Chapter Two: First Steps

  It's been years since I have last been outside of the city. Honestly, I hadn’t left the college grounds in a few seasons, the upper graduate classes had been all consuming. But now that I had graduated, I was so much more than I was before. I thanked the city management class I had taken because I now knew that the sturdy ancient stones which created a checkered pattern of a dark and greyish blue beneath me had been reinforced by magicians way back when this city was first founded. That they actually drew in tiny amounts of mana from those who tread upon them to maintain their structure, meaning that the road looked as good today as the day it was built.

  The road itself was wide enough for four carts to pass each other with enough space to walk between, which was good because near Endymion it was quite full with travelers. I ended up weaving my way through the many farmer’s and guild worker’s hauling their goods, as well as a few well guarded merchant caravans, each being pulled by the unique labor creatures of their homelands. As I observed the people around me it was clear that people were taking the deserter threat seriously. I didn’t see anyone without a weapon clearly visible and easily accessible on their person, more than one looked as if they had been forced to use them recently.

  The core, my core, flicked at my mind as I observed the caravans, our link was faint through the pack and the wrapping around it, more like a whisper at the edge of my awareness, but I could feel its curiosity, its desires. When I passed by a particularly gaudy carriage, hauling several large and ornate chests which were strapped to top, the core flooded me with its wanting, it didn’t have words, but it was clear the little bastard was trying to force me to take those shinies for ourselves! The carriage driver gave me a strange look as I burst out laughing for no apparent reason.

  The core continues to pulse with longing as we pass another caravan, its hunger sharp and insistent, tugging at my mind, trying to get my hands to move. I have to shake my head vigorously to push it away, I mutter under my breath, “No, we’re not stealing from the merchants,” drawing more strange looks from some passing farmers. I grin at them and wave, they roll their eyes.

  As the sun begins to set it I am far enough from the city that it was just me on the road now. The road itself had shrunk down to two carts in width but was still pristine. I find myself passing by some farmland that is rich with crops whose stalks are flowing in the wind, each gust sending waves through the plants, making it look like a golden ocean. I let my hand trail through the stalks as I walk, brushing against each one, and I speak to the core, telling it of my time at the college, of the friends I had made, enemies too… Of the papers I had written at the last second, of the times I had spent more effort figuring out how to cheat on a boring test than it would have taken just to learn the material. The core didn’t seem to understand much, but it didn’t reject me either, I figured it must appreciate hearing about my life at least a little. Every now and again it would send me feelings of… a vast ocean? Of hunting, and surviving? Its mind is difficult for me to grasp, but the challenge made for good company on the road.

  Based on the map I had studied of my route, I knew that the first inn was close, as the farms we had just passed were one of the general landmarks I was on the lookout for. It’s been a few hours since I last saw anyone, and the sun has now totally set, leaving me to travel under the cool, silver light of the ring. I spent a decent amount of time just looking at it, the immense band that arched across the sky was not very visible in the city. Out here it looked like a celestial halo, its surface shimmering as it glowed with the sun’s captured brilliance. The ring’s light was soft and diffuse, bathing the forest I passed through in an ethereal way that felt both alien and comforting.

  It was while I was looking up at the ring and the stars beyond that I heard an unpleasant cough, followed by rough laughter. I stop walking, my gaze snapping from the stars to the shadows ahead. Four men step into the road in front of me, my stomach drops as my training kicks in. If there are four in front, there will be at least one behind. The faint crunch of boots on gravel behind me confirms it. The leader, or at least, the best equipped and most well fed looking member, stands slightly ahead of the others and taps a well worn bastard sword off of his pauldron rhythmically. He cocks his head to the side saying, “Looks like we caught us a Sage boys.”

  His crew laughs, sounding mostly forced to my ears. He spits a foul looking substance out of the side of his mouth, grinning brown teeth at me, “I 'eard the college gives gold to thems who graduate, to start em off right in their new lives.” The core flares, recognizing the danger, demanding we fight, its anger a buzzing static that floods me. For a moment, I see flashes of strange flailing limbs tearing through the flesh of the soldiers, their echoing screams bringing pleasure as a ravenous hunger pushes against my mind. I clench my fists, digging my fingernails into my palm, forcing the vision away.

  The leader takes a step forward, mistaking my reaction for fear, nearly at arms reach to me now, and gestures around to his men, “You 'elp people, right Sage?” More snickering, this joke seemed to actually amuse the men rather than being an automatic henchman reaction. The leader frowns, looking me up and down, “Don’t look like you brought much with ya… guess that means you were ganna save the rest for once you got ta ur new 'ome?” He levels his sword at me, causing the rest of his gang to display their own weapons menacingly, I can hear even more weapons being drawn out in the woods. “Seeing as u're mean' ta make the world a betta place.” He grins again, “How's about ya start with us?”

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  Outnumbered and out-armed, if I don’t take control of the situation now they’ll strip me of everything, if not worse... Old habits die hard, I think as I straighten my spine and force a grin. Let’s see if they still remember their training. I snap a crisp salute, slamming my fist into my chest, shouting in my best sergeants tone, “Ex-Auxiliary Healer Division member, Leod J. Faedyn reporting for duty!”

  The action has the effect I had hoped for, the leader freezes, his sword faltering mid-air. One of the men behind him mutters a curse under his breath, while another takes a nervous step back as they recognize not only a fellow soldier, but a healer. I press on, taking off my pack and pulling out my pots and pans, as well as all the food I had been given by the turtle, “I’ll get some stew going and then we can take a look at your wounds.” I quickly toss a small bundle of dried meat to the leader, who scrambles to catch it with his free hand.

  At the same time, I sweep up the foodstuffs in my arms and push forward towards an empty space at the side of the road. Each step feels like a gamble, but I force myself to move casually. The men part reluctantly, their eyes darting between me, the food, and their leader. One of them tightens the grip on his blade, and for a moment, it looks like he might lunge, but I don’t stop, I just set my things down, back now to him, and begin stacking stones to get two fire pits going, one larger and the other smaller.

  I call out as I work, “I’ll need wood if we’re going to eat tonight, and so we can boil water.” My voice is calm, authoritative, leaving no room for argument. I begin to pour water from my canteen into my two pots, one smaller designed to fit in the other for travel, and then begin to arrange the meager ingredients I brought with me for preparation. The men don’t move at first, the silence stretches, tense and brittle, until one of them, a boy barely old enough to hold a mace, steps forward with a bundle of gathered wood. I accepted it with a nod, as if there was no question they would follow my orders.

  With kindling in hand I arrange it and strike flint to steel, coaxing the small flames to life. The smell of burning kindling begins to fill the air. I look at the boy kindly as I add more wood to the small fires, coaxing them to life, and as I place the pot over the flames, I say, “Thank you soldier.”

  His mask breaks, and where there had been a rough and angry bandit, was now a hungry lost kid. I could smell rot on him, the smell taking me back to my Aux days… whatever it is was bad, I say, quietly but firmly, “Let me see your wound soldier.” The boy hesitates, glancing at the others for support. I don’t look up to see their reaction, keeping my hands steady as I chop and prepare the ingredients for the stew I was making.

  I had positioned myself so I could still see the leader though, and his eyes narrowed, he seemed to be debating with himself whether I was a threat to his command, his sword grip clenching and relaxing as he watched me move. Behind him, some of the men glanced at the boy, then at the pot, there was conflict written all over their faces. They were waiting, watching, for one wrong move that would break the spell. But I just busied myself with the stew, my hands working quickly, cutting the dried meat and cheese, sprinkling in some blue salt and even a spicy looking pepper. Each motion is deliberate and calm as I say a silent prayer for the kind Turtlemyn for giving me a diverse range of food.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see the boy make his choice, slumping to the ground, his shoulders now sagging with exhaustion, he begins taking off his boots. The smell hits me first, more powerful than the simmering food, it’s a rancid mix of pus and old sweat that once made my stomach turn, before I got used to it while in the King’s army. The gash on his foot was deep, red, and angry. Green ichor is leaking through the crude wrapping he’d tried to bind it with. I place a lid on the stew pot, and throw a rag into the smaller one. Then, as I inspect his foot I mutter, “It’s a wonder you can walk at all.” I reach back in my pack and pull out a small bottle of alcohol, something the merchant had said was a gift to wish me luck. I use it to clean off the cooking knife first, then I look up at him, “This is going to hurt. A lot. But it’ll feel better after.”

  The boy nods, taking out his mace and biting down on the handle, clenching his fists against his side. I can feel the other men gathering around us as I pour the alcohol over the wound, the boy’s body jerks as his screams are muffled as his teeth clamp down harder on the mace. I hold him steady with a firm and practiced grip, and knowing I have to clear the wound of infection before I can use any magic, I take the cloth out of the simmering water and use it to clean the rotted flesh the best I can. The boy pales as I work, his breaths quick and shallow, but he manages to stay conscious and mostly still, despite the pain.

  Around us, the bandits, no… the soldiers, began to stir. One stepped forward to take the bloody cloth to a nearby stream to wash, another stirred the pot of food, and for a moment, we were no longer strangers but a unit, working together to keep one of our own alive.

  Once I cleared out the wound, I used the knife to cut away the rotted flesh. Now that the foot is free of infection I close my eyes and channel the energy within me. The pull is draining, as always, and I begin to take threads of my essence and weave them into the boy’s body. The flesh of his foot begins to knit itself together one layer at a time, the wound slowly becoming smooth, pink, and healthy under my hands. Once I am done, my limbs feel heavy, my breath now coming in shallow gasps, but when the boy flexes his newly healed foot, and his face breaks into a beaming smile… Well, that makes it all worth it.

  I take a moment to look at the men around me, they exchange glances too, their expressions a mix of relief and disbelief.

  I force a smile and say, “Who’s next?”