Chapter Fifteen Point Seven: Respite by the Hearth

  Selriph’s thoughts faded into a background hum as he focused on his work in front of him. His hands were in a dance of coordinated movements as he cleaned the snake, slicing its belly open with a precise slice of the smaller knife. The blade then worked its way down its metre-and-a-half span as he removed organs and skin.

  After Selriph removed the meat from the skin and other inedible parts, he began work with the cleaver; rhythmic chopping, accompanied by the swift shuffling of flesh as a pile of steak-sized cross sections piled up.

  Hagan was nearby, preparing the coals for the kitchen fire after having just stoked the main hearth. He glanced up at the boy, one brow arched up. “That is some skill you have there, boy,” he said with a grunt. “You didn’t run from the Templars because you wanted to become a chef?”

  Selriph's reply came plain, the attempted humour falling flat on him. “Spent a lot of time in kitchens,” his gaze fixed on the meat, his hands dusting it with salt and herbs. “Back home, the servants taught me. Was a little squeamish at first, but I picked it up quickly.”

  “Back home,” Hagan repeated. He noted the boy’s subtle drop in pitch at the mention of the word.

  Selriph nodded absently as he grabbed the spit skewer and started neatly lining up the snake meat across. “My siblings… they liked the food. Especially my younger sister, who always went on about how she preferred my cooking to a servant's. His voice caught, his throat muscles tightening. The unbidden image of his little sister’s smile when he brought her something sweet, her fingers sticky with cream and sugar—a simpler time.

  He trailed off as he laid the skewer over the coals. His hand lay on the crank as he slowly turned the spit, his mind conjuring up the image of the same apparatus they had back in the Daryth estate, one that had a clockwork mechanism that could turn meat without human hands.

  Hagan’s expression was neutral as he just watched the boy, noting how the boy moved, unlike the pampered nobles he’d encountered throughout his life. This boy, or rather, this young man, was seasoned and far removed from their sheltered existence.

  Then, when the quiet had stretched thin, he said, “Sounds like you had a good life in Caer Eldralis.”

  Selriph gave a bitter smile. “Not as good as it sounds. Cooking was the only thing I ever got any praise for. And that always came with a reprimand from my parents, saying that I should have been focusing on my blade work and studies, rather than dabbling with the servants.”

  He paused as he placed his finger against the meat to check its doneness. “And then the comparisons flooded in once my brother came; The reprimands faded, and cold indifference replaced them.”

  Hagan leaned back in his chair, gaze fixed on the coals. “Can’t say I know the feeling,” he murmured. “My brothers and I all shared a love for animals, always had a kinship with them. “

  “Then you are incredibly lucky.” The boy’s voice was apathetic with a tinge of jealousy.

  He reached out then, not forcefully, just enough to place a firm hand on Selriph’s shoulder. “But in the end, it doesn’t matter; you seem to do just fine on your own, boy. Just need to make sure you don’t end up another body in the woods. That would not sit nicely on my conscience.”

  Selriph nodded. As his gaze lingered on the turning meat, almost hypnotised by it. The scent of roasting meat mingled with the herbs and charcoal smoke. Sounds of crackling and sizzling emitted from the cooking meat. For the first time in days, he felt like he could have a true moment of respite as his mind felt an uncanny quietness as he became entranced by the turning motions of the spit before him.

  The meal came soon after, laid out in neat, glistening layers on a weathered wooden platter. The edges of the snake steaks were crisping, the marbled fat bubbling faintly as they continued to sizzle. With it came the scent, which was rich, smoky and herbal.

  Selriph handed a piece to Relia. She accepted it with a nod, fingers brushing his for the briefest moment, warm and calloused. Her eyes didn’t lift, but her shoulders eased, just barely.

  The meat gave under her teeth, tender and slick with its juices, tasting of salt and herbs melded with the faint tang of wild game. Her brows lifted involuntarily in approval. She chewed slowly, savouring the crisp edges and soft centre.

  For a while, they simply ate. The meat was rich and well-seasoned. Relia gave a quiet “Mmm” after her second bite, which made Selriph grin. Even Hagan seemed to relax, grunting in approval as he chewed, deep in thought.

  Relia hadn’t spoken in a while. She’d been watching the fire, but not really seeing it — her eyes fixed somewhere far away.

  “Truth is,” she said finally, voice soft but sure, “I can’t go back to my village. Not anymore.”

  Selriph’s head jerked five degrees in Relia’s direction with a twitch in his right brow, a flinch in response to her unexpected words.

  Both men looked at her. She didn’t flinch from the attention—just kept her gaze on the hearth.

  “I was out scavenging when the provincial guard came. Said the Resistance fighters were hiding there. They searched our homes, shops-anything.” She paused as she impaled her fork on another piece of meat. “They have been acting up around the capital and the outskirts. Ma and Pa had warned us about it.” She gave a humourless chuckle. “Didn’t matter.”

  Selriph could feel his shoulders tensing, already sensing where the story might lead.

  “They were rounding everyone up when I got back — my neighbours, friends, children. I froze. Someone spotted me, and I … I panicked.”

  Her grip tightened on the fork she held.

  “I ran towards the river. I knew I should not have done that—made them think I was one of the resistance.”

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  Selriph murmured under his breath, “Imperial authorities have hunted people for far less.”

  Relia’s eyes met Selriph’s for a brief second, then looked away again, her face unreadable. “Jumped into an old fishing boat, I didn’t think. I just let the current take me as far away as possible.”

  She looked up then, meeting Hagan’s eyes.

  “I should have just … stayed put, let them question me; at least I’d be with my family.”

  “Trust me, it would not have made a difference…,” Selriph said quietly.

  No one rushed to fill the silence. The fire crackled between them, the sound of the crackling wood in the hearth and the wind brushing at the shutters.

  Then Hagan said, “You made it out. You are alive. That is something.”

  Relia shook her head. “Doesn’t feel like enough.”

  “It never does,” Selriph said.

  Hagan turned to meet Relia’s gaze. “You have somewhere you can go to, lass? Family in some other part of the empire? Guards probably won’t trouble you there.”

  “Somewhere else? I can’t just run off. I’ve got to get back to the village, to see if everyone is okay, to let them know I am okay,” Relia protested.

  “They will be…” A moment of hesitation lingered in Hagan’s voice, as if not entirely convinced by the words that escaped his mouth. “But if you go back now, they will be on you again. Might not listen to reason. You’d best let this blow over. For now.”

  “I…” she paused, staring blankly at the plate in front of her. “I have family in Caer Eldralis; I could stay with them, then maybe … send a letter to my parents. Tell them I am safe.”

  Selriph’s eyes darted, and his shoulder stiffened at the mention of the capital city. He had fought tooth and nail to escape that wretched metropolis. The notion that this woman would willingly go there gave him pause.

  “That ought to do it. You can lie low here for a few days, then I will guide you to the main path, and then follow the main roads to the capital,” Hagan replied firmly.

  “You do that,” his voice came blank. “I will be gone just after sunrise tomorrow. I hope the snake acts as sufficient payment. I can provide coin if you feel it is inadequate.” His tone was cool, not rude, but lacking warmth.

  Hagan didn’t speak right away. He studied Selriph for a long second, not in judgment, but with understanding. Then he sighed and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice low. “Coin’s not the only currency out here, but if you are eager to leave, boy, I won’t stop you. You seem like you can take care of yourself even in your … state. Just avoid any trouble on your way out.”

  Selriph didn’t answer. He reached for his fork, but his appetite had waned. The mention of Caer Eldralis still rang in his head.

  He could see it now, even with his eyes open: the towering cathedrals, the burnished silver of Templar armour, the shadowed spires. Despite the splendour and beauty of Eldeitian architecture, it felt nothing more than an adorned prison cell.

  That she would walk back into it — into that — so willingly? Selriph just could not comprehend.

  The fire had burned lower by the time silence settled in full. Relia had long since retired to her bedroll in the spare room Hagan had provided. Hagan remained seated at the table. Carving a piece of wood with a dull knife. His thoughts were his own.

  Selriph lingered by the fire. Pondering his departure for tomorrow. Where he’d go. He knelt with a wince, lowering himself to sit cross-legged, cloak pooled behind him, his hand slipped to the inside of his tunic, fingers brushing the edge of a bandage, stiff with dried blood, the wounds tingling at his touch.

  With a grimace, he peeled the cloth back. The wound was still red, slightly swollen. The herbal ointment he had applied last night dried up on the skin.

  Selriph crawled over to his pack and withdrew the tome from his pouch, and set it on his knees. Once again, he flipped to the page on the minor wounds’ healing spell. For the third time, he placed his hand above the wound on his shoulder.

  A faint blue shimmer responded. A thin veil of arcane energy formed in his palm, and he guided it to the wound. He felt a tingle as his magic met the skin. Not pain, but not soothing, a strange medley of sensations as he felt flesh rebind.

  It flickered.

  He muttered the incantation again, attempting to let the words give form to the image in his head; he adjusted the energy flow, the concentration of magical energy, anything to produce the intended results.

  Yet again, his efforts proved fruitless as the spell faltered and vanished.

  Selriph sat back with a frustrated grunt. “Come on…”

  He didn’t notice Hagan until the older man spoke from behind him.

  “You are forcing it,” he said simply.

  Selriph glanced over his shoulder, his face twisted in wry scepticism. “I didn’t take you as an expert.”

  Hagan crouched beside him, gaze dropping to the half-glowing sheen over the boy’s hand.. “Old Shera saying—can’t force the closing of wounds. Always say that magic can’t rush the body; you have to work at its ebb.”

  Selriph frowned but didn’t respond, pondering the meaning behind the cryptic words.

  Hagan nodded toward the bandage. “You’ll keep trying, but that will not close cleanly unless someone shows you how to do it right.”

  Learning by example, huh? But in these wilds…?

  “And you know someone who can?” Selriph asked, his voice edged with cautious hope.

  “A few.” Hagan straightened. “Druids, out past the ridge. Shera-born. Helped me with my fair share of nicks and cuts. Don’t care for the Empire script, but they know old healing. If you’re willing to learn, they might show you.”

  Selriph’s eyes narrowed. “And what would they want in return?”

  “That you listen to their wisdom—the Shera customs are rare in the empire,” Hagan said, with a small smile. “You seem like a smart one. Smart people listen to learn, no? See what they offer beyond that dusty ole tome?” as he bent at his knees and gave the tome a light tap with his fingers.

  “Hells, if an old sod like me picked up something, you could probably learn everything before Emmett comes back with his next meal.” He let out a small chuckle.

  Selriph looked down at the wound, a clear liquid oozing where the energy had agitated it. He then glanced at the book, full of knowledge, yes, but not enough to overcome the wall that impeded his learning.

  He gave a slow nod. As much as he wanted to continue his journey, healing his injuries took priority. After what the rodent had wrought on his body, he was one fight from being crippled—or worse.

  The crackling flame punctuated the fact spelt out in his mind: the prospect of making it across imperial territory was bleak at best; even a haphazard group of inebriated folk could be a significant obstacle—especially if he had to engage them without his arcane gifts.

  Selriph sighed, “One more day, then,” he said, reluctantly, is if answering the flames in front of him.

  Hagan placed a hand lightly on his shoulder. The boy winced as a jolt of pain rang from the friendly touch. “Will give you the directions tomorrow. Assume you don’t need babysitting all the way there.”

  As the older man turned away, Selriph turned to look down at the tome. At the diagrams depicting healing magic, its incantation, and its magical structure. An underlying unease spurred in the background—if he could manage it, he wanted to get moving as soon as it was feasible.

  But it would not hurt to seek… alternative forms of knowledge. Much remained unknown to him, after all. Perhaps the benefits might bear fruit far down the road?

  He closed the tome gently and rested his hand on the cover.

  One more day.

  Then, he would put much distance between himself and the capital, with or without a battered body in tow.