44. Nic
A handful. That was how many time Caleb had spoken to Nic since the death of his brother. A measly handful that had Nic feeling awfully lonely despite Irim's unusual influx of residence. Of course there were the training instructions, a dozen words at the most. Despite the grief and the upcoming departure Nic's training had not ceased, in fact, it had increased in both length and difficulty. Up until Caleb had entered Nic's room and told him to prepare for travel the next morning. A night's notice might have been alright for some, but Nic had barely slept and when sunlight had trickled in through the curtains it found him still scrambling about his room, trying to figure out where Caleb could possibly be taking him first.
It was the lack of sleep that caused Nic to jump when Caleb entered and collapsed into the nearest armchair. He held a dark coat, well-worn and expensive by the looks of the material. Nic watched him as he gently stroked a sleeve.
"This was his—my brother's." Caleb turned the coat. "He said something about it, but I didn't understand. I still don't."
Nic watched him turn the coat over and over again. "He was not well," Nic said soothingly, "maybe he did not know what he spoke of."
Caleb took his time to reply. "Perhaps, but I cannot help but think that it meant something. Inside...secret...coat...curse it Agama what were you trying to tell me?"
"Did you look inside the pockets?"
"Yes. Empty."
"He might have meant nothing by it. Maybe you are looking for answers that aren't there."
Caleb let out a single laugh but his smile was weary. He regarded Nic, his eyes glinting with a humour that had been absent for far too long. Caleb nodded, a silent confirmation to whatever he had thought, then in a fluid movement stood and swung the coat on. "I think it is time we left. Has Yollie sent a stable boy up for your things?"
Nic nodded. "About twenty minutes ago."
The two black stallions waited in the stable yard . Nic fed Spirit a treat then swung into the seat and reined in the excited horse until he settled. Once Caleb was in the saddle he nudged Mordo out of the yard in a brisk walk.
"Are we not seeing Pyra Eta or Benyam before we leave?"
"No," Caleb said as he adjusted something on the saddle. "I have long since left that formality behind. If one is to leave, one should do it quickly and without fuss. There is no point in putting one's heart through such torment."
Spirit pulled on his reins and whinnied loudly, announcing himself for all those in earshot. Nic felt him lifting his front hooves higher than necessary, as if demanding to be let loose. Caleb nudged Mordo into a slow trot and it was soon after that they had left the smells and sights of the forest town behind; swallowed by the trees that surrounded it.
"Where are we headed?" Nic asked after a few hours.
"North west, we will travel as far as the Corian Sea and from there, take a ship into Andriah."
Nic gaped. They would have to cross the whole of Anesh to get to the Corian Sea. Not to mention climb the mountains that surrounded the Edamas Valley then cross the Rhine River too. "How will we get there?"
"The world is a big place. It should take no more than four months to arrive at Ezindor, the Elfish capital. We will have to take a few detours though. Climbing the Edamas mountain range would be foolish, it would be easier to round them and then find passage across the Rhine and into the Ocean."
"What about going through the Edamas? There are pathways leading out of the valley."
"Yes, but would you want to pass through Tjorin Vale so soon after leaving it?"
Nic furrowed his brows at the thought, unsure if he was ready for anything.
"It will be good for you to see the land and its towns," Caleb continued with a shrug. His broad back was all Nic could see of him since Agama's coat was long and had a high collar that just about covered Caleb's neck.
As the day passed, the trees started to condense, as if a force was physically pushing them together. The stories of old had not lied when they said the trees acted as a wall against all that traveled through. Often they were forced to dismount and lead the horses around the giant trees. The air was thick, like homemade butter in a dish, sitting, waiting for a knife to part it. The humidity only increased the deeper they went until breathing became hard, his clothing became heavy and his hair sodden.
A momentary breeze reached them and Nic seized the opportunity and ripped off his soaking shirt. He shivered as the light wind licked away the sweat that was rolling down his back and chest. A cool body of water would have been a godsend.
"This heat is unbearable," he complained as they stopped for lunch.
"Not the most perfect traveling conditions, I must admit, but we must handle what the Will puts in our way."
Caleb's forehead was dry and his shirt bore no stains. He still wore the black coat, which seemed to not bother him at all. "How are you not affected by this heat?"
"The Will," Caleb smiled. "It can be used in many useful ways as you will soon learn." He began preparing a small cooking fire, gathering logs and scattered sticks on the forest floor. Once a flame burned strongly he straightened and studied his work. "It will not last, start preparing the meal, I will be back in a moment."
"Where are you going?"
"To fetch more wood and to search for some roots."
Caleb mounted Mordo and slowly walked into the thick of trees.
Laying down his sword and saddlebag by the fire, Nic unpacked the food. The food lay hidden at the bottom, and after much cursing Nic found what he was looking for. With a new layer of sweat, he turned back to the fire and almost dropped the food. Spirit had wandered to the fire and was busy pawing at Nic's saddlebag, looking for more treats..
"Hey! Away from there, boy!" Nic flew his hands up and ran towards him, but Spirit bolted nickering softly, leaving Nic to stare at the mess he had made. His stuff lay everywhere. His father's sword....Silver bark!
The sword his father had given him lay amidst the burning wood, not yet affected by the flame but starting to turn a bright shade of orange. Nic ran forward without thinking and yanked the hilt out. For a few seconds he did not notice the pain that seared through his right hand and the smell of burning flesh, but when he did he let out a yelp. He tried releasing his grip but his hand refused to release. The scorching metal stuck to his skin, burning the inside of his palm. Finally, after what seemed like thousands of agonizing minutes his hand opened and the sword fell to the ground.
Nic stared at the wolf's head now imprinted on his palm from the sword's hilt. It was beautifully gruesome, his skin swelling in the shape of a snarling wolf, bright and violently hot. He searched for a water skin for a while, then a bandage, but that was likely at the bottom of the pack, before finally he settled next to the fire and searched for the familiar glow of his aura. He found it easily—surprising considering he was in a considerable amount of pain. Nic focused his mind on his hand he extracted the pain and began to mend the wound. He first mended the burnt skin, creating new pigments to cover the raw area. He then tried removing the evidence that he was ever burned but when he opened his eyes, he disappointedly looked down at his hand. It was no longer red but the wolf's head was as visible as the sun on a clear day. The white scar shone like the moon on a dark lake.
Caleb and Mordo emerged from between the trees. Arms filled with large logs and the pack with even more.
"This should do. Have you started lunch?" Caleb dropped the wood in a clattering pile before jumping off Mordo. Nic looked towards the food that lay on the ground. "Nic! What happened? Why is the food on the floor? This is no time to start wasting food, especially when we need it."
Nic stuttered, muttering half words and excuses that sounded like a made up language.
Caleb shook his head, "I cannot understand you, please start from the beginning."
Nic explained what happened and showed Caleb his hand when he came to the part about the burn.
"I can do nothing about the scar." Caleb noticed the sword in question and picked it up. "There seems to be no damage on the blade, but you will be branded with the mark of your sword for the rest of your life. We will see to replacing the leather when we arrive at the next town."
Nic stared at the white wolf on his palm, its snarl seemed to be laughing at him. He covered it with his other hand, hiding it. "Stupid horse. I'm hungry. Can we eat?"
Caleb grunted in agreement before chuckling. "Did you honestly think Spitit would have walked into a fire?"
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