Chasing Sparks

Chapter 25.1

It was very late in the evening when Wren and Quizi joined a sullen figure sitting alone by the fire. The man was gazing into the embers and didn’t look up as the two newcomers sat down next to him.

Wren had discovered earlier that Neels and the Chief’s son had returned from a hunt out to the north, where they had been ambushed by Kolle. The Chief’s son had been injured in the attack and Neels had returned to the camp carrying the injured, and increasingly sick, boy on his back. Neels was acclaimed a hero, but looking at the forlorn figure sitting by himself in front of the fire, he looked anything but.

Neels was not a Brute, like most other Barbarian affines. Neither was he an enduro affine like Wren, though the way he scouted and ran people might be excused for thinking so. No, Neels was a balance affine, or Flow. An affine with an enhanced sense of awareness of his body and the Celestial energy that flowed through it.

Flows had no more or less energy than other affines but instinctively knew how the smallest change in their movement or posture would affect them and their opponent. Most Flows, therefore, preferred to fight empty handed, making it easier for them to feel and manipulate their opponent in a fight.

Occasionally, however, it was possible to find a Flow that used a weapon like Neels. His ability with the spear unsurpassed in the Hun clan.

Neels had returned to the camp three days ago and was yet to share the story of what had happened. All he had said was Kolle had knocked the boy unconscious and he had ran back with him as quickly as he could.

The Chief’s son couldn't remember anything of the incident, so the camp was still waiting for when Neels was ready to tell the story in full, much to the frustration of the Chief. But this was Neels's story and his right to keep or share it as he wished.

Wren broke the silence. “Neels, can you tell us anything about the sickness the Chief’s son has?”

Neels continued to stare into the fire and whispered something under his breath.

Wren thought he heard, “And so it begins,” but couldn’t quite be sure.

Neels then slowly turned to Wren and began to speak about the ill-fated hunt.

It seemed the Chief’s son had picked up the illness whilst beside a pool inside a Kolle cave system. The way Neels described the underground pool made it sound like fresh water and nothing like a swamp. And Wren doubted that the Chief’s son was stupid anough to drink swamp water, anyway.

That said, the plant Neels described covering the rocks around the pool did sound like shell moss. So, if there was shell moss around the pool, then maybe there was swamp fever, too. But Wren wasn’t convinced.

As to why Neels and the son were by the pool in the first place, this was never mentioned. Neels was also very vague about the ambush, saying simply that they had been set upon by a large group of Kolle, one of which knocked the boy unconscious.

The story was definitely lacking in detail, but one thing was certain, Neels remembered where the pool was and was willing to lead Wren there. So, there was a chance they could get some shell moss and return to help the Chief’s son. That was all that really mattered, Wren guessed.

After Neels had excused himself and wandered off into the dark, Wren and Quizi sat quietly side by side looking at the remains of the fire. A few embers still glowed red but the cold of the night was starting to win out.

“You are going to try and get the moss, aren’t you?” Quizi said quietly.

“Yes,” Wren replied. “But …” he said, about to voice his concerns about Neels’ story but he just let the word hang there in the air.

“I know,” said Quizi, understanding fully.

“Tomorrow morning,” Wren said. “Me, you and Neels. We go. Just the three of us. We’ll need to move quickly, if we want to be there and back in time to help the son.”

Wren thought for a moment. “It would be even quicker if it was just me and Neels-”

But Quizi stopped him with her hand, before adding, “-but you know I won’t be left behind.”

Wren smiled and nodded. “I know.”

…

Wren rose early and wasn’t surprised to see the Chief already up and checking on his son.

“He looks fine,” the Chief said as he turned his attention to Wren. “He has even persuaded me to put him back to work.”

Wren nodded and said, “That is fine but he will be struggling again in a couple of days. Tell him not to over do it. If he does too much he will only hasten the spread of the disease.”

Wren then noted that the Chief was holding one of the tribe’s spears. It was a lethal looking thing. The tip was a carefully forged steel blade that ended in a vicious looking point. Below the blade was a sturdy, well crafted wooden staff, capped at the bottom with another piece of steel to counterbalance the tip.

The Chief saw Wren looking at the spear and offered it to him, “Please take it,” he said. “Although, by all accounts you are quite deadly with that thing.” pointing at Wren’s pointy stick, “I thought you might appreciate something a little stronger.”

“Thank you,” said Wren, hefting the spear in his hand. It was certainly heavier than his stick but it was also very well balanced and the width of the shaft fit the size of his hand perfectly.

“I’ve heard Neels is planning to teach you the basics on your journey. This is a rare gift. He is the best I’ve ever seen with the spear,” the Chief said.

Wren smiled. He wasn’t convinced the sullen person he spoke to at the fire last night was in the mood to help anyone, least of all some stranger, but he nodded anyway.

Wren checked up on the son and topped up the boy’s health before leaving. He knew the swamp fever would take hold and leave him bed ridden again but there should be more than enough time to find the moss, bring it back, and cure him. In theory, at least.

That was assuming there was some moss. If there wasn’t, then Wren would have a choice to make but that could wait. ‘Plant seeds today. Worry about shoots tomorrow.’ Something he heard Master Dirs often say.

As the sun started to spread its warmth and light over the frosty wasteland, Wren, Quizi and Neels left the camp and made their way northwards. Wren had persuaded the Chief that no other Barbarians should join them. Lind, in particular, had been keen to come but Wren knew speed and stealth were the order of the day and the fewer people the better. So it was just the three.

Neels was still very quiet as he led the two outsiders away from the camp. If Wren had to guess, Neels appeared to be feeling some sort of guilt about what had happened to the Chief’s son. He certainly didn’t carry himself with the pride he saw in the other warriors but maybe this was just Neels normal attitude. Wren didn’t know.