by Robert Beers
Milward was correct. His home was close by, merely half a mile, if that. It was built into a long dead cave, within one of the hills to the north of the forest path. A door covered the opening, painted in a combination of bright colors after the fashion of the northern regions. No other adornment graced the entrance. Inside was a different matter entirely; Milward's cave was decorated and furnished for the purpose of living comfortably. A wide fireplace promised old bones plenty of warmth on cold days, and a deep larder insured a full belly. One entire wall was lined with shelf after shelf of books and scrolls. Cushioned chairs placed throughout promised a welcome spot for a lazy afternoon's reading. Boxes of vellums and parchments were stacked ceiling high next to a massive reading desk covered in the drippings of a century's worth of candles.
Milward's foyer held places for their cloaks to hang and the weapons to lie. The thick bar placed across the stout door once shut made sure of a secure stay.
Underfoot, thick carpets gave their feet a welcome release from the hard ground. Dozens of lamps with smokeless oil brightened the interior, and the warm glow of the oaken panels said home, rather than cavern.
The twins stood transfixed within the foyer, gaping at the richness before them. Bustlebun's Inn now seemed rather shabby in comparison.
“Come in, come in, and be warmed by my fire. Summer is leaving, fall is upon us, and it will be cool tonight.” Milward removed his outer robe, and entered the living room of his home.
A table set with supper for three was waiting for them, and he indicated it with a wave of his hand. “I believe you will find my cooking to be adequate, unless you're all filled up on charred rabbit...”
The food at Milward's table was plain but plentiful. There were three different cheeses, a variety of fresh fruits, warm baked bread which filled the area with it's yeasty aroma, chops and stew, as well as pint after pint of crisp cider to wash it all down. After supper and after their respective hurts and bruises were seen to, the twins, along with the kitten, were bedded down in a spare bedroom off the back hall of Milward's home.
Milward closed the door on his guests, satisfied that the sounds he heard were those of sleep. So these were the two, he mused. It was always interesting to see a prophecy unfold, but to involve lives so close to their beginning ... He was glad he was not involved in the choosing. At least the gentle glamour he used on them worked well enough. He hadn't felt like chasing a couple of active youngsters through the woods all night long.
A noise outside drew him to the door. It was a woodchuck. The fat little creature stood on its haunches, and chattered at the old man. He nodded and thanked the messenger by giving her a treat from one of his pouches. He closed the door and leaned against it, deep in thought. So, this was how it was to be. Well he'd best not dawdle. He strode down the hallway leading straight back from the living room to the door at the very end. Inside was a room filled with casks, pots, jars and boxes full of herbs, both dry and growing, bits and pieces of insects, amphibians and reptiles, as well as strange and wonderful oils, ointments and powders. The air within the room greeted the old Wizard with its heady mixture of odors. Worktables sat cluttered with tasks and experiments in various stages of completion, and an ornately framed mirror graced one wall bare of anything else but the twin oil lamps bracketing it. Milward stood before the mirror, and his countenance changed. The kindly old man became something dangerous, deadly. His eyes burned with a cold fire, and his brows were knitted together in anger. “Show him to me.” He snapped.
The mirror's surface began to swirl with multicolored mists. A figure appeared, first as a silhouette, and then as Gilgafed himself. A fork with a steaming morsel of food was paused halfway to his mouth. “You!”
“Ah, Gilgafed. At repast, as usual.” Milward leaned closer to the mirror, and peered at the Sorcerer's cheek. “Have you been playing with fire again?”
“What do you want, Wizard? I have better things to do than bandy words with a doddering, old fool.” Gilgafed slammed his fork back onto the table.
“Did I spoil your appetite, old boy? I'm terribly sorry.”
“Just speak your peace, and go!” Gilgafed glared at the Wizard, then looked away.
A dangerous smile played across Milward's face. “I called you to give you a small prophecy, Gilgy, old boy.” Milward held up a hand. “Oh, settle down. I know you don't like being called that. That is precisely why I do it. You're seeking two young humans, a boy and a girl? Ah, I see I'm right, and yes, I do know where they are. They are under my protection, hence the prophecy.” His expression changed to one of pure malice. “If anything happens to them, and I find you had the smallest of hands in their fate, I will castrate you, and feed your testicles to you as an entree. Am I understood in this matter?”
Gilgafed nodded his face devoid of expression.
“Good. Oh, and by the way. I am fully capable of doing just that. Think about it when you wonder where I got the strength to do something. Hmmm?” Milward cut the connection, and the mirror became just a mirror again.
He closed the door to his workroom, and went to check on the children. They and the kitten were sleeping deeply and peacefully.
It was time sit and think. The Wizard settled into his favorite chair before the fire, and poured himself a goblet of fortified wine. He warmed the aged liquor with his hands as he stared into the dancing flames. From what he knew of the prophecy of Labad, most of it based on incomplete texts and conjecture, his guests were in for a number of hard years, and he could not be there for them. Ah, well, maybe the scare he put into Gilgafed would grant them the time needed. He sipped the brandy and savored the smoky burn of it passing down his throat. They would stay with him for a while. At the very least, he could show them some things about this world that would help. He sipped again. Yes, that was the very least he could do.
Charity woke to the sound of purring. There was a small weight on her chest. She reached up and felt the kitten nestled between her breasts. It stretched and yawned as she petted it, the purrs growing louder.
Adam lay snoring in fits and starts on his side of the bed; she wondered why the kitten's purring woke her instead of the snores.
The door opened, and Milward poked his head around the edge of the door. “Good morning.”
Charity stifled a yawn. “Good morning.” The kitten arched her back in a stretch, and yawned again. It leapt off the bed, and began rubbing Milward's ankles.
The wizard looked down at the attention. “I see someone is ready for breakfast.”
“Did I hear someone say breakfast?” Adam raised his head off the pillow.
Charity hit him with her pillow. “Typical. You're always hungry.”
“So what? I'm a growing boy.” He hit her back.
Adam received a pillow across the face. “Growing out, you mean.”
It deteriorated from there. Milward looked at the kitten. “We'll let them get some of this extra energy out of their systems. Come with me, little one,” He clicked his tongue, and she raised her tail in a crook as she followed him. “I have something for you I think you'll enjoy.”
Breakfast was similar to supper. Simple, yet substantial, with mounds of hot porridge, link upon link of spicy sausages, gallons of rich cream and yellow butter, and more of the delicious, freshly baked bread. All of it finished off with steaming fruity tisane.
Milward spooned up some porridge, and looked across the table at his guests. “Let me hear them.”
Adam put down the sausage he was working on. “What?”
“Your questions. I'm sure you have at least a few floating around in those active minds of yours.” He swallowed his porridge. “Come on, let's have them.
“I have one.” Charity spread some butter onto a slice of bread.
“Yes...” Milward drew her out.
“Those pouches you wear. What are they for?”
He looked down at his waist. The wide belt with its many flapped pouches was there, as always; it had become an old friend aft
er so many years. He fingered it as he looked back at the girl. “This? This is my friend and companion, my memory and my treasure keeper.”
Adam looked up from his sausage and bread. “What do you mean by that?”
Milward smiled at him. “Herb lore. One of my passions is what the forest and the things that grow in it have to teach me. You know, to me it is always like a treasure hunt. I never know what surprise awaits me underneath the next old log or the next rock. Nature has wonders we've yet to learn, and most of what we know is just scratching below the surface.
“I keep some of what I've found in these pouches. In others are some old friends I've known about for years.”
Adam sipped some Tisane, “for example..?
Milward dipped into one of the pouches, and pulled out a corked vial filled with a white powder. “This comes from boiling Willit bark, and collecting the steam, and then letting it dry to this powder.”
Charity looked closely at the vial. “What does it do?”
The wizard shook it, causing the powder to billow within the vial. “It stops most muscle pain, headache, and those aches that some of us older folks get in our joints now and then, plus some others.”
“Can you show us more?” Charity leaned forward on the table.
Milward pulled out some leaves that looked like they had come from a wildflower. “This is Phedri. Have you ever caught the drips that become the chills if not doctored?”
They nodded their heads.
“You crush the leaves of this plant, and steep them in boiling water. Allow it to cool a bit, and then drink it all. You can sweeten it with honey if you wish, in about one half of an hour later the drips will stop, a marvelous plant!”
The lessons in herb lore carried on for several hours. The twins soaked up the teaching like sponges, asking question after question, and Milward reveled in it. He showed them the oil squeezed out of Cancra seed that helped to keep the skin from scarring when healing from a cut, and the Alu, that when sliced, seeped a gel that caused the skin to heal quickly. He showed them other wonders found in plants, mushrooms, and in certain molds that did things more akin to magik than medicine. He would not, under any circumstance, answer their questions when they strayed into the realm of poisons and like potions, in spite of their pleas to do so. That world was for much later, he told them, and that was that. They also talked at length concerning their place in the world, and what they should do to ensure it.
As the discussion in herb lore wound down, Adam looked wistfully into the distance and sighed, “I can't wait to get back and tell Aunt Doreen and Uncle Bal about what we've learned.”
Milward shook his head sadly. “That may not be possible.”
“What?”
“Please, I want to go home!”
The effect of Milward's words was as upsetting as he was afraid it would be. He took in a long breath and spoke again, “I didn't say it was impossible, merely that it may not be possible. Tell me about your village, but I think I can already guess it's a long ways from here.”
They told him, including the tale of their capture and the journey through the caverns. Charity added to the narrative her belief they'd been magiked to another world.
Milward nodded through it all, grunting in places, and chuckling when they described their first taste of Dwarfish cooking. Charity didn't mention the power of her bow and Adam, for reasons he was unsure of kept silent about his sword.
He was about to tell about the letters when Milward broke in. “I've heard enough. You two have had an eventful journey, I must say. No, I don't believe you've been transported to another world, your village is about a thousand or more miles that way,” he pointed behnd them, “on the other side of the Circle Sea. It's a journey I wouldn't advise either of you undertaking right now.”
“Why not?” Adam demanded, “We did ok, so far.”
“Luck is a condiment best used sparingly, my lad. Remember those beasts you told me about, the ones that carried your sister and you into the caverns? They are called Ogren and it is a sure bet they weren't alone.”
Charity gasped and brought her hands to her mouth. Adam looked grim. “Our Aunt and Uncle...”
“Don't be thinking the worst, now.” Milward cautioned him. “There is every chance they are still alive.” And in Southpoint by now, he finished to himself. “Why don't you stay with me a while, at least through the winter. It gets cold and lonely around here sometimes, and I would like the company. You could learn even more, and if you wish, continue your journey in the spring when the weather is must more hospitable.”
“The ... Ogren, you called them?” Charity asked.
Milward gave her an understanding smile. “Oh, they'd be long gone by then. They're beasts at heart and only stay on a given task if driven to do so. What about my offer, will you stay?”
Adam looked at Charity; she nodded. After a bit he did also, and then turned to face Milward, “we'll stay.”
They stayed with Milward through the fall and winter learning much about herb lore, and expanding on what Uncle Bal had already taught them concerning wood craft. One day, when rains were light, he took them into the deep wood to test their knowledge. The downpour the evening before had left the air smelling crisp and clean. Subtle hints of citrus and an earthy smell of rich soil hovered in the background.
“Now then, Adam. What can you tell me of that fern growing out of that Alder to your left?”
The fern in question sprouted from a tree covered in moss, and long dead. Small, translucent green, spearhead-shaped leaves grew along the shaft at right angles from each other, and in progressively smaller sizes up to the fiddlehead tip. Tiny orange spots showed on the underside of each leaf.
Adam stepped across the small creek, and fingered one of the leaves of the fern. He brought his hand up to his nose, and sniffed. “Blood Fern, if my nose doesn't lie.”
“And what can it be used for, Charity?”
She placed her hands behind her back, and stared off into space. “Blood Fern, good for cleansing ailments of the blood such as those caused by poor food and too much drink.” She turned and beamed a smile at Milward. “Did I get it right?”
“Letter perfect, my dear.”
She wrinkled her nose at Adam.
He frowned slightly, and then turned his attention back to the fern.
Milward crossed the creek, passed Adam, and walked into a small clearing where the ground was half bog. “Perhaps you would care to point out some interesting specimens to me. This bit of ground may reveal a secret or two.”
They joined the old man in the clearing and began to examine the ground. Adam could hear snatches of the lessons they'd been given through the long winter nights flowing in and out of his head.
“I found something.” Charity called out from a spot on the far edge of the bog.
Milward looked up from examining a brilliant purple beetle with a ludicrously large snout. “Well, now. First prize goes to the young lady in heather green. What did you find?”
She pointed to a grayish green plant with thick leaves that grew close to the ground. Small bulbs of the same color were attached to it by coiling tendrils that sprouted similar coils of their own. Some of the twisting growth held blades of grass fast, ensuring a solid anchor in the unstable ground. “A Bladderleaf. I'm sure of it.”
“You are, are you?” Milward smiled. “Perhaps your brother can tell us what this little beauty is good for.” He gave Adam an appraising look.
Adam had begun to feel somewhat inadequate. Charity soaked up Milward's lessons like a sponge, whereas he had to struggle to remember half of what the old Wizard taught them.
“Uh ... wounds, I think.”
Charity giggled.
Milward turned back to her, and raised a forefinger. “Ah ahh. No teasing and no laughing at each other. We all have our different strengths. It's obvious where yours lie, young lady, and you've a right to be pleased with your progress.”
“Your brother's learning
a lot. He already knows more about herb and plant lore than nine tenths of the men in this world, so ease up on him a bit. Just because you're better at something than someone else is never a reason for teasing. Doing that only makes you smaller than they are, understand?”
“Yes, sire Milward.” Charity's voice revealed her contrition.
The old man turned to look at Adam. “You were saying something about wounds? What I told her, by the way, was for both of your ears.”
Adam swallowed his smile. “Yes, sire Milward. Uh ... Those little bulbs on the Bladderleaf can suck the poison out of a wound, or a snakebite ... I think.”
“Good. Very good. What about this small thing? He bent over and plucked a tiny blue-green herb from the host of plants growing in the rich soil. The leaves were teardrop in shape, clustered in groups of three on each stem. “Can either of you tell me this small plant's name and it's uses?”
Adam shook his head. “No ... I've no idea. Charity?”
She shook hers, as well. “No, What is it?”
Milward held the herb up to his nose, and sniffed it. It had a pleasant peppery scent. He then held it out, and turned it back and forth, a slow smile spreading in his whiskers. “I have absolutely no idea. This one is entirely new to me.”
“Let's give it a name.” Adam suggested.
“What would we call it? Milleaf? Wardwort?” Charity looked over Adam's shoulder at the plant in Milward's hand.
“That would be a bit premature.” The old man said quietly. “Why don't you two tell me what we know of it so far?”
“It's green.” Adam ventured.
“The leaves look like little teardrops.” Charity added. “And I think it looks more blue-green from here.”
“I see tiny little hairs on the stem,” Said Adam. “and it has a spicy smell. It smells good, like it could be used in cooking.”
“If it isn't poisonous. I don't see any places where bugs have chewed on it.” Charity looked more closely at the plant in Milward's hand.
A light rain began to fall, and a chill breeze rose with the change. The old man placed the herb into one of the pouches on his belt, and patted it after closing the flap. “Why don't we leave this weather to the outside, and go see what else our little leafy friend can tell us in the laboratory? Ok?”