The Jade Mage: The Becoming: Volume 1 (50 page)

Vaund looked stunned and then smiled. He motioned for Tartum to take a seat in the cushioned chair across from him. Tartum sank into the chair and immediately felt right at home. He made a mental note to get himself a chair like this for his own room. The wooden, uncomfortable, mess he used for a chair just wouldn’t do after sitting in this luxury. Situating himself, Tartum learned back and looked at Vaund. He was looking back at him intently, and Tartum could tell he was coming out of his skin with curiosity.

“What would you like to know?” he asked.

“I would like you to teach me how to heal myself. Nothing fancy or overly complicated, I just want to be able to heal my wounds without having to wait for you to show up just in the nick of time. Like you said before, you have better things to do than wait around for me to get myself killed.” Tartum laughed.

Vaund looked touched that Tartum had asked him to teach him his craft. He began to respond but stopped himself short. He looked saddened by something and then shook his head. Looking down at his feet, he explained. “I can teach you how to use magic to cure sicknesses and heal others. To mend their bones and fix their flesh, but there is no way to heal yourself using magic. It’s like trying to pick yourself up. It can’t be done.” Vaund’s voice was full of sorrow, and Tartum found it odd that he would be so apologetic about something that wasn’t his fault.

“Why can’t a caster use magic to heal himself?” he asked. It didn’t make sense that if the spell could target another that it couldn’t target the user.

The sadness in Vaund’s eyes remained as he answered the question, “When a caster uses magic to heal someone, he coaxes the magic not into his patient but into himself. The magic fuses with his soul, and when he is completely infused he pushes the magic out and into the wound of his patient. Each time he does this, he loses a bit of his soul. It doesn’t kill him, but it shortens the caster’s lifespan each time he does it. The amount of time lost is directly dependent on the severity of the wound he’s trying to heal. A scratch or a bruise might take a few hours away, while a stab wound or a major laceration might take anywhere from a few days to a few weeks from him.” Taking a deep breath, Vaund finished his explanation. “For the most grievous, life-threatening wounds, like the ones you’ve sustained a couple times, the cost is as severe as the injury; anywhere from one to five years can be lost, magically healing someone that close to death.”

Tartum was floored. He couldn’t believe that Vaund had lost
years
of his life just to save the life of someone he barely knew; to save him! It was unfathomable that Vaund may have sacrificed almost a decade of his life over the past year just to keep him alive! Although he was grateful to Vaund for his charity, he couldn’t understand how anyone could give so much for someone they weren’t close to. It suddenly made sense why healing magic was so rare.

“No, no that can’t be true. I healed Buddy in the alley, brought him back from certain death. He was stabbed and burned, and I think he even had an eye missing, and I brought him back. I didn’t feel my soul being used or channel the magic into myself. From what I remember, I channeled a lot of magic into him. You much be mistaken!” Tartum said. He needed what Vaund said to be untrue.

Vaund smiled sadly and shook his head, “It’s different when healing an animal. I don’t know why exactly. My mother told me it was because the gods didn’t care as much about the souls of beasts, so the price wasn’t required. She said the only way to keep a humanoid soul from the gods was by sacrificing another. The offering and pure unselfishness of the act was enough to placate even the most bloodthirsty of gods. You could heal Buddy one hundred times, and it wouldn’t age you a day. Heal a humanoid, and it could take five years off your life.” he said.

Tartum felt relief at knowing he hadn’t damaged his soul when he instinctually healed Buddy. The thought that he might have lost
years
was almost too much to bear. With the amount of magic he channeled into him that day Tartum wasn’t sure how much longer he would have had to live if that had been the case. He was also grateful to know he could do it again without having to pay that ultimate price. The relief was short lived as the thought reinforced the fact that Vaund was afforded no such leniency.

“How can you, I mean...why would you do...Why would you kill yourself to save me?!” Tartum asked.

Vaund’s sad smile made another appearance as he spoke, “When I was a teenager I lived in a poorer district of Saroth. My mother raised me the best she could by using her healing magic for money. She taught me how to do it when I showed I had magical ability, and together we lived a simple but difficult life. She would go to the hospitals and clinics around the city and would offer to save the lives of those the doctors said were beyond saving. Magical healing is a very rare art, Tartum, and most people believe it doesn’t exist. Eventually, my mother healed someone that knew her talent for what it was, and they forced her to heal for them under the threat that they’d kill me if she didn’t. They took her from clinic to clinic, demanding exorbitant amounts of money for her healing skills. They knew she was using magic to heal people, but they didn’t know that every time she did, it was killing her. For months, they kept us locked together in a room in one of the lower end inns of the city. They fed us well enough, but we were never allowed to leave. They never mistreated me, but I saw bruises and scratches on my mother from time to time. One day, after months of captivity, they brought my mother back to the room; she was exhausted and clutching her chest. The men that brought her into the room dropped her on the bed and locked us in. I remember the men saying my mother had saved a rich noble and his retinue of body guards after they had been found beaten and near death outside of town. My mother saved their lives and the grateful prince paid the men a small fortune in gratitude. The healing had cost my mother too much of her soul, and that night, before the sun came up, she died in front of me.” Vaund lowered his head and began to sob. Not knowing what he could do, Tartum sat in silence and waited for his friend to finish mourning over the memory.

This wasn’t going the way he had planned. He had no idea that Vaund’s story was such a sad one. He thought about leaving and never mentioning this again, but he was curious. He wanted to know how his story ended. So he sat there, quietly, respectfully, and waited for his friend to finish his cry.

After a few minutes, Vaund wiped his eyes and looked up. He seemed surprised that Tartum was still there. “I’m, I’m sorry Tartum. It’s...it’s just hard to remember all this, you know? I was only seven years old when she died.” He said.

It was now Tartum’s turn to apologize, “No, my friend, no. It’s completely understandable. I never knew my mother, but my father died in his sleep when I was sixteen. I completely understand, and you have nothing to be ashamed of.” He said. His words improved Vaund’s mood considerably. He sat up a little straighter in his chair and began telling his story again.

“I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know where to go or what to think. I knew when the men found out my mother was dead they would discard me, possibly even kill me. I didn’t care much about being killed. The pain of it scared me a lot, but the hope of being with my mother again was worth it. Later that night, one of them came into the room and, just as I thought, they figured out she was dead. They beat me really, really bad. I don’t remember much after the beating, but I do remember one of them was standing over me with a sword and was about to stab me, when a sword burst through his chest. It was the biggest blade I’d ever seen, and the last memory I have of that night was the man that was about to kill me being ripped in half by that gigantic sword.” Vaund took a deep breath and was silent for a while. When he started talking again his voice was strong and full of resolve.

“I had forfeit my life that night, Tartum. With my mother dead, I really didn’t want to live anymore. There are times I still don’t. Anyway, as you might have guessed, it was Savall that saved me. Well, I wouldn’t say he saved me really. The men that had worked my mother to death had been celebrating their new found fortune and drinking a lot. I guess Savall was at the inn that night and began questioning them about their good fortune. During the course of their conversation they revealed my mother and me to Savall and what we could do. I think Savall killed the men to use us in much the same way as they did. After he killed them and realized I was the only one alive in the room, he brought me here and nursed me back to health. I don’t know Tartum, he was the only person that was ever nice to me other than my mother, and one day, several weeks after he brought me here me, he took me to the cemetery and showed me a gravestone with my mother’s name on it.” Vaund began to cry again, and Tartum let him. He was digesting what Vaund had told him. After a moment, Vaund stopped crying and began talking again.

“It meant a lot to me that Savall had taken the time to bury my mother. Everything had happened so quickly, it never occurred to me that I should have tried to recover her body and properly bury her. Not that I could have afforded it. That was the first true kindness anyone, other than my mother, had ever shown me. Maybe he rescued me just to enslave me, but Savall is still a good man, Tartum, and he’s the closest thing to a father I’ve ever had. I love him, and I think he knows that.” Tartum noticed that Vaund’s tears dried up when he spoke about Savall, and his voice took on a tone almost daring Tartum to challenge the validity of his statement. Tartum carefully kept his face blank and nodded his agreement to Vaund.

“So one day Savall comes to me and tells me everyone dies. It’s inevitable; then he goes on and tells me about the guild. He offers me a home, comfort, luxury, security, power, and a family, in exchange for my healing skills. I agreed immediately, Tartum, I’ve been with the guild for seven years. I don’t regret my decision for an instant.” Vaund finished his story and looked at Tartum. He seemed to be waiting for something.

The little voice in the back of Tartum’s head was screaming that he had missed something. Something Vaund had told him didn’t make sense. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something very wrong about Vaund’s story. Tartum looked at him, he was a thin man, somewhere around his late thirties or early forties. He had a droopy face that always seemed to look sad. His hair was thinning, and the bald spot on top of his head was very pronounced. His brown hair was greying, and Tartum thought in the next few years the grey would take over completely. He held himself well enough, but with a submissive demeanor that Tartum had seen before but just couldn’t place. His eyes were blue and...innocent? It was then that Tartum realized what it was that nagging voice in his head was trying to tell him. It was Vaund’s eyes that gave it all away. His eyes were too young for his body. They were the eyes of a boy, not a man in his forties! Vaund said he was seven when his mother died and Savall had recruited him. Then he told him that he had been with the guild for seven years! For the second time since sitting down in his room, Tartum couldn’t accept the facts he was being presented.

“No...but...that...you’d only be...” Tartum trailed off. He couldn’t force himself to say the words that would verify what he couldn’t accept.

“I’m fourteen years old, Tartum.” Vaund said matter-o-factly.

Tartum’s head swam with the revelation. How could he have not realized it sooner!? Vaund’s demeanor wasn’t that of a humble adult but a mild mannered child. He wasn’t just submissive, he was doing what his surrogate father had asked him to do. His sadness wasn’t because he felt left out or shunned, he was still mourning his mother, and everytime he healed someone or was summoned to be ready to heal someone, he knew it was going to kill him more and more. The guilt Tartum felt for leeching the life out of this boy brought tears to his eyes. Angrily, he wiped them from his eyes and pounded his fist on the table.

Tartum looked around the room and noticed that the objects he had thought were just knick-knancks and trinkets were actually toys and childrens plaything’s. Stuffed animals, wooden soldiers, children’s fairy tale books, there was even a little drum kit and some jacks. Vaund was a boy living in a man’s body, carrying out a self imposed death sentence while saving the lives of thieves and assassins.

The reality of the situation was too much, and Tartum didn’t know how to react. He wasn’t sure if he was angry or impressed. He didn’t know if he wanted to kill Savall or shake his hand. He couldn’t make heads or tails of the situation and so decided instead of taking action, he would sit in that chair and decide what his next move should be.

Tartum thought about everything Vaund had told him. His mother was dead, killed due to forced labor right in front of his eyes. The men responsible were dead, killed by Savall so that he could enslave Vaund for the same purposes. Granted, Savall treated Vaund much better, and he seemed happy enough, it still seemed wrong somehow. And now Vaund used the very magic that killed his mother to aid Savall and the others, to keep up his end of the fool’s bargain he made. It all seemed very wrong, and he had almost made up his mind to put a stop to it when another thought occured to him.

This was what Vaund wanted.

The healing magic was the only part of his mother he had left. He honored her sacrifice everytime he used the magic to heal one of the guild members. He lived a life of comfort and luxury, which was worlds better than how he lived when he was with his mother and their original captors. What else could he do, now that he was an orphan, what else could he do as a fourteen year old boy trapped in the body of a forty year old man? Looking around once again, Tartum saw not just toys and trinkets, he saw a happy, loved, and well provided for, little boy’s room, filled with his treasures and memories. A room he never would have had if it wasn’t for Savall. Most of all, Tartum knew he wouldn’t be alive today if it hadn’t been for Vaund’s healing magic. Tartum knew then that this was what was best. He didn’t like that someone like Vaund had to be sacrificed because of his chosen use for magic, but then again he didn’t like the fact that his magic relied so heavily on components. The greater the spell the greater the cost; hadn’t he been taught that? What greater magic could there be than the magic that gave life? What greater cost could there be than the caster’s soul? Making his peace with the situation, Tartum relaxed and looked up at Vaund. He was pushed back into his chair and looked scared of Tartum. Putting his hands up, Tartum tried to put him at ease.