Fire Emblem Fan Fiction ❯ Fire Emblem Tellius Saga: Book 1 ❯ CHAPTER 2: THE SAGE ( Chapter 2 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

They plodded through the night, and Soren struggled to stay awake on the saddle. Sileas never said a word. He didn’t tell him where they were headed or how long it would take, but Soren hoped it wasn’t much farther. He was tired and reeked of horse. The excitement he’d felt upon leaving Nevassa was rapidly fading—especially since realizing there was something wrong with his new master. Sileas’s breathing had become ragged, and he’d begun to cough and shudder.

When they finally stopped, Sileas dismounted to rummage in the saddlebags. Soren slid down the horse’s flank and watched. The wind sage seemed to find what he was looking for and withdrew an opaque vial about the size of his hand. After taking a long draught, he sighed, replaced the cap, and pushed a hand through his stark white hair.

Noticing Soren’s interest, Sileas raised an eyebrow. “It’s medicine, boy. A vulnerary: vul-ner-ar-y. Ever heard of it? You've probably never seen one before, growing up in that fat old crone's hovel.” He waved the bottle in front of Soren’s face. “Where you come from, I wager people die left and right.”

Soren was annoying by the man’s patronizing. Of course Soren knew what a vulnerary was. The heal-all was a staple of survival in the slums. Although it couldn’t actually heal everything, it could fight off a bad infection, knit a serious cut, or even remold a broken bone if the tincture was pure enough. Vulneraries meant life or death for laborers doing risky work.

“I'm sick you see,” Sileas was saying. After stowing the bottle, he squatted in the dirt to relieve his bowels. Soren looked away, but Sileas kept talking, his voice slightly strained. “I came to Nevassa to see a specialist…. All the way to bleeding Nevassa. Heh,” he grunted, “Just to be told there’s nothing can be done.” He finished, stood, and latched his belt. Soren turned back to him.

“The vulneraries will give me a few years. And you, my odd little apprentice, are going to be the way I spend those years. I’ll teach you everything I know before I die. And you’re going to learn it all, no complaining, got that?”

Soren nodded.

Sileas laughed. “We will see if this trip to Nevassa was a waste after all.” He remounted the horse. “Do your business, boy. We don’t stop again for five hours.”

Soren rushed to do as he was told, embarrassed under the old man’s gaze.

 

They rode for two days before making a real stop at an inn. Here Sileas recuperated before moving on. This meant buying a gallon of moonshine, paying a woman to join him in his room, and then sleeping for the rest of the day. Sileas called this ‘sampling the local delicacies.’ As their journey continued, this pattern of recuperation repeated every three or so days.

 

Each time, however, Soren was ordered to stay with the horse (which Sileas claimed was a retired warhorse more valuable than him) and told not to wander. His thighs and back hurt from riding, so he enjoyed these days of rest even if he had to spend them in a stable.

As the weeks stacked end-on-end, Soren realized Sileas’s home was far indeed. With nothing else to do, Soren watched the land slowly change. Everything was new to him. Daein was an arid land, with many wide plains but few forests. Rocky valleys preceded sheer cliffs that rose straight out of the plains and reached heights that put King Ashnard’s castle to shame. Where rivers ran between them, putrid swamps and wetlands sunk into the earth like rot.

Remembering what he’d learned about the movement of the sun, Soren knew they were heading west. Eventually a range of what seemed like impossibly tall mountains appeared. Sileas drove the old charger toward these peaks, and the terrain started to rise. Soren had seen maps of Tellius before, and wondered if this was the barrier range between Daein and Crimea.

 

They took a pass through the mountains where the days were cold and the nights were frigid. The pass led to a stone bridge stretching across a chasm so deep it was dizzying to look down. Far below them ran white water, which was probably frothing wildly but was silent at this distance.

The crumbling bridge didn't look at all safe in Soren’s unspoken opinion. The horse stopped, prancing nervously. Soren stared intently at Sileas’s back, clutched his cloak, and hoped the old sage would declare it too dangerous to cross.

To Soren's disappointment, Sileas said no such thing. "This is it: Riven Bridge! It might not look like much now, but it was amazing once! It’s stood for centuries, and dozens of pivotal battles have been fought here.” Sileas seemed to be talking to himself, so Soren stopped listening. He'd gotten one thing out of the monologue: they were going to cross.

With some prodding from Sileas, the horse strode onto the bridge. When they had traveled half the distance, their progress caused a small avalanche of stones to collapse along the edge. The horse startled, reared, and galloped blindly for the other side.

Soren held on for his life, but Sileas laughed like a madman. When they finally reached solid ground again, Soren wondered if the man had abandoned all fear of death in the face of his disease.

A well-trod path led from the bridge to a slightly leaning tower at the forest’s edge. “Doubt we can sneak on by, huh?” Sileas grumbled. He tapped the horse’s flank. The flag of Crimea flapped from the battlements, and two armored men were brushing their horses in a rough-looking stable at the base of the tower.

One was armed with a bow on his back and the other a sword on his belt. Although their armor was molded in the same style, the colors were completely different. The bowman wore bright teal, and the swordsman a rich purple.

“Behold the Royal Knights of Crimea,” Sileas sneered under his breath, “What a bunch of clowns.”

The purple knight raised his hand. “Greetings, traveler!”

Sileas did not respond, but he stopped his horse, dismounted, and handed the reins to the teal knight. Soren jumped to the ground (managing not to skin his knees this time). He followed Sileas closely, suddenly warry of the tall, burly soldiers.

Inside the tower, a man in cream-white armor swept the floor while another man in the same armor practicing striking a makeshift dummy with a broom for a head. Soren had seen illustrations of battles, and he so he knew Crimean soldiers throughout history had worn white armor like this, while Daein wore black and Begnion (Daein’s neighbor to the south) red. But he had not known Crimea’s Royal Knights wore such colorful uniforms. Another was stationed in here. His armor was pastel pink, and his lance leaned against the wall while he read a book with his feet kicked up on a table.

There was a counter on the opposite wall, behind which stood a grumpy looking woman with flawless skin and thick, red hair as brilliant as blood. Her armor matched her hair, and she had an impressive-looking poleaxe slung across her back.

It was then he noticed the young girl sorting papers beside the red knight. She couldn’t have been much older than Soren, and she kept stole furtive glances at him and Sileas. Soren was interested in her, because she looked as out of place as he felt. The girl had freckles and curly, pale-gold hair, and although she couldn’t possibly be a knight or soldier like the others, she wore what appeared to be light chain mail under her navy tunic. On her wrists she wore leather greaves, and on her belt was a tiny knife. She looked like a doll made up in toy armor, and she must have been kneeling on a high stool.

Sileas walked up to the counter and frowned at the red-haired knight. “I suppose I have to check in to the country?” They were so close now—and Soren so short—he could only see the top of the knight’s plume of red hair.

“Name?” the woman asked, and by her voice Soren could tell she did not appreciate his attitude.

“Guthrie Sileas.”

The girl stretched across the counter to peek over the edge. She examined Soren with wide, curious eyes. Soren glared back.

“Number in your party?”

“Two.”

The girl grinned widely.

“Plants or animals?” the knight asked.

The girl closed her eyes and stuck out her tongue.

“One horse.” Sileas answered, and it appeared both adults were going to ignore her. Soren continued to glare while she snickered quietly to herself.

“Any weapons?” the knight continued. “You are a wind mage, correct?”

“A sage actually,” Sileas replied indignantly. “A former colonel in the Crimean Army, thank you very much!”

“My apologies, sir. I hope you are enjoying your retirement. Any tomes to declare?”

“I’d be enjoying it a lot more if I didn’t have to waste my time answering stupid questions.”

At these words, the girl gave up her game of making faces at Soren to glare at Sileas instead. Her cheeks rounded in a pout. 

“Any tomes to declare?” the knight prompted again.

“Three,” he finally answered.

“And where are you travelling from today, sir?”

“Nevassa.” Sileas crossed his arms.

“Destination?”

“Gallia,” Sileas answered, and the little girl’s jaw dropped in awe. Soren was equally surprised. After all, Sileas had never actually told them where they were going. Upon reaching the barrier mountains, he’d assumed the destination was somewhere in Crimea, but it appeared their journey was longer still.

“You’re going to see the beast-men!” the girl suddenly asked, her voice high with excitement. “He’s just like you, Captain Titania!”

“Hush, Koure,” the knight scolded. “You are not to interrupt our work, remember? Now go back to your coloring.”

“I’m not coloring,” the young girl mumbled, but her head disappeared from view. Soren heard the rustle of papers as she returned to whatever she was doing.

“You live in one of the border towns?” the knight asked Sileas even though it didn’t sound like a question.

“Unfortunately, the border moved,” Sileas growled.

“Well, I’m glad to hear you are choosing to remain and make it work,” the knight said brightly. “The Gallians are truly not so bad once you get to know them.”

Sileas made a guttural sound in his throat that sounded half like a laugh and half like a choke. “So you’re one of King Ramon’s faithful, are you?”

“I am a Royal Knight,” she returned icily.

“And what are the Royal Knights but a bunch of fools and children.” He looked pointedly at the girl sharing the desk with her. Soren suddenly realized the other knights and soldiers in the room were staring. He glanced around and saw their angry eyes. Sileas either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“You’re a meanie!” the young girl spoke up again. “The Royal Knights are the best, strongest people in the world!” (The knight did not tell her to hush this time.)

Sileas scoffed. “You have a lot to learn, kid. These buffoons won’t protect anyone when the war comes.”

“War?” the girl repeated, suddenly scared.

“My question exactly, Koure,” the knight said, sounding annoyed. “What are you going on about, Mr. Sileas?”

“Villages like mine will be the first to go,” he said, although it wasn’t much of an answer. “When the day comes, we’ll be wiped off the face of Tellius! When the subhumans attack, your king will have no warni-”

“I’ve heard enough,” the knight cut him off. “The end of this foolish conversation is overdue. Follow the southern road, and see yourself to Gallia.”

Sileas was obviously insulted and frustrated. “You’ll see!” He twisted around so quickly that cloak billowed. Soren followed closely behind him. “You’ll see,” Sileas muttered again when they reached the door.

Soren glanced back to see the knights’ reaction. The red knight at the counter was holding a hand to her head as if exhausted by the encounter, and the others were still staring angrily. As for the little girl, she was leaning across the desk again, clamping her eyes shut, and sticking out her tongue at Soren.

Soren ignored her and followed Sileas back to the horse and teal knight. Once Sileas slung him back on the saddle, Soren tried to turn his mind to their destination instead of the odd knights. Gallia, the land of beasts—it was a place of fairy stories told to keep children in line. It was the home of monsters.

 

They traveled through Crimea for months, and their routine remained unchanged. As before, Soren took stock of the changing landscape. Crimea’s climate seemed gentler than Daein, even in the winter months. The southern road took them through rolling hills of dormant farmland, quiet naked forests, lush evergreen ones, and smoky towns.

The mountainous border with Begnion often rose on their left, and eventually new mountains rose before them. In the Marhaut Range, Sileas drank his spirits mulled with warm spices. Behind the inns were hot springs where the women Sileas paid pretended to squeal in pleasure.

When they left the mountains, the snow drifted in big flakes and formed soft white hills wherever the wind blew. In the woods, it clung to the trees like a heavy coat, weighing down the branches until a bird or other critter knocked it to the forest floor with a muted whump. 

On the road they passed Royal Knights on errands, soldiers on patrol, and militiamen running messages. Woodcutters drove mules carrying sledges piled high with logs. Farmers waved from their pastures, and ox drivers plowed the snow after a storm. Soren even saw a troupe of traveling entertainers, a refugee family fleeing a fire, and a company of mercenaries on their way to a bloody job. Sometimes Soren saw pegasus knights and postage officers flying far above the road (although he might have mistaken them for birds if Sileas didn’t point them out).

Other than arbitrarily drawing his attention to things like this, the old sage had yet to teach him anything—including wind magic. Soren did not know when his supposed training would begin, so he kept his eyes and ears open. He was determined to learn what he could about the world, regardless of his master’s willingness to teach. 

 

Spring eventually came, which meant a slight warming of the air, more frequent birdsongs, louder rivers, and the smell of mud. Soren noticed a change in his master too. Sileas seemed to have more energy, and even his coughing seemed to bother him less. Soren wondered if they were finally nearing their destination.

“This road will take us to Gallia,” Sileas muttered one day, tapping the horse into a left turn. “Best keep a wary eye out.” The path they followed was narrower than the road they’d been traveling, and it led into a shadowy forest that seemed older and more ominous than any they had traversed so far.

On one hand, Soren was glad they were finally reaching a place they’d be staying permanently. If he never rode a horse again, it would be too soon. On the other hand, he could not ignore the fear that bunched Sileas’s shoulders. The old sage had laughed when cantering across a crumbling bridge over a bottomless chasm, and yet entering the lands of Gallia was making sweat bead on his neck. Soren did not think he wanted to live in Gallia, and he could not fathom why Sileas chose to.

 

After about an hour of travel, they entered a clearing with a couple of huts and a stone guard tower. Soren could recognize an outpost of the Crimean army by now, and this one appeared abandoned. There were no horses in the stable, and there were no soldiers or Royal Knights to be seen.

“Hmph,” Sileas grunted and dismounted. “Stay,” he ordered when the boy made to follow him. Soren froze, and Sileas led the horse by the reins. When they neared the tower, Soren noticed a paper nailed to the center of the locked door. Soren squinted and read the words ‘Out to lunch.’

“The nerve of these fools!” Sileas spat. “They dare leave the border unguarded?” Soren waited to see what Sileas would do. “We march on,” he declared, as if answering his unspoken question. He mounted the horse so forcefully he nearly kicked Soren off. “Hyup!” he barked.

However, they had not made it far down the road before the stomp of hoofbeats became audible. Sileas pulled the old charger to a halt, and four armored horsemen tore past them into the clearing.

Three were wearing the white armor of Crimea, and two were wearing the eccentric colors of the Royal Knights: one in cardinal red and one in pine green. The red and whites were laughing, but the green had pulled his steed to a halt. “Woah!” he calmed his rearing mare, staring Sileas and Soren in shock.

“I win again!” cried the red knight, who had surged to the front after his companion had peeled off.

“We have travelers,” the green knight replied in a soft voice. He walked his horse over to Sileas. “I apologize. We should not have left our post.” He offered an embarrassed smile, and Soren was struck by how young he looked.

The red knight plodded up to them and seemed to notice Sileas and Soren for the first time. “Hey—travelers!” he exclaimed. Like his companion, he was only a teenager.

Sileas rubbed the horn of the saddle as if frustrated. “Ashera, what has become of the Royal Knights of Crimea? They look hardly more than children to me!”

“Allow me to apologize for our rather un-knightly behavior,” offered the green knight.

The red knight grumbled under his breath: “Better children than a grumpy old fart.”

“The Knights have inducted many new members this season,” the green knight hurried to say, before his companion could say something more audibly. “Dozens passed the spring exams.”

Sileas snorted. “They lowered the bar, it sounds like. I suppose they let just anyone join the Royal Knight these days?”

“Well, yes,” the green knight answered with an appeasing smile, “King Ramon removed the restriction against commoners.”

“A lot of good it will do you, when the war comes,” Sileas snarled.

“War?” the red knight repeated eagerly, apparently ready for a fight. He drew his axe, and his nostrils flared.

Sileas groaned. “You’ll see. You’ll all see. War is inevitable.”

“War with whom?” the green knight asked curiously.

“Anyone!” Sileas replied angrily. “Everyone! Subhumans most likely.” Soren knew Sileas was paranoid. This was far from the first time he’d heard him try to convince someone they were doomed.

“We have peace with Gallia,” assured the green knight.

“As boring as that is,” mumbled the red knight. “We’ve been posted here a month and haven’t seen any action.”

Sileas shook his head. “Children.”

“What business do you have in Gallia, sir?” the green knight asked, “If you have no tolerance for the beast kind?”

Sileas shrugged. “Just trying to get home. My town’s twenty or so miles from here. Or at least it was when I left. Have the subhumans massacred everyone yet?”

The green knight’s face lit up in recognition. “Oh! You’re from one of the border towns.”

“I am,” Sileas affirmed. “Now are you going to let me though or not?”

“Well, we just have to ascertain that you aren’t bringing any weapons into Gallia. You appear to be a wind mage-”

“Sage!” Sileas corrected him. “And I haven’t got any. Let me through.” Soren knew that was a lie, and the green knight didn’t seem to buy it.

“Are you sure…”

“Yes,” Sileas hissed. “Unless you want to search me?”

After a moment of uncertainty, the young knight gave in. “That will not be necessary,” he said, gesturing that Sileas should continue down the road. “Welcome back,” he offered meekly.

Sileas tapped his horse into a walk, and Soren glanced over his shoulder at the two knights. The red knight smiled and waved. Soren glowered.

“Nice man,” the green knight sighed to his companion.

“Sweet kid,” was the red knight’s sarcastic response.

Whether or not Sileas heard them, he didn’t react.

 

As the miles crawled by, the trees grew thicker and older. The road shrunk to a narrow, meandering path. They passed the occasional lumber camp and tight band of woodcutters. These men and women were well-muscled and drenched in sweat as they bent their backs to fell, chop, and haul away the mighty trees. And yet they were easily startled when they heard the horse approach. When they saw Sileas, they looked relieved. Some waved, and others even greeted him by name.

Soren was not immune to the nervousness shared by Sileas and the woodcutters. An uneasy feeling came over him, as if he were being watched. The back of his neck prickled, and he twisted around in the saddle to look behind him. He peered into the shadowy forest and saw what appeared to be tail flick and disappear behind a large tree. He jolted in surprise.

“Falling asleep, boy?” Sileas accused.

Soren did not reply. He peered into the dark but saw no other sign of the creature.

 

They continued until the woods suddenly became thinner and younger. The path became a road again, and a village unfolded before them. It was a quaint place and resembled many Soren had seen in Crimea. Sileas relaxed for the first time since entering Gallia.

People waved and cheered when they saw him. They asked him about his journey and welcomed him back. Some asked about Soren, but Sileas answered their questions with only one-word responses and never stopped to chat.

As they trotted through the streets, Soren soon realized the village was half-empty. Many of the houses and businesses were boarded shut. Some of the streets they passed were entirely empty, filled with windblown leaves and pine needles. 

Eventually they arrived at Sileas’s home, which was a square, stone house built three quarters of the way up a steep hill. The houses on either side appeared to be abandoned, but then again, so did Sileas’s.

There was a sign out front with his name printed on it, but the paint was faded and the wood worn. Gray vines had grown over the sign, up the chimney, and on the walls as far as the window sills. The windows themselves were covered with wooden boards. Shrubs and weeds grew over a foot high in the yard between the road and the house.

“Home sweet home,” Sileas grumbled. He dismounted with a long groan and tied the horse to a lichen-encrusted post. It immediately began munching the long grass. Soren dismounted too.

He stretched his legs and continued his examination of the house and yard while Sileas patted his pockets looking for a key. The simple abode was not what he had expected. After all, Sileas had given Galina a large bag coins and spent his gold and silver almost carelessly at the inns between here and Nevassa. Soren had assumed he was rich. He had expected a mansion, perhaps a few servants, a stable full of horses, and of course wide stone steps leading up to a grand front door.

That being said, Soren was far from spoiled, and he counted this house’s advantages. It was far better than Galina’s pathetic shack. It had a wide yard, its own well, a large woodshed, and a half-stable for the old charger. The walls were made of sturdy stone, without any drafty cracks. The roof was made of slate shingles, and Soren doubted it would leak in the rain like Galina’s had. 

Sileas finally found his key and pushed open the door. Soren followed close behind, curious to see what the interior was like. The room was dark and musty-smelling, but that was to be expected. Sileas immediately set about removing the boards from the windows and pushing out the glass to let in the fresh air. Soren was impressed with the well-made glass panes.

When this was done, Sileas gave Soren a tour. “Okay,” he began gruffly. “It’s pretty simple. Stay out of the cellar—” he pointed to a hatch in the floor. “That leads to the bath—” he pointed to the only other door, which was open and through which Soren could see a large wooden basin in the middle of a small room. “Kitchen—” he pointed to the wall on the left, which had a large hearth as well as a woodstove, a dusty table, a tall cupboard, an empty pantry, a couple of stools, and some cookware hanging from the ceiling. “Do not help yourself to food. You’ll eat when fed.” He coughed once. “That’s my bed—” he pointed to a deeply sagging mattress held up by a thin wooden frame against the opposite wall. “You’ll use the sleeping mat in that chest—” he pointed to a locked trunk. “Got it?”

Soren nodded.

Sileas waved a careless hand at the rest of the home’s possessions: several full book cases, stacked chests, a wardrobe, and miscellaneous baskets and boxes. “Don’t touch anything unless I tell you. We start tomorrow.”  

Soren nodded again.

Sileas glanced out the door. “Unsaddle the mare. Hang her stuff there–” he pointed to a few pegs on the wall above an empty saddle rack. “And bring the bags in. Be careful with them if you know what’s good for you.” He coughed again. “I’m hitting the sack.” With that, he stumbled over to the bed and flopped onto his belly. This released a cloud of dust, making him cough harder. But he didn’t seem to care enough to move. “Clean the chimney and start a fire if you can manage something as simple as that,” he said when he finally caught his breath. His voice was muffled by the pillow. Soon the old sage was snoring.

Soren set about his tasks with renewed vigor. Tomorrow, Sileas had said. Tomorrow he would finally begin his training as a wind mage.  

When he was unclipping the horse’s saddle, he heard a woman’s voice call: “Guthrie? Yoohoo, Guthrie!” The owner of the voice was marching up the hill with her skirt hiked to her knees. “I heard you were back,” she sang cheerily. “Took your time, you old rascal. But I told them you’d be back, I did!”

Now that she had reached him, however, she finally realized the person behind the horse was Soren, not his master. “Wait, who’re you?” she demanded.

Soren hesitated, not knowing how Sileas would want him introducing himself. He was considering going inside to wake him up, when the woman took a step closer and bent to peer at his face. “What is…that?”

After Galina had shorn his hair, Soren had been forced to withstand such questions for months. It had almost grown long enough to hide the dreadful mark again, but apparently not yet. He foolishly clamped his hand over his forehead, even though he knew it was a mistake.

“A cursed child!” hissed the woman, taking a step back. “Did Guthrie bring you here?”

Soren nodded once but said nothing. He glanced at the house and wondered if her shout had woken Sileas. There was no sign of him.

“Blast that senseless man!” the woman swore. “He’ll be the ruin of us all. As if we didn’t have enough trouble living in this cursed place!” She scowled and began backing away. When she seemed satisfied all Soren was going to do was stare, she twisted on her heel and dashed back down the hill.

Soren returned his attention to the big, stupid horse and resumed his task. But his excitement was gone. His life in Gallia wasn’t going to be different after all.