He let Pruska vanish back into the ward and walked to the village. It was a healthy stretch of the legs, but he needed the time to digest his familiar’s words.
The night’s storm had left the air crisp and fresh. Birds and insects flitted over the meadows, and he spotted some rabbits grazing the early flowers, but still no farm beasts. Why didn’t the farmers release their flocks and herds, especially after complaining about having to lock them up?
Did they know about the mysterious fault in the hill that Pruska had sensed? Was it some lingering grave energy, something “tangled and hollow” in the roots of Tulgi Wood? But wouldn’t the birds and rabbits feel it, too?
His mind turned back to the wyvern, and he was puzzling over its behavior when he came to the shrine of Nimrie and found Kathil at her work.
The tall stones sparkled, cleansed physically and magically. She was kneeling before a small fire on the altar stone, burning the remains of offerings left since her last visit – charms for love and births, mostly, faded by exposure to the weather. The flames released the last of their power and made room for new tokens.
She glanced up at him. “There you are. Everything well on the hill?”
He was too occupied to answer. He crouched by the water and dipped in his hands, scattering shards of sunlight among the green grasses. Like all of Nimrie’s sacred wells, this water blessed issuances of the heart and the loins, making Chesny a good place for raising animals and families.
He sipped some water from his palm and splashed a little over his face.
“Fill some vials for me while you’re here,” said Kathil. “They’re in my pack. I’ll charge them later.”
Her pack-basket lay on the grass alongside her long-handled ministerial broom and a broad-brimmed traveler’s hat. Erran found two sectioned boxes, each containing six stoppered ceramic vials.
He returned to the pool and held each vial under, letting water replace air in a staccato dance of bubbles. As each was filled, he pressed its stopper in place and made the sign of the element over it before slipping it back into the box. The sign was a formality to acknowledge the gift of the water. Kathil would charge it with her own magic when she wished.
“Don’t you think you’re making too much fuss about this wyvern?” she said casually, still feeding bits and bobs into the fire.
“Hm? Excuse me?” said Erran.
“All this business we talked about, with poppets and potions. Just kill it.”
“There’s more to it than that,” he said, returning to the vials.
“Like what? What were you ordered to do when you were sent out?”
“I was told to kill the wyvern.”
“Well then?”
“It’s a quest. There’s always more to a quest.”
“If you say so.“ She threw a withered lover’s posey into the flames and watched it collapse into ash. “What if there isn’t more to it, though? What if you’re just over-thinking? Are you afraid you’re too weak? I can understand that, but I don’t believe the Lady would have sent you here just to die. What would be the point?”
Erran returned the vial boxes to her basket, saying nothing.
Finished with the burning, Kathil scooped up some of the water in a cup to wash away the ash of the now dying fire.
“I think you should go in there and use your power to kill that dragon,” she said with determination. “This is your chance to prove yourself.”
They walked to Chesny together. Erran carried Kathil’s pack as well as his own. Kathil used her broom as a staff and swung her hat in her hand. Upon reaching the village, they went to the healer’s house where they found Sabeth working in her garden.
She nodded to Kathil and looked Erran up and down. “You’d better come in.”
A strong, complicated fragrance permeated the cottage. Stools were scattered everywhere so the old lady could sit while she worked, no matter the task. Jars and boxes lined the walls, and the rafters were hidden by a solid canopy of drying herbs. Linen curtains hid an alcove off the main room.
“An aura remedy for you,” Sabeth said to Erran. “A filler, I think.” She looked him over again. “Or do you want a boost? If it’s a boost, I’ll have to cook one up.”
She used the common slang for the types of potions. A boost would open his channels wide, letting him absorb aura rapidly, even beyond his natural capacity, for a short time. Boosts were an emergency medicine, but popular with impatient magicians, despite their risks.
Fillers were therapeutic. They improved the circulation of aura through the body, and relieved the debilitating effects of aura-burn, when a person used energy faster than they could generate or absorb it. Fillers still required rest, but less rest than the universal cure-all of time.
“A filler, please,” Erran said.
Nodding, Sabeth took a dark bottle from a shelf and decanted some of its contents into three glass vials. Each of these in turn she laid in a quartz bowl and charged with words and gestures. As the spell activated the qualities of the potion, it glowed before calming to a pearly white.
While she worked, Kathil browsed, peering at labels on various containers. Erran just let his gaze wander while he thought and thought.
“Hey!” Sabeth snapped, waking Erran from his reverie. “That’s not for you.”
She was glaring at Kathil who had wandered over to the curtained alcove and peeked inside.
“I’m not doing anything,” the Minister protested. “What’s wrong with this boy?”
“He’s not your concern. Get away.” Sabeth started around the table.
Erran moved quickly to urge Kathil from the alcove. Within the curtains, he saw a young man on a cot, ashen, barely breathing. A kettle over a brazier by the bed let out medicinal steam. An array of crystals hung over him.
Sabeth yanked the curtain closed.
“Is he the one the wyvern hurt?” Erran said. “Who is he?”
“Just a rash boy,” said Sabeth. “Son of a rash father. His chest is broken. Whether my spells work or not will be up to him and his fate.”
She prodded them to her large table, and put a thick slice of bread and one of the vials in front of Erran. “Take that now with the bread. Drink the others, one each tomorrow and the next day, with a meal. Avoid spell-casting until one sunrise after you’ve taken the last dose.”
Erran examined the concoction. He sniffed it. It smelled of warm spices and moonlight on snow.
“It’s my own version of Royal Spirit syrup,” Sabeth said, referring to a classic aura remedy. “Good for men and beasts. Always take it with food, or it may cause lightheadedness.”
“Thank you.” He knocked back the potion, surprised at its sweetness.
“Extract of marshmallow root,” she said, reading his expression. “It’s how I get the young men to take it. Sick men are more cooperative if you treat them as their mothers did. Two coppers.”
Erran took the bread and replaced it with two coins from his belt-purse. After a moment’s pause, he added two heavy, bright beads of gold.
“For the boy’s care,” he said.
Sabeth raised an eyebrow. “If he needs as much as that, he’s beyond my skills.”
“Buy what skills you need, and give him whatever is left — aid from the Temple until he recovers.”
Sabeth nodded and handed over the other two vials wrapped in straw envelopes. In her eyes he saw fatigue and an acknowledgement of something in that gold that he did not wish to acknowledge himself.
He left the cottage abruptly.
Kathil chased him to the lane. “Wait, will you?” She sniffed and brushed invisible dust from her sleeves as she fell into step with him. “That old witch is sharp today. I haven’t seen her in months, and that’s how she treats me?”
Erran ate the bread while Kathil chattered about the foolishness of villagers bringing such disasters on themselves. When they arrived as the main square, he interrupted her with a brusque apology and left her at the door of the Old Ram.
As soon as he entered his caravan, Nutkin popped his head out of his nest under the ceiling beams. “Erran is that you? At last!”
He jumped, landing on Erran’s chest, and began his usual inspection, chittering and skittering all over him. “What took you so long? I’ve waited and waited. How did you fare in the storm? Did you see the wyvern again? Did you know, someone has broken in and moved all our things around. The place stinks of strangers. What happened to your hair?”
Erran caught the squirrel in his hands and briefly nuzzled his cheek against his soft fur before setting him down on a shelf.
“The innkeeper came in to clean, and the circuit minister is here,” he said, answering and evading at the same time. “Where have you been?”
“Oh, where have I not been?” Nutkin dashed up to a higher shelf while Erran stripped off the layers he had put on so properly. “I’ve run practically the length and breadth of this valley. I can draw you a map of every stone and nut. I questioned every creature I found and gained a story I fear won’t please you.”
While Erran changed his clothes, Nutkin gave his report. “The wyvern has been here at least a month longer than we were told, and it has spread bad blood as well as bad air. The Baile flock were the first attacked and lost half their kin immediately, but the humans only dithered and argued. Next, the Tulgi deer were forced out by the wyvern’s poison, and after them the other forest beasts fled, while the humans argued and dithered. Three more farms were attacked, and still, the humans talked. Finally, the sheep organized the herds and declared there would be no farming until something was done. What they did was move the animals into the town and carry on arguing, until the old healer made them petition Mother Nimrie. Then you came to do their work for them.”
“So that’s what the ewes meant,” said Erran, “about seeing a human keep a human’s oath.”
“Well may they say so. The wildlings did more than these farmers. A badger said those stags we found were warriors who tried to take back the hill. We saw the result of their bravery. Some sparrows told me a few humans – including you, I suppose – all strangers here – have gone into the wood with no more success than the deer, but the farmers, who are the wold’s caretakers, have only stood in the fields and debated each other. They’re skilled at using the labor of beasts, but when called to keep their end of the bargain, they can’t find their own tails. Some question whether they wish to be farmers at all.”
Erran absorbed this as he laced and neatened himself.
“What of you?” said Nutkin. “What have you learned?”
“Much, I think, but it’s all jumbled in my head. Come.”
With Nutkin riding on his sleeve, he went into the tavern. The usual patrons sat at their usual tables – they seemed to live there. Sister Kathil had joined Brother Godre and his silent curate over a mid-morning meal, and Lenna polished tankards.
“Greetings, Master Ranger,” she sang out as soon as she saw him. “Still no luck catching those wyverns?”
Godre chuckled loudly. “It’s only one wyvern, Mistress. Just the one.”
Erran ignored him. “Mistress, I need your help again. Do you know any—“
Odlam’s gritty voice thundered through the room. “Master Ranger!”
The sheriff marched in, followed by several councilmen who fanned out to fill the space behind him. They must have spotted Erran outside and hurried to catch up. “What’s this I hear about a bard?”
Erran took a deep, calm breath. “Sheriff Odlam, all things in their turn—“
“Don’t give me excuses,” Odlam snapped. “I have learned you were supposed to bring a bard to charm the wyvern, but instead, you have wasted our time, running around and using up our food. Did you think to gain glory by defeating the beast alone? Well, you’ve made a poor showing, haven’t you, and I shall write as much to the Arch-Prelate.” He loomed over Erran, seeming to grow even bigger, and waved a finger in the smaller man’s face. “I’ve a mind to clap you in shackles for what happened last night.”
The room fell silent. There were those who knew Odlam, and those who knew the politics of towns and temples, but all eyes focused on the ranger, whom none of them knew, in his forest-colored clothes and fox-colored hair. Erran faced the Sheriff. Nutkin dashed around to his back, as if to hide from a hawk.
“Master Sheriff,” Erran said quietly, “my methods are not for you to question.”
Odlam huffed like a bellows. “I am the Wold Sheriff. I keep the order here.”
“Then where were you when disorder came?” Erran looked at the faces confronting him. “Where were all of you? I think I can say for some. You, sir.” He pointed at one of the men, and then another. “Yes, and you. You were both there last night, weren’t you? And you were present earlier, when I told all of you to stay out of Tulgi.”
“You have no authority to ban us from our own woods,” one of the men shouted back. “You’re supposed to make it safe, not lock us out of it. Now my son lies near death because of your wyvern.”
“Your son lies near death because you broke the ward.” Erran’s voice neither rose nor wavered. “Do you deny it?”
“You dare!” The man swung. Erran dodged his punch, and Odlam grabbed his arm. Godre jumped up to grab Odlam’s.
“Brothers, brothers,” said the Purifier, “be in good humor.”
A crash broke the moment. They all turned. A shattered cup lay at Kathil’s feet.
“Enough!” she said. “Odlam, how dare you speak so to a cleric of the Beast Mother. Do you want the curse of her wrath on top of the wyvern?”
Erran caught his breath. He bore the sign of the goddess, but it would never have occurred to him to threaten Odlam in such a manner. It was not for mortals to say whom a god would curse or why, especially Nimrie, who guarded all creatures with love.
He stepped back and raised his hands in supplication. “I do beg your pardons,” he said to the room in general.
For their parts, the villagers seemed chastened by Kathil’s scolding. Odlam deflated visibly. He pulled a chair from a table and sat.
“Master Sheriff,” Erran said, “I was trying to say all things are done in their turn. Now it is the turn for a bard.” He turned again to a shocked Lenna. “Mistress, what bards play here?”
“We have no bards,” she said.
“Not in the village, but who visits regularly?”
“There are no bards in the valley.”
“What are you talking about, Lenna?” said Kathil. “There are several who work the Chesny road.”
“They’re gone,” said Lenna.
“Where did they go?”
“Down that wyvern’s gullet, where else?” said Odlam miserably.
Kathil turned on him. “What?!”
Erran covered his eyes with his hands, his jaw tight.
Odlam almost pleaded with Kathil. “Did you think we just went begging to the Temple without trying to help ourselves first? We tried all kinds of spells. Nothing worked. We sent three bards three times to Tulgi, and what did we get? Two never returned, and the third ran off.”
“Leaving debts behind,” someone unhelpfully added.
“No more will come here.”
At that, Erran almost laughed. “Very well. Very well.” One more deep breath, and he addressed the room, looking as many of the villagers in the eyes as would meet his gaze. “Know all of you this: Tulgi Wood is off limits. It is warded and guarded. None may enter, by order of the Ranger of the Western Woods, in Nimrie’s name. Any who disobey, shall pay the price.”
He put no magic into his words, made no spell of it. It was a statement of fact, and this time, no one challenged him.
He walked out, followed by Kathil and, after a moment, Godre.
“What will you do?” asked Kathil as they jogged after him across the stable yard.
“Look for a bard who will come to Chesny.” Erran stepped up into his caravan and began roughly grabbing things to stuff into a light pack.
“Where?”
“Bards follow money,” he said, thinking it through. “Money flows through cities. Lorondrias is closest. I’ll start there and hope for a quick result. Please do whatever you can to keep those people away from Tulgi until I return.”
“They’re willful bumpkins. What if they try their luck again?”
“Remind them an aura-wolf guards the ward.”
“We’ll do our best, Brother,” said Godre, “and we’ll cast good fortune for you. I’m sorry I made light of the situation.”
Erran gave the Purifier a reassuring smile. “Write to me at the Lorondrias shrine if anything happens here.”
He shouldered the travel pack and his weapons, and called Nutkin, who leapt to his shoulder. Ignoring Sabeth’s advice, he used some of his depleted aura to summon Maedrephon and, mounted on the starry horse’s back, he set off.
Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter of An Alchemy of Dragons. Words and images are my original works. Let me know what you think in the comments below.
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