Chapter Two – The Peddler

Arach knew he could not leave. If he did, without being able to sense mana, he would most likely be torn to shreds by the basic wildlife of this world. So, he made his first order of business to come up with a reasonable excuse for what happened at the farm. While thinking, he sat down to meditate.

His eyes were closed, but his mind was open. He sent out his thoughts, trying to touch upon the world in a way that no one could with only the five basic senses. With a sweep of his mind he looked upon the light inside his body. This light was total mana his body contained. It was weak, weaker than any other time in his life, except for perhaps when he was first created.

The distinct types of mana were nowhere to be seen. Instead a murky gray conglomeration of swirling colors was all he had. He inwardly sighed. I have to purify all of my mana, all over again.

Purifying mana was an extensive process. It was one that required a lot of time and even more hard work. Not to mention actually traveling to places with high concentrations of those mana types. It was a long process which involved separating each type of mana to be used separately.

He spent the next hour trying to sense the presence of light mana, but to no avail. Arach shook his head. Since it was getting late, and light scarcer, he chose to leave this room and see what was happening to the smith and his wife.

Downstairs the smith’s wife was talking to the baker. The baker, a lanky woman with blonde hair, was seated across the kitchen table from the smith’s wife. A beaming smile spread from the baker’s eyes.

Talia, the smith’s wife, whispered to her friend, “Suzy, I think there is something Arach isn’t tellin’ us. There is no way a dark wizard wouldn’ know tha was alive. I think we should get Aaron ta walk down ta his farm. He could find something.”

Suzy, shaking her head, sighed. In an almost lilting voice, she replied, “Talia, Arach just went through somethin’ awful. You can’t blame him for lyin’. He just needs some rest, then we can get everthin’ outta him.”

Crap. If they are going to interrogate me, I need to leave. If I let anything slip… Arach shuddered at the thought. He went back to the room he was sleeping in and laid down. Come on. You have to sense something. You can’t stay here any longer. Arach talked himself up, then began meditating.

He sent out what meager amount of mana he had, into the air around him. The light around him dimmed, as did the light mana. But as the light dimmed, the darkness grew. Darkness, the antithesis of light, was likewise endowed with a type of mana. It was the mana of death, of decay, and of corruption.

Arach, being a near-god level being in his previous world, was well acquainted with many types of mana, of energy. He lay there for hours, unable to find any traces of the mana that he knew must surely be there. Before long it was late into the night. He fell asleep, still trying to sense for mana.

As the sun crested the hills to the east, warming the skies above, Arach was awoke by the sounds of footsteps. Heavy they were, and filled with determination. In a moment his door was thrown open.

“Arach!” The smith bellowed, “You’re comin’ out today. There’s no reason ta be cooped up in this room. There’s a tradin’ fair! Ya’ve always loved those. So ya don’t getta be sad today.”

I guess this is his way to try to cheer me up. I might as well go, maybe I can find something to help me.

Arach nodded, then noticed that someone had put clothes out for him to wear during the night. He quickly donned them, then walked downstairs.

The smith, Horst, was waiting patiently at the bottom. “Let’s get goin’.” Horst nodded at Arach. Arach followed quietly. He was deep in thought. He realized he could no longer stay here as he had hoped. He had to leave, but how?

A memory from his other life, before he remembered who he was, resurfaced. Oh, that’s reasonable. There is an old story teller. She might know about mana. Endrine told me magic wasn’t extremely rare.

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They arrived at the fair after a few minutes of walking. The sun, now fully risen, began baking the ground. The heat of midmorning caused most of the fair goers to form at least a small amount of sweat.

Horst suddenly turned around and looked deeply at Arach. Horst’s burly hand stretched out towards Arach. “Take it. It was your pa’s. It was the only thing worth taking from your home.”

In his hand he held a bag of coins. Arach looked at it, are realized again that his ability to sense information in the surroundings was much more limited than before.

Arach took the bag and weighed it in his palm.

Horst spoke once more. “There’s a dozen coins in there. It should be able to buy you something nice, or something pretty for a lady, eh? Hehehe.” Horst turned and walked away, even as he laughed at his own joke.

Arach kept the coins in his loose-fitting clothes and headed for the storyteller. The storyteller’s house was surrounded by passersby. The normally quiet area was now filled with the hubbub of buying and selling. Merchants lined their stalls along both sides of the wide road. Villagers surrounded the stalls, and filled the streets with ooh, and ahh.

Arach avoided the crowd, and lightly knocked on the storyteller’s door. The house, like the storyteller herself, was plain but sturdy. What was once a deep pine brown, was now a faded and dull dirt brown.

The storyteller, Miss Cassandra, opened the door. She was an old and worn woman. Her pale skin, thin stature, and wrinkled face, denoted the passage of time she had endured. She squinted as she looked at Arach, as though it were difficult for her to make him out.

“Waddya want, eh? I ain’t got time for no fair. So you can just beat it.”

Arach hurriedly put his foot into the wedge of the door opening, afraid Miss Cassandra would close it. “Miss Cassandra, wait. I have a question for you.”

The door stopped closing, but didn’t open further.

Arach, taking this as a sign to continue, did. “I had a question about magic, and I thought ya’d be the best person ta ask. Ya seem to know everythin.” Arach spoke in the dialect of the boy.

The old storyteller shook her head as she grumbled, “You young people think you can just spit out your honeyed words and an old woman will do whatever you want.” She began walking inside her home, not bothering to close the door. She turned back after she had sat down, “Well? What are you waiting for? Come in and sit if you want to hear a tale.”

Arach entered. His previous self had only been in here a handful of times, and never for more than a moment. The inside was tidy, much tidier than one would expect from a time-worn old woman. There was only one chair, which sat by the fireplace. The single table in the room, a small tea table, sat directly next to the chair.

“I only have the one chair, so you’re gonna have ta sit on the floor.”

Arach nodded, and promptly did so.

“So, you want to learn about magic? That’s a complicated subject. Much too complicated for one as young as you to understand. But I’ll try. Magic is the ability ta use energy around us ta change the world. Those that can use magic are rare, but powerful. It could take one mage ta kill an entire group of armed men.”

Arach interrupted. He didn’t need some old batty’s version of what magic is, or how powerful it was. He already knew that. He wanted to know how to use it.

“Yes, but how can somebody use magic?” His tone implored Miss Cassandra.

“Don’t interrupt.” She gave him a stern look, then continued as though nothing happened. “Well, ta answer your question… I don’t know. If I did I’d be a magician myself. Or at least a hedge witch.”

He listened to her rattle on about what magic was, and what some powerful people did with it in such and such year, before finally finding an excuse to leave. That was useless. I wasted the entire day. I need a way out of here, but I can’t even use any magic.

By the time Arach left Miss Cassandra’s home, the twilight hours had settled in. The merchants had all but packed up, and were getting ready to move out. The caravan had already grouped up, and was about to head to bed.

Arach made a sudden decision then. He would go to these people and barter passage with them. When they left in the morning, so would he.

Looking out into the field near the village, Arach saw tents of various sizes. Most were large enough to house two or three people, but a few were big enough to house families.

The chill of the night had begun to set in, and the warmth of the fires lit outside the tents drew many to idle chatter. Arach walked to a large tent and spoke.

Although his voice was filled with tension, he tried to remain calm. “Sir, sir please. Come out of your tent. I wish to speak with you. There was a pause. No one answered. The chill began setting in Arach’s flesh, and he watched as an ember split from a camp fire, and slowly disappeared in the air.

Finally, someone roughly pushed the tent-flap open. A burly man, with a thick coat of dark hair, came out. “Who are you to come so late into my home?” The man sounded as if he were a king, or at least a nobleman. His air of pomp was second to none.

Arach bowed, enough to hopefully please this man, but not enough to seem ingenuine. “Hello lord. My name is Arach. My father passed last night, and I wish to barter passage with you.” Arach’s hands felt the thick, old, leather of his belt as he released the pouch of gold. “I have twelve coins. Will that be enough?”

The bear-like man snatched the bag like a beggar at a feast. After glancing inside the bag, and testing the coins, the merchant smiled at him. “Welcome to our Caravan Arach, my boy. You’ll provide your own food and shelter, but we’ll take you with us to the next town. We leave at dawn.”