by Kris Hiatt
“Would you like some help,” Drevic asked when he was near enough that he thought he could be heard. The man was busy fiddling with the broken wheel and had his back to Drevic.
The man rose quickly, reached for a long light-colored staff and faced Drevic. His face softened when he saw him and must have decided a brother of the College wasn’t going to rob him because he placed his staff back against the wagon and smiled.
“Ya’know that I would,” he said. He pronounced the last two words together. “And I’d pay ya fer yer effort.”
“What do you need me to do?” Drevic asked. He had never changed a wagon wheel before and had no idea how to go about it if he were asked to. It occurred to him that he had never even driven a wagon. He wouldn’t take any money the man offered once the task was done, but he wanted to help.
“Can ya work yer magic and do sumpfin?” the man asked.
“Good sir, I know of no magic that can fix, nor change, a broken wagon wheel,” Drevic said politely.
“Well, can’t blame a man fer askin,” he said.
“I can help you unload the wagon, then perhaps I can help you lift it,” Drevic offered.
“Works fer me.”
They spent the next few minutes unloading the wagon. The merchant was in the wagon handing items to Drevic who then placed them in stacks on the ground. Drevic saw spun wool, linens of many colors, many small animals carved from wood, a handful of casks, a few spare staves, some extra horseshoes, and box containing iron ore. The primary content seemed to be the multitude of fabrics. Soon the wagon was mostly empty.
The merchant looked over his wares and decided on a medium-sized cask from his pile and gave a great heave. The liquid inside sloshed and from the effort the merchant put into lifting it, Drevic guessed it weighed at least a hundred pounds. He carried it over and expertly placed it on the rail at the front of the wagon. He turned it so the large wooden plug faced him and removed a dagger from his belt that Drevic hadn’t noticed before. He took a moment to catch his breath from the exertion with the blade resting on the wooden plug.
“God forgive me,” he said and used the dagger to pry out the plug.
An amber liquid spewed forth and instantly turned the dirt below into a foamy, muddy mess. The merchant stuck his face in the stream of liquid that Drevic guessed was ale and drank deeply. He came up for air after several seconds, wiped his mouth and raised an eyebrow at Drevic.
“No, but thank you, sir.”
“Suit yerself,” he said and stuck his head under again.
The cask emptied its contents a few seconds later and the merchant gave a healthy belch and wiped his mouth again. He then placed the cask next to the rear of the wagon by the spoke.
“Let’s giver a try,” the merchant said and belched one more time.
Drevic moved out of the merchant’s way and waited for instructions.
The older man grabbed the staff and placed it between the wagon and the cask, took his hand off it gently, seeming to wait to see if it would stay there, and after determining that it would, motioned for Drevic to move up beside him.
“I hope yer back is strong,” he said. “When we’re ready, put yer back to it like this and lift,” he demonstrated.
Drevic nodded in understanding.
Drevic was tall and solidly built, but it wasn’t a toned build. He hoped his body was up to the task after spending so much time lifting nothing more than a book. He grasped under the wagon as shown by the merchant.
The merchant bent low and put the staff on his right shoulder. He grabbed it firmly with both hands and squatted under it.
“Ya ready?”
Drevic nodded.
“Lift as hard as ya can on three,” he instructed Drevic.
“One, two, three,” the merchant counted out. The last part of the word ‘three’ became very high pitched as he pushed hard on the staff.
Drevic pushed hard with his legs and pulled up with his arms with all his strength. He felt the wagon move upward in his hands. He continued to pull and looked to the merchant. The staff was flexing under the stress and Drevic thought it was a miracle that it hadn’t broken in half. The merchant shifted more of his body forward, over top of and down the length of the shaft and gave another heave. Drevic felt the weight of the wagon lessen in his hands. He pulled harder and just when he thought his hands would begin to bleed from the pressure, the merchant used his right foot to slide the cask under the axle of the wagon. Just as the cask was in place, the staff shattered in the merchant’s hands and he fell away. Drevic couldn’t hold the full weight of the wagon and it came down hard on the cask. It creaked, but held.
“Oh, my!” the merchant gasped. “Son of a, that hurts!”
When the merchant turned to face Drevic, he saw that the man’s shirt was torn wide open and under it was a large, garish wound that ran down the man’s chest and onto his upper abdomen. It was at least the length of a man’s hand with the fingers outstretched. It was hard for Drevic to believe a piece of wood could do so much damage. He knew it was not a mortal wound, but it most certainly was painful and would take several weeks to fully heal.
The merchant clutched at the wound and fell into a seated position.
Drevic might not be able to change a wagon wheel, or drive one, but this is what he had spent years training for. He closed his eyes and tried to fall into Path of The Calm as quickly as he could.
It took him longer than he would have liked to find his emotional balance, but time was strange when you were in The Calm. His emotions swirled about him, begging for release. They were separate colors yet all the same. He mentally sifted through them, ignoring anger as it was almost always the first and most explosive emotion that came forward. It was also the most dangerous by far. He could feel the seething hatred that it held and felt its tug; it begged for release. He concentrated on his mother and the love she provided all his life. Anger receded and he felt the love he needed to power his magic. He grasped onto the love that he felt and embraced it with all his heart. He felt it pour over him and wash him in a yellow-white light. He mentally held onto as much emotional love as he could and willed it to move from his heart, through his chest, down his arms, and into his hands. He didn’t need to open his eyes to see, for the emotional ties humans share instinctively told him where his magic was needed. He knelt over the merchant and placed his hands directly over the wound and willed the love out of his hands and into the emotional anguish of the merchant. The connection was strong and Drevic willed his healing power to move from the emotional pain and wash over the physical pain the merchant felt. He held onto the connection for as long as he could and when he knew there was nothing further he could do, he came out of The Calm.
Drevic was emotionally exhausted from the magical use, more so than he had ever been before. His arms ached from being outstretched, so he put them at his side. His legs ached from being hunched over like he was, he wasn’t sure if he could even stand up without having something to lean on. He took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and looked at the merchant. The merchant’s wound was no longer bleeding and had scabbed over quite nicely. It would still be another week or two before it fully healed, but Drevic guessed he cut the recovery time in half. He didn’t think he could harness that much healing power and was happy for the merchant that he was able to do so. He was also quite proud of himself for the accomplishment. He realized then that this was the first person he had actually healed that had a real wound. Most of the healing training they received while studying Path of Heart consisted of healing small scratches the brothers placed on themselves. He had never attempted to heal a wound of that size before.
He looked up and into the merchant’s eyes. He sat quietly, looking intently back into Drevic’s own eyes. The old man was crying softly. He slowly looked down to his wound and then met Drevic’s gaze once more.
“You saved my life, young brother, surely you have,” the merchant said.
“I don’t believe it was mortal
, but it was pretty bad,” Drevic admitted.
“Believe what you want, I know what I know,” he said. “And I know you are a good man.”
“I’m just doing what I can for an injured man,” Drevic said.
“No, that’s not what I meant,” the older man said. “I know in here,” he said, pointing to his chest over his heart.
Drevic understood what he meant. Part of the emotional connection of healing also inferred an emotional attachment. The person who was healed will have greater feelings for the person that healed them. Usually the feelings only last a short time, but sometimes they can last for days, or even weeks. Drevic even heard of a case where a man thought of his healer as a son for many years.
“It will pass. It is a byproduct of the healing magic,” Drevic told him.
Drevic wondered how long he was in The Calm.
“You were so still and so quiet for so long,” the merchant said. “It’s like you were in some sort of trance.”
“Sort of,” he said, though it was nothing like a trance. A trance meant that you were controlled by an outside force, The Calm came from within. “How long do you think I remained that way?”
“At least twenty minutes, maybe more,” the merchant said.
Drevic couldn’t believe it; most brothers couldn’t sustain the healing magic for more than a few minutes. He hadn’t even come close to twenty minutes at any time in his training. There were many things to analyze, but it was difficult as time in The Calm is different. It felt to him like he was only in The Calm for a matter of seconds, not minutes.
The merchant stood up, inspected his wound again and went to his pile of wares. He sifted through a few crates of different cargo before finding what he was looking for; a new shirt. He carefully removed the tattered one and inspected his wound again before putting on the new one. He went back to the pile and started rummaging around for something else. He spent a few minutes digging through his stock and Drevic got tired of watching him.
Drevic took the opportunity to go through his own travel pack that he had placed on the ground. He found the single piece of parchment that he purchased with his supplies and removed it from his pack. He also pulled out a small vial of ink and a quill. He had intended on using it to take notes of anything the Archbishop said so he could accurately report it to the Archmagister in the event he didn’t get a message to return with. He thought he would just stop at the next town and pick up another. The thought of walking to the next town weighed on him; he was already exhausted and wasn’t sure if he could even walk without assistance. He pushed the thought aside and went to work.
He began taking notes of the experience, noting the length of time the subject said he was in The Calm and the severity of the wound. He described the approximate size of the wound and included how it had scabbed over.
He was nearing the end of his parchment when the merchant walked over to him and placed a beautifully crafted staff and a book on the ground in front of him.
“I know you said you wouldn’t take any payment, so I thought you could use these,” the merchant said. “It’s the least I can do, though I wish you would accept more.”
Drevic opened the book and found that it was empty. He guessed it had fifty or sixty pages in it, and they were all blank. That worked out well, now he wouldn’t have to stop and get any more parchment; he had a much nicer paper book. He set it aside and looked over the staff. It looked much like an ordinary staff, but the wood was not familiar to him. It appeared to be made of the same light colored wood as the broken staff that injured the merchant, only this one had several lines burned into the wood in a downward spiral from the tip. He thought it would make a wonderfully good looking walking stick.
“I can manage the wheel and pack it up, thanks for not only helping me with the wagon, but also for saving my life,” the merchant said. “The wood is called hard maple, by the way. Cut from a sapling.”
“You are very welcome,” Drevic assured him, not wanting to offend the man by telling him that he didn’t save his life. “And that is interesting. Thank you for the gifts, but I insist on helping you load the wagon. I unloaded it, so I’m responsible for the work.”
“Fair enough,” the merchant asked and moved to replace the wagon wheel.
It took the two of them over an hour to replace the wheel and restock the wagon. Drevic wasn’t used to the physical activity and his back ached tremendously. He hopped down out of the wagon and winced when he landed.
“Thanks again,” the merchant said.
“You are welcome.”
“Headed to Haven,” the merchant stated more than asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Would you like a ride? You’d make me feel better about you helping me if I could give you a ride.”
“Thank you, but no. I prefer to walk. Your gifts are more than enough,” Drevic said. He knew he was lying about preferring to walk, he would have much preferred the ride. But he knew that his instructions were clear and that he was supposed to walk.
“Well, suit yourself, but know that all the people in Haven will know what kind of man you are and how goodly the Onneron Brothers are.”
He said goodbye and used the walking stick to help support his tired body. He kept going over the healing process in his mind as he walked. He still couldn’t believe how well he had healed the man. He wondered if even Magister Edas had healed someone so well. Drevic thought he probably had, considering he was the instructor for Path of Heart, the Path one learned to be able to heal wounds.
He walked for only a short time before stopping. He knew he only had two days before he arrived in Haven, so he knew he could afford to stop and rest; he was very tired. He didn’t see any houses nearby, so he decided to make a bed under a large pine tree. It would get fairly cold at night, so the pine branches would provide protection from the wind, and pine needles helped make a soft bed.
He settled into his makeshift bed and was soon fast asleep. It would still be light out for another hour or so, but he didn’t care; his use of magic had tired him out.
He was so intent on the physical healing during the time he used the magic that he never picked up on the other oddities that happened after the magic was completed. How did the merchant know he wouldn’t accept money as a form of payment? Why did he give the staff and the book to him? He also didn’t notice at the time that the merchant’s speech had markedly improved. He would reflect on this much, much later.
Chapter 6
Treace feinted to his right and sprinted to his left. He thrust out his right sword, not aiming at Exodin, but over the man’s sword. Treace then drove his thumb toward the ground and pulled his arm from his left to his right in an attempt to circumvent his opponent’s defenses. At the same time, he stabbed in from the left with his other sword, bringing it over his right, aiming for Exodin’s exposed side. He hoped to remember all Exodin had taught him.
The veteran must have been prepared for the move, because he lowered the tip of his sword so that it nearly hit the ground and brought his shield over to cover his vulnerability. He shuffled back quickly and Treace’s sword glanced harmlessly off his opponent’s shield.
Treace drove on and had slapped first his right, then his left blade repeatedly against Exodin’s shield in the same direction, intending for the power of his strikes to force the shield, and therefore its user, into a difficult angle.
The wooden swords clacked when they struck each other, but when Treace’s swords bounced off of the shield they made a more resounding clank.
Exodin rushed forward behind his shield and Treace had to backpedal to prevent from being pushed to the ground. He knew his opponent was stronger than he was and also knew that Exodin’s shield was just as much of a weapon in his expert hands as Treace’s swords were in his own. Possibly more-so.
He leaned back just in time as that shield rushed out and to Treace’s right. The shield slid by and made a whooshing sound. He never looked at it, however, knowing the real da
nger was going to come from the blade that would inevitably follow it.
Treace angled his body to the left and drove the thumb of his right hand down and parried the attack to the side. He didn’t have time to counter, however, as Exodin raised his shield and rotated his forearm so the leading edge of the shield was facing Treace. That leading edge sped in toward his face and he knew he couldn’t hope to deflect the weight of the shield with his blades, so he did the only thing he knew to escape; he sprang to his left in a diving headlong roll.
He came up turning, prepared to parry another of Exodin’s blows, but didn’t have to; his opponent hadn’t reached him yet. He could feel dirt clinging to the sweat on the back of his neck. Gooseflesh ran up his arms at his narrow escape.
Exodin stalked in toward him. The veteran thrust his sword out and over top of Treace’s left, and performed the same maneuver Treace did by rotating his wrist quickly, throwing his thumb to the ground to drive Treace’s left sword down. The dangerous shield came next; slamming into Treace’s right arm and sword. He was in a bad position, but so was his opponent.
Treace stepped back with his left foot and slid his hips to the right to avoid the kick that Exodin executed. There wasn’t enough room to bring his blades to bear and strike with any chance of hitting their mark, so he pushed hard on Exodin’s shield with his right hand, driving it to his left.