by B J Hanlon
The liquor barely made it down his throat. Grent took the bottle and dumped some on Edin’s side, it burned, then cut his shirt off with a quick slip of his knife.
“Shallow, just a bandage.”
“I told you…” Edin grimaced as Grent began rummaging through the box. Edin saw needles, thread, a white liquid in a bottle, powders.
“I figured you said that because you’re afraid of needles,” Grent said as he pulled out a jar and took off the lid. Grent stuck his fingers in some mucus colored substance. The viscous sap smelled awful like a flatulent pig and dog breath. Grent slapped it on the cut, letting it ooze down Edin’s side. It was cold and caused him to shiver.
Grent looked up at him and rolled his eyes. “What happened?” Grent said as Edin took another drink from the bottle. Grent tied a cloth bandage around Edin’s torso so tight it constricted his movement and breathing. A last tug made Edin grimace.
They sat for a few moments as Edin described the fight.
“You were lucky not to get pin cushioned. Don’t go looking for trouble again. Got it?” Grent said. His voice was quiet but his eyes and tone said this was not a suggestion. Grent took a drink of the gin. “Now get to bed.”
A dark cloaked man stood in front of him and at a slightly lower elevation. The twisted smirk on his lips seemed to grow behind the flickering flame of a torch. A gold patch on his chest held a serpent twisting around a green dagger with blood dripping from the tip. A broken staff sat below it.
A Por Fen mage hunter, a Justicar. Behind the man stood a crowd of fifty odd people, townsfolk he’d known his entire life. He spied torches, clubs, knives, axes, and other mundane implements of farmers, butchers and loggers.
“Kill him quick,” someone yelled, “before he corrupts and murders us.” People cheered, but not like after the skills or strength tests at winter-tide festival. This was a malicious, murderous cheer. Smoke began to rise around him, wisps at first, then it grew thicker.
Edin tried moving, but he was stuck. Glancing down he saw a large pile of chopped logs beneath him.
A warmth began to tickle the bottom of his feet. The tickle began burning, growing hotter till it seared. He cried and began panting for air, his lungs gasping for it, his heart racing. Edin looked around frantically for help.
He gulped, trying to breath, but the fresh air was being ripped away from him by the flames.
“This abomination will burn,” the mage hunter bellowed to the jeering crowd. In unison, all of them raised their weapons higher into the air.
Edin could barely see through the smoke. He twisted his head quickly looking for any hope of escape. He saw a glimpse of his mother under the awning on the manor’s front porch. They were in his front garden.
She was leaning against the sturdy wooden column with her arms folded across her chest casually, as if he was no one special. Her sandy brown hair looked black in the dark shadows of the doorway.
Next to her were the servants. Kesona looked bored, glancing at her fingernails and laughing at something Freta said. Edin screamed for them. He had to get their attention; they wouldn’t stand around watching him die. Not his mother, not Kes…
Something flew out of the crowd, a red and brown ball in his peripheral vision, it spun through the air. Edin closed his eyes, a twisting came to his stomach and he heard a thump. Looking out, he saw the white translucent bubble. It wasn’t strong, it flickered in and out of view.
A tall red-haired boy stepped forward and hurled another rotten tomato at his face. It was Berka, his face filled with hatred.
Edin tried to create the bubble again but felt his strength pouring from him like a hole in the bottom of a mug.
It slammed into his chest causing him to exhale the last bit of breath he held.
Edin’s eyes shot open and he nearly leapt from bed. The room was cold and dark but sweat poured down from his hairline and the linens stuck to his body like pine sap. He realized he was panting, his body trying to suck in air as if he were truly in the nightmare he’d just been having.
Tears began to form in the corners of his eyes. With a trembling hand he wiped his eyes. The room was nearly silent. He closed his eyes and saw the crowd again, angry, fearful family and friends.
His mother, Kes, Berka… people he was closest with. Edin palmed his face and exhaled. His body shivered again. He rubbed his eyes into his palms trying to wipe the image from his head.
“A nightmare… that’s all,” he whispered.
A few moments later, Edin slid to the edge of the bed. His crumpled tunic lay on the floor next to his feet. He lifted it and saw the slice and the blood stains. Edin reached for the cloth bandage Grent affixed over his injury. A part of him wanted to pull it off and see the cut beneath.
He was still tired, but the thought of going back to bed and the nightmare… there was no way he could sleep now.
Edin stood and walked over to the wash basin. After splashing some cool water on his face and rubbing his eyes, he looked into the mirror and saw the bandage on his arm. Slowly, Edin began to peal it back. The three angry red scars were stitched. There was a little pain when he touched them. His stomach groaned, he wasn’t sure what time it was but he was hungry.
It was still dark outside of his open window but he could hear the chirps of birds excited to be back from their winter in southern islands. He’d dreamed of flying off with them to those exotic places. Most of the names were difficult to pronounce due to the need to roll your tongue, something Edin could never do. From his reading, the culture down there was ‘do what you wish until someone stops you.’ A free for all with no law according to Master Horston.
One island he never heard of was this Isle of Mists. Was it near Arsleta or Neeplinie? Not that Edin could pick either out on a map.
His father was born on this island.
It was only the second thing he’d ever learned about his father. He was a great warrior and he lived on this island. Then a thought came to him, something his mother said. He was a mage, but despite that she loved him. Though most people liked to say their parents loved each other. At least in Yaultan, not in the nobility.
Kes’ parents were an exception. Edin had seen the aftermath of her father’s ‘love.’ Black eyes, broken bones, and bruises on his wife and his daughter.
Maybe Edin’s parents did love each other, if he was a magus, then it could explain him leaving. Though it wasn’t something Edin would be willing to forgive. If Edin was a magus, then it was worse; the man walked out without telling Edin he was doomed. Without telling him he was evil and destined to be destroyed.
Edin didn’t want to die… he looked at himself again in the mirror. He looked normal, his father probably did too. Why didn’t he stick around and teach him? He could’ve taught Edin the dangers, how to hide, how to protect himself. Edin couldn’t even picture the man. He probably never even met him.
He remembered the feeling in his gut that night, the tugging and twisting, the wanting to be released… Edin swallowed. He felt it with Dexal.
I am a mage… an abomination. Was Edin going to go mad? Did his mother love a mad man? She had to know more about his condition.
The times when Berka and he used to play mage hunter suddenly seemed a lot more real, a lot more terrifying. And there was Berka’s twisted look in the crowd as he threw the rotten produce at him...
“It was a nightmare,” Edin whispered shaking his head. Grabbing an oil lamp, he tiptoed down the hall toward the stairs. His friend wouldn’t do that. A floorboard creaked outside of the guest room. He paused and looked at the door. Edin wanted to see his friend, wanted to make sure he was okay, make sure he didn’t despise him. But the face from his nightmare. The hate…
Continuing down the stairs he passed through the living room. The black head was hanging on the wall, the light reflecting off the eyes and it seemed to follow his every step. He crossed the room to his mother’s study and quickly slipped in, closing the door behind him.
Pape
rs, scrolls, and ledgers were sprawled across the large desk. Normally it would be free of any clutter. Bookshelves ran the length of one wall, a painting of his grandfather and grandmother were on another.
Two chairs sat across from a much larger one on the other side of the desk. The room held her soft perfume scent, cherries and lilacs, as he walked around the fireplace to his mother’s chair. Flipping open the leather-bound ledger he saw numbers and figures that told about the house’s finances. Something about credits and debits, accounts payable and receivable.
All were part of the studies, but accounting bored him more than any other subject. Honestly, he’d rather be learning to sow than studying it. He lit a larger oil lamp on the desk and moved toward the wall mounted map of Bestoria and the southern islands. At least as much of Bestoria that was known about. The far western deserts and the northern forest and mountains where vast. The map was framed in wood and secured above the cold hearth.
The memory of Master Horston’s constant slapping of his pointing stick to the map during a geography quiz came back.
Edin pressed his finger to the X that showed his village on the southern edge of the forest next to the Crystalline River, locally called the Crys. It was named for the clean snow melt that flowed into the inland sea, the Halecon, before emerging far to the south beating a path to the sea.
Fifty miles north, beyond the forest, were the Esto Mountains, named for the god Estoolin, an old deep thinking and scheming god who was said to stare down at humans and cause mishaps but not havoc. The god was for some reason associated with lightning.
The snowcapped mountains were barely mapped, no names, no landmarks. Few dared to travel that far in a thousand years and what was beyond it only existed in fairy tales.
The south of Yaultan held sporadic forests, rolling grasslands, and farms. To the east sat the Great Cliffs that was the border between Resholt and Dunbilston.
Dunbilston was much like Resholt, though ruled by a Duke instead of a Prince.
To the west were the deserts of Porinstol that extended to the sea. They’re only cities were on the coasts. Inland, violent tribes roamed the deserts moving from oasis to oasis. Once in a while, a warlord would gather tribes and attack the towns that bordered the desert. Skirmishes on the edge of the deserts have sometimes turned into small scale wars. Some lasting for years.
Edin started staring at the isles in the southern sea. They were known as a haven of pirates, slavers, and murderers. If the islands, even the small ones would harbor those types of people, would they also harbor magi?
His eyes strained as he stared at the miniscule writing near each island. There were hundreds of small islands, some were named, others weren’t. If an abomination—no mage—stronghold was anywhere, it’d be there.
“I am not an abomination,” he said. Other people were, other mages. Not him, he couldn’t be. He was just a young man from a small village of no importance, two days by horse away from anything of significance.
A pounding headache started to make its way through his skull. Soft shuffles of feet on compacted dirt came from outside the window. The sun hadn’t yet rose, but he could see the glow rising with a red orange color. The servants were probably just getting to the house to begin breakfast and whatever other chores were left for them. Edin rubbed his temples.
A memory came through his mind, Master Horston’s words that’d been said so many times. ‘The histories are told by the winners.’ What if all of the stories were only told about bad mages. Could there have been good magi in the past?
A knock sounded at the door and Edin shot his head up.
“Mistress Laural?” A soft voice whispered.
He knew the voice and smiled. He moved quickly to open the door, too quickly as the slice on his ribs pinched.
Edin grimaced as he opened it and Kesona stood before him in a white blouse and brown skirt that somehow shined like her chestnut hair and oval brown eyes. Her slender body always seemed to sway when she moved in almost a graceful dance.
She was a few months younger than Edin and had been in his same year at school which ended for most at fourteen. The Prince of Resholt wanted his people educated, though most kids tended to leave and work the farms, family businesses, or sometimes get married. Kes’ father didn’t even want her to read and made her leave earlier. Edin convinced his mother to give her a job at the manor.
She stepped back, averting her eyes toward the floor. “Oh, Edin, I thought your… I didn’t know you’d be in here.”
“Good morning, Kes,” he said holding his smile.
Her body slumped and her jaw seemed like it was quivering. She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Master Edin, I saw the light flicker beneath the door. I thought your mother was awake.”
Edin nodded. “What time is it?”
“About four-thirty,” she said.
That was too early for a servant to talk with his mother. Especially Kes, while his mother tolerated her for Edin’s sake, she wasn’t exactly kind to the girl. The daughter of a seamstress and a woodsman wasn’t something she wanted for her son. Edin furrowed his brow and looked at Kesona again. Her thin lips were pursed as she rubbed her hands together like she was cold.
“What’s wrong, Kes?”
She flinched when he said the nickname, the same one he had called her since childhood. Did she do it the first time? He realized she hadn’t called him Edi either. The times when they were alone chatting and walking around the manor or in the near forest… those times were special. Just like the nicknames they called each other.
A hollow feeling was forming in his stomach. He took a step back from the door and held out his hand. “Please sit?” She flinched when he raised his hand.
Her body language said everything. She’d heard about the crillio and what happened and she was terrified of him. He wanted to take her hands in his and tell her it’d be alright. Tell her he wasn’t what they were saying… though it was a lie. His mind was so mixed up like a bowl of tossed salad.
Edin reached for her and she cringed, pulling herself back like she’d just touched a hot coal. Her eyes darted around the room but not at him.
“I can’t Edin,” Kesona said in a mournful tone, a sniffle came from her as she shook her head. Almost tripping over her skirt, she dashed back to the kitchen. The door slammed shut as her footsteps raced over the wood floor and out the back.
Edin’s heart stopped. He looked down at his hands then back toward the powerful feline. “It’s your fault,” he spat at the dead beast. It held his gaze, no pupils, just a black orb. He felt the urge to tear them out.
Edin clenched his jaw, he needed to leave, to get out of the house. He blew out the oil lamp and left out the front door. The ground was damp with a morning dew glittering silver.
The crunch of stones on the gravel path to the road told him someone was coming or leaving. In the dim light he saw the brown skirt rushing away from him.
He had to hold himself up with the column, the same one he’d seen his mother lean against in the dream, as he stared at Kes’ retreating figure. In a few moments, she’d be around the bend and out of sight behind a copse of thick pine trees. He stared, hoping she’d turn back. There was no going after her, he wasn’t completely oblivious about women, he knew enough to know that unless she came back on her own, this was it.
Kes disappeared, not a glance back or a wave goodbye. His physical pain seemed like nothing. Watching, knowing she wasn’t coming back burned. Edin dropped his head to his hands and felt tears brimming.
Ulson, the lush from the Crane, would suggest an ale, but that was his suggestion for everything. He didn’t know how long, how many tears fell before the clangs of swords began to echo through the dawn.
Edin glanced toward the barracks across the yard and began moving that way. On the damp lawn, he saw Grent in the middle of the three other guards. All aiming to try and take him out. As he moved, droplets of water burst into the air offering a misty view with brief rainbows about
their legs.
How was Grent still awake? The man bandaged him up hours ago… but then again Edin was up as well, and for some reason, he didn’t feel tired. He hadn’t even had any coffee.
Sitting on a wooden bench, he watched. The end though was inevitable. Grent would win.
The warrior seemed to move as if he were the wind, dancing between the strikes. The ones from behind didn’t even touch him, it was as if the guard could sense the attacks before they came.
His mind went back to Kes as his eyes wandered slowly toward the dark shadows of trees. The forest was completely black beyond the tree line. He shivered. Could he ever go in there again? A tremor was rising in his body, he wrapped his ankles together and squeezed.
The swords stopped clapping together, he moved his gaze to them. The three guards stared, the tips of their practice swords pointed at him. All but Grent, the man was eyeing him too, but wasn’t tense.
Grent snapped out of it and whacked one of the guards in the thigh with the side of his blade.
“Ow,” he yelled as he fell. The other two instantly turned their attention from him as Grent started to engage them again.
“Always be on guard, sense your surroundings. You never know when someone will attack,” Grent said louder than he needed to. “It could be your family member, your guard, or your best friend. They’ll use anything. Any sort of trick or distraction. A fair fight is a lie… run if you must.”
He was talking to Edin, a lump grew in Edin’s throat and his body seemed to go numb.
Grent knew, the guards knew, everyone knew, or at least had their suspicions. Edin was a target.
His mother and Master Horston couldn’t protect him. Edin watched the quick speed of Grent’s blade slapping away the remaining guard’s blades, he used the flat edges of the swords to knock them back before they yielded.
Grent said something to them and turned toward Edin. Edin felt the hairs on his arm stand. Then voices floated over the wind. A lot of them. They both looked toward the road but could see no one. Though a glow of yellow torches came through the trees.