Theurgy: The Journey's Dawn (Book One)

Chapter 17 Blessings

Lyse remembers his first-ever trip with his father to Balfmia, the next town over a few dozen miles into the plains. He was fifteen at the time, and had just begun more rigorous training and learning certain techniques Gabbes thought best for him. Edlund had asked, almost too excitedly, to join them, but Wilbur denied, saying that the two of them are more than enough. Protecting the grain and corn they were going to sell would only require two hands to do so. Lyse was curious because he never knew his father to ever wield a sword after rletiring. Sure, he helped him practice stances, but nothing beyond that. He never looked too far into it. He never seen him even take any blade or such for protection as he went. But, he allowed Lyse to take his sword.

They left that afternoon, Massua was a bit upset she wasn't allowed, but ultimately his mother told her off and put her to making bread. They got their two fastest horses, Wilbur said that they will be useful, and continued on. The purge that cleansed the lands of monsters was about a month ago, and even in that short amount of time, it is still potentially dangerous to move out in the open. Leaving the walls felt odd, the giant gate passing overhead as his father gave a greeting to the guards. Archers walked along the gangplank and staircases, staring either into the dark Forest of Silence, or the plains that stretched into Koraki. In fact, just a little beyond Balfmia is the border that separates Liontari from its sister country. However, a day and a half ride separated the two towns and a sea of rolling hills and boulders that housed dangers beyond man. He would be lying if he was not scared to his wits, his head constantly swiveling, even in broad daylight, to try and seize any possible threat. Not once did his hand leave his sword, and his anxiety only increased as the shadows grew from the coming night.

His father stopped at a seemingly random tree, atop a hill, not too tall, that made a neat camp location with a full view of their surroundings. Both he and his father dug a pit for the fire, as deep as possible to prevent it from being seen from afar, and constructed a tent around it with a large hole above to allow smoke to rise. These were few moments outside of advice on picking grain and corn that Lyse felt that fondness for his father. He tells him stories, legends, and epic tales that beguiled him. Stories he would have heard when he was five or seven, look back with nostalgia, and repeat to himself before bed. But these were not stories of these larger-than-life heroes slaying seemingly impossible beasts that made those who dwell within the plains, or even the forest, more like tenacious kittens. No, his stories were far more real, it seemed. Far more tangible, like his father was there. Lyse remembered he never wanted to feel like those heroes, like those knights, and have an adventure. His father, as he told him these tells, "Boldor of the mountains", "The Epic of Minseme", "The Witch and the Knight", he wore a similar, knowing expression. Neither sad or uplifting, but as if they truly were not larger than life, like the deeds were not as grand. Indeed a hero was out of the question for Lyse. But to simply be mighty, and be there for your family, is what he strives for.

The problem first arose almost an hour after dark struck. As the shadows grew to encompass the entire world, the monsters seemed to take to their roles as nocturnal creatures and began to bring life to the empty night. Every so often, his father would poke his head out of the tent, a stony face exiting and returning, and resume his telling of the cycle while roasting a rabbit on a metal pike. He was on the telling of "The Noble Thief" when they heard what was like the low rumble of thunder. However, there was no sign of rain, with the clouds clear, the two moons shining and the belt of shimmering brilliance across the sky still in view. No, the noise came from something alive. His father peaked out, slower than before, but quickly did he pull inside, and went to toss the heaved dirt onto the pile of burning sticks and straw. They were quickly encased in darkness, and the sudden beating in his ears almost drowned out the rising buzz. Fear seized him as he pulled his blade free, but a large hand clamped over his mouth and another grasped his sword and placed it flat on the ground He was shoved to the ground as the grumbling finally became omnipresent, the entire ground seemingly rolling under the beat of hundreds, probably a thousand lightless wings. The tent shook, not from direct disturbance, but merely the rush of wind that followed them. A few curious beaks pecked their holding, a flash of copper beaks reflecting the moonlight. Soulless eyes poking in, cawing at the two figures with reluctance before rejoining its peers. Lyse had never laid so still in his life than at that moment. And it lasts for several minutes as if the murder was somehow drawn to something and was feverishly searching. Finally, they decided that no meat could be found, and so flew off deeper into the plains and away from the road. Even then, another few minutes passed before finally, his father rose.