They gave Elwyn and his children as much time to process their loss as possible before setting out. The farmer spent much of that time picking through the ashes of his life with purpose, walking around with his eyes on the ground as if searching. Eventually, he found a spot at some cue Lucas couldn’t recognise a few dozen metres away from the farm house and crouched down, digging away some of the ash and soot with his hands as scoops. When his children saw what he was doing, they ran over to join him. When they were done, the three stayed kneeling there, heads bowed, talking among themselves too quietly for Lucas and the others to hear.
“His wife’s grave,” Aly said softly, her eyes fixed on Elwyn’s back.
“How did she die?” Lucas asked.
Aly shrugged. “Elwyn said she got sick.”
“They couldn’t get her to a healer? Or get one out here?” Valerie asked.
“Not a lot of healers around in these parts, I imagine,” Wick said.
“There isn’t,” Aly confirmed. “Not magic ones, anyway.”
“I see,” Valerie said, sounding unconvinced.
When the small family was done, they came back to pick through what little could be taken from their ruined house. They hadn’t had much in the way of possessions to begin with, and the fire had destroyed most of them. Again, Lucas felt bad for that. He approached Elwyn as he was digging through the heap of stuff that had been packed in a trunk at the back of the central room.
“I’m sorry about your farm,” Lucas said, rubbing the back of his head.
Elwyn’s eyes were surprisingly warm as he smiled. “Our lives are worth a hundred of everything on this farm put together, my lad. Don’t apologise when I should be heaping you with thanks.”
“That’s very positive of you,” Lucas said, unable to help smiling back. “Still, though. I guess I just feel sorry that something like this would happen to you at all, even if I don’t receive any blame for it.”
“You don’t,” Elwyn said with finality in his tone. “No one can be blamed for the actions of mad beasts. Least of all the heroes who fight against them.”
Lucas struggled not to grimace. The man was just using heroes as a generic term, he told himself.
“As for this happening to me…” Elwyn’s gaze trailed over to the spot where he and his children had apparently said their goodbyes. “I’ve been lucky to have a peaceful life here for so long. One I can only be thankful for with all my heart. I would’ve liked it to go on into eternity, but nothing lasts forever. All things must be balanced.”
“You think this was some kind of karma?” Lucas asked.
“Not exactly. I don’t think it was some inevitable action of the universe to punish me for daring to be happy. What kind of miserable world would that be?” Elwyn chuckled to himself as he fished out a small trowel from his box. “It’s just the way of life. You have your ups and downs.”
“Seems like a pretty heavy down.”
Elwyn smiled. “I’ve had worse.”
“Yeah,” Lucas said, looking away. His attention was drawn back when Elwyn gave a small laugh of triumph.
“There we go,” Elwyn said as he pulled free a black cloak that had been sequestered at the very bottom of the chest. He spread it out on the floor before him and let out a melancholic sigh. “Lesa wanted to get rid of this thing, but I kept it just in case she changed her mind. And then… Well, I was never going to throw it away after I lost her, was I? Silly, sentimental man.”
“Your wife was part of the Order of Five?” Valerie’s voice appeared behind him, shocking Lucas halfway out of his skin. She met his half-hearted glare with a flat look.
“She was,” Elwyn said. “Unfortunately, she rather lost faith in the cause and decided she wanted to make a life with me instead.”
“Unfortunately?”
Elwyn smiled. “I’m delighted beyond words that my love decided to spend her life with me, but it’ll always make me a little sad that she felt she could no longer hold onto something she once believed in.” He glanced at Valerie. “I hope you take no offence to this, Captain, but my Lesa once said she didn’t think Lucas Brown would ever show up at all.”
Lucas swallowed.
“She wouldn’t be the only member of the Order to make such a claim,” Valerie said evenly.
“Oh, I know. But it’s pretty morbid, ain’t it? It’s like saying you don’t believe the world can be saved, and we’re all doomed to fall to the beasts. I hated when she talked like that.”
“What do you believe, Ser Elwyn?” Lucas asked, half dreading the answer but still needing to hear it.
“I hold out hope,” Elwyn said, “that things can change for the better, whether that be by the hands of a chosen hero arriving to save the day, or through the strength of our people. Frankly, I don’t give a damn if it’s Lucas Brown or someone else. To me, believing in this prophecy stuff is about optimism, and I like to look on the positive side of things.” He looked down at the dark cloak and smiled sadly. “I think she still wanted to believe, too, deep down. In a hopeful future, if nothing else. She would have found her faith again, eventually.”
Lucas didn’t know what to say to that, and there was a pause in the conversation as they all thought over Elwyn’s words.
“Lesa was her name, you said?” Valerie asked. “Lesa Willows?”
“That’s her,” Elwyn said, his face lighting up. “You knew her?”
“No, but I know the name,” Valerie said. “She worked directly with Lady Claire for some time.”
“Now that she was proud of,” Elwyn said. He let out a sigh. “To tell the truth, I think her admiration for Lady Claire was part of what soured her on the Lucas Brown thing. She had many stories about how the Great Wand no longer wanted to discuss the summoning. It shook her, I think.”
“It’s common for non-believers to cite Lady Claire’s lack of enthusiasm for the subject.”
“Mm. From Lesa’s stories, it sounded to me more like Lady Claire has been very tired for a very, very long time, rather than having given up.”
“Yes,” Valerie said with a sigh. “If only more people would see that. Herself included.”
Elwyn looked at her. “Lesa once told me that there was no time Lady Claire looked more fulfilled than when she was rescuing people from beasts, and Lesa felt the same. That never left her, I don’t think. Her cloak stayed in this trunk from the day she took it off until the day she died, but she never put down her sword for a moment. She ranged all around the countryside, helping whoever she could. I reckon the same is true of Lady Claire. No matter how tired she is, she wants to help.”
Valerie smiled, and it was perhaps the most genuine expression Lucas had seen from her. “I’d like to hear more about Lesa, some time.”
“Careful now, Captain. Get me talking about my Lesa and I’ll never stop.”
“I don’t mind.”
After that, Elwyn shortly declared himself ready and collected his children for the journey. They had only one sack of belongings between them, and Elwyn would hear none of their offers to carry it for him. The man was determined not to be a burden.
They sat out about two hours after breakfast—more jerky, to Lucas’ disappointment—and headed directly south. Cresting the hills that surrounded the natural basin, Elwyn paused and looked back. He said nothing, just surveying the lands that had once been his, expressionless. His shoulders slumped, and there was a brief moment where his eyes turned sad.
But his daughter placed her hand in his, and the man’s expression seemed to light up with life once more. They set off down the other side of the hill, leaving the farm behind.
Somewhat predictably, the firesheep followed them. Their interest in Lucas had waned as it became clear he had no more divine blessings for them, and instead they now seemed devoted to the farmer who’d raised them.
“I was there for all of their births and the births of their parents and grandparents, but they’ve never shown appreciation for it until now,” Elwyn said with a chuckle. He shook his head. “Except for feeding time, of course. Then I was the messiah.”
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The little flock frolicked around them as they travelled, and unfortunately at least part of Valerie’s fears proved founded. The newly magical creatures acted as normal sheep would, uncomprehending that their fiery fleeces could start up a blaze. Bushes, trees, and other plants regularly caught alight. Lucas was on hand to put the fires out, but with Jamie conked out it was even harder than usual to control his pyromancy. They were lucky it was a relatively damp spring morning, the grass dewey.
It was most frustrating because Lucas knew they could transform all the way back if they wanted to—something he was more than a little put out about. How did they figure out shaping themselves so quickly? Life wasn’t fair.
Determined not to be upstaged by some domesticated animals who’d had fire magic for less than 24 hours, Lucas poked Jamie until the monstercat grumpily allowed some fire mana to trickle into Lucas’ pathways. His pyromantic sense lit up. Its range was lower than usual, and it was slightly blurry like the metaphorical lens was out of focus. It took some concentration to zero in on a firesheep and comprehend its flaming form. A male, judging by its curling horns. He was fairly sure it was the third one he’d given his mana to.
Obviously, the ram’s fiery fleece was the hottest part of its body. It was just like Lucas’ firehand; what had once been a thick coat of wool was now made up of tiny strands of fire that, somehow, behaved exactly as wool was meant to. There was a constant stream of heat flowing through the sheep’s body along familiar lines—mana pathways—but the fleece was a separate matter.
That, Lucas thought, was the strangest thing about bodily transformation—AKA self shaping. Just as his firehand remained even when Jamie wasn’t pumping fire mana into his pathways, so too did the sheep’s fleece show no sign of needing magical maintenance. There had to be something to that. Something he was missing.
He focused on the heat of the firesheep’s fleece, seeking a source to it. There had to be one, otherwise it would revert to a regular wool fleece like he sometimes saw the other firesheep doing—he didn’t know why or how they were doing that, either.
But he saw nothing. At least, not through his basic pyromantic heat sense. He needed a closer look.
Moving next to the sheep, he placed his flesh hand against its side and started transferring fire mana into the creature. He’d half expected to have to chase the sheep down and pin it like before, but it accepted his presence without a hint of fear. In fact, it seemed to welcome him. Quite to Lucas’ surprise, the mana in its system was virtually indistinguishable from his own. After a moment of thought, he realised that made sense.
The original mana the sheep had fed off was Lucas’ in the first place, so it was understandable why it was so familiar. That had some implications. Ideas scratched at the back of Lucas’ mind, begging for attention, but he pushed them away with considerable reluctance. His firehand was the priority. These sheep, weird as they were, were his best lead on figuring out how to get his hand back save for talking to a pyromancer.
The pins-and-needles sensation where the firehand met the flesh of his arm was going to drive him insane otherwise.
His own fire mana cycling through the sheep’s pathways gave him a better idea of the animal’s system. It was more mature than he’d expected, and he didn’t see any indication that it was making any effort to expand its pathways. Its mana circulated slowly, keeping within the confines of the framework laid out for it, no sign of it spending mana in any capacity despite its flaming fleece. The heart of its soul was seemingly fully developed, which was another point of interest, and Lucas devoted his attention there.
If the sheep’s pathways were, for the sake of comparison, as wide as a golf ball, then its heart was the size of a baseball. It shone with magical energy, and it seemed to be blazing like Jamie’s did? Why?
With his real eyes, Lucas gave the creature a discerning look. One of its coal-black eyes with the twinkling ember at its centre gazed coolly back at him, unconcerned by his scrutiny. It was kind of unnerving. Sheep weren’t meant to be so poised.
“What on Earth are you doing there?” Lucas muttered, then corrected himself, “Or what on Aerth, I guess?”
Valerie appeared on the other side of the sheep, observing the spot where his hand rested on the sheep’s flank. “You’re giving the sheep more mana?”
Lucas nodded absently, still trying to puzzle out what the sheep was doing with its heart.
“Why?” Valerie asked.
“Trying to figure something out,” Lucas said. “What does its heart look like to you?”
“I see nothing particularly out of the ordinary.”
“It’s fully grown, right?”
“Yes. One could argue the mana system is a living being’s soul. Even if one doesn’t have the requisite mana levels to perform magic, it’ll still develop as one grows.”
“So everyone and everything has a mana system?”
“Everything living,” Valerie corrected him. She glanced up, searching his face. “If you are thinking of tinkering with your own heart, I would once again advise extreme caution. It’s arguably the single most important part of your soul.”
“I wasn’t planning to right now. Firehand’s the focus,” he said. But he couldn’t help his curiosity and had to ask, “What are the other most important parts?”
“Your education in biology should allow you to make accurate guesses for the very top spots.”
Lucas thought about that. “The brain, then.”
Valerie nodded.
Lucas thought about it. “And then the lungs, maybe?”
“Right again. The others aren’t so easily ascertained via reasonable deduction, and aren’t especially relevant right now. What you should know is that the soul is generally divided into heart, mind, breath, and body by those who study it.”
“Body? Like, the entire thing?’
“Multiple different aspects under a broader umbrella, which should give you some idea how important they are individually compared to the first three. That’s not to say they’re worthless, but many get by without developing them extensively. One can do great things with just a strong heart, deep mind, or long breath.”
“Huh. So, are we talking flesh, bone, and muscle?”
Valerie raised a hand and tilted it from side to side. “Technically, one can classify parts of the mana system as such to simplify things, but scholars dislike it.
Lucas smiled. “So is there a stereotype of skinny wizards here?”
“Unfortunately,” Valerie said. “One can do great things while neglecting to develop the body, but that doesn’t mean one should.”
Lucas filed all that away for later. Had to keep on track. “So, anyway: you’re saying the way it’s rotating the mana in its heart is normal, right?”
“That’s how it looks when the heart of a fully matured soul creates mana,” Valerie confirmed.
“Huh,” Lucas said. He looked at the sheep, inspecting the spark in its black eye. “So that means you’re producing mana.”
On a whim, he reached out to the sheep’s fleece and tried to suppress the fire. The sheep whipped its head around to look at him straight on, but after a moment it acquiesced to his request. Fire rolled over its body like it was being sucked away into the sheep’s heart, leaving untouched wool in its wake. In a second, it was a sheep like any other, save for the ember speck in its eyes. It looked at him with its head tilted, confusion painted over its expression.
Lucas had been watching its mana, and so he saw as excess appeared in its system, bolstering and brightening. Moments later, its heart’s flame stopped blazing. Instead, it settled down to a smouldering state that Lucas had never seen from Jamie.
Could it really be that simple? Did he just have to ask Jamie to change it back for him? No, it felt like there was more to it than that, and with the Gift working on his mind he was inclined to listen to inexplicable hunches.
He directed his fire mana to the firesheep’s wool, and it took the hint. He watched the changes as its fiery fleece returned to life, cataloguing the movements of mana in its heart. Then he had it repeat the process over and over, observing keenly. The sheep went along with his whims with an air of animalistic exasperation.
It didn’t seem to be doing anything particularly special. Its mana was moving in a recognisable pattern, but there was no sign of particularly strenuous activity. Not even in the creature’s brain.
The most interesting part was in how it acted when it replaced the fire with its regular woollen fleece. It was the same every time, with no variation, matching the identical pattern of mana that flared in its pathways.
Mana is life, but it’s also memory, Lucas thought, recalling some of Jyn’s words on pyromancy. It remembers what my body was. The shape I’m supposed to be, and how that shape works.
Theoretically, his mana remembered what his hand was supposed to be. Lucas looked down at his firehand, simultaneously focusing on the mana flowing through the corresponding pathways. It all moved in the shape of his hand, the pathways in the area having been forced to full maturity under Lucas’ attention.
Now, his mind was building momentum, hurtling towards an answer, and excitement built within him. He didn’t want to slow it down; his instincts were highlighting this path in great glowing letters.
Adrenaline and anticipation rising, he spiritually shook Jamie awake, demanding his heart’s flame cut off the fire mana it was using to maintain his firehand. Jamie emitted a feeling of disbelief, tinged with indignation at being awoken so harshly. Lucas barreled through his complaints, demanding—no, commanding. With a puff of emotion that communicated his disdain for Lucas’ intelligence, Jamie complied.
Lucas was ready for it like he’d been preparing for this since the moment he’d woken up in this place. In a way, he had. From the instant a magical soul was attached to him, it had been building a profile of who he was meant to be; he’d even tapped into it when fighting off the beasts’ corruption, fueled by fury.
This time, fury wouldn’t serve him. Instead, he channelled determination.
The flames started peeling away from his hand, the mana powering them flowing back into his heart’s flame, and Lucas affirmed his mental and spiritual image of his hand, holding it in his mind. His mana reacted, tapping in to a database he'd always known had to be there but had been too scared to experiment with.
Flesh and blood and bone and muscle. Four fingers and a thumb. The palm. The knuckles. A few dozen inches of skin. Flexors and abductors.
A flash of pain, white-hot.
A burst of mana, icy cold.
And then came feeling. Cold wind biting at sensitive skin; sore, unused muscles; creaking, semi-arthritic bones. It felt raw, stinging with pins and needles. It was like he'd taken a snapshot of his hand from the moment before he'd plunged it into the fire, back in Pentaburgh, just feeling the first hints of heat licking at his skin.
Lucas opened his eyes and clenched his hand into a fist so tightly the knuckles popped and his nails sliced crescent moons into his palm, rivulets of blood running down his wrist and forearm. His eyes watered from the pain, but it was the most beautiful pain he’d felt in weeks.
Beside him, Valerie raised an eyebrow. “Congratulations,” was all she said.
Lucas was still grinning at his returned hand like a madman hours later when Taunton came into view.