The Blood Witch (The Blood Reign Chronicles Book 1) (22 page)

The black mage lifted his head slowly, and then rose to his feet. Blood was still dripping from his cloak and left more red spots on the floor. Allysix decided she would leave them there as a reminder for her followers.

As Maggas approached, his eyes burned with fervor for his great mistress. Allysix was certain that this one was hers completely. She was satisfied that if she commanded him to take his own life, he would do so gladly without hesitation. But she had other things in mind for the black mage, since he was too valuable to waste in a pointless test of obedience. There were far more productive ways to put him to use.

Delicately, Allysix began to unfold her plans to Maggas, at least the part of her plans she wanted him to know at the moment. Some elements she would disclose at a later time; while others he would never fully know.

Chapter 7

Jak woke to discover that it was nearly midday and he had overslept. He had been so tired from the sleepless night during the ride through the Jagmerain pass, not too mention the encounter at his grandparent’s house that it had left him exhausted. He didn’t think the two mugs of ale he drank before leaving the inn at Kragston had helped much either. He didn’t think he would be drinking more ale again anytime soon.

Shortly after joined camp with the old man the night before, Jak had all but collapsed into sleep without even untying his bedroll. He just laid his head on it, and pulled his cloak over him, before falling fast asleep.

Sitting up and clearing the sleep from his eyes, Jak noticed that everyone else besides him was already awake. Nicoldani sat on a large log to one side of the small cook fire, while the old man and Gin sat on the other side. The old man seemed to be telling Gin a story, based on her wide-eyed expression and the intent way she was looking at him. Jak rose, stretched, and walked over to the fire to join them. As he did, he was surprised at the lack of any stiffness in his muscles. Surely, he should be sore and tender from all the riding, but he didn’t even feel a hint of aching in his muscles.

“You are finally up? Gin asked, but it wasn’t really a question. “They wanted to wake you hours ago, but I wouldn’t let them,” she said, shyly glancing at Nicoldani. Jak was sure it had been
her
that was eager to wake him, not the other way around.

“Benjim has been telling me the best stories. You should hear them. He knows everything, he is very old,” Gin said gleefully, and the old man chuckled warmly.

Jak tried to ignore Gin’s incessant chattering, at least partially, since he was still a little groggy and only halfway awake.

“Good to see you’re finally awake,” Nicoldani said, with a flat look that hinted at mockery. “I thought you were going to sleep all day.

“Where are we?” Jak asked without really thinking about what he was saying.

“Same place we were last night,” answered Nicoldani with a rye smile, “about five or six leagues south of Kragston, and not making much progress at this pace.”

“I was planning to get an early start, but seeing how you slept half the day, it’s too late now to get packed up and back on the road. So it looks like we will stay here again for the night and then get an early start in the morning.”

Jak was glad to hear that bit of news. He wasn’t ready to be on the road just yet. It would be nice to relax a little without having to worry about someone or something chasing or trying to kill him.

“Jak! Guess what?” Gin exclaimed, as her eyes went wide and she wore a proud smile, “Nic has been teaching me to ride Hofsi. Well… I already know how to ride, he’s just teaching me to ride with a saddle. He showed me how to put the saddle on too. I can’t quite do it myself yet though.”

“Hofsi? what is hofsi?” Jak asked as he tipped his head to one side quizzically.

“Not what silly, who? Hofsi is my horse. I named her Hofsi,” Gin said proudly. “Isn’t it a good name? Benjim said it means pretty little flower…… or something like that.”

“C’mon Nic I want to practice some more. Can I?” she implored, eagerly jumping to her feet and starting towards the tethered horses.

“You were just riding a little while ago,” Nicoldani protested as his head lolled to one side and his shoulders drooped, “why don’t you take a break for a while and rest. Or go play, or do whatever it is that children do.”

Gin stopped and turned to face the big man with an earnest look on her small face, “But
you
said I needed to practice, didn’t you? I need to practice saddling Hofsi, and practice riding, so I can get good like you,” she said, her serious look turning into an innocent smile.

Nicoldani rolled his eyes as he reluctantly rose and started towards where the horses were tethered. As the big man passed Gin, she reached up and took him by the hand. Nicoldani stopped and looked down at his hand in alarm not really knowing what to do. Gin’s hand was tiny compared to his, but she tugged at him and started off toward the horses, leading the big man along by his hand.

Jak had to smile to himself at the sight of it. He didn’t think Nicoldani was used to children and wasn’t sure how to react to the girl. But Jak knew Gin would have Nicoldani wrapped around her finger in no time.

With Gin and Nicoldani’s departure, it left Jak sitting at the fire with just the old man, Benjim. The old man was stirring a pot of….what smelled like stew. When the aroma filled Jak’s nostrils, his stomach growled loudly in response to the prospect of hot food.

Benjim set the spoon down and turned to Jak. “It will be ready soon. You are probably hungry since you missed breakfast. You are hungry, are you not?”

“Ahhh yes, I am hungry, come to think of it,” Jak answered, as his stomach grumbled again in agreement.

“Good, good. Like I said it, will be ready soon,” the old man repeated as he seemed to study Jak intently. “Gin tells me you two are from Elsdon.”

“Ummm, Yes I, ahh, we are from Elsdon,” Jak stammered, not really sure if the old man was just making small talk. Jak wasn’t very good at small talk, but he did his best to make an attempt. “Where are you from?”

“Me? Oh, I am from a long ways off. I am sure you have never heard of the place.” Benjim said, as his eyes went to the horizon and he seemed to be lost in thought.

“Try me,” Jak said a little snappishly, “I’m not stupid. I have read books……well at least some books.”

“I was not implying that you were, it is just that….well, the place is not there any longer. It has been gone for a long time now.”

“A very long time,” Jak thought he heard Benjim say under his breath. The old man had a far off look in his eyes.

After a few moments of silent revelry, the old man turned his attention back to Jak. “Elsdon, you know, is a site of great historical significance.”

“A great what?” Jak asked. “I mean…how, nothing ever happens there? It’s just a… It
was
just a small farming village in the mountains.”

Thinking about Elsdon being gone made Jak homesick. Everything had happened so fast that it had not had time to sink in fully yet. The entire village, his whole family, had been killed by the Blood Witch. The yeshada had burned and destroyed what was left and nearly killed him. Now everyone and everything was gone, except for Gin. Just thinking about it made tears begin to well up in Jak’s eyes.

“Maybe not now,” the old man said, peering thoughtfully into the fire, “but it was a place of great events and people in history, a long time ago. There might not be much there now, but there was at one time.”

Jak blinked back the tears and returned to the present. “Oh yeah, Svenlag, the innkeeper said that you were a historian,” but the word fumbled on Jak’s tongue.

Benjim chuckled in a warm way, wearing a long-suffering look that reminded Jak of his grandfather, when Jak didn’t quite understand what he was explaining.

“Well, I suppose in a way I am. But I consider myself more of a student of history. Historian implies someone who is expert in things past, or one who writes books and records the events for other people to read.”

“What’s the difference?” Jak asked, “Aren’t they pretty much the same?”

“Yes and no. Historians who write histories, most of the time never lived the events they write about. They just read and study what other people have written, then compile the information into a history book.

Some are commissioned by nobles, and will write it in a way that favors a particular ruler or person without telling the whole truth. These individuals tend to leave out parts that are unfavorable to the ruler or person they are writing about. By and large, history favors the winner more often than not. It tends to overlook the bad things, while accentuating the good ones. Sometimes, writers even embellish the truth to make things seem grander than they actually were.

Sure, the historians are knowledgeable about what other people have written about the past, or the things that are in the limited scope of their own experience. But myself, I prefer to watch…and study…and live history for myself.”

“Live history? How do you do that?” Jak asked, not really knowing for sure what Benjim was meaning.

The old man smiled a warm smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “My boy, you are doing it right now,” Benjim said, as if it explained everything.

“Everything you have done in your lifetime up until this moment is now part of history. You live history because every moment you live becomes part of history. Why rely on other people’s interpretation of what happened, when you can see and live it yourself.”

Jak was thoroughly confused, and asked, “How can you live things that happened before you were born?”

“Oh no, you cannot actually live things before your time. If you wish to know of past things that happened before you were born, then you must rely on other people’s views of what happened. But alas, you will never truly know what happened since you were not there.

You see, no two people ever see the same thing in exactly the same way. You can have two people witness the very same event, and see two different things, since both have differing points of view.

Say, for instance, a great battle took place, with one side winning, and of course the other side loosing. A man from the side that was victorious would write of a great victory and valiant brave fighting, with good ultimately prevailing over evil. A man from the loosing side would write of a bitter defeat with many men dying in vain, and evil prevailing over the good. Whereas, a troubadour or poet might see beauty or grace in the bravery and courage of the men who fought and died for their cause, and write a poem or ballad about it.

But in all cases, you would be seeing it happen through their eyes, not yours. You might have seen something else entirely had you been there. Sure, there might be similarities in the accounts, but they are all from differing points of view.

To demonstrate, if I had a looking glass and placed it over your eyes so that you could only see what I choose for you to see. Everything else would be blocked from your view, and you would only see where I pointed the other end of the looking glass. You would be at my mercy as to which things I thought were important enough for you to witness. Everything else would escape your vision and notice, and it would be as if it never existed at all. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I think so,” Jak nodded his head uncertainly.

The old man continued in a merry tone, “I personally, would rather live history, and see it from my own point of view, not someone else’s. But alas, you cannot be in everyplace at once either. That is when other people’s accountings of past events can be useful. You just need to keep in mind, the accounts you read or hear are from that person’s point of view. What you are reading or hearing is that person’s own view of history. Then it becomes like a puzzle, you must put all the pieces together to form your own picture, one that makes sense to you. Because you will never gain a clear understanding unless it is from your point of view.”

Jak was a little unsure of the old man. What he said made sense in a way, but what did it have to do with him or anything for that matter. It just sounded like a bunch of stuff that Jak wasn’t interested in. Things that other people did, or events that happened long ago, had nothing to do with him. The stories his grandfather would tell were just for fun, but all the other stuff just seemed boring to Jak. He didn’t really care about history or what some other people did long ago. As to trying to
live
history, that notion had no appeal to him since what was done was done and you couldn’t change it. It all seemed a little pointless to him.

Thankfully, at that moment Gin and Nicoldani returned from riding. As they were approaching, Nicoldani was sharing Gin’s wide smile but he allowed it to slip from his face when they got near and he return to his normal stoic expression.

“Did you see me Jak? Did you see me? Wasn’t I good? I can ride good, can’t I?” Gin said, clapping her hands excitedly and bouncing on her toes.

Even though Jak hadn’t really been watching her ride, the little girl’s enthusiasm was infectious and he answered, “Yes, you are very good.”

Jak was happy that Gin seemed to be taking a liking to Nicoldani. When the big man was around her, he seemed to drop his guard a little. For that matter, he would even drop his stony veneer around Jak sometimes as well. Jak wouldn’t have suspected this from a man like Nicoldani. He seemed like the kind of man that wouldn’t have time for children; they would just be an annoyance to him. But it turned out not to be the case with Nicoldani. There were times the big man seemed unsure of what to do when it came to the youngsters, but the more time they had spent with him the more he seemed to open up.