The day began like so many others, with the scent of damp earth as autumn approached, the crackle of firewood in the hearth, and a sweet aroma filling the room. The sun had barely peeked over the hills when I was already in the shed, surrounded by jars, herbs hanging from the ceiling, and the incessant buzzing of insects seeking warmth.
The work wasn't difficult, but it was repetitive: grinding roots into powder, carefully measuring the water boiling in the cauldrons, drying leaves under the right heat of the fire. I took care of the heavier tasks, chopping wood and moving sacks of soil, something tedious if not for the fact that at some point my strength had increased on a routine day.
Grandmother Rita, on the other hand, seemed immune to the passing hours. Sitting by the table with infinite patience, she cut green stems with the precision of a surgeon. Each leaf fell into the basket with a slight rustle, each movement was gentle, as if the plants themselves were yielding to her. I watched her in silence, thinking that in my world, someone with such mastery would be remembered as a teacher. Here, however, she was nothing more than the "old woman of remedies."
"Don't spend so much time staring," she scolded without lifting her gaze. "The work won't do itself."
"I just wonder how you keep your hands from ever trembling," I replied with a tired smile.
"Discipline," she answered, and the knife slid again without hesitation.
Dinner still steamed on the table when the first knocks came at the door. It wasn't a visit, it was a siege: angry voices, multiplying footsteps, torches lighting up the yard. We went out together, Rita in front and I just behind her, and what we saw froze my blood: half the village gathered, the parents of Ilmar and Trodan at the front.
"Your creature attacked our sons!" shouted Bret, the hunter, his face red and his arm pointing at me. "He's a danger, a bad omen!"
Although they all seemed angry, it was clear that some were moderates, too afraid to approach Rita and be recognized. I couldn't judge them; they were caught between the pressure of a few who wielded too much power in the small politics of the village, like the hunter and the butcher.
The shouting continued, and some even dared to blame what seemed to be a poor harvest in their gardens.
Rita's silence emboldened them, as some seemed to think she was cowering before the crowd, and that was why she said nothing against the accusations being made against me."You must cast out that monster at the end of the season," Bret, thrilled by what was happening, felt in a position to give the order.
"Though it's obvious I'm no longer as young as in those days, I haven't grown any more foolish. If you bother me again with your stupidity, I don't think I'll want to keep tending to your family… nor to anyone else in this village," Rita declared, with a calm so sharp it seemed to cut the very air. Her eyes, serene but firm, settled on the woman who until then had not dared open her mouth.
The silence grew heavy, almost unbearable, and the embers of the bonfire crackled as the only sound among them all. Rita, however, had not finished. She stepped forward, her shadow stretching under the trembling light.
"And if you truly intend to cast Dirhaël out of these lands, let something be clear: I will leave with him. Take your complaints, your whispers, and your stones, because I will not leave him at the mercy of your ignorance or your cowardice. He is my grandson, and as long as I breathe, there will be no corner of this world where he is abandoned without me at his side."
A murmur swept through the crowd, like an uneasy wind that didn't know where to blow. The parents shifted in place, unable to meet her gaze. Rita never raised her voice, but every word echoed in the silence she had drawn. No one dared to reply. Deep down, everyone knew the village would not survive a winter without the medicine and knowledge of that woman. And though none would admit it aloud, more than one feared to discover what would happen if one day she truly turned against them."I'm very sorry, Lady Rita, I swear I won't bother you again. I'll take care of it personally, forgive everything that happened, Dirhaël," said Bret's wife, Minle, as she dragged her husband away."Wait," said the grandmother, stepping into the house only to fetch an ointment.
"Give this to the children before bed, rub it over the bruises, and they'll feel better by morning."Minle, grateful, took the jar; I noticed, however, how her hand trembled as she did so, and immediately she rushed off with her whole family in tow."I'm sorry, grandmother," I said with true regret, but a tap on my shin interrupted me, followed by the sternest tone I had ever heard from Rita."Listen to me, Dir. I know you've always been a very independent boy, but every time you face something you cannot handle, these old bones will always be there for you. There are problems you still cannot solve, and that is no burden to me. Now go quickly and prepare dinner. Violence cannot be your first answer to mockery, but we will speak of that later."
"Stop bothering her," ordered Rita, tugging at the tips of my ears, "your duty is to take care of her and make sure she's well; you assumed that burden when you saved her." A meow accompanied her words, just as a furry creature leapt from the table to her shoulders and walked across them naturally.
"She's ungrateful, I do everything for her and all I get are mockeries," I replied while insulting the animal with all kinds of gestures, taking advantage of the fact that grandmother had her back turned.
The animal in question was a cat. I had found her in the forest with a broken leg and malnourished. As a true animal lover, I couldn't leave her abandoned there, so I brought her home with the commitment to take care of her. But she ended up falling in love with her grandmother to the point of following her everywhere, something Rita adored, to the extent of letting her climb onto her lap and even wait for her on her daily walks.
"Hurry up, I want to be home before sunset."
We were gathering wild plants before winter, as we did every year. Five years had passed since the problem with Ilmar and Trodan. I had gone from meditating, feeling the energy around and within me, to forcing its circulation; something that had only proven more useful for recovering my energy after training.
"You know I can do this alone; you shouldn't have to come with me," I told grandmother, loading another bag onto my back.
I didn't know how old Rita was, but I didn't care much. If not for her appearance, I wouldn't believe she was an old woman; though lately, animals were very alert, and there were fewer and fewer sightings of small prey in the nearby forests.
"You would if not for those dark circles under your eyes. I can't entrust this to someone with a history of falling asleep in the middle of the meadow," she replied, waving her arms with reproach written all over her face.
That had happened when I was practicing mana circulation: I concentrated so much that I forgot my surroundings and exhausted my reserves, so more than sleeping, I was unconscious. Since that day, I have only practiced in my room.
Still, lately I've had problems: I feel like I'm close to a bottleneck.
Even so, my abilities have improved more than I thought. The active circulation of my mana increases my physical abilities; I've tried to produce supernatural effects, like controlling elements, but I've made no progress in that aspect. Even so, the physical improvement doesn't disappoint me, and I progress faster than I expected.