“And why would I want to give King Silverborne a message for you?” Thealos demanded. “He’s the ruler of Avisahn, not his daughter.” He was grateful that the stranger had saved him from Tannon’s Band. But he didn’t feel any more certain that he was free.
The reply came in perfect Silvan. “Silverborne is a doting old fool who can’t even remember his name anymore. It’s quite obvious to anyone with sense that his daughter is the one who truly rules. But you already knew that. They would listen to you if what you knew could save them. I’m doing this because I’m a friend of the Shae.” Jaerod’s dialect was fluent. “Or should I say, I’m a Shaefellow. What is your name?”
“Thealos Quickfellow.”
“Thealos Quickfellow,” the other whispered. “Now that is a proper Silvan name. Is it from your father’s or your mother’s family?”
“If you know so much about my people, you should already know that,” Thealos answered. The dialect was fluent, but that didn’t increase Thealos’ trust. “Quickfellow. It comes from…”
“Your Correl’s naturally,” Jaerod finished. “But that’s not how it was done before Ravindranath. Back then, the father’s name split with the mother’s – if they were both noble blood. Silvermere became Silverborne. Only between nobles though.”
Thealos stared at him curiously. “You know the Shae well for a human.”
Jaerod looked at him blandly. “I’ll try and take that as a compliment.” He squatted low in front of Thealos, examining the cuts and bruises. “If I’m finished impressing you with how well I speak your language, perhaps I can help you. You won’t get to Sol very quickly in this condition, so we’d better do something about it.”
Thealos hadn’t promised to go with him yet, but he held his tongue. “Are you a healer?”
The stranger nodded and went to a damp pouch at his waist. Thealos watched the quick fingers untie the strings. He stared apprehensively, expecting to see the flat brown leaves of tobac-flower wet with stinging juttleberry juice. It made a salve that stung worse than hornets but it was effective in curing most wounds. Instead, the stranger turned over the pouch and withdrew a dripping clump of green moss. It was green with streaks of blue and even violet. Thealos had never seen moss like that before – not in the darkest forests of Avisahn.
“Are you ready, Thealos?” Jaerod asked, holding the clump.
“What is that?”
“Show me your hand.”
Thealos leaned forward, grunting with the pain in his ribs. He extended his grubby palm towards the stranger, curious. Jaerod took the moss and pressed the cool wet mass into Thealos’s hand.
Silvan magic. There was a whirlwind of sound and color that rushed through Thealos’ senses like a storm. His back arched with the jolt and shock of it, as if tongues of soothing fire caressed him. It didn’t burn his skin – it burned inside his heart hotter and hotter. He felt the Silvan magic penetrate him, seeking and twisting through his marrow and joints, playing across his back. It was wonderful, tantalizing. The buds of the moss smelled like flowers and fresh thyme. The crooked break in his arm fused itself whole, the gashes and stab-wounds of his back knitted closed. He watched with astonishment as the cut in his leg closed shut, leaving no trace, no scar. The chorus swelled in his ears, music unlike anything he had heard. He savored it. Relished it. Feasted on it! He could not have spoken his own name if he had wanted to. Gasping for breath, Thealos felt the magic heal him. Even the spot on the back of his head where Cropper had clubbed him. He no longer remembered the pain.
It lasted only moments. The savory rush winked out, banished back into the colorful moss. It shriveled with the efforts. But Thealos stared at it in his open palm, feeling the power hidden within its damp spores.
Jaerod uncorked a flask of water and poured it out over the plant. It was fresh river water, cold and icy. Thealos’ fingers went numb, but he stared at the magic he cupped in his hand. As the water drenched the buds, they slowly quivered, sending out fresh little shoots. It was smaller than before, but it was still living, still growing.
Jaerod cocked his head. “Now are you ready to listen to what I have to say?”
“This is Silvan magic,” Thealos said in awe, looking at him anew.
“I know. The Shae brought it here.”
“Here?”
“To this world,” Jaerod explained. “It is the strongest of the Earth magics from the world the Shae came from. And it thrives very nicely here too.”
“What is it?” Thealos demanded.
“Its name is the same in both tongues. We call it Everoot.”
“Everoot.” He stared down at the colorful moss. It still tingled in his hand, whispering to his Shae senses comfortingly. “The magic is still there, I can feel it.”
“I know,” the stranger said with a nod. “And I knew you would.” He opened the small sack and brought it closer for Thealos to look within. There was more of the Everoot inside.