Phaedric's Legacy

Phaedric’s Legacy

           Nan was looking forward to my apprenticeship and I was excited about starting. I didn’t think of my grandmother as old, but rather ageless. She was certainly not young, but neither was she wrinkled or frail. Even so, she claimed she needed to pass on her secrets before the grave stole them away. No one expected her to be leaving us any time soon, but the world was an uncertain place and tomorrow was not guaranteed. Besides, if I was to follow in her footsteps, it was time I started learning my craft. This was my thirteenth summer, after all.

           “Myra!” Mother’s shrill voice interrupted my thoughts. “Father has Plod saddled and ready to go.”

           “I was just saying good-bye to the chickens and goats, and the garden, and …” I trailed off. “Remind me again why Nan is the village healer but does not live in the village.”

           “You know why,” said Mother. “Ask Nan and perhaps that will be your first lesson.”

           Father and Plod appeared, coming around the corner of the house. “Come on, Bean. I want you there before dark.”

           “Or the trees will eat me?” I teased him. Strangers and gossips sometimes passed our way carrying strange tales of the dangers one might face on approaching Nan’s home. Some folks believed she was magic and the Valley of Mo, where she lived, haunted. My parents had never argued but had always chosen not to comment. I found it difficult to believe, for I had visited her many times in my childhood and nothing I had seen or experienced lent any credibility to these claims.

           “No, Bean,” replied Father. “But the bears and coyotes just might.”

           After a tearful farewell, Plod and I ambled up the trail toward Phaedric’s Bowl. As we passed the last farm before entering the Upland Wilds, Sol Cooper’s goodwife, Brynne, stood up from weeding her garden and watched us pass. I waved and she waved back, but her smile did not touch her eyes. We had never had trouble with any of our neighbours, but we weren’t close with any of them either.

           In the Wilds the trail became a narrow path. Plod, true to his name, continued slowly while I listened for any sounds that might betray the stalking of a predator. We made it to the waystone without incident and took the right fork to start making our way around the crater that was Phaedric’s Bowl. The trees here were old, close, and had an energy that made you feel watched. I had never found it disconcerting. Rather, it made me feel safe, as though they were looking out for me.

           At midday we found ourselves near the Aerie. I dismounted at Old Greybeard, an ancient oak, and led Plod to the tree line. The Aerie was an outcropping of barren rock that jutted out from the crater’s edge, over Phaedric’s Bowl. The view was breathtaking. According to legend, the crater was a sealed portal to the underworld, but it did not feel dark and sinister, as I thought such a place should feel. It was, however, just as barren as the rock on which I was standing.

           I fed and watered Plod, and then sat down to eat my own lunch. As I ate, I tried to recall what little was known of Phaedric. According to legend, Phaedric lived half a millennium ago. He was a sorcerer who called forth a fiery demon from the depths of hell. After failing to tame it, Phaedric was slain by the demon. The demon brought disease and pestilence to the region and then disappeared. Eventually the people and crops recovered, and the demon was never seen again. For most folks, Phaedric got what he deserved. Nan, however, tells a much different story. Phaedric was a good mage who saved a phoenix and named her Adelaide. Adelaide, in turn, saved Phaedric’s life on several occasions. Adelaide had several natural abilities that Nan described as magical, and together she and Phaedric went on many heroic adventures.

           Back on the path, Plod and I made good time around the crater to another waystone. Here we changed course to descend into the Valley of Mo. Now the path was almost non-existent, but Plod knew the way. Gradually the dense, old growth gave way to a younger forest with a lighter canopy, and the path reappeared. An hour later we came upon the first crabapple tree in Nan’s orchard.

           A curious thing always happened when I entered Nan’s orchard. The sounds of songbirds and small animals receded, and even the wind made less noise as it rustled the leaves in the trees. The path was now broad and lined by crabapple trees on both sides. In spring the orchard was stunning, with fuchsia blossoms and the fragrance of their sweet nectar drifting on the breeze. It was still beautiful now, if a little subdued.

           Plod walked out of the orchard into a lush meadow. Half-way through the meadow we crested a small knoll and before us we had a panoramic view of the rest of the valley. The meadow stretched to Nan’s extensive gardens, with her rambling cottage at their center. Behind that lay Fiddle Lake and, in the distance, the land rose again into the foothills of the Saddleback Mountains. I had never been beyond the lake.

           As Plod and I trod the straight and orderly paths of Nan’s gardens, she rushed out to meet us.

           “Myra!” Nan shouted. “Just in time for supper!”

           I dismounted and we hugged. This was my new home and it felt right. Here I would learn to be a healer, like Nan.

           I settled in quickly, for I already had my own room and was familiar with most of the gardens. On my second day Nan took me on a guided tour of her Poison Garden – the only one new to me. According to Nan, crafting an antidote required understanding the poison. I was disappointed to learn that it would be quite some time before I would be permitted to enter it alone.

           I had been living with Nan for two weeks when she surprised me one evening, just before we went to bed.

           “You’re doing very well, Myra,” Nan said. “Your parents have taught you well about gardening and vegetables. You are learning to care for my rare and unusual plants with great aptitude. It’s time you started learning some of our secrets.”

           Our secrets! Words cannot express the thrill that ran through me. Nan unlocked her fancy cabinet. It held only one thing – an ornate crystal decanter with a stopper made from a single large pearl. I knew from past visits that it held Nan’s homemade blackberry wine, which only Nan ever drank. Nan passed me a tulip glass half full of wine as she sat down with her own. I held my glass very carefully, afraid that I might drop it and afraid that she might change her mind.

           “This is a sipping drink, Myra,” said Nan. “It may make you feel a little light-headed – that’s the crabapples. It won’t hurt you. In fact, it will be a great help to you.”

           “There are crabapples in it?” I asked, still staring at my glass.

           “Crabapple juice, yes. The blackberries give it colour and flavour, but it’s the crabapples that make it potent. It will help to unlock your potential.”

           “My potential?” I asked.

           “You will understand, in time,” was Nan’s cryptic reply.

           I drank my glass, savouring every sip. It was a little tart and very fruity. Nan was right – it did make me feel light-headed. I fell asleep marveling at my wonderful good fortune and wondering why the fairy carved into my bedpost had winked at me.

           The next day Nan took me for a walk through the orchard. “Myra, I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to answer me honestly.”

           “Of course, Nan.”

           “I know you’ve heard lots of different things about me over the years, from travelers seeking my aid, your parents’ farm being situated where it is. Some of them flattering, and some of them not so much. What do you think of the not-so-pleasant things?”

           “It’s just foolishness,” I replied. “Isn’t it? I mean, people fear things they don’t understand. And no one seems to understand how you do some of the things you do – not even me. But I want to.”

           “I promise you that I’ve never cursed anyone. Curses are vile things. But those things you have heard are a mixture of truth and misinformation. I have studied plants and illness, and I am a healer. But I am more than that. I have also studied the old ways – magic – the ways of Phaedric. Do you remember the stories I used to tell you at bedtime?”

           “Of Phaedric and Adelaide, yes,” I replied, unsure for the first time, of my choice to study under Nan and become like her. “Those are just children’s stories, aren’t they?”

           “No child,” replied Nan. “They are true. I might have embellished some of the details, but in their essence they are true. There is one story of Phaedric that I didn’t tell you.”

           “Why?” I asked.

           “I left it out because it doesn’t have a happily-ever-after ending.”

           By now we had made our way to a small clearing that had a crabapple stump in it. Nan sat down next to the stump and rested her back against it, and then motioned for me to sit beside her.

           “The Nahor are a people that live far from here, on the other side of the Saddleback Mountains. Many years ago, their Emperor wanted to expand his empire into Harnoor, the Kingdom just on the other side of the mountains,” Nan pointed to the south and the mountains as she spoke. “And into our kingdom, Korrig. His mages sent a curse into Harnoor. It was supposed to cross the Saddleback range and enter Korrig all along the border. Today Harnoor is gone. Its crops and wildlife destroyed, and its people felled by disease and starvation. The Nahor are restoring the land now, cleaning it up and making it habitable again. They have only a small army. There was no drain on food and other resources, and no loss of life – except for the people of Harnoor. Some day we will journey to Addy’s Gate. From that mountain pass, with the help of my seeing glass, you can see what remains of Harnoor.”

           “What has this to do with Phaedric?”

           “In Phaedric’s time Korrig was ruled by King Andomar. Andomar’s spies had heard of the plans that the Emperor of Nahor had for both Harnoor and Korrig. Phaedric was a highly skilled mage and Andomar’s wisest advisor. He commissioned Phaedric to save Korrig.”

           “How did he do it?” I asked.

           “Phaedric moved here, to the Valley of Mo, and began to study the native plants and the mountains. He believed the land, and its flora and fauna, had its own strengths and that they could be used to mount a defense along the Saddleback Mountain Range. He coordinated with other mages and the entire border between Harnoor and Korrig became a defensive line. Here, Phaedric used his skills to make a golem of molten lava, not unlike the mythical phoenix. He endowed it with some magical properties and so Adelaide was born. She burst from the ground, leaving Phaedric’s Bowl in her wake. It all took too much time, though. The curse of the Nahor spilled over the mountains and began to take its toll on our crops, our livestock, and our people. Phaedric and Adelaide prevailed eventually and pushed the curse back over the mountains, where it is still held at bay. All along the Saddleback Mountains other mages engaged in their own struggles, and in time they all prevailed.”

           I was stunned. How did everyone have it so backwards? “The disease and pestilence were real, as were the heroic stories?”

           “Yes,” confirmed Nan. “No one knew how long the curse would need to be held back. It was decided that keeping the truth from the common people would give the mages and their understudies some measure of anonymity, keeping them safe from assassination and sabotage. This was almost half a century ago and we are still holding Nahor’s curse at bay. No one knew how strong nor how persistent the curse would be. I now defend Phaedric’s portion of Korrig’s border, and you will when I am no longer able to do so.”

           “Does the Emperor of Nahor not realize that you and the other mages have stopped the curse and keep it from moving forward?” I asked.

           “I expect he does,” answered Nan. “Our spies cannot survive the wasteland that was once Harnoor. So, we are cut off from any new information. We watch and we wait. Someday the Emperor of Nahor will have reached the end of his patience and a renewed attack on Korrig will take place.”

           “And what shall we do then?” I asked.

           “Then our army of sleeping mages will be revived and you and I will be among them – unless this revival happens in our lifetime.”

           “You have lost me, Nan.”

           “Never mind, child,” said Nan. “The day is passing us by and there are other lessons that must be learned today. We will return to this story when there is not so much outdoor work to be done. Now you must learn about crabapple trees. In my orchard they are not all equal.” She patted the stump as she stood up. “Good afternoon, Orwin.”

           Puzzled by her words and sudden change of topic, I stood and followed her from the clearing. My brain was busy trying to make sense of everything I’d just heard. I missed her next words. “Sorry Nan, my mind was still on Phaedric and Adelaide. What did you ask me to do?”

           “Touch this crabapple tree,” instructed Nan. “Tell me what you feel.”

           “I feel the warmth of the sun on the bark. The bark is rough.”

           “Good. Now, touch the tree over there,” Nan said, pointing to another tree about twenty feet away. “How does that trunk feel?”

           “Much the same as the other one,” I replied. “It’s warm and rough.”

           “Keep your hand where it is and focus on it,” said Nan.

           I closed my eyes, wondering what I was failing to notice. Sometimes Nan could be infuriatingly stubborn. She didn’t believe that telling me something was as beneficial as pointing me in the right direction and waiting for me to figure things out on my own. I focused on the roughness of the bark, but it felt the same as the other tree, to me.

           Touching each crabapple tree became a daily routine. Each morning, I would walk with Nan, and we would pause at each tree, touching it for a moment and then moving on. The afternoons were busy drying leaves and petals, mashing roots, and making syrups and tinctures. Each evening Nan asked me to recount what I had learned, and we drank our blackberry wine. Some days I was so tired by the time I went to bed that I imagined that cheeky fairy making faces at me.

           One day, in late summer, I was surprised to feel a subtle difference in a crabapple tree. “Nan?”

           “Yes, child?” she asked.

           “This tree almost feels like it’s generating its own warmth,” I said.

           Nan smiled and nodded, “Very good, Myra. It is true. Do you feel anything else?”

           “The tree feels … happy,” I said, fearing Nan would mock me for being silly. Nan, however, did not. She merely nodded again. The orchard tour took longer this time, as Nan wanted me to describe everything I felt – with more than just my hands. Some trees felt no different than they had before, but others now seemed more alive, if that was possible. As we approached the last tree, Nan held up her hand.

           “Be careful with this one.”

           I touched the bark and pulled my hand back immediately. “This tree is … angry?”

           Nan nodded sadly. “Allum usually is. Well, this development has come in good time. As you can see, the crabapples are almost ready for harvest. In a few days I will pick from the trees that feel like trees, and you will pick from the trees that feel like more, including Angry Allum, here. Your apples will be set aside and used to make the blackberry wine.”

           When the last leaves fell from the trees, and the gardens took on a barren look, Nan announced it was time for me to see Harnoor – or what used to be Harnoor. We were caught up on the making of preserves and medicines needed for the winter and we could afford to take a couple of days off. I was told to pack for one night of sleeping rough and Nan would take care of the rest.

           Nan woke me at sunrise. I grabbed my pack and, as we left the cottage, an earsplitting shriek pierced the morning stillness. Fear rooted me to the ground. “What was that?”

           Nan laughed as an enormous, flying creature landed on the lawn before us. “Mind the flower beds, Adelaide.”

           Phaedric’s lava golem! She appeared smooth skinned, yet beneath her skin oranges, reds, and yellows boiled over each other in a tumultuous, everchanging mosaic of colours.

           “Hop on,” said Nan, chuckling. “We’ll get acquainted along the way. Let’s hope you take well to flying, otherwise it will seem a very long trip.”

           As Adelaide lifted off the ground, I wrapped my arms tightly around Nan’s waist. I turned my head to look at the cottage, gardens and orchard.  From this perspective, the crabapple trees, only the ones I had picked from, resembled people.  I could feel them smiling up at me, assuring me they would be ready when they were needed.