Outcast (The Blue Dragon's Geas) (17 page)

He knelt down and placed his hand in the water. Nothing happened. Perhaps he wasn’t a mage, and this was just stupid. How did a mage call up their powers?
 He hadn’t used magic words or any such thing, it had just happened. He furrowed his brow and tried to concentrate on warming the water. Again, nothing happened. This was not an option. He had to know. If his father could call forth power from him, he would have to know what it felt like. To save his dreams with Mesiande, he had to figure this out.

He took off his boots and put his feet in the pool and tried again. He growled in frustration as nothing happened. What might have he had done if he had been the one to heat the water?
 He sat on the side of the pool with his feet in the water and thought back to that day. What had been different when the water had heated? Maybe it was because the water was already hot?  He shook his head. If he could heat already warmed water, he should be able to bring some measure of warmth to cold water. He remembered how angry he had been. He replayed the events in his head, how it had felt to see Trelmar enter the bathing hut. How angry he had been when they had pushed him under, and then how afraid that maybe they weren’t going to let him back up. A sensation of tingling passed through his body as he relived the event.

He looked down at the water puzzled. Was it warmer?
 He sighed. Probably had just gotten used to its cool touch on his heated feet. He reached out and touched it and was surprised to discover that the water was not as cold anymore. It had gained a lukewarm feel. He slowly smiled and moved the water with his finger. He thought about Trelmar kissing Mesiande, laying his filthy hands on her, but as he did, he watched the water stirring about his finger. He was aware of a strange pull from him and then he watched as steam began to rise from the water. He smiled and kept concentrating on how it had felt to hit Trelmar. His eyes were locked on his feet and concentrated on the water before him and the idea of smashing in Trelmar’s face. Soon the water boiled and steamed about his feet. He kicked at it, a little amazed that the water only felt slightly warmer to his feet.

Alador took his finger from the water and watched as it slowly ceased its frothing and bubbling. Suddenly, the sound of a twig snapped and his eyes riveted to his left. There in the brush stood Trelmar with an expression of fear and shock on his face. Their eyes met and then Trelmar slowly smiled as if some thought had occurred to him, turned and ran. The sound of crashing brush and breaking twigs resounding over the sounds of the running water.

Panic swept through Alador. How long had he been there?  He knew the moment he thought it that there was only one reason Trelmar would smile like that. He was going to tell someone. He jumped up and reached for the dagger at his belt. The bully was already out of sight. Alador leaped across the rocks to give pursuit. He cleared the bank and entered the brush where Trelmar had stood. He had to stop him. He had to shut him up once and for all. He had to catch him before the middlin reached the village. He crashed into the brush at a dead run. His heart was pounding with fear as he leaped over a fallen log.

Barefooted, he stepped on a broken root sticking out of the ground. The root impaled part way into his foot, and he cursed as he hopped about trying to pull it out. He tossed the broken piece aside, not caring that he bled. The pain of the wound shot through his foot as he took a few more steps after Trelmar. The sinking realization that it was too late swept through him. He gradually came to a stop. Everything he had been trying to stop by learning to control what was within him didn’t matter. When Trelmar told what he had seen, his father would know. His father had made it clear he would test Alador fully. He was going to have to leave the village. He was going to have to leave Mesiande. His hands covered his face, and he collapsed to his knees with a moan of anguish.

Chapter Thirteen

Alador slowly limped his way back to the river. He stood by the water staring at it for the longest time. The sun was setting behind the hills. The heat of the summer sun did not abate much, but the air by the river was always cooler. He slowly waded out to the rock where he had left his boots, and plopped down. As he absently washed the hole in his foot, he was desperately trying to think of a way out of the situation. He had no doubt in his mind that Trelmar would use what he had seen to get revenge. The question is, in what way?
 Would he hold it as a constant threat?  Was he even now spreading tales of Alador’s new found powers?  Perhaps if Trelmar would hold it as a threat, he could bargain with the middlin. Maybe he could be bought with slips of his own. Alador grabbed this hope desperately, would greed be the only thing that could save his hopes?  He sighed. He had beaten Trelmar. Somehow he did not think that he could buy his way out of this predicament. He hit the rock and then cursed, shaking his hand. He should have killed Trelmar when he had the opportunity.

He remembered why he hadn’t, he hadn’t wanted to leave Mesiande with that burden. Yet how would he face Mesiande now and tell her that after confessing to love her, he had to leave?
 What of his house he had started?  He could find no answers that saved anything he had gained. He should have known. It was too good to be true. He had never truly been a Daezun and to expect that a few slips would change that was hopeless. He was going to be leaving with his father. He screamed up at the darkening sky as the sun began to set. Much to his surprise, he heard far off dragons echo back his scream. He dropped his head in dejection. It felt as if even the dragons knew his destiny.

He put back on his boots once the bleeding had stopped. He might as well face it and go back to the village. He drug his feet towards the village, limping slightly from the wound in his foot. He dejectedly climbed over the village border and wandered between the rows of crops towards the flickering lights. He entered the village as the final rays of light faded from the sky. He merely nodded at a couple of those that he passed as they waved. It was completely dark by the time he made it to his mother’s home. He stopped at the door and looked at the odd little house with its thrusting additions and
haphazard construction. It was so different from his own. He was planning for eventualities. His mother just grabbed ahold of life as it happened and their home reflected it. The lights of the lanterns shone out through the windows giving the house a warm and pleasant feel from the outside. The herb gardens in the window boxes were fragrant in the cooling summer air. His hand paused at the door when he heard the laughter of his family. He sighed softly for it only brought greater weight to the fact that soon his world would be crashing in around him.

He stepped through the door. The kitchen was warm still from the summer day, and the heat to him was stifling. Everything had a place, and yet it was busy. Pots hung from hooks, drying herbs by the far window were hung by their stocks. The table had been cleared from dinner, and his parents were sitting at it. His mother was hanging on Henrick’s every word. Her face had softened at the appearance of the mage, and his mother was in her nicest dress. Her hair was down and
shimmerd in slightly graying waves. Despite the edges of gray, in that moment she looked younger. The lantern light framed her well, and for a moment, he could see what his father found attractive in his mother. His mother always was a different person when Henrick arrived. There was a softness to her in the man’s presence and her eyes were always bright and filled with joy.

His eyes met the mage’s but rather than anger or disappointment, Alador saw only amusement. It was almost as if Alador running off had been just a slight embarrassing misstep. He looked at the two of them sitting so close. Had h
is father cast a spell upon her like he had on those in the alehouse?  Did she gaze upon him like that because she loved him or because she was enthralled?  Yet if it was a spell, why choose his mother?  Why had Henrick chosen her?  Or was it merely something that had been done after the circle had started and his mother just happened to be the one caught in his web?  Henrick nodded to him and then leaned over to whisper in his maman’s ear. His eyes did not leave Alador’s, and Alador glared back at him. Whatever Henrick said, his mother responded by giggling like a young middlin and blushed slightly. Alador cringed for she suddenly reminded him of how Sofie had acted with Gregor.

He went over by the fireplace where Dorien sat upon the floor, playing a game of stones with Tentret. The fireplace was empty given the heat of the day, but it was still a focal point of the other half of the room. Alador watched Tentret trap many of Dorien’s stones and flip them over to claim them as his own. It was a game often played for it took skill to control the board with your own painted stones. Tentret usually won, but every once in a while, one of the other three could best him.

When Alador just stood there by the fireplace, Dorien looked up briefly and nodded to his little brother and then looked back up with concern. “Everything alright, Alador?"  He asked in hush tones so as not to draw the attention of the two at the table. Tentret was so immersed in his next potential move that he did not look up.

Alador nodded and collapsed into a chair that sat back from the fireplace. He stared into its cold depths trying to work out possible solutions. His brother did not press him only watching him for a moment with a frown before turning back to his game. Tentret was clearly winning by the number of white stones upon the board. Sofie was nowhere to be seen, but then this was not new. She had a habit of slipping off with her friends in the evenings when chores were done for the day. The chair next to him sat empty. His sister’s sewing lay haphazardly across the small table between them. He looked about the room. Every space of the wall was covered with things they used or needed. Only the wall above the fireplace was not filled in such a manner. There, Tentret was allowed to hang the best of his drawings. Alador smiled at one of a small one bent down by the river. She had a flower tucked into her hair, and a stick in her hand she was using to dig in the mud. He sighed softly. He wanted small ones. He wanted to father Mesiande’s small ones specifically.

It had become quiet at the table, and Alador looked over. His parents were nowhere to be seen, they had slipped out quietly. He rolled his eyes. He wished his mother did not act like a silly middlin when his father was about. It was not right. Adults her age should be acting with more sense. The fact he was barely an adult himself to be making such a judgment was lost on him at the moment. His thoughts moved to Mesiande. He had wanted the same things his father wanted. He would love a chance to slip out with her under the summer stars and kiss her slowly in the moonlight. Alador shook his head realizing he was more like his father than he cared to admit. He scowled in disgust at the similarities.

A knock came at the door, and Alador jumped up in alarm. Dorien raised a brow at him but left Alador to answer it. With trepidation, he opened the door to see one of Tentret’s friends. He did not know whether to be relieved or angry that it was not over with. He let him in and went back to his chair, flopping down. He did not pay attention to the laughter or the jibing that was going on between the other three men.

The charge of ‘magic user’ would ensure that he was asked to leave the village. He would have to leave with his father, and his only hope of return was like his father, if he came back on an enchanter’s rounds. This gave him a small bit of hope. At least he could see his family and spend a few nights in the arms of Mesiande. He sighed softly. What if she moved on to another in his absence?  His mother had taken others to the circle when his father had not been able to attend. He would not be welcome to stay as one who was cast out for the taint of magic. He might be able to take up work if he could learn to heal, but right now the only thing he knew how to do was boil water and a blasted fire could do that. No, the only thing to do now was to wait his fate and then leave with his father. If he wanted to be able to return, he was going to have to learn skills of use to the villages. He sighed softly in defeat. He was so lost in his thoughts that he did not notice when Dorien sat down beside him in the other chair.

“Who figured it out?"
 Dorien asked softly.

Startled out of his deep thoughts, Alador looked at his brother in panic and then looked about the room. He found that they were alone. He slowly eased back into his chair, his hands wringing with the depth of his anxiety.

Dorien put up a hand. “Easy little brother, they are all off doing other things. I can tell by your face that something large has happened so either your father tested you and you passed…"  Dorien searched Alador’s face, but Alador could not quite meet his eyes. “Or somebody else figured it out."  Dorien’s tone was concerned and supportive.

“Trelmar!"
 Alador spat out, his voice dripped with venom of his hatred.

Dorien leaned forward in alarm. His head fell into his hands for a long moment before he picked his head up slightly and looked over at Alador. “How could you be so careless?
 Of all the people to let know that you have come into the power that is your father’s curse?"  Dorien asked in disbelief.

“He was spying when I thought I-I was alone. I th-thought if I knew how to control it, I could fail my father’s test."
 Alador defended weakly. “It-t was the only way I could think of to stay here."  He ran his hands through his hair making it practically stand up. He looked at his brother with a glance begging for help. His misery was written on his face and the defeated slump of his shoulders.