Book of Heroes: George of Sedona I - 15. The Boy Without Eyes

Chapter 15: The Boy without Eyes

“Gary, do you remember what I said about destiny, and why that makes it dangerous for you and George to be with me?” Arthur asked.

When the boy nodded his head, Arthur continued, “I had planned for us to go to the city of Arcadia. That is where I thought I was going when I left Elvenhold 70 years ago. I have been forced—and now, you along with me—to go west. I thought we were going to Questa. Now, it seems, we must go south. I don’t know what destiny has planned. I don’t know why I cannot seem to get to Arcadia. I want you boys to know, though, that something is bound to happen. The feeling is getting stronger. Keep your eyes and ears open, okay?”

George nodded, his jaw set. Gary nodded, a little more uncertainly, but with spirit. With Arthur in the lead, the boys turned their horses south, toward Albion.

In the fields beside the Royal Road, sheep, goats, and horses nurtured their young. The road curved around a tor. When the road reached the west side of the hill, the boys saw the town of Albion. Hills flanked the town on three sides. The town was surrounded by a palisade. Stone towers at the corners attested to the strength of the walls. The only gate was in the north wall and was reinforced by barbicans. Past the town, the boys saw a stream cascading down the southern hills before wrapping itself around the western side of the city. An aqueduct brought water from the hills to power the town’s mills, fill its fountains, and flush its sewers.

The single guard at the east gate was a boy wearing a tabard that was too large for him, and armed only with a dagger. He sat on a perch above the gate. Next to him was a large brass gong. He did not challenge the boys. It appeared that his duty was only to sound an alarm. He waved in greeting, and smiled, but said nothing. The boys returned the wave and the smile. Everyone they saw inside the town was on foot. Dismounting, they led their horses into the town.

A passer-by had given directions to an inn, and the boys were walking as he had directed when George, who was in the lead, rounded a corner and nearly collided with a boy. “Why don’t you look where you’re going?” was on George’s tongue but the sight of a bandage covering the boy’s eyes stopped George’s words. The boy’s blind, George realized.

“I’m sorry,” George said, “I…I guess I turned the corner too sharply. I nearly ran into you. Oh! Careful! You’re about to walk into the side of a horse!”

By this time, Gary and Arthur had entered the narrow street. The blind boy stepped back and touched the wall of the building. “You can pass, now,” he said “All three of you and your horses.” He paused, and then held out a wooden bowl. “May I have a penny, please?”

George reached into a pocket and brought out a silver shilling. Before he could drop it into the bowl, Arthur closed his hand over George’s, and then dropped a copper penny into the bowl.

“Why didn’t you let me put the shilling into the boy’s bowl?” George protested when the boy was out of earshot. “He was blind!”

“Father used to tell us a story about that,” Gary said. “Would you like to hear it?”

The Beggar Prince

A hundred lifetimes ago, Gary began, —at least that’s what Father always said—, there lived a prince. The prince lived in a castle and was guarded by soldiers. The prince could not leave the castle without a guard of soldiers, because his father, the king, loved his son and wanted to protect him.

As the king grew older, the prince realized that soon it would be time for him to become king. He was worried that he had never seen his kingdom or its people except from behind a line of soldiers. So, the prince took ragged clothing from the laundry. Putting on the rags over his own clothes, the prince slipped out of the castle and into the town.

The prince journeyed far, and learned many things. One thing he learned was about three men who were friends—or who pretended to be friends. Each worked to show himself better than the others. When the smith bought a new robe, the brewer bought a new robe with gilded trim. Then, the merchant bought a robe with gilded trim and slippers to match. When the merchant bought a carriage, the smith bought a carriage and a pair of matched grays to pull it. Then the brewer bought a closed carriage with velvet seats pulled by a pair of coal black horses. And so it went, year after year.

One day, the three men were walking together through a mean part of town when they encountered a beggar, dressed in tatters and holding a bowl in front of him as he squatted on the edge of the street. The beggar asked for a penny.

The merchant reached into his purse and took out a silver shilling and put it into the beggar’s bowl. The smith smirked slightly as he put a golden crown into the bowl. The brewer dropped a noble into the bowl to clank against the other two, less valuable coins.

Brigands who had been watching from the shadows seized the purses of the three men, and would have killed them, too, had not the beggar, who was really the prince, thrown off his rags and chased them away with his sword.

‘You have escaped with your lives, if not your wealth,’ the prince said as he clipped his sword to his belt. ‘It is more seemly to offer beneficence quietly. It’s a lot safer, too.’

The moral of the story is not to show off your wealth. At best it is overweening; at worst it might get you killed.

*****

“I know that story, too, Gary,” Arthur said, tousling the boy’s hair. “You told it well.”

Gary blushed at Arthur’s praise. Arthur continued, “It’s about custom, George. It is custom that beggars not ask for more than a penny, and that an almoner—that’s you, in this case—not give more. Custom is a funny thing. Sometimes there seems to be no logical reason for a custom. Yet, if everyone follows the custom, things seem to go more smoothly. For instance, it’s custom that a woman’s husband walk on her right, but an escort who is not her husband walk one step behind her and one step to her right. There’s a reason for that custom…most people are right-handed, and a swordsman can better protect someone from that position. It also lets people know if the escort is the woman’s husband, or not.

“I don’t know if the custom of the beggar’s penny started because of the story…which is told to human and elven children…or if the story was made up after the custom was started. Now, they reinforce one another.”

“Why do you suppose the boy is still blind, and hasn’t been healed,” Gary asked. “Do you suppose he’s like I was? That his D…DNA is messed up?”

“That could be,” Arthur replied. “Or perhaps whatever disease or injury caused his blindness was just too complicated or difficult for the local healers.”

*****

The boys had easily found the inn, and were settling into their room when Gary yelled, “Cockroach!” He lifted his boot to throw it at the bug scuttling across the floor.

“Wait!” George said, “You don’t have to kill it!”

“But they’re nasty,” Gary said. However, he stayed his hand.

“Watch this,” George said, weaving his fingers through the magical field. Before the cockroach could reach the corner, George had created a strand of magic, and cast it around the insect. The bug’s momentum caused it to flip on its back, where it lay, wriggling its legs in frustration.

“Can you pick it up?” Arthur asked.

George slowly moved toward the roach. When he was nearly on top of it, he carefully raised his hand, tugging at the threads of magic that had ensnared the bug. The bug continued to wriggle, but did not rise from the floor.

“No, it’s still too heavy,” George said, disappointed.

“But you stopped it!” Gary said. “Why can’t you lift it?”

Although Gary looked at Arthur when he asked the question, it was George who responded. “It’s momentum compared to work.” Gary’s forehead furrowed in puzzlement, and George continued. “His momentum is his mass times his velocity—think weight times speed. It took only that much energy to stop him. To lift him against gravity is mass times acceleration which is a lot more energy.”

“Close, George, but for the sake of accuracy, think kinetic energy of his motion, at one half mass times the square of velocity, rather than momentum. And think about the duration of the spell, rather than just about the amount of energy,” Arthur said.

George thought for a moment. “It’s like you’ve said before,” he said. “Power is energy applied over time…and I still have trouble holding spells for more than a short time.” He thought for a moment, and then added, “Especially when I don’t take time to prepare.”

“That’s pretty much it, George,” Arthur said. “But your spell was a good one. Clean and fast. And it worked. It did what you wanted it to do, which was to stop the bug. Now, cast it differently to lift the bug.”

“Wait a minute!” George said as he bent closer to the insect. “It’s got legs on its head. Yuck!”

“A mutation of some sort,” Arthur said. “Probably in what are called the HOX genes. They’re the ones that control development. They tell other genes what to do and when to do it. Mutations like this are not uncommon in fruit flies, but cockroaches have some of the toughest DNA around.”

*****

Joy, beautiful spark of Gods,
Daughter of Elysium,
We enter, fire-imbibed,
…thy sanctuary.
—Ode to Joy, from Beethoven’s 9^th Symphony

The blind boy was in the common room of the inn when the companions went to supper. He was sitting by the hearth in which a pine wood fire burned. The chimney drew well, so the room was relatively smoke free, although the cost was a draft of cold air that flowed along the floor from a crack under the outer door.

The boy held a lute, and carefully tuned its strings. By the time the Arthur, George, and Gary had filled their trenchers from the platters and kettle on the sideboard, the boy had begun to play.

George nearly dropped his spoon into his soup. “That’s Greensleeves,” he said excitedly. “I know that song!”

“It’s My Love Wears Green,” Gary said. “It’s Mother’s favorite.” The boy was suddenly silent.

The potboy brought the minstrel a mug, placing it in the boy’s hand. As the minstrel tilted the mug to drink, the bandage that covered his eyes slipped off. George, who was facing the minstrel, stifled a gasp, and grabbed Arthur’s hand. Afraid even to whisper, he gestured for Arthur to look at the minstrel. The boy has no eyes, Arthur thought. Never did, apparently.

The boy’s face was blank. There were no scars, nothing but smooth skin stretched where eyes might have been. The boy quickly re-tied the bandage, and began another song.

“Gary, you’ve hardly said a thing since the minstrel began to play,” Arthur whispered to the boy. “How to you feel?”

“I’m okay,” the boy said. “I…I kind of miss my family.” He sniffled, and then smiled. “But you and George…I’m happy with you.”

Arthur hugged the boy close and kissed his forehead. “I’m glad that you are happy, Gary. Let’s write a letter to your family, tomorrow. We may not be able to get a reply, but they will know you are okay.”

After supper, the companions returned to their room and prepared for sleep. “How does he know Greensleeves?” George asked.

“Just as some languages exist in similar forms on more than one world, some songs…actually, more often the tunes than the words…have gone from world to world,” Arthur replied. “Greensleeves is one; Beethoven’s Ode to Joy from his ninth symphony is another—although the words I’ve heard are entirely different from anything Beethoven would have imagined, I think.”

“What about the boy’s eyes?” Gary said, asking the question that was on everyone’s mind.

“It’s like the cockroach,” George said. “At least, it’s like the HOX genes, isn’t it?”

“You mean, instead of legs coming from his head, he just got nothing?” Gary asked.

“That’s a reasonable assumption,” Arthur said. “It seems that he never had eyes. But what’s the real question?”

Gary and George looked at one another. Gary looked puzzled. George looked pensive. At last, Gary spoke, “The real question is why are there a boy with no eyes and a cockroach with legs instead of eyes in the same town. Is that it?”

“And,” George added, “Why did we see them. Is it destiny?”

“Those are certainly the right questions,” Arthur replied. “Let’s look for answers, tomorrow.” He blew out the candle.

Thunder and heavy rain drumming on the slate roof of the inn filled the night. The boys wakened several times, and what little sleep they got was restless. The next day dawned brightly, but the companions were slow to rise. By the time they reached the common room, breakfast had been reduced to bread and cheese. The bread was fresh, however, and—spurred by a florin—the potboy found a bowl of strawberries.

After breakfast and tending the horses, Arthur led the boys on a walk through Albion. The town was like any farm market town on a non-market day. The streets were not busy; many of the shops were closed. The square was nearly deserted except for a few children splashing in the water of the fountain.

Water flowed from the fountain in four streams. The streams ended in drains in the plaza. From there, the water flushed the town’s sewers before emptying into the river. The river cleaned itself through natural processes, miles before it reached another town. George walked to the fountain and cupped his hands to take a drink. With a startled cry, he jumped back, hastily wiping his hands on his tunic.

“Too cold?” Gary asked.

“No! It’s…it’s poisoned, like the supper at the warehouse!” George said.

Arthur approached and looked at the fountain. “I don’t see poison, but there is something. What do you hear, George?”

“Well,” the now calm boy said, “It jangles like poison, but there’s also a faint, shrill, screeching sound.”

The children stopped their play, and stared at the strangers. Two ran away, while one, more bold than the others, asked, “Who are you? What’s wrong with the water?”

Arthur held his hand briefly in the stream, then answered, “I am a healer. This water is not poisoned, but it is unsafe to drink. Please do not play in it any more until we can find out what is wrong with it.”

By this time, the children who had run away had brought reinforcements: their fathers, one of whom was an official of some sort.

“What do we have here?” the man said. “Who are you, and what have you been telling these children about the water? We don’t need troublemakers…”

Arthur replied as he had to the child, earlier. “My name is Arthur; I am a healer. There’s something in this water…not much, but enough…that makes it unsafe to drink. I would ask you not to drink, and to call your own healers to verify what I’ve said.”

“We’ll do just that,” the man said. “You wait here.”

The man returned with not only a cleric-healer, but also the entire town council. A smith, who held the post of reeve, seemed to be in charge. He began blustering at Arthur, but deferred to an older man who arrived a few minutes later and was introduced as the Town Master.

“Now then,” the man said. “What’s this disturbance about? What’s so important…?”

“This one,” the smith said, pointing to Arthur, “says that there’s something wrong with the water. We don’t need troublemakers…”

The cleric who had quietly spoken with Arthur and then felt the water, interrupted. “There is something there,” the cleric agreed. “I can’t tell what it is, only that there’s something Dark about the water. In any case, this boy isn’t a troublemaker. He’s alerted us to a real danger.”

The cleric returned to his examination of the water, but shook his head. “It’s too dilute for me to understand it,” he said.

“We could concentrate it from the water,” Arthur suggested. When the Town Master agreed, Arthur spoke quietly to George and Gary. “Do you remember the spell we used to seine for gold?”

The boys nodded. “But what will you use for a model?” George asked. “You had a sample of gold, but we don’t know what this is.”

“So, how can we do it?” Arthur asked. “Any ideas?”

The boys looked at one another. Gary’s eyes flashed, and he spoke first. “Make a net that passes water!”

“Yeah!” George said. “You know what water’s supposed to look like…aitch-two-oh!”

Gary stared at George. “That’s Smith Guild secrets!” he whispered.

“Not where I come from,” George replied.

Arthur carefully melded the power from the matrix offered by the cleric. When he was ready, he looked at Gary and raised his eyebrows. Gary concentrated, imagining the structure of a water molecule. Using that pattern, Arthur replicated it to create a net of magical energy over the orifice where the water entered the fountain.

“It’s getting louder!” George said.

“Hot!” Gary said. “It’s hot!”

“That’s all I think we can safely handle,” Arthur gasped, dropping a small blob of gunk into a wooden bowl.

Arthur took the boys aside.

“Gary, do you know a metal, silvery-white, that weighs about 12 times as much as water, which makes four links, and which is a slow poison?”

The boy thought, then answered, “Silver? Four links? That heavy? No…nothing.”

“George?”

“Silver-white? Uranium’s silver white, but I don’t know its density. Is it uranium? Something else radioactive?” George replied.

“Exactly,” Arthur said. “Thorium. It’s a natural element. It’s found in some ores. One of its isotopes has a half-life of over 10 billion years. The real problem is that it’s incredibly rare…there’s a lot more in that bowl than there should be.”

“Are we being exposed?” George asked.

“No, there’s not that much,” Arthur replied. “And, I put a shielding spell over it. I did not want to tell you when others could hear. It’s probably not a good idea to get people on World thinking about radioactivity…”

Gary’s furrowed his brow. “Huh? What are you guys talking about?” But Arthur had turned back to the town officials.

“I’ll tell you, later,” George whispered to Gary. “What are they saying?”

“It’s some kind of poison,” the cleric said. “I’ve not seen anything like it, before.”

“A heavy metal,” the smith offered. “Don’t know what it is, but any heavy metal can be poison.”

“I recognize it,” Arthur said. “That is, I have read about it, but not seen it, before. It is a poison, but it acts differently from, say, a vegetable alkali. This poison acts more like Veratum.” Arthur said. George and Gary looked puzzled. The cleric nodded.

“If a ewe eats the veratum plant early in pregnancy, the lamb will be born with a deformed face: usually a single eye, nose, and mouth. They don’t live very long,” the cleric said. “You’re saying the metal…Oh!”

The cleric’s face grew ashen. The smith and Town Master were slower to react. When they did, their faces fell.

“For some three decades we’ve experienced monstrous births, in cycles, about every seven years,” the cleric began. “Most don’t survive for more than a few hours. A few live for a few days. No more than two or three live longer than that.

“The blind boy? The one with no eyes?” Gary asked, softly.

There was silence. The townsmen looked at one another. “Yes,” said the miller. “He is my son. He was born less than a year after the earthquake. He was conceived about the time of the earthquake, in fact. Twice he’s told us twice of a danger from the water. Twice we didn’t believe him.”

“What earthquake? And when’s the last time anyone looked at the head end of the aqueduct?” Arthur asked.

“About thirty years ago there was an earthquake centered in the mountains. We felt it here. There was no damage in the town, but a section of the aqueduct in the hills collapsed. We repaired it…we helped the army repair it, that is…there’s a camp about a day’s ride west. A couple of people rode to the lake that feeds the aqueduct and reported no further damage,” the smith summarized.

“I think it’s time to look, again,” Arthur said. “And I’d like to talk to your son, Master Miller.”

“He’s at the school,” the cleric offered, “singing to the children.”

The miller’s son was sitting on a bench in front of the temple. Several children sat on the ground, listening as he sang a ballad. Abruptly, the boy stopped singing. Moments later, the three women who were chaperoning the children rose to their feet. The cleric, the Town Master, and Arthur, followed by George and Gary, rounded a corner, and approached the temple.

“Theo,” the cleric said, “please come to the refectory. School is dismissed for the day. Mistresses, please take the children to the square. The reeve is there and will explain.”

Theo sat on a stool against the wall of the refectory, idly strumming his lute. The cleric invited the Town Master to sit at the head of a long table while Arthur and the boys sat facing Theo.

“You were at the inn last night,” Theo said, abruptly, turning his head to face Arthur. “And you,” he said, turning toward George, “were there, too. It was your horse I almost walked into yesterday afternoon.”

“You…I don’t recognize you…but there was a short one last night with the other two.”

Gary flushed when he realized Theo had called him, the short one.

Theo put down his lute.

“Theo,” the cleric began, “we ignored your warning about the water seven years ago, and seven years before that. We were wrong. It took strangers, these boys you just spoke to, to show us. I’m sorry. I will forever be sorry. That is my burden, though.

“Theo, one of these boys is a healer. His name is Arthur, and he wants to talk to you about what you…what you saw about the water…” The cleric stumbled over his words and turned to Arthur.

“Theo, my name is Arthur. On my right is George. On my left, is Gary. I am a healer and a mage. George and Gary are my apprentices.

“You see my face in the echo of the lute, don’t you, Theo?” Arthur asked. “What did you see in the water?”

Theo picked up his lute and strummed a C minor chord. “I see your face, Arthur. It is a kind face and a good face, but it has seen much that is neither kind nor good.”

He turned his head slightly as he continued to strum the lute. “I see your face, George. It is an eager face.”

Theo turned his face toward Gary. “I see your face, Gary. I’m sorry I called you the short one. I know you, now. Your face is bright and keen—and beautiful. Will you share boy magic with me?”

Gary instantly looked to Arthur, who as quickly nodded.

“Yes, thank you, Theo, I would be happy to share with you. Later, though, if you please. Arthur is worried about the water. George heard a nasty sound from it and knew it was poisoned. What did you see?”

Theo once again put down his lute. “I saw a silver sword. Oh yes, I know what a sword looks like. I’ve felt one, even held one. But this sword sparkled. And the sparkles were tiny, evil faces. I saw the same sparkles in Mistress Danes just before she died.”

“Mistress Danes died nearly 10 years ago of cancer,” the cleric said.

“Theo, it appears that you can see an image not just of what the poison is, but what it can do. The poison is a silvery metal; and it causes harmful changes in the body’s cells, sometimes creating a cancer,” Arthur said. “If those changes affect the somatic cells…those involved in reproduction…the child can be affected…as you were.

“We will ride, with some townsmen, to the hills to try to find the source of the poison. Will you come with us?”

*****

Theo and Gary had spent the entire night talking, or so it seemed. They were both exhausted at breakfast.

“It’s a good thing we’re not traveling, today,” Arthur said. “I don’t think either of you could stay on a horse.”

“I couldn’t stay on a horse, in any case,” Theo said. “I’ve never ridden one.”

“He’s going to ride with me,” Gary asserted, looking at Arthur.

Arthur nodded. “Of course he is.”