Of Magic And Men

Peter, now fifteen years old, was strong and had completely forgotten his experience in the forest that day. He had taken on much responsibility looking after his mother, who had grown sick with the same illness that had taken his father and so many of the villagers. Peter had been in Hurget buying medicine for his mother that morning, he thought the medicine pointless, it did not seem to be helping at all, actually seemed to be making it worse, but the person selling it promised results. For his mother, he would do anything. She had always been there for him when he needed her the most, so, unlike the other villagers of Ferrin Falls, he would never abandon her.

His mother barely got out of bed as of late, she had grown pale and nearly wasted away to nothing. Peter knew deep inside she would not last this coming winter. There was nothing more he could do for her; she could not produce her own body heat. Then what would he do, his family all dead, he saw no point in staying in Ferrin Falls past spring. As soon as the snow thawed, he would sell the now dilapidated shack for whatever he could get for it and use the money to travel to Brixby, a small village to the south. If you followed the river, you could find Brixby where the river met with the lake. He intended to put his calloused hands to work as a fisherman, just like his father had been. He had never been on a boat but he was eager and willing to learn. His mother urged him to leave her, she didn’t want to be a burden to him any longer, but he would not until it was her time, he would keep trying to help her until there was nothing left of her to help.

Peter was currently on his way home, walking slowly he was not in a hurry to see his mother continue to waste away; yet another shift working for Mr. Terrish on his farm. It was hard work but it paid well, Mr. Terrish was firm when it came to his work, it had to be done a certain way, or else he would find someone else who would do it properly, he had a reputation to uphold after all. The best carrots in the Ka’harian Territory, he was always saying. Of course, Peter had no actual proof of Mr. Terrish’s claims, all carrots tasted the same when all you had was stew. Despite his mother growing ill and being unable to stand, Peter, kept making mutton stew, it was the only thing he knew how to make. This would be the last day working on his farm, winter was nearly upon them and all the farmers had cleaned up the last of the crops. The only farmers that would be working into the winter would be those with livestock. The Sheep typically fair well through the rough Ka’harian territory winters. Peter let his mind wander to his future on his way home, he had traveled to Hurget and lived in Ferrin Falls but never traveled much past those two places, partly because of his responsibilities with running the house but mostly due to the fact that he just couldn’t afford it. He wished he could have traveled more, he wished for adventures and fun, like the stories his mother told him. As he grew older the more he wished those stories to be true, something to make all this terribleness end. All he had ever known was responsibility and family.

When he walked in the door it was nearly sundown, as his eyes adjusted to the light inside the shack coming from the sole candle on Catherine’s nightstand, he could see his mother struggling to reach for a bottle of medicine that was beside her. Peter quickly dropped his bag and rushed to his mother’s aid, she weakly smiled at him almost out of habit. He uncorked the small glass vial and brought it to his mother’s lips. Inside the vial was a thick sickly dark green coloured liquid, how could a liquid that looked and smelled so awful be good for you? He had once asked the salesperson the exact same question, but in response, the person answered.

“Trust me boy this medicine is exactly what your mother needs.” Peter tried to get more of an answer but the salesperson would never say more than that.

He tried to find this person again the next day but when he described them everyone would just say they hadn’t seen them and kept walking. Peter thought this odd, wearing a long ankle-length skirt with a dress shirt and tight vest, you would think they would stand out as odd. He guessed it a little suspicious but paying no mind to the nagging voice in his head, he continued to give this medicine to his mother. So again, there he was feeding this awful stuff to his mother. Catherine started to cough, and not just a light cough to clear her throat, she coughed deeply from the bottom of her lungs. She quickly brought her handkerchief to her mouth in an attempt to be proper. When she took the filthy kerchief from her face, both Peter and Catherine knew it wouldn’t be long now. The cloth was covered in a mixture of medicine and blood, giving the cloth a black sludge-like coating. Peter started to panic.

“Quick mother, get on my back, I will take you to the doctor in Brixby.” He started to get up, however, his mother placed her cold boney hand on his arm. He didn’t know how far away Brixby was but he knew if they didn’t leave immediately his mother would not stand a chance.

“Peter.” His mother spoke calmly and quietly as if to jar him out of his mindset. “Peter, please listen to me. I haven’t much time and what I have to say is important.”

Peter settled back down on the floor beside his mother’s bed and took her hand. “Yes mother, I am listening.”

“You must not worry so; you have done everything in your power to help but it is too late.”

Peter shed a single tear, he had to be strong for his mother. “mother please, I can get you to the doctor if we leave now.”

Catherine continued as if not listening, “Find a man named Merlin, he will help you.”

Coughing again Peter took this opportunity to ask, “Help me with what? Who is Merlin?”

“Find Merlin, he needs your help.”

Before Peter could reiterate his questions, he felt his mother’s arm go limp in the hands. “mother?”

Peter had just lost his mother. “No.” He whispered to himself as he shed yet more tears. He had to be strong still, his mother would not want him to fall apart.

It was dark out now as he carefully carried his mother’s wrapped body to the edge of the forest where so many before her had been buried. He dug well into the night, finally, he was satisfied with the job he had done, no name would mark this grave, and no animal disturb it. He finished and went back to the house to collect his things. He did not want to talk to anyone, no friends, and definitely no strangers, he did not want sympathies or condolences. He would leave that night in the dark. He had a task ahead of him, find Merlin. There was a library in Hurget, he had once enjoyed spending time there. The atmosphere was cozy and warm, inviting like being swaddled by a large blanket. However, the atmosphere was the last thing on his mind right now, first and foremost, he needed information.

He packed his bag that minute, grabbing all the portable food and water sachets he could carry. His dagger was on his hip, his bow on his back, his bag packed, he could not think of anything else left to do but leave. Breathing one last breath he disappeared into the night and into the Sylvan Woods.