151. The Path of Reparation (Patreon)

***

*****

***

While Tercius and his brother-in-craft Neiran had still been developing the skill necessary for shaping stone, the two young boys had often had to make hour-long breaks, to let some of their mana reserves recover. Shaping stone into needed forms was draining work, especially when coupled with the hot and dry climate. In that time of rest and recovery, Tercius' grandmother Rona often came to spend time with the two of them, bringing good food, cool water, and even better stories of myths and legends to entertain them while they recuperated, hidden from the harsh sun by the shades of lightly swaying trees.

"I see, I see. Well, I wouldn't want to repeat myself anyways." the woman nodded sagely, a grandmotherly smile on her face and a twinkle in her green eyes as she adjusted the white headscarf that covered her mostly black hair. There were gray hairs too, a sign of oncoming age, but those were a recent development. His grandfather and stonecraft master, Ciron, often joked that his wife Rona had proven to beat even aging by sheer stubbornness.

Contrary to other older women that Tercius knew, his grandmother liked her grays very much. She had been ecstatic when Petra, Tercius' mother, and Rona's daughter, had spotted the first ones. The grays made her look wiser, the woman was fond of saying. She had been waiting for them for years.

“Then, if you know that one, did I tell you boys the story of Roggar and Vodjio?”

Four-year-old Tercius thought about it a bit and slowly shook his head, locks of dark hair falling over his green eyes. “The names do not sound familiar.”

Sitting near Tercius was Neiran, who was still chewing through his lunch. The skinny boy also shook his head, the wild mop of brown hair flying everywhere.

“Well then,” his grandmother’s eyes twinkled as she quickly glanced to the side, searching for her husband. Finding the giant man suitably distant and occupied by a particularly large stone block that he needed to insert into the foundations, she turned back to her young audience and with a low voice, one suitable to conspiracies, hushed conversations, and secrets, Rona said, “Boys, this is one of those stories that your master-in-craft can’t know of. He will be angry with me if he finds out that I told you this…”

Tercius and Neiran leaned in. Tercius knew that it was time for some religious mythology.

“We won’t repeat a word you say to anyone, grandmother. Will we, Neiran?”

The boy immediately searched for their master-in-craft and in a low voice he said, “No,”

“So you boys want to hear it?” his grandmother asked.

Both nodded eagerly and Rona smiled, her eyes kindly looking at the two of them.

“The Tale of Roggar and Vodjio starts with the unassuming Vodjio, a boy of nearly fourteen cycles, who was also the oldest son of the tribe leader. Most of the tribe thought the quiet boy to be strange and one day, when the tribe leader went to trade with the other tribes to an oasis far away, the elders of the tribe decided to send Vodjio on a quest. ‘To prove to us that you are a boy no longer and that you have what it takes to become a man of the tribe and its future leader,’ the elders of the desert tribe said to Vodjio, ‘you must bring back proof that you have slain a mighty beast. Now go and don’t come back to us until you can do it.’. Before Vodjio went out into the desert, a little suspicious of the quest yet also very eager to finally gain the approval of his elders that he lacked for as long as he could remember, all they gave him was a crude knife and a large waterskin…”

***

*****

***

The dreams of his grandmother’s old tale clung to Tercius like some guilt-ridden cloud even when he arrived at the District of the Artisans, nearly half an hour after waking. Walking took time, Tercius knew, and time was something he was short on. His clock was set at fourteen days and around twelve hours of that had already been shaved off.

As soon as he arrived in the District he started the search for a certain person with whom his mother Petra apprenticed once upon a time and someone who could get Tercius in touch with the local clergy of Balance.

His search started from the western gate of the District, per the suggestion of his mother, and he followed her directions to the place. He had been worried that something had changed since his mother had been to Spheros, over a decade and a half ago, but he shouldn’t have.

Even with the time-lapse, the directions proved true and he found himself standing in front of a rather old-looking two-story house, a screeching wooden sign with 'Theodorus' Fine Tailoring' swaying from two small chains above the entry. The house itself was old, the wood and stone used in construction both showing their age in the lost colors, worn away by the sun and weather.

The surrounding houses were much the same and this one fitted in perfectly.

All the windows on every visible house had metal bars on them, along with inner and outer wooden shutters, but, unlike the others he saw, Theodorus’ Fine Tailoring had proper curtains covering up the inner happenings of the business. At least the visual part.

“No! Not like that, you idiot! That goes over! Over! Not under!” The voice of an old man thundered from inside, but the street was crowded with loud passersby and shoppers. If Tercius were to take a few steps away from the house, the yelling would just become a part of the background noise.

“Don’t you think I know that? I am trying something new!” another male voice yelled, though this one sounded younger.

“You’ll just ruin the material! Is that what you want?! You want to ruin it?!”

“Oh shut it, you old windbag! For the love of all the Gods just shut it for a little while! Give me some peace while I work!”

“What?! What did you say?!” the voice of the old man snapped. “Speak up! I can’t hear you!”

What followed could only be described as a growl of frustration that came from deep inside the belly of a haunted beast of some kind.

Considering that the younger man hadn't been at all shy with his voice, Tercius would say that the old man inside had a pair of ears that couldn't hear thunder, not even if it struck right behind him. He might feel the effects of it, though. Tercius could partially sympathize with this young man. Tercius' own grandfather had been nearly deaf until recently, but luckily even in his worst months, his grandfather had never resorted to yelling. Deaf or not, Ciron had proved himself as a man of few words. Still, the communication had been tough.

Tercius adjusted the weight of his hefty backpack and knocked on the wooden door, but the heated mix of arguments continued, both the elder and the adult just throwing words at the other, one deaf the other soon-to-be if he continued with this for long. Tercius waited for a little bit before he knocked again, this time a little bit harder. The door rattled to its hinges.

“There’s someone at the door,”

Within moments, the door creaked open. A man in his thirties was there, a smile on his face.

“A young customer. This way, please.”

“Thank you,”

“What can Theodorus’ Fine Tailoring do for you? As you can see, we do all kinds of clothing—”

As the man started to show Tercius some examples of the finished works that hung from wooden holders, Tercius ignored the colors, the cuts, and the different styles exhibited, and instead started to compare the man to the description his mother gave him. The man's complexion was a light shade of chocolate brown, only a bit darker than Tercius' own. His eyes were brown eyes and hair dark brown, like that of most Sogeans. Below a long straight nose were lips as thin as paper. The man was tall for a Sogean and rather skinny-looking. The only thing lacking from the description were two silver earrings in the left ear, but those could have been taken out at some point in the past fifteen years since his mother last saw the man.

“I am not exactly here for the clothes. Isidorus, I presume?”

The man seemed to come to some kind of an alert, but then he looked at Tercius, saw a tall kid of thirteen or fourteen, and that set his mind at ease.

“I am Isidorus, yes.”

“My name is Tercius,” he said. “I am Valeria’s son.”

Once upon a time, Tercius’ mother and grandparents had other names than the ones they use today, but those had to be left behind when they were forced to escape Spheros.

“Valeria…” It took Isidorus but a few seconds to place the name and the earlier tension slipped off his shoulders. His eyes turned dreamy and voice low as he whispered, “Now that is a name I haven’t heard in a while… It must have been… What, fourteen or so years?”

“About that much, yes,”

“And how old are you, Tercius, son of Valeria? You can’t be older than fourteen. Where are your parents?”

“I’m old enough,” Tercius defended himself, keeping a frown from forming.

The topic of age, for Tercius, was somewhat sensitive.

If he told the man that he was only twelve and a half, physically, all the chances were that this Isidorus wouldn't believe him anyway. Tercius was tall for his age, seemingly following the footsteps of his giant of a maternal grandfather, but he also knew that other more magical factors had been involved in the maturity his body had. Unfortunately, that was not all. Mentally, Tercius was around forty years old, when his old life was taken into account. To say that he was sensitive about his age was maybe putting it lightly.

“And your parents?” the man asked with some hope in his eyes.

"They are not in Spheros if you're asking that. Neither my mother nor my father.”

The man visibly deflated, the glimmer of a rising hope extinguished as disappointment started radiating off of his tall, skinny form. Tercius observed the man’s forlorn expression with a critical glint in his eyes. This man obviously had a thing for Tercius’ mother and yet Tercius couldn't really blame him.

Petra, or Valeria as Isidorus knew her, was a kind and caring being who showed concern for everyone she knew, although every once in a while her eyes were known to narrow with a promise of retribution and violence at certain triggers. In the twelve and a half years he knew her, Tercius had come to realize that his mother unfortunately suffered from some unnamed condition that prevented her from suffering fools lightly and from putting up with any kind of bullshit for too long.

The explosive outbursts were almost always accompanied by rather strong language, language more suitable to hard-drinking sailors really, and it was a side which his mother didn’t show often, especially around her children. The few times when she didn’t know that he was present, Tercius had been surprised at how colorful her vocabulary could be.

Petra was a daughter, a wife, and above all else, Petra was a mother devoted to raising her four children, of which Tercius was the firstborn, and that was the full-time job that she handled with great care and effort.

“You have your mother’s eyes, do you know that? They are exactly the same…”

Oh, and his mother was beautiful, which had proven to be both a blessing and a curse for her.

“Yes…” Tercius said, clearing his throat into a closed fist. “Is there a place where we can talk in private?”

Once the man got his grips out of nostalgic dreamland, Tercius was led to the back of the shop, where a workshop suitable for tailors waited. Needles were glinting everywhere, scissors and sharp knives, and more cloth on every wall than a large family used in a lifetime. There, in the middle of the room, was what looked like a comfortably padded sofa upon which an old man sat. Small and frail-looking, the top of the old man's head was bald and seemingly polished to a shine. His leathery face showed wrinkles that had grown on others of its kind and Tercius saw that the old man was frowning when he entered the room.

“Isidorus!” the old man yelled at him. “Isidorus! You have a customer!”

Isidorus entered behind Tercius, waving to calm the old man. “I am here!”

“You have a customer!”

“He’s not a customer!”

“EH?! Speak up a bit!”

“He’s not a CUSTOMER!”

The old man seemed taken aback, but his confusion lasted only a moment. "What kind of a question is that?! Of course, it's custom-made! First the measurements come and then the clothes will be made!" A finger of aged leather and stiff joints pointed at Tercius and the rheumy eyes judged him. "Half of the money is upfront!"

“Is he completely deaf?” Tercius asked Isidorus, who had one hand grabbed around a fistful of hair.

Isidorus sighed and pointed at a free chair. “No, but the dead can hear better than him. Take a seat. I’ll be in a moment.”

While Isidorus started rummaging under the cut out pieces of leather and cloth, Tercius took a seat. The old man, presumably Theodorus, the master tailor with whom his mother apprenticed once upon a time sat just across from him, muttering sentences which were actually quite audible.

“Of course it's custom-made… Why would we make the bloody clothes and then wait for someone to fit into them?”

Isidorus came with a piece of paper and a small piece of wood, its tip charred. He wrote out something, burning the wood on a candle flame every so often, and showed it to the old man. Theodorus took his time reading it, the paper barely a few centimeters away from his eyes.

“Who’s Valeria?!”

Isidorus took the paper back and wrote something. The old man took a close look.

“My apprentice?! Are you daft, boy?! I don’t have an apprentice! Haven’t had one in years! Not since that pretty one ran away… What was her name…”

As the old man lowered the paper to think, Isidorus sighed and pointed at a few words on the paper.

“I see, I see… Valeria… yes, that could be it… sounds familiar…”

While the old man mulled on his thoughts, Isidorus turned to Tercius. “What did you want to talk about?”

Tercius took off his backpack and reached for the three coin pouches that he specifically separated from the rest of the money. He placed the hefty leather pouches on the cloth-covered table, near Isidorus himself.

“My mother sends her apologies for everything that happened to you and your father all those years ago. The events and people that conspired against her were beyond what she and her parents could handle, so she had no other recourse but to run away and hide.”

Isidorus’ eyes blinked at the pouches as his larynx bobbed. Even old Theodorus fell silent, his eyes drawn to the same focus as that which captured his son’s attention. Tentatively, Isidorus opened one and, as a glint of light reflected itself off the finely shaped and smoothly polished Tretas, the eyes of the father and the son became glued to the valuable metal pieces.

“My mother knew I was heading here and asked me to stop by and leave this with you.”

“She did?” Isidorus whispered, his eyes glued on the coins.

He had no idea just how much money tailors in Spheros made, but speaking as an apprentice stonemason who was in the know of the financial side of the jobs, that money there was around six to eight months of pure profit for a master stonemason. And that was six to eight months of a good year, where each month was filled with plenty of paying jobs.

Before Tercius left home his mother had asked him to do this, with her cheeks aflame. While he teased her about it a bit, he had no trouble whatsoever in doing it. Solving a certain problem of his family in Nurium had left him with a sizable sum, a sum that he had no specific idea on what to spend so he might as well help Petra sleep a little easier. Heavens knew she needed it after the way the entire year of his absence had been.

After all, money was just a piece of metal. If it could buy something as valuable as peace of mind, then it was money well spent.

Each time when Tercius thought about his first departure from home, nearly a year and a half ago, he wished that he hadn't done it. If he had just stayed in Nurium, then maybe nothing of what was happening to his family would have come to pass. Maybe, just maybe, he could have solved it all as it came, one by one. Another pair of hands to help with the children and around the house would have certainly made a difference.

But if he hadn’t gone, then he wouldn’t know of the Well and the pain it carried. He wouldn’t have gotten one of the world’s most knowledgeable Magi to be his Mentor, nor would have his mother and grandfather gotten to consume something as rare and unique as a perfect Potion of Regeneration — a potion made out of largely decent ingredients but with the superb skills and equipment of a Mistress of Alchemy, a potion enhanced by pure and neutral Energy, a potion that proved to have little to no side-effects and whose intended effects would work again within days and weeks, not years and decades as the others do.

Isidorus and Theodorus finally started showing signs of movement and Tercius shook his head and sharpened his focus back on them. He didn’t have all day. This had to be sped up. But how? He didn’t have all day to explain himself, nor did he have the desire for others to know of his problems. That left a few options… money being near the top for efficiency and success rate. More money it is, Tercius nodded to himself. He didn’t plan on staying in Spheros past this day, nor did he plan on returning to the city any time soon. Greasing his path with a little bit of wealth was perfectly acceptable.

“That was my mother’s apology. I, however, have a personal plea to ask of you, Isidorus.”

The man spoke, but his voice broke and he had to clear his throat. “What is it?”

"The Temple of Balance—" Tercius saw the man's eyes flash with a little bit of suppressed panic, but they calmed down when he realized with whom he was speaking. Isidorus and Theodorus knew not only Tercius' mother but also his grandfather and his grandmother. There were no Imperials present, at least as far as Isidorus knew. "I need to speak with someone… trustworthy from the clergy there. Someone who won't mind answering a few urgent questions I have. If you can help me meet someone like that, preferably right now, I would be most grateful to you. Most grateful indeed." Tercius said, his eyes meaningfully looking at the man's eyes and then the small fortune on the table.

“I… I’m sure that I know someone like that.”

Tercius nodded as he stood up. "Then I will wait for you in the other room. I remembered that I do need some belts to hold throwing knives if you have those…"

“To the right of the entrance. Feel free to take any you like.”

Tercius waved goodbye to the old man Theodorus and left the wide-eyed duo to hide their newly acquired money. Hopefully, the two of them would know to leave the money out of their ‘normal’ conversations. If not… well people had been robbed for less.

Maybe he should mention something to Isidorus? A thick sturdy new door, new hinges, and a better lock were all good uses for a part of that money. Sound isolation of some kind? The stonework he saw around the house could also use some work, to speak nothing of the woodwork…

*************************

AN: Another prologuey chapter, sorry...