Dad nodded. “I understand and agree. I can make better quality swords than most in Trimoria have seen, but without the same capabilities as the sword in your hand.”
“There is a saying in Trimoria,” Throll said with a smile. “‘If a smithy builds a better sword, the customers will come.’”
“We have a slightly different saying,” Dad said with a nod, “but it means the same thing.”
“Gwen is going to be upset with me tonight,” Throll whispered, looking down at the sword in his lap, “because I’m going to spend half the night polishing this beautiful sword.”
The next morning, Aaron and Sloane rode toward the eastern fields in a wagon loaded with plowing equipment and several large bags of seed. Silver plodded along behind them—at least when the cat wasn’t distracted by insects or shadows in the grass.
Sloane gabbed incessantly during the ride. Aaron was sure she meant well—she was trying to educate him on the finer points of farming—but most of it just wasn’t interesting to him. He managed to absorb that the eastern field, located at the base of a mountain, was very fertile, as the rains washed the topsoil from the mountains and deposited it in the field. But after that he mostly tuned her out.
He was relieved when they finally reached their destination. Sloane hopped down and unhitched the ox from the wagon, and Aaron helped her attach the plow to the beast. With his newfound strength, fastening the heavy implement was a snap. Sloane then demonstrated the art of plowing a field.
But as she moved away, Aaron again found himself distracted—this time by the looming cliffs at the far end of the fields. He’d never seen such a large wall of sheer rock before. And as he was admiring the sight, his eye caught movement from above. Something had fallen from the cliffs—and his heart skipped a beat when he realized that that something appeared to be in the shape of a person.
“Sloane!” he yelled, but she was too far away to hear him. He ran to join her, and it wasn’t until he caught up with her that she turned her attention from the plow.
“What’s going on?”
“A… a person…” Aaron stammered as he sprinted past her.
By the time he reached the spot where he’d seen the body fall, he was out of breath. And what he found there made him stop short.
A body had indeed fallen from the cliff, but this was no person—it was huge. It was as tall as Thrall, yet its body was so massive and muscled that it probably weighed twice as much as the large ranger. Its head was much too large, out of proportion to its body, and its lower jaw jutted out a few inches, such that its lower incisors were visible even with its mouth closed. It was dressed only in a crude tunic stitched together from scraps of leather.
Aaron felt sad and afraid all at once. Sad because the creature was dead; afraid because had it been alive, it surely would have been dangerous. Were there more of these creatures around here?
As Sloane trotted up to stand beside him, Aaron edged forward to get a closer look. At that moment, the creature twitched—just a bit—and Aaron jumped back. Sloane screamed.
Aaron looked up at the cliff. It had to be hundreds of feet tall. How was it possible this thing had lived?
A long moment passed, and the body didn’t move a muscle. Perhaps that twitch had been merely some sort of post-death muscle movement.
Then it moved again.
And it was more than a twitch.
The creature picked up its arm, shuddering and emitting a groan of pain. Aaron felt a lump of sorrow form at the back of his throat. Big and ugly though this creature was, he hated to see it suffering.
The creature opened its mouth to speak—yet could barely get a breath out. If it was talking, Aaron couldn’t make out the words. Overcoming his fear, Aaron stepped closer and leaned in.
The creature whispered.
“Help me,” it said.
All the way to the smithy, Mom complained about nausea—a side effect of her pregnancy. She was gnawing at a loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese, which seemed to help, but only a little, and it did nothing for her mood. When she wasn’t complaining about her stomach, she was challenging Dad about his plans.
“You’re not burning him again, if that’s what you’re thinking. I don’t care if I can heal him, I won’t have my son burned on purpose.”
“I’m not planning to jab him with a hot poker, Aubrey,” Dad grumbled, clearly fed up with her mood. “But how else do you propose we get him to do that again?”
Mom turned to Ryan. “Did you feel anything when the lightning shot out of you?”
It was a question Ryan had answered already. “I told you, I didn’t feel anything, except burned by the tongs.”
“How about right afterward?” Mom probed.
“Just really tired is all.”
Mom frowned. “A sudden tiredness? It just washed over you?”
Ryan scratched his head. “Yes, exactly. It was like a wave of fatigue. Why? Was it like that for you too, when you healed me? Is that why you passed out?”
Mom’s eyes brightened with a new realization. “It’s been like that every time, but to different degrees. When I healed your father’s cut, I felt only a twinge of fatigue. When I healed your burned hand, the feeling was so much stronger.”
“Didn’t you say your mother passed out when she stitched you up?” Dad asked.
Ryan nodded.
“The same thing happened to Aaron after he lifted that rock and that tree,” Dad said. “It appears that the more energy required to spin up your powers, the more fatigued you become.”
“I don’t know if ‘energy’ is the right word,” Mom said. “It felt more like… concentration. Or…” She paused. “Or will. It was as if I had to will the healing into the wound. Maybe that’s how we control these powers.” She looked at Ryan. “When you got burned, your reaction was instinctive. But I bet if you focused, if you willed it, you could do it again.”
Inside the smithy, Dad lit a few candles and opened the two high windows. Then he turned his gaze to Ryan. “Grab a chunk of ore and put it near that barrel of water. This will be your target, presuming you can aim. I want the water on hand in case you accidentally set something on fire.”
“That’s a comforting thought,” Ryan said. He felt like a lab rat, but he got a chunk of ore from the supply bin and placed it on the ground about a foot away from the barrel. “Okay. Now what?”
“Concentrate on the rock,” Mom said. “I don’t know what triggers it for you, but for me, I just… I just wished for healing to enter the wound. Maybe if you think of energy flowing to the target?”
Ryan took a deep breath and stared at the rock. For a full minute, he imagined waves of energy flowing from his fingers. But nothing happened. This was all just a big waste of time.
“What are you thinking about?” Dad asked.
Ryan slumped. “I did what Mom said. I pictured waves of energy going from me to the rock.”
Dad chewed his lip. “Maybe emotion is required. Why don’t you think of the lightning violently destroying the rock? Or you could imagine that the rock is that boy who attacked you.”
Ryan tried again, this time imagining the rock was Slug. But still nothing happened, save for an ache that formed at the base of his neck. He would have given up if not for the pressure of his father’s unwavering gaze.
He decided to try something different: visualizing his brother in danger. He pictured Aaron being attacked by Slug. His anger bloomed at the thought, and suddenly a barrier within himself was ripped open. A tightly controlled bolt of bluish-white lightning flashed from his fingers and slammed into the ore. A tremendous thunderclap shook the walls in its wake.
An acrid smoke filled the smithy, and his parents began coughing.
“Well… that worked,” Dad said. He poured water over the smoldering ore, then tested the heat of the metal with his finger. “I do think we’re making progress.”
Ryan couldn’t believe what he’d done. “I’ll say! I have to try that again!”
“How do you feel?” Mom asked, her eyes wide with concern.
“I feel great,” Ryan said, hopping from one foot to the other. Now that he had felt that barrier, he thought he understood how to control it. “I can do it again! I know I can.”
Dad chuckled. “Go ahead, then. But stop if you get too tired.”
“And be careful, okay?” Mom added.
“Of course,” Ryan said. “Okay, here I go…”
He breathed in and out slowly, and focused on the ore. But instead of pushing like he’d done before, he relaxed, letting the barrier fall away. It took only a few seconds before he saw results—a crackling firehose of energy. The room erupted in light and smoke.
Dad laughed as he poured water on what little was left of the ore. “You’re coming along quickly! Let’s see how far you can take this.”
“Jared!” Mom said. “Don’t overwork him.”
“It’s okay, Mom,” Ryan said. “I promise I’ll speak up when it’s too much for me.” He was a little fatigued, but he was still feeling strong. Perhaps it was simply the excitement of learning to use his abilities.
With Ryan’s help, Dad set the crucible next to the water barrel and filled it with ore. “I want to test your control,” he said. “Do you think you can send just a little energy this time? Not another explosion. Just a dribble.”
Ryan furrowed his brow. “I think so. I think I know how to tighten the flow. Just a mental tap.”
“Whatever works. But back up. I don’t want any ore splashing back on you.”
Ryan took a few steps back and concentrated once more. He tightened his core, thinking of it almost like holding back a horse from galloping. And then he imagined himself reaching out to touch the ore with energy.
Almost immediately, several threads of electricity snaked from his hand to the ore in the crucible. And as soon as he stopped concentrating, the threads disappeared.
Ryan beamed. “I did it!”
“That was amazing,” Dad said with a grin. “And a lot easier on my ears.”
Ryan and his father stepped back toward the crucible. The ore was intact, but heat shimmered off the rocky pile, and some of the pieces glowed red.
“If we ever run out of fuel, I’ll know who to turn to,” Dad said.
“How are you feeling?” Mom asked, putting a hand on Ryan’s forehead. “How’s your fatigue?”
“I’m definitely starting to feel it now,” Ryan admitted. “In fact I could feel it as I was doing it. It was like my energy drained from me as the lightning flowed.”
“Aubrey,” said Dad, “maybe if you gave him something to eat?”
Mom handed Ryan the wedge of cheese she’d been nibbling, and he ate it hungrily. A few bites in, he felt a warmth coursing through him.
“Wow, that’s so much better.” He took a bigger bite. “It’s like… it’s like I can feel the calories restoring me.”
“It makes sense,” Dad said. “You’re using energy when you do this… thing. Your skill drains your body’s battery, if you will, and food recharges it. Or so I’m guessing. I’d like to test the hypothesis.”
Mom shook her head. “My husband the blacksmith engineer is experimenting with my firstborn. How wonderful.”
For the next hour, Dad worked with Ryan on various experiments. Ryan found that with practice, he could control exactly how much energy he sent to the target. Certain activities, like singing a toothpick-sized sliver of wood, took almost no energy at all; others, like, heating a chunk of ore that was submerged at the bottom of the water barrel, required a thick and steady barrage of energy, leaving him utterly exhausted.
But each time he felt drained, food restored him. And fortunately, Mom had brought a lot of food. After one experiment, while Ryan was munching on one of the tiny Trimorian apples in her bag, he commented on it. “Geez, Mom, you brought enough food in there to feed an army.”
Mom blushed, her hands moving reflexively to her belly. “I was hungry when I packed. Besides, you boys are always eating.”
“It’s a good thing you did, dear. We’ve learned a lot today,” Dad said. “But I’m still unclear on one thing. Why did that hammer end up glowing? You’ve been zapping all kinds of things today, and though we’ve had plenty of steaming, a couple of fires, and one minor explosion, we haven’t had any permanent glowing.”
Mom frowned.
“What?” Dad said. “Do you have an idea?”
“Well…” Mom looked hesitant. “I almost don’t want to point it out, but… the only difference I can think of is that yesterday, you were holding the hammer when it was hit.”
Dad looked impressed. “You’re right! I think you might have hit it on the head.”
“And now you’re going to make our son zap something in your hand,” Mom muttered. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Dad grinned. “We’ll be careful.” He grabbed a piece of scrap iron and faced Ryan. “Okay, Ryan. I’ll hold this at arm’s length, and you send just the slightest trickle at it.” Despite his grin, he looked a bit nervous.
Ryan focused on the scrap metal. This time he pictured the heat remaining trapped within the object, like a protective blanket. He lowered his barrier…
Electricity arced away from Ryan’s fingers, and Dad dropped the scrap and backed away. A thunderclap erupted from the center of the room, and Dad held his hands over his ears, screaming for Ryan to stop.
“Jared! What happened?” Mom said.
“I don’t know. Everything went white. I thought Ryan accidentally zapped me. I’m still seeing flashes everywhere.”
“Jared!” Mom said. “I swear I saw lightning leave your hand and hit the ceiling.”
Ryan followed his dad’s gaze to the ceiling. Sure enough, some of the planks in the vaulted ceiling were now scorched.
But before he or his mother could say another word, his Dad shocked them both. Dad turned sharply toward the water barrel and let loose with a stream of energy from his hands that sent steam hissing up from the barrel, some of the water instantly vaporized.
When the energy flow stopped, Dad wobbled, catching his balance on the anvil. “Now I know what that fatigue is like.”
“You’re able to do magic too!” Ryan exclaimed.
“Let’s not use that word here,” Mom said.
“Or anywhere, for that matter,” Dad added. “Especially in public.”
Ryan looked down at the scrap metal Dad had dropped. It was glowing, just like the hammer. “Looks like we made another one,” he said.
Dad scratched his head. “I guess we’re getting closer to figuring this out.”
“Well, what are we waiting for?” Ryan asked excitedly. “Let’s do it again.”
Mom appeared to be just about to launch into a stern protest when the smithy door burst open and Sloane rushed in. “Aaron sent me. We need your help.”
“What’s wrong?” Mom said. “Did something happen to Aaron?”
“He’s fine. But… something is injured in the fields. It, or he, needs healing. Will you come? I have a horse waiting outside.”
Mom grabbed her bag of food and headed for the door. “I might need this. You boys, please don’t do anything too dangerous while I’m away.”
“Should we come with you?” Ryan asked, following her outside.
Mom shook her head. “Not with only one horse. You’d only slow us down.”
Sloane climbed into the saddle, and Mom joined her. Ryan could do nothing but watch as they galloped away.
Will It Live
It had taken all of Aaron’s skills of persuasion to get Sloane to leave him to stand watch over the creature while she retrieved his mother. She said it was called an ogre, and said she’d heard storied of ogres eating people.
“This one must be very young, though,” she’d said. “He’s much smaller than any ogres I’ve heard of.”
Perhaps that was what had finally persuaded her to go. Or perhaps it was the ogre’s request for help Aaron was almost cert
ain he’d heard. Either way, she needed to hurry back. If the ogre didn’t receive help soon, it would probably die.
Aaron didn’t believe it was an accident that this ogre had fallen practically at his feet. He no longer believed in coincidences. Since the day they’d found themselves in Trimoria, everything seemed to happen for a reason. And what else could it be but fate that had caused him to be looking up at the very moment the ogre fell?
It felt like an eternity passed before Sloane’s horse returned down the road, carrying two people. “Mom!” he called out.
The horse picked up speed, and soon Mom and Sloane were stepping down from the saddle.
“Please help it,” Aaron begged. “It asked me for help.”
Mom shivered as she approached the ogre. “Are you sure? This thing looks like it could tear us all in half.”
Before Aaron could answer, another horse came galloping up. Throll leapt from the saddle and charged forward, “I saw you two riding like demons were chasing you, is someone injured?” His gaze immediately settled on the ogre lying on the ground, he placed his hand on the hilt of his sword and said, “Stand aside, I’ll put it out of its misery.”
“No!” Aaron cried, shielding the ogre with his arms. “It asked me for help!”
A long moment passed. Mom looked from her son to Throll and back again, clearly unsure what to do.
Throll looked uncertain. “Ogres don’t speak. They’re not capable of it.”
“Well this one is,” Aaron insisted. “It said, ‘Help me.’ In our language. I won’t let it die.” He turned to his mom. “I know you’re worried, but we have to try. Then… if it causes any trouble, you can intervene with your sword later. But not like this.”
Heirs of Prophecy Page 12