Chapter 3
Days Past
Ignatius was aware of the young man from the moment he stumbled into his barn, as one might be alerted to the presence of an insect crawling over their leg.
Through the magics he had laid when first settling the tower, very little happened within the confines of his home without his knowledge.
At that time, it was evident that the boy was in no condition to be a horse thief and seemed only interested in finding shelter.
As such, Ignatius allowed him to stay for the remainder of the day and through the night.
He was careful to ensure that Keira went nowhere near the barn, sending her off on an errand for herbs.
She’d likely have the chore done in an hour, but she liked him to think these things took an afternoon.
However, the next morning was another matter.
He could not predict what the young man would do once equipped with a full night’s sleep.
Just after sunrise, Ignatius appeared in the hayloft and, for the first time, caught a proper glimpse of the intruder.
The boy was in a sorry state. His clothes were wretched, and his fair skin was stained with mud.
Worse, he was covered in bruises from a recent beating.
His first thought was that this must be a local farmer’s boy who was set upon on the road.
The matter, while troubling indeed, was altogether mundane for his interest. His mind was much more intrigued by the boy’s curious features.
Stark white hair was certainly not a common sight, especially for a young boy.
Often such features suggested a touch of magic…
Though he was certain that if one of the local boys was displaying a propensity for the arcane, he would have heard about it by now.
These matters always seemed to reach him eventually, despite his relative solitude.
It was by such machinations that he had come to acquire his ward seven years prior.
Ignatius drew himself from his musings and kicked the boy’s shoe.
Caspian woke suddenly, wincing at the pain accompanying even the subtlest of movements.
Still, he straightened himself at once to take in the stranger who had woken him.
Though he was clearly deep into his years, he did not appear frail nor hunched with age.
He looked down at him from beneath untamed brows, a mixture of black and grey which matched his wiry beard.
His coat was deep red, finer than anything a common farmer might afford.
“Why were you sleeping in my stables?” he asked, voice coarse and low.
“I’m sorry,” Caspian said, pulling himself to his feet, his full height only slightly taller than the old man. “I was only seeking shelter from the storm.”
“Storm’s well over,” Ignatius said. “Best get home.”
A flicker of uncertainty passed over Caspian’s face, and Ignatius understood it well enough.
“I see. Where are you from, boy?”
“The abbey, sir.”
“An orphan then.”
“I suppose, sir.”
The old man nodded. “And your name?’
“Caspian.”
“You’ll find breakfast in the tower, Caspian.”
“Thank you, sir,” Caspian said gratefully. “I’ll not overstay my welcome, I promise. If there’s anything I can do to repay you, I will.”
Ignatius nodded and began to turn, only to pause, giving way to his curiosity. “What do you know of your parentage?”
Caspian shuffled at the unexpected inquiry. “I wish I could say, sir. But I never knew them.”
“I see,” he said with a nod. “Very well then. You may call me Ignatius. Come to the tower and you will have your meal.”
Then the old man disappeared in a blink and Caspian was left alone in the hayloft, dazed.
His experience with magic was limited to stories, and a few fanciful tricks he’d witnessed at a travelling fair once when he was only small.
Yet it seemed he’d just made the acquaintance of a wizard.
Caspian slid down the ladder, not wanting to keep him waiting.
Outside, the ground was still sodden from the storm, but at least the sky was clear.
Caspian took only a moment to gaze up at the lonely tower, four stories of stone rising out of the fields.
Inside was a tidy living space. There were all the typical fixtures of a home, but amongst them were shelves of books ladened with thick old tomes and rolls of parchment, odd shaped bones and bottles of indeterminable liquids.
Hunger in time stole his attention to the table, which was already laid with steaming bowls of porridge, along with sausage and apples. His stomach growled at the scent, but his eyes were otherwise occupied.
Seated at the table was a girl, well more than a girl, but yet not a woman either.
Her dark hair was coiled in a braid that stretched from her forehead down to rest on her shoulder.
Her warm skin was well tanned from hours in the sun.
She was dressed in a vibrant green tunic.
Though there was an enormous book laid out in front of her, her green eyes were fixed on him.
There was something bewitching about the shape of them, something wild.
The look in them was intelligent and fierce, mesmerizing.
“You’re hurt,” she observed, “and very dirty.”
“I suppose I am,” Caspian said, looking down at the sorry state of himself.
“What’s your name?”
“It’s Caspian.”
“Your porridge will get cold, Caspian,” she said, before turning back to her book.
He took a seat across from her.
“So what’s yours?” he asked.
She peered up at him with those cat-like eyes. “Keira.” Then it was back to reading.
“You live here too?” Caspian asked.
“Yes,” Keira said, not bothering to look up this time.
Caspian leaned over, examining the page. There wasn’t much use in it, as he couldn’t read, but there were more than letters on the pages. She was studying a complex symbol of interlacing circles.
He was so enraptured that he didn’t notice their companion until it had hopped right next to him. It croaked loudly, and Caspian jumped in his seat as he caught sight of the largest toad he had ever seen.
“Thaddeus!” Keira rose from her seat and took the toad in both hands.
She was shorter than he had imagined, easily a head below himself.
“He is incorrigible,” she said scornfully and walked him over to a glass case on the other side of the room, placing him gently inside.
“We aren’t used to having guests,” Keira apologized as she sat down.
“Your father said that I could join you for breakfast-”
“My what?” she snapped, gaping at him.
Caspian recoiled at his obvious misstep. “I’m sorry. I just thought…”
“Ignatius is not my father,” Keira said and then returned to her reading, now seeming to ignore him forcefully.
After accepting that any further conversation was likely a lost cause, Caspian turned his attention to the porridge and sausages.
Once he started to eat, he was utterly consumed by the need for more.
He didn’t stop until his stomach ached. Not a moment after, he heard footsteps on the stairs.
Keira did not even look up as Ignatius joined them.
Instead, she stood, slamming her book shut and taking it with her.
“Keira,” Ignatius said, halting her. “Stay. I need you to show Caspian to the washhouse.” Keira looked at him and then at Caspian, but Ignatius continued. “There will be suitable clothes for you there. When he’s done, tend to his bruises. The practice will do you well.”
Keira held his gaze before turning abruptly and heading for the door. Caspian hesitated for a breath but got the distinct feeling he was meant to follow her, so he did.
She led the way to the back of the tower wordlessly.
The washhouse was a small wooden addition to the back of the tower.
Inside was a washtub that was already filled with water.
Somehow, it was still comfortably warm. Caspian washed and dressed in the simple tunic and pants that had been left out for him.
Keira spent the time sitting in the grass and rereading the Sanitatem’s instructions for the healing of bruises and cuts. It was simple magic, a spell she had worked on herself more than once. But the thought of attempting it on another person had her nerves tied in knots.
She had been minding herself for an entirely ordinary morning when Ignatius had come down the stairs and told her, “There’s a boy sleeping in the barn.
I’ve sent him in for breakfast.” There had been nothing more to it, and then he’d walked in.
Caspian was about her age, she’d bet, but tall for it.
Though in fairness, she wasn’t the best judge.
She didn’t meet many others her age, let alone speak to them.
Caspian emerged from the washhouse. His hair reflected the sunlight almost glaringly.
It was not the fair blonde of a child or silvery grey of an old man, but stark white.
After the wash, his injuries showed plainly against his fair skin.
One of his eyes was swollen shut by an ugly purple bruise.
His opposite cheekbone was split with a nasty cut.
“Well, come and sit then,” Keira said, shutting the Sanitatem.
Caspian obeyed, wincing as he lowered himself to sit cross legged in the grass.
Keira leaned in and looked closely at his swollen eye.
“So you’re a wizard too, then?” Caspian asked.
“Yes,” Keira said. “Well, and no. I’m an apprentice mage, if you want to be precise.”
“What’s the difference?”
“A wizard is someone who has studied magic enough to reach a certain level of mastery.” Caspian flinched as her fingers brushed against the bruise on his eye. “Sorry- Hold still. Anyway, I was born with magic, making me a mage, and am studying to be a wizard, making me an apprentice.”
Caspian opened his mouth to ask another question, but Keira shushed him.