Chapter 2: Visitors

Artien woke to a dull ache throbbing in his right arm. He tried to move it gently, but couldn’t. He opened his eyes, seeing himself lying in his bed. His blanket was tucked around his chin carefully. He sat up, the blanket falling to reveal his bandaged and bound limb.

“What happened?”

“I can answer that.”

George sat on the lonely stool, facing him from across the room. Artien looked back at him, seeing a strange glimmer in his father’s eyes he’d never seen before. “Dad?”

“Be truthful now. How does your arm feel?”

He frowned, judging his injury. “Feels a bit numb and kind of like I sprained the whole arm.”

George nodded expectantly. “You remember what happened?”

“I was training with you when I punched..” His words slowed as he realized what had happened. He could feel his blood freeze as he knew there was no longer hiding any secrets.

“What you did, son, was use magic.”

“Magic? But that was-“

“Magic. Though in a different form than is commonly known. Tell me how you did it.” George prodded further.

Artien lightly chewed his lip. How to best explain it? He looked at his father, seeing nothing but care and concern. There was no reason to hide. Why be afraid? This was the man that had raised him in this life.

Decided, he raised his head and met his father’s eyes directly, serious.

“I went to follow your example in the punch. At first, I did as you said.” Artien nervously said. “As I copied it, it felt wrong. It wasn’t like I remembered. So I adjusted to what felt right. Then I remembered the rest and.. I felt a spark of something. Like a source of energy. I focused it through my arm and out my fist. Then, I punched and that’s when I felt my arm hurt.”

George’s face grew excited as he leaned forward on the stool. “Sounds like you used magic to me. At a level that shouldn’t be possible except for elite soldiers especially trained for a decade or two.” He smiled. “You did it in one go.”

“I don’t remember it hurting like this, though.” Artien argued.

George stood, bringing his finger to his lips. “Quiet now. I don’t want your mother to hear the rest of this conversation.” He then peaked outside the bedroom door, seeing his wife cooking. He closed the door and took the stool close to the bed. “I’ve a few more questions, then we can see about what to do.”

Artien felt himself calm. His dad always had that effect. Able to take control of a situation and keep a level head. “I’ll answer. I want to know too.”

He had several questions himself. Hopefully some of them would be answered by his dad. His memories, his abilities, etc. More than anything, he wanted to know about this magic.

“Alright. Now, to start off, I’ll give you basic information on magic.” George then began Artien’s first magic lesson.

“Firstly, our world is filled with a force called mana. Mana is an energy in every single thing. It’s in the air, in rocks, in animals, and sometimes in people. When mana is manipulated, this is called magic.”

“Magic is split into two basic types. Spells and force. Spells are where mana is controlled through words. This can be written, spoken, or thought. You can find items inscribed with magic. These are usually used by nobles or elite soldiers.”

“Force is more natural. Magical beasts have affinity with magic and are able to use certain magic abilities from birth. Beasts that can summon elements are one such example. Humans can also use force. Through hard work and training, one can use magic and abilities.”

George suddenly got excited as he came to a pause. He smiled and continued. “With Force, beasts develop a sphere somewhere in their body, called a core. This core is what allows them to absorb mana from their surroundings. Thus, they have fuel for their abilities.”

“Humans, however, have no such core. We must develop a body through certain conditions to absorb magic. Over time, this produces a body that naturally breathes in magic through the air, generating a store of mana to use inside the body. It takes time to build and strategy to use to be effective.”

George grasped his knees tightly, at the edge of his seat. “You, my son, used magic in that punch. The way you described it, you used no form of words. Thus, that was force. You have not been taught how to breath in magic, nor have a body developed to do so. That leaves one thing open.”

Artien felt the weight of the words as the information clicked into place. “Dad…”

George held up a hand, stopping his sentence. He shook his head. “That doesn’t change anything. You are my son. You are Artien Astral.” Then he grew more serious. “You must tell no one what I’m about to tell you. This will put you in danger, let alone this village.”

Artien nodded.

“You must have a core in your body somewhere. This will come with magic in time, so long as you develop it. Don’t use magic around others. Only when you can hide it as force can you do so. Do you understand?”

He nodded again. “Yes, sir.”

“Don’t tell your mother. Don’t tell your friends. Don’t tell anyone.”

A sudden knock on the door made them both jump.

“Honey, the dinner is almost ready. Is he awake yet?” Anabelle whispered through the door.

“He’s awake now. Don’t come in,” George replied. “I’m checking him for injuries. He is not appropriate for a mother to see.”

“Artien, I’m happy you’re awake. You scared me! When you two are done, come out and eat.” She raised her voice to normal now that she knew her son was alright.

George whispered quickly to Artien. “She thinks you used spells. Just say you read it somewhere in a book at her father’s house and wanted to try it.”

“Yes sir.” Artien pulled the blanket to the side and stood, feeling exhausted. His dad grabbed his good arm, steadying him.

“You must feel tired. Using mana like you did is dangerous. Luckily your training paid off and the damage is minimal. Your arm will heal in a few days. Until then, don’t use it.”

George opened the door. “We better go, before your mother get’s mad.”

They both went to eat at the small table. They had a meal together, talking about trivial things. At the end of the meal, Anabelle cleared her throat, bringing silence to the table.

“Son, it is your fifteenth birthday today. You are almost a young man. You are responsible, and have never given me thought otherwise. Your father and I believe it’s time that you knew.”

Artien frowned. “Know what?”

“Son,” George said, “Though we raised you these last fifteen years as our own, you are not of our blood.” He waited shortly for the words to sink in. “We found you alone, in the forest. Fifteen summers ago from today.”

Anabelle smiled. “We’d always wanted a child. But I could never conceive. It was a miracle that we found you.”

“Artien, you are our son, regardless of where you came from. We will love you just as we do now.” George smiled at his wife, then at his son.

Artien, taken completely by surprise, could find nothing to say. His mouth opened and closed a few times, before he saw the look on his mother’s face. Her eyes were full of love, but also of fear. She was afraid. Of his reaction?

Artien stood and went to his mother’s side. “Mom, dad, I will always be your son. You will always be my parents.”

“Oh, Artien!” Anabelle cried, jumping out of her seat to hug him tightly.

Over her shoulder, Artien saw his adoptive father’s approving look. He closed his eyes, embracing his mother back. He was blessed to have such loving and understanding parents.

Later that night, as he lay in his bed, Artien wondered if where he had come from had anything to do with his memory-like dreams. He closed his eyes, eagerly awaiting what the next dream held.

#

Deep inside a thick mist, in an endless flat landscape, a being walked. Sometimes the being was young, sometimes he was old. It changed each time he visited. Right now, he was in his late twenties. He was wearing something close to a cotton shirt and cow-hide pants. His boots and belt were also made of leather.

His walk wasn’t aimless. Each time he woke up in the mist there was always a destination. It wasn’t one he knew. However, this didn’t mean he didn’t know where he was going.

A small flame before him guided his way. The flame flickered towards one direction. This is where he was to go. After a long while, or a short while, he would find what he was looking for. Like all the times before, the light before him flickered out.

He walked forward eagerly. After a brief walk ahead, a small, grassy hill became visible. He climbed his way to the top, seeing a blanket laid out. At the edge of the blanket was a softly glowing oil lamp. The scene lifted his spirits.

With habitual practice, he sat comfortably on the blanket, placing his hands in his lap. He closed his eyes and cleared his mind. He breathed in, waited, breathed out, waited, and breathed in again. Each sequence took exactly three seconds, without exception. His meditation had begun.

He withdrew his mind into himself, blocking out all senses to the outside. He felt his body’s rhythm. The blood running. Nerves and muscle relaxed. His only movement the breathing technique. When he was fully aware of himself, he let even that go.

He delved even deeper, calling on his feelings. Hatred. Happiness. Greif. Jealousy. Love. He let those all go. He went beyond his physical self. Deep, deep inside, was a black darkness. Inside this darkness he became aware of himself as a thought. A soul.

He drifted through the darkness. A gentle wind, every three seconds, pushed his soul forward. Eventually, after many nights attempts and travel in the darkness, he saw a spark of light. He drifted towards it. The light slowly grew larger.

After an indeterminate time drifting in the darkness, he was upon the source of light. A golden-white flame flickered. No bigger than a fist, the flame’s core was gold, while the actual flames were white. The flame emitted a sense of boundless energy. It created the urge to touch it.

With a thought he floated into that flame. The flames were warm, engulfing his soul in wondrous energy. As he absorbed it and became familiar with the flame, his body accepted the flow of energy. The flame entered his heart, taking residence. The flame grew with life, as it took energy with the inward breath. With the outward breath it traveled along a pathway in his body.

It nourished his body, reducing the aging effects he’d endured the last eight to ten years. Old scars faded. Aging lines receded. Bones strengthened and muscle thickened. A new spark to his life was added. With it, the ability to control the flame to some degree.

Easily within six hours, a new hero was born.

#

Artien woke, smiling to himself. He rapidly went through his dream-memory, gathering as many details as he could. This time’s dream was a big haul. He not only got a breathing technique, he got first hand experience in mana! This changed everything.

Knowing exactly what to do and what would happen would speed up his aura-seeking technique. Once he could establish a connection to mana, then he could absorb it naturally through breathing. He wouldn’t need to meditate anymore unless he was training heavily in force. Since that was out of the question right now, he could only focus on spells.

He needed to borrow a spell book from Grandpa’s library again. A chance to sneak in was coming with the visitors that would arrive at the village today. Everyone would be distracted. While everyone’s attention was on the visitors. Until then, he’d have only time for chores.

Artien rose, wincing at his sore arm as he dressed carefully. He ate breakfast quickly before tending to the animals outside. After his morning chores he began normal practice, his father describing how to refrain from using Force so he could focus on training his body. Very quickly noon arrived. Artien was drinking a refreshing cup of water when his face automatically scowled.

“Artien. Ar-ti-eeeeeeeeen!”

Never a day’s break.

Clare raced towards him from the direction of the village. Her rosy cheeks beheld her excitement. She stopped before him, bending over to catch her breath. “Y-you… hah… the visitors…. Hoo. Dad says.”

He frowned. “What?”

Clare bounced up. “Dad says the visitors are heading to the village now. They’ll be here any minute. Dad wants your help getting them settled.”

“Why don’t you go?” George said, as he walked up to them.

“Dad?”

“It’s good to see new things. It might give you some idea about outside of the village.”

“Your dad said it was okay. Let’s go!” Clare said quickly.

Clare grabbed his hand and dragged him along. They left the farm, going directly into the village. They didn’t skirt the edges like before. Innocent little Clare dragged him right through the middle of it. This earned him glares and indifference.

They reached the center of the village, where people often go to trade business and barter. Today all the villagers were there, crowding the front street that anyone entered or exited the village. The village elder, his grandpa, was in the front, ready to greet the visitors. Curious, Clare pulled him to the front. There they got full view of the incoming party.

There were five mounted knights.

The one foremost seemed to be the leader. He was noble-faced and fair looking. He was dressed better then the rest of his group in new armor. Both him and his horse outshined the rest. He caught everyone’s gaze and held their attention.

As they entered the village, the crowd made way. The leader didn’t dismount before speaking above the murmur. His head held high, he looked down on those before him. The helm on his head shined in their eyes, making some squint to see.

“I am Redflame Silvergrain, the one in charge of this hunting party. Who here is the village leader?”

“I am. I am called Old Joe.”

“I expect you received the notice of our arrival?”

Old Joe nodded rapidly. “Yes, at the inn. There is room prepared for all. Please, come.”

Old Joe led the way. The knights rode their horses up to the inn’s entrance before dismounting. Clare pulled Artien along closely. She had a skip in her step, excited to see new travelers.

Artien looked at the group with distrust. Something about the way they acted, the way they moved, sent warning signals off. His heart thumped heavily and his mind remained alert. As if danger lurked close by. He had seen this before…

In his dreams it wasn’t always all good. There were bad ones too. Ones where he’d been in battles, slaying the enemy. There had been humans, giants, and beastmen. This group heavily reminded him of people that had seen death many times. Had been the taker of many lives.

These people were bad news.

“Who will take care of the horses?” Redflame asked.

“There is space behind the smithy. A small enclosure. They can be taken there.” Old Joe replied. He looked around, calling two names. “Joseph, Artien! Come, take the horses away.”

Joseph, the smithy’s son, and Artien both came forward. Artien readily took the reins to the leader’s horse. His back prickled as he was grabbed by Redflame.

“Any harm to my horse and you will answer to me. This horse is far more valuable than your life.”

“Yes sir.” Artien nodded. He was right. Nothing good about these strangers being here.

“Good.” Redflame released him, showing no hint of emotion. His eyes were cold. Unfeeling.

The other horses automatically followed behind the lead horse. Joseph led the way. Once out of earshot of others, he began chatting him up.

“It’s been forever since I could talk to you. You know, my dad still disapproves of my seeking you out. I can’t help it. Everyone else is just too… boring.”

Artien glared at him. “Leave your wooing to the women.”

Joseph rolled his eyes. “Of course.” He walked backwards, hands behind his back. “We should head off into the forest. You can show me something again. Show me some moves.”

“That’s a no. Dad beat me good last time I showed you.”

“Show me something he hasn’t taught you. Did you learn anything new? You know, from your past?”

Artien sighed. Joseph was the only one he’d told about his dreams. Joseph was convinced he’d lived before and the dreams were his past lives’ memories. Joseph was the one soul he trusted to keep his secret. He was truly a good friend.

“I did learn something new. I doubt it would have any benefits for you though.”

“Awe, don’t say that. Show me tomorrow, alright? I know you got things to do at the inn until nightfall.”

“Fine, but wake yourself early. You’ll find me on that flat stone near the creek further in.”

“Great! Here, let me get the gate.”

They arrived at the small field behind the smithy. Joseph opened the gate as Artien led all the horses inside. Once secured, the two got busy removing the tack and gear stored on each horse before brushing them down. They provided fresh water and hay, then headed to the front of the smithy.

“Well,” Joseph said, “I need to sleep early. Have to do all my chores early if I’m going to beat you to the flat rock. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you then.” Artien bid good-bye.

He turned around and quickly went to the back side of the inn. There he grabbed an armful of firewood and entered the kitchen. Mr. Greenwood was cooking while Clare was out serving in front. Mr. Greenwood spotted him.

“About time you’re here. Put that firewood in the bin and stoke the fire. I’ll be cooking at least for another half hour. These folks sure eat a lot.”

Artien went about taking care of the fire while Mr. Greenwood continued to cook. Clare entered a few times to grab more food. It was a good hour later and they were still cooking when Clare came running back in.

“Father, there’s something wrong with Mr. Silvergrain.”

Mr. Greenwood turned worriedly to her. “What’s wrong with him? Did he get a bellyache from all that food?”

Clare shook her head. “No. He’s not eating at all!”

Mr. Greenwood’s face went blank, slowly turning red. “He didn’t eat?”

“Nope.”

“Nothing?”

“Yep.”

“Then where has all that food been going?” He asked carefully.

“His friends are eating it all!” Clare looked around as if someone was listening. “There is also this,” She lowered her voice, “problem with his ears.”

Mr. Greenwood face froze. “What’s wrong with his ears?”

“They’re pointy.” Clare giggled.

“He’s an elf! No wonder he wasn’t eating. Artien! Take the bucket to the creek and get the water directly from the rocks. Don’t you dare get it from down stream!” Mr. Greenwood ordered.

“Clare, go clear out his place on the table, tell him we’re making a proper meal for him.”

“Yes sir!” Clare turned serious as her father barked out orders.

Bewildered, Artien grabbed a bucket and jogged into the woods. What was so special about an elf they had to have ‘special’ water? Were they such strange creatures?

Within fifteen minutes and familiarity, he made it to the mentioned creek spring. He held the bucket close, letting if fill two-thirds before making his way back. He entered the kitchen from the back. He placed the bucket on the small table before getting more firewood to take care of the fire.

Mr. Greenwood hurriedly prepared a strange soup with the water. He placed a few flower heads from who-knows-where into the soup. Then he poured the water into a cup with a drop of honey. He was very careful not to let anything touch the water aside from the ingredients and tools.

Clare entered the kitchen.

“Clare! Good timing. Come, bring these to Mr. Silvergrain.”

Clare took the bowl and cup, dashing out front. Within a minute she came back.

“Dad, Dad! He’s eating!”

Mr. Greenwood immediately let out all previous tension. “Phew. Clare, until he leaves, you will favor Mr. Silvergrain.”

He turned to Artien and looked him up and down. “What's wrong with your arm?”

“Just twisted it hard. Dad says it will heal in a few days.”

“Hmph. You're no use with one arm. Go on home and rest up. You'll make up for it next week.”

“Yes sir.”

Artien left before Mr. Greenwood changed his mind. He now had a few free hours to himself. He skirted around the village and entered the forest. He crossed the creek and hiked for half an hour before he came upon a small, well hidden meadow.

In the center was a boulder with a flat top. He climbed atop it and laid out . He soaked up the sun, enjoying nature's sounds. A short while later he sat up. He crossed his legs and closed his eyes.

He cleared his mind, breathing out for three seconds….