by BJ Hanlon
A group of men hunting something through the mountains. There were shapes like spider webs, possibly the giant spider he’d dreamed about. Edin shivered. There was one that showed a man with a spear and he was hurling it at a cat with wings. It was much larger than him.
They didn’t look like beasts of today. They didn’t even look like legends.
Was this what the artist saw? And if so, when?
Rocks clattering together came from outside the cave entrance. He was brought away from his musings and back to reality. Berka was freezing and he needed to get warm.
This little nook was made for someone. A tiny shelter from the whipping winds and freezing rains of the mountains. He didn’t know if it was a temporary shelter or someone’s home and it really didn’t matter.
He pulled himself out of the hole and ran to where Berka lay. “Berks, you big dumb oaf, wake up.”
Nothing.
He shook his shoulder and slapped his face. Berka groaned, his eyes flickered and he said, “Go lick my boots.”
“Gods,” Edin said with exasperation. His back cringed as he thought about lifting him with his body and his brain did when he thought about using the talent.
Edin had no choice. Edin needed space to get the breeze under and began with the head and shoulders. He got behind and started to lift him. Even the big boy’s noggin was twenty pounds.
None of that weight was his brain, Edin thought though his heart wasn’t in the joke.
He managed to get the shoulders up off the stone and then lifted further. Despite the Oret Nakosu and all of the work he’d done to get stronger, it seemed that lifting Berka was still out of the realm of possibilities.
“Hallo there, need a hand?” Edin nearly yelped and turned about to face the voice. There was a cheerfulness in it and a bit of a spryness as well. The man was standing with his back to the sun, so it was hard to make out any features though he was certain the man was old, or at least older.
“What? Huh? Who are you?” Edin said. “And what are you doing in this gorge?”
“Ahh, you wish to talk about this or you wish for help with your friend? I see he’s already in what I call stage two.”
“Stage two?”
“Yes, it is worse than stage one but infinitely better than stage three. Though stage three does follow stage two so you have to be careful.”
“Umm.”
“And I would suggest not dropping his head again directly on the stone. He may not feel it now, but tomorrow he’ll be in pain and want to know what happened.”
Edin glanced down at Berka. He was pale and asleep and his head was directly on the hard stone. Edin had dropped him when he heard the voice.
The man moved closer. “Yes, he’s a big guy isn’t he. How were you going to lift him exactly?”
“Well,” Edin started, then he remembered he was in a gorge with no other people around, or at least people he could see, and didn’t care. “I’m a mage and I can control the wind. I was going to create a bed and sort of float him up there.”
The man looked startled for a moment. “A mage you say? And you just blurt it out to a complete stranger? What if I were a hunter?”
“You’re a little old to be a hunter.”
This made the man laugh. But not just laugh, erupt in a belly laugh that seemed to go on and on.
“What’s so funny?”
The man slowed to wheezing chuckles and soft tears. He shook his head not answering. “Come now, let’s get your friend in there.”
The man stepped forward and into the light. He wasn’t too old, maybe Grent’s age though he had long flowing gray hair with both a high brow and cheek bones. Something made Edin think of the she-elf but one ear was showing through the wave of gray hair and it was rounded.
“Alright,” Edin said skeptically as the man moved toward Berka’s legs while Edin took the top-heavy boy. He stooped and slid his arms under Berka’s armpits. “On three?”
“Sure.”
Edin counted in his head and lifted. It was difficult but he was able to get the big lad off the ground. Though he instantly broke into a sweat.
“Okay, use the wind then, buffet him in there.”
Edin’s teeth were gritted and he couldn’t talk but he nodded. He concentrated and felt the rush of wind whipping around above him, he called it down and it dropped like a falcon on a rat. The wind swooped below and around his legs nearly knocking him over.
The loud rushing air was echoing in the canyon.
He concentrated it on Berka’s back and pushed up a bit. Edin felt the weight lifting from his arms and back. Berka rose and Edin steered him toward the aperture. Edin slowly stepped forward and felt the old man take his arm and leading him.
“Step,” he called again over the rushing air and Edin stepped. After at least twenty steps he heard, “lower him.” Edin did so while ducking with the man’s guiding hand on his shoulder.
Soon, the sunlight that had been filtering through his eyelids was gone and replaced by darkness. He was inside.
“Not bad,” the old man said. “Sure beats carrying a lad of this stature with muscle alone. What did the man’s dad feed him?”
“He’s smaller than his dad,” Edin said collapsing. Now he had to start a fire.
“I find that hard to believe, young master magus.”
Edin shook his head. “It is the truth.”
“I didn’t say you were a liar, now did I. No, I said if found it hard to believe, which is not the same.”
Edin thought for a moment and then said. “I suppose.”
“So, are you going to start the fire or not? I do have a sparkstone.”
“That’d be helpful.” He sat up a bit and reached out a hand. The old man rustled in a small satchel on his hip and pulled it out. He handed the stone to Edin and sat down across from him. Edin began moving the animal bed into the small cubby.
“Fire needs a place to breathe and sticking it deep inside a place like that will not let it grow. Put it behind the rock right there.” He pointed to one that was not part of the original structure, it was square and there was a matching one on the other side. Like a fireplace. Just to complete the vision, he saw a small dark hole in the ceiling above it.
Edin eyed the old man but then did as he said. Maybe he knew something Edin didn’t. He lit it. The sparkstone took to the branches like it was filled with oil. A light smoke began to pour from it and he saw the kindling burning faster than he’d expected. He’d hoped that it could burn for a bit while he got some firewood.
That didn’t seem to be the case.
Then the old man leaned forward and stuck a hand out and held it over the fire. His mouth moved but nothing seemed to happen. The fire grew and lapped at his open palm and there should’ve been pain but either he didn’t feel it or he ignored it. Then the fire turned a quick green and then back.
The old man sat back and looked at Edin. The eyes were a blueish hazel, almost like his own though deeper and seemingly more thoughtful.
Then the smoke disappeared.
Edin shivered under the man’s gaze. “You know an endless fire spell?”
He turned back to Berka in the back of the cubby. “The way the wind moves through the canyon will push fresh air in here. The air pushes heat into the sleeping hole but because of the wall, the bad stuff, smoke and what not is pushed out.
“But there isn’t any smoke,” Edin said.
He looked at it for a moment, then at Edin and nodded. “You know, you’re right.” He grinned and pushed himself to his feet.
Edin said nothing until he began to move toward the door. “Where are you going?”
“I was on my walkabout. I don’t like being sidetracked.”
“But sir, master…” Edin started, waiting for a name.
One did not come. The man tilted his head for a moment, nodded, and looked back out. “Follow the stream until you reach the falls, then head east toward the blind king’s lookout. You’ll be out of the mountai
ns in three days.”
“We’re headed west,” Edin said. “I’m on a mission of life and death.” He paused. “I need to reach the elves.”
He sighed. “I see. It will be treacherous. There is life that way which hasn’t been seen by mortal man in a long time.”
“Dematians?” Edin asked. “Because I’ve seen them many times recently.”
“Yes, Yio’s troupe has risen and the god of the underworld will stop at nothing to get some fresh air. It gets very smoky down there.”
“Who are you? Where are you going? Can you help him with the sickness?”
He shook his head. “There is mintweed in this gorge but you need to find it and brew it. You know how, yet you rely on others to do so. You rely on them to start your fires and lift your friends. You rely on them to push you to do what must be done as opposed to what you want to do.” He shook his head solemnly, “you must not be so weak.”
The words fluttered into his mind for a moment before his mouth dropped. “I’m not weak.” He looked up but the old man was gone.
“What in the hec—”
“Edin?” A weak and scratchy Berka said. Edin looked toward his friend huddled in the dark corner barely lit by the firelight. He glanced toward the cave entrance and then back again.
“Yes,” he said and started to scoot over. “How are you feeling?”
“Sick, but warm. Where are we?”
“In a cave near the stream, not far from—”
Berka took a breath and seemed to struggle to catch it. He was ill, very ill and he needed the mintweed. Making it required a bowl of some sort to boil the water. That was what helped release the nasty taste inside and also cleaned the sickness from the body.
Berka huffed between each word as he said. “Who were you talking to?”
“Myself, now sleep. I’m going to try and find some mintweed.”
Berka didn’t even respond. That wasn’t a good sign. Edin put the pack next to Berka and stared at the fire for a moment longer. It was still burning and looked normal. The man was a magus, a hermit of the mountains. Maybe he was near and heard the attack the night before or maybe he just stumbled upon them.
Edin heard recluses loved their little hideaways, be it in the woods or the mountains. And they hated visitors. This one didn’t seem as crotchety as Edin would’ve expected.
Being a hermit didn’t sound like a bad idea, he and Arianne could’ve lived that way, they could’ve stayed in the keep if that blotard Diophin hadn’t sent a gaggle of men to kill him.
Edin slipped out of the cave and began down the slope toward the river. The mintweed tended to grow near other plants. It supposedly liked to choke water and nutrients out of its neighbor like it choked sickness out of the people who drank it.
It may have had four leaves or maybe five, but he was sure it was a wrinkled leaf and oval shaped. Edin stared at the plants as he traveled the ravine hopping up and down small ledges and boulders looking for the elusive plant.
The rock walls sloped from a near vertical to overhanging for the length of his walk. It was as if the entire land was carved out by a giant river over thousands of years. But it couldn’t have been the stream below his feet. That thing could barely carve out a channel the size of a watermelon.
He thought about Grent and Dephina and about the stone giant. Where were they? Edin kept himself from dwelling on it. Berka needed him.
“There,” he said to himself as he saw it. Edin leapt a nearly crushed rock, barely noticing the fact that it looked to have been pounded down by a giant’s blacksmith hammer. Edin stopped before the plant. Short-stemmed and next to much prettier plants. He noticed the thin little vines snuck out of the stem and reached around others. This one was growing rapidly. Edin pulled a leaf off, oval and wrinkly though it was small. He shoved it in his mouth hoping it was right.
Bitter and disgusting were the first thoughts. Then hot and itchy. Edin coughed and shot it out of his mouth. The stream was a few yards away and Edin dashed for it. He dropped to his knees feeling the hard thunk of rock on knee and slammed his face into the water.
Mouth burning now, Edin coughed, breathed in a bunch of water, and coughed again. He took up more, pulled back, coughed out water and threw his head back in. Then he drank. Large mouthfuls for at least a minute before he came back up for air.
His throat tickled. He coughed and hurled up over half of what he’d just swallowed. Then he collapsed and rolled to his side. He laid there for a few minutes. Or it felt like a few minutes before he finally got up.
“Blasted mintweed,” he rasped. Deep inside that, was the taste that he’d experienced far too many times in his life. But on the surface was something different. The fresh leaf and he thought maybe it was poison. At least he didn’t ingest it.
“Moron, blotard,” he said and let his head thump to the stone. After a few more minutes, he gathered some of the leaves and brought them back toward the cave.
The fire was still roaring when he returned and Berka was still asleep. But after searching the pack, he found that there were no pots.
Only Dephina must’ve had one. How could he boil water to make the tea? Berka groaned and opened his eyes.
Edin cleared his throat. “Found some mintweed,” He said and Berka grimaced, “but I don’t have a pot, and you don’t want to eat it raw.”
Berka stared for a moment either confused or possibly a bit constipated. Edin didn’t know how to help him with the latter. Then Berka spoke. “Hot rocks a-hole.” Then he closed his eyes and laid his head back.
“What?” Edin asked nearly shocked, was he calling Edin a..., no he wouldn’t be calling him that. “Berka?” But Berka’s snore said he was gone again. “Hot rocks a-hole? Why would you call me that?”
No answer.
Edin forgot about it, at least as best as he could. Then he thought, could he do something with the talent? Maybe control a ball of water with the leaves in it and put it over the fire. But what if he dropped it and the fire went out? That would be a pain.
He reached into his pack to look for something to eat. He found nothing; there was no food.
“Gods,” he muttered and leaned his head back to look at the stone ceiling. His stomach growled. He’d been so busy trying to figure out how to help Berka he’d forgotten to even check. That was not a good thing. Without food he’d grow weaker. Now he’d have to hunt for something. Maybe a goat would wander into his path, or maybe there was something living in that stream.
Though it was still rather early out, he was growing tired. He closed his eyes and laid near the fire. Later he’d hunt.
An annoying, chattering sound like a windchime of bones came from near him. Edin blinked open his eyes and saw Berka shivering and a sheen a sweat on his brow. He looked about as far out of it as a man could be.
“Blast it,” Edin said and twisted to his feet and searched for the leaves. They were in the pack but again they weren’t eatable. Boil and drink, clearly the only way. There was something in them that made it irritating to eat raw, and healing, albeit disgusting, when boiled.
Edin moved over to him and shook Berka. “Berka, you awake?”
No answer.
He remembered what Berka had said. “Hot rocks,” he paused, “a-hole.” Then Edin screamed. The sound echoed through the cavern and then out, bouncing around the walls of the gorge like a confused fish trying to find its way out of a small pool.
Outside there was sunshine high above but the gorge cast shadows that began twenty yards or more above them. The sun was already behind the mountains and it’d be very dark soon.
He left the cave. Maybe that hermit was around. As he was moving, he saw a small hole in the ground with water in it. Edin paused for a moment as he looked closer. It was nearly completely round and reminded him of a bowl.
“Hot rocks, a hole…” Edin said as the memory dawned on him. A story from a treasure hunter, one of the many people who’d come through the Crane and told their tale. Edin and Berka l
istened, trying to glean some knowledge from him and although the name of the man didn’t come to him, he remembered the tale.
The man was in the woods somewhere west of Yaultan hunting for what was called the High Scepter of Yalin’Tor.
Something he’d never heard of and something the man didn’t go into much detail about, but he would talk about the time he lost his only tin pot for boiling water. The man was a storyteller. Edin pictured it in his mind right there. His face seemed to be worried for himself in his own story. A few girls and many of the men from the Dancing Crane were listening as intently as the most pious at the Vestion during a service.
“I was dying of thirst,” he paused, his gray eyes wet, “I was searching for a source of fresh, clean water. But there was none. I closed my eyes and dropped to my knees. It was like hell, all the life around and no drinkable water only this stagnant pond. I thrust my arms in the air as I cried out,” the treasure hunter acted out from his barstool. “Vestor, god of men and savior of the world, help me. Save your loyal and proud servant from this wretched pain.”
The room was silent as he held his hands in the air with his eyes shut for what seemed like an eternity. Then slowly, his eyes lowered and he looked at the crowd around. Catching each of his audience in the eyes with a look. A look that conveyed all the terror and confusion and hopelessness that the man felt in that single moment and thrust it upon them.
Quietly, intently he then spoke; “Then I was hit by a vision. It was as if Vestor himself had come down and told me what to do. And you want to know what? It worked. I had a nearly endless supply of drinkable water and was able to continue my hunt for the scepter.”
“What’d you do?” a woman gasped. She was a traveler also so Edin didn’t know her name. She was close to the man’s right and her low-cut blouse showed much of her ample bosom. But Edin barely took his eyes off the man, such was the power of his story.
“I tell you lass, what I did was I dug a hole in the ground about a foot around and a foot deep near the pond. At first, I thought it’d fill up, but it didn’t. So I got this thought. Stones can grow hot in the sun. Too hot to stand on.” The man put his hand on the ladies’ shoulder. It was a grimy and disgusting hand, mangled and lacking at least two fingers. But she didn’t seem to mind.
