A Journey Never Begun Pt. 05

Copyright (c) 2018 James Miehoff, All Rights Reserved.

This work may not be published whether for fee or free without this copyright.

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This is one of a series of stories set in the Land of Etherium, a place out of time where wizards channeled mana and a host of creatures we call fairy tales roamed the lands. It is said these tales occurred almost 27,000 years ago before a set of cataclysms shaped the face of the earth and the fairy folk retreated or we in our smugness, no longer saw them.

In any case, they are just stories after all, aren't they?

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This is part five of the journey of Muddle to find a new Master to continue his magical education. If you haven't read the first four parts, please do, things may make more sense if you are caught up. I'll wait.

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"Familiar?" echoed Muddle in a very confused voice.

The frog blinked his eyes slowly and voiced a soft, "Re-deep!"

"But I've never fed you blood," said Muddle incredulously. "How?"

The frog closed his eyes and Muddle began to see a vision overlay his sight of the interior of the kitchen.

It was hard to get a good idea of what was going on initially then he realized it must be from the frog's point of view. Then it made sense. He was looking up at himself a few days ago when he was putting holes in the acorns so that they would germinate faster.

He suddenly saw the knife slip and some drops of blood fall toward the forest floor. Without thinking he felt himself launch his tongue and snag the drops out of the air. Child's play for the owner of a tongue that could hit flies in mid-flight. The blood tasted strong like fireberries in the heat of summer and the heat moved through him. When the heat faded, he could understand the strange man rumblings and knew somehow that he was bonded to this man.

At that, the vision faded and Muddle found himself looking at the kitchen wall again.

Before he could come to grips with what had happened, his Master's voice came to him unbidden, "Now boy, I am going to tell you this but I don't expect you to remember it until it is too late. You do not pick your familiar. Your familiar will pick you. And it will almost always happen when you least expect it."

Muddle smiled at that memory and chuckled a little.

"You were right old man," Muddle said to himself. "I was chosen when I was least expecting it."

"So Mr. Frog, once you tasted my blood, how was it that you found me here?" asked Muddle.

The frog settled down on the ground and closed his eyes again. Again Muddle began to see a vision overlay his view of the world.

When the vision snapped into focus he saw his face ("Do I really look like that?" he thought) and heard him tell the frog, "Mr. Frog, I have had a very interesting day, but I am getting tired and I have more to walk tomorrow. I will continue to follow the road to the west for a couple of more days, so if you wish to join me in the evening, I will look forward to your company again."

Still getting used to man rumblings the frog had to think on the meaning of those words. He closed his eyes and then opened them once he was sure of their meanings. "OK," he tried to say back, but it came out as "Re-deep". Turning away the frog headed out into the night looking for a snack.

The vision blurred as it fast forwarded to the next morning ("Probably a good thing," Muddle thought. "I am not sure I could stand the cricket taste again."). When it snapped into focus he could see a figure of a man shouldering a pack and heading off much faster than a frog could hop.

Muddle could feel a feeling of despair and realized that he was getting more than just sight; he was getting an almost perfect recall of the event from the point of view of the frog.

The poor frog tried, but there was no way he could keep up with his bond master. Suddenly the smell of a stream came to the nose of the frog. Without explaining how, he knew it was headed in the right direction. The frog changed direction and headed for the stream.

Without hesitation the frog launched himself into the stream and began to swim with the current.

Before too long he had begun to catch up and the feeling of success began to seep into the mood of the little amphibian. Muddle began to marvel at the experience.

That was when disaster almost happened. The frog had not been watching his surroundings closely enough and a fish made a sudden strike at the frog. Instinctively, the frog stretched out his limbs and made contact with the lips of the fish. Using every ounce of his strength, the frog used that little bit of purchase to leap toward the shore. He did not quite make it to shore and knew without looking that the fish was coming again.

He swam as fast as he could, but he knew the fish was faster and he would not get lucky again. As the water brought the pressure wave of the striking fish, the frog despaired that he had failed his bond master.

And then suddenly there was a great thrashing, almost on his foot. He turned as he swam and saw a large raven had swooped down and impaled the fish on its beak. With the unexpected help from the heavens, he attained the shore and continued his journey.

He looked at the raven, who was struggling to get the fish to the shore, and thought a heartfelt, "Thank you," to the bird. He stopped and looked closer at the bird when he heard a faint, "You are welcome my brother." With the increased scrutiny, the frog could see a faint nimbus of light surrounding the raven. The frog did not know what to make of it, so he just continued in the direction of the pull of his bond master.

The vision blurred again as it fast forwarded though another trip though the river and a long stretch of hopping through a meadow, until he saw his bond master going into a strange cave of rocks and straw. At that point the vision faded and Muddle again saw the kitchen through his own eyes.

Muddle looked down and held out his hand. The frog looked and it then slowly waddled over and climbed up into the palm. Muddle brought him up to eye level and then said, "Mr. Frog. You have undertaken a journey the likes of which I am not sure I would have dared. Is there anything I can do for you?"

The frog blinked slowly and tried to shake its head.

Muddle put the frog down and then said, "I do know one thing that I can do for you, Mr. Frog. A blood bond between a wizard and a familiar can be created with a few drops of blood, but it does need more than that to keep it healthy."

With that Muddle turned and took a saucer that had somehow survived the destruction of the house and put it on the floor in front of the frog. He then pulled out his knife and slit his palm and began to drip the blood on the saucer squeezing his hand into a fist.

Well, he meant to drip the blood on the saucer. The frog with his unerring tongue got every drop before it could land on the tiny plate. After about a dozen drops, Muddle thought a charm of healing towards his hand and fed some mana to make it real. Before the next drop could form, he could feel his skin knitting back together and by the time he opened his fist, his palm was healed and the blood that had begun to pool had been sucked back into his body.

He looked down at the frog and was surprised to see a faint nimbus of white light glowing around the frog. Seeing that the frog's eyes were closed Muddle grew concerned. He asked, "Are you alright Mr. Frog?"

The frog opened his eyes and nodded. Inside Muddle's head he heard, "I feel wonderful, my master."

The feeling of well-being carried through with the words and Muddle was relieved. "From now on, Mr. Frog, I have a pocket on my backpack for you. No more risking your life with a fish to catch up to me. You will travel with me henceforth."

A wave of froggy happiness and gratitude washed over Muddle and he knew that he now had a familiar with all the responsibilities and privileges that come with such a responsibility.

Muddle looked out and saw that the dawn had come and gone while conversing with the frog. The sun was marching on his route and well on the way to the top of the hill that men called noon.

Looking down again, he addressed the frog, "Mr. Frog, I don't know if you have had your breakfast yet, but if I am going to get mine before lunch time, I need to get on it. So if you will excuse me, I will see you tonight after I get some work done around the house here."

The frog closed his eyes and bowed his head slightly and hopped outside.

Muddle chuckled to himself and then stirred the embers of the fire to wake them up. He noticed in the morning light that there was a pothook now in the fireplace and he vowed to make use of it the first chance he got.

Getting out some bread and cheese from his pack he made a quick and simple breakfast out of them.

An odd thought crossed his mind, "a shame my Master never made meals appear by magic and taught me. It would certainly make life easier." Then he ate his sandwich and forgot the thought as quickly as it had appeared.

After his breakfast was over, Muddle took some of the glowing embers from the fireplace and put them on the saucer. He carried the small plate to the fire pit in the blacksmith shop. As he suspected, in renewing the shop there was dry wood just waiting to burn and soon he had a good fire beginning.

The sound of the hammer banging out a metallic tune soon rang over the clearing where the house resided. This went on for a while until Muddle emerged stripped to the waist and carrying a pair of buckets. A quick trip to the stream and he returned, buckets full of fresh water. Shortly the banging recommenced.

Before the sun had almost finished his trip down the hill, Muddle emerged with a couple of pieces of metal in his hand and some other bits and pieces. He walked over to the main door and held one of the pieces of metal up. "Perfect," he said to himself as he nailed one side of the hinge to the framework.

He nailed the lower hinge to the framework as well then set about installing their mates on the door. Before the sun had said, 'Good night,' Muddle had the door hung on the new hinges and was happily opening and closing his new door.

"Won't keep the bugs out," he said to himself, "not until I get some glass for those windows. But it was a good day's work all in all."

He took one of the buckets down to the stream and washed himself and then brought the full bucket up to the kitchen just as the stars and the night biters started to come out.

Putting up his ward as he stepped into the house, Muddle felt Mr. Frog was in the kitchen before he saw him. Looking closely he could see the last of a centipede going into the frog's mouth.

"Aren't those things dangerous?" he asked the frog quietly.

"No. Delicious," was the thought he got in return.

"They are all yours," Muddle said. A warm thank you thought was all he got in return.

Muddle poured some water into his cookpot and set it on the pothook to boil. The naiad of the stream had said the water was safe to drink, but he preferred to be safe. Turning to his pack he pulled out some things and added them to cookpot once the water was boiling. Soon he had a hearty stew, which he devoured with relish along with the last of his bread.

Sitting on his bedroll with a full belly, Muddle addressed the frog, "Tomorrow, I need to go into town. If I am where I think I am, it will take me all day to walk there and back. I need some fresh food and as much as I need to get on with my journey, I am loathe to abandon this house until I can make it weather safe in case I return this way again.

"Will you stay and watch over the place? I will set some wards of avoidance to keep most people and critters out. But as my Master used to say, 'Wards are good, but there is nothing like a good pair of eyes to watch out for a place.'"

The frog closed his eyes and let out a soft, "Re-deep". It startled Muddle that the sound the frog made echoed with "Yes" overlaid in it.

Muddle looked at the frog with new respect and said, "Tonight, I think I am going to skip over the next year or so from my tale. It was a pretty uneventful year. I learned all manner of small magics. Mostly small cantrips to do simple things like the wards and healing and finding your direction in the dark and how to infuse mana into potions to make them stronger. Nothing really important happened through that time, even if it was one of the best times of my life. I felt useful, like I did with Berek.

"The next major event in my life with my Master was the day he told me about grimoires. Grimoires are the books of the wizards. They are magical and seem almost alive. A wizard's grimoire will not open for anyone but the wizard that made it. The only exception is if you are trusted by the wizard to be able to open it. I had tried secretly to open my Master's grimoire but even though I could see no lock in it, I couldn't open the cover to peek into it.

"I had just finished the task my Master had set for me. I had been making a dozen or so small healing potions in crystal bottles and I brought them to him for his inspection.

"He looked at them and threw them into a corner. I squeaked a little and he looked at me, 'Those are nothing, mere baubles to sell on the roadside to buy a night's lodging. Real wizards are more than this. Open my grimoire,' he said.

"I went to the stand that he kept his grimoire on and looked back at my Master and said, 'Are there any hand gestures I need to know or cantrips I must do before I may open your grimoire?'

"He just shook his head and said, 'No. You need only have the trust of the wizard that created the book. I trust you.'

"With that, I turned to the book and it opened for me. I could see the first page and it was filled with the simple cantrips I had been learning. When I went to turn the page, it wouldn't turn and I heard my Master laugh. 'I trust you to open the book, I do not trust you with the rest of the contents.'

"Uplifted and crushed at the same time. My Master had made me proud and then humble without lifting a finger. I looked at the page longingly and then closed his grimoire and touched the cover. I could feel the power that the book contained and I was awed by the depth of the magics I could feel in it.

"I was still lost in the sensations when my Master came up and put a hand on my shoulder. I felt like I was swimming and near drowning and the hand of my Master pulled me back. 'You were able to feel the magics in the book?' my Master asked incredulously.

"It took all of my will power to nod. 'You are a very unusual child my apprentice. I was over 100 before I could begin to feel the magic in my Master's grimoire,' my Master said to me.

"He then began to teach me how a grimoire is created. He talked for two days straight. I listened for two days straight. Then as if realizing what had happened, my Master shook himself and looked at me. We had not moved in those two days. I still had my fingertips on his grimoire and my Master still had his hand on my shoulder. He looked at me and said in a dry croaking voice, 'We must eat and drink.'

"With that, whatever spell had bound us was broken. We both almost slumped to the ground. Being younger, I helped my master to a chair and went for water. When I returned, he was looking better.

"Pouring him a tankard of water, he motioned that I should do the same. We both drank a full tankard and filled and drank again. When I was done, I went to get some bread and cheese. I only meant it to hold us until I could get something more filling, but once we began we ate until it was gone and I went to get more.

"When we had finally stopped eating, my Master looked at me and said, 'There is a story my master told of an apprentice and his master that got locked in magic the way we did. He called it a fugue. We became entranced and all of the lore of the grimoires flowed from my grimoire through you to me and I reflected it back as a lesson. If I had taught you just what I know of making a grimoire, we would have been done in an hour or two. But my grimoire must have thought you needed to know more. You probably know more about grimoires than anyone in history. I need not tell you what you must do. But please, sleep in your bed tonight and leave fresh in the morning.'

"I nodded and turned to walk to my bed. When I got there, I fell into it and remembered nothing until morning. My Master was still sitting in his chair when I got up.

"I pulled a pack from under my bed and collected a few tools and some other things. As I shouldered my pack by the door I looked back. My Master was still in his chair. A tear rolled down his cheek as he nodded to me. I turned and walked out the door, not sure if I would ever walk back in.

"I walked east to the edge of the forest and then surveyed the world. I felt a tug from the mountains to the northeast and set my feet in that direction.

"Despite how close they looked, the mountains took me almost a month to walk to the plain in front of their foothills. The tug I felt did not drag me directly to them. It lead me on a winding path as I stopped and did things and helped people along the way.

"I left the camp of the gypsies and headed towards the mountains again. I felt the tug want to pull me east on the fourth day. I was tempted to ignore it because I could see the mountains were north. But every time the tug pulled me, something good happened. So, my curiosity made me go east. An hour later I came upon a wagon. It had hit a hole in the road and broken the wheel. As I approached, a young woman came running from the other side of the wagon directly towards me. Her blouse had a strange brownish pattern on it, which I realized was dried blood when she collapsed into my arms.

"I know you may find it difficult to believe Mr. Frog but beautiful young ladies do not fall into my arms every day. Especially not ones with large gashes on their heads.

"I nearly dropped her three times before I managed to get her sitting on the ground. With me holding her up by the simple expedient of wedging her upright between my legs, I was able to pull a healing potion from my pack.

"Aiming it carefully at the gash on her head, I also pulled some mana and added a healing cantrip for good measure. Immediately the gash began to close and a moment later she woke up and grabbed for support. I would like to say she grabbed my knee, but in all truth, she grabbed higher and got a handful of my half erect cock. She squeezed it a couple of times and I am pretty sure she knew what she was grabbing, but it was a few moments before she removed her hand and I asked if I could help her up.

"Once she was standing she touched her head where the gash had been and was shocked that it was gone. She looked at me and asked with her expression because the words would not come.

"I nodded and then said, 'I had a small amount of a very powerful healing potion and poured some on your wound.' The words would still not come, but she grabbed the front of my shirt and pointed frantically with her other hand. I got the message and began to run with her back to the wagon.

"There was an older man on the other side of the wagon. He was in pretty bad shape. The young lady's eyes implored me. I nodded my head, but I said, 'I do not know if it will be enough to save him. He is hurt very badly. But I will try.'

"I pulled the bottle out of my pack and pulled open his shirt. The dried blood sticking to the shirt hurt him and he moaned. I tipped the bottle and let out a drop directly on what I could see were his broken ribs sticking out of his skin. I drew mana and pushed the strongest healing cantrip I knew at him. As the drop hit him so did the cantrip. Her eyes almost bugged out of her head as she saw the ends of his ribs pull back into his chest. He made a strained hissing sound and then nothing and I feared for the worst. But after a long pause he breathed out and a moment later his breathing sound much easier.