Jack examined Margenna, it was hard to tell how old elven folk were, their faces didn’t show wrinkles the way a human or dwarf did. They also tended to have longer life spans. However, Margenna was certainly not in the spring of her existence, her silver hair, slightly slouched shoulders and crow’s feet around her eyes hinted at her advanced age.
“Greetings,” Ramy said. “I’m Ramy Vance, and this is my grandson, Jack Vance. We’re in need of your services.”
“That is true, but I’m afraid that I have nothing that can help with what ails you. The boy, on the other hand, I can help.”
Jack frowned and looked as his grandfather. Ramy didn’t say anything to contradict the healer’s claims. What is the healer talking about? Jack wondered. His grandfather was perfectly healthy.
The healer approached Jack. She examined his black eye and the bumps on his head, before pressing gently against his ribs. Jack hissed in pain. “Come inside and I’ll have you fixed right up.”
As they followed the healer inside a low, warm building smelling strongly of herbs, Jack turned to his grandfather. “What was she talking about?”
“Nothing,” Ramy said. “Nothing but the slow march of Father Time. Nothing on this earth can cure old age.”
It hadn’t sounded to Jack like the healer was talking about old age, but before he could argue the point Margenna was shepherding Jack to a bed in the middle of the room.
“Take off your shirt and sit here,” Margenna said, placing a thick woolen blanket upon crisp white sheets.
Jack gingerly removed his shirt and sat upon the bed, wincing at the movement.
“How’d the boy come by his wounds?” Margenna asked, as she set about pulling various herbs and roots from cupboards and pots around the hut.
“He couldn’t turn the other cheek when the local lads reminded him that he’s different.” Ramy said.
The healer grinned at Jack. “Well, there are worse things to take a beating for than pride and a thin skin. All the same, there are smarter ways to go about your life. I suggest you might want to take a different approach in the future. You are going to get bigger and stronger, but your enemies will also be bigger and stronger. Best not forget that.”
Jack tilted his head defiantly. “There was three of them. It wasn’t like I had much of a chance at winning.”
“But you still chose to fight,” Margenna said, grinding what looked to be yarrow into an already overflowing mortar. “That’s brave and more than a little stupid.”
Jack sighed. She was right. “I really did try to avoid the fight. They just made me so angry that I couldn’t walk away.”
The healer nodded absentmindedly as she added her mixture to a large cup. She waved her hand over it, the movement resulting in what sounded like a rather large belch from the cup and a small plume of black smoke. “Enough of that,” she admonished the cup, before bringing it over to Jack. “Drink this.”
Jack gingerly took the cup, afraid to get too close. It looked like a normal cup made of gray clay, but the way Margenna spoke to it made Jack think it was anything but normal.
“Come along now,” Margenna said, while Ramy cocked an eyebrow at him. Jack grimaced and sniffed at the violet mixture. It smelled like mint and dead rodent. His stomach clenched with nausea His face scrunched up and he moved the cup away from his face. It was all he could do not to fling it across the room. “That’s disgusting.”
“I said drink it, not smell it.”
Jack plugged his tender nose with one hand before taking a sip of the foul mixture.
“All of it,” the healer said, and Jack dutifully tipped the rest of the drink back. Thankfully the drink didn’t taste nearly as bad as it smelled. Jack was able to down it without emptying his own stomach in turn. Jack was only too glad to return the cup to Margenna, who quickly placed it back upon her stone hearth. “What was in that?”
“Herbs to take away the pain. I’m going to use magic to heal your ribs, but it isn’t a pleasant experience. The herbs will dull the pain.”
Jack started to feel a warm glow radiating out from his stomach and his pain began to melt away. “I already feel better.”
The healer frowned. “You feel better?”
Jack nodded. “I feel all warm and tingly but the pain is gone. That stuff really worked.”
The healer grabbed Jack’s face, her large amber eyes unblinking as she stared deep into his eyes. “Well, that is interesting and unexpected.”
“What?”
The healer ignored Jack and turned to Ramy. “There’s magic users in his lineage?”
Jack opened his mouth to say no but his grandfather nodded.
“His mother for sure, although I’m not certain to the extent of his father’s abilities,” Ramy said.
Jack couldn’t believe his ears. His grandfather had never mentioned this to him before. “What are you talking about?” Jack asked.
Ramy ignored him and kept his attention on Margenna. “How did you know?”
“Jack metabolized the herbs far too quickly to be normal. He has an affinity for healing magic.”
Ramy nodded. “That was always something I suspected.”
“How old is he?”
Jack was starting to get frustrated by the way they kept talking about him like he wasn’t there, but he didn’t dare interrupt them. He wanted to know more. Why hadn’t his grandfather ever mentioned this before? What did it mean?
“He turns sixteen soon.”
“I see,” said the healer. “Yet he’s had no training in magic. It seems like he should be able to cast at least a level 1 spell by now.”
“That isn’t a life I want him to have,” said Ramy.
The healer shook her head. “What about when he’s alone in the world?”
Ramy sighed. “Is that coming so soon?”
Worry lines darkened Margenna’s brow, and Jack thought she might be far older than she first appeared. “I’m afraid so. Some people never trigger their abilities without years of training. Some come out of the womb casting level three fireballs. Not a fun time for the parents, let me tell you.”
Jack was confused by this turn in the conversation. Why would he be alone? What training were they talking about? Did he actually have magic? There were certainly plenty of magic users in the Empire, but Jack had never imagined he might be one of them.
Before Jack could ask what in the seven hells they were talking about, Margenna pushed him down so he was flat on his back.
“Keep still. Even with the herbs this won’t be pleasant.”
Jack tilted his head so he could watch what she was doing. She moved her hands slowly back and forth over his rib cage. At first, he thought maybe she was a charlatan, there certainly were enough of them around, but then his stomach began to grow hot. His ribcage felt like someone had started a bonfire inside his belly. “What are you doing?” he asked frantically, struggling to pull himself away from her. She waved Ramy over and he placed his hands upon Jack’s shoulders, forcing him back into place.
“I’m pushing your bones back into place and strengthening them. It’s going to hurt for another minute or so and then the pain will dull.”
Jack wasn’t so sure he could last another minute. The pain was agony. It felt like knives were darting in and about his ribs. A cold sweat broke out upon his brow. “I thought you said the drink would help with the pain?”
“Eventually,” Margenna said. “Now quit acting a child.”
Jack closed his eyes and started counting backwards from one hundred. When he reached fifty the pain finally started to lessen. By the time he reached zero it was almost gone. He took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “That wasn’t fun.”
“Would you rather I undid the healing? You could walk around for a month having a hard time breathing and wincing in pain at every movement.”
“No, I guess a little pain was worth it,” Jack replied, quickly getting to his feet.
Margenna disappeared into a storage closet whi
le Jack stretched his legs. He noticed his grandfather eyeing the clay cup with distaste, and he would swear the shadows on the cup were somehow glowering at him in return. Just as Jack was about to tell his grandfather to back away from the cup, Margenna returned with two deerskin pouches, one blue, the other red. Margenna cocked her head at Ramy, and he sheepishly backed away from the hearth and cup, reaching his hands out to her. She passed him the blue pouch first. “Give the boy one pinch of the powder in the blue pouch every night for two weeks. It will keep the magic working, although I suspect that with his affinity for magic, it’ll be unnecessary. Even so, it’s better to be on the safe side. From what I can see, this won’t be the last such beating he takes.” She then handed the red pouch over “A pinch in your tea at night for pain and to keep you moving. Take too much and you won’t wake up. When the time comes you may want to consider it.”
“Thank you, Margenna.” Ramy knotted the pouches over one of the many loops upon his belt. “What do we owe you?”
“Sharpen my knives and we’ll call it even. I’ve never had proper tinker-sharpened knives.”
Ramy nodded. “A fair price.”
Margenna gathered three knives from her work table and handed them to Ramy.
Ramy examined them in the firelight one by one. He ran a finger along each edge and tested the balance of each blade, his eyes narrowed in concentration. “Not bad, not bad. They’re decently sharp. They just need a little work.” Ramy gestured towards a soft stool in the corner. “May I?” Margenna nodded, and Ramy brought it to the hearth, carefully placing it opposite the gray cup. He took a small whetstone from one of his many pouches and spit upon it, before slowly working the first blade against it. Jack knew from experience that the process would take his grandfather some time.
Jack wanted to ask more about the red pouch but he could tell neither of them would give him an honest answer. He’d grill his grandfather about it later. He turned to Margenna. “You said I have magic. What does that mean?”
“I wouldn’t say you have magic. It’s more like you have the potential for magic, just the same as everyone else. Your body obviously responds well to magic, that much is certain. Does that make you a mage? Not even close. The magic you have is like a spark, it could be nurtured into a roaring fire with the right fuel or it could be snuffed out if it is ignored,” Margenna replied. “Most never even reach level 1.”
“Level 1? Jack asked.
“Just another way of saying you can cast a basic spell. Levels don’t mean anything, not really. They’re just a way of measuring mana and health, and other attributes, but you must to attend a fancy school to learn all about that. Most mages will only ever reach level 1 or 2.”
“Better that it burns out,” Ramy said, flicking his attention over to the second blade.
Margenna took the first blade from him, her eyes shining. She ran her finger along the blade and nodded in satisfaction. “Perhaps, but if you’re smart Jack will be trained to handle it. You might prefer he ought not be a magic user, but what happens if his abilities are triggered and he can’t handle it? The magic could destroy him.” She turned her back to Ramy, the shadows from her hearth making her look otherworldly as she gazed at Jack. “You may be doing more harm than good by not allowing the boy to learn magic while he’s still young.”
Ramy sighed wearily as he moved the knife across the whetstone. “I just want him to have the chance at a normal life.”
“That isn’t your decision to make, and if you force him down that path you risk having an untrained and angry young mage without any control. How long do you think he’d last? What do you think others might do to one who is such an obvious liability?”
“I suppose you think I’m an old fool?” Ramy said as he finished the second blade and tested its edge with his thumb. Jack narrowed his eyes as the fire glinted off a droplet of blood. Ramy did not make such simple mistakes.
Margenna smiled. “We’re all fools when we avoid the truth. Make the right decision while it is still one over which you hold influence.”
Jack sat silently as Ramy finished his work on the remaining blade and Margenna hustled around her hut, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and the blade singing against the whetstone. It had been strange sitting there and listening to the elders talk about Jack and his future. It seemed that his grandfather had more secrets than Jack had ever imagined.
“I suppose you might very well be right, Margenna. We are all fools when we hide our heads in the sand like a damn zergonna” Ramy said, handing Margenna the last blade. “Come along, Jack. We need to be off. We’ve much to discuss.”
Margenna turned to Jack. “Best of luck, boy.” She gave him a look that seemed as if to say, you’ll need it.
3
As they walked back to the wagon, Jack was silent. He had so many questions, but he didn’t know where to start. The healer may have fixed his bones, but she’d also opened up old wounds.
Finally, as they arrived back at their wagon, Jack asked his grandfather a question. “Why didn’t you tell me about my mother having magic?”
They’d had many conversations about his mother. How much she’d loved him, how he had her nose and dark hair. The way she laughed, and sang to him as a baby, but there were parts of her life that Ramy always refused to talk about, like what she did and how she died, or even her relationship with Jack’s father.
Ramy sighed. “I always wanted you to have good memories about your mother. Cynthia was a good mother, but she was also a warrior and she died in battle while having a young baby at home. It broke me to lose her. She was this amazing creature and the best daughter an old man could ever want. Her smile lit up a room, and she had this big heart that allowed her to love everyone, and yet still have a fierce loyalty and disposition that made her want to stand up to tyrants and bullies. When she died, I promised myself I wouldn’t let that happen to you. I wouldn’t let you follow in her footsteps and risk an early death.”
“She died in battle?”
“Yes. She was a part of the last war between the Kingdom of Yorrin and the Westdrift Empire.”
“I see,” Jack said. “And she had magic?”
“She was a strong magic user,” Ramy said. “Got some of it from me, but her mother was a witch, so she had it from both sides of the family.”
“Nanna was a witch?” Jack couldn’t believe how many secrets he’d never been privy to.
“I’ve told you hundreds of times that she was a witch,” Ramy said. “You even heard me call her one a thousand times more when she was still alive.”
“Yes, but I thought you were just talking. You two were always bickering back and forth and she always called you a jackass so I didn’t take it serious.”
Ramy chuckled. “Jackass. She did call me that often, mostly to remind me that I was a stubborn and cantankerous fool. Perhaps if she’d lived longer, I wouldn’t have made so many mistakes with you.”
“You didn’t make mistakes! I’ve never gone hungry, and you’ve given me a trade.” Jack was proud of his grandfather, they’d gone through hard times together and he’d always been there for Jack, no matter what trouble he’d gotten into.
“I’ve made plenty of mistakes. That darn healer was right. I should’ve been teaching you about magic this whole time. And I should’ve told you about your mother sooner.” Ramy sighed. “You’re old enough now that you can handle the truth. I hope you can forgive an old fool.”
While Jack loved his grandfather and he couldn’t imagine life without him, he still wanted to be mad at him. The fact was that Ramy had been lying to him and withholding important information, but he seemed so sad and remorseful that Jack couldn’t bring himself to be angry. There were enough jerks in the world that deserved his anger, and his grandfather wasn’t one of them. “Don’t worry, Grandfather. I don’t think there is anything to forgive. Only… promise me, from now on, you’ll be more forthcoming when I ask you about things.”
“You’ve got a deal,
” Ramy said.
“Are you still wanting to leave tonight?” Jack asked.
“Yes, before the lads who beat on you decide to finish the job. If we hurry, we can meet up with Waldor and make him buy that ale. Cheap bugger always offers to buy when he thinks no one will take him up on it. And after today, I think we could both use a good ale or two.”
Jack grinned. “I’ll load the wagon.”
The wagon was not only their means of transportation, it was their home. Ramy had a bed inside, and depending on the weather, Jack would either sleep on the floor or outside. Most nights Jack preferred to sleep outside. He loved sleeping under the stars, and the sounds of nature were preferable to the rumbling of Ramy’s snoring.
As much as Jack had a million questions he wanted to ask his grandfather, he was quiet the rest of the trip to Hampton. Ramy had finally opened up and he didn’t want him to get frustrated by a barrage of questions. Jack knew from experience the best way to get information out of his grandfather was to time his questions to his grandfather’s moods. And for now, Jack had more than enough to ponder.
The idea that his mother was a warrior somehow filled Jack with pride. It wasn’t rare for women to join the military, nor was it uncommon for them to succeed. There was a rich duke in the south who only hired women for his security, and if stories were true, they were the fiercest band of warriors in the land. Aside from that, there were plenty of women travelers that Jack knew who were tough as nails. Any bandits who thought they were the weaker sex were quickly educated.
While Ramy had told him stories about his mother, there was little discussion of his father. Whether Ramy knew more than he was saying or he truly didn’t know remained to be seen, but all Jack knew was that his mother met his father while traveling and they had a brief yet intense affair. The way Ramy told it made it seem like his father was some sort of dwarven warrior, but it was a touchy subject and Ramy avoided it to the point where Jack had quit asking. Now that the promise of more honesty was on the table, Jack intended to bring the subject back up. But that could wait. Jack had never met his father so there was no connection. Even his mother was only a blurry confusing image in his mind. He’d been only a couple years old when she’d died, so he wasn’t sure how accurate his memories were.
Menacing Misfits: An Epic Fantasy Adventure (Darkthorn Academy Book 1) Page 2
