Chapter Six: Rest and Regroup
As cities went, Aeriose wasn't exactly the most majestic place in Centralia. In truth, it looked like a huge slum, sprawled along the west shore of the River Lum. Being so close to where the Lum opened up into the ocean, it was one of the most lawless parts of the kingdom, home to pirates, brigands, and thugs of all kinds. It was also one of the main places on the river where people could cross over to the Menaphite side of the Lum.
Of course, no one ever ventured into the burned, destroyed ruin that was the Menaphite Empire, anymore. Thammaron's little march through the Menaphites' home had put the kibosh on travel through that region.
And yet, life in the Centralian border city went on as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
Avis had spent his entire life in the city of Ullek. The boy was no stranger to large cities…but Aeriose was nothing like Ullek. Ullek had been the bustling marketplace, the pulsing center of Menaphite culture. Aeriose was a backwater, almost run-down place.
The citizens were grimy, and when they looked at someone they were usually gauging how easy of a target they would be for a mugging.
Jerrod had to dissuade a few shady individuals from making a move several times along the way. The Cleric was personally glad that he did not have to actually fight anyone; he was in bad enough condition as it was.
The sun had gone down a while ago, blanketing the city in darkness. The narrow, winding streets were now illuminated by irregularly placed street lights, as well as lanterns in the windows.
"How are you holding up, son?" Jerrod asked Avis as they turned onto the next street.
"I'm fine," the boy replied, doing his best to sound indifferent. In truth, the pain in his shoulder was killing him. During his fight with the Mahjarrat Enakhra, he had been hit in the shoulder by a burst of fire and and been badly burned as a result, but there had been no time to heal it.
"We're almost there," Jerrod reassured him. "Just a little bit farther…"
"Hey, buddy," a man appeared out of an alleyway and stepped towards Jerrod. Avis only caught the glint of light reflecting off the mugger's knife as he thrust it towards the Cleric.
Jerrod effortlessly sidestepped the thrust and brought his staff around, cracking the thug on the back of the head, knocking him unconscious and walking on as if nothing had happened.
The Cleric winced as he forged on ahead. He had received a thorough beating from Enakhra, as well. It hadn't been the first time he had crossed the she-Mahjarrat, but each incident was certainly a fresh reminder of just how dangerous Enakhra was.
Avis cast several glances over his shoulder at the unmoving form of the mugger who they had left behind before surreptitiously eyeing up his old mentor. Avis was not ignorant of Jerrod's fighting skills, but the Cleric never ceased to surprise him.
Finally, the pair reached a ramshackle inn at the end of this particular street. The place sat in a large junction of five different streets. Jerrod knew that the locals had dubbed it the Five Points Crossroads, and it was home to some of the more shady characters of Aeriose.
Paying no heed to the Five Points's reputation, Jerrod strode across the square and pushed open the entrance to the inn and walked right inside, Avis staying close behind him.
About a dozen or so men and women were lounging in the bar, hunched over tankards of ale, passed out on the floor, or sitting silently at the tables. One or two of them turned a curious eye towards the disheveled, singed older man and the likewise-burned boy who was following him. Their interest quickly disappeared, however, and they returned their attention to their drinks.
"Hold it right there!" a light, accented voice commanded. Avis looked around Jerrod's midsection and saw that it was the innkeeper who had spoken. The tall, grizzled old man had put down the mug that he'd been cleaning and picked up a crossbow, which was aimed right at Jerrod's chest.
"Really, Seamus; a simple hello would suffice," Jerrod said to the old man.
"I thought you died," the bearded old man said almost accusingly.
"Sorry to disappoint," Jerrod grunted.
The innkeeper cautiously lowered his crossbow. The tenants hadn't even reacted in any way to Seamus's actions. Noticing an innkeeper aiming a weapon at a stranger would require them to pay attention to something other than their drinks.
"Who the hell told you I died?" Jerrod asked after the crossbow was safely out of sight. "Don't tell me it was the Church."
"Well, no one said you actually died…" Seamus admitted. "But you were Jerrod the Lightbringer, greatest of the Priori of Saradomin. Suddenly disappearing, never to be heard from again...well, that wasn't exactly your style. Rumor had it that you died fighting a werewolf clan north of the Hallowlands."
"Don't put too much faith in what drunkards say, Seamus," Jerrod scoffed. "For one thing, that was over twenty years ago. And I didn't fight a werewolf clan; I fought three werewolf clans with Warmaster Athellenas, back when he was a senior centurion, and we killed every last one of them."
"Mm," the innkeeper grunted. "Yeah…yeah, that's sounds a lot more likely than those rumors."
"I figured. Now, enough chat. I need a room."
The innkeeper reached below the bar counter and pulled out a key, tossing it to Jerrod, who caught it with one hand. "Your usual room, Lightbringer…" Seamus squinted at Avis to get a better look at him. "Now who in damnation is the kid? That your son, Jerrod?"
The Cleric let out a loud bark of laughter as he started to head towards the flight of spiral stairs in the corner of the room that led up through the ceiling. "Heavens, no. If you knew his mother, you'd understand."
Not knowing the ugly truth behind the Cleric's response, the innkeeper simply gave a muted chuckle and returned his attention to cleaning up his bar, allowing Jerrod and Avis to climb up the stairs unmolested.
"Old acquaintance of mine," Jerrod explained to the boy as they reached the single door at the top of the stairs, slipping the key into the lock and turning it. "I've used this place as one of my safehouses for more years than I care to remember."
Avis gritted his teeth as a new wave of pain lanced through his burned shoulder. "Could we hurry up with the healing, please?"
Jerrod pushed open the door and followed the boy into the room, locking the door behind him. "Your shoulder first, then I will tend to my ribs…I'm afraid your mother packs more of a punch than she lets on."
"She is not my mother," Avis snapped.
"Oh, my mistake," Jerrod rolled his eyes, leaning his staff against one of the beds and sitting down, beckoning the boy to sit on the other bed. "You mother must be one of the dozens of other female Mahjarrat…oh, wait…that's right; Enakhra's the only one!"
Avis raised an eyebrow, not affected very much by his mentor's sarcasm. Quite the opposite; he was used to it by now. But still…when the issue of where he came from arose…
"What proof do you have that she is my mother?" the boy demanded.
Jerrod pulled over the bucket that had been set on the floor to catch dripping water. It was filled almost to the brim. "I know for a fact that your mother is Enakhra because I was there when you were born, forty years ago."
Avis blinked. "You were there when I was born?" he asked. The boy the frowned and blinked again. "Wait, forty years ago?"
"Yes," Jerrod repeated himself, his tone remaining neutral. He started making smooth, flowing hand gestures, and the water in the bucket coalesced into a long, fat tendril. As he did so, he gestured for Avis to take his vest off so that the clothing wouldn't interfere with the healing.
Avis studied him, waiting for him to continue, but he didn't, so the boy took the initiative. "Um…anything to add?"
Jerrod arched an eyebrow. "Add?" he asked innocently.
The look Avis flashed Jerrod was enough to make the old Cleric rumble with laughter. "I suppose you already know enough to be able to hear the full story. One condition though; no interrupting. Think you can handle that?"
Avis nodded eagerly.
"Bah, I'm not so sure you can…" Jerrod mused. The Cleric tossed about the tendril of water and started to shape it as he went into his story. "I was a Church Novitiate at the time. I had been a Paladin-in-training for barely a year, but I progressed with magic a lot faster than my peers. In recognition of this, I was chosen to be part of a joint mission, carried out both by Paladins of the Church, and by several of the best fighters from the Centralian Legions."
The Cleric manipulated the tendril of water, compressing it into a spinning disk.
"Hold up!" Avis held up a hand. "Back to the forty years ago part."
"Whatever happened to don't interrupt? Did it ever occur to you that the answer you seek just might lie in what I am about to tell you?" Jerrod posed the question in the same, nonchalant tone. Avis knew that Jerrod meant it as a rhetorical question, so he did not answer it. "Of course, if my spontaneous desire to tell you of your birth—in lieu of the revelation of your mother's identity—is boring you in some way…"
"Master, I apologize," Avis offered through gritted teeth. "Go on."
Jerrod gave a light, almost invisible grin. Perhaps there was hope for this boy yet. He manipulated the spinning disk of water and pressed it down into Avis's shoulder.
The boy winced and bolted upright at the sudden shock, but any pain that had flared up was quickly suppressed. A cool, soothing sensation spread throughout Avis's shoulder, arm, and chest. The boy risked a glance down at his shoulder, and his eyebrows still shot up his forehead at what he saw.
He had seen Jerrod use healing magic many times before, but each time was still as interesting as the last. The spinning disk of water had enveloped his entire shoulder, making it seem as if he was wearing a sleeve of water. The water was glowing a soft turquoise as it did its work. Gradually, it grew brighter and brighter, until it looked like Avis was wearing pure light, then it simply vanished, absorbed into the boy's arm. When the light vanished, the skin on Avis's shoulder was whole and unblemished, as if it had never been burned at all.
Avis cautiously worked his arm around, moving it side to side, then up and down. To his delight, the pain was all gone. He was healed.
Jerrod took a moment to observe his handiwork. He gave a low grunt and nodded approvingly to himself. "Best way to become an expert healer is when you constantly put yourself in situations that give you horrible wounds…it's either get proficient at healing yourself, or die."
Avis sat quietly as Jerrod returned his attention to the bucket and started to conjure up more water for his own injuries sustained in the fight with Enakhra. When it didn't seem like the Cleric was going to continue speaking, the boy stepped in and reminded him, "You were talking about your mission with the Centralians?"
"Hm?" Jerrod glanced up, but quickly remembered where he had left off. "Yes, right. Our team was led by Uther the Enlightened, one of the Priori of the Church at the time. We had been sent by Saradomin himself to the island of Crandor," Jerrod recounted, drawing out another disk of water from the bucket and beginning to apply it to his torso. "All the Old Man would talk about was this prophecy he had found on the Stone of Jas which—in a nutshell—foretold the birth of an individual who would end the God Wars. Apparently, that time had come. It also gave the location; Crandor Island."
Avis started to ask yet another of his endless questions, but a quick glare from Jerrod deterred him from actually speaking.
"We landed on Crandor without being detected by the monsters Zamorak had stationed there. And I'm sure you can guess who we found there."
"My mother?"
Jerrod gave a slow nod. "She was in a much weaker state than normal, as she had just given birth to a newborn Mahjarrat child. You. Enakhra and her lackeys were surprised by our attack...but only for an instant. She proved to be far more deadly than any of us had ever imagined. Granted, we weren't there on Crandor to kill her; we were there there to recover you."
Avis, for a brief moment, was tempted to ask if they had succeeded, but quickly realized how foolish of a question that would have been. Had the Saradominists succeeded, he would never have grown up in Ullek.
"I fought alongside one of the younger Centralian soldiers; he was a newly-promoted centurion from the IV Legion. We kept each other alive…my magic and his sword, they were like two halves of a whole…" the Cleric's voice trailed a way somewhat as he immersed himself in the memories. "If only you could have seen us fight that day… But enough reminiscing. We actually managed to get hold of you while fighting Enakhra, but she blasted you with some sort of spell and you vanished."
Avis blinked. "Vanished? That's it? Where did I go?"
"No idea," Jerrod shrugged. "All I know is that thirty years later, a comet fell from the sky over the Menaphite desert, and my old friend Farrah happened to be passing by the site of impact, where he found you…exactly the way you were before Enakhra took you. You may have been taken to another plane of existence, or perhaps you were sent into some sort of limbo for an instant, which would explain why you didn't age in those thirty years."
Avis lay down flat on his cot, lacing his fingers behind his head. "Why are you telling me this, all of a sudden?"
"I'm not entirely sure…" Jerrod murmured. "If you must know, my plans for training you have pretty much been derailed. Zamorak has sent out his very best to track you down, boy…your mother may be our most dangerous enemy out there, but she sure as hell can't be the only one. We need to be constantly vigilant."
Mentor and student sat in silence for a minute, taking a small break from their deep conversations, which got exhausting after too much talking. After a minute or so, though, Avis broke that silence with one last question about Jerrod's story. "So…what happened to you and your friends? How did you get off Crandor?"
A mirthless grin tugged at the corners of the Cleric's mouth. "That IV Legion centurion I fought alongside was the only other man aside from myself who left Crandor alive. Uther the Enlightened was slain by Enakhra herself, and all of the others had been felled while I fought to get you. I managed to teleport away with the centurion. I gave my report to the Priori…then I never spoke of that day again. Until today, that is…"
"And the centurion? What happened to him?"
Jerrod's grin grew a little larger. "Oh, I'd say he did rather well for himself. He's the current Centralian Warmaster."
"Are we going to stay here for very long?" Avis asked next, veering the topic of discussion in a new direction.
The Cleric shook his head, lying down on his bed as well. "No, boy. Cities are not our friends. We shall rest, for now. Then tomorrow, we shall acquire food and supplies, and then we will leave."
"Where?"
Jerrod muttered something under his breath. Forget teaching the boy the elements; he should just find a way to weaponize his infernal curiosity. He could bring Zamorak to his knees with endless barrages of questions…
The Cleric allowed himself a quiet chuckle at the thought. "We will travel north, to the Avarrockan Hills, where I will begin instructing you in Earth Magic."
"Earth magic?" Avis bolted upright. "Already? But…but, I haven't mastered Water, yet, and I still need to practice with my sword—"
"It's called multitasking, boy," Jerrod declared. "Start getting good at it. But enough talk of the future. We'll just have to take each day as it comes. But I just want you to know that it will not be easy…quite the contrary, it will get more and more difficult. But I think you can handle it. You are a Mahjarrat."
"Don't feel much like one…" the boy muttered.
"Oh, that's just your weariness talking," Jerrod chuckled as he closed his eyes and settled back into a more comfortable position. "Get some rest, then eat something. You'll feel right as rain."
Avis closed his eyes as well, hoping the Cleric was right.