“The founding of Ceraviehl marks the year 0 and the genesis of our great nation. Now, in the year 866 after the founding of Ceraviehl, there is not a force on this continent that may question our rule.”
Excerpt from History of Ceraviehl by Thea Baros
Silas’ eyes darted around the cabin. “Creak!” Gnarly looked up at him from the left side of the simple bed. The story his father had told him came to his mind. The Artsist called Elusco, and how his hate had led him to live a life alone, hunting for the Sadmora.
Various furs lay all around the bed, drenched in sweat. He felt his breathing slow as he looked at his new companion. “Where did you lead me to, my friend?” The small wooden creature tilted its head. “Creak? Creak!” It pointed outside, towards the direction of the door.
Silas swung his legs off the bed. To his surprise, they were almost completely covered in bandages. A sharp jolt of pain shot through his back as he stood up. Gnarly waved his vine-like arms around, taking in all the unfamiliar sights.
The only thing in the hunting lodge that stood out to Silas was the bookshelf. Thick tomes stood pressed against each other, unknown symbols decorating their spines. A collection of knives and bows were propped against a small rack beside the door.
His half-torn shoes were conveniently placed in front of the bed. Gnarly scrambled up his arm and took up its usual position on his right shoulder. “Creak!” it announced, once more pointing at the door.
Walking turned out to be difficult. His legs didn’t seem to want to support his weight. The door opened with a creak not unlike the sound Gnarly made. Bright sunlight greeted him. Silas had to shield his eyes to the sudden change as he stumbled out of the door. There was a small incline after the door, and he hastily gripped the wooden frame.
“I would advise you to watch where you’re going, because I won’t carry you a second time,” a gruff voice greeted him.
Silas kept holding onto the doorframe, his knees wobbling. Eventually, his eyes adjusted. It was the same green-robed man from before. He sat by the campfire, slurping something out of a wooden bowl while he looked at Silas, his expression unreadable. The two stared at each other for a couple of seconds. Neither did so much as blink.
Had the stranger bandaged his wounds and carried him into the cabin? What was the man even doing here, living in the woods all by himself, with Bryme a day’s journey away?
Silas shifted uneasily under the old man’s gaze. “Hello?” he began.
“You should eat something,” the stranger responded in way of greeting, gesturing at the bowl sitting in front of him.
A growl from his stomach reminded Silas of his hunger. Trying not to fall, Silas stumbled towards the small fire. He gingerly took the bowl of still-warm porridge, wincing at the pain from his back as he sat down. The stranger stared at him while both of them ate. The meal was nothing special, but Silas moaned in pleasure as the warm gruel made its way down to his stomach.
“Thank you for bandaging my wounds and carrying me into your cottage.”
The stranger nodded in response. The man’s face was expressionless, his studying eyes looking right through him. Silas shifted uneasily before his gaze.
“My name is Silas, by the way.”
“So you told me yesterday already.” The man glanced at Gnarly who sat on Silas shoulder and observed the exchange with interest.
“Mine is Tom, in case you’ve forgotten.”
Silas frowned. Tom was a very, very old name.
“It’s short for Tometheor,” he added. “But call me Tom.”
“Nice to meet you, Tom,” Silas began. “I got lost in the woods, and only stumbled upon your cottage by accident.”
Tom cocked an eyebrow and glanced at Gnarly.
“So what have you been running from? Few people walk through these woods with little more than scraps, their body half-covered by thorns.”
Silas’ spoon froze midway to his mouth. His breath got stuck in his throat. The decrepit door rattled. “I-I was running from-“ His eyes glazed over. Two crude axes, their tips glinting a deep red. Crunch. A guttural scream echoing through the clearing. Empty, once clear blue eyes looking up at him. Crunch. The sound made his skin crawl. Blood soaking into the earth, two bodies mutilated beyond recognition. The barbarian started chasing him.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Creak, creak, creak” Gnarly pulled on his earlobe. Silas took a shuddering breath.
The stranger’s face softened. “Whatever happened to you, I can promise you that you’re safe here. Nothing will come into this clearing without it escaping my notice. You can stay in my cabin for as long as you like. To be honest, I could use the company,” the old man half-mumbled. “Life isn’t that exciting out here.”
Silas nodded. “Thank you, but I don’t have any coins I could give you in return.”
“Don’t worry about it. You can do a few chores after you’ve recuperated, and we’ll call it even. I guess you were traveling to Bryme?”
“Yes. I want to get appraised by the Guild and become a Mage.” He couldn’t be weak and helpless anymore. To protect his new friend, he needed power. Only the Guild could give him that.
Tom locked eyes with Gnarly, who silently sat on Silas’ shoulder. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, boy.”
“What? Why?”
“The Guild of Mages may not be what you seek. Especially not with that little friend of yours,” he said, gesturing towards Silas’ shoulder where Gnarly sat and watched the conversation with curiosity.
“What has Gnarly to do with anything of this?”
The old man slowly shook his head. “You seriously named your spriggan Gnarly? That has to be one the worst names I have ever heard. And trust me, I have heard a lot.”
“He seems to like the name, so what’s the problem?”
Closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, Tom took a deep, slow breath.
“What I mean to say is that a spriggan is a very, very rare companion,” Tom explained with forced patience. “The self-proclaimed Mages of the Guild tend to be a bit… over-enthusiastic regarding their approach to the Arts. Meaning they may try to force you to cut the bond with Gnarly so they can bond with it themselves.”
Silas’ eyes widened. He couldn’t let that happen. The little wooden creature was the only thing he had left.
“How did you even get yours? Judging by its size, you must have bonded with it quite recently,” Tom remarked.
Suddenly very protective of Gnarly, Silas eyed the old man in front of him with suspicion. However, if Tom had wanted to take Gnarly away from him, he probably wouldn’t have carried him into his cabin and bandaged his wounds in the first place.
“I don’t really know, to be honest. I slept inside of a very large tree not far from here the night before. When I woke up, Gnarly was just standing in front of me,” Silas told the old man a bit reluctantly. Gnarly affirmed his story with a couple of creaks, puffing out its chest.
“You don’t mean that big tree with the arm-thick roots all around it, do you? The one so tall you could use one of its leaves for a hat?” Tom inquired, his eyes flickering between Silas and Gnarly.
Silas frowned. “Yes, I’m pretty sure that’s the tree I found Gnarly in.”
The old man stared at Silas for several long seconds, blinking repeatedly. Suddenly, his right eye started to spasm uncontrollably while the rest of his face remained a mask. “For decades I tried getting it to talk with me, and now this little brat comes along and—” the rest was too low for Silas to make out. The old man took another deep breath.
“I don’t know how you managed to bond with it, but the spriggan most likely originates from the tree you have slept in,” Tom elaborated. “For reasons I cannot fathom it decided to gift you one, so treat it with care. You probably don’t know this, but spriggans cannot reproduce naturally. They are mostly born, or to be more specific, made by sapient trees, like the one sitting on your shoulder right now.”
Glancing over his shoulder, Silas fondly looked at his new friend. It seemed so innocent, with its huge amber-colored eyes and its unbridled enthusiasm.
“Don’t worry, I will take good care of it. By the way, do they need water and sunlight like other plants do?” he inquired.
“First of all, a Spriggan is not a plant, but a living being. Secondly, almost every living being needs water and sunlight to survive. Therefore, the answer to your question is yes, they do indeed need both of these things,” Tom told him with a deadpan expression.
“I was just asking because it ate a few berries yesterday,” the boy grumbled.
Tom cocked an eyebrow. “A few berries you say? How did it even eat them, as little as it is?”
Silas had enough of the old man already. At first, he made fun of his new friend’s name, and now this? He laid down his spoon and looked directly into Tom’s eyes.
“With its mouth,” he replied slowly, enunciating each word clearly.
Tom didn’t respond. His right eye started twitching again.
The two stared at each other for a tense moment, neither saying a word before Gnarly eventually broke the uncomfortable silence.
“Creak, creak!” it vocalized happily.
Silas averted his eyes, not enduring the stranger’s gaze anymore. A small field encircled by a wooden fence stood to the side of the cabin, with various plants growing inside of it.
“You have a garden?” While growing a few vegetables in one’s backyard was hardly unusual, the gruff and stoic man didn’t strike Silas as the kind of person to be into gardening.
“Yes. I planted a few vegetables behind my cottage. They grow quite large under my care if I might add,” Tom told him, straightening his spine.
“Ahh,” replied Silas, blankly looking at the old man in front of him.
“I even have three different kinds of carrots, and tomatoes so sweet they taste like candy,” he bragged, his talking speed increasing with each word that came out of his mouth.
Silas, however, had already zoned out. A vegetable garden? And were those bones, sprawled around the length of the fence?
“You won’t believe how deep I had to dig the fence to keep those little monsters at bay! It’s almost three feet deep now, and they still managed to get through somehow!” Tom exclaimed, wildly gesturing with his arms.
“I even went so far as to put rabbit bones and skulls all around the fence to deter them, but guess what? They simply hopple over their own dead! Implacable, savage little creatures,” Tom cursed.
Oh no. Just how crazy was the old man? Silas didn’t even want to know what else he had tried. “I don’t mean to be rude, but would you mind if I rest for a bit? I still feel a bit weak,” he said, trying to look dizzier than he felt.
“Oh,” replied Tom, the wrinkles on his forehead softening. His stoic expression returned immediately. “Of course, rest as long as you want. There is a canteen next to the bed. I’ll be out hunting, so don’t worry if I’m not there when you wake up,” he explained to Silas.
Not needing to ask him what he intended to hunt, Silas thanked Tom again before heading into the cabin. He needed to get away from here as soon as possible. Odd did not even begin to describe that old man.