Cyrus Lone
The morning held the crisp chill of early fall when I pulled the blankets off myself, my joints protesting, leaving the warmth. A familiar low whine greeted me. Yawning, I looked down to find the sorrowful brown eyes of my golden dog waiting at my bedside. The dog’s fan of a tail wagged slowly back and forth, his head resting against the corner of the bed, waiting for me to greet him.
Smiling, I reached over and ruffled his ears. “Good morning, Toga,” I said, my voice still heavy with sleep. “I’m not as young as you. You’ll have to give these old bones a few minutes to loosen up before we go outside.”
Toga only wagged his tail faster, his nails clicking against the wooden floor as he danced at the sound of my voice. The silly hound.
Getting to my feet, I groaned as my aching bones creaked, then walked over to the hearth to light a small fire. I placed my kettle on to boil the morning’s coffee. With that done, Toga whined again and trotted to the cabin door, reminding me he needed to relieve himself. He was a polite enough dog, but it never ceased to amaze me how intelligent the animal was. A goof, yes, but a smart one.
“I didn’t forget,” I reassured him, chuckling.
Walking over to the door, I pulled it open and watched Toga bolt out and start his morning routine of inspecting and marking the property as if it had forgotten he lived there overnight. I had to resist rolling my eyes at how seriously he took this task every morning. After watching my companion for a few minutes, my eyes shifted to the treeline. The warm light of dawn leaked through the branches. I had to take a moment to enjoy the stillness. Knowing it would be several more minutes before Toga was ready, I leaned against the doorframe and waited for him to conclude his business.
“Finished already?” I asked when the dog came trotting around the corner. “I thought you would be a little longer. Oh well, let’s get breakfast started then.” I pulled the door open wider, allowing him to go in first. “After you, your majesty,” I said, then followed him just as the kettle announced the water had come to a boil.
I made my cup of coffee, then stepped out to the henhouse to gather the morning’s eggs. After feeding Toga, I waited for my food to finish cooking at the fire. While I waited, I set the table before I at last retrieved my meal and sat down to eat.
The chair creaked as I settled my weight into it, the wood as vocal as my own joints after so many years of use. Sighing with contentment, I reached for my fork, about to lift some egg into my mouth before growing aware of the silence. Toga had settled himself at my feet, too polite to beg for scraps. The only sound was the fire as it ate away at the wood.
Lifting dull golden eyes up, they settled on the empty plate sitting across from me. It rested there, as still and quiet as my love now resting in her grave. My gaze grew heavy with sorrow, the old emotion rearing its head, woken from its slumber. “It never gets any easier,” I murmured, the tone of my voice prompting Toga to push himself to his feet and nudge at my right hand that had fallen into my lap. Placing my fork back down onto the plate, I brought my left hand up to touch one of the two identical necklaces resting around my neck. One lay cold and lifeless against my skin, while the other radiated warmth.
For a moment, I allowed my thoughts to linger on the passage of time that awaited me now before I felt Toga paw at my leg, pulling my attention back to the present. It was better this way, I knew, to focus on the now. Wisdom I had yet to learn after all this time, but my dog of only three years seemed to be a master of.
Glancing down at Toga, I tried to smile at my companion, the fingers of my right hand curling into the warm fur. “Thanks, but I’m alright.” The animal whined, and I knew he could see right through my lie, but I couldn’t bring myself to say otherwise. I was alright, at least I would be with time. The honest brown eyes held more compassion than I could ever deserve, but as always, the animal gave his love willingly. In what universe and time did humans ever deserve such creatures? “Yeah, I’m sure you miss her, too.”
I turned back to my meal a few minutes later, Toga stubbornly staying within reach of my hand. The spoiled dog didn’t allow me to dwell on my thoughts a moment longer, nudging my hand when I stopped petting him. I had to admit in times like this that the dog’s companionship helped get me through the day.
It had been a shock when my wife had brought the pup home three years ago. Toga was nothing more than a few pounds of shaggy golden fur then, and I couldn’t say I was too happy to see him. We had enough on our plates already with the farm animals, and I had an unpleasant experience with a dog in the past. Since then, getting one as a pet or work animal wasn’t a priority of mine, but that woman… She had gone and named the dog before she had even brought him home. Although I protested, using the excuse of not wanting yet another mouth to feed, it didn’t take but a few hours for her to change my mind. I never could say no to her, and now I couldn’t say no to a slobbering spoiled pup, either.
Standing, I cleaned the table, washing the dishes in the sink before drying them and putting them away. The water pump took some work, but it was easier than trekking down to the river with a bucket and lugging it back up. With that chore done, I dried my hands and glanced down at Toga to see the dog laying nearby. His head rested on his front paws, watching me as if I were the most interesting thing in the world. I hoped I would never get used to it. The trust the animal put in me kept me humble.
“We need to check the lines today. What do you say we take a walk after chores?”
Toga’s answer was a hearty wag of his tail as he hurried to the door, dancing in place while he waited for me to come open it.
Together we fed the chickens, pulled hay out for the horse and goats, then chopped the night’s wood before placing it inside by the hearth and cutting extra to set by the house. Feeling more energetic after working the stiffness from my joints, I put a harness on Toga, something I had fashioned to help carry my catch. Then we started down the long trail toward the river. The dog trotted right at my heel, tongue out and a toothy grin plastered over his face while I lectured him, warning him he needed to behave while we were out and that we were doing work. Not that the dog ever seemed to believe a word I said. I kept up the conversation anyway, thinking it was nearly as amusing as the sight of my horse being harassed by one of the goats in the paddock.
The farm rested in a clearing high along the hillside of the mountain. When I had first built myself a place, it had been much closer to the river in a little valley, nearly half a day’s walk from where I lived now. Back then, I had been young and naïve, though I learned quickly how to choose better ground when the spring floods washed all my hard work away, nearly taking me with it.
Learning from my mistake, I rebuilt at a higher elevation. Although it meant a much longer walk to gather water, at least before I had put the water system in, it had been worth the exchange. As long as I maintained the trail and remained in decent shape, I could make the descent with little trouble. I had to admit it was a pleasant walk; the trail weaving along the easiest route through the trees and underbrush for nearly a mile before the river would come into sight. Toga certainly appreciated the jaunt, darting ahead of me with his tail waving like a golden fan behind him.
We made it in good time to the river, checking the first line to find the bait gone, but no catch. Setting lines was an easy way to fish if I didn’t want to sit down by the water for hours waiting for a bite. All I needed was a dried pole near the water’s edge stabilized by the ground and with rocks around the bottom. I’d set the end of the line on a piece of driftwood to help it float, put some bait on the hook, and check it once a day. It was an easy meal a few times a week.
Disappointed, but not surprised to not find a fish, I moved to the next, noticing Toga had gotten ahead of me. I called, but the dog seemed to be invested in an interesting scent.
“You’re on the job,” I muttered when the dog ignored me. “You’re not supposed to go running off.”
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
When I reached the third line, I was happy to find a fish on the other end. Just as I pulled my catch in, Toga barked madly somewhere nearby. Startled, my foot slipped and part of my leg dipped into the icy river water before I could right himself. Looking around, I searched for the animal, but Toga had disappeared from view. It sounded like the dog was just past the tree line where the river curved around a bend.
“Toga!” I called, but the dog refused to return. He kept barking. Afraid it might be a bear or something else might be wrong, I tried once more to pull the fish with me to shore. I planned to toss it far enough away from the water that I would at least get to keep my dinner, but luck wasn’t with me today. I only made it one step before my foot slipped on the mossy rocks and my boots got caught in the thick mud. My catch slipped from my fingers, and back into the river where it swam away, taking my line with it.
Cursing my luck that I had lost my dinner, I pulled myself up the bank and hurried after my dog. “If this is another squirrel in a tree...” I swore, even though I secretly hoped it was. Toga rarely barked like this, and whatever it was had him alarmed. Just in case it was something dangerous, I reached for my knife only for my hand to freeze when I finally saw what had my dog so upset.
I found more strength in my old body than I had possessed in twenty years. Running with everything I had, the half a dozen yards that separated me from Toga, I slid to my knees beside the body of a child. The boy looked no older than seven or eight, his skin pale, bruised, and covered in scrapes. With hair still plastered to his face, it couldn’t have been long before he washed up along the shore. The river had not been kind to him. I knew there were rapids upstream, dangerous waters I avoided. I wasn’t sure how far the river had swept the child downstream.
“He’s still breathing,” I murmured, amazed the boy was still alive. Without hesitation, I picked the boy up and hurried back to my cabin. If the child was going to have a chance, I needed to get him inside.
* * *
Rueln Layheart
I woke up coughing in a dark room with only a candle for light. A hand helped me raise up enough, so it was easier to clear my lungs, then lowered me back down into soft pillows where I fell asleep again. My body was too heavy, and exhaustion quickly took me back into its embrace.
It was morning when I woke again, more aware of myself as well as my surroundings. I lay in a bed, my aching body covered in thick quilts. I was warm, and there was a quiet peace left in the air as I opened my eyes, wondering where I was. Master Esra must have—
An old man rested in a chair beside the bed, his head bent to sleep. His hair was long enough to be pulled back into a ponytail, a patchwork of red and silver with a salt and pepper beard, well trimmed. I had never seen a man with such a mix of colors in his hair and had to wonder for a moment if he had dyed it to look that way. He wore a long sleeve white shirt, wrinkled and stained with mud in a few places and a pair of heavy boots rested near the base of his chair.
Who was he?
A black nose and a mess of golden fur jumped on the bed before I had another moment to wonder about anything else. Whines assaulted me and a wet tongue attacked my face. I’d never been around dogs much, but this one sure seemed happy to see me. I choked out a laugh before the old man pushed the dog off the bed and I was free from the assault.
“Get off, you idiot,” the stranger grumbled. “He’s hurt.” I looked up at the man, then back down at the dog. It was still whining, his tail wagging so fast behind him it was a wonder it didn’t just fly off. “I’m glad to see you’re awake,” the old man said, drawing my gaze back up.
“I’m… I’m sorry for the trouble,” I murmured, not really sure how I came to be here. The last thing I remembered was—
“Ah, it’s no trouble. I’m just happy to see you’re alright. You washed up along the river a few days ago, nearly drowned. I thought that was it, until I realized you had somehow drained your mana,” he explained, then gently pushed me back down into the bed when I tried to force my beaten body to pull the covers away. “Rest. It’s the only cure there is for abusing your mana stream. Have you not been—”
“I’m not a mage,” I argued, only for the man to give me a look as if to say he didn’t believe me. “I’ve never had magic before,” I insisted, looking down at my hands and remembering the fire that had nearly consumed me. The second denial was a lot less convincing than the first, even to me.
“I know the signs, boy,” the man grumbled. “You’re going to rest like I said. It’s your mana stream wrung dry that has your body feeling stretched out and empty. You’re probably feeling nauseous, too, if I had to guess, but it’ll pass.”
How did he know that?
He stood and walked over to a table nearby and plucked up a cup, pouring a nasty looking green liquid into it before he returned. “Drink this. It’ll curb the nausea.” I took the cup in shaking hands and brought it up to my mouth, but hesitated before I took a drink. I still didn’t know this man, and whatever was in this cup didn’t smell all that great. When his golden eyes rested on me, however, I drank. I knew the look. The man might not be Master Esra, but he had her stubbornness.
I almost spit it back out when it hit my tongue. It was slimy and thick. Gross.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asked me, smiling like he knew it was. I was still making a disgusted face when he took the cup and set it on his nightstand, only to give me another. “Wash it down with this.” I took it and looked down at it, full of suspicion only for him to smile and assure me it was only water. I didn’t believe him and sniffed it anyway before I did as I was told.
After handing him the second glass, he introduced himself. “I’m Cyrus Lone, and the ball of fur that’s refused to leave your side since I brought you home is Toga.” He fell silent, waiting for me to do the polite thing and introduce myself.
“Rueln,” I said, my eyes darting up at him, then back down to my lap, where my hands curled around the blankets. They were shaking.
“Well, Rueln, what you are experiencing is Recoil. It’ll leave you feeling tired and weak for a few more days, but it’ll pass. It’s when a mage uses all the mana in thebody. If this has never happened before, and if you are as new to magic as I believe you to be—since you claimed you aren’t a mage—then I’m not surprised you are experiencing it. Usually your parents should have—”
“You’ve no right to talk about my parents,” I snapped at him, fire suddenly blazing in my eyes. “I’ve no magic. No one in my family does.” I closed my eyes, flinching as if I expected my argument had angered him.
“My apologies,” Cyrus said, showing no hint my attitude had flustered him at all. If it had been old man Fhal, he would have slapped me for my mouth. Peeking through my hair, I saw the man hadn’t moved and was watching me with the same calm expression as before. The only thing that was different was there was a look in his eyes that I couldn’t quite read. “Before you fell in the river—which I will ask how that happened in just a moment—you have never used magic before?” He gently pressed, seeking clarification. “What happened?”
“I-,” I started, then the words fell away as I remembered the bandits, and the cages, and Finnley terrified of me before I fell. “No. I… I never had magic before,” I said again. Cyrus remained silent, giving me time to speak without feeling pressured. It was as if he knew what had flashed behind my eyes. “I was working a caravan with my Master,” I explained, my voice low. “Bandits attacked us and threw us in cages. I was with my friend when”—the words hesitated on the tip of my tongue—“when I caught fire. I don’t know how it happened or where they came from!” I looked up, my eyes wide with desperation for him to know I wasn’t lying.
“It’s unusual for someone with magic to not show signs of it earlier, but it isn’t unheard of, boy. I believe you,” Cyrus reassured me, placing his hand on my shoulder. Toga pushed his way between us, and rested his head on top of the blankets, as if giving me support as well.
“I don’t understand,” I admitted, reaching over and petting the dog before I dared to look up at the old man again. I couldn’t exactly know why, but there was a presence about him that even Master Esra didn’t have. It was comforting… and somehow familiar.
“I wouldn’t expect you to if no one’s explained it, but the magic lesson can wait. You said you fell into the river after being caught by bandits? You and a caravan?”
I nodded and watched as he leaned back. The man looked more troubled than he had before. “I’ll go up the mountain today to have a look around,” he told me. “I’ll leave Toga here with you, so you won’t be alone. You should rest. You’re not to leave this cabin, do you understand?”
“You’re going alone?” I exclaimed, shocked. Maybe we were in a village and he could ask some soldiers to go with him, or a friend. The way he talked, it sounded as if he was going by himself, but this old man wasn’t that crazy, was he? I told him there were bandits!
“Yes,” he answered, as if it were nothing more than a casual visit.
“But you don’t know where to go, or—”
“I’ve lived in these mountains for more years than you can probably count, child,” Cyrus said, the smallest curve of a smile touching his lips behind the beard. “I’ll be fine, and I’ll either come back with your people or I’ll bring word about what happened to them. You have nothing to fear. You’re safe. Now get some rest.” He reached for a hat hanging from a nail on the wall and plucked it off to pull down over his head, then armed himself with a sword that he had hidden on top of a cabinet before he left the cabin.
A few minutes later, I pulled myself up from the bed and made my way to the window, watching as Cyrus saddled a dark horse and rode off into the trees. Glancing down at the dog, who was watching me like a worried nest mother, I sighed and slid into a chair. I didn’t think I could sleep anymore, worried as I was for Finnley and everyone else, but before I knew it, my eyes slid shut and I slumped into the cushions.
“Please be safe, Finn,” I mumbled before sleep took me once again.