Gifted Apprentice

Gifted Apprentice

  An Ilvenworld Novella

  by

  Nicholas A. Rose

  Copyright 2011 Nicholas A. Rose

  Cover: Joleene Naylor

  Editor: Stephanie Dagg

  Other Novellas:

  Gifted Hunter

  Gifted Avenger

  The Markan Empire Trilogy:

  Markan Throne

  Markan Empire

  Markan Sword

  ***

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1 - The Healer

  Chapter 2 - Decision

  Chapter 3 - Waiting

  Chapter 4 - About The Gift

  Chapter 5 - Lyssan

  Chapter 6 - Lessons

  Chapter 7 - Gift Released

  Chapter 8 - Escaped Criminal

  Chapter 9 - Warning

  Chapter 10 - Holiday

  Chapter 11 - Sickness

  Chapter 12 - The Papan

  Chapter 13 - The Poor Quarter

  Chapter 14 - Healing

  Chapter 15 - In Leynx

  Chapter 16 - Learning To Heal

  Chapter 17 - Disaster

  Chapter 18 - New Plans

  ***

  Living on Re Annan was like another universe. A loving family and happy childhood: what more could a man want or need? I wish I was there still.

  But fate set another path for me to tread.

  Today, mothers use my name to frighten their children; criminals whisper it and pray I am never set on their trail. I pride myself on efficiency and effectiveness.

  This is the beginning of my journey from farm boy to Imperial Bounty Hunter, by Appointment to the Markan Throne.

  My name is Sallis ti Ath.

  ***

  Chapter 1 - The Healer

  Romand lifted the linen from the boy's forehead and winced. Dry already, so the fever had still not broken. Barely conscious, the boy burned. The infusions grew less effective every day. Whatever caused this fever was killing the boy as surely as an arrow through the heart.

  "He's getting no better," said another voice.

  "Of course he is." Romand smiled at the boy's father. He dipped the linen cloth in the bucket of fresh water and wrung it out, before returning it to the boy's forehead. He stood, put an arm around the father's shoulders and led him out of the small room.

  "Why do you lie to me?" Emotion put a tremor in the other man's voice.

  Romand looked over his shoulder; they should be out of earshot now. "He can hear us, Hayland," he said. "Such things should not be said where the patient can hear, or he will believe it."

  "But he's getting no better."

  Romand pursed his lips. He gave Hayland ti Ath a level look. Hill farmers were tough people, so he decided to be brutally honest. "No, but we are doing all we can. Keep him watered and cool."

  "The Father has ignored our prayers so far." Sadness cracked Hayland's voice again. "There is nothing more to be done?"

  "One thing." Romand's blue eyes were devoid of any emotion. "A touch-healer can save him."

  "Sounds expensive."

  "It is."

  Hayland turned and looked across his farm. Three thousand sheep, a little arable land, plenty of water and a rather large house he had built himself.

  "I'll find a way to pay," he promised. "Send for this... touch-healer."

  Romand smiled. "I already have."

  Hayland gripped the other's shoulder. "You are a good man," he said. "You have my gratitude."

  Romand looked embarrassed. "Save the gratitude until he's better," he replied. "In case we're too late."

  Hayland returned to his sick son and sat in the chair beside the bed. He gently lifted the boy's arm and held his small hand in one of his own. "Come on Sallis," he whispered, "break out of it." Renewed faith, rather than emotion, firmed his words now.

  A touch-healer was coming.

  ***

  Hayland's wife, Cellin, had mixed reactions to the news. Pleased to hear something could be done to save their son, she now worried how they could pay a touch-healer, usually the preserve of the rich. She did not air her doubts because hope overcame fear. For the moment.

  Busy before the large black range, she kneaded dough and, from the smell, pies already baked in the oven. When building the house, Hayland had ensured he allotted plenty of room for his wife to work; her popular baking raised important additional income.

  "Romand says only a touch-healer can save him," said Hayland. "The fever should have broken by now."

  Her hands paused briefly before she began to furiously knead the dough. Don't cry, she told herself. You'll ruin your pastry. A small problem, in the face of paying a touch-healer.

  "We will manage," said Hayland, knowing what caused the silence. "Somehow."

  Cellin forced a smile. "We always do," she replied. "Somehow." She turned her face to him and pecked his cheek. A quick kiss of reassurance. "Whatever it takes; he is our son."

  Four girls - youngest eight, oldest twelve and twins almost eleven - piled into the baking room, slings left outside.

  "All's well out there," said the oldest girl, Merta. "No sign of foxes."

  "Keep looking," her father told her. "Where we have newborns, there are always foxes. And watch the sky for buzzards. They'll take a lamb if you're not careful."

  "How's Sallis?" asked Tendra, the youngest.

  "Sick, but he'll be better soon."

  The girls glanced at their mother, perhaps expecting a different reaction. Cellin shrugged.

  "Sit yourselves and have some stew before going out again."

  The girls obeyed, but none looked convinced that their brother would ever be better.

  ***

  Re Annan was a small island. It would take a cart four days to travel from north to south, and two days from east to west . Not too heavily populated, farms were large and poverty rare, but everybody needed to work hard for what they had. Because so few lived on the island, there was little surplus for an army, so the people were the army. Every household had a sword, bow or ax, and even children could handle slings and staffs.

  It meant the islanders were tough, independent and well used to looking after themselves. But the sea had always been Re Annan's best defense, especially against other island nations who occasionally cast greedy eyes on their smaller neighbors.

  The island had two towns, one pretentious enough to call itself a city. That "city" was Leynx and home to the Council that ruled Re Annan.

  The official ruler was the Papan, but his Council advised him and he rarely dared step out of line. Raised from the council by election, the Papan's life might be very short if he developed ideas beyond his station.

  All adults voted every three years to elect Councilors, but only the rich few, controlling the island's trade, ever stood as candidates. Despite this, the people were happy and, for the most part, were ruled wisely. Fertile land produced plenty of food year after year and, while some certainly enjoyed greater riches than others, nobody starved. Or wore rags, or begged.

  Forest covered half the island and was carefully managed, with a fresh seedling replacing every felled tree. Except for fishing boats, few ships were built on Re Annan, but the wood found its way into new houses and furniture. The Council knew only fools would deplete their forest and lose the source of their wood.

  Although Re Annan furniture was sold overseas, the island's main export was wool, the tough hill sheep producing fleeces in demand throughout the other islands and even beyond, on the distant mainland.

  A fertile plain that ran right around the island provided the best land for arable crops. Much of the rest of Re Annan consisted of low-lying hills, dotted with most of the sheep farms. Those hills also boasted known deposits of iron, copper, and
tin in the far north, but nobody had exploited them. Most metal products were still imported.

  That was part of the downside of there being so few people. The Council often talked about encouraging miners to exploit the minerals, but they had spent three or four centuries making noises and never following up with action.

  Another mine produced light crystals, but not for export. Every household on Re Annan now had crystals, so the mine, although kept maintained, was shut and guarded most of the time. It reopened whenever someone built new houses and needed more crystals. The revenue from that went straight into the Council's coffers.

  Peaceful and prosperous, Re Annan's people were content. Even better, the troubles that plagued the mainland never spread this far east.

  A good place to live.

  ***

  The house was still. The girls slept, and their parents banked the range to keep the fire alive until morning. Cellin had the first watch tonight, in case Sallis woke in the night.

  Hayland had watered the boy and ensured the linen on his forehead was wet. The fever felt no different and the cloth still dried out with frightening speed.

  "No fever anywhere on the island," said Cellin. "Where did he get it from? What if it spreads?"

  Hayland nodded. "He might have picked it up anywhere; children his age do."

  "Never seen anything like it," continued Cellin. "Three days and still not broken."

  "It'll break." Hayland did not want to think that the longer the fever lasted, the smaller the chance of Sallis surviving.

  "I'm going up, he might have woken." Cellin stood, wrapped her blanket around her shoulders and left the room.

  Hayland stared at the range in silence, alone with the light crystal glowing white in its lantern. His uppermost thoughts centered on Sallis, but a new worry concerned the touch-healer.

  How would - could - he pay?

  ***

  Sallis ti Ath drifted through dreams and half-dreams. Nightmares of dark monsters the size of houses chasing him through forests, while tree branches tried to seize him and snuff out his life. Beautiful dreams of lush meadows and sun warming him as he basked on hilltops, skylarks singing far above.

  Dreams of his barely-remembered grandmother, no longer old and wrinkled, but young and beautiful. She hugged him and marveled at how he had grown. Still smiling, she stood back, and told him he should not be here, that his time had not yet come.

  He longed to stay and cried out as she turned and walked away, without even a backward glance.

  A recent dream, or one days old?

  Or no dream at all?

  Sunlight warmed him, yet he felt heavy. An uncomfortable heat threatened to consume him. Something damp pressed against his head and a voice cajoled him to wake. He burned; the pain and the fire! What terrible place held him now? He should stay with his grandmother. Beautiful and real, he ached from the separation. This place was... horrible.

  ***

  "He's calling for Mother." Cellin shook her head. How could Sallis remember her mother, his grandmother? Four years dead, yet Sallis must still remember something more than a shadowy figure from his past.

  "Just the fever speaking," muttered Hayland.

  Romand grimaced as he laid a hand on Sallis's forehead.

  "It's getting worse," stated Hayland.

  Romand looked over his shoulder, towards the relative darkness where the sun did not reach.

  Another man stepped forward, hands held strangely before him. A surprisingly deep voice came from him.

  "Time for me to try," said the stranger.

  ***

  Sallis ti Ath blinked a few times. Despite sunshine streaming through the open window, he lay in bed for some reason. Shouldn't he be working? Some chore or other always needed to be done on the farm.

  Home, this was home.

  But why was he in bed?

  He started as a man leaned over him, blue eyes twinkling, a startling sight on ti Ath's brown-eyed island.

  "Who are you?" he demanded, his first word coming out strangled. "Where are my-?"

  "Sallis." His mother leaned over him, but he could not understand why she looked on the very brink of tears.

  Sallis stared at his father. He never cried. Why did tears run down his cheeks?

  "We thought we'd lost you," continued his mother, "but Elvallon saved you."

  Elvallon? Sallis assumed that was the owner of the blue eyes. At least he knew Romand, who rested a hand on Sallis's forehead.

  "The fever is gone," he said, voice awed.

  "Of course."

  Sallis blinked at the timbre of Elvallon's voice. A cord tied back the man's long brown hair - at least that was normal - and he stroked a neatly-trimmed brown beard. Sallis had never seen a beard before, though his father often had stubble, usually at lambing time when he might go two or even three nights without sleep.

  "Have I been ill?"

  "Very," replied Romand.

  Sallis had a vague memory of collapsing at the sheepfold, but even that seemed dreamlike, as if it had not really happened.

  "How do you feel now?" asked Cellin.

  "Strange," replied Sallis. "Tired."

  Elvallon smiled. "You must eat and drink." His features grew sterner. "And plenty of rest." The twinkle returned. "You will be very weak after fighting the fever."

  "I thought you'd cured him," interrupted Hayland.

  Elvallon turned his head. "The strength for that came from the boy. And he did well to survive so long." His attention returned to Sallis. "A day, maybe two, and you'll be running around again as if nothing had happened."

  "Strange thing," Romand was saying, "but there is no fever anywhere else."

  Elvallon shrugged, a merest movement of his shoulders. "These things can happen any time," he replied.

  "We spoke of price," said Hayland.

  Elvallon smiled again. "You spoke of price," he replied, gently. "I said cure first and then speak of price."

  "Whatever is in my power to give is yours," said Hayland.

  "A dangerous offer," replied Elvallon, looking at Sallis. "Very well. My price is the boy."

  ***

  Chapter 2 - Decision

  Hayland and Cellin stared at the touch-healer in consternation.

  "Our son?" Aghast, Hayland's hand gripped Sallis's shoulder.

  Romand stared at the floor and looked embarrassed.

  "Anything in your power to give." Elvallon's blue eyes twinkled.

  Hayland shook his head. "For the love of the Father, why Sallis?"

  "'Why' is a good question; perhaps you should have asked that one first." Elvallon smiled. "Sallis is Gifted."

  Romand lifted his head and realization dawned in his eyes. He looked at Sallis with increased respect.

  "Gifted?" echoed Cellin.

  Elvallon nodded and lifted his hands. "What I used to cure Sallis is the Gift. Very few are born with it. Your son is one such and he must be taught. That is my price."

  "Sounds like you are putting us deeper in your debt," muttered Hayland.

  Elvallon turned his head sharply. "Hardly. Many times he will wish it had never happened to him, and to be normal like almost everybody else, but he must be trained. It is a duty."

  "You are sure?" Cellin stared at Elvallon. "How can you tell he has the Gift?"

  "I knew the moment my hands touched him. When he is a little older, another practitioner might sense it from, oh, twenty pacas or so."

  "He's nothing out of the ordinary," protested Cellin. "Just a little boy who's naughty now and then, but dutiful most times."

  "He must be taught how to control the Gift, or it might kill him," added Elvallon.

  "It's dangerous?" Hayland's eyes widened.

  "All power improperly controlled is dangerous," countered Elvallon. "And there is worse."

  "Such as?" Hayland sounded almost aggressive.

  "The other side." Elvallon's eyes held no twinkle now. "They seek children with the Gift as assiduously as I. The
Gift comes from the Father but they will corrupt it. This way, Sallis will be under my protection."

  "Where will you take him?"

  "To my home near Leynx. Of course, you are most welcome to visit and he will still come here for breaks away from training." The healer leaned forward. "In many ways, he will need you even more now."

  Hayland and Cellin looked at each other.

  "Is anybody going to ask what I want?" piped up Sallis. "This is about me, after all."

  All four adults turned to look at the boy, still on his sickbed.

  Hayland gestured with a hand.

  "If I can do whatever has just been done to me, isn't that a good thing? Helping people?" Sallis sounded eager.

  Cellin sat on his bed and held his hand. "We need you here," she said. "We will miss you."

  Elvallon smiled. "I can arrange his time here to coincide with your busy spells," he promised.

  "On a farm, the busy bit lasts from midwinter to midwinter," Hayland pointed out. "Especially with a few thousand sheep."

  "I want to go," said Sallis.

  "We could not cope without him," said Cellin.

  "We will rely too much on neighbors; they may feel put upon," continued Hayland. "All well and good that-"

  Sallis raised his voice. "I want to go!"

  Silence fell.

  Elvallon wore a secretive smile.

  "If this Gift is dangerous to me, it might be dangerous to you too." Sallis stared defiantly at his parents. "If I can heal, then we will be richer when my training is finished. The farm will still be here."

  "A wise head on young shoulders," said Romand. "A rarity indeed."

  Hayland and Cellin exchanged another look.

  "When will you take him?" asked Hayland.

  "Not yet." Elvallon's blue eyes were serious again. "Another year, perhaps two."

  "That long?" squeaked Sallis. "Thought you meant today."

  "I'll keep an eye on you," Elvallon assured him. "But you stay here until I know you are ready."

  "What if this... other side... finds him in the meantime?" asked Cellin.

  Elvallon's smile returned. "Now I have my eye on him, they will never find out," he said. "That I promise."

  ***

  Chapter 3 - Waiting

  A year is a lifetime to a small boy, and two an eternity. Sallis continued to learn about sheep and arable crops - not that his father had much arable land. Hayland usually traded for crops in the nearest town, Hendrek, and he usually spent any spare cash on books.

  These latter, exotic items were imported, quite rare and usually expensive. Sallis squabbled with his sisters over who got first turn with any new books Hayland might bring home from his market trips and shared their disappointment if he returned with none.