by RM Wark
The old man did not look pleased. “If you want to eat, you must walk to the fire and help yourself,” he said sharply, pointing to the pot above the flames. “I shall not be your servant any longer.” He placed the walking stick next to Gentry.
“Fine,” Gentry snapped, but he did not move. To move meant that he would soon be leaving the comfort of the cave. It meant that he would have to face the world, and the painful memories of everything that had happened beyond the walls that currently confined him. But he knew it also meant he would be able to see his wife and son again.
The old man shook his head in frustration and left, disappearing into one of the many tunnels that led from the cave.
Long after the old man had gone, Gentry stared at the cane and cursed at himself.
“Come on, Gentry! You can do this.” But his words did little to inspire him. He sat on his mat of straw, defeated.
It was not until his stomach began to rumble that Gentry finally worked up the courage to try. However, Gentry soon found that he lacked the strength to pull himself up into a standing position. It was particularly awkward given his splinted leg, which did not allow for much bend in the knee.
“Help!” he cried. But despite his repeated pleas, the old man did not return.
Angry, yet determined to get some food, Gentry began to carefully scoot his way towards the fire, dragging the walking stick along. He was nearly out of breath by the time he neared the flames. The pot could not be reached from the ground, but there was an old chair nearby that Gentry figured he could use for leverage. Ever so slowly, he pulled himself up onto the chair.
The effort had stolen all his breath. It would take several more minutes before Gentry dared to raise himself up from the chair into a standing position so that he might reach the pot. For the briefest of moments, he relished in the satisfaction of standing. And then he fell.
“Wizards be damned!” he yelled in frustration.
His curse was greeted with a chuckle. It was the first time he had ever heard the old man truly laugh.
“It is your fault for leaving me!” Gentry scolded. “I could have injured my leg again. I doubt you would find that so hilarious.”
The old man continued to chuckle as he reached out an arm to pull Gentry up. His grip was surprisingly strong, his strength belying his age.
Gentry was amazed. “If you are not a wizard, then what are you?” he asked yet again.
But the man did not answer. He carefully guided Gentry to the chair and handed him a bowl of soup.
Gentry noticed that the man was still chuckling to himself. “At least one of us is in a good mood,” he grumbled. He ate his soup and said no more.
*************
The next day, Hammond and Zeke spent the majority of their time trying to hunt rabbits.
“I would not mind having a little rabbit meat in my stew tonight,” said Hammond, rubbing his stomach. “Just take care not to go chasing your arrows over any bushes without looking first. There are black bocas in this forest.”
Zeke knew the story of Fallon saving Gentry’s life well; he had told it to his schoolmates often. “Aye, sir.”
By the time the sun began to set, Zeke had managed to kill two small rabbits.
Hammond held them up and beamed with pride. “I shall meet you back at the campsite. I am going to get these onto the fire while you collect your arrows.”
“Aye, sir.”
Hammond had been gone for only a few minutes when Zeke heard him yell out. He immediately rushed towards the sound of Hammond’s voice, his heart pounding as he drew near. In the distance, he could see Hammond lying on the ground, pinned down by a large cat.
Zeke quickly loaded an arrow, pulled back the string, and let it fly. It struck the large cat in the hindquarters, and the puma took off running.
“Hammond! Are you all right?” With the cat now out of sight, Zeke ran up to the injured man and kneeled beside him.
“Wizards be damned. She clawed my leg pretty good,” replied Hammond. He winced in pain as he looked down towards the bloody gash marks in his pants. “I believe she was more interested in the rabbits than me – otherwise she would have done more harm. But she did not get them … thanks to you.”
Hammond winked at Zeke and held the rabbits up high to emphasize his point. Setting the rabbits aside, he began to focus on his leg.
“Help me with my shirt, Zeke,” he said as he struggled to remove it. “Good, now tie it tight above the wound.”
Zeke tied it as tightly as he could.
“Perfect, thank you.”
“Can you walk, sir?” Zeke asked. “Can you make it back to camp?”
“Aye, I can walk. Help me up, Zeke.” Hammond struggled to stand. But even with Zeke’s support, walking proved difficult.
“I shall not make it back to the camp,” the injured man finally conceded.
Hammond scanned the area to see if there would be a suitable place to create a new campsite nearby. In the distance, between the trees, he spotted an old cabin.
“We should go there instead.” Hammond pointed in the distance. “Perhaps someone is home. Perhaps they may be of help.”
Zeke looked in the direction that Hammond was pointing. The sight of the forlorn cabin filled him with a great sense of unease. “It does not appear that anyone lives there. Perhaps it was abandoned for a reason.”
“Even better,” replied the old man. The subtlety of Zeke’s apprehension had been lost on him. “If we can get inside, at least we shall be able to keep the wild animals away from the smell of my blood.”
They slowly made their way to the cabin.
“I do not like the feel of this place,” Zeke admitted as they approached the front stoop. Despite his misgivings, he knocked on the door, but no one answered. He looked in the window but could see nothing. He knocked again. No answer. Only then, at the urging of Hammond, did Zeke try the door handle. To his dismay, it was open.
The front door opened to reveal a small sitting room with a single chair. Zeke helped Hammond into a chair. Confident that Hammond would be all right for a short while, Zeke left to retrieve some essential items from the campsite: canteens, flint stone, blankets, food, Hammond’s flask, and the horses. The only thing he did not have was medicine. He had no idea how to mend Hammond’s wound.
I wish the Steward was here. He would know what to do.
Hammond was most definitely in pain when Zeke returned. “Did you bring my flask, boy?”
“Aye, sir,” Zeke replied, handing Hammond the flask.
Hammond gulped down several swallows of the whiskey stored inside, but he still winced in pain.
“I looked for medicine at the campsite, but I did not find any,” an apologetic Zeke explained.
“It is fine, my boy. Nothing a little whiskey and rabbit stew shall not cure.”
Zeke was not convinced. “We should at least wrap your leg in a clean cloth.” He held up a large white rag he had brought back from the campsite. “May I?”
Hammond nodded.
Zeke slowly removed the bloody shirt that had been tied above the wound. He looked upon the three gashes through the large tears in Hammond’s pants and was grateful they did not start to bleed again. Without thinking, he began to trace his fingers along the gashes. As he did, a cold sensation crept up his arm, eventually causing him to jerk his hand away.
“That was odd,” Hammond said.
Apparently, Zeke was not the only one who felt something.
Zeke quickly wrapped the clean rag around the injured thigh. “I … I need to put the rabbits on the fire. I shall be back.”
Zeke rushed out of the cabin and breathed the fresh air in rapidly. He shook his arm. It was still numb and tingling with a cold sensation, as if it had fallen asleep. As the minutes passed, he slowly started to feel better. He eventually felt well enough to start a fire. The smell of roasted rabbit soon filled the air.
Hammond happily devoured the rabbit and took more than his fair sh
are of swigs from his flask. He did not appear to be in any more pain, however, and for that Zeke was grateful.
“Let it be said that no man from my family should ever venture into this damn forest without a man from your family by his side,” Hammond boisterously stated, his words slightly slurred. “Fallon saved my son. You saved me. You are just like your brother, Zeke. I shall be forever grateful to the both of you.”
“It was really nothing, sir,” Zeke replied.
He truly believed it. The puma would have likely left Hammond alone once it grabbed hold of the dead rabbits. All he did was scare it away. Besides, Zeke was uncomfortable with being compared with his brother.
“We should sleep now, sir. It shall be a long day tomorrow.”
“Aye. You are wise beyond your years, my boy.”
Zeke felt his eyes grow heavy, and he curled up on the floor of the sitting room to sleep.
The next thing Zeke knew, he was being shaken awake by Hammond.
“Zeke! You have slept most of the day away already! One would think it was you who drank up all the whisky last night!” Hammond joked. “Come now, it is time to get up!”
Groggy, Zeke slowly raised his head. “How is your leg?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.
Hammond smiled brightly. He brought his leg forward for inspection with pride. Three thin scars of white were all that remained of the deep gashes that had been there the previous day.
“You have quite the healing touch, my boy.”
And that is how Zeke discovered his gift.
*************
Gentry grew stronger as the weeks progressed. Each day he walked a little farther using his walking stick. The main cavern was quite large, but he was eager to explore the reaches beyond. Gentry was curious to find out where the old man went whenever he would disappear for hours – sometimes days – on end.
One morning he attempted to follow the old man, but the passages proved too dark to navigate without a lantern. He quickly returned to the main cavern to retrieve a lantern. He set out into the passageway again, but he found it difficult to hold his walking stick in one hand and the lantern in the other, while also managing to keep his balance. Defeated, he returned to his mat on the floor of the cavern and sulked.
His thoughts turned to his son, Luca, as they often did. He could not help but think that if he had never left to search for Fallon, he would be in the comfort of his home now, watching his little boy grow bigger with each passing day. He would be eating Daria’s delicious meals and enjoying a pint or two. He would be happy. Instead, he was a cripple, trapped in a cave.
The anger grew strong in him, and Gentry ended up throwing the walking stick as far as he could. The satisfaction he gleaned from hearing it hit the ground far away was short-lived, however. Now what have I done? How am I going to walk?
“You do not need that walking stick anymore.”
The old man’s voice caught Gentry by surprise. “What are you doing here?”
The old man did not answer. Instead, he offered his hand.
Gentry found himself reaching for the outstretched hand, and soon he was standing. Once Gentry was steady on his feet, the old man pulled away from him.
“Wait!” Gentry cried.
“You shall never learn to walk by yourself again if you do not try,” replied the old man. And just as quickly as he came, the old man disappeared back down one of the passages leading from the cavern.
Gentry gingerly stepped on his injured leg. It felt strange – but it did not hurt – so he became a little bolder. He slowly made his way towards his walking stick. Balancing on his good leg, he leaned down to pick up the walking stick. It felt comfortable in his hands. He admired the walking stick for a moment, tapped it on the ground, and promptly threw it on the fire.
“I do not need a walking stick anymore.”
*************
Lady Dinah led her horse along the mountain path, cursing the gusty winds that circled around her. She was beginning to regret her decision to deliver the letter about the twins to Steward Isaiah in person. A light rain had just begun to fall when she heard a familiar voice.
“Hello, Lady Dinah,” said Lord Clintock.
Lady Dinah smiled in spite of her annoyance. “Hello, Lord Clintock. Did you conjure this delightful weather especially for me?”
Lord Clintock chuckled. “Alas, this is not of my doing, my Queen. I fear this storm shall only get worse. We should make haste.”
Hours later, Lady Dinah found herself staring out at the angry sea below Lord Clintock’s home upon the cliffs of the Cook Mountains. Large, white-crested waves battered the shore incessantly beneath an ever-darkening sky. The low rumble of thunder echoed in the distance, and flashes of lightning occasionally set the clouds aglow in an ominous, purple light.
It is beautiful, Lady Dinah thought, though I doubt I should think so if I were not warm and dry inside Lord Clintock’s home.
“Would you care for some bread, my lady?” Lord Clintock had returned from the kitchen carrying a plate of warm rolls.
“Aye, thank you.”
“It is good to see you again, my lady.”
Lady Dinah smiled. “I must say you have one of the most spectacular sitting rooms of all the wizards – in any weather.”
“Ah, so you come for the view,” he replied with a smile.
“In part, perhaps. I came to Laureline to deliver a message to Steward Isaiah. I thought I would stop in and see you first. I hope you do not mind.”
“Not at all. You are welcome any time.”
“Thank you.”
Their conversation was temporarily halted by the fury of the storm. They watched in silence as rain lashed at the window panes, obscuring the view below.
“Have you heard anything from Lord Edmund, yet?” Lord Clintock asked.
“No. He is not due back until the spring, though.”
Lord Clintock hesitated before continuing on. “Are you still planning for war?”
“Aye,” she replied. What is he getting at? “We all agreed it was in our best interest.”
“We agreed we needed more intelligence on the East – to discover why the Easterners were invading,” Lord Clintock corrected. His words were gentle, but Lady Dinah felt their pinch nonetheless.
“So that we would be better prepared for the war that is most certainly inevitable,” Lady Dinah replied, defensive. “Have you forgotten Lord Milton?”
Lord Clintock shook his head. “No, my lady.”
“They are responsible for his disappearance. I am certain.”
“I suspect you are right. Still ….”
“Would you not have his death avenged?”
Lord Clintock studied Lady Dinah with his kind eyes. “At what cost, my lady?” he replied softly. “At the start of the First War, we were a hundred strong. Now we are barely more than a dozen. We shall not survive another war.”
“We have no reason to believe the Eastern Wizards survive in greater numbers,” she argued. “We shall persevere.”
In truth, Lord Clintock’s words echoed her own fears. Much of the discussion at the Council of Wizards meeting had been filled with the emotion surrounding Lord Milton’s disappearance, heightened by the anguish and anger of his daughter, Lady Adeline. The bleak reports from Lord Jameson regarding the Easterners in Durango only served to fan the flames of anger. Despite her own misgivings, she felt compelled to argue on behalf of the man who had meant so much to her mother, to the Western Wizards as a whole.
“Lord Milton is the reason we survived the First War,” Lady Dinah protested. “We cannot let his death go unpunished.”
“Do you really think that is what Lord Milton would have wanted? For us all to perish in his name?”
“I cannot pretend to know what Lord Milton would have wanted,” she replied. “But I can assure you that he was not ready to die.”
“I am telling you, he would not want this. He would not want another war. Trust me, I know.”
&nb
sp; Lady Dinah felt as though she had been slapped in the face. Of course he does.
“If this is truly how you feel, why did you remain silent at the Council meeting?” she asked, her tone no longer defensive. “They might have listened to you – the hero of the Second War.”
Lord Clintock frowned. “I am no hero,” he insisted.
“Of course you are. We would have all perished in the Second War if not for you,” she insisted. “Emperor Jarek had come to claim his domain. Instead, he died at your hand … bringing the dreadful war to an end.”
“He was a feeble old man by then. Anyone could have taken his life.”
Lady Dinah shook her head. “Nonsense. He was the great leader of the East, a formidable foe. Do not belittle your role, Lord Clintock. Because of you, Lord Jarek is dead.”
Lord Clintock turned away from her and stared back out into the darkness of the storm. “Too late, I fear. The damage was already done.”
Lady Dinah regarded the gentle man before her. Lord Clintock had always been reluctant to speak of his role in the Second War. She had always assumed the reluctance stemmed from modesty; this was the first inkling she had that it was more out of a sense of failure.
“You saved us all, Lord Clintock. You, no one else.”
Lord Clintock smiled sadly as he stared into the depths beyond the window pane. “I merely delayed our demise, my Queen.”
*************
It would be several more weeks before Gentry could walk from one end of the cavern to the other without tiring. Each day, he could walk a little farther, and the odd sensation in his leg diminished a little bit more. One day, Gentry finally felt strong enough to follow the old man.
The passage the old man entered had many twists and turns and openings to other passages that led deep within the mountain. As hard as Gentry tried, he could not keep up with the old man. Worse, he became disoriented and could not recall the direction from which he came.
He began to wander down random passageways. Most led to dead ends. Others led to doors that would not open. He saw strange markings on the walls of one tunnel, designs that looked vaguely familiar though he could not recall why. He was about to go down yet another passageway when he heard the old man’s voice behind him.
