Aetherbound: The Shattered Flame

Light shone through closed lids, stinging his eyes underneath. His eyes, dry and weak, could not stay open for long, and he had to close them again as the air itself felt abrasive. Tears streamed down his face as he squinted against the pain, his eyelids just as coarse and unwelcoming to his waking body. Sensing a presence enter the room, Bard shifted himself slowly to sit up, feeling the soft cushioning of pillows behind his back. Someone grasped his hand and closed his fingers around a wooden mug.

“Drink this. Should help with the weakness.” The voice was soft and compassionate but left no room for questions, so he lifted the mug to his lips. Bard nearly coughed the drink back up as it coated his tongue, tasting of rotting fruit. There was a hint of lavender, as if someone had breathed its essence into the foul liquid, trying to cover the taste. It did not work in the slightest.

A hand tipped the cup further up, forcing it into his mouth quicker than he would have liked, but soon enough it was over and the mug was replaced with another. This time filled with water that he happily drained, using it to wash away the remaining concoction.

Already he began to feel a warming sensation fill him with strength. Slowly opening his eyes, he tested them against the air. Everything seemed normal as they opened to their fullest, the drying tears on his face the only remnants of his earlier struggle. Looking down at his hands, he flexed his fingers, stretching the lingering stiffness out of his hands. Remembering what got him here, he checked the wound at his side. He realized that someone had wrapped cloth around him and that no blood was seeping through. A good sign, at least. Breathing a sigh of relief, he felt the presence of eyes watching him.

Embarrassed by his own rudeness, his face flushed with color as he turned to look at his caretaker. It was the same older woman who had answered the door. The older woman, who had answered the door, tied back her long, greyed hair neatly, with a few strands peaking out. She dressed herself in a modest dress and tied a leather apron at her waist, replacing her nightgown.

Ashen grey eyes stared at him intensely, but he felt no malice, only curiosity behind the gaze. The lines around her eyes were a map of her kind nature.

“Quite the bite marks ye had there,” she stated, nodding down at his side. “I stitched ye up as best as could be, slathered some poultice over the wound to stave off the infection.” Bard tried to speak, but his throat only cracked and he began to cough. The woman handed him another mug of water and urged him to drink slowly between coughs.

“Ye’ve been out for nigh on two days. Give yer body a chance to get reacquainted with the world.” Bard simply nodded in response and finished the last of his water, which she was quick to refill from a bucket next to his bed. He cleared his throat, testing how it felt.

“I do not know how to thank you and, unfortunately, I am unable to pay for your services.” The words came out dry and strained, but she simply smiled at him and waved a hand through the air, dismissing his concern.

“Never ye mind any of that. Having ye here was a right good excuse to keep some of the more... unreputable customers away. Sayin I be busy with a patient, cannot say too much after that,” she chuckled to herself, a soft, airy sound. “Consider us even.” She seemed sincere, yet Bard did not like having unpaid debts and he did not consider them even. She had mended his wounds and cared for him, a stranger. He was still too weak to argue, so he let the matter go for the moment.

He opened his mouth to say more, but his eyes became heavy and the world spun around him. Falling back into the pillows behind him.

“Aye, that be the tonic I gave ye. Good at restorin’ health and strength, but with the wounds you had, its over taxed your body. Take a rest now, we can talk again, after.” She rose from her seat and tucked Bard in under his blanket, scratchy yet warm and comforting. He watched as she turned and left the room, words begging to be let out, but lacking the strength to release them. He allowed sleep to take him, determined to get back to his travels as soon as possible.

When he awoke next, the sun was already lowering itself over the horizon. His head felt clouded, but his body felt as good as new, with only a few aches and stiffness at the joint. It was the wrappings around his middle and the slight throbbing at his side reminded him of just how injured he had been not too long ago.

The chilled evening air washed over him as he removed his blanket, revealing he had been stripped bare and placed in short linen breeches. Quashing a rising sense of embarrassment, he took slow steps around the small room. Other than his small cot and a bedside table, sat a chair and a storage trunk on the opposite wall.

Three walls had windows that were partially opened, welcoming in fresh air and pulling out any stale, sick air that may linger for a patient. Pacing the room in small circles, the stiffness in his legs gradually lessened, and he cautiously stretched the rest of his body until he felt reasonably limber once again. He stopped at the bedside table, which held a pail of water and a ladle, quenching his growing thirst and dry throat.

The first few sips tore at his throat, causing him to cough, but he forced it down. With each slow sip, the tearing sensation withered away until it began to soothe him. After he had his fill, he wandered to each of the windows, hoping to identify his location. The effort was fruitless, as he noticed only other shops and housing. Worry crept into his mind at the idea of days of travel lost. Would he be followed or be recognized? He needed to keep moving.

His stomach growled at that moment, reminding him of his own lack of supplies. Clutching his stomach, he turned to sit on the chair when he noticed a pile of neatly folded clothes. Unfurling each piece, he noticed they were not his original clothes. Most likely replacements for his original, battered outfit.

The trousers were made of a dark brown linen that reminded him of rich soil. The shirt was made of the same cloth but the color of a light, aged wood or a deserts sand. A vest the same color as the trousers but made of a soft leather. Finishing the outfit was a pair of thick woolen stockings. It was surprising how well each piece fit him. The sleeves on the shirt and the trouser legs were a tad shorter, yet it was all comfortable and well kept.

Just as Bard finished buttoning his vest, someone knocked once at the door and then pushed it open. The woman taking care of him peeked in and smiled when her eyes found him.

“Oh good! Ye found the clothes I had set out for ye. They were my husbands and be gettin’ no use anymore.” She stepped further into the room, carrying his coat over her arms and his broad hat sitting on top. “These be better than the state in which ye appeared before me.” She noticed him eyeing the items in her arms and placed them onto the bed. “The coat I added a few patches, but that be some sturdy leather. That hat of yers, though, not a scratch on it, hardly even a bend to the brim.”

“You have been more kind to me than most would to a stranger in the state you first saw me. Truly, there must be some way I can repay that which you have done for me.” Bard practically pleaded. Yet again, she just waved off his offer.

“What would the world be like if we cannot share kindness every now and then?” I also enjoy keeping busy. With adult children an’ a healthy town, not much to be done nowadays.” Her words sounded almost sad as she turned her head and looked out the window. “If anything, ye did me a favor.”

“Well, regardless, I shall not forget this, and I will repay you someday.” She turned and looked down her nose at him and chuckled, but saying no more. She then turned, beginning to leave the room, and Bard followed her out, grabbing his coat and hat before leaving the room.

The room they entered was a mixture of a shop and home. Closest to them were shelves of various tonics and herbs against the wall just outside the room. A small clerk’s desk sat just ahead of the shelves, awaiting customers. A small kitchen was located at the other end of the room to the left. Stove, oven and a short counter, enough for preparing ingredients. A dining table sat on the right side of the room.

At the other end were two doors; one most likely being her own, and the other, an unknown, possibly a workshop for all the tonics that lined the shelves. It was a small, if not cozy, home.

“It is a beautiful home you have...” Bard’s voice trailed off. “I apologize for the rudeness, but I do not think I ever received your name.”

“Miriel.” He gave a deep, flourished bow, making her blush.

“It is a pleasure to properly make your acquittance, Miriel,” Bard said as he equipped his coat and hat. He noticed she flinched at his name, but she quickly recovered and a moment later, a slight gleam appeared in her eye. “If I may ask another question, where is it I have come to be? In my injured state, I seem to have lost my way and your accent sounds familiar, yet with an - almost capital - edge to it.”

“That be a good ear ye have there, this here be Thresh. As for my accent, I suppose I had picked up a thing or two from my time in Rhenford.” That caught Bards’ attention.

“Rhenford, that is the mage city just outside the capital.” His eyes looked over her in a new light appraisingly. “How is it you are here? Were you in training? Who was your teacher?” The questions overflowed before he could control himself, his curiosity getting the best of him. Miriel laughed at the barrage of questions and waved her hand at him to stopper him. Once Bard had ceased, she walked over and sat at a stool near the counter of the shop.

“I was to be no mage. I was simply a glorified servant.” Bard raised his eyebrows in surprise. “My family was poor and being poor can mean desperate. They gave me to a mage who, in return, paid them a small wage for my services.”

“Your family sold you.” Bard’s voice was cold and hard as ice. Miriel simply nodded. “How old were you?”

“I was six at the time.” His hand gripped the shop counter, the wood beginning to creak. “My master was not cruel to me. Did not beat me or yell. But he also was not overly kind. Though he allowed me to write to my family.

“My master had a son, only a few years older than myself. I was to be his live-in companion and servant. It was simple chores, dishes, washing his clothes. As I grew older, I became more of an assistant. I took his schedule, made sure he made it to his lessons.” She looked off into the distance as if reliving the memories fresh in her mind. “In return, I was fed, clothed, and housed in a beautiful city I would have never been to otherwise. It was not a bad life. And I suppose the accent stuck.”

“How did you come to be back here, then? Normally, service to a mage is life long. And mages live longer than most.”

“It was my sixteenth birthday when I received a letter from my family telling me my father was sick. I had asked my master to let me be with my family. He had told me no. So I ran.”

“Mages are not so easily evaded.”

“And ye would be right. Unknown to me, they had placed a tracking spell on me the day they took me from my family. I was found a few miles from a bordering village in the back of a wagon. My master had sent his son after me, Aldric. The way he looked at me. He was not even angry, he looked heartbroken and only asked me ‘why?’. He had thought I ran away from him personally. That I had stolen something and fled in the night.” Her voice cracked as she spoke.

“Once I told him of why I ran, it was only then that he had grown angry. His father had hid the truth from him and being so cold. He had brought another horse for the return, but he gave it to me and instead rode with me back here to Thresh. He stayed with me for weeks until my father eventually passed. Even after, he had stayed with me.” Bard nodded knowingly.

“He was in love with you.”

“And I with him. He was kind to me. Treated me like an equal, he even would teach me some of what he learned in his own lessons. Mathematics, alchemy, even botany. He is the reason this shop remained after my father’s passing. I took what I learned and made medicine for those here.”

“Where is he now? I am sure his father would have come for him.”

“He threatened to and destroy this town if he had to. He would not accept losing his only son to ‘common rabble’ such as myself.” Miriel smiled bitterly at the words. “He had written every chance he could, and I did the same. Then one day, I had heard a rapid knock on my door, almost like how yourself had done. I had almost fainted, thinking my vision could not be true. Aldric had returned to me only five years later, sweating and out of breath, like he had run all the way here.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and she smiled brightly at the memory. Wiping away tears that had not yet fallen, she continued. “His father had been killed by a rival, vying for his position. I am sure you understand the violent politics in the capital.” Bard rubbed his wrists, shaking slightly as a shiver ran up his spine.

“All too well, unfortunately. Yet he returned. That must have been quite the reunion.”

“I believe it was. As I led him into the house, he was speaking so fast of his travels an’ how he had missed me. It was all quite lovely. But, as I led him further in, he froze when he saw my son playing in the corner.” Miriel pointed to the furthest corner next to one of the other rooms. “He knew instantly, without question, the boy was his.”

“I am sure he made a brilliant father. Those with a kind heart and an unkind father often try to make up for those failings.”

“An’ that he did. I cannot think of a time when we were unhappy. Even in the harshest of times, he was my light.” As Miriel finished her story, Bards mind drifted to his own upbringing, wondering at his own failings in life. When he refocused back to the present, Miriel was standing in front of him, her eyebrows knotted in worry.

“Ye remind me of him. Ye have kind eyes an’ a look like the world’s problems are all yers to bear.”

“Well, I am unsure of the entire world, perhaps some of it,” he joked, laughing slightly to himself. Stopping short when he noticed she, Miriel, remained serious, looking up at him, her eyes focused on his own. Her voice grew serious.

“Yer eyes flash blue when the light hits them just right. Ye be a mage, then?” Bard could only nod in response, a tightness growing in his chest. She grabbed his hands gently and put them together, held between her own. The way she looked into his eyes made him feel as if she could gleam into his very being; judging him. “Do not let yer past mistakes stop you from who you want to be. Ye have a power many can only dream of - use it to help others. Ye may just find who you truly are when you put in the effort.”

At a loss for words, Bard said nothing and let Miriel lead him to the front door, her words sinking deeply into his mind. She pulled him down, low enough to plant a kiss on his cheek, and opened the door for him.

“Ye should go see my son at his tavern, just ‘cross the way there,” she pointed across towards the market, near the road he had followed into town. “Maybe he can help with supplies before ye leave town. If he gives ye any trouble, just tell him I said so.” With that, she waved him off and closed the door behind him.