Dragon Stones (Book One in the Dragon Stone Saga) (2 page)

Elias dutifully rattled off the
instructions. “This will be enough for three months, even if you
take it every day. The jar must be kept in a cool, dark place, or
the herbs will lose their power. Don’t steep the herb in boiling
water. When you prepare the infusion, the water should be hot, but
not boiling. Steep the herbs for at least ten minutes, but not more
than thirty, or the tea will be too strong and it will cause
stomach cramps. Take the tea once per day, and four times per day
during your moon cycle. It will ease your pain.”

“Thank you.” Birla smiled again, her hand
drifting down to touch the precious jar in her pocket. “Wait a
minute, I have something for you!” She disappeared back into the
shop. A few moments later, she emerged again with a paper-wrapped
parcel. “Here. This is for you and your grandmother. I put a little
extra in there for you both. Hide it under your tunic, and don’t
let anyone see!” Elias took the package and slipped it under his
cloak. It was fresh mutton, which was a rare treat this time of
year. It was his grandmother’s payment for the herbs.

Elias ran home, clutching the precious meat
to his chest. In the distance, he could see three young men coming
back from a hunt. They had spent the entire day in Darkmouth
Forest, chasing game. Their hands were empty. Elias ducked behind a
shed and crouched down near the woodpile. He couldn’t afford anyone
catching him with the meat—some of these men were desperate to feed
their own families. His grandmother had been feeling weak for many
months and this meat would give her strength. He could not afford
to lose it to thieves, even if they were his starving neighbors. As
they passed, Elias overheard them talking about the hunt.

“What a miserable day. Tomorrow, I will hunt
rabbit. It will be easier to bring something home.” It was Alafarr,
the son of the town’s mayor. He was as skilled a hunter as any, and
it was rare for him to return empty-handed.

This year had been difficult and many
villagers were going hungry. Blight and rain had ruined many crops,
and game was scarce. Even the wealthier members of the village were
having trouble keeping their families fed. If Alafarr was actually
hunting for food, and not sport, then things were terrible
indeed.

“We will try again at dawn,” said Fastaor,
who was Alfarr’s cousin. “Let’s travel deeper into the forest next
time; perhaps for a few days. Together, we will catch something. I
set some snares this afternoon, so we might get lucky tonight.”

“This season has been abysmal,” complained
Galmor, who was the youngest of the group, and also Fastaor’s
brother. “The grain is stunted, the corn has blight, and the forest
has nothing for us to eat. Does the emperor expect us to eat
rats?”

Fastaor struck the back of Galmor’s head
with his bow staff. “Owww!” cried Galmor, rubbing the top of his
skull.

“Shut-up, you fool! Vosper’s spies are
everywhere and men have been killed for less. Instead of
complaining, say a prayer to the hunting goddess tonight. May she
guide our arrows tomorrow, or else we will starve.”

Galmor grumbled, but he did not argue
further with his older brother. He knew Fastaor was right. To
criticize the emperor openly was blasphemy, and even in a remote
mountain village like Persil, it was still prudent to avoid
provoking the emperor’s wrath.

The men passed by Elias’ hiding place, their
shoulders hunched. No one had brought home anything larger than a
rabbit for weeks. Elias felt sorry for them, but he also knew that
the men were too proud to gather mushrooms and tubers, believing it
beneath them. Elias had no such prejudices, and it was this way
that he and his grandmother always had enough to eat.

Elias stayed hidden until the men were out
of sight. Then he crawled out from his hiding place and sprinted
the rest of the way home, careful that he wasn’t followed.

He arrived at his grandmother’s cottage out
of breath. As he opened the door, he could smell the pungent odor
from her vast collection of herbs. Bottles lined every shelf.

His grandmother Carina was making dinner. A
black pot boiled on the hearth, waiting for his return. She had
already filled the pot with cut potatoes, onions, and
garlic—anything they had in the cellar. The smell of the hearty
soup was already filling the small cabin with a wonderful aroma.
His grandmother was resting on her bed. The tiny cottage only had
two rooms: the kitchen and Elias’ bedroom. Elias rarely slept in
his room—it was simply too cold. Carina slept in the kitchen, near
the hearth, and she had always done so. Elias often slept near the
fire as well—it was warmer and he felt safer watching his
grandmother during the night, especially since she had fallen ill.
Elias went to his grandmother’s bedside. She had dozed off.

“Grandmother…” He shook her shoulder gently.
“I have the meat.” Carina’s shoulder-length hair was shock white.
She wore it in a loose bun at the base of her neck, with a
patterned fabric kerchief tied in the back, covering her head and
ears. The vibrant colors of the kerchief made her skin look even
paler than usual.

Her eyelids fluttered open. “Ah, Elias.
Good…you are here. Go bolt the door, and give me the parcel.”

Elias rushed to the door, sliding the lock.
Then he reached under his cloak and pulled out the precious bundle,
handing it to his grandmother. She opened it and frowned,
inspecting the pieces of mutton by turning them over with her index
finger. “Tsk! This is from an older animal—the meat will need to
boil for a long time.”

“But grandmother, there is a nice chunk of
fat and a big bone filled with marrow; that is good. It will
strengthen us both.”

Carina smiled and touched his cheek. “Ever
the optimist, eh? Yes, I suppose you’re right. Beggars can’t be
choosers. Put it in the soup pot; it will make a good meal for us
tonight and the next day.” She handed the package back to Elias and
closed her eyes again, falling back onto the pillow. The small
effort tired her.

Elias frowned. His grandmother’s strength
was fading. Although her healing knowledge was vast, she could not
turn back time. She was an old woman; one of the oldest in the
village. Her health continued to deteriorate. He wished he could do
more to help her.

Elias walked to the fireplace and dropped
all of the mutton and chunks of fat into the pot, stirring the
broth and vegetables. His stomach grumbled, but he knew that the
rich stew would be worth the wait.

Elias turned around and noticed that Carina
was watching him intently.

“I thought you were asleep. Why don’t you
rest and I’ll wake you when the soup is ready?” asked Elias.

“I feel fine. I had a nap earlier.” Carina
patted the bed. “Elias, come sit next to me. I want to tell you a
story.” This was their nightly routine. Carina would tell him a
story, and then they would eat and go to bed. Usually, she talked
about healing magic, but sometimes she would tell fantastic stories
about cities she had visited, people she had met, and journeys she
had taken. Sometimes, if Elias was lucky, she would talk about the
dragons.

“Elias, I am old. I may not see another sun
cycle.” Elias hung his head. He didn’t argue. He knew it was true.
Every year she seemed more fragile. “You are a good boy, and I have
been blessed to have you by my side for all these years. I have
taught you everything I know about healing. I’m sorry I could not
teach you more. It is woman’s magic, and I know that you have been
ridiculed by the other boys.”

“Grandmother, it’s not that bad, really.
They don’t tease me so much.”

“I did the best I could, and I taught you a
useful skill. You have a potent gift—much more powerful than mine.
It will help you in times of trouble. One day you will understand
that. Hopefully, you will get lucky and learn how to focus your
powers even more.”

Elias spent his younger years collecting
herbs and learning healing lore while all the other boys learned
how to hunt. The others also teased him for being “fatherless.”
Elias’ mother and father had died during the war, and Carina had
raised him. Elias enjoyed learning magic, but he hated being
bullied.

The teasing lessened a year ago, when Elias
stumbled on an older boy who had broken his leg in the forest. It
was Shamus, one of the boys who tormented Elias the most. Shamus
had fallen off a rocky outcropping. It was late afternoon and very
hot, and by the time Elias found him, Shamus was delirious with
pain and thirst. Elias ran to him and saw the bone of his right leg
poking out of the skin.

“Shamus, Shamus, can you hear me?”

The boy moaned, drifting in and out of
consciousness. Elias squeezed his leg and Shamus yelled,
“Auggggh!”

“There! That got your attention. Shamus,
it’s Elias.” Elias slapped his face lightly. “Wake up! Drink this.”
Elias lifted his water skin to Shamus’ mouth. Shamus moaned again.
His lips were cracked, and foamy spittle had formed at the corners.
He drank deeply from the waterskin.

“Elias? I—I fell chasing a stag. I’ve been
here all day, screaming for help.” His voice croaked. Elias looked
up and saw the rocky ledge far above.

“You’re lucky you’re not dead. You should
say a prayer to the healing goddess for your good fortune,” said
Elias. “Don’t worry… I will help you.”

“I-I can’t walk. I tried to pick myself up,
but I cannot bear any weight on this leg.”

“I know it hurts, but I have to set your
leg, or you’ll never get out of here. I am going to find you some
herbs to dull the pain, and then I will splint your leg. I need to
go search for supplies. Here, take this,” Elias said, handing
Shamus his waterskin.

Shamus grabbed Elias’ tunic. “You won’t be
long?”

“I’ll work as fast as I can. I promise. Soon
you will be back home in your own bed. Don’t worry.” Elias patted
his hand, copying the behavior that he had seen his grandmother use
hundreds of times over the years.

After a few minutes, Elias returned. “Here,
chew on this. It’s numbweed. It tastes bitter, but it will dull
your pain so I can set your bone.”

Shamus chewed the purple weed with a
grimace. “It tastes awful. Do I swallow it?”

“Just chew the leaves and swallow the juice.
Tuck the herb into your cheek until the bitter flavor goes away.
Spit out the plant or else your stomach will ache. Your body cannot
digest the plant fibers.” Elias prepared the branches and the
twine. His palms glowed faintly as he tied the vines together,
casting a simple spell upon the splint, so that the branches would
straighten and hold. He whispered the spell under his breath,
careful not to let Shamus overhear his words in the old tongue.

“I am already starting to feel better,”
Shamus said.

“Good. That means the numbweed is working.
Now we must fix your leg. I’m sorry, but this is going to hurt,
even with the numbweed.” He took a leather strap from his pack and
doubled it over, handing it to Shamus. “Bite down on this. I am
going to set the break. Close your eyes.”

He waited until Shamus closed his eyes. “Now
take a deep breath.” Elias grasped the broken limb firmly with both
hands. Muttering the old language under his breath, Elias said a
healing spell and prepared to set the bone. Shamus groaned in pain
when Elias touched his leg, and screamed when the bones snapped
back into place.

“Holy Baghra! That hurt. I’m seeing spots,”
said Shamus, exhaling deeply.

Elias knew that the spell would work
quickly. The bones were already knitting together under the skin.
Shamus would be able to walk with a crutch, which was enough to get
him out of the forest.

“There—that’s good. Now I am going to put
two forked saplings on either side of your leg and bind them with
vines. You’ll be able to walk slowly. You can lean on me. I will
bear your weight on this side, and we will walk back to the village
together.”

Elias offered Shamus his hand, and pulled
the injured boy up. Shamus touched the injured leg to the ground
and winced. It was painful, but he could bear weight on it.

“Thank you,” said Shamus in a trembling
voice. Tears and sweat poured down his face, but he was smiling. He
knew the worst was over.

“Don’t thank me yet. We have a long way to
go before we’re out of this forest.” Elias helped him walk, and
they hobbled back to the village slowly. They had to stop and rest
frequently, so it was close to midnight when they finally reached
the outskirts of the village. A search party had gathered at the
forest’s edge. Some of the men held torches. They all looked
anxious.

“Shamus left before dawn this morning! Where
could he be? He’s never stayed in the forest this long! He’ll never
survive the night—he didn’t even take a cloak. He’s just wearing a
tunic.” Shamus’ mother wrung her hands in fear.

Just then, the boys came into view. Shamus
was limping, with the much smaller Elias supporting him. “Mother!”
Shamus called out, and the men looked up, surprised. The villagers
rushed to meet them. Shamus’ mother pushed past the men to embrace
her son.

“Shamus! I was so worried. What happened to
you?”

“I fell, Mother—chasing a deer. Elias… he
found me. He fixed my leg; saved me.”

Shamus’ mother grabbed Elias in a grateful
embrace. She kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Elias!”

“An impressive rescue young man!” the men
shouted, slapping Elias on the back. Elias smiled. He was tired,
but appreciative of all the attention. No one ever fussed over him
like this.

Shamus’ older brother stepped in, and helped
carry Shamus the rest of the way home. Word of the rescue spread.
Shamus’ mother even baked Elias a sweet pastry. After that, no one
really teased Elias anymore.

“Elias? Elias? Are you listening to me?”
Carina flicked Elias’ hand.

Her gentle reprimand startled him out of the
daydream. “Yes, I’m sorry grandmother. I am listening.”