The Plight of a Boon

Chapter 3 of To Those Who Hear the Call

I’m Lydia Woodward and I write fantasy stories about redemption and forgiveness. To learn more, you can read my bio here or the about page here.

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Recap

Chapter 2: Eraneshu fights a warlock and nearly gets himself killed. Once Milpho neutralizes the after-effects with a spell, he proposes a bet: Eraneshu will be granted his power if he swears to bring back Wodahs in the timeframe of Milpho’s choosing. Should he fail, his life will be forfeited in place of Wodahs’. Despite his misgivings, he accepts.

To Those Who Hear the Call is being posted here as a serialized novel, and as such needs to be read in order. If you haven’t read Chapter 1 yet, you can find it here:

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Have you ever imagined what it would be like to swallow a baited hook? Wondered what shock might rack your system as something at once so wonderful turned to blood and horror? 

Neither have I. 

And yet, I find myself under the distinct impression of being reeled in on a shiny lure. 

If this proves anything, it is that a man is capable of far greater stupidity than the wide-eyed, gullible fish we tend to feed on. They are caught unawares - simple victims to an intellect beyond their comprehension. But we so often lodge the hooks into our own flesh, knowing that it will bring nothing but pain and misery. All for the brittle promise of something we desire. 

And I do desire power. Like a dream that haunts you with the seeming familiarity of hope and delight, following you into your waking hours until your fingers ache with the belief you could have it all if you only knew how to grasp it. My energy orb is a fearsome thing: raw, beautiful, and unmatched in its tenacity. It's an intrinsic part of everything I have ever believed about myself. 

Working for Milpho Fanz has taught me that without my power, I am nothing but a walking corpse waiting for the grave to open beneath my feet. But it is more than just a sense of distrust that makes me uneasy. After all, it was years before meeting the conniving goblin that I chose the path that led me here. 

Only a greedy fool would long so desperately for the fire that ravaged his entire world. 

Madam Eevo seems to appear out of thin air, a small tray balanced on one hand while the other rests on her hip. "Milpho Fanz, you best be leaving that boy alone. Look at him, would you? He looks liable to teeter over." 

Milpho's signature grin flashes with curved teeth. "He's hardly that fragile."  His words seem to trail off as he looks back at me, but he shakes his head with another chuckle. "Or that young. You don't have a great many years on him, my dear Eevo."  

Ignoring him seems to be her favorite response, and she once again resumes her focus on me. "Well then, my dear. I may not be an expert on the Vaye, but I know you aren't an old man yet." She drags a cracked table over to me, its legs wobbling precariously. Setting the tray down in front of me, she pats my arm with a wink. "Now you best eat up. I rummaged up some ystan root for the stew, so I dare say it will do you some good." 

"Thank you," I say, opting to ignore the raised eyebrow Milpho is pointing in my direction. Ystan root is as useful as it is pungent and, unfortunately, tastes almost impalatable. Being the only food source on the planet that reacts to a Vaye's metabolism like our home-world diet also makes it the dreaded staple of my childhood. 

Wodahs once claimed that he should have chosen starvation had he known what horrific tortures the common vegetable would wreak on his tastebuds. Seeing as how he was the only one of us who knew what starvation felt like, I had taken his words with no small amount of respect. 

I imagine he still has yet to acquire a taste for it.

Eevo watches me intently, her eyes somehow managing to look both concerned and eager. Which, as you are sure to have ascertained by now, little wanderer, is an excellent reason to gain better control of your own stream of consciousness. There's no better way to lose track of important social cues than getting lost in your mind. Unfortunately, being lost is still preferable to being found by the daymares, and so here I am, wondering whether I have been asked anything important.

Taking a large spoonful of the thick, gelatinous white substance gives me a moment to recalibrate the situation, bracing myself for the sharp, bitterness of the ystan. Yet, somehow, it doesn't come. Dumbfounded, I stare back into the bowl while the mixture somehow melts against my tongue like a warm, soothing hug. It's a comforting spice, akin to the aftertaste of the steaming mugs of seasoned drinking chocolate the monastery once received for the Virban festivities. Someone had said that it was portaled from an information center in Oru'n. It feels almost soothing. 

"So?" Eevo prompts, the corners of her mouth twitching with the threat of a smile. 

"It's..." The proper words seem to escape me, my mind searching for some way of expressing what that stew is, but coming up empty. "Are you certain this is ystan?" 

Eevo laughs. "Quite sure, my dear. I take it you like it then?" 

For the first time in years, I feel the odd bubbling sensation in my chest rising into my throat. The laugh doesn't escape me fully, more like a rough, choking chuckle, but the grin succeeds in scrunching up my unused facial muscles. "Like it?" I find myself saying, the lightened tone feeling more foreign than the grin. "If you can make ystan taste like this, then you could feed me poison and I would die happy." 

A smile spreads to Eevo's eyes, a twinkle alighting in both. "I'm pleased to hear it. Though I imagine my customers wouldn't be too thrilled if word got out that someone was poisoned here." 

"One body isn't that hard to get rid of," I say, still grinning. "I'd offer to help, but I imagine I wouldn't be all that useful as a corpse." 

Excessive throat clearing interrupts whatever Eevo could have said next. Milpho stands, adjusting his vest with the air of a man who has spent too much time admiring the sound of his own opinions. "Yes, well, as charming as this has been, I imagine Eraneshu should get to bed before that spell wears off." He turns to me, a slow, sinister smile turning up the corners of his mouth. "I should so hate to see you in pain, my boy." 

"As much as this pains me to say, the green pincushion is right." Eevo taps her pale fingers next to my bowl. "Eat as much as you can. It will help your body heal once you get to bed." 

Glancing at the deceptively plain bowl of lumpy white stew, I nod my agreement. Milpho's interruption wasn't entirely useless. Now that it's been brought back to my attention, the lack of pain after that explosion is worrying. The rest of the stew is gone in moments, the strange numbness in my body urging me to eat the meal faster than I would have liked. 

Eevo waves off my next attempt at thanks. "Don't worry yourself. There'll be plenty more to thank me for if that suits your fancy. I'm sure I can whip up something more impressive with that ystan." she winks, the motion conspiratorial, and collects the empty dish with a smile. "Just you wait." 

Milpho Fanz is at my elbow when Eevo exits the room. "I would offer to help you up to your room, but I imagine you're a bit heavy for me." He nods toward the stairs. "Let's be going then before you fall over." 

The air feels too light when I stand, swaying slightly, I feel the blood draining from my face and nod my agreement. Minutes drag by in slow motion with each wobbly step up the long, winding staircase behind the kitchens. Halfway up, the spell begins to wane, and the burning pain hits me all at once, causing me to double over. My grip tightens on the railing for support and I struggle to regain my breath. 

"Oh dear me," he says, the amusement  evident in his voice, "it seems the spell wore out faster than I thought."

That seems unlikely, but I keep that thought to myself and pull myself up the rest of the stairs, collapsing into my bed with a groan once I reach my small room. My whole body burns. Everywhere the warlock's energy wrapped around me now has raised white welts that seem to sear down into my bones with sharp, pulsing pains. The ystan root will take several hours before boosting the energy levels left in my bloodstream. Until then, my body won't be able to regulate the healing process or keep my temperature steady. It's going to be a long night. 

"Come now, my boy, there's no need to look so forlorn. I have the boon you've paid for, or have you forgotten?" Milpho raps his knuckles on the small side table by my head and waves the shimmery parchment in front of me once again. "Try not to scream, hmm?" There's no time to respond or wonder at his meaning before the paper disintegrates, forming an oblong, flitting orb of energy that seems to shift in place, like it's surrounded on all sides by delicate plumes of smoke. It rises, fluctuating and elongating until the tips reach for me, leaping from my waist to my chest and plunging inside. The pain that follows is excruciating, every muscle tensing at once while the ache in my bones turns into tiny blades scraping the inside of my marrow. 

It's all too much too soon, and I find myself slipping, the woozy haze of the daymare sitting tantalizingly close to my conscience. A wordless whisper seems to beckon my attention to the edges of reality with the alluring promise of relief. Just let go, it seems to say, be free. 

I pull back - a thousand sensations slamming back to the forefront once my conscious mind wrenches back control. The first thing I become aware of is the hoarse scream echoing off of the walls. My throat burns in complaint before it registers that the ghastly sound is coming from my own lips.

"Well," Milpho says, a deep frown creasing his forehead where he's dabbing at large beads of sweat with his damp handkerchief, "now that was certainly not discreet of you, my boy." He sighs, a heavy sigh that he must fancy to be indulgent. "I suppose it could have been handled worse, though I would be hard-pressed to figure out how."

"Hmm," is all the intelligent response I can manage, but it seems to be satisfying for the moment. He waves his hand, his next sigh seeming to slip off the illusion for a moment - his face looking tired and worn before the moment passes and he's back to himself again. Confidant, overbearing Milpho. He wags his finger at me. "Enjoy your sleep, my boy. There's a long journey ahead and I am expecting great things this time." 

This time, he doesn't wait for a response. He shuffles out of my room, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the intense fire burning in my core. My energy is awake and voracious. The orb thrums as it sends signals throughout my bloodstream, causing every dormant ember to spark to new life. My fingers and toes tingle with the flickering life surging to them in electric pulses. 

I should be happy. 

Here it is, the moment I have found myself wishing for through every job I've struggled to finish for Milpho, every time my life teetered at the precipice, toeing the line between skill and fortune and nearly falling over. This power is mine. Yet, somehow, it feels foreign and out of shape, like I'm a small boy trying to fill out a greater man's coat. It's loose and cumbersome. Too much to hold onto. 

If you knew me, you would know that I am broken. A hollow, cracked shell left only with the half-forgotten memory of what it felt like to be something more. Something whole and good. Someone that once cared a great deal about what lay ahead of me. 

There was a piece of me still holding onto the belief that the missing piece was everything they had taken from me. But this power isn't mine. Not anymore. 

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