Enter the Lamb's Head (The Adventures of Ranthos Book 1)

by Jasper B. Hammer

  “I’ll find you a good rock from these plains,” said Nosgrim.

  “That’d be good,” said Ranthos. “You still have mine?”

  “It’s not yours,” said Nosgrim.

  Ranthos took that to mean yes.

  “Ranthos, dear,” said Blossom.

  “Yes?” said Ranthos, looking up at her quickly, but being met with the odd blank stare of her mask. It caught him off-guard, though he had seen it many times. He wasn’t sure he would ever grow accustomed to the mask.

  “We should begin your training.”

  Ranthos shot to his feet eagerly.

  Blossom chuckled behind her mask, “In a few moments. Let me gather a few things.” she stood and walked back to their pile of supplies.

  Ranthos sighed, but didn’t sit back down, and instead began stretching his limbs. He winced as he rotated his torso—his damn side.

  “Everything alright?” asked Nosgrim.

  “Just my side,” said Ranthos, “Still a little sore from all that rot.”

  Alrys’ ears perked up, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that…”

  “Oh?” said Ranthos. “Am I still going to die?”

  “Is he going to die?!” exclaimed Bell fearfully.

  “No, you’ll likely be perfectly alright, cub.”

  Vhurgus nodded to reassure Bell. She calmed down—but gave Ranthos a big hug anyway.

  “Let us discuss this again when you begin learning my spell,” said Alrys.

  Ranthos nodded, and Blossom returned. “Ready?” she asked.

  “Yes, I am,” said Ranthos eagerly.

  Blossom led him out to the surrounding hills. She handed him a seed, which she said belonged to a maple from the Tatzelwood, and asked him to please be as quiet as he could so that she could focus.

  Ranthos nodded.

  Blossom closed her eyes and adjusted her feet. She wiggled her toes and felt the soil beneath her. She breathed out slowly, and Ranthos could see her atvyyrk shifting in the wind. She took a step, and another. Ranthos followed awkwardly, holding the small seed in his hand.

  She finally settled on a spot to stand, breathing slowly as she felt it with her feet. “This has the best soil,” said Blossom, opening her eyes. “I’ll keep your seed safe for now,” she held her hands out for it.

  He was slightly confused, as he only just got it, but gave it to her.

  She clasped her hands gently and carefully over it. “Go and fetch Alrys for me.”

  “But we just found the good soil… shouldn’t we plant the seed?”

  She smelled amused, “If we plant the seed here, then we’d have to wait here for it to sprout, and that would be terribly inconvenient.”

  “How long will it take to sprout?”

  “Hmm,” Blossom thought for a moment, “It depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On your natural talent,” said Blossom, “If your personality is naturally nurturing, that innate magic will fuel your seed to grow faster.”

  Ranthos’ brows furrowed. He did not think he was ‘naturally nurturing’ in any sense of the word, “… And if I am not?”

  “Perhaps eighty days,” said Blossom.

  “What?!” Ranthos exclaimed. “Do we have that kind of time?”

  Blossom patted his shoulder to calm him down, and he gave an apologetic expression, flushing bright red. Ranthos could rarely just stay calm and relaxed; he didn’t like that about himself, and hoped that he hadn’t upset Blossom, or ruined their relationship before it had even begun.

  “It will take time,” said Blossom, “But I have a solution that I think you will be most excited about.”

  Ranthos’ ears perked straight up, “What’s that?”

  “Go fetch Alrys for me,” she said kindly.

  Ranthos rushed back to camp to the others, it was far enough that Ranthos was tired of running by the time he arrived. Alrys was sitting with Sarky, Vhurgus, and Remy. Sarky seemed to be close to recovery. Her face was still wrapped in moss, but she was talking now, if quietly.

  “Alrys,” said Ranthos, slightly breathless, “Blossom needs your help.”

  “What for?” he said, “Can’t you see I am relaxing? What with flockers on my trail since before Tatzelton, then I had to slaughter Yannick and Wilbur…”

  “You killed Yannick and Wilbur?!” said Ranthos.

  Alrys creased his brows, “Will you mourn their passing?”

  Ranthos shook his head. It caught him off guard, and truthfully, if Ranthos had to, he probably would have done the same thing.

  “Tell Blossom that I’m busy spending time with my wife, my Vhurgus, and your cat.”

  Ranthos ran back to Blossom and delivered the message.

  “That oaf,” she sneered, digging her toes into the soil, “Tell Bell to tell Vhurgus to tell Alrys to come here.”

  Ranthos nodded, and scampered off to Bell, who sat with Nosgrim under the tree cross legged. They were comparing Nosgrim’s rusty flocker sword and Bell’s finely carved barrus axe.

  “It might look nice,” said Nosgrim, “But it just can’t match my sword in terms of effectiveness.”

  “How do you even know that?” said Bell, crossing her arms at Nosgrim, “I have been in more fights than you.”

  Ranthos arrived and doubled over on his knees, “Bell—”

  “I beat the snot out of this scut for years,” said Nosgrim, pointing at Ranthos. “You fought three sheep.”

  Bell’s face dropped, “Three? Three?! Try sixty—an-and-and Bull’s—”

  “Bell!” Ranthos shouted, “I need you to tell Vhurgus to tell Alrys to go help Blossom.”

  “What? Why?” she said, “Just go tell Alrys yourself.”

  “He wouldn’t listen,” said Ranthos.

  “It must not be that important then,” said Nosgrim.

  “Go ask Vhurgus which of these weapons is better,” Bell handed Grimtusk to Ranthos, “and I’ll ask him to ask Alrys.”, and Nosgrim handed him his sword. They both smelled confident.

  Ranthos rolled his eyes and ran down to Vhurgus, who was right next to Alrys. This seemed like way too many steps for a simple request. Ranthos just wanted to learn magic.

  “Vhurgus—”

  “What are you doing with those?” he asked. “You steal that from your sister?”

  “And Nosgrim,” said Ranthos.

  “Well, give the axe back to Bell,” said Vhurgus.

  Ranthos grew frustrated, “I didn’t steal them! They want to know which of these weapons are better.”

  “Grimtusk,” said Vhurgus without thinking. He didn’t even have to look at either of the weapons before he answered.

  Ranthos nodded, exasperated, and returned the weapons with Vhurgus’ decision.

  “Impossible,” said Nosgrim, “You’re lying.”

  Ranthos shouted, “No, you scut!”

  “Bring Vhurgus up here,” Bell said smugly.

  “You go down there,” said Ranthos.

  “I fought sixty sheep, Ranthos. I need my rest.”

  “You didn’t technically fight all sixty—”

  “RanthosjustbringVhurgusuphere!”

  Ranthos fetched Vhurgus—or tried.

  “I am relaxing here.” By his crafty scent, Vhurgus seemed to recognize Ranthos’ frustration and decided to milk it. “I’ll go up there, but you’ll owe me five laps.”

  “Laps? Where?”

  “Uhm…” he scratched his beard, “There to there.”

  Ranthos groaned, it was far, and on the side of a hill. “Fine.” And he started running them as Vhurgus sauntered up to Bell and Nosgrim and began discussing all the many flaws in Nosgrim’s crude weapon.

  Ranthos’ irate demeanor only increased with each lap, and so did the immaturity of his crude under-the-breath mutterings. By the time he finished, he was thoroughly red and sweaty, and his chest felt like it would collapse in on itself, and he couldn’t breathe fast enough. His complete inactivity in the last few weeks had really taken
him a measure or two back physically.

  Not to mention the biting pain in his ribs. He clutched his side gently as he returned to Bell, Nosgrim, and Vhurgus. Nosgrim was still trying to argue his point.

  “Bell, did you ask him?”

  “No!" she said, “What was it I was supposed to ask again?”

  Ranthos scowled angrily between heavy breaths. “To ask Alrys to go see Blossom.”

  “Vhurgus?” said Bell.

  “Yes, Miss Bellelar?” said Vhurgus.

  “Will you please ask Alrys to go see Blossom?”

  “Of course!” said Vhurgus kindly.

  “Thank you, Vhurgus!” she called after him as he and Ranthos marched back down to Alrys and Sarky.

  Vhurgus kicked Alrys’ side, “Go see Blossom.”

  “Alright, alright, alright,” he said, groaning to his feet.

  Sarky chuckled.

  “Fine,” said Alrys, “You win, cub.”

  “How many trips was that?” asked Sarky with a weak voice that was muffled by her moss wrappings.

  Vhurgus counted on his fingers, “Five, plus the laps.”

  “Count that as five more right?” asked Alrys.

  Sarky protested, “No!”

  “I’ll allow it,” said Vhurgus.

  Alrys chuckled, and held out his hand for a gold coin from each of them. They were betting on him. Ranthos was unable to hide a smile; he supposed that he must have been entertaining. More than anything, he was glad to be through with the whole ordeal.

  Ranthos finally brought Alrys to Blossom.

  “How many?” asked Blossom.

  “Ten,” said Alrys.

  She groaned, and handed over a coin.

  “You too?!” asked Ranthos, “when did you organize this?”

  “Last night,” said Alrys.

  “What? Why?”

  They shrugged, “For fun?”

  Ranthos rolled his eyes; he felt oddly special that they would think to do something like this to him. It was strange to feel that so many people cared for him, even though they had just made him run back and forth pointlessly for thirty minutes.

  “Ranthos and I need your arm, Alrys” said Blossom, “Or your leg.”

  Alrys nodded, “Of course. Which will it be, cub?”

  “Arm?” said Ranthos, unsure.

  Alrys pulled off his glove on one hand, removed his green vest, and unbuttoned the front of his shirt so that he could remove his arm from the sleeve. It was heavily tattooed with the atvyyrk that Ranthos had seen before, bearing similar intricate lines and designs to Blossom’s. Instead of trees, grass, and flowers, his arm bore scenic representations of vast mountain ranges and heavy, thick boulders. The ink was gray and blue, rather than Blossom’s green, rose, and yellow.

  Blossom showed Alrys the patch of soil she and Ranthos had found. Alrys knelt before it and buried his fingers in the loose soil. He tensed his muscles, and Ranthos watched in amazement as the atvyyrk began to glow, and change their hue slightly. It became darker, Ranthos didn’t understand.

  “What’s happening?” he asked.

  “My atvyyrk, the stone,” said Alrys, “Has the power to absorb the richness of soil.”

  “Then my maple will die,” said Ranthos, “Right?”

  “Yes,” said Blossom. “But Alrys’ atvyyrk has turned his arm into a stone—for all intents and purposes.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Well,” Blossom began scooping up the good soil she had found into her hands. “If Alrys’ arm is actually made of earth, then with the proper nutrients to foster life, your maple seed can grow on Alrys’ arm.”

  “What?!” Ranthos did not understand. “Do you not have blood and muscles and such in there? Will it not be painful?!”

  “I do have blood and muscles,” said Alrys, “But those blood and muscles are stone. They only look slightly different from normal blood and muscles, being heavier, and more rough and thick.” Alrys paused and thought for a moment, “In the realm of things,” he began, “the objective definitions of things outside of our perception, my arm is simultaneously a stone and an arm. So plants can grow on it, because they can grow on stones.”

  “That did not make sense,” said Ranthos.

  “His arm is his arm and it is a stone,” said Blossom. “My legs are legs and plants. Your atvyyrk will remain being whichever limb you place it on, but will also become that which the magic has transformed it into.” Blossom handed Ranthos the seed, and instructed him to press it against a swirl of knots on Alrys’ arm.

  The lines began to spin and slowly, his inky skin swallowed the seed when Alrys took a deep breath. Ranthos skipped a breath; he didn’t know what to say. It was almost gross, but there was no blood or gore.

  “And now it will grow!” said Blossom. She turned to Alrys, “Once that sprouts, you’ll need to give it lots of sun, and make sure to drink water.”

  Alrys nodded, rubbing the skin on his arm above the seed, “This isn’t my first time.”

  Blossom turned to Ranthos, “Because you planted it, the seed has imprinted on you, and will grow faster or slower depending on your natural talent. Once it has sprouted, we will take a leaf from it and grind it with the other ingredients to create the blessed ink to make your atvyyrk.”

  “What else do we need?” asked Ranthos.

  “Proper ink,” said Alrys, “From a kudel.”

  “A kudel?”

  “You’ll see,” said Alrys.

  “If I am not ‘naturally nurturing,’” asked Ranthos, “Can I still nurture it the best I can to expedite the process? Or would taking extra care of it make no difference?”

  “It can’t hurt!” said Blossom.

  Ranthos looked at Alrys, “Go drink some water.”

  Alrys smiled and nodded, “Very well cub.” He bowed his head and walked off. He shouted to Nosgrim atop the hill, “Fetch me some water, boy!”

  “Ask Bell!” he growled.

  “Bell?” asked Alrys.

  “Vhurgus!” shouted Bell, “Can you get Alrys some water please?”

  “Of course, Miss Bellelar!”

  Ranthos turned to Blossom and she smelled amused, perhaps she was smiling. “Is there anything that I could learn before the seed sprouts?”

  “Yes there is,” said Blossom. “How much do you know of atvyyrk?”

  Ranthos scratched his head, “Its alfish magic. Tattoos,” he gestured to Blossom’s inky feet, “And… Alrys has a different atvyyrk than you do.”

  “Yes!” said Blossom, “That’s very good!”

  “Really?”

  She shrugged. Were she as vindictive as Bell or Nosgrim, he would have been torn to shreds, but Blossom seemed a deal gentler than both of them. “Magic flows through alfish blood similar to the way it flows through the leyline founts, though the magic in our veins is raw, unpurified, and useless without proper refinement.”

  “Is that what the atvyyrk does?” asked Ranthos.

  “Correct!” said Blossom, “Blood would be useless if we hadn’t a heart to pump it, or veins through which it could flow. Our ancestors, the first alfar, discovered that the same was true with our magic, and through careful study, developed the twelve atvyyrk.”

  “Twelve?!” said Ranthos, “Are they all different?”

  “As different as a rock is from a flower,” said Blossom.

  Ranthos nodded, “What are they?”

  Blossom chuckled, “Very complicated. Let us focus on blossom.”

  Ranthos shook his head, “Alright…”

  “I’m sure you’ll learn them all in time, cub,” said Blossom. “Now, I have an important question.”

  “Yes?”

  “One can receive any atvyyrk on any limb. Which limb would you like to become a blossom?”

  Ranthos creased his brows, “What’s the benefit of an arm or a leg?”

  “With my legs,” said Blossom, “The general rule of arms and legs is such: legs are more powerful, and have a greater potenti
al magic, while arms have more refined control over magic. You can paint a picture with your hands, but you can’t run on them. If that makes sense.”

  Ranthos nodded, and imagined running on his hands with paint brushes between his toes. He quickly snapped out of it when she continued.

  “Specifically regarding blossom, I am closer to the ground when I need to be, such as when I am seeking out the best soil, or speaking with tree roots, or finding seedlings, and have a longer reach with my powers than were my blossoms on my arms. But a blossom arm can more easily manipulate plants to a delicate degree.”

  “Which makes better healing moss?”

  “Both do perfectly well with it,” said Blossom, a smile obviously touching her eyes, “I can pump more magic into it than someone with an arm, making the moss more hungry. But an arm could make the moss more resource-efficient, and thus they balance themselves out.”

  “Is there an advantage to having two of the same atvyyrk?” asked Ranthos.

  “Luckily yes!” said Blossom, lifting her skirts to display both of her intricate and colorful atvyyrk, “I can cast two spells at once.”

  Ranthos flushed, seeing her knees so unexpectedly. He looked away instinctually, but then realized that nothing was wrong. He watched the flowers and the leaves in the ink sway ever so slightly in the wind. “Should I get two as well?”

  Blossom shook her head, “Not yet! Patience, cub.”

  Ranthos sighed, “What’s a spell? Is transmutation a spell?”

  “Yes it is! In terms of atvyyrk, a spell is anything a specific mark can do. Blossom can change, command, and converse with most all plants in the world.”

  “Converse?” asked Ranthos.

  “My favorite part. You’ll see,” said Blossom happily, “But we must decide on a limb, cub!”

  “If you’ve got two legs,” said Ranthos, “I ought to get an arm then!”

  “Are you sure?”

  Ranthos smiled, “I am.”

  “Are you left or right handed?” asked Blossom.

  Ranthos thought for a moment, but then confused himself, and held out the hand he drew his bowstring with.

  “Right,” chuckled Blossom.

  “Right-handed,” said Ranthos, pretending he knew.

  “Wonderful!” said Blossom. “Stand opposite me and do as I do.”