Orphan At The Edge Of The World 4 Oew 3

The girl turned and knelt down a bit as if it pained her to do so, then said, "This one will take honored sir's word on it but please hurry. This one is not much convinced of the worth this task has."

Levering up the headless corpse, trying his best to keep from getting blood on himself, Orison wrapped the corpse's hand around the key. Holding the corpse's hand, he reached over and tapped the key onto the back of the collar while saying 'release' in ancient elven. Neither the hand nor the word might have been necessary but from the granted knowledge in his head, it was possible and he only had one easy shot at it before further attempts might be more difficult and possibly dangerous to himself if she started fighting him.

Nothing happened but the reptilian girl started shuddering where she knelt. The girl turned to look at Orison with bloodshot eyes causing him to drop the body and back up.

"It's not what it seems. There was, um, something in your masters hand and-" Orison stammered out before he was interrupted.

As if it pained her, the girl slowly said, "No need for games of deceitful words and honorable sir is safe from this one. Little threads are pulling out of this one's body and it hurts greatly."

Orison replied, "Then do whatever you need to make yourself more comfortable and let me know if something feels wrong. Well, more wrong I guess."

A couple of minutes later, the collar opened with and audible click and fell to the ground. The girl hobbled weakly over to the gra.s.s and said, "It shames this one to ask but if it does not offend honorable sir, there is a water skin in the boat over there that I am in need of."

While walking over to get the skin, Orison replied, "Hey, no problem. By the way, no need to be so formal. You're a free woman. I'm Orison and I've been calling you, well, 'you' this whole time so feel free to do the same."

Orison handed her the skin and after she had taken a few drinks she said, "Y-you can call this one Lithis, son of Ori."

Meaning to chuckle but sounding more like he was giggling, Orison said, "Oh, my name actually translates to something like 'small prayer'. I'm a Highlander not a Northlander. No offense taken or anything. I just felt like clarifying."

A little embarra.s.sed, Lithis replied, "This one thinks that must be a mistake many make since we are deep within the Northland. Merely a few days travel further north and one could see the Rim of the Sky on a clear day, or so this one's been told."

As time pa.s.sed while Orison waited for Lithis to get her strength back, they bantered for a bit and he learned a bit more about the world around him. The truth began to sink in more than ever that even though this world might share some striking similarities with the game he played, it was actually quite different. This realization made him think that maybe the most important books in his house weren't ones that granted a bit of skill. If he wasn't careful, his a.s.sumptions could lead to fatal mistakes. After all, it already almost had.

Both anxious to return home, Orison for sleep and Lithis to free the other slaves she was close to, the girl handed him a journal and a scroll then said, "These are magical things that will do this one no good, so you take them. Are you sure you can return home safely, there are wolves in these woods, Orison."

Orison a.s.sured, "No one is ever completely safe but wolves rarely attack people. Even if the wolves around here are more aggressive, I probably smell like scary things right now. Besides, I just live up the hill, so to speak."

As she climbed into the boat, she said, "This one wouldn't know. Marshlanders have a different way of smelling. Be safe."

The long, mostly uphill trudge was mercifully uneventful. By the time Orison barred and locked everything on the first floor that could be, the desire for sleep far outstripped any other want or need as he unwittingly nodded off on the cushioned long-bench by the bookshelf that held the history books. It was a place that had been more Orison's bed than the one in his room since he got here from the orphanage.

It was still dark when he awoke with a start. Bits and sc.r.a.ps of his dream were little more than a highlight reel of all the worst parts of the previous day's experiences. It dawned on him, belatedly, that a person was killed violently in front of him and it was his fault. Despite overreacting to some things, his reaction to indirectly killing someone was rather ambivalent. That the guy deserved it was irrelevant. He realized that his emotional state was more than a little unbalanced and dwelling on the whys of that would likely do more harm than good at the moment.

"Pack it away for now and take it out on someone pa.s.sive-aggressively later like a good little beta male." Orison smelled himself and continued, "I got way more important things to do."

Fighting against the predawn chill of mid spring in the Northlands, Orison struggled with a piece of flint and his dagger only to earn himself a nicked thumb. Feeling irritated and not up to caring about the extravagant waste of it, he grabbed a twist of waxed paper off the alchemy table and dumped the red salt into the fireplace with a few dribbles of water. In moments, flames were dancing around slightly damp wood.

"That's a really expensive fire but h.e.l.l, if the alchemy room wasn't ground zero for whatever happened here, it probably would have reverted to magical horseradish powder or phosphorus anyway," Orison reasoned as he took in the subtle and not so subtle changes that the house was going through, a process he coined 'becoming authentic'.

While he waited for the water in the cauldron to boil, Orison made his way to the practice yard, eager to hit the martial skill books. Taking a step out onto the large raised deck, he took in a lungful of clean, crisp air and sighed in satisfaction. In the distance a dim glow on the horizon signaled that morning wasn't far away.

Seeing the the dew laced landscape, Orison said, "Bet this'll shine like the whole place is decked in diamonds once the sun pops out. Wait... Does it do this everyday? No, no no no no!"

Rushing over to the bookcase exposed to the outside world, Orison recast his light spell and a.s.sessed the damage, absorbing what skills he could along the way. "It's bad but not a complete loss. At least I know how to put armor on right and a bit about basic proper forms for combat. It's a lot more complicated than I thought. Once I get a little stronger, I might even be able to pa.s.s as a pint-sized army recruit, if barely.

"Alright, hard decision time. Do I use what's left of the wish juice to beef up my stats or do I use it to make some alchemy items... Honestly, I'm terrified of what it might do to me and real alchemy is a long and drawn out pain in the a.s.s, also dangerous. I don't even want to think about how hard the good ingredients for real world potions are to obtain personally much less buy. I'd be tempted to sell some of the little I have but who knows what kind of negative attention that would get me since they're kinda not supposed to exist here."

Eventually, Orison settled for a compromise. He carefully worded for results that mimicked a year of the best age-appropriate martial and magical training available. The results were that he pa.s.sed out for a few seconds from indescribable pain and nearly ruptured his magical apertures which wouldn't have just magically crippled him. He would have died.

He felt like he got around a three times boost to both, about the starting line for an average fifteen year old getting started as a mercenary or a college apprentice. Aside from almost killing himself again, there wasn't much he could pick at. There was nothing 'average' about having magic to begin with and getting into a college required wealth or connections, outside unusual circ.u.mstances. Mercenaries might pick up a st.u.r.dy looking farm boy here and there to make up the numbers but many recruits came from their own families, children who grew up getting the basics drilled into them as soon as they were strong enough to swing a sword.

After taking stock of ingredients, Orison spent the last remaining wisps of free alien energy to create a wide range, if meager in number, selection of potions. The two best were ones that could theoretically cure anything except being undead, even lycanthropy. It was the product of game imitating energy and granted real world knowledge. Coincidentally, the newly expanded comfort capacity in his inventory was only just a bit more than the total weight of the potions, around ten pounds.

In the process of labeling the last potion of healing, Orison set it down when he heard a loud hiss come from the main room. The cauldron had boiled over and doused the fire.

"d.a.m.n it," Orison cursed weakly.

A quarter of an hour and two scalding blisters later, Orison was soaking in the horse trough out front of the smithy, muttering to himself, "Without healing magic I'd look like a road map before I'm twelve... Note to self, from now on, no sleeping with stamina refilling boots on. I don't know if anyone's did studies on the affects of regeneration enchantments and children but somebody should... The only thing that's left to check out is the smithy chest but it could bust open at any time and I don't even know what's still in it. Am I safe right now? There's a lot of sto-"

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of tightening string and a man's voice saying, "Stay right where you are boy... Bear, Weasel, case the house and make sure no one else is here. We're only a candle mark ahead of Droya so no solo runnin. Don't matter if you get to somethin before me or not. We all strip at the den. Them's the rules... I said don't move, boy. Keep your eyes forward."

Not liking his odds of dodging an arrow, Orison complied for the moment and asked, "Would it be alright to put my clothes on as long as I keep my eyes forward?"

The man behind him chuckled and said, "Well, aren't you cool as a mountain cap. No...Fact is, the less you do and know, the greater your chance of livin. We're thieves by trade, not killers, but I won't lose much sleep either way."

Orison replied with false joviality, "Well I hope you guys are done doing your thing before my water gets cold. I'd hate to survive this just to die from pneumonia."

The man a.s.sured, "Aside from being light a thing'r two, everthin'll be right as rain in two shakes as long as you don't get dumb. Scout's, uh, thief's honor. That's a thing, aint it?"

While scrambling to come up with a reply, Orison heard someone say 'clear' in the house.

The man behind him shouted into the smithy shed door, "Then come out here and you two throw lots in front'a me to see who does what. That way there wont be no bickerin later... Bear, don't look at em like that. We aint got the time and you'll have whorin coin soon enough. "

The man was answered by a heavy grunt.

Another male voice with the lilt of the feline folk cut in, "Waste of time th-...Would you look at him, Owl? The so called hero has almost trained the boy crippled. Can't believe Droya would allow that."

Looking at himself, Orison had to admit he didn't exactly look natural for a ten or so year old but that was going off of modern standards. Even though his wish might have been answered a little too enthusiastically, he had a hard time believing a really fit preteen was that much of a rarity here. Of course, Highland folk naturally ran a little more delicate than the average Empire citizen much less Northlanders.

The bowman said, "Bear, throw lots then open chests. Ya hard-headed Orc lis-"

With only a moment to register the sound of rusty hinges being forced to move coming from the smithy behind him, Orison's world exploded into dust then darkness.

***

Orison awoke with a moan and mumbled, "From now on. If I ever run into wish juice again, it's strictly for item making. It's the only thing that doesn't almost kill me. Ju-"

Interrupted by the familiar voice of a black furred, green eyed cat lady, Droya said as she appeared above him, "Thank the maker. Do you know who you are?"

Orison briefly looked around him to realize that he was laying on his back in his bedroom before he said, "Philosophically or literally?... I'm Orison?" He finished lamely as she waited for a real answer.

Expectantly she asked, "How does your head feel? No, don't touch it. I'll check it, alright? I just want to know if it hurts."

A little panicked from being stopped trying to touch his own head, he replied, "Nooo...Should it?"

She took a vinegary smelling rag from a bowl on his dresser and started wiping what looked like blood clots out of his hair as she said, "When I came home, There were smashed pieces of people all over the smithy. The smithy itself was mostly intact but most of the shed built around it is in bits all over the yard. One of my people, a Bastet man, who was left with his front half inside the house, died trying to open a bottle marked 'Best He' in grease pencil. Whatever that was supposed to mean I was fair certain it was a healing draught, a powerful one I thought. Looks like I was right... I found you underneath an overturned trough, naked as the day you were born and bleeding a great deal from where the trough had partially scalped you, when it flipped over on top of you, I suppose. Luckily, it looked like you were trying to tuck yourself into it or you would have probably lost a limb or cut your head clean open.

"I was in such a fright that you would die. I've only seen a real magic healing potion once in my life but after pouring a couple drops, I could see the skin joining back together. So I poured some vinegar on your skull and... You know what? Let's not talk about that. Don't worry. Everything seems to be put together right and I'm sure no one will notice that your hair line is a little different."

Concerned, Orison asked, "Can I have the shiny shield from the other room?"

Droya replied, "Maybe in a moment. Would you tell me what happened?"

He took a some time to collect his thoughts and said, "Well, I was taking a bath when the robbers showed up..."

Droya prompted, "And then?"

Orison said, "And then boom, dust and darkness. Maybe they opened something dangerous in the smithy shed."

After thinking for a moment, she muttered, "Makes me concerned for what might be in the alchemy room."

Thoughtlessly Orison replied, "Oh, that's fine,"

With a dangerous glint in her eye, Droya loomed over Orison and said, "And why would you say that, little cub?"

Thinking fast, Orison plastered a saccharine smile on his face and demurred, "Well, because we were robbed and the smithy shed was what blew up."

She chided, "I'll let it go this time but you WILL NOT go in the alchemy room again until I've made well and good sure that it is safe. Who knows how your father is going to react when he gets home."

Droya looked gloomy as she sat back into the chair she had brought into the room and stared out the window.

Orison felt a little guilty as he thought to himself, "I don't think that's going to happen."

To change the subject and because he really wanted to know, Orison asked, "Did you happen to see a robe in my size and a pair of black boots?"

She turned to look at Orison sadly and said, "Back to you, is it? Do you not want to call me Momma Yaya anymore?... The robes are drying by the hearth and your boots are at the foot of your bed."

Startled that his casualness had hurt the woman's feelings, Orison reached out and patted her arm then said, "Sorry, um, mom. It's been hard on you."

Droya stared blankly at Orison then started laughing so hard she had to wipe a tear from her eye, "It's been hard on me, he says. Nearly had his head chopped off by a horse trough but it's been hard on me. Oh you precocious little cub." Standing up she continued, "Better get your sleep in. As long as you're not drooling or fainting, tomorrow you're helping me clean this disaster of a house. Robbers didn't soot up the hearth pot and fireplace."

As she finished cleaning his head with vinegar water and urging him to drink a cup of water and another cup of lukewarm soup, Orison realized that it was starting to get dark outside. He had been knocked out for nearly the whole day and judging by the lack of his need to relieve himself plus new sheets and blanket he was pretty sure he did some embarra.s.sing things while he was out. Silently he vowed to himself to reduce near-death experiences to a more reasonable average.

As Droya was leaving with cups and bowl of b.l.o.o.d.y water in hand, Orison said, "Mom, can you make sure all the doors and windows are barred?"

She turned and said, "Of course I can, sweetling," then walked out, leaving the door open. And at least for tonight, Orison was perfectly fine with that.