Year 1, Month 1, Week 3, Day 10

Eden

The wagon rolled past Thor’s Threshold. From the road, the city looked dark and ominous, as if it was rife with crime, and not just thievery, but crime that stemmed from a general lack of regard for the lives of others. She could see the buildings just over the walls, and they were grimy, as if cleaning them was lower on the city’s list of priorities, and perhaps “staying alive” was higher up on the list than that, out of necessity. Smog hung in the air in and around the city; it smelled of uncleaned forges, burnt rubber, and… meat pies? Honestly, Eden, just from what she could perceive of the city, couldn’t understand why anyone would want to live there and she was glad to only be passing through. Despite this, Eden kept up a warm shade of spring.

Two guards along the road by Thor’s Threshold, at a T in the road, one lane continuing on, the other heading to the city, signaled for the wagon to halt. Ichabod obliged.

“Hail, travelers,” One guard with a dirty face and a thin mustache called cheerily as they approached the wagon. The other guard was clean-shaven, but had a scowl on his face. Both guards were wearing leather armor that hadn’t seen a good cleaning in at least a year, and they both had a mousey look to them. “Any merchant going into the city needs to check their goods in before they continue.”

“Pardon me, good sirs, but I am neither a merchant, nor am I even going to the city. My destination is over a week’s travel north of here.”

“Oh… Well, what are you transporting?”

“A special kind of lavender, as a decoration for my home.”

The mustached guard looked from his clean-shaven compatriot to Ichabod. “Are… Are you willing to sell any of it?”

“Ah, no, I do not wish to part with any of it.”

The clean-shaven guard spoke up. “Aw, yeah yeh dew! Nawt only will it nawt ‘urt tah make some coin, but ah can guarantee yew that it will ‘urt if yew don’t.”

Ichabod’s voice went from polite to ice-cold, and Eden shifted from the green of spring to the orange of autumn. “Am I to assume that you’re threatening me, young guard?”

“No, nooo, nawt us. Yeh see, old-timer, there is bandits on tha’ road up yondah, and, see, wit’out our protection, they’ll just kill yeh and tyke yeh stuff.”

The other, more clear-spoken guard added, “We just want to offer our services, but you have to make it worth our while.”

Ichabod nodded and said, still very coldly, “I see. Then this sounds like the beginning of an exciting new business venture.”

“Mmh-hmm, I knew you’d see it our way.”

“Indeed.” Ichabod stated. “This calls for some music!” and with that, he took Eden’s lute from the leg-rest of the wagon and strummed on it once; just one graze of his fingers across the strings–and one strum was all it took, for once he did so, both guards froze where they were, paralyzed.

Eden raised her eyebrows. It didn’t look like the guards were hurt, but she felt like they got off very lightly for threatening such a powerful magic user. Judging from the magic she felt, the effect might wear off in an hour or so. Long enough to get away.

“Eden, come grab one of the guards; I’ll grab the other and we’ll make them face each other.” He paused for a moment, scanning his pupil. “You didn’t think we were done here, did you?”

“I kinda did, yeah.”

Ichabod shook his head. “No, we aren’t the only ones that they’ve extorted, and by their own words, they have been complicit in the deaths of other travelers. In fact, I’m willing to bet that they were getting a cut of the money that the bandits made. No, grab the other guard and have him face his partner.”

Eden hopped off the wagon and walked over to the guard with the mustache. “Won’t people see us?”

“Hm..? Oh, yes, good point. I was hoping to not waste a whole song on these buffoons, but it looks like I’ll have to. That’ll be…” he tilted his head in thought, “three more spells? Yeah. I will play a lament for these two men, these two who have used their power to lead others to tragedy, will find themselves at the center of tragedy at the hands of someone with more power than them. A fitting punishment.”

“We’re to kill them, then?” Turning to the soft blue of winter, she realized she wasn’t sure how comfortable she was with that.

“Hold on.” Ichabod said, as he started plucking out a soft, slow tune. “There we go. I cast a chameleon dome over this area, so no one sees anything amiss.” Eden looked around. There was no one on the road that she could see, and no one near the city was looking their way. “Kill them, Eden? No, but they will wish they were dead.”

They wobbled the rigid guards in place until the guards were facing each other. Eden noticed that the guards could still move their eyes, and both were looking from Eden to Ichabod and back.

“Dear guards,” Ichabod purred, “I would encourage you to look at one another; you won’t want to miss this.” Surprisingly enough, the guards did. The clean-shaven guard started rapidly shrinking, and within the span of a second, where the guard used to be, there was a potted plant, atop which sat a single, red rose. “Eden, pick the plant up and put it in the back of the cart with the lavender.” Eden did so and hurried back to Ichabod’s side. “And as for you…” his words were laced with magic, “as soon as your paralysis is lifted, you will head into the city and quit your job. As you do so, you will insult your former employer in the most creative way you can. When you get done with that, you will find everyone you care about in Thor’s Threshold, and one by one, you will insult, spit at, and otherwise alienate yourself from all of them, and when you have done so, you will drink yourself into a stupor every chance you get; above all, you will not tell anyone what happened here, nor will you tell anyone about the magic placed on you, but you will, every waking minute, think about your partner, and how he was turned into a flower, and how there was nothing you could do to stop it.”

And with that, Ichabod released the paralysis on the guard, who immediately stumbled backwards and took off running to the city. Ichabod stopped playing the lute and both teacher and pupil hopped into the wagon.

“How long is he going to stay a flower?” Eden asked, an even shade of the orange of autumn. “I couldn’t tell from the spell you cast.”

“Oh, indefinitely. If the magic is dispelled, or if too much harm comes to the flower, the spell will end, but we won’t have to worry about that–I’ll take good care of him.”

“What about the bandits up the road? What will we be doing to them?”

“Them?” her teacher asked. “Them we will kill.” This sent a chill down Eden’s spine, initially turning her a frosty blue and white, but she reassured herself that the bandits would likely try to kill them and so earn their death, and so Eden shifted back to orange. Slaying your foes couldn’t be a particularly complicated issue...could it?

***

The bandits, all three of them, leapt out of the bushes as the duo rolled up the road. Both teacher and pupil sat in the wagon, lutes in hand, playing as if they hadn’t noticed.

“Remember, Eden,” Ichabod gently reminded her, “Support magic. You’ll get your chance to actually harm opponents later.” Eden nodded and reached into the web, pulling out an illusion. As the two played their instruments, drums sounded from thin air to the beat of the song. The bandits were saying something, but the duo didn’t pay them any attention. Eden and Ichabod both sang the song they had rehearsed, drowning out the threats of the bandits, who all looked at each other in confusion. It was clear to them that there was magic at work, and each bandit knew that magic was a terrible threat, but there was always the strong possibility that a merchant was using harmless, fundamental magic in order to scare their way out of threats, and the question that passed between the three of them was “Which is it?”.

Watching from the corners of her eyes as the wagon rolled by, Eden saw them all make their decision as they drew their weapons and advanced on the cart that was rolling at a deceptively slow pace, but by the time they reached the wagon, both teacher and student had their spells readied and cast them just before contact. One benefit of using musical instruments, Eden noted, was that her adversaries could not tell when any given spell was being cast if the instrument was already in use. She made a mental note to approach tense situations preemptively with music.

Two of the bandits approached Ichabod and both swung at him, but the swings all fell short–in fact, both the bandits seemed quite content to hack and slash at some unknown target only they could see, right beside the wagon itself.

The bandit on Eden’s side had no illusion cast upon him, but Eden plucked away at her lute, reaching into the web once again, and pulling at her magic to cast upon the bandit a minor curse that caused his accuracy to suffer- his eyes dimmed as he swung, once, twice, three times, and missed on each attempt, but on the fourth he swung true with a backhanded swing; Eden leaned back to duck the blade, earning for herself, instead of a beheading, a gash from her sternum to her right shoulder. The cut was painful and it took all of Eden’s concentration to refrain from screaming, but Ichabod had warned her beforehand to not stop making music, no matter what happened to her.

Ichabod turned his attention to the bandit that drew elf blood, began a new verse, and generated several magical darts in the air that flew at and through the bandit, creating a small highway from his nose through the back of his head, and dissipated upon exit. He collapsed, dead.

The song ended upon Ichabod’s command, the two remaining bandits still swinging and hacking at thin air as if the sport of empty space was the most fun they had in years. Eden took a moment to assess her wound. It hurt, quite badly, and upon looking at it, she had to blink back tears. It looked like the muscles of her chest had been cut. Even though the cut hadn’t actually parted or severed the muscle in any way, the sight of the blood and open flesh caused her skin to turn blue out of fear. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was also upset that her shirt had been torn, but the pain was somewhat inhibiting that thought from taking precedence. Ichabod stepped around Eden and down onto the ground beside the cart. He turned to her and said,

“There are four things I want you to learn from this lesson: the first is something that you seem to have learned well already, and that is self-control.” Eden blinked and nodded, silently, afraid that inhaling to speak would cause her wound to hurt even more. “The reason for the first thing is that you will be joining others in battle; you’re too green to be on your own, and when you do, the music can’t stop mid-battle. Your compatriots will depend on you for not only magical support, but also morale; if morale dips, the tide of battle may well turn against your party. The flipside to that is the goal: that your music will ensure the well-being of your friends and yourself, and so also ensure your victory.

“The second thing I want you to learn,” he said as Eden put pressure on her wound and winced from it, “is that you have more versatility than you may think. Start playing a calm, comforting melody.” Eden released her chest and grasped her lute, which had some of her blood smeared on it where she had pressed it into her chest and now bore a bloody handprint. She plucked out a few notes of a song she had heard years before at a birth announcement of a relative. “Now craft an illusion of that song, playing on a loop.” Eden grimaced, her seeping wound throbbing. She reached into the web and wove a minor spell that didn’t take any magic from her. The drumbeats stopped for a moment, then resumed with a copy of her lutework. Eden let her lute, slick with blood, slide to the ground. There was a good bit of blood; was she that badly hurt? She did feel woozy, but there could be other reasons for that… none that she could think of at the moment, but she was sure there was.

“Eden, focus. Good loop. You need to cast a spell that heals. The dazed elf started to reach for the lute. “No, Eden, you don’t need the lute right now; that’s what you have the loop for; you’ll need your hands for this spell.” Wait, did he say “heal”? That helped her focus. It’d be nice to have that cut all nice and sealed up. Eden used what was left of her focus to reach into the web once more, and she felt for a new spell. Healing? Was that accessible to her? She concentrated for a while. Ah, there it was. It felt… golden, like sunlight. She wasn’t sure if she would be able to cast it, but she had to try. She pulled on her magic like thread from a spool until she was sure she had enough for the spell, channeling her magic from the web, through her hand, and into the wound in her chest. The pain faded quickly and she saw the wound knit itself up into a sizable scar. Her head became much clearer and the realization hit her that she had lost a lot of blood prior to her healing spell.

“Jeez!” she exclaimed, speaking for the first time in what felt like ages.

“Indeed. I was afraid I would have to use one of my poultices, as I need to keep the illusion I have on the two goons over there. But, you took care of the problem yourself, which was a good portion of the point. The music is still going. Take a moment and fix your shirt.”

“Do you have any needle and thread?” Eden asked.

Ichabod turned and stared into her eyes for a moment, seemed to realize that he had been unclear, and then said, “Use a minor mending spell. End the music that is still going and start a new song.”

Eden’s eyes raised. “Oh!” And she did so. This one took her a few tries, as she initially tried to replicate her healing spell with no major magic expenditure, but Ichabod corrected her, saying to search for another way, and that, sadly, there were no healing spells that didn’t consume a good portion of magic.

When she was done, and her shirt was whole again, except for the fresh bloodstains, Ichabod gave Eden her next set of instructions, bidding her to walk around the wagon with him, to where the two bandits were still hacking and slashing away.

The two bards positioned themselves behind the bandits and Ichabod took a dagger from his robes and quite abruptly plunged it into the heart of the bandit on the left, who slumped over, if not dead, then soon to be. Ichabod looked at the bloody dagger for a moment and handed it to Eden who took it and suddenly felt sick to her stomach.

“The final point in today’s lesson is to show no mercy to those who show none to you; to kill those who have murder on their hands, and to be absolutely cold-blooded in whatever punishments you dole out, deathly or otherwise.”

“How do we know who deserves death and who doesn’t?” Eden asked, holding the blade awkwardly in her right hand. “I mean, here it’s clear enough that these people are murderers, but what about other cases? What about thievery?”

“Another thing to learn. If someone wrongs you, or if you are asked to exact justice in some form or fashion, use my example with the guards earlier: death is not always necessary, but you make sure they will not repeat their mistake. If you allow people to perpetrate their evils on repeated occasions, they will do so to you at the first opportunity that is convenient to them.”

“I bet this is why you live alone.” Eden said dryly. Ichabod smiled.

“Perhaps. But this is also why I’m still alive. It’s much easier to live freely when all your enemies are dead. If you’re looking for a common ground between my harsh teachings and the socially accepted norms of mercy, I’d advise you to follow my teachings while you’re here in the wild, but when you are in a civilized setting, follow the laws set in place. No one can fault you for ending a threat here in the wilds where there is no authority present to protect you, but you would be held in high regard for following laws set forth by a present authority in any given city. I would find this compromise acceptable.”

“What about him?” Eden jerked the dagger at the bandit. “He’s at our mercy. Would it be right to kill him?”

“A fair question.” Ichabod nodded. “Let’s say for a moment that I were not here and my spell keeping him at bay was not present, and it’s just the two of you, a little elf maiden and a stocky human man–do you really think he would show you the mercy that you’re wanting to show him? Furthermore, were you to release this murderer, would you want the blood of those he would most assuredly murder in the future to stain your hands? You, having released him, would be responsible for the deaths of those he kills, for they would be alive, had you simply ended the threat.”

“I still don’t feel that this is right, Ichabod.”

“That’s fine. When you are released from my tutelage, you may be whatever person with whatever values you want to have, but while I am your teacher, I expect you to learn my lessons, even if you plan on bucking them in the future.”

Eden nodded. “That’s fair. That doesn’t make this any easier, though.”

Ichabod frowned at that. “How many more full spells can you cast at this moment?”

“Just one, I think.”

“Good, then he’s all yours.”

“Wh–What?” Eden stuttered.

“Absolutely!” Ichabod replied cheerfully as he dipped his hand in the puddle of blood that had pooled from the second guard and generously dolloped it on a single spot on his robes, which didn’t change the color of the black robes, but did make it look particularly wet. He then smeared blood on his face and promptly fell over, releasing his spell on the bandit.

“What in all the hells, Ichabod?” Eden practically screeched. The bandit, free from his illusion, looked around at the bloody bodies littering the ground around the wagon, turned around, saw the dagger in Eden’s hand, and yelled,

“You bitch! You knife-eared bitch!!” as he swung his axe at her. Eden let out a small “eep” and dashed around the wagon, a tuft of her frosty hair getting severed by a swinging axe as she ran. She grabbed her lute with her free hand and it was immediately knocked from her arms, making a terrible echo-y twanging sound. Well, there goes that. Eden jabbed at the bandit with her blade, but the bandit kicked out and Eden was knocked back and to the ground; the human’s legs had much more reach than her arms. Fortunately, she landed right next to the lute; She stuck the dagger handle in her mouth and picked up the lute. The human started to walk over to her, raising the axe in the air to finish her off with a final swing, but she took the spare moment to start playing a song about the power of an incoming storm. As she reached for the magic, the man came in range and she crossed her ankles around his right foot. As she let out her fourth note a wave of thunderous energy swept outwards from her, rocking the wagon, and instead of knocking the man back, the bandit’s backward momentum was redirected to the ground, skull first, as he tripped over Eden’s feet.

As quickly as she could, the she-elf dropped the lute, dropped her dagger into her hand, leapt to her feet, and jumped atop the dazed bandit, straddling him. She eyed the dagger in her hand, knowing she only had a moment to decide: It felt wrong to kill a person that was once again at her mercy. Any moment, though, the human would regain his senses and physically overpower her, quite easily, at that. She was absolutely out of useful magic, and it didn’t seem like Ichabod would be backing her up. She could use the moment to render him fully unconscious, but if she, for some reason, couldn’t hit the man, who was much larger than her, hard enough to knock him out, she would only succeed in rousing him. If she did render him unconscious, it was also possible that Ichabod was right, that the man would continue making prey of the weak.

Fine. Ichabod would have his way. There was no safe way to leave this man be: without the use of ichabod's skeleton horses there was little chance of her running far enough to where the bandit couldn't catch up with her, and the city guards were likely all corrupt; there was no peaceful alternative: there was only her, him, and the dagger.

She plunged the dagger into his throat. The man never returned to consciousness, only letting out a few soft gurgles before passing into wherever one passes when they die. One of the heavens? One of the hells? Eden supposed it didn’t matter from her side of things.

After pulling the dagger free and cleaning it, she trudged back to the opposite side of the cart to find Ichabod, free of blood with his skin and his robes looking immaculately clean, in the process of magically repairing the cleft in the lute she could have sworn she left on the other side of the cart. He looked up at her and gave her a kindly smile. Eden turned deep orange with red flourishes. Summer.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Eden demanded.

“I knew you’d win.”

“Fuck you.”

“No thank you.” he replied, coolly. She threw the dagger at him, missing him completely. She honestly didn’t think he would be hurt in any way if she did hit him. Ichabod laughed almost cruelly at her attempt. “So, what did you learn from this encounter, Eden?”

“You’re a monster.”

“Your penchant for drama is admirable, but you’re closer to the truth than you know. I’ve been called ‘monster’ before. I’ve been called ‘monster’, ‘fiend’, ‘boogeyman’, ‘savage’, ‘villain’, ‘inhuman’, and every other title that can be ascribed to someone that dares to have no master, that dares to be beholden to no moral manipulation of lesser people, that dares to live as he sees fit. Rivers, oceans of the blood of others have been spilt by me, solely in an effort to preserve myself and my way of life. The price for my life is blood, Eden, and a lot of it. What’s the price of your life? Who’s blood are you willing to spill to make sure you have just one more gasp of air?”

“It didn’t have to be like this, Ichabod!” Eden practically screamed at him. “As much power as you have, you could have incapacitated all three of them and brought them to the city guard without a fuss, but instead, you opted to kill them. You had me kill them!”

“Just the one.” he said, flippantly.

“Gods…”

“Eden, did you learn nothing from the guards at the gate? These bandits, were they jailed instead of killed, would have walked free sooner or later. The guards were only a taste of what that city is like: corrupt, greedy, and bloodthirsty. But instead of massacring all of the city officials to correct a problem that was not my responsibility, I settled for punishment of individuals who wronged me.”

Eden scoffed. “That’s so gracious of you.”

“Eden, sit down.”

“Ichabod, I’m in no mood to–”

“Sit down.” the old man said with a dangerous energy behind his voice. She sat, still angry. He walked forward and sat down cross-legged in front of her, facing her, meeting her eyes. He had old and tired eyes, she noticed. “Listen to me. Please listen to me. Without hysterics. Argue if you must, but allow me to speak, first.” Eden nodded. “I’m... a certain way. I have a code and I’m set in ways that have been ground into me from a lifetime of making poor decisions that have truly cost me. Understand, Eden, I’m not trying to turn you into me. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. I’m trying to teach you my craft, which you have only seen a fraction of. But as you aren’t full-fledged, I’m also trying to instill in you practices that will keep you alive until you master my art. I want you to live, Eden, and I think that your life is worth just a few murderers and their co-conspirators, hm? I’m going to teach you from my wisdom until you are powerful enough to successfully rely on your own. Now, that being said, if this is too much for you, I understand. You can opt out of my teachings. If you wish it, I can take you all the way to Valekenport and set you up there with lodgings and a job, and then you won’t ever have to see me again; I’ll protect you all the way there and you won’t have to harm anyone again if you don’t wish it. But I want you to make that decision sooner, rather than later. Will you trust me? Or will you go your own way?”

Eden started to cry. At first the crying was an angry cry, her eyes and sinuses as hot as fire with little streams of flame blazing down her cheeks, but after a few minutes, her color cooled down and so did her tears, which now sleeted off her face. She didn’t want to have to kill anyone. That wasn’t what she was supposed to do. Fae were no stranger to killing as a whole, but it wasn’t something Eden had seen as necessary. Maybe that was because she was so young, and the ways of her people were not terribly impressed upon her, or maybe she was just… she didn’t know. “Normal” wasn’t the right word for it. Ichabod handed her a handkerchief, for the second time.

“The first time you take another sentient being’s life is always hard." Ichabod continued. "I’m truly sorry it has to be this way. There were better ways to handle the subject of killing. I should have chosen more wisely. For that, I’m sorry.”

Eden looked up, sniffed back some mucus, and gave him a wry smile, “For that alone?”

“Would you rather I lie to you?”

“I suppose not.”

“Do I have to choose now?” Eden asked. Ichabod smiled.

“I suppose not. It’ll be a week before we reach the gates of Valekenport. Will that be enough time for you?”

Eden nodded.