Ranthos tried his best. He took a wide stance and held his palms together in front of his chest.
“Don’t touch them,” said Blossom.
Ranthos put a small gap between his hands.
Blossom slowly slid her palms away from each other, and began a series of fluid gestures with her right arm. Extending and retracting, forming specific gracile formations with her fingers ever so slowly. “Focus upon every movement of your right arm. Feel it move, feel the bones within turning, feel your muscles tense. Each subtle movement of each of your fingers, each click of your wrist, watch how your skin moves over your bones as you twist your hand. The crease in the crook of your elbow, and those of your knuckles.”
Ranthos did, “It doesn’t feel like anything.”
“It wouldn’t,” said Blossom, “Feel how instinctive it is. Alchemy is about manipulation, taking something and creating something better. Atvyyrk is about nature, becoming, and existing. Alfar are creatures of instinct in a way that humans are not. It comes naturally to the alfish mind, atvyyrk.”
Ranthos listened closely—as closely as he could, trying to follow Blossom’s every step and subsequent pose. She marched across the ground with high-knee steps, and flowing sweeps of her hands, always leading with her right—though she hadn’t any ink on it at all. Ranthos mis-stepped and was thrown off rhythm, he lost his place and couldn't recover.
Blossom noticed, but didn’t stop. “You and I have alfish blood running through human veins. We see a tree for its leaves and for the house it could become. To master atvyyrk, you have no choice but to become an alfar. Do not study my movements. Move.”
Ranthos didn’t understand, and was still struggling to match her.
“Feel the wind,” said Blossom. “Feel its touch. Feel it flow through your fingers.”
Ranthos tried, but it hardly helped.
“How do you move your elbow?” asked Blossom.
Ranthos didn’t know how to answer.
“Do you crank a lever? Do you wind a spool? Do you flex your muscles?”
“I suppose the last,” said Ranthos.
“No,” said Bell, taking her right arm through a series of movements, “You move your elbow by moving your elbow. Your elbow moves because you move it.”
Ranthos didn’t understand what she was getting at.
“Feel the wind,” said Blossom, “How heavy is your arm? How far can your fingers move?”
Ranthos tried to imagine how heavy his arm was, but only found it difficult to picture. He could certainly hold it in one hand easily. He could probably throw it a fair distance.
“You’re thinking,” said Blossom softly, closing her eyes, “Be.”
Ranthos took a deep breath, and smelled the dust on the cool Autumn wind. He felt it blow on his sweaty palm. He felt it tousle his hair as he moved, and felt it shake his shirt.
He watched Blossom to discern a pattern of her movement—
That was wrong.
Ranthos took another breath of the wind, and attempted to remove his thoughts from his movements, as he dragged his hand through the wind as Blossom did. He was a moment behind still—he couldn’t anticipate what she would do. How could he keep up if—
Stop.
Ranthos took a third deep breath, and exhaled slowly as the wind blew his hand through the next motion, and he stepped twice to follow Blossom. They brought their feet together and stood up straight, swivelling about on their hips as they swirled their arms about them slowly. Ranthos was still a moment behind.
Blossom opened her eyes to see this.
Ranthos flushed.
She moved faster, each irregular step a surprise that Ranthos could not anticipate, he fell further behind, and began skipping steps to keep pace.
She watched him fail, but said nothing.
Ranthos breathed. He felt the wind on his back, and let it blow him forward through the next steps. He imagined the stiffness of his limbs, and how they would flow through the wind if they were jointed boughs of a tree.
He felt a swell in his chest as he slowly began to keep pace—but then fell behind again—as a surge of frustration filled him instead.
He couldn’t move his elbow back and forth with the wind, so he allowed his shoulder to move instead, bringing his whole arm back—just as Blossom did. His arm moved in time with her, but he missed three footsteps in the process.
Thought, reason, and imagination tried to control his limbs, he needed to separate his blood from his mind. The leylines pulsed in time, the wind had no such rhythm. Humans erected the stones, but the trees sprouted where they pleased.
Will against nature. Ranthos took another breath and drew into his nose his smokey scent of anger. He smelled Blossom’s serenity, his heartbeat doubling the pace of hers.
A bird flew overhead. A holehog rushed through the grass. Nosgrim and Bell laughed atop the hill.
Wrong.
The plains were. Ranthos was.
He moved his elbow, and Blossom rushed her arms through the wind in time with Ranthos. Their feet took large, high steps, and their shoulders mirrored each other perfectly.
Except, they didn’t. Blossom was shorter than Ranthos, so the wind hit her body differently than his—
Wrong.
Move.
Be.
Ranthos closed his eyes and moved with the wind.
Blossom touched his shoulder, and Ranthos slowly opened his eyes. Her eyes were watery underneath her mask.
Ranthos couldn’t help but smile. He didn’t know what had happened. He didn’t know if he did well or not.
“That was beautiful,” said Blossom.
Ranthos frowned and looked away. “I don’t even know what—”
“That’s right,” said Blossom.
“What was that called?” asked Ranthos, “Was it a dance? Or a fighting technique?”
“It doesn’t have a name,” said Blossom. “The alfar didn’t think it should. How does your right arm feel?”
Ranthos looked at it, “No different.”
“It wouldn’t,” said Blossom, “I meant does it feel like the right choice?”
Ranthos nodded, “I think it does.” His elbow blew in the wind. “Yes,” he said, “This does feel right.”
Bell, atop the hill stood and cheered, clapping her hands, jumping up and down.
Ranthos smiled up at her, and Alrys clapped his hands too, standing beside her. “Gooooooooooood!” he said, marching down to meet him and Blossom.
“He did that much faster than I expected,” said Blossom.
“How I understand it,” said Alrys, “The cub’s spent a greater deal of time in the woods than in Tatzelton.”
“That’s for certain,” said Ranthos.
Alrys winked at Ranthos, and then asked “Blossom, do you have anything else for him today?”
Blossom shook her head. “He’s done well for himself.”
“Good,” said Alrys, “Now, I could either remove that rot from your side now, or, if it doesn’t sound too daunting, I could teach you the proper spell to remove it yourself. I could teach you a few more things that way. It will be markedly different from what you’ve learned with Blossom.”
“Can that spell remove rot from other people, too?”
“Yes, cub.”
“Then yes,” said Ranthos, “I want to do it myself.”
Alrys smiled, and nodded, “Then follow me, cub.”
29
Four Graves
Alrys said a sweet goodbye to Sarky, and gathered his shield and mace, slinging them over his shoulder by their leather straps. He told Ranthos to fetch his bow.
“Why do we need weapons for learning magic?”
“If we were to be ambushed again, I would rather have a weapon in hand than not, wouldn’t you?”
Ranthos nodded, finding a sense of comfort and confidence in the familiar weight of his quiver on his hip and his bow in his hand.
“Follow close,” said Alrys, leading Ranthos through t
he tall grasses.
Ranthos kept at his heel eagerly, waving goodbye to Bell and Nosgrim.
Bell wished him the best—thrilled at his newfound interest in magic. Nosgrim nodded and waved him away, eyes locked warily on Vhurgus, who was stretching his limbs. If Vhurgus was stretching, these two were in for the training session of their lives.
But Ranthos was free from that, though he had little idea if his training would be better or worse than theirs.
The plains were as monotonous and as empty as they always were, save a family of quail, scurrying across their path, and a buzzard perched on a dying tree. Alrys and he marched SouthEast, back towards the Shortcut and the Tatzelwood, though the wall of mossy green trees was nowhere to be seen, too small on the horizon.
Ranthos wondered if he would ever see the Tatzelwood again. He did not want to return for obvious reasons, but at the same time, he couldn’t imagine never seeing it again. It was the only land he knew, and the wood—as strange as it seemed—was a friend to him. They knew each other’s quirks and found their rightful place in relation to each other. Ranthos fit to the wood like an arrow to a string.
“Follow close,” said Alrys, leading Ranthos through the tall grasses.
Ranthos caught up again. “What magic is it that will remove the rot from my body?”
“An alchemical spell,” said Alrys, sensing Ranthos’ eagerness, “Which will create theriac—the universal purifier. Theromancy is one of the three pursuits of alchemy—human magic.”
“Opposed to alfar magic,” said Ranthos, trying to recall Bell and Nosgrim’s arguments.
“Exactly!” said Alrys, “Don’t fall behind, cub, stay at my side.”
Ranthos did so quickly, “Is Blossom an alfar?” The question was a little random, but he didn’t mind asking.
“She is a hodge, like you and I,” Alrys said proudly. “Most of the hodges you’ll meet live on the open road.”
“How did—Where were you two born?”
Alrys shrugged, “That’s an excellent question. I don’t know. Our earliest memories are amongst humans, but we have met many alfar.”
Ranthos nodded. He didn’t know much about his birth either, and didn’t feel the slightest need to pry further. “So how do I create thera—uhm—the spell?”
“I will show you,” said Alrys, “Be patient.”
“Is it like the spell Bell cast at Bull’s Hoof’s hammer?”
“Similar, but distinctly different.”
“Will I ever learn to cast that spell?”
“No I don’t think so,” said Alrys with a smile. “You’re not clever enough I don’t believe.”
Ranthos scowled, “I’m clever—“
“Not in the right way,” said Alrys, “And you’re much too stubborn for transmutation.”
Ranthos felt his ears flush, “I am not—“
Alrys waved his protests away, and Ranthos realized that he had just demonstrated his stubbornness very clearly. “Don’t worry yourself, cub. I am the same way.”
“Really?” Ranthos said, keeping pace with Alrys’ long strides. He tried to match them, and felt like a mosquito walking on its long thin legs.
“Very much so,” said Alrys. “People like you and I are more suited to theromancy than transmutation.”
“Why’s that?”
“Theriac purifies matter to its most basic form. You and I are stubborn and disagreeable. Putting things in their rightful place and order is in our nature. Disordering the proper structure—as is the case with transmutation—is very difficult for us.”
“But I disrupted a Hell of a lot of order by leaving Tatzelton,” said Ranthos.
Alrys smiled wide. He seemed to enjoy this conversation, “Tatzelton was not an order which you felt needed to be respected. And how did you leave Tatzelton?” Ranthos tried to answer, but Alrys answered it for him, “You righted the order of your relationships, no?”
Ranthos nodded.
“That is the rightful place of yourself and Nosgrim. Theromancy is similar. The rightful state of your flesh is not rotting. The theriac you create will expel the rot from your flesh. It returns a substance to its most basic form.”
Ranthos nodded along.
“So, logically, theriac can separate bronze into tin and copper, remove the sickness from still water, or—”
Ranthos’ eyes went wide. “You’re telling me I could drink mud?!”
Alrys sighed, “…I suppose.”
“What about dirt?”
“What about dirt would make you think you can drink it?”
Ranthos shrugged, unbothered, “What about a leaf. Can I take the water out of a leaf?”
“That is a good question. The answer is no. The basest form of any living matter is the arrangement of that matter so that it may sustain life.”
Ranthos understood most of what he said, but nodded like he understood all of it.
They travelled for the remainder of the day, and camped for the night. Eating biscuits and jerky. Ranthos asked Alrys where exactly they were headed, but he didn’t want to answer, “You ought to learn to love the road, cub. You’ll find more there than at its end.”
Ranthos frowned. Not the answer he was hoping for.
Alrys smiled, and seemed to enjoy toying with him.
That night, Ranthos fell asleep under the stars to the chirping of crickets and the swaying of grasses in the breeze.
Only to meet the buck again in the dreams that he carried with his rot.
They rose early the next morning, and though his decaying flesh ached, Ranthos and Alrys marched off. It was much easier to move through these plains when he could take a night’s rest, and when he could walk without a crutch.
He even came to enjoy the walk. Ranthos and Alrys discussed the local fauna, which obviously included the great barruses, but was also comprised of wild oxen, tatzeldeer, holehogs, and a number of birds. Quail were common, and so were nasty vultures with blue faces, called blue-faced vultures.
Most of the land was used for raising livestock, though Ranthos and Alrys didn’t see many shepherds or flocks. They were likely slaughtered, and their sheep turned immortal.
Ranthos began to think that immortal wasn’t quite the correct word he should be using. But didn’t have any better ideas.
“What about predators?” asked Ranthos, “Are there any out here?”
“Leopards,” said Alrys, “the occasional bear, and hyenas, though they are predominantly scavengers.”
Ranthos had seen all those animals before. He found hyenas unsettling, with their hideous laugh. They were a big problem for Tatzelton trappers, as a hyena would much rather steal than hunt. Though Ranthos’ snares in the Southern wood were more often raided by greedy hunters than by hyenas.
Ranthos had only ever seen a bear from a distance, eating a fish. He was lucky that he wasn’t spotted, Ranthos would have been a much preferable meal than that fish, he was sure.
But maybe he was just flattering himself.
He didn’t want to remember the last time he saw a leopard.
“I’m surprised we’re not seeing many animals,” said Ranthos.
“Sheep must’ve scared them off,” said Alrys.
“What’s the largest animal you’ve ever seen?” asked Ranthos.
“A whale,” said Alrys, “It was absolutely massive… I couldn’t even describe it if I tried.”
“Where do you find whales?”
“In the ocean,” said Alrys.
“Interesting,” said Ranthos, nodding his head. “How far is the ocean?”
“Not that far,” said Alrys, “We might see it before Winter sets in.”
Ranthos wanted to see the ocean. He didn’t really know what to expect besides a great deal of water. Alrys said that was all that there was. Ranthos asked what was the smallest creature Alrys had ever seen.
“I don’t know… a bug maybe?”
“Me too.” Ranthos nodded. “Most middle?”
“No clue.”<
br />
“I’d have to think about that one for a long time too.”
They travelled for a while longer, the sun traveling across the sky along with them.
Ranthos spied a toppled wagon in the distance, and after a few more paces, the wind carried the stench of rot to his nose.
Alrys’ face wrinkled as he caught the same smell. He paused to compose himself, and said with a dry affectation, “That, cub, is the Drake’s Tongue. A wagon from the caravan which my order travels with.”
Ranthos wanted to ask who had died there, but couldn’t figure a way to phrase it sensitively. “Who…”
“Friends of mine,” said Alrys. “We’re here to give them a proper burial.”
“What does that have to do with theromancy?”
“Everything,” said Alrys grimly, covering his nose as the stench became stronger.
Ranthos did the same. It was wholly unpleasant and Ranthos could smell his own disgust wafting off his skin—that was always a bothersome effect of his senses. Disgust smelled particularly rancid, and feeling disgust at a smell only made the smell more disgusting.
Within moments, Ranthos could glimpse four red corpses, torn apart and mutilated. It could have been flockers who killed them, or it could’ve been the sheep, but Ranthos had no doubt that it was the White Cult’s doing.
“Cub—“
“Yes?” said Ranthos, hurrying to conversation to distract himself from the rank bodies. He looked at Alrys so he wouldn’t have to look at the people. Alrys kept his eyes on them.
“Search the wagon for anything we might need,” said Alrys.
“Yes,” said Ranthos, eagerly running towards it. The wagon was large, and sturdily built, with thick beams of wood making the walls of its cabin. The curtains on the windows were drawn, and the bottom door on the rear hung open, but allowed no light to enter. The walls of the wagon were finely lacquered and carved with geometric patterns, and the doors were painted bright red, and bore a painting of a feathery dragon displayed, its forked tongue curling out of its snarling mouth.
Ranthos held the top door open and ducked into the dark cabin, finding some relief from the oppressive smell outside. He found the curtains and pulled them open, letting the light wash in over him, and revealing traces of blood inside the cabin. He didn’t spend too long looking at them—he couldn’t. Ranthos had seen enough violence and gore in the past week to last most folk a lifetime.
Enter the Lamb's Head (The Adventures of Ranthos Book 1) Page 30
