Orphan At The Edge Of The World - 256 The Magician 14

Once saddle and tack were bought for the renewed mare, they were ready to move on. But before they were out on the road the next morning, A familiar auburn haired girl and a church official flanked by two temple guards were heading to the cloister. Curious but with a sense of foreboding, the two decided to hang back and see what drama unfolded. Nearly twenty minutes later, the Abbess was lead out calmly while Celeste cried silently to keep from alarming the children any more than they already were.

Duran was about to dash in with murderous intent, when Orison placed a restraining hand. “Excuse me, Brother. Why do you lead this saintly woman away?”

The church official stopped, more due to the improper address than to answer the question. “That is Father to you, child. This is church business and no affair for the layman to interfere.”

Orison’s gaze grew just as dark as Duran’s as he shouted at top volume. “That’s where you are wrong, Father. As an ordained priest, you entered a cloister without an attending Mother Superior, gilded brother or a maxim from a bishop. Thus, you have tainted your virtue and the honor of your attending templar. The maximum punishment for which is burning at the stake if there is evidence of carnal misdeeds. Explain yourself or, in the name of the Lord, we shall cleanse you of wickedness!”

The church official was stunned. In the name of efficiency, he had cut proper procedure but it was often done in rural areas. He wasn’t concerned that his guards couldn’t protect him but they were nervous at the accusation that could haunt them if news of their ‘misdeed’ made it back to the bishop’s ears.

The right guard spoke loudly as well, so that the gathering villagers and layman staff at the monastery could hear. “The Abbess has been accused of spreading heretical herb-lore. It was out of mercy that she was not charged with witchcraft.”

Derisively, Orison said as he pointed at the auburn haired girl, “By her?”

Orison said, “Oh, I’m sorry. I only ask because if she’s not busy with your dealings, I have an order for the regularity of women’s troubles that was paid in advance for her. Here, madame, prepared packets of mug**** and penny***** tea. “The same recipe that many a noble of this fair land use for irregularities. Don’t use if you are expecting, however. Much like falling forward or a myriad of other such common pitfalls can disrupt the delicate balance of forming new life, thus is this concoction dangerous to such an endeavor.”

Turning to him, the girl hissed, “You are a demon in league with these witches!”

A study in blandness, Orison replied, “Then I and every physician of repute from border to border of this blessed land are as well. It is a common recipe that can be turned to dark purposes by devil ridden minds. Are you possessed by such a devil to besmirch the devout with evil slander?

“If you are that desperate to find easy shelter after committing fornication with the blacksmith’s surviving apprentice, appeal to the Father to aid you in wedlock instead. A few months of sweetness with the young man will earn you a home along with better and more proper rearing for your child than what THIS devilment will buy you. There are enough villagers to witness your sinful affair to make the two of you honest in the eyes of the Lord.”

Finally having a crack in the iron shell of witchcraft accusations to exploit, the old caretaker, several children and even one or two villagers came forward to witness. The white faced and fearful blacksmith’s apprentice also came forward to confess the deed to escape the repercussions of an ill reputation that would bar him peace in this or any surrounding village he could possibly reach.

Digging for a couple of coins as a ‘wedding gift’, Orison handed them to the young man and said, “You have driven her to this. Be kind to her in turn. You can be a respectable family man or you can be known to all as a swindler of virtue and an abuser of women.”

Burying the darkness in his eyes, the young blacksmith and father to be swore honor to the heavens. But sadly, it was likely a long and slow burning tragedy in the making. After all the young and desperate woman had done to find a crooked future of ease and comfort rather than the honest routes she had been given, Orison could find little pity.

Embarrassed by the debacle, the Father snatched the wedding gift coins from the young man and announced them married under the eyes of the Lord as quickly as humanly possible. Once done, he retreated to his comfortable carriage as fast as he respectably could. He had been excited by the idea of thwarting evil and exposing witchcraft to his own greater glory and promotion but had bought himself some wagging tongues he’d have to perform saintly deeds for instead.

The church guards were sworn to the order and not to a priest or church directly. They would go out of their way to distance themselves from the scandal. The priest wasn’t going to be able to stir additional trouble easily in such a situation where his protectors would use honest accounting to save themselves from possible chastisement.

After indulging in a couple sobs of relief as she clutched at her chest, Maria pulled herself together with monastic discipline and said, “Strangers, you have done the lord’s work here today. Very well, you may have saved many lives too.”

Wryly, Orison said, “Yes, the church can be quite thorough in ‘cleansing evil’. Never the less, what little coin and healing simples we could afford to give, we have. Would that we could do more. But, with this travesty averted, we should be on our way.”

The abbess and her daughter gave what blessings and promises of prayer that church doctrine would allow and reluctantly turned away from their benefactors to deal with upset children.

A few miles out of town, Duran said, “You have a taste for comfort and luxury. Aren’t you going to regret secreting away that lamp you spruced up with your accidental artifact among Sister Celeste’s belongings? It would have been worth a small fortune to the right person.”

The young mage shook Their head. “That little incident was my fault and she can use it to either secure herself a saintess title or to free herself from the church. You can see it as a gift for us both to bury our childhood crushes for her. The little note attached is addressed from Oscen and Warrick.”

After some discussion, the two decided to travel by trail along a nearby tributary. Following it south, they could pass through a few smaller villages once it widened, eventually hitting a river trade post.

“The caretaker assured me that this part of the Iron Woods is a favored hunting ground for a nearby baron. As long as we’re seen not straying too far from the tributary, it should be alright,” Duran said.

Enlightened, Orison said, “Ah, a favored hunting spot would have a woodsman assigned to watch over it and seasonal traders made these trails as a shortcut. I’m surprised you’d chose a scenic route with little chance for unpleasant encounter.”

The soldierly young man said, “I want to get out of this land with as little fuss as possible. It’s an explored and conquered land with every section sliced off and claimed. There are no secrets left to uncover, no wonder left in it. Just people left to fight each other over it. Boring.”

The young mage said thoughtfully, “I doubt that’s completely true but I don’t feel like trying to work around a religious organization that is slowly turning all but clerical magic into heresy.”

***

Two days down the trail. Orison was wading out of the water, frowning over the pinch of golden sand in Their hand. “Yesterday evening, I got excited over finding out that I could draw trace minerals and metals but this is all I get for my effort today!?”

Duran shot back, “As far as we are from the northern mountains, I’m surprised you could get that much. If I knew you wanted to play miner, I would have suggested we go that direction instead. There’s myths of trolls still roaming around up there too. For you, that would have been a two for one… We can’t remember nearly anything from before but the echoes of one version or another of you yelling ‘troll fat’ at me somehow managed to survive.”

The young mage chuckled. “Yeah, I seem to have a vague memory of that… No need to change plans to chase a myth. If it was confirmed, I’d be tempted. I’d rather chase a milder winter anyway.”

The soldierly young man snorted. “More like chasing a place you can run around naked longer in without catching a chill.”

“You were skinny dipping in the creek behind the monastery and sunbathing right beside me all the way up to when Abbess Maria said we’d grown too old for such things. That was only three years ago,” Orison countered.

“Four. The one time you talked me into doing it and Maria took the sun’s place in tanning our hides hardly counts. You probably could have gotten away with it longer if the abbess hadn’t caught you pitching a pole without the tent canvas. What were you thinking about?” Duran said.

The young mage said, “You remember the time Sister Celeste slipped into the tub with the little ones during their bath?”

Duran chuckled, lost in the memory himself. “The wet habit riding clear up as she tried to carefully back out of the tub so she wouldn’t hurt a confused toddler. Her mother smacking her bare bottom for not wearing proper undergarments. That last flash of a red hand print on-”

Orison activated Their suit as Duran spun to assess the approaching stranger. Some trees and brush had hidden the stranger’s view and he was taken by surprise at how ready the two were to ‘greet’ him when he cleared the the last bush.

“Now, don’t get on edge at this point. If I was meaning you harm, I’d have put an arrow in you yesterday. I’m Baron Kemp’s woodsman. The name’s Dirk,” the man said.

Late thirties and showing signs of a more sedentary life than the average militia grunt, the man looked the part. He seemed tough but not wild and hard but not mean. The enameled badge on his leathers spoke the rest.

Taking his hand away from sword hilt, Duran said, “Making our way to the river. We’ve touched no game but have caught a couple fish.”

The man smirked at the defensiveness. “By order of the king, water is the communal privilege and responsibility of all citizens. As long as you don’t muck up a muscle bed or be wasteful, you’re still on the good side of things.”

With polite wariness, Orison asked, “What would you have of us, sir?”

“Seemed kindly enough. If you mean to be on your way or setting camp, an hour or two of company. I could cut a half day off your travels along this serpentine path and set you up in the southern cabin for the night, as well. The price of that’s a few stories and a little help around the place the next day after the storm passes,” Dirk said.

Orison looked at Duran to see a confirming nod. The woodsman didn’t miss it either.

Dirk looked at the soldierly young man and said, “You know a bit of the old wood lore as well?”

Duran nodded at him as well. Years, perhaps lifetimes, of friendship had opened him up to the young mage but rarely others. Sensing the young man’s taciturn nature, the woodsman directed most of the conversation towards Orison as they cut through a harder to see path to the southern cabin.

As twilight fell to dusk, the cabin came into view. It was a simple but comfortable affair with a small stable for Abigale as well. Duran’s unspoken worry that the older woodsman might be of a certain persuasion and offering shelter for dubious reasons ended up being unfounded.

The man simply spent too much time alone. And with his apprentice soon to find a wife and replace him, he was feeling a bit cut adrift. An exchange of some simple medicines for a couple of the woodsman’s gruit beer brews ended up leading to a conversation that revealed a lot of the man’s relatively basic but sad history.

As predicted, the early morning brought a storm. What wasn’t expected were some eerie green clouds at the beginning. In the distance, a sound that made Orison think of trains blew through as well. Though it seemed a faded and nearly forgotten thing, the young mage thought of a dark and terrifying force of nature known as a tornado. Such a thing would have been unheard of to the boy that Orison had been before awakening but the woodsman had experienced them a time or two throughout his seasoned life.

“Fingers of God are much more common in the kingdom to the south of us in the spring and fall. But even there, it’s usually the workings of some mad warlock hell bent on ruin. The church will have another reason to root out a little more sedition this summer with that as an excuse, The Lord preserve us,” the woodsman said bitterly.

Orison said thoughtfully, “First, bandits that are a little too organized and well armed. Now, ‘Fingers of God’. Out of morbid curiosity, Dirk, is the kingdom possibly preparing for war with this southern kingdom?”

Dirk chuckled. “I’m hardly a fount of current news on world affairs but I would think not. Now, the church? It’s been stretching its hands widely and in all direction for years. When I was just a small boy myself, it was only one of a few but it has become the one and only true for this land. Perhaps it has grown too great for only this land to contain any longer and desires to grow.”

Duran grew concerned. “What are the chances of a less than law abiding press gang waiting at the end of this trail?”

The woodsman was about to answer flippantly when he stopped to consider more seriously.

He didn’t answer so much as grab his things and suit up. “My apprentice is down in Raft Town for the damn festival. If war IS brewing or the kingdom has been blackmailed into covering the Grand Cardinal’s pimpled backside, the apprentice I’ve trained since he was eight would be a f***ing five silver catch. Got a proposition for you two.

“Might be nothing and I was planning on looking the other way at any rate. But if you could see to giving me some backup to bring my boy out of any trouble he could be in, I’ll return the favor. I know a rafter who’ll get you to a riverboat captain that charges fair and knows how to keep his mouth shut. It’s not an accusation. It’s an offer.”

Duran said, “If you want us to make good time on back trails, we can’t take Abigale.”

Orison looked at Duran sharply and said, “There’s a broken down distiller in the saddlebags! That’s worth a small fortune AND it’s a practical way for a person with a good recipe to earn one.”

The woodsman frowned and said, “I’ve got a gold to spare.”

The soldierly young man said, “Done.”

The young mage sighed and followed as they walked out into the pelting rain.