Chapter 88: Procuring Magical Curiosities

The giant raven landed smoothly. Joan jumped down, gently caressing the bird’s neck to thank it for its efforts. Because its vocal cords are so different from a human’s, most giant ravens can understand human speech but have great difficulty speaking it fluently—human pronunciation is simply too complex for them. Nonetheless, the giant raven managed to utter an awkwardly accented “You’re welcome” to Joan, then spread its wings and soared skyward.

The hunting dogs, huddled in the shadows, suddenly found their courage as the great bird departed. They rushed out, barking madly at the sky as if to prove they had not been frightened.

The giant raven paid no mind to this pack of tail-wagging cowards and flew westward, quickly dissolving into the fiery brilliance of the setting sun.

The militia on the watchtower had also spotted the giant raven. With a whistle clenched between his teeth, one hurried over, only to find Joan alone at the town gate, watching the bird’s departure. He scratched his head in confusion and asked what had happened.

“Nothing much. A friend gave me a ride home and unintentionally startled the dogs,” Joan answered simply.

“Oh, as long as it’s nothing!” The sentry breathed a sigh of relief, then turned to glare at the dogs. “Shoo! You bunch of country mutts, barking at nothing as usual!”

Joan smiled, shouldered his pack, and walked into town. When he passed Aunt Barbara’s general store, he paused and decided to go inside to see if there were any new and interesting goods.

The magical curiosities on display were the same as always. Joan was about to leave when Aunt Barbara came toward him. The moment their eyes met, she gasped in shock.

“Joan! What happened to your eye?”

“It’s nothing…” Joan tried to brush it off, but Aunt Barbara’s enthusiasm was relentless. She kept asking questions until Joan was forced to repeat the lie he’d told the Conti family, blaming the loss of his right eye on the soul-stealing sprite.

“My goodness! That wicked sprite should be cursed!” Aunt Barbara cried indignantly.

“It’s already dead. I killed it myself in the fight,” Joan replied.

“Well done, my child! That’s how you deal with a nasty sprite that bullies you! If you ask me, the only real complaint about Alfheim is that there are too many sprites. Did you hear about the waterwheel at Old Flint’s place being wrecked by a nixie?”

Joan had nothing to say and endured her excessive chatter as patiently as he could. Luckily, Aunt Barbara needed to serve other customers and reluctantly closed her “box of stories,” giving Joan a sympathetic hug and kiss on the cheek. “Good child, it’s just one eye—don’t be too upset! By the way, if you find something you like among the curiosities, just take it. Auntie will give you half off!”

“That’s very kind of you!” Joan’s eyes brightened. Rubbing his hands together, he approached the counter, first picking up the “magician’s hat,” then, after a moment’s thought, taking the “face-shield.”

He had wanted to buy these two items for some time, but previously lacked both the funds and the practical need, so he’d never indulged. Now things were different. Aunt Barbara’s half-price offer was a bonus, but the real advantage was that Joan, with his newfound abilities, could use “Rune Magic” to extract and learn the zero-level spells imbued in these curiosities. It was like buying at least three zero-level spell scrolls for a mere ten gold coins—a bargain indeed!

Besides the magician’s hat and face-shield, Joan also bought a heap of food, paid with a handful of gold ducats from the purse Mrs. Conti had given him, and left with a basket full of provisions, bidding farewell to Aunt Barbara as he headed home.

Once home, Joan set down his pack, boiled water to wash away the dust of travel, and changed into clean clothes, feeling refreshed from head to toe.

By then, dusk had fallen. Joan first visited Dr. Kelandir’s clinic, but the tightly locked door showed the doctor had not yet returned. Joan retraced his steps, split the new bread, cheese, and ham in half, and brought some up the hill to his grandfather.

Before entering, Joan was anxious, unsure how to explain the blindness of his right eye. Unexpectedly, his grandfather seemed unfazed by the eyepatch, merely pointing to a letter on the table. “Just received a message from Victor, sent by raven. It details what happened to you in Powhatan village. Victor feels deeply responsible.”

“It wasn’t really an ordeal. The Contis treated me well…” Joan touched his eyepatch. “It was just an accident. It’s not Mr. Kalinin’s fault. If anyone’s to blame, it’s my own carelessness.”

Old Tyrell sighed, leaning on his cane to stand. Joan hurried over to help him. The old man sank back into his armchair, gently stroking his grandson’s right eye, pain and guilt flickering in his gaze. He looked at his crippled leg, then at Joan’s ruined eye. Overcome with grief, his voice broke.

“Joan, I failed to take care of you. I let your parents down…”

Joan had expected only reproach as he entered, never imagining the stubborn, irascible old man would say such things. Hastily, he tried to comfort his grandfather, blurting out whatever came to mind.

“I really am all right! Just think, I was born with an extra eye. Even if one’s gone, I still have two left—it’s plenty!”

Old Tyrell was amused by his grandson’s childlike reasoning, shaking his head in exasperated laughter.

Joan felt awkward in the suddenly tender atmosphere, unsure how to interact with a grandfather so rarely open with his feelings. Rubbing his hands, he said, “Grandpa, I’ll be off now, going up the hill to check on the fruit trees… I wonder where Jamie has disappeared to.”

“Jamie’s in the woods, keeping the ‘gray pouch beast’ company.”

“Uh, you…” Joan stared in surprise. “You already know Gray is hiding in the woods?”

The old man glared at him. “I’m not so senile that I can’t tell a gray pouch beast is living in our woods! Next time, don’t make decisions on your own—just tell me!”

Joan nodded sheepishly, bid his grandfather farewell, and fled the cottage.

There was no shortage of prey in the woods for Gray to hunt, plenty of wild fruit and spring water to drink, shelter in the cottage from wind and rain, and the half-blood winter wolf Jamie for company. Life was comfortable and carefree. If anything was lacking, it was that Joan hadn’t visited in quite some time.

That evening, Gray and Jamie had circled the woods, caught a bold, piebald badger that dared rampage through the orchard, and dragged it home half dead. Jamie, catching his young master’s scent from afar, immediately abandoned Gray, barking joyously as he sprinted toward the woodland cottage.