The Gifted (unfinished), Lucas Guerreiro [romantic novels to read TXT] 📗

cast your magic somewhere else”. Cleansers, the remains of the Legion, once respected. They are mercenaries, kill cursed ones for tripends. People despise them, view them as unholy because of the use of magic to enhance their capabilities. The Legion also did this, but no one questioned their methods, nor knew about the use of magic. Cleansers have a very defined appearance, thick leather clothing for any occasion, just as mine, a large bag and other pockets to carry various items, just as mine, a shiny sword to kill cursed ones, just as mine. People were not wrong to make the assumption that I was a cleanser, and most of the time I did cleanser work, such as killing cursed ones. It was a good disguise to hide my condition, and explain my power of healing. However, people only liked a cleanser when they needed one, and even then they hated to admit it.

I took a seat, one of the few available. The man next to me turned the other way and avoided any type of contact.

“Freak…” He murmured.

I had an urge to stand up and confront him, but 1) Trouble was the last thing I needed right now. 2) I had gotten used to these kind of insults. 3) I was very tired. The innkeeper was a fairly old lady. Her face showed marks of a hard-working woman. She looked calm. I doubted she would refuse to serve me. She eventually looked at me, and approached my seat from the other side of the counter, as if asking “what will it be?”.

“I will take an ale,” I asked

“Homemade or falconian?” She asked.

“Whatever is cheaper,” I answered. She was almost disappointed with my response, and went to get the drink.

It gave me time to scan the place. There was the large hall, where I, along with most customers, were located. There was an empty area with a few tables by the end of the hallway. I considered moving there, but decide to stay. I guessed the rooms were upstairs. The place was not that big. Then, the innkeeper arrived with my drink, I asked for some food also.

I was sateing my thirst when three large man approached my seat. They all had metal plated armor, one of them was wearing a metal helmet, they were either guards, bandits, or ex-military. In other words, trouble.

“We don’t appreciate mutants eating at our tables,” said one of them, while the other laughed fakely.

“Mutant, that’s a new one,” I thought, but pretended to ignore them.

“You deaf?” The man insisted, and I ignored.

“Get out!” He demanded impatiently.

“Leave the poor sod alone,” someone said from across the hall, “It ain’t enough that them legionnaires experiment on him?”

“Stay out of this, Merek,” The man replied angrily.

Merek, I made sure to remember that name.

“Tomorrow he will be saving you from a griffin, you dolt,” Merek answered, he had this sarcastic yet threatening tone to his voice.

The man made and grunting noise and left. At least he accepted defeat. I turned my head to see the face of my hero. Merek was sitting at a table in the corner, alone. He had long black hair and dark eyes. He was constantly observing his surroundings. His face was scarred, he had seen his fair share of battles. He carried a longbow, which would infer he was a hunter. This was also proved by his thin leather clothing, created for mobility, not protection. If his clothing were of higher quality, I would guess he was with the Serpent. I wondered where he was headed, I might be able to pay him for protection. Everything pointed to him being a mercenary, not a cleanser, just a hired sword.

My food arrived and I ate it as if it were the last meal of my life. I left a handful of tripends in the counter, for the food, drink, and the bed. I climbed upstairs and found my room. It was not spacious, it only had a bed and small cabinets. I laid my things on the floor, locked the door and threw myself in the bed. For a moment, I forgot about the hardness of that bunk. For a moment, I forgot about the nightmares that haunted my slumber.

Chapter II: Shadows from the Past, Shadows from the Present

 

II

Shadows from the Past, Shadows from the Present

 

It was a bright day, father finished most of his work through the week, which left him a day to rest. I watched him cleaning his forge. It always intrigued me, his craftsmanship. Father looked at me.

“One day this forge will be yours, kiddo,” He said.

“Will I ever be as good as you?” I asked, not sure what answer to expect.

He laughed, “Maybe, with practice.”

We stood silently for moment. Eventually, his smile faded, as if he had a realization.

“Or maybe you’ll do something greater…” He said, insinuating something I did not understand.

“Like what?” My curiosity interrupted his words.

“Help people,” He stated vaguely.

“You help people, don’t you?” I said, but he looked confused at my statement, “I mean, you make swords to kill cursed ones, that’s good isn’t it?”

“I wished my swords only killed cursed ones…”

It took me a moment to understand what he meant, and when I did, we both stood silent again. I looked at a barrel, filled with recently crafted swords. I wondered where they would end up. I refused to believe that my father’s work would be used for anything but protection. After all, the war was over. I decided to wander off in the forest. Cold Springs was safe from cursed ones, most of them would stay to the south.

I walked past a few blooming trees. The air was light and invigorating breathing was a pleasure. I found a pond in the middle of the forest, father took me here once. He said that this is where he came when he sought peace. I quickly understood why. I sat by the pond and wondered. I thought about my future while looking at my clear reflection in the lake. Father`s words echoed through me. I did not know what he expected of me. I folded my sleeve and inspected my arm. I observed the markings, how they were symmetric, how the curves were perfect. I put my hand in the cold water and felt as if something was flowing through me. I stood there, without hurry, moving my hand in the water. I questioned what they meant.

After some time, I decided to head back. When I got home, I saw father talking to Thomas, a merchant that always bought items from our forge.

“Hey, Lance,” he noticed me.

“Hello, Thomas,” I answered.

Truth was that Thomas was like family to father and I, he was like an uncle to me.

“Tjor do you have the order,” He switched to father, this time speaking with more seriousness.

“Will these be enough?” Father brought forth a barrel filled with swords.

“It will have to do, for now,” Thomas answered.

He packed his things as if he was in a hurry to leave. He climbed on his cart and readied his horses.

“Follow the lit path, my friend,” he said to father.

“No darkness in me, my friend,” father answered.

Before Thomas could start moving, roar resounded the forest. Another roar. A dozen roars could be heard.

“Cursed ones!? This close to the village?” Father said as he drew his sword and placed himself in front of me as a way to defend me.

Suddenly, a nimb wolf jumped out of the bushes. Father slashed his sword, cutting the cursed one’s head. Thomas jumped out of his cart, drawing his sword. Three more nimb wolves jumped at us. Father flailed his sword in an attempt to drive them back. The merchant kicked another wolf that charged at him. Father managed to get a few good hits on the creatures. They were spreading out, trying to surround us, but Tjor held his ground. The trees around us suddenly turned lifeless, they were dark, without leaves. Even though it was noon a while ago, darkness settled. Father managed to neutralize another nimb wolf. They did not stop coming. I looked to Thomas who was also getting surrounded. The wolves were getting him. His limbs already felt heavy from the poison. Before he could say anything, one of the cursed ones slashed his throat. Blood splat on the ground and among that chaos I could see his suffering, as he took his last breath. I wanted to close my eyes, to look away, but I could not. Father was barely managing the horde that was attacking us. But then out of the woods came a spectre. A rider wearing all black, mounted in what could only be described as a hellish horse. He charged towards us. I froze. His spear pierced me and he pulled me closer to him.

“Lance!” Father screamed.

The rider grabbed my arm and started pulling it. His cold eyes which could hardly be seen from his helmet stared at me. I could no move. I felt him sapping my life. I felt him ripping my arm. Fear ran through my body, I tried to scream with every little bit of energy that I had.

“Ah!” I grasped as I woke.

I sat in the bed and looked around. I took a deep breath to make sure I was awake. Even though I had spasmed, I felt my body paralyzed. I felt sweat dripping down my neck. I scanned the room, the wooden walls, the cold floor. It took a moment, but I came back to reality. Then, I tried to piece together my dream, most of it seemed real, however at some point the line between memory and nightmare was crossed. I remembered the talk with my father, but everything after I left the manor was a blur. I tried to remember the pond by thinking of other times I visited it. I decided that up to that it was real. Next, I took a moment to check my markings. My questions from the dream still remained.

“What am I?” I thought.

That motivated me. It always did. I believed I could find an answer in Falcon’s Reach, one of the two remaining capitals or the Trireach. It was far south. I got up from the bed, quickly grabbed my things. I had to keep moving, but the roads would only get more dangerous the farther I travelled. I walked of the room, checked to see if I still had coins, it was enough to buy a few supplies. As I approached the counter, I saw a man paying the innkeeper. He carried a bow, and wore dark clothing. Merek.

“Thanks, for you know…” I said once I had approached him.

He simply looked at me, quickly examined me, and turned back to behind the counter. Without making eye contact he said, “are you stupid or just brave?”

I was, to say the least, surprised. I stared at him, but before I could say anything he turned to me.

“You’re not a cleanser, I know that much, so what are you?” He said sarcastically, “You’re just a go-happy adventure who thinks he can just pack a bag and take the road, ready to be attacked by a monster or