The Third Apprentice (14 page)

“I don’t plan to
stick around for days if I can avoid it,” Zamna declared. “It’s best that you
used that potion. If we do have to fight them tonight, you’ll have your full
strength.”

To their relief,
they encountered no more fairies as they passed through the swamp. It would be
two more days before the land began to dry out and they found themselves on
firm ground for a change. The grass here was thick and deep green, thanks to
the minerals it collected from the nearby bog. The smell, however, did not
leave their nostrils. The stench of rotting vegetation and whatever else might be
hiding in the swamp still wafted through the air. The pair found themselves
still anxious to put distance between themselves and the marsh.

Another day of
travel brought them within sight of a lake. As they drew closer, Taren could
see it was not filled with water. Instead, it held a putrid, yellow-green
liquid that smelled worse than the bog ever had. Clamping his hand over his
nose and mouth, he fought back the urge to retch.

Zamna was not
immune to the stench. “What is this place?” he asked, fearing his companion
would not have the answer. “Is this on your map?”

Taren pulled the
map out of his bag. “It’s called The Rotting Lake,” he said. “I guess we know
why.” Putting the map away, he once again covered his nose and mouth with his
hand to block out the disgusting smell. “The faster we can cross, the faster we
can get away from the smell,” Taren said through his fingers. The true question
was, how would they get across the lake? There were no boats or docks nearby,
which meant no one was crossing this lake on a regular basis. Assuming anyone
lived in this area, it wasn’t surprising they would stay far away from the
lake.

“I could swim it,”
Zamna said. “I might wish I hadn’t, but I could do it.” Being born on an
island, he had spent many hours swimming in the ocean in his youth. He knew
himself to be a strong swimmer, but the liquid before him could be toxic. The
thought of stepping into it nearly made him ill.

“I can’t swim,”
Taren admitted. In all his years of schooling, he had never bothered to learn.
If he had become a water mage, he might have found the skill useful. Instead he
had focused on keeping his feet firmly planted on the earth. “We’ll have to
build a raft.”

The two men looked
around but found no materials that could be used for a raft. A few trees stood
tall, but they had no way of cutting them down or removing their branches.
Taren briefly considered using fire to topple one, but burnt limbs would serve
poorly for a raft.

With a sigh, Zamna
said, “I could swim to the far bank and see if there is anything there that
could be used to get you across.” He still dreaded the thought of entering the
lake, but it seemed like that would be his only choice.

Taren stepped
forward toward the lake. “Let me check the water first,” he said. “I might be
able to determine if it’s toxic.” He produced an empty vial from his bag and
knelt down next to the yellow liquid. Reaching the vial forward, he touched the
mouth of it to the water and drew out a small amount. When he lifted the vial
away from the surface, the ground began to shake.

The pair crouched
low to maintain their footing as the rumbling continued. As they watched in
stunned silence, a giant stone-gray hand lifted itself from the center of the
lake, its massive palm facing upward. Slowly, the hand made its way across the
lake, approaching the bank where the travelers stood. It came to a halt in the
shallows and lowered itself down to the surface of the water, its fingers
reaching the land near Taren’s feet. He stared at it a moment longer, amazed by
what he had just witnessed. Staring at the upturned hand, he knew what he had
to do.

C
autiously Taren
stepped forward, placing a foot on one of the outstretched stone fingers. Zamna
extended an arm as if to stop him, but Taren shook his head.

“It’s all right,”
Taren assured him. “It will take us to the other side.” He climbed onto the
fingers and moved to sit upon the palm.

Zamna eyed his
friend suspiciously. “Are you sure it’s safe?” he asked, approaching warily.

“Yes,” Taren
replied, motioning for him to come aboard.

Reluctantly, Zamna
stepped up onto the fingers and made his way next to the mage. Slowly he took a
seat. As soon as he was down, the hand began to move, lifting itself to a
height several feet above the surface. In a smooth motion, it carried them out over
the lake. Looking down, they observed the swirling yellow-green liquid below
them. Small puffs of greenish smoke rose from the surface, dissipating a few
inches above the fetid water. Surprisingly, the smell was less intense from
above the lake’s surface. The bog on the other side must have contributed to
the majority of the stench.

The hand moved at a
snail’s pace, which made Zamna even more anxious. “I wish this thing would move
faster,” he commented.

“It probably just
doesn’t want to jostle us too much,” Taren suggested. “Most people aren’t
accustomed to this form of travel, I’d assume.”

“Well, I’ll be
happier to be back on land,” the La’kertan said, staring at the far bank.

As they approached
the far side, Taren beheld a wide green prairie stretching on before them. His
heart lifted as he looked forward to setting foot on the promising land ahead.
It was far more inviting than some of the other landscapes they’d encountered.

The stone hand
finally came to a halt and lowered itself to a height even with the bank. The
travelers hurried off their strange boat and turned to watch as it sank back
into the depths.

“Thank you,” Taren
called after it, not knowing whether it had any type of consciousness. It was
best to be polite, just in case. He might need a ride back to the other side
someday.

As he moved away
from the bank, Zamna straightened his pack. “How did you know that thing
wouldn’t crush us or drown us?”

“I didn’t,” Taren
admitted.

Zamna shot him a
sharp look. “You didn’t know?”

“No,” he replied
with a grin. “It seemed the most logical course.”

Zamna shook his
head and pursed his lips, unsure how to respond. The mage had gambled both
their lives, but he had turned out to be correct. He admired the young man’s
gumption. Persuading the La’kertan to follow had taken nearly no effort. He had
simply trusted in the mage’s decision—a decision that had brought them both
safely across The Rotting Lake.

With their feet on
solid ground, they continued their southward march. Taren stopped repeatedly to
collect flowers and leaves that might prove useful for potions. Though he
didn’t expect to find the proper equipment, he preferred to travel prepared.
Passing up these ingredients would be silly when they held medicinal properties
despite not being processed.

The prairie grass
reached up to their knees, and a gentle breeze caressed the stalks as they
moved past. The weather was delightful, with a bright sun shining and puffy
clouds drifting overhead. Butterflies in a variety of colors floated lazily on
the breeze, stopping for an occasional sip from a fragrant bloom. Shades of
pink, yellow, and blue were scattered throughout the green, plotting a course
for the travelers as they walked in serene silence.

The land surpassed
the forests in beauty, at least in Taren’s mind. Here was a land of tranquility
and open spaces, where a mage could find both solitude and comfort. For an
herbalist, there were few landscapes more appealing than a meadow. Here the
ingredients grew wild and strong without the need for human intervention. Once,
he had read a text that suggested even the finest artificial gardens produced a
weaker variety of herbs. It went on to explain how human intervention negated
the need for the plant to survive on its own merits. In the wild, only the
strongest, healthiest individuals would survive. This land was like a treasure
trove to the young herbalist. A plethora of the finest ingredients N
ō
l’Deron had to offer lay before him, ripe for the
taking. A more blissful land he had never seen.

For an entire day,
they basked in the serenity of the prairie. By the second day, the land was
dotted once again with farmhouses and green fields. There was likely a town
nearby, but they knew neither in which direction it lay, nor how many days off-course
it would take them.

“If we need
supplies, you could approach one of the farms,” Zamna suggested. “I should stay
back, in case they aren’t familiar with my kind.”

“I’ve found so much
in the meadow that I doubt there’s anything I need,” Taren replied. “All of
these items are edible, and we still have nuts and fruit. You’ve hardly eaten
anything from our stores.”

Zamna shrugged. “My
tastes are different from yours.” He hissed slightly with laughter.

As they passed by
one of the farms, Taren noticed livestock in the fields. Moving closer, he
could clearly see the soft white fleece of sheep. His master’s words echoed in
his mind: “
Head south through the woods until the wool looks strange,
and then continue until it’s normal again.” This wool was certainly more normal
than the red fleece of the Rixville sheep.

Turning to his companion, Taren said, “We must be
getting close.”

“How can you tell?” Zamna wondered.

“My master said the wool would be normal when I
was nearing the tomb.”

Zamna looked over at the sheep and asked, “Is that
normal to you?”

Taren seemed confused. “Yes, it is,” he replied.
“What does a La’kertan sheep look like?”

Laughing, he replied, “There’s no such animal in
my homeland. The only sheep I’ve encountered were those red ones. I didn’t know
there were different varieties.”

“I didn’t either,” Taren admitted. “I only know
what my master meant. In Ky’sall, the sheep look like these.” He pointed to the
field, wondering if there was any significance to the wool or if Imrit had
simply used them as a visual aid.

Continuing past the farms, they moved at a good
pace. There were no obstacles on the ground, and the weather was still
beautiful. After several hours, they came across a dirt road leading east-west.
It was poorly tended, likely being used only at harvest time.

Looking westward, Zamna asked, “Does that map of
yours mention how far the towns might be? I’d be willing to take a short detour
for an ale.”

The mage shook his head. “Master Imrit copied this
map from a centuries-old text. None of the cities are listed, only landscapes.
I don’t believe it’s drawn to scale either, and it doesn’t seem to reflect the
changes that have occurred to the land over the centuries.”

Zamna sighed with disappointment. “We might as
well keep going then,” he said.

“We could ask one of the farmers,” Taren
suggested.

“No,” Zamna replied. “Let’s keep moving. If you’re
right and we’re near the tomb, then soon I’ll be able to purchase the whole
tavern rather than one drink.” Grinning at his companion, he clapped him on the
shoulder before setting off.

The two walked side by side, enjoying the soft
grass underfoot. The next day would bring yet another change to the land. Ahead
in the distance, they could see that the grass was about to come to an end. A
distinct line of demarcation brought an end to the prairie as if a wall
separated the two areas. The ground before them was a pale red-brown. Taren
knelt to feel the soil, which slipped through his fingers like dust.

“This land is dead,” he stated. “There are no nutrients
in this soil.” Looking back over his shoulder, he longed for the grassland they
had just crossed. The way ahead felt ominous and uninviting.

Zamna looked back at the grass as well. “I think
that curse sort of comes and goes,” he said, referring to the Sisters’ warning.

“It seems that way,” Taren agreed. “Though, I
suppose we haven’t seen every detail of those lands. They all might be cursed
in one way or another.”

Turning to face the barren land ahead of them,
Zamna said, “This land feels cursed, no doubt about it. I’m not a man to stand
in fear, but I have no desire to enter this place.” He stared ahead into the
desolate region before him and frowned.

“You aren’t obligated to accompany me,” Taren
said. “I have no choice, but you are welcome to leave if you want to.” Taren
hoped the La’kertan would choose to continue their journey. So far, he had
proved a useful companion, and spending who knows how long alone in the bleak
land ahead would likely weaken his resolve to continue.

Zamna stared at him in disbelief. “Have I found
this treasure I’m after? If I turn back now, I get nothing.” He shook his head.
“I promised to accompany you to this tomb, and I have yet to set foot inside
it. I’m going in there, like it or not.”

Taren’s lips curled into a smile. With a nod, he
stepped forward, placing his feet firmly on the lifeless soil. There were no
trees to be seen, no grass, and no wildlife, not even insects. Whatever had
happened to this land, it had destroyed life in the area absolutely. If ever
they had set foot in a cursed land, this was surely it. The lands they had
traversed previously had their quirks, but this one was the worst of all.

Taren had been given no warning about this place,
but it reminded him slightly of The Barrens near his home. He found himself
constantly turning his head in search of the strange stone beast that had
attacked the other two apprentices. Though he dreaded the thought of someday
returning to that land, the area he was currently walking through felt much
worse. He had witnessed no death here, but he could feel it all around him. His
heart thumped loudly in his ears, his chest visibly rising and falling with
each breath.

Zamna felt uneasy as well. He carried a dagger in
his hand rather than allowing it to rest in its sheath, as it had for most of
the journey. Though there was no sign of life, he expected an attack at any
moment. This land was strange, and every one of his senses was on high alert.

They trudged on, neither man saying a word. Their
ears attuned to their surroundings, listening intently for the slightest sign
of life. As the day wore on, the sky took on a deep-red haze.

“Are those clouds?” the La’kertan wondered aloud.

Taren had no idea. “Let’s hope that’s all they
are.”

The sky drew darker as they traveled, and an
occasional pecking sound made its way to their ears. Exchanging puzzled
glances, they listened more closely, hoping to determine what was making the
noise.

Zamna’s eyes caught sight of tiny objects dropping
ahead of them in the distance. “I think it’s raining,” he said.

The sounds continued, becoming more numerous and
more frequent. The raindrops reached their location, hitting them heavily as
they fell. Observing the ground at their feet, they noticed the raindrops did
not soak into the soil. Instead, they remained on top, laying where they fell.

Taren knelt down and reached out a hand to the
object that fell from the sky. Turning it over in his hand, he stood upright
and handed the item to his companion. “It’s not rain,” he declared. “These are
bone fragments.”

Taking the object, Zamna shuddered. It was small,
but unmistakably, a piece of dried bone. It was pitted at the center where the
marrow had once been. What caused these bones to fall from the sky he could not
say. In all his travels, he had never encountered anything so strange.

The bones continued to fall, the shower becoming
more intense. The fragments grew larger, and the men lifted their packs above
their heads to shield themselves from the downpour. Eventually, entire bones
dropped to the ground, some resembling human parts, others animal, and some of
them were completely unknown to the travelers.

They dashed through the deluge, hoping to make it
to shelter. In the distance, they spotted an old barn, the dilapidated structure
barely standing.

“It looks like it’s about to fall down,” Taren
said as they moved closer to the building.

“It’s still better than being pummeled by bones,”
Zamna replied.

The two men ran inside and lowered their packs,
the sound of the rain pounding against the top of the barn. There were numerous
holes in the roof, but the fragments were too large to fit through. The boards
composing the structure creaked slightly as the storm continued.

“Do you have a spell that will fortify this barn?”
Zamna asked. “I’m not sure how long it’s been standing, but it doesn’t look
good.”

Zamna was correct. The wooden structure had stood
in disrepair since the land fell under Ailwen’s power. It was composed only of
wooden slats, which had avoided rot only due to the absence of moisture in this
land. Still the lack of care had resulted in loose boards and a weakened frame.
The entire building moved slightly under the weight of the bones.

“I can try,” Taren replied. Digging into his
magical knowledge, he tried to find the correct spell to stop the barn from
collapsing on top of them. Deciding on an appropriate spell, he rose and placed
his hands against the nearest wall. Spreading white magic from his hands, he
repeated the spell on each of the four walls before blasting the magic toward
the ceiling. “That should help,” he declared.