“Then you’ll…”
“I’ll do what I can,” answered the old man. Will heard the door open, and then the man cautioned his mother one last time. “Stay outside. Make sure no one comes near the house.”
“Thank you,” said Will’s mother, tears in her voice.
“Don’t thank me yet,” said the old man. “I can’t make any promises.”
The sound of the door closing came to his ears, and Will felt the presence of the stranger beside his bed, though there was no light to see by. A rough hand touched his forehead, cold against his fevered flesh.
“You’re awake?” said the old man, sounding surprised. “Been listening, eh, boy? That’s a good sign, but I’m afraid it won’t do. We can’t have you watching this.”
Watching? I can’t see a thing. It’s pitch black in here, thought Will. Then he felt the newcomer press a finger against his chest, and something cool rushed into him, passing through his body like ripples across a still pond. Will’s eyes closed, and then a white light flashed before him.
He felt as though he was floating, and his dark room was now well lit by the afternoon sun splashing in through the window to paint his room in bright colors. Everything was crisp and clear, and something about the light bothered him, though he couldn’t put his finger on what it was.
An old man leaned over him, and Will recognized the man’s face. It was the hermit of Glenwood, an old man who lived in the forest. The children of the village had lots of stories about the hermit, most of them bad, claiming the old man was a warlock who stole the souls of those who ventured too close to his abode.
Will had never believed the rumors, though. He had met the old man on several occasions in the past, usually when the hermit had come to trade with his mother, but he had never spoken to him.
He tried to say something, but his voice didn’t work, and it was only then that he realized how strange his position was. He was floating above his body, looking down on the room, a disembodied observer. Will got the sense he should feel panic at his unexpected situation, but he didn’t. In fact, he didn’t feel much of anything. He was surrounded by a sense of serene calm.
With mild curiosity, he watched as the old man traced a quick pattern in the air, his fingers trailing lines of blue light before he brought them down to rest on the body in front of him. The old man’s eyes were closed, and he seemed to be concentrating with strange intensity. Motes of light sparked around, and within Will’s body.
What is he doing? wondered Will. Is that magic?
The old man worked over his body for an unknown period of time, and Will could see the swelling in his leg going down visibly. Even the color improved, going from a purple so dark as to almost be black, to an angry red. Eventually, the man stopped, sitting down on the stool and breathing heavily, as though he was trying to catch his breath. He seemed to have finished.
Then the old man’s eyes drifted upward, and he seemed to stare at the place where Will hung in the air. The door to the room opened and Erisa looked in.
“Is he…?” she started to ask.
The old man turned at her voice. “I said to stay out. I’ll call you when I’m finished.” He waited until she had closed the door before looking up at the ceiling again. “I wondered why you weren’t waking up. Now I see why. You’ve been spying on me, haven’t you?”
Will tried to protest his innocence, but again, his voice failed him.
The hermit smiled wickedly. “I should have expected as much. I’ll be keeping my eyes closely on you in the future, boy. Now, it’s time for you to go back where you belong.” Standing, the old man brought his hands together in a clap that sent a heavy bell-like tone shivering through the air. The world spun, and Will felt nauseous as something hemmed him in, pressing him down into a warm darkness.
When he opened his eyes again, he discovered he was back in his body, looking up from the bed. The old man leaned over him, staring at him with hard eyes. “This isn’t over, boy. I’ll be seeing you again, one way or another.” Then he left, and Will was finally alone.
Chapter 3
Will recovered quickly after the old hermit’s visit, and his mother warned him not to mention either the snakebite or the man who had saved him to anyone in the village. Will chalked it up to the fact that people didn’t survive emerald viper bites—they were invariably fatal. His mother was probably afraid of starting rumors, since the villagers were prone to superstition.
What did strike him as odd was her emphatic insistence that he not mention the old man’s visit. She almost seemed more worried about that than having people find out he had survived the snake’s venom.
He brought the subject up several times, hoping she would explain what had happened, but Erisa always evaded, refusing to give him answers. More than a month after his recovery, he tried again. “Why did that lord come to visit you?”
Erisa looked up from her needlework. “He wasn’t visiting me. He just wanted some herbs.”
“But you knew his name,” countered Will. “You called him ‘Lord Nerrow.’”
She sighed, and then, putting down the shirt she was mending, stared intently at him. “Baron Nerrow was a customer. I make it a point of learning customers’ names.”
Will frowned. “Our lord is Lord Fulstrom. Why would another lord come to our little village?”
Erisa picked up the shirt again, resuming her work calmly. “How should I know? Noblemen do as they please.”
“Do you think he knows Arrogan?” asked Will, trying a different line of questioning.
His mother looked at him in horror before standing up, heedless of her work falling to the floor at her feet. With two long strides, she crossed the room and put her hands on his shoulders. “Don’t ever say that name again! Do you hear me?”
The fear and anger in her features shook him to the core, though he couldn’t understand what had provoked her reaction. “Why? It’s just a name…”
She shook him. “Listen to me, William Cartwright! You are never to say that name again. Do you understand? This isn’t a game.”
Will tried to twist out of her grasp, for her fingers were digging painfully into his shoulders, but she wouldn’t release him. “Fine,” he answered. “I won’t repeat it.”
“Ever!” insisted his mother, shaking him again. “If that name reaches the wrong ears, we’re dead. They’ll kill us, William, and not just us. Everyone in the village would be at risk.”
“All right!” said Will forcefully. “I won’t say his stupid name. Who do you mean by they?”
She ignored his question. “Promise me, William. Swear it. Swear you’ll never repeat that name again.”
Frightened by her strange behavior, he agreed, but he crossed his fingers behind his back as he said the words. “I swear, Mom. Can you please let me go?”
Erisa seemed to remember herself then, and she took her hands away. Returning to her chair, she quietly gathered up the shirt she had been mending. When she looked up at him again, her face was calm, but Will would never forget the quiet fear he saw hiding deep in her eyes.
He didn’t ask again after that.