The source of magic, p.22
The Source of Magic, page 22
The young men snapped into action and began laying the bodies out next to each other and stripping them.
At the behest of Selmara, John followed her and the remainder of the party back to their camp John held his arm out to Melanie and she slipped into his embrace so that they were walking body to body.
Chloe watched with a jealous pang in her heart. She took up pace behind them with her sister and started thinking about how she would approach John.
A crowd had gathered at the edge of the camp. There eagerness to hear what had happened and who the four strangers were showed in their speculative whispers to one another, their mouths close to each others ears hidden behind hands, pointing fingers and anxious twitching tails. What John found odd was that with their better hearing the Nekovolk could whisper far more quietly and still be heard so the crowd was silent as far as he was concerned.
The two old men broke off and were immediately surrounded by groups of people asking questions, keen to hear who the four strangers were and what the screaming from earlier was. Small children were forcing their way threw the legs and tails of the adults to get to the front not wanting miss any of the gossip.
John could tell when the crowd heard about how they were almost attacked and slaughtered at the hands of the knights, there were gasps and arms clutching children protectively.
As Selmara led them through the camp, zig zagging though the multi coloured tents, John realised that he was seeing the Nekovolk free from the stifling conditions and treatment their city dwelling counterparts endured. There was a constant buzz of activity and the joyful sound of conversation as the people went about their day.
They were led to a large square tent of yellow and red cloth that was tall enough for them to stand up in, though John had to stoop a little.
“Please use this tent as your own while you are here. I’ll have some water to wash up and bedding brought over for you all,” Selmara said.
When the water came, John washed his hands and face and tried his best to remove any blood he found on his clothes. It had been less than an hour since the fight and adrenalin was still coursing through him. He found that his hands shook a little with nervous energy. In a quiet moment, he noticed thoughts about the fight swirling around his mind. He could still feel the weight of the sword and axe and what it felt to swing them. He felt a little jolt of pride that he had done as well as he had, and a huge amount of relief that he was still alive. He knew that he would have to find a way to process all these feelings and he doubted this world had developed psychology as a medical profession. Worse yet would be if it was a fledgling science and they would try to treat PTSD with leeches or dunking you in ice baths or something. Maybe a journal would be the way to go, but until he had the time he dismissed everything with a wave of his hand and focused on the here and now.
As twilight came the sound of crickets and swamp frogs flowed over the camp. The smell of food being prepared and cooked in the campfires wafted over John, and made him realise how hungry he was. A young boy of about eight years old came to the tent and in a bashful tone announced that he was to bring them to the feast.
Their young guide didn’t so much as walk but play an odd jumping game as he pounced from spot to spot along the way. He already had an impressive horizontal leap for his age.
They came to the large clearing in the centre of the camp. The circled wagons gave it an interesting amphitheatre feel. Tables and benches were set in a large circle and they had the look of being recently carved from felled trees. They had also made use of the tree stumps to create large round tables that were now laid out with large bowls and plates of food. John expected a large bonfire to be the centre of attention, but there was instead a tall wooden totem pole. Large bands of carvings ran their way up its length. John could make out a mixture of pictorials and what looked like a foreign script.
“It’s a clan totem," explained Melanie. "It doesn’t cast a spell, it records the history of the clan. Every major event will be carved into it. You can read it from bottom to top, if you know how.”
“You know your history well,” said Selmara, stepping up next to them. "I wondered if the knowledge of clans is passed down in the cities.”
“How do you know we’re from a city?” asked John.
“It’s the accent,” said Selmara tapping her head near her cut ear.
John took her word for it, he couldn’t tell any difference between the two of them.
“I’m a totem witch and know our history well,” said Melanie with defensive pride.
Selmara’s eyebrows raised in surprise.
“Can you carve a Mother’s Tear?” she asked.
John looked to Chloe and Selphie who even through they knew about carving totems had a bewildered look on their faces.
“Not without my tools,” Melanie said with a challenging tone.
“Then you may use mine,” Selmara offered.
There was some obvious tension between the two. The most that John could surmise was that some sort of challenge had been issued.
“What exactly is a Mother’s Tear?” he asked.
“It’s a kind of totem, very hard to carve properly,” explained Melanie.
“I’ve never herd of it, none of the books at the Academy mentioned a Mother’s Tear,” Selphie said.
“I doubt that your fancy learning books would have much in them about it. It is a type of totem but it doesn’t cast a spell that is of any use, at least any use to humans.”
Selmara grabbed a child that was running past. She was about seven and was trying to keep up with a group of older children as they bolted past on some imaginary adventure or game. The little girl had ginger curls and black fur with white tips on her ears and tail. He big chubby cheeks were rosy red from the chase and she had smudges of dirt on her face, hands and white skirt. Selmara made a big show of sending the girl to her tent to fetch her tool bag. The girl responded by puffing her chest up with pride and her tail swished as she strode off on her new quest.
When the girl returned with the tool bag held high with two hands, Selmara handed Melanie a small piece of yellow sandstone the size of a ping-pong ball and a roll-up leather pouch which contained a number of different carving tools.
Melanie sat down at one of the benches, rolled out the pouch, and selected a wide flat rasp like tool and started to shape the sandstone. It was soft enough that she could work far more quickly than she normally would with the grey stone John had seen her use previously. Clouds of yellow dust fell away as Melanie worked the sandstone.
“Why do you want her to carve this Mother’s Tear thing?” John asked Selmara.
“A totem witch is the most honoured position in a clan and to lie about it or try to deceive someone by claiming to be one is a crime that brings great shame to that person,” she answered.
“That’s all they risk, shame?” John asked thinking of a couple of dodgy people who wouldn’t blink an eyelid at risking a little shame to get ahead.
“They will also shave my ears and tail and cast me out of the community," Melanie said without looking up from her work.
John now understood the gravity of the claim and the consequences if Melanie was unable to carve the totem in question.
Melanie worked and the others relaxed while the evening meal was being prepared, or rather meals. There were so many little fires going that were involved in food preparation. There were spits with various types of game positioned over flames that were constantly being basted with seasoning liquid from a clay pot. Hot coals had been scraped together and yams wrapped in large leaves were buried in them to bake. There were also a number of cauldron style pots of stew into which were added tiny potatoes and dried mushrooms and onions. There was even miniature clay ovens that were wedged into some coals that were baking dense black flatbread.
The whole operation was making John hungry. As he scanned the camp watching the coming and goings of the people with materials for the feast he caught sight of Chloe out of the corner of his eye. Her brow was creased as if she were deep in thought, and she kept looking over to him. Once or twice she seemed about to get up or speak to him but she changed her mind at the last minute and pulled herself back. He decided not to push her and let her come to him whenever she was ready.
John leaned back and stretched. He realised that this was the first time he truly had a choice about what he did. There was no one standing over him pulling his strings and he didn’t have to worry about his next meal or where to sleep. He was free to explore this world. Then an image of a starving village came to mind unbidden. There was still a war and even if he and Melanie rode a couple of the knights horses to a neighbouring kingdom, assuming they managed to avoid any more entanglements with the savages, there would always be the thought that he could have done something and ran away.
Fuck it, he thought to himself. He would at least try and find out where the Cambrian army was hiding out and then he could see if there was anything he could do about it.
“Selmara, do you know about a place called Blackmore Castle that is in the swamp somewhere?” He said looking over at the old woman.
“It’s south of here. But it's not really a castle, or at least that’s what it was built as,” Selmara answered, and seeing the enquiring look on John’s face, she continued, “Our clan has lived in this area from when we came to these shores. That’s how I know about it, stories passed down and the clan totem.
“Blackmore Castle was originally a mage’s tower. When our people arrived, there were mages all over the place, some ruling in a city, others off by themselves. Many of the mages had built towers and strongholds for themselves and their households. Apparently there used to be sayings about the size of a mage’s tower being proportional to his paranoia. It was the corruption, you see. The really powerful mages were afraid that their rivals would try to steal their magic books or something. I guess a swamp is a good place to put your tower if you want to dissuade visitors.”
“There is a detachment of the Cambrian army held up there now. They are striking out and harrying the savages. That’s how the we and the knights came across you. It might be a good idea to move somewhere a little more out of the way," John said.
“I think you’re right. We will start packing up camp in the morning. Would you like to join us? Providing your lady friend is in fact a totem witch,” Selmara asked.
“Thank you, but I’m going to try and find out where the Cambrian army is, and Blackmore Castle is my only lead. Though to be honest, I’m not sure how I’m going to go stumbling through a swamp with South as my only guidance.”
Selmara simply nodded in response.
Just as the bowls and plates on the tree stumps were bing filled with the fragrant, steaming contents of cooking pots and spits, Melanie came and stood in front of Selmara. She held out her hand and there was a small, intricately carved sandstone totem in her palm.
Chloe and Selphie got up and gathered around, keen to see the strange totem they had never heard of.
There was a moment’s pause when nothing happened. John realised that he was holding his breath as he subconsciously prepared himself to fight his way out of the camp to protect Melanie should things go south. Then the totem started to glow pale blue, drawing in minuscule, errant strands of magic that were flowing about. The totem then started to spin on the spot and then crumble in on itself as the light grew brighter. Finally when there was no more of the sandstone left a glowing teardrop shaped orb of light was spinning in Melanie’s palm and then faded into nothingness.
“That’s the best Mother’s Tear I’ve ever seen,” said Selmara.
Melanie had a proud look on her face and Chloe and Selphie both looked gobsmacked.
“Looks like you more than proved yourself,” John said, picking Melanie up around the waist and giving her a celebratory spin. “Let’s get something to eat.”
They all laughed and the group broke up and joined the small clusters of people around the tree stump tables filling up their plates. Everything was good, wholesome food. Sometimes the spices and herbs used had an interesting and unrecognisable flavour, which he put down to being native to his new home world.
There was also a strong fermented fruit drink that was available to adults and dispensed from wooden casks on the back of one of the wagons, which also housed the still it which it was made. John took a sip and immediately felt a warmth spreading through his chest. It must have been about one hundred proof. It explained the small cups they used to serve it in.
John needed some rest and excused himself and walked back to the tent, occasionally having to avoid low flying children as they sprang from place to place.
When he entered their yellow and red tent there was a pile of items laid out in one corner. John recognised some of the items as belonging to the knights who, he presumed, were now buried somewhere out of the way.
He pinned open a flap in the side of the tent, which acted as a window, casting a beam of light into the corner and the swords, amour and saddlebags that were piled there. John took a moment to explore the contents of the saddle bags. There was quite a lot of coin between them along with some rings and dry rations. The most interesting thing to John, though, was a sheaf of papers in a large leather pouch.
He read through them and there were a number of letters and general orders for the war such as one letter issued on behalf of the King calling the knights to war, or instructions from General Gault to attack any savages found in Cambria. The most valuable thing was a map of the swamp highlighting some key landmarks, small dry islands and odd rocks or clumps of trees that were used as points for navigation which led the way to Blackwell Castle.
John’s reading was interrupted by the flap of the tent flipping open and Chloe stepping in. For a brief moment, her lean figure was silhouetted by the firelight coming from outside before she pulled the flap closed behind herself.
Her jaw was set her eye narrowed and everything about her body language said that she was a woman on a mission. She strode over to where John was kneeling by the saddlebags, bent down to grab him by his shirt font and heaved to bring him to his feet.
John braced himself against the sharp pain of a blade being slipped between his ribs when a more surprising thing happened. Chloe gripped him roughly behind the head and pulled him down to her level and planted a hard kiss on his lips.
“What is going on?” John said as soon as he was able to tear himself away from her.
“I don’t like being vulnerable," Chloe said.
“I think that is one of the first things people notice about you, but that doesn’t explain what you’re doing," John replied.
“This is hard for me to say,” she paused for a moment, swelling hard and taking a deep breath before pushing on, “I have been looking for and failing to find a place where I fit in my whole life. I still don’t feel I have a place, but ever since we were together in the Academy prison it was somehow, alright because neither did you, and we were thrown together. Now I have to do something before we split up.
“I, The Honourable Chloe Evenbright, youngest daughter of Baron Eric Evenbright, pledge myself to you. I know there is a relationship between you and Melanie. I am not trying to replace her, just that you would have me along with her.”
John was taken aback. Chloe, and presumably Selphie also, were the daughters of a Baron. On Earth being the daughter of nobility didn’t mean much anymore, other than you probably knew who your ancestors were a thousand years ago, knew which fork to use, and if you were lucky, had bags of cash stuffed into a suit of armour somewhere. On this world being noble probably meant you had land, real power, and wealth to go along with it. John didn’t believe that anyone was born better than anyone else but when you can command men to go chop someone’s head off and they’ll do it just because of who your father was, that counted for something.
In the low light he could see that behind her steel gaze there was a flicker of doubt. He had been standing silent for a while now and he needed to give her an answer. He and Melanie were obviously not in a traditional relationship, not after she had brought Selphie into bed as a surprise.
“Yes, I accept. Or what ever I’m supposed to say,” said John.
Chloe let out a breath that she had been holding in then she spoke, “Okay. Good.”
She then left the tent as suddenly as she had entered. John was standing still, alone in silence other than the sounds of the camp filtering in, thinking about what had just occurred.
“How the fuck am I going to tell Melanie about this?” he asked the silence.
Chapter 15
Later that evening John worked the greatest piece of magic he was yet to see on this strange new world. When he had explained to Melanie that he had agreed to Chloe was joining their relationship, he paused and waited for an explosion that never came.
“She’s cute, and feisty. I’ve changed my mind about her since we first met. Just remember I’m the first," Melanie said with a bright smile.
John was flummoxed, dumbfounded, and every other word he could think of without a thesaurus. On earth, the closest he had gotten to polyamory was a girlfriend laughing at the suggestion of a threesome, thereby once again proving that porn is a poor sex ed teacher.
Melanie was far more interested in a set of carving tools she was flourishing about, keen to show John all the different items.
“Selmara felt bad that she had been so suspicious of me. So when she found out I didn’t have my own set of tools, she gave me her old set,” she explained.
Melanie then ducked into the tent, eager to show Chloe and Selphie. John followed and saw the Melanie holding up the leather pouch to the other two women. Chloe was looking as relaxed as John had ever seen her, as if an invisible weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Selphie, on the other hand, looked a little angry. She was willing enough to smile and nod at Melanie, but was completely avoiding looking at her sister.
