for his sixty-three pieces of gold, assuring the owner that he would be back for the rest of it within a few hours’ time.

  Dariak returned to the sanctuary with the first purchase and was directed to a storeroom, where an acolyte tended the wares. Dariak received twenty pieces of gold per pot, giving him thirty-seven pieces in profit. He didn’t say anything but cherished his luck and returned to the potter for the rest of the merchandise, crossing those items off his list.

  Not every transaction was so smooth, and he discovered that the profit he had earned came mostly from his own bartering skills. Yet even when he couldn’t negotiate a good deal, there were still a few extra coins in the payout from the sanctuary. On one of his trips back to the healers, Brenwel, in the storeroom, told him to skip ahead down the list to the bread and fruit, because they were running low and needed them for the morrow. Dariak bargained marvelously for peaches and cherries, but the bread was an altogether different issue.

  Because it was now late in the day, most of the bakeries in the area had run low on bread. He needed fifteen large loaves, and it just wasn’t looking good. With two bakeries left to try, he ended up at Stonewell’s Dough-It-Yourself Bakery. He was skeptical about the name alone, but the throbbing in his arm propelled him to get this task done, and perhaps he could earn a little boon from Elgris for doing well this day.

  “Greetin
gs, friend,” said a jolly, fat fellow at the far end of the main room. Dariak strolled right up to him and placed his order for fifteen loaves of bread, but the proprietor laughed. “Look around, son. Do you see any loaves of bread?”

  Dariak turned. He saw barrels of ingredients all over the place but no bread. “No,” he said, crestfallen, turning for the door.

  “No?” called the owner. “Well, I see lots of loaves! Why, in just one hour, you could have twenty loaves in hand, freshly baked and ready to eat!”

  “Well, okay, then I need fifteen of them, please.”

  The owner, Stonewell, buried his face in his hands and shook with laughter. “Come hither, newcomer,” he said, bringing Dariak by the arm to a barrel of flour near the front of the store. Beside the barrel, on a podium, was a thick cookbook. The man flipped it open to a basic bread recipe and pointed to it jovially. “Just follow the steps! Everything you need to make your bread is right here, including all the equipment. If you need fifteen loaves, just multiply the amount of ingredients by fifteen.” His smile was infectious, but the prospect of suddenly having to do his own baking made Dariak uncertain.

  “I think I should try Kettleburn’s first. This seems a bit much for me.”

  Stonewell winked and patted Dariak on the shoulder. “I can save you time and tell you that you won’t find fifteen loaves there if you go, unless you like them very well done—they don’t call it Kettleburn’s for nothing—but if you insist on checking, go right ahead. We’ll still be open when you return. I’ll fire up the oven right now, so it’s super hot and waiting for you.”

  The man was correct on all counts, Dariak found. Kettleburn’s seemed to be known for overcooking all their pastries. Everything had dark, crispy edges, and the loaves were very brittle to the touch. He could have gotten the required number of loaves, but he knew that they wouldn’t fetch full price back at the sanctuary, if they were accepted at all.