I knew the herbs. They were some of the many that my grandfather had shown me when I was a young kid, and was just learning the ways of the Hermit from him. They were fairly common, and I knew where to find them, but Mothwort in particular grew in a very specific environment. One that I hadn’t seen when coming in from Alfden. I turn around and approach the man waving through carts, and checking the papers of those coming in through the gate. He wears a blue doublet and leather arm guards, and a wide-brimmed iron helmet. 

“Excuse me.” I call as I approach. 

The man leans on his spear and waves another wagon in. 

“Do you need something, boy?” He asks. 

He peers at me from beneath his kettle helmet. 

“Do you know of any pine forests nearby?” I ask, “Even just a wood.” 

“A pine forest?” He taps his foot, “I believe there is one about a days walk that way.” He points beyond the bridge. “If you continue eastwards a bit, about an hour past the Talking Elk In, you’ll come across a three-way fork in the road. Take the right one, it’ll lead you to them. Though it’s not a really a place people travel to.” He says, “Not sure there’s even a town out that way.” 

“Thank you.” 

He smiles at me. 

“Not a problem, Guildsmen.” He says, “Saw you looking at your journal. Good luck.” He gives me a pat on the shoulder before I head down the mile long, marble and stone bridge. 

As I leave the shadow of the gate, I nearly stumble over as a strong gust of wind roars over the bridge. My cloak flutters and my hood gets ripped off of my head and dangles behind me. I hold it still as it pulls against my throat. My teeth chatter as a bit of the ocean’s spray gets mixed with the wind and soaks my shirt and cloak. When the wind finally dies down I tuck the loose bits of cloth of the cloak inside of my shirt, and under my belt. 

There were a few other bursts of wind like that as I made my way across the bridge. Two other people were stationed outside of the Red Gate watching the flow of traffic. They wave me on my way as I head eastwards down the Dullahan Road. Few people travel with me, as it is nearly midday, and getting caught out in the wilds in the middle of the night wasn’t something that appealed to a lot of people. My grandfather had taught me ways to keep myself safe when camping, even when sleeping. 

The most common of these plants was the Sheep’s Head — a flower that stayed around all year, in various forms. For most of the year they took the appearance of small, ground crawling plants with thin, fingered leaves that ended in a triangular point. When cut and put on an open wound, the leaves encourage the blood to clot, and the wound to begin to seal. The roots, when chewed, had a pain killing effect. Normally, they were hard to spot; especially in their preferred habitat of sunny, grassy fields, or in hidden meadows in forests. During early summer, however, a fluffy white cluster of seeds sprout from the top, to be carried away by the wind. This time of year, then, was the best time to find them. 

The road climbs for a while, before, and after a couple of hours, and after I cut through a few hills, the Great Blue fades on the horizon, though the scent of salt still tinges the air. Eventually, however, the climbing tapers off and I’m left climbing along a fairly flat plain, surrounded on all sides by grassy knolls, with pleasant smelling flowers growing on their slopes. By the time the Talking Elk comes into view I have already picked 15 of the Sheep Heads. Roots and all. They were wrapped in one the spare shirts that my mother had insisted that I packed. Most of the people coming from Dullahan, and walking along with me along the road turned to go into the Talking Elk; but as I had no money, and due to the urgency written in the request, I continued on my way to make it to the pine forest that the guard mentioned before dark, and set up camp there. There was a well out front with the sign, “Free for members of the Guild and the Militia.” I drink what’s left of my water skin, and refill it inside of the well. 

The sun nears the western skies when I finally find the three- way fork.  Along the way I picked about ten more Sheep’s Head and a slew of other edible herbs along the way. The only food I had at the moment was a couple loaves of bread that I had packed the day I left Alfden; a week and a half prior. The wild mint and nettle I found would go well in a stew. My stomach rumbles and I pull out one of the loaves. I tear off a sizable chunk, and a leaf from the mint. I chew on both, swallow the bread, and keep the mint leaf in my mouth.

Once again, as I take the fork on the right as the man at the gate said, the path begins to climb. Higher and higher it climbs. Eventually, by the time oranges and purples hold the sky, I spot the first of the trees. It is a large thing. Towering over the birch, oaks and sycamores that had been making up the majority of the trees he had been seeing at that point. He approached it. It was larger than the trees back in Shepherd’s Stead, and much lighter. While the ones in the mountains back north were a much darker brown, the bark on this one seemed almost red. It was also thicker, and more fragile. I was able to tear a rather large chunk of it. 

Figuring this was as good of a place as any, I begin setting up camp. There’s a clearing in the trees, and off of the path, a bit further north. I first scrounge up some twigs and branches from the nearby woods, and set them in a pile. After that I pull out my rolled up sleeping pad inside of my satchel, and set it up. I take two of the largest branches, and break them apart until they’re even, then I stake them into the ground. I pull a bit of the bark away from one of the greener twigs and use it as a string to tie my cloak to the branches. I stretch out my cloak over my sleeping pad, and hold the bottom part of it down with some nice sized stones. 

It’s nearly dark by the time I begin digging out a fire pit into the pliable soil beneath the black, rotting duff. When that is finished I once more open up my satchel and tear off the white, fluffy heads of one of the Sheep’s Heads, and put it in the middle of the hole. After, I pile twigs over it in the rough shape of a triangle by sticking their ends into the walls of the pit. I pull out a rod of iron from my satchel, and a well-used piece of flint. I struck one against the other, and a spark leapt to life from the rod. It took a couple of times before one of the sparks leapt onto the pile of seeds. As soon as the spark touched, the seeds ignited in the blink of an eye with an audible rush of wind. And it wasn’t long that the triangular structure began to burn as well. 

As the fire illuminates the nearby area, I pick up one of the remaining branches, and break it off at a point. I drag it through the duff in a circle around my camp, stopping once I join both ends. I drop the stick back in the pile, sit down, and put my hand over the circle. I take a deep breath, and begin doing what my grandfather had shown me. 

“The first Wheel.” He had said, “Draws in energy from the earth. It is located at your feet.” 

I take another deep breath, and set my feet against the ground. With the breath I imagine a great stream of energy beginning to be pulled up from the depths of the earths an into my body. It is the color of mud at first. With another breath, the wheel in my feet begin to turn and draw in the stream of energy, pushing it upwards. The color of light emitting from the stream changes from the dull, muddy brown, and a ruby red. 

“After that, you’ll discover the second wheel, It lies in between your waist and your knees. It refines the energy so that it can go into your body without poisoning you.” 

Another deep breath turns the second wheel. It pulls the stream into it, and upwards into my body. The wheel turns three times before the color changes from ruby red, to a citrine orange. 

“The third wheel is at your navel.” My grandfather said, “When it gets there you’re able to utilize it.”

“What do you mean?” I remember asking him. 

“While you can’t store it just yet, you’re able to use the energy you pull out of the earth, like this.” 

He took a deep breath, and another and another. He grabbed the end of a stick that he had been using to draw the circle in the earth. It already had grooves eaten into it by some manner of insect. The grooves started to glow a golden yellow before he tossed it, and before it managed to hit the ground it exploded into countless wooden shards. Many embedded themselves into the ground and into the trees nearby. I remember the sound of the exploding wood nearly stole my breath. 

“You can begin to store mana in your body when you discover your fourth wheel. After that, there are three others. One in your throat, one in between your eyes, and another at the top of your head. Only when you find them all, will you fully delve into the realm of magic, and only then can you call yourself an apprentice.” 

I was seven then. He died that year protecting Shepherd’s Stead. I take another breath and my third wheel begins to turn. It took me a whole ten years to find this wheel without his help. And only then did I decided to join the Guild. The energy is drawn into the wheel and refined to a golden yellow. I then begin directing the energy through my arm and into the circle. A golden light begins forming through it like a ring of fire. When the yellow circle connects with itself I finish, and the energy still flowing through me begins to reverse it course, turning back to the muddy brown as it flows back into the earth. The ring of mana, according to my grandfather’s explanation, would conceal all that was within it. 

“Phew.” I sigh, and wipe the hot sweat on my brow on my sleeve. I pull out another one of my shirts from my satchel and wrap my shoulders with it as I lay on my sleeping pad, and slowly fall asleep.