Mage's End Game, page 13
“A long time to you is but a moment to the Fae or fairy folk. Many here would have lost family. Now think how long ago the Nereus was, yet we are trying to hunt out that battleground while walking past one that still bears open scars.” Hugh’s attention turned to a young lad with an obvious limp. He shook his head at a badly set leg that would plague the boy for life.
“I think we should find stables and hire a couple of horses. It would be more productive to search for ourselves. There is a chance I will be sensitive to any residue despite the passage of time.” Sera would rather do something than wait on the off chance someone would answer their questions.
Having decided, they finished their breakfast and returned their mugs. Hugh asked where they could hire horses, a question the woman could answer—since it involved coin.
As they walked along a muddy lane, the shrill sound of distant screams made Sera’s heartbeat surge. The urgency in the cries pulled them from their path. Hugh paused only long enough to take a bearing before he ran towards the noise.
“Help!” a young woman screamed, dropping to her knees in the mud. “Please, someone must help my father!”
Locals gathered around her. A man helped the woman to her feet. Her hands and the cuffs of her sleeves were covered in blood.
“What happened, Innes?” the man asked.
“A wild boar, while we were tending the fields near the forest. It—it gored him,” she sobbed, her voice shaking. “He’s bleeding so much. I fear he won’t last long.”
“Fetch the doctor!” someone yelled, and a boy broke away and took flight back along the road.
“I’m a surgeon. Take me to him,” Hugh instructed, his voice steady and authoritative.
His gaze was determined, lit by a fire that kindled whenever he faced a challenge that demanded his skills as a surgeon. Sera stayed by his side. She had helped him perform surgery before, and her skills might be needed.
Innes, the young woman, leaned on a man as they led the way through the streets to a cottage near the outskirts of the town. Inside, a man aged around fifty lay on a straw pallet, his clothes torn and stained with blood. Innes fell to her knees beside him and pressed a hand to his head. “I have brought a surgeon, Da.”
Hugh knelt beside the injured man and methodically assessed the wound, his fingers gently probing the edges of the deep gash in the man’s side. “I need bandages, hot water, and alcohol,” he said. “Help me get him on the table.” Hugh gestured to the other man to assist.
The injured man cried out as he was moved and laid on the table, the breakfast dishes hastily shoved aside to make room. Hugh drew his field kit from his pocket and unrolled the leather to reveal his tools.
“If you wouldn’t mind, Sera.” He gestured with a tilt of his head to the moaning man.
Sera warmed her palms and then placed them on the man’s chilled face. Then she murmured in an ancient tongue a spell that could have been a lullaby.
“What is she doing?” someone else demanded.
“Taking away his pain and sending him to sleep,” Hugh replied as he sliced the man’s shirt open to reveal a scrawny torso.
“Witch,” Innes whispered, her eyes wide.
Sera winked in return.
Fourteen
Innes held a bowl of hot water, and Hugh wrung out a cloth and cleaned the wound as best he could.
“He’s asleep,” Sera said as she took her place next to Hugh.
He worked carefully, dousing the wound with alcohol before he began, carefully slicing a thin layer from the torn flesh. “This edge wouldn’t heal properly,” he explained to Sera and those watching. “It is better to make a clean incision before stitching such a wound closed.”
When asked, Sera passed him the threaded needle and dropped the scalpel into the bowl of water to clean it. Hugh worked with a steady and confident hand despite the gravity of the situation. When he was done, he trickled more whiskey over the neat line of stitches.
“A few cobwebs would help it heal, if the spiders could spare any,” Hugh said as he wiped his hands.
Sera walked to the corner of the room where a spider had spun a marvellous web. “I am sorry,” she murmured to the arachnid, “but we need your home.”
Using a magical touch, she pulled the web free of its corner, the spider scurrying along the ceiling to avoid being caught up in it. Sera kept it outstretched before her as she approached the prone man.
“Over the stitches, please,” Hugh murmured.
Sera brushed her fingers through the air, and the web obeyed. It re-shaped itself into a rectangular strip and dropped over the wound, adhering to the stitches. Only then was a bandage passed around the man’s torso, and he was gently moved to a bed. His daughter tucked a blanket around the sleeping patient.
“Keep him warm and change the dressing daily. If you can, keep applying a web. I have found they help stave off infection, although I have yet to explain how.” Hugh dried his hands and then cleaned his tools before putting them back in the leather roll.
“Thank you, sir. I cannot thank you enough,” Innes whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks as she threw her arms around Hugh’s middle and hugged him.
“Well done, Hugh. Let us see if saving a life makes anyone more talkative,” Sera murmured as they walked back to the tavern.
As word spread through the village of the life-saving procedure performed by the mysterious outsiders, the atmosphere shifted. The wary, uncooperative locals softened, their eyes now holding a mix of curiosity and respect when they regarded Sera and Hugh.
That evening, Sera found herself seated before the crackling fire with Hugh and the tavern patrons. A sense of camaraderie now infused the air as the locals opened up and shared stories and laughter with their newfound friends.
“Ye did a fine job savin’ old Angus,” said a gruff man, clapping Hugh on the back. “I’ve nae seen such skilled hands in all me days.”
“Thank you. I’m just glad I could help,” Hugh replied, his cheeks flushing slightly at the praise.
“Help?” the old man chuckled around his pipe. “Ye damned well saved his life!”
The locals murmured their agreement. Sera couldn’t help but smile as she watched Hugh’s discomfort at the attention. He didn’t like being in the spotlight, but for once, she was grateful for it. His skill meant the people trusted them and might open up in ways that hadn’t seemed possible earlier that morning.
“Are ye a witch, that you could take away his pain?” a wide-eyed woman asked Sera.
“Yes.” She didn’t see the point of lying. Besides, if history was correct, the Scottish had more respect for magical women than the English.
Murmurs ran through those assembled, and the curiosity in their eyes deepened.
“You’re not here to harm us, are ye?” another man asked. He had an enormous bushy beard that could have hidden a kitten.
“No. I’m here seeking a cure for a curse. Somewhere near Inverness is a loch that saw a terrible magical battle over a thousand years ago. That is where the curse was born, and I am hoping the same spot also holds a cure.” Sera spoke with her hands, creating the image of a shimmering body of water. Next to it, she placed the Roman soldiers and a semi-circle of druids as they fought the shadow before them.
“Most folk hereabouts keep their lips sealed when it comes to matters o’ magic,” the pipe smoker said. He blew a series of rings that drifted towards the rafters. “We hold their secrets, and they keep ours.”
Which was rather what Sera suspected and confirmed her nagging suspicion that magic did indeed linger at the loch. “We’re not here to cause any trouble or breach any agreements with the Daoine Sidhe. I only want to help someone who is much tormented by a dark spell.”
“No one here will tell you what you want to know,” he replied. Before Sera could rally a reason why they should, he continued. “But if you ask Old Eithne, she might. She is the keeper of such tales, if ye ken.”
Sera didn’t ken, but at least they were making progress of a sort. “Where do we find Old Eithne?”
The man gave them rough directions to the woman’s cottage on the northern side of the town. Not wanting to wait another day, Sera and Hugh set out in the dark.
As they moved through the town, the cobblestone roads gave way to dirt tracks, lined with twisted trees that seemed to lean inwards, as if sharing whispered secrets. The air grew colder, and a chill ran down Sera’s spine—but whether from the temperature or anticipation, she couldn’t quite discern.
Finally, they reached a cottage that sat by itself, nestled in the embrace of the trees, which seemed to have broken away from the forest to gather around the building. A vegetable patch enclosed with a willow-withe fence lay dormant to one side, waiting for spring to warm the earth.
Flames flickered on the other side, where a figure sat on a bench before a fire. A shawl was drawn around thin shoulders. A massive black hound lay at her feet. The dog lifted its shaggy head and uttered a single woof before lying down again.
“Eithne?” Sera asked as they approached.
“Aye, milady. You took your time to find me.” When she met Sera’s gaze, her eyes were white with no irises.
Hugh held out a hand and waved it before her face. “Blind,” he murmured.
“But not deaf,” she snapped.
“I did not mean to offend,” Hugh said.
The woman seemed ancient and ageless at the same time. Her form was slender and frail. Hair of pure silver was wound in a tight plait around her head to make a crown. The shawl she clutched was made from a tartan of deep blue and green.
“You know who I am,” Sera said.
Eithne gestured to a blanket set out beside her. “Sit.”
Sera did as instructed, Hugh lowering himself to the earth beside her. The dog cast them a weary look but seemed content so long as they didn’t get between him and the fire. Or make any sudden moves towards his mistress.
“The earth feels your steps. For too many years has our mother had her daughters taken from her.” Eithne tossed a stick onto the flames, and they flared a pale lilac for a moment.
Sera considered the woman’s words—a reference to her being the first woman mage since Morag. “You’re not human.”
Eithne cackled. “I have walked these lands for far longer than either of you have been alive. I have seen the rise and fall of kings, and I have heard whispers of ancient magic that even now still echo through the ages.”
To be so old, she had to be one of the Fae or the Daoine Sidhe. Sera took a guess as to which, as there was a familiar shape to the woman’s face. “You wouldn’t happen to know Liriel, would you?”
Another laugh. “She is my younger sister.”
Sera glanced at Hugh, who wore an expression of realisation. One seer must have told the other to expect them. The world beyond their little circle faded away, leaving only the crackling of the fire and the occasional rustle of leaves caught in the gentle breeze.
“Do you remember the battle fought on the shores of the loch?” Sera referenced the loch in case Eithne thought they wanted to know of Culloden.
“I am not quite that old. But my grandmother told me the tale. She saw what they did that day. When a mother grieved the fate of her child…a fate she had brought about.” Eithne’s voice softened, as though she shared the mother’s pain.
Gooseflesh erupted along Sera’s arms. She was on the cusp of uncovering knowledge that could change the course of history and save their beloved king.
“Long ago,” Eithne said solemnly, her voice taking on a melodic quality as she wove her tale beneath the starlit sky, “there was born a child of two druids. The boy possessed magic that surpassed even the most skilled druids of his time. As he grew, so did his power. His magic was raw and untamed, and it frightened his parents. When the boy was angry and he lashed out, he felled forests, and great storms thundered across the land.” She leaned forwards slightly, her voice lowering to a hushed whisper.
Sera could see it all in her mind’s eye. The fierce determination of the druids as they clashed with the boy’s overwhelming ability. She pictured them forming intricate sigils in the air, weaving spells of protection and attack. Their robes billowed around them like storm clouds gathering on the horizon, each druid a tempest of arcane energy battling an unstoppable force.
“As the boy grew older, it became clear his mind could not contain the arcane forces. His parents tried to reason with the child and the council of elders, but something had to be done. In fits of rage, the child unleashed terrible devastation. Many became fearful that he would destroy everything and everyone who walked this land.” Eithne sighed and leaned back on the bench. The dog looked up, and she dropped a hand to his head.
Sera knew what happened next, but still, she bit her lip, waiting for Eithne to go on.
“Despite their best efforts, the druids found themselves unable to tame the child. They could not instruct him on how to use his magic. Their desperation grew, and they made a fateful decision—one that would alter the course of history forever.” Eithne’s voice was tinged with sadness.
Sera’s heart ached as she imagined the weight of the impossible choice pressing on the boy’s parents like a crushing tide. At the same time, a tendril of anger wormed through her. Because of what they’d done, fear had driven the Mage Council to implement their abhorrent policy. So many gifted girls had been deprived of the basic right to draw breath.
“His mother lured the child to the shore with a promise that she had found a way to harness his magic. Surrounded by a thousand Roman soldiers and the druids, a terrible battle took place. Throughout the day, it raged. Men lay slaughtered. Druids were drained to empty husks. Yet they could not defeat the boy.” Eithne paused and gestured to a pot that nestled in the embers at the edge of the fire.
Sera took a cup sitting on the bench at Eithne’s side. Wrapping her gift around the handle of the pot so she didn’t burn her fingers, she poured a fragrant and steaming brew into the mug. Then she placed it in Eithne’s hands.
In Sera’s mind, the battle raged on, the air crackling with energy as the druids chanted incantations, their hands weaving desperate patterns in an attempt to subdue the boy’s immense power. The sky darkened overhead, storm clouds swirling as the distant ocean itself roared in response to their call.
The old woman sipped before continuing her story. “Since the druids could not defeat the boy, they sought instead to turn his own magic upon him and bind him. Tethering him to something powerful enough to contain his raw potential. The loch passes underground to the sea, so they chose the sea itself, hoping its vast depths would be strong enough to hold him.”
“Along with his parents, a Nereus is the child of Mother Earth and Old Man Sea. If the source of his power was the ocean, it makes sense to use that against him.” Sera’s mind raced with ideas about how the child could have been subdued.
The flames of the fire altered, and the battle played out against them. The loch appeared, and the forces arrayed against the boy held their ground among the bodies of the fallen.
“Look!” Eithne cried. “The sea answers their pleas!”
A monstrous wave rose from the depths of the loch, its crest reaching towards the heavens. It towered above the battlefield, casting a dark and menacing shadow over the druids, soldiers, and child. Power emanated from the water, rolling away from it with the heat of flames. Old Man Sea himself had been summoned to claim his son.
The boy’s expression turned to one of terror as he sensed the impending doom that threatened to engulf him. Against the backdrop of the flames, he shimmered as he raised his hands, attempting to conjure another barrier of magic, but it was in vain. The force that now encircled him was too great, and his strength waned against the unrelenting tide.
“Please,” he whispered, his voice choked with fear. “Please don’t—Mam—”
But there was no mercy to be found that day, even from the woman who had borne him. With a final incantation, the druids redirected the boy’s magic back upon him, using his own power to bind him to the terrible fate they had devised.
Hugh gripped Sera’s hand, as entranced by the scene playing out before them as she was. Pain speared through Sera as the woman druid dropped to her knees and bowed her head, salt tears running down her cheeks.
“By the sea, thou shalt be bound,” intoned the boy’s father, his voice carrying over the roar of the waves. “An immortal creature thou shalt become, forever cursed to wander these depths.”
And then, as Sera watched in horror, the boy’s body began to transform. His limbs twisted and contorted, elongating into sinuous tendrils that writhed and coiled around him. His youthful face warped into a visage of anguish, eyes pleading for an end to the torment that tore apart his young form.
“Thus was the Nereus captured,” Eithne whispered, her words heavy with sorrow. “A being of great power and eternal suffering. Condemned to a watery prison by those who sought to save their world from his magic.”
In the instant the boy’s sentence was enacted came a clap of thunder so loud it burst eardrums, accompanied by a flash of lightning that blinded those nearby. People fell to the ground, clutching their heads.
“The fracture,” Sera murmured. Here was the blast that had torn into the Fae realm and trapped Ebonfyre. Here was the explosion of concentrated despair and anguish that had created the entropy stones.
The Nereus disappeared beneath the churning waves, his mournful cries echoing through the storm as a chilling reminder of the price they had paid for their victory.
Sera’s heart ached as the weight of the Nereus’s tale settled upon her. Over the crackle of the wood drifted the anguished cries of the boy, now an immortal creature forever trapped beneath the waters of the loch. The sound faded into the surrounding night.
Just before the image vanished, Sera glimpsed something dropped on the stones. A wooden horse. The toy of a child. All that remained of a beloved son and the most powerful being to ever walk the earth.
Eithne’s voice softened, sorrow lacing her words as she continued the story. “The Nereus still roams the depths of the loch, his heart filled with remorse for the destruction he caused as a boy and sorrow for the pain he caused his parents. It is said that when the moon casts its silvery glow upon the loch that clasps hands with the sea, the Nereus rises to the surface, staring longingly towards the land he once walked.”
