Path of The Calm (Saga of The Wolf Book 1)

by Kris Hiatt

  Treace shook his head, which took effort and it hurt badly. He concentrated.

  “No, I go home?”

  “Ah,” the younger said with a look of understanding. “No, not yet. We need to keep you for observation,” he paused then added, “Do you know what that means?”

  Treace nodded his head.

  “We need to make sure your head will heal correctly and monitor your speech,” the younger one explained anyway.

  “Are you hungry?” the older healer asked.

  “Yes,” Treace replied after consulting with his stomach, which growled in agreement.

  “Have some soup brought in,” the older said to the younger. “And have a runner go to the constable’s manor to inform the investigator that the boy is awake.”

  The younger nodded and left the room.

  The remaining healer checked the pulse in Treace’s wrist, adjusted the bandage, and checked his forehead for fever. He did the last two with absolute care for Treace and showed gentleness that Treace had hadn’t seen very often.

  Seeming content with his findings, he said, “I’ll have a runner inform your mother after a few more hours. She’ll need some rest, too.”

  The elder left and Treace sat in the quiet room trying to remember what had happened. He thought of Exodin again and the way he was parrying his attacks.

  But that was a dream wasn’t it?

  He didn’t remember training with Exodin a second time, but he wasn’t sure.

  He decided to start from what he did remember and go from there.

  He remembered waking up and having breakfast with his mother. His mother told him something about Exodin. He remembered his mother telling him he couldn’t train with Exodin because he was too young. He remembered her leaving for work and him leaving shortly after to go help Jensen.

  Did I make it to the smith that day?

  He didn’t think so.

  He remembered walking toward town and then…nothing. Well, not quite nothing. He remembered a few bits. He saw a pretty young lady upside down.

  Was I upside down at some point?

  He remembered seeing some confused yet concerned looks from many faces he didn’t recognize. He remembered his head was already aching by then, so it happened before that.

  What was it?

  He thought back again.

  He left the house and was walking on the path. He remembered the path was cool to the touch.

  Why? Did I sit down on it?

  No, that wasn’t right. His head was killing him now. All the thinking was making it feel like a piece of iron he was hammering on.

  Wait, I said that before. No, I thought that before.

  Before something but still after what happened. His stomach growled and he wondered when the last time he ate was. He thought about throwing up whatever it was he ate on Mr. Gilrend’s shoes. He saw a pile of vomit on the ground. It was covering something.

  Mr. Gilrend’s shoes, he thought. Was that right?

  He felt it was right, but only partially. There was something else he was missing. It seemed like it was something important but it was so tough to tell.

  “If he’s awake then I’m going in there and there’s nothing you can do to stop me!” an unmistakable voice said from just outside his room, pulling Treace from his thoughts. He knew the voice, he was certain of that.

  Jensen stormed into the room with a female healer in tow.

  “Sir, sir, he needs his rest!” she pleaded, but the smith ignored her and come to a complete stop once he saw Treace. She ran into him and bounced off the stout smith. Her considerable weight only moved the smith a few inches.

  “It’s okay,” Treace managed to say correctly, wanting to try to placate the healer. She seemed to calm down once she saw that he was conscious and able to speak. He nodded to her slightly and she gave a healthy sigh, shook her head and left the room. She gave the smith’s back a very stern look as she exited.

  “How you feeling, son?” Jensen asked.

  Treace caught that he called him son. He usually called him boy, except when he was mad or making a point. This time he said it with such empathy that Treace felt emotion well-up from within him. He checked it as best he could, but he could feel a lump in his throat. “Not bad,” he said, hoping it didn’t sound like too much of a lie. It didn’t feel like a lie, considering he didn’t know what happened.

  “Well you look far worse than not bad,” the smith said clenching and unclenching a dirty rag in his hands.

  Treace wondered if he used one of his smith rags as a napkin.

  “And you were asleep for nearly a full day and couldn’t talk right either from what I heard.”

  It was true; Treace couldn’t deny it so he just shrugged his shoulders.

  “Do you remember what happened to ya?”

  “No.”

  “You will. You’re a smart lad. It’ll come to you,” the smith said. Treace thought he detected a bit of uncertainty in his voice but wasn’t sure.

  “Can’t wait out here to forge,” Treace said and was immediately frustrated at his lack of speaking ability and then his frustration was immediately followed with another lump in his throat as he saw tears well up in Jensen’s eyes.

  “Aw, my boy,” Jensen choked out. “I’ll help you get your voice back. Don’t you doubt it for one second!” he finished powerfully, but tears still streaked down his cheek.

  Treace let his emotions go and started crying along with the smith, who then came over to his bedside and squeezed Treace’s left hand in his own massive paw. Tears flowed freely and he hitched a few sobs from his chest which made his head bob up and down. That made his head ache but it didn’t matter; his heart ached more. This man had suddenly become Treace’s father.

  He remembered some things about his father, but he had more memories with Jensen than he did his father, Orlin. The pain in his head, the pain in his heart, the medicine he was on, and the frustration he felt for not knowing what happened to him all combined and the emotions exited his body through the tears that streaked down his face.

  He didn’t know Jensen cared that much for him, or that he cared that much for Jensen, but at that time, it didn’t matter.

  The female healer returned to the room with another person, who was carrying a tray that had a large bowl of steaming soup and at least a half a loaf of bread on it. She saw the tears down both Jensen’s and his own face and instantly gave Jensen a withering look.

  “I told you he needed to rest,” she scolded. Even the weathered smith gave under that glower and flinched at her words.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” Jensen said, lowering his gaze to the floor. “But I just had to see him,” he said, a little fire back in his voice.

  Treace regained most of his composure, wiped the tears from his eyes and cheeks, then said, “I’m better, Jensen.” He was glad it came out right. It took some effort, but he did it.

  Jensen looked back at Treace, squeezed his hand once more then let go. He nodded to him and turned and walked out. Once again the healer gave him a stern look as he walked out.

  “We brought you some chicken and noodle soup with bread,” she said after Jensen had departed. “It should be easy on your stomach. Just be sure to go easy at first,” she warned.

  “Yes’m,” Treace replied even though he had no intention of doing so. His stomach wanted him to just drink the whole bowl at once. He didn’t think he should listen to his stomach either.

  The server, a thin, homely man about in his mid-twenties first placed the tray on a nearby table; the one with the candle, then helped her slide it across the floor to Treace’s bedside.

  They managed to complete the task without spilling much of the soup, which Treace was thankful for. He was starving.

  She checked his vitals one more time, helped him into a seated position to eat, and then she exited the room with the server in tow.

  As the first rays of light spilled into his room he ate all of his soup and soaked the bread in the bro
th and used it to clean the bowl. He didn’t remember ever eating so much food and he gave a large belch that seemed to agree with his assessment.

  With his hunger sated he lay back down and closed his eyes. He didn’t intend to go back to sleep, and didn’t think he could if he wanted to. He already slept for nearly an entire day.

  It didn’t matter what he intended to do, sleep overtook him anyway.

  #

  He awoke an undeterminable number of hours later to find his mother seated next to him holding his hand.

  When he looked up at her she smiled then started crying. Treace felt that lump in his throat again then reached up to his mother, wrapped his arms around her, and hugged her tightly. Tears flowed from his eyes once again and he didn’t care. He was in his mother’s arms.

  “Are you okay? Oh, Treace, tell me you’re okay,” his mother sobbed into his ear as she hugged him back.

  His head was pressed hard against her bosom and his head ached at the pressure but he ignored the pain and basked in the warmth of his mother’s embrace. He didn’t think he could form the correct sentence so he simply nodded as best he could as a response, which hurt even more.

  She pushed him back and placed many kisses on his head, and seemed to be careful to avoid his wound.

  “Are you sure, are you sure you’re okay? I was here all day, I was hoping you’d wake up but you didn’t,” she insisted.

  She spoke so fast Treace couldn’t interject. All of her words just seemed to flow through without any pause or need for response so he didn’t try to give one any longer.

  She pulled him back into another hug and held him there for what seemed like hours. He didn’t mind. He couldn’t remember the last time his mother showed him so much affection. He wasn’t about to stop it. He thought he was getting older and didn’t need the affection; at least that’s what he told himself. But now that he had it he knew he was wrong. He wanted it, he needed it. He felt the void of love that had been in his chest fill back up again and was sad he didn’t even realize it was gone.

  They spent a few hours together while Treace was trying to explain what happened as best he could. He found his sentence structure getting better the more he spoke, as long as he took a bit of time to think about it beforehand. His head ached but he felt so much better emotionally now than he could ever remember feeling. His mother held his hand the entire time and looked at him more lovingly than she previously had.

  The investigator arrived and Treace told what he knew of the story again, starting from the beginning.

  He had a feeling he was going to have to tell this story several times in the coming months. His speech was still not normal but it was much improved.

  The investigator was there for only a few minutes, took very few notes, and wished him a speedy recovery before leaving.

  Treace didn’t think it was an overly thorough investigation, but he didn’t really expect one anyway. He couldn’t remember what happened, so why should there be an investigation?

  He stayed in the medical three more days before the healers let him leave. They said his brain had swollen from the blow and that was what was affecting his speech. It wasn’t right yet, but they said it would probably just take some time and there was nothing more they could do for him.

  Chapter 3

  He awoke early, exited to get to the smith; and why not? It was his birthday. Today he turned twelve and Jensen had hinted that he had a big present for him.

  Three months had passed since his accident happened. The investigator ruled it an accident because no one saw anything and Treace couldn’t remember what happened so they figured he either ran into a tree while running or tripped and fell on a rock or tree root.

  His head was healed, a small scar that was barely visible above the inner part of his right eye. He didn’t like it, but Jensen said ladies loved guys with scars. Treace hadn’t found that to be true to this point, but Jensen was much older and wiser than he was. Maybe it would turn out to be true. He thought about asking Exodin’s thoughts on the subject but dismissed the idea.

  His speech had returned to normal after the second week, which Treace was very thankful for. He was beginning to wonder if he would be stuck that way for the rest of his life. He was glad that didn’t happen. It turned out that Jensen didn’t need to help him in that regard, it seemed to go away on its own.

  His mother let him go back to work for Jensen a few weeks ago, but she had yet to agree to let him learn to sword fight. He thought he might ask her again today since it was his birthday.

  He snuck into the kitchen, not wanting to wake his mother. When he got close to the table he noticed a note with his name on it, which he opened at once.

  Good morning Son,

  Happy Birthday, my baby boy! Meet me at Jensen’s smith. We have a few surprises for you!

  I love you very much.

  Ma

  P.S. There’s another surprise for you on the stove.

  He smiled and put down the note and hurried over to the stove.

  He found a pastry with sugary icing all over it and gobbled it down in two bites. She usually wouldn’t let him have many sugary foods because they were bad for his teeth and a little bit expensive.

  He thought that was a great start to his birthday.

  He decided to run to the smith and found both his mother and Jensen waiting for him.

  They were sitting on Jensen’s bench talking. His mother was laughing at something Jensen was saying. He had seen his mother smile and laugh often in the last few weeks and thought it was a good thing.

  Jensen and his mother had been at his side for most of his stay in the medical. They talked with each other when they thought Treace was asleep. It was clear that Jensen cared for him, but it was also clear that his mother cared for Jensen for caring for Treace.

  At his approach they both looked up and waved. He slowed so he could catch his breath before getting there.

  “Happy birthday!” they both said after exchanging a quick glance.

  If he were older he would have known what that glance meant, but he was too young to understand the looks that men and women share when a relationship is being built. Even ones where there are several years’ difference between them. He would remember that look often later in life and it was a good memory, even if it was a bit painful. “Thank you,” he said as he walked to his mother and gave her a hug. She hugged him back and he smiled. “The pastry was tasty.”

  Jensen put his hand on his shoulder and gave him a slight nod.

  While it was clear that Jensen cared for him, he never got as emotional as he did the day Treace was hurt. He was more reserved and usually just patted him on his shoulder or tousled his hair. Treace didn’t mind, he knew how the smith felt about him and he felt the same for the smith in return.

  “We both have a surprise for you, but Jensen,” she said, patting Jensen’s arm. “You go first.”

  “What do you know of the College, Treace?” Jensen asked.

  “That the brightest minds go there and learn to heal people and use other magic,” he replied. “If they fail, they can become stone-faced.”

  He knew as much from some of the books he had to read for his mother during their school sessions. He also knew the College was a few weeks travel away.

  “That’s part of it, but they also learn many things before they can learn how to heal people and use other magic. Most cannot do the latter. Most are there simply to learn more than they could at home. Things like mathematics, reading, geography, and history,” Jensen explained. “I can understand where a boy of your age would only remember the magic part. The stone-faced thing does happen, but only after you learn the other things. It can’t happen by reading and learning, only by trying to use their magic. And that only rarely happens.”

  Treace tried to think of other things he remembered about the College but couldn’t remember much. He seemed to recall something about navigating by stars and maybe that they learned to make potions too.
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  “Are you wondering what this has to do with your birthday, Treace?” His mother asked.

  He wasn’t yet, but now that she said it he was.

  “I am now.”

  “In order to attend the College, a student must apply for it before the year’s end of his twelfth birthday,” Jensen explained. “Now, since a twelve year old can’t be expected to complete their own application and submit it, it requires a letter of recommendation to be submitted on their behalf and have a local constable sign off on it,” he continued.

  He gave Treace a serious look, then said, “You can imagine those are hard to come by, but I have worked out a deal with Constable Wren to sign a letter of recommendation I have written on your behalf,” he finished with a toothy smile.

  “Isn’t that great, Treace? If you get accepted you can become one of the Brothers of the Onneron College!” his mother said excitedly. She wore a large smile on her face and beamed at Jensen.

  He wasn’t exactly sure what to say. He had a lot of questions that he would like answers for. For example, when does one find out if they are accepted? When do you begin? How long are you gone? From what he remembered reading, the brothers study for years on end, some devoting their entire lives to the brotherhood. Did he even want to join their ranks? Instead, he focused on another question.

  “How?” Treace asked. Constable Wren had no idea who he was, yet Jensen said he was going to sign of letter of recommendation for him?

  Jensen smiled and said, “I see you’re back to your old self for sure. We tell you that you get a chance to be an Onneron Brother and your first question is how?”

  “It is a valid question,” Treace assured them.

  “It is,” Jenna replied. “But first, let me tell you about your second present.”

  Treace wondered what this present could be considering that he was just given a chance at something that probably not even one out of twenty thousand people get a chance at.

  He heard something hit the ground under his feet. It sounded very familiar. When he looked down he saw a wooden sword between his legs. The lines in the dirt showed that it was thrown from behind him and slid into its current position.