Chapter 69: 56. Clear Minds

“It has been a week since the birth, and she has shown signs of a sickness,” the Shaman said, staring at the foreigner.

“What kind of sickness?” Adam asked.

“It is nothing for you to be concerned about.” The Shaman, who was one of the most beautiful devilkin women Adam had ever seen, narrowed her eyes at the half elf. She was adorned in long robes, with the symbol of the Shamans all along the hem, and she carried a large staff in hand, one with a large number of runes, mostly of Death.

Adam’s brow pulsed, and he clenched his jaw. “Nothing for me to be concerned about?” The pounding in his head continued, not just from his exhaustion, but from the rage filling him.

“Will mother be fine?” Jurot asked, staring at the Shaman. They were almost a glare, but Jurot wouldn’t hold any animosity against a Shaman.

“We will need to form a party to find the herb, otherwise, I cannot say that she will be able to survive,” the Shaman replied.

Adam’s eyes grew wide. ‘Sonarot wasn’t sick in my previous life, was she? No, no. Did she get sick because things have changed in this world?’ Adam threw a glance to Jurot. ‘A life for a life?’

“I will go,” Jurot said, clenching the blades harder within his grip, but not showing any outward emotion. His face was statuesque.

The Shaman nodded her head. “I will tell the Elder.” She turned, swiftly making her way to speak with Elder Zijin, to inform him of the news.

“I will go too,” Adam said, his voice ringing clearly.

The Shaman stopped. “You will go?” She threw a look over her shoulder, eyeing the boy up.

“I’m a nephew of the Rot family,” Adam said, his voice shaking. It felt weird to say, but if it helped him get on the expedition, he needed to get rid of the jitters.

The Shaman looked to Jurot and muttered something in their tongue. Jurot nodded in response, confirming the words.

“You may come, nephew,” the Shaman said. “We leave in the morning.”

“Can we see her?” Adam asked, not wanting to go without seeing her state. The worry ate at his gut.

“No,” the Shaman said, turning. “Sonarot requires her rest this evening.”

“What if something happens when we’re not looking.”

“We are always looking,” the Shaman replied, cryptically, as she walked away.

Adam wasn’t sure if she meant they were watching Sonarot or him. He caught the sight of Jurot, who was completely tense. Adam sighed, placing a hand on Jurot’s shoulder. “We should rest for the journey. We’ll say our goodbyes in the morning.”

Adam and Jurot pulled away, heading back to the Rot family estate. Lanarot, who had been with her mother, had already been moved to another cabin, one of the other family members taking care of her.

“Aunt is sick?” Turot asked, staring at the pair of them. Jurot had informed him of the matter right away.

“She is,” Jurot said, grabbing Turot’s night clothes.

Adam dropped down against the wall, staring at the floor in front of him. ‘It can’t be any normal sickness if they’re sending out a group of Iyrmen.’

“Will aunt be okay?” Turot’s lower lip quivered as Jurot assisted him into his attire.

“She will be fine,” Jurot said. “I will be going with the group.”

Adam shut his eyes tight, trying to think about his previous life. ‘No, she definitely wasn’t sick.’

“Adam will be going too,” Jurot informed the boy, helping him rinse his face.

“I’ll be alone?” Turot asked, staring down. His sister had gone on a hunt, his mother had gone to follow his uncle, and his father was tasked with guard duty. Aunt Sonarot, due to giving birth, had been freed of all obligations for six months, and so took care of the boy.

“That’s right,” Jurot said, holding the boy’s face so they stared into each other’s eyes. “The house of the Rot family will be left to you. Can you handle the responsibility?”

Turot stared into Jurot’s eyes, his lower lip still quivering. “I can,” he said, his voice firm.

“Good. Uncle Gorot won’t return soon, so you will need to work hard.” Jurot placed his forehead against Turot’s.

“Okay,” the boy said, closing his eyes.

Adam remained against the wall, his knuckles against his forehead. ‘Is there a chance she was sick when I left to meet with the giants?’ A cold sweat covered the half elf. He had been relaxing within the Iyr for so long, and now Sonarot was sick? Without him realising? ‘Damn it!’

Omen: 15, 17

When morning came, the mood within the estate was sour. Adam bathed in the river quickly, slipping on his chain mail, and double checked his items. He left behind most of his wealth in the Iyr, keeping it wrapped in a blanket in the Rot house. He took with him a couple of gems, and some of his coin, just in case.

Jurot waited for Adam outside, having much less to prepare, before they stepped into the cabin. There was a Shaman there, settled in the corner. This Shaman was much older, in his mid fifties or so, and was currently writing something at the desk.

Sonarot was laying in a pile of blankets, positioned in the most comfortable manner possible. She lay there, sweat pouring down her face, pale as a ghost, save for the green veins which seemed to pulse against her skin.

“Mother,” Jurot said, falling to her side and holding her hand. It was near freezing cold, and so wet.

“I’m sorry for troubling you,” she said, her voice raspy.

“It’s no trouble, mother.” Jurot rested his forehead against the back of her hand. “We will return soon.”

“It's dangerous south. Be careful.”

Adam knelt down beside her, feeling her cold hand within his own. He wasn’t sure what to say in the moment. He hadn’t seen her so weak before, not even when she was giving birth.

“You too,” her rasped whisper came. “Come back to me safely, even it it means without the herb."

"We will return, mother," Jurot said.

Adam nodded his head in response to her words, but his throat was clogged up.

"If her illness progresses, what do you want us to do?" The elderly Shaman asked, finishing with his assessment.

"Save my mother,” Jurot said. “I will take the debt."

“There is no need for that, Jurot,” she said. “We should be able to afford it with the family fortune.”

“I will take it,” Jurot said. “No matter the price, I will take it.”

"It will be so," the Shaman said, recording it in the book.

"What debt?" Adam asked, staring at the Shaman as he wrote.

"The price of the magic."

"How much is it?"

"Six hundred gold coins for each casting of the spell.”

“I can afford that now,” Adam said. “I can pay it.”

"I will pay for it," Jurot said. “This is the way it must be done.”

Adam sighed, not wanting to fight with Jurot about it. Jurot loved his mother dearly, and Adam couldn’t take it away from him. "As long as she is saved. If there's anything I can do, please tell me."

"She should be fine. It's best to get the herb, since the magic has a chance of failing to cure her, and it may cause her issue to worsen.”

"Is there something wrong with using magic?" Adam asked, curious as to why the magic would make it worse.

"We must be careful when using magic when curing this sickness,” the Shaman said, simply. “She has recently given birth, and using magic so soon may harm her.”

“A potion would be best,” Jurot said, nodding his head.

Adam stared at the woman. “We’ll definitely return with the herb.” He squeezed her hand gently.

“Return to me,” she whispered.

Adam nodded his head, feeling her weak grip. ‘Damn it! What can I even do?’

“Won’t you call me aunt before you go?” she asked, smiling up at him.

“Once I return, so wait for me.” He understood that he was falling under the trope of setting up death flags, but if Sozain dared to mess with his life, he’d have a word with the god.

“Okay.” Sonarot smiled up at him. “I will wait.” She reached up to brush their hair, before her arms fell to her side.

Adam sighed once he was outside. ‘Six hundred gold per casting, and it could make the matter worse?’ He shook his head and marched away from the group of Iyrmen who had been waiting.

“Where are you going?” Jurot asked, watching the half elf leave.

“I need to say goodbye to Lanarot,” Adam said, glancing back his way. “Come on.”

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Jurot stared at him, confused.

“What?” Adam asked.

“Why would you say goodbye to a baby? She will not understand.”

“There is always a chance something goes wrong,” Adam said. “As much as we can promise to return safely, there are things we can’t foresee. At the very least, I have to say goodbye to my little sister.” Adam’s face darkened. “You won’t get a second chance at it.”

Jurot saw the darkness on the half elf’s face. ‘What is he planning?’ He followed Adam to the Gak family house.

“Sorry to intrude,” Adam said, noting Kitool was here, and Katool was playing with Raygak, Jaygak’s younger brother.

“Are you here to say goodbye to Lanarot?” Jaygak asked, smiling slightly.

“Yes.”

Jaygak threw a smirk to Kitool, who bowed her head in defeat. She owed Jaygak a dagger for losing the bet. ‘What kind of person says goodbye to a baby?’

Adam stared at the tiny little girl, whose eyes were so sleepy. She lay in a pile on blankets, just taking in the world around her.

“Lanarot,” he said, kneeling down beside her. “Your mother is sick.” He brushed a finger along her arm gently, and then to the back of her hand, seeing how tiny it was. Her entire hand was so small, about as small his thumb tip. “Jurot and I will return and make your mummy well, okay? I promise.”

He brushed the thin strands along the top of her head. “So make sure you sleep, eat, and poop with a clear mind. If anyone bullies you, I’ll be sure to deal with them when I return. Don’t let Jaygak steal your food.”

“Hey!” Jaygak grumbled. How dare he call her a thief!

“Don’t grow up too fast.” Adam stood, taking in her sight. He memorised her tiny appearance, burning it into his mind. With that, he stepped aside for Jurot.

Jurot stared down at her. “You are Lanarot, daughter of Surot. Do not forget.”

Adam stared at him long and hard. ‘What the hell are you saying to your little sister, you idiot?’

“I will return,” Jurot said, “so you need not worry.” For some reason, he could feel his heart pound quickly. “Don’t grow up too fast, it will be bad for your bones.” With that, he turned, leaving.

Adam followed Jurot to the group of Iyrmen who were waiting, all eight of them. He narrowed his eyes towards one of them, one he hadn’t expected to see.

“I didn’t expect to see you,” Adam said, shaking Dargon’s forearm.

“I had heard last night, and thought it would be best I go.” Dargon smiled. “I have many tales to tell you.”

“It would be a pleasure to hear them, as long as you don’t take too long.” Adam narrowed his eyes. “I have many recipes I am preparing.”

"We will head to the southern plains on our ship,” the leader of the expedition said. He was an older orcish Iyrman, wearing the clothes of the Iyr, and wraps up to his forearm. At his forehead was a tattoo of a red cross, with yellow hollowed ovals to its sides. At his back was a spear, which was made out of a blue steel, with runes which glittered in the morning sun.

There was also a Shaman, the same devilkin he had seen the day before, who remained silent.

“Are you going to be wearing that?” Dargon asked.

“What?” Adam replied.

“Your chain mail.”

“Yes?”

“On a ship?”

“A ship?” Adam said, glancing towards the orcish Iyrman. ‘Right, he did say…’

“We will be travelling by river. You should not wear your armour.”

Adam stared at Dargon, blinking at him. ‘Oh.’

“It would be a mistake,” the leader said, staring at Adam.

Adam pulled his chain mail off, feeling naked without it. “I can keep my shield, though, right?”

Dargon nodded his head. “You needn’t worry,” he said, placing a hand on Adam’s back. “We will make sure you return.”

Adam noted that the orcish Iyrman was quite old, and so was another of the Iyrmen who had come with them. “Just how strong are those two?”

Dargon smiled in the same way Jurot had.

‘These Iyrman are all so damn annoying with their smugness!’

"You are a nephew of the Rot family,” the leader said as they made their way to the ship. “How did you manage that so quickly?"

"I told a great story." Adam smiled.

"A great story?” Dargon said, staring at the half elf. “Tell us!"

Adam shook his head. "I can't, not yet."

"Why not?" Dargon asked.

"It is not a story I can tell anyone."

"You have told Sonarot? Though we had met first?” Dargon pouted, only to grin immediately after.

"I trust her."

"You do not trust us?"

"Hmm.” Adam stared at Dargon for a moment, before smiling. “I trust you all too, for you are all Iyrmen, but she... I owe her a debt from another life." He winked.

"Another life?" Jurot asked. ‘Was he serious?’ The pieces of the puzzle began to fit together in his mind.

Adam just smiled. "I'll tell you when the time is right, Jurot. I just don't think you trust me enough for it."

Jurot stared at him.

"So, I’m sure you were all adventurers. What rank did you all reach?”

“Steel,” came the voice of two of the Iyrmen, though Adam knew that Dargon was Steel too.

“Silver,” came the voice of another two.

The Shaman did not state her rank, but the last two, the leader of the expedition and the other older Iyrman, remained silent.

‘They must be stronger than Silver,’ Adam thought.

They grabbed their things and set out, heading towards the front gates of the Iyr.
As they approached, Adam noted a few familiar faces. Turot stood there, along with the other children of the three families. He was adorned in his Iyrman garb, arms crossed. His eyes were a steely glare.

Jurot dropped to a squat and placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “You must take good care of the family while we are gone.” He squeezed Turot’s shoulders gently.

“Yes!” Turot said, his voice clear.

“If its in your hands, I don’t have to worry.” Jurot smiled wide, ruffling the boy’s hair.

The Iyrmen then marched towards the wall. Adam gave Turot a nod, who replied with his own nod. They headed to the gate, which shuddered open as the Iyrmen opened it.

“Cousin Jurot!” Turot’s voice rang in the air. “Come home safely!”

Jurot did not respond as he stepped out the gate.

“Cousin Adam! Come home safely!” Turot shouted.

Adam hadn’t expected to be called by the boy. ‘Come home safely,’ Adam thought, before smiling.

“Come home safely!” The other children cried, with the group of children repeating the phrase, even long after their voices could not be heard.

 

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Will he come home safely?

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