Ventra’s Gift

I remember being dragged through a forest. I remember someone shouting, though I couldn’t understand the words, not at first. A woman. The one who was dragging me. She was calling out, and at first no voice answered. I drifted back down, into black forgetfulness, and when I came to again there were more voices. I was being carried, slung between the woman and a man who had rushed to join her. They sounded worried, but also excited, though I still couldn’t make out the words.

                 Some time later, impossible to tell how long, I found myself lying upon a small cot in a ramshackle room not much larger than the cot itself. Threadbare curtains hung limply in front of the lone window in the space, only partially blocking the bluish light from without. The beginning of twilight or the ragged edge of dawn. I was on my back, and I levered myself up onto my elbows, slowly, for my whole body seemed to be heavier than made sense, and there was not one part of me that didn’t ache. Eventually I managed a slouching sitting position against the wall behind the bed, and looked about the room, and searched my memory for the reason I found myself here.

                 There was nothing. My heart began to beat faster, and I slammed my eyes shut, casting my mind back as far as I could. Nothing there. Nothing but the vague fever memory of being dragged through the woods, the sounds of voices raised, speaking in tongues foreign to my ears. But as I sat with the memory, snatches of what these strangers were saying became clear to me.

                 “—just lying there—”

                 “—scorched and—”

                 “—hair! Look at the hair!”

                 “Crimson under that dirt—”

                 “—and the comet!”

                 “Can’t be. The fallen—”

                 Understanding the words didn’t help me to understand the meaning behind them. A cold panic caused me to leap from the bed. Or attempt to, at least. My heavy limbs twisted in the blanket and I felt to the floor with a dull thump and clatter.

                 Almost upon the instant the door was thrown open and a harried woman thrust herself into the room with a cry of alarm. She knelt beside me and helped me back up to a sitting position, supported my head and neck with strong callused hands. Her face was tired, severe. Her features were harsh and sharp, crowsfeet around the eyes, laugh lines around the mouth. Ink black hair shot through with a spattering of grey. She wore a faded green tunic and breeches, worn and heavy leather boots. Her lips twitched upwards at the edges in what might have called itself a smile.

                 “Heldan! Our guest is a wake!” she called over her shoulder, without taking her eyes off me. The scraping of chair legs from outside the room, footsteps. “Well, friend. You seem more alive than you have since I found you. If I let go of your head, do you think you can hold it up on your own?”

                 “Yes,” I tried to say. It came out as a hoarse grunt instead. I blinked a couple of times, grimaced, and nodded once. “Yes,” I said. She smiled her thin smile again, nodding back to me. Slowly, she moved her hands from my head, and when she was satisfied that I wouldn’t slump over, dropped them to her sides and stood.

                 A man entered the room. He was dressed in more or less the same fashion as the woman, though the clothes seemed to be of slightly better quality. He was a big man, tall as well as broad, getting a bit on in years but with ropey muscles and head and neck like a bull. An intimidating form, but his eyes were all kindness. His hands were clasped in front of him, fidgeting a bit.

                 “Well, blessed Ilna of the Vine, so he is,” the man said. His voice was a rumble from the depths. “Can you stand, son?”

                 “I—I think so.” I started to do so, but the woman cupped her hands under my arms and helped me up. She let go only tentatively, staring me down with fierce attention. She made a small, satisfied sound in her throat.

                 “I think he’ll do for now,” she said. “Follow us into the grand hall now, dear.”

                 She winked and took my arm, leading me out.

*               *               *

                 The “grand hall” turned out to be a slightly larger room which appeared to be the main living space. It was crowded with all sorts of things: herbs in bottles, a hearth with a blazing fire and a pot hung over it, a barrel tucked into one corner with a bundle of chains atop it, a shelf full of aging books in another, hooks for game, and a small lamp hung from the ceiling over a wooden table and chairs. They fed me from the pot over the fire, a thick hearty soup which I ate greedily, and gave me something warm and spicy to drink down. The man and woman sat across the table from me.

                 “There now,” the woman said, “that’s better, I’m sure. My name is Elslin, and this brute here is Heldan.” She gestured towards the man, who feigned a hurt expression and pressed a hand to his chest before chuckling.

                 “It’s good to meet you, Elslin. Heldan.” I nodded to them in turn. “And I thank you sincerely for the help you’ve given me. A-and the food and drink. I’m feeling much better now.”

                 Again the small smile from the woman—Elslin. “And your name is…?”

                 I felt the heat of a blush in my cheeks and nodded hastily.

                 “I’m so sorry, how rude of me. Yes. I’m. Er, that is. My name…” I struggled with the words and I could feel my mouth working, trying to form the sounds that would be my name, but they came up short. I clapped my mouth shut, realizing I’d just been sitting there flapping my lips like a fish from out of the water. I looked down at the empty bowl. “I’m afraid I’m not sure what my name is. Or at least I can’t remember it. I don’t seem to remember anything.”

                 Elslin and Heldan made matching frowns and shared a quick glance. 

                 “Nothing at all?” Elslin asked. “How you got here or where you came from or,” she seemed to draw herself up then, hunched forward with her hands and elbows on the table, fingers interlaced so tightly that her fingertips went white, “or what you’re here to do?”

                 She almost whispered the last bit, as if it cost her something to ask it. I wasn’t sure what exactly it was she wanted of me, but I couldn’t help but feel I’d let her down. The guilt was deeper than made sense, a weariness that crept up from within and twisted around something that almost felt like shame.

                 “I’m afraid not, ma’am. Elslin. I’m sorry, but I don’t remember anything. I don’t even know where ‘here’ is.” She pursed her lips in a thin line.

                 “This is Renma, in the kingdom of Lamrae,” she said slowly, eyes locked on mine. “I am the hedge witch Elslin, and Heldan here is a soldier in His Majesty’s army. Well, he used to be. We’ve been… well I believe we’ve been looking for you, lad. For you’re the Herald, y’see. I’ve heard stories about you since I can remember. We all have.” Heldan nodded gravely.

                 My head swam with a feeling like vertigo. My hands had gone cold and my fingertips tingled. I didn’t understand. I couldn’t.

                 “What,” I began breathlessly, “do you mean? Herald? W-what stories? And Renma? Lamrae? I don’t—“

                 “It’s alright, my lord,” Heldan said. “Breathe deep, and breathe slow. You’ll be a’right. Easy on him, Els.”

                 Elslin’s eyes were closed. She straightened. “It’s a legend our people tell. Long ago, there was a war, between man and the gods. We had Magic in those days, and mages everywhere and of all kinds. But magic, the legend says, was the tool of the gods from the Birth of Creation and it was not meant that we should have it. The gods took notice of the power of our mages, and grew jealous, wishing to keep it for themselves. They demanded that we give it up. But the old mages were proud, and they refused. The gods sent down on us a plague of monsters intent on slaying all practitioners of the Art Magic. The war raged for years, until finally the gods had simply had enough. They sent Londii, Lord of the Dark, down to Ealde to purge the world of these mages, and banish the Art Magic from the mortal world for good.

                 “But in those days of our world’s youth, Magic had been a gift to mankind from the god of wisdom and learning, Ventra. And it was said that he would bide his time, until the fury of his fellows had cooled, and he would return to us the Art. It was said that he would ride a chariot of banefire through the sky, and when he came we would know him by his flaming crown.”

                 Elslin looked at me then, and her eyes glimmered with barely restrained tears. I realized she was waiting for me to speak.

                 “Okay,” I said. “I just. Well, I’m sorry but what does this have to do with me?”

                 The slight uptick at the edges of her mouth again. It occurred to me that these thin smiles were her trying to tamp down her hopes. “I believe you are he, friend. Ventra. The night I found you there was a comet in the sky. But it wasn’t a comet. It came crashing down into the forest, red as the fires of the deepest hells. I didn’t dare go near, because banefire is mortally dangerous and even the slightest touch of it or the places it has been would mean certain death. But you’d crawled away to the edge of the forest. I found you there. It was fate.”

                 Fate. Something about the word echoed around my skull. Fate. Something about fate is important. To me. As a clue about who I was, it wasn’t much to go on, but it was more than I had before.

“It’s true,” Heldan said. “I was nearby when it happened. I didn’t quite believe it at first, but,” he looked down at his hands, “once we got you cleaned up and I saw that crimson mane of yours, I knew. You wear the crown of fire, and you came to us from the stars on a chariot of banefire. It is an honor, my lord Ventra.”

For a while, none of us spoke. Elslin and Heldan cast their eyes down at the table, and I looked back and forth between them. I couldn’t find the words. It was true enough that I had no memory of what came before, so that what they said of my arrival could well be fact. But as to the rest, I couldn’t bring myself to believe it. A god of wisdom, here to restore the power of magic to the world? It couldn’t be.

“How am I meant to help?” I asked, thinking to stump them and make them give up the lie. Heldan made a complicated expression, something between confusion and resignation, and stood to go behind me to the kitchen. Elslin slowly raised her head.

“As a god, magic is the essence of your being,” Elslin said. She seemed to be choosing her words carefully, fixing her gaze to mine. “It is said you would… give of yourself. For us. A sacrifice.”

I felt a warmth spread across my chest, a stone in my gut.

“Sacrifice?”

“Of your mortal form. For us, to give us back our Art,” she said, quietly, hungrily.

“No,” I choked out, “no—I can’t, I’m sorry, I’m not him, I’m—I don’t know who I am but I know I’m not him, I can’t—”

My face slammed to the floor beside the table, and I felt something wet and warm spread down the side of my head and neck. And then the pain; dull but immediate, a throbbing that seemed to leave no room in the world for anything less. I rolled over and saw Heldan standing above me, a bloodied geriatric sword in his enormous hands. He looked regretful, but determined.

“You oaf,” cried Elslin. “I warned to have that thrice-damned thing sharpened.”

“I’m sorry, lord Ventra. This has to happen, one way or the other. This is too important.” He raised the club to strike again. Something surged in me, welling up from somewhere in my gut and filling me with what felt like a boundless energy. The pain receded and Heldan’s movements seemed to me to slow, slightly, but enough.

I twisted from my place on the ground and sprang up. I spun out of reach of Heldan’s next blow and made for the door, leading with my shoulder and shattering one of the hinges as I crashed out of the house. Outside, several people sat around a scattered group of tents and a burning campfire. They’re here for me, I thought. No time to worry about that now. I ran as fast as my aching feet would carry me towards the woods to the east. Heldan followed close behind, roaring wordlessly, with Elslin on his heels.

As we neared the woods, I heard their footsteps begin to slow, and they called for me to stop.

“We don’t know what the banefire will do to you!” Elslin shouted. “It will surely kill you, but it may take your gift with it! Don’t give your mortal life in vain!”

I bounded into the woods, not slowing, not yet. I could smell the remains of an old fire, and something else, something familiar. Following the smell, I eventually came to the site of the comet’s collision with the ground. The area was burned out, the trees black leafless husks, felled entirely toward the center, where there lay a great hulking mass of gleaming metal. There were several oddly shaped protuberances and towards the back four round shapes, two to either side. I felt unaccountably nostalgic at the sight of the thing. I knew what it was.

I walked forward tentatively. There were no more sounds of pursuit. On the side facing me, there was what appeared to be a sort of door, and next to it a panel of glass reflecting the light of the rising sun. I placed my hand on it, the door slid open with a hiss, and I stepped inside. Lights flickered reluctantly to life as I made my way through the corridors. 

“Sid!” a feminine voice called out. “Oh, you’re back. I was so worried. It’s been weeks!”

I smiled, easing myself down into the pilot’s chair.

“It’s okay, Kana,” I replied to the voice of my starship. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Fate, I thought as the engines roared to life and lifted me from the surface of the planet, is resourceful. That’s why Elslin’s mention of fate stirred me so. It was part of the Traveler’s Oath, something all those who wander the stars have learned by heart and recite like a prayer.

I am a Traveler

The stars my beacon,

The Void my home.

My ship is a part of me as I am a part of it.

I sail the winds of Fate

And Fate is resourceful

Providing that which I need and taking that         which I need not

To see the worlds in their glory

And uncover the secrets of the Cosmos.