Lake of Power: A Red Horn Universe Novel

By Mickey Asteriou

Long ago, magic had been extinguished from their world... It had become a thing of myth and legend...but then it returned. A young woman named Kedra is able to communicate with werebears, who had been silenced for generations. A young man named Jessen uncovers a mystical power which allows him to heal with his touch. But there are others who covet this power, who insist they deserve it more. And they will do whatever they can to claim the power and make it theirs and theirs alone... Lake of Power is an extension of The Red Horn Saga by JR Mabry and Mickey Asteriou. Although taking place within that universe, Lake of Power is a standalone story with a new set of characters.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mickey Asteriou
• Release date: Dec 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781955821704

Book preview

1

JESSEN

What are we going to do about the boy? Olyda had heard her husband ask such a thing countless times. Sometimes Drennen had said it in exasperation, sometimes in jest, and often with worry. Their son Jessen had always been a quiet lad, living deep in his own thoughts, seldom forthcoming; a mystery to them.

Drennen made his living by woodworking. In their house close to town he had converted one room into his workshop. It was Drennen’s wish, as it is with many fathers, that his son would apprentice him. And it warmed Olyda’s heart that her boy did indeed accept this as his duty; but sadly it was not in Jessen’s nature to fulfill it. The lad meant well; he could follow instruction and take orders, but in Drennen’s appraisal Jessen worked too slowly to be of much use.

What are we going to do about the boy?

Drennen had told her how, one day, to keep him occupied, he had handed Jessen a castoff piece of wood. Here. Plane this, he had told his son, without further instruction. He’d been pleased to see Jessen had known enough to set the board on edge, securing it in place in a vise. Under his father’s gaze, Jessen had taken a bench plane and made one pass, going with the grain…but then the lad had paused, bench plane hovering in position. According to Drennen the boy remained frozen, lost in thought. He’d watched his son, waiting for the next move, and Jessen remained staring at the board. It felt to the father like several minutes had gone by before Jessen finally made another pass along the board…and then the lad slowed to a stop again. Drennen had been at a loss. It was tempting to scold the boy, but Drennen had to admit his son was indeed doing the job he’d been asked to do, only with too much deliberation and concentration.

And on another day, Drennen had once again invited his son to share time in the workshop. If Jessen had any reluctance, he did not show it. He followed his father silently and then stood off to the side until addressed. Drennen gave his son a board to sand until smooth. Pleased at hearing the familiar scraping sound, the father turned his attention to another project. But when Drennen next looked, his son had gone—and the board with him. Drennen had relayed his exasperation to Olydia and then, stepping outside to take in some fresh air, he saw his son wandering among the trees behind their house. Jessen had the board with him, cradled in his arm, sanding it idly. It looked to Drennen as if Jessen was saying something, and, as he told Olyda that night, he would not have been surprised to learn their son had been conversing with the board.

There was also the time Drennen tried giving his son a table leg to stain. But before Jessen would start, the boy turned the wood over and over in his hands, held it up to his eye, looked intently at the grain, ran his fingers over the grooves, and studied it…delaying ever picking up a brush.

What are we going to do about the boy? The question echoed in Olyda’s mind again, even stronger than before. Having washed his hands at the outside pump, Drennen was back inside the house. Olyda realized he must have asked the question of her out loud.

Her husband was a short, balding man. Olyda was a sturdy woman, and her face was flushed from her exertions as well as from the fire’s heat. She shared her husband’s concern about their son—but not to the same extent. She had her worries, but she was content to let the boy be, to let him become what he might. Nonetheless, at the moment she felt obliged to respond. What has he done now?

Nothing, and that’s the thing. He means well, and I know it, but the boy is a help to no one—and I can’t see how he’ll ever make his way in the world.

You make him sound simple, and I know he’s not simple.

Aye. And I know it too, Drennen sighed, setting himself down at the table.

Olyda sighed as well, bringing the pot to the table and ladling the stew into three bowls. She turned, wiping her forehead, and through the open window she happened to spot her son strolling through the woods. Here! she called. Come in for supper! The young man looked up from his perambulations. Tossing aside the long stick he’d been holding, he headed toward the house.

It’s just that we’re—her husband continued—we’re used to his behavior. But will others get used to him?

Oh, faith! Olyda sighed again. You act as if he’s bewildered. She returned to set bread and a crock of butter on the table, before joining her husband on the bench. He’s one under the sky, like all the rest of us.

Hmm, Drennen grunted, sounding dubious. He grabbed the pitcher to fill their cups with water. By the time Jessen came in, his parents had fallen quiet. And they remained quiet during the repast. Once their meal was done, Drennen returned to the workshop to sweep up. Olyda bade her son stay with her and help wash the plates. She rinsed them off in a basin and handed them to Jessen to dry. She noted wordlessly how he worked in rhythm with her, taking a plate, toweling it, placing it on the stack, and accepting the next one. There was none of the hesitation her husband spoke of. Jessen did not appear distracted or flummoxed or lost in thought.

Was it Drennen then? she wondered. Was Jessen intimidated by his father? Such a thought nigh chilled her soul, that her son should be afraid of his own kin. Should she talk to her son, take him aside and assure him that his father cared for him and was worried about him?

But no, it wasn’t just her husband. She had seen Jessen seize up at other times too, away from Drennen’s workshop. He could handle lulling repetitive work, obviously, but perhaps he felt overcome by the care and craft of woodworking…the expectation, the pressure of uncertainty, when everything relies on one’s fingers. The fear of messing something up.

…And this brought her back to her husband’s dilemma. If their son was not a craftsman, if he could not earn a living for himself, what would they do with him?

As the last plate was stacked, Olyda tugged at her son’s sleeve before he could leave. He turned to her expectantly. Your father and I, she said, staring intently into her son’s dark eyes, love you very much. Do you hear?

Instead of being reassured, Jessen’s brow furrowed and he started to look suspicious, as if these kind words were a pretty veil concealing something bad. Olyda’s heart broke a little, seeing her words fall so wrongly. Her shoulders sank, she sighed, and then she told him Come, hug your poor mother.

He quietly stepped forward and put his arms around her. She squeezed him tight. You’re a precious gift, you rotten thing. She kissed his cheek. Now go see if your father needs help closing up.

That night, the family entertained themselves by firelight. Drennen had brought in some old puppets on strings, who cast huge shadows on the walls. He started to tell a story about a knight, a princess, and a dragon (whose loose and dangling lower jaw limited its menace). Whenever his father was at a loss, Jessen was quick to suggest where the story should go next. Drennen seemed to falter so often it appeared to Olyda that this was done to draw the boy out. She approved of it, as it was having an obvious and positive effect, but she worried Drennen might be getting a bit too obvious about it. If this was so, Jessen did not care; he enjoyed coming up with things for the puppets to say—even effecting different voices—and new complications for them to face. And she enjoyed seeing him so happy.

The next morning Olyda opened her larder and knew it was time to go into town. The town was close by but they went there infrequently nevertheless. Drennen was not yet ready for any deliveries and was too busy to take up any new orders, so Olyda walked alone. It was a damp morning in early spring; the wide path was soft but not muddy. She wore a shawl to protect her hair from dew; she had a burlap bag over one arm and carried an empty basket.

Around a bend she saw the first houses. A few neighbors were out and she greeted them as she passed. It felt too early to chat, but a woman gestured for her to stop. We saw your boy the other day.

You did, Deela? Olyda asked. In pausing she noticed the burlap bag had started to slide and she readjusted it on her arm. He was going into town?

Well, no. Not quite, the other woman said. Truth be told, he looked startled to see us. Like he realized he’d wandered too far.

Well, truth be told he had, Olyda said with an edge to her tone. And he’ll hear about it when I get back home. But she followed it with a laugh, to show the threat was not serious.

Your son, Deela began, treading carefully. He’s…he’s a curious one.

Olyda bristled at what she thought could be construed as an insult—but then she civilly, tentatively agreed. That’s one word for him. But then, what do you mean?

Olyda had been unable to keep the coldness from her voice, which was cause for the other woman to raise her hands defensively. I don’t mean nothing by it, dearie. In truth I don’t. It’s just…he’s one for books, ain’t he. For reading. For thinking.

And what do you mean? Olyda repeated.

Come in, Deela said, brightening. Come in for some root tea. You’ve got time for tea, don’t you?

Something warming did appeal to Olyda. She nodded and Deela pulled the gate open for her. Before they reached the door of the house, Deela was explaining herself again. I only meant, seeing your son again reminded me of something.

Of what?

There was a man come to market. He was looking for books.

For books? Here?

I know! The women shared a laugh. Deela dumped the old, bitter tea from the kettle, poured in new water from a pitcher, and hung the kettle over the fire. Only it got me to thinking of your son though. And of course I forgot all about it till now, my mind being useless an’ all to me. But anyway, the man said he was starting a school.

A school, you say?

Aye. Past the other side of town, up the road. Well, certainly it’s not my place to say, but your boy being so thought-filled, it got me wondering…if…maybe…

Olyda accepted the cup and blew on it before taking a sip. You’re a kindly one, Deela, no matter what all the others say.

Oh, foo. Smiling, Deela waved a dismissive hand.

And it’s nice of you to look out for me and my boy.

In response, Deela clinked her cup against Olyda’s.

I must say, getting him into a school where he can learn of the world—and maybe become a teacher himself?—that would be a great weight off me.

Deela nodded.

Up the road, you say? Olyda took another sip of tea, its warmth inspiring her.

Aye. Up the road.

Olyda’s spirits had definitely lifted as she went further into town to do her shopping. She chatted with the shop owners and answered questions about her husband’s workshop, but her thoughts were elsewhere. A plan was forming that might answer the question that was always at the back of her mind. Later, though burdened as she was with groceries, she barely remembered the walk home.

2

DANOR

While knowing her son was willing to be a help to the family, Olyda also recognized he was not one for physical labor. He was too preoccupied, too distracted by his own introspection. Working with his hands was likely not his destiny, but greater learning could offer him broader possibilities. Olyda had known in an instant, as soon as she had heard of it, that this new school was where Jessen needed to be. The thought of her son flourishing in intellectual pursuits made her heart swell, and she wished to seek out this school as soon as possible. That evening, she told Drennen of her plans, and would brook no argument. Her husband, being a kind soul, agreed that schooling might be best for their contemplative son.

Another damp spring morning dawned. As soon as it was light enough mother and son set out, following the muddy trail back to town and beyond. The walk was longer than Olyda had anticipated. When Deela had said up the road, she hadn’t let on how long this road was. Or, to be fair, perhaps Deela hadn’t known—and why would she, for there was scarcely a reason to ever travel past the town.

At midday mother and son stopped and Olyda opened her rucksack and revealed their packed meal. Hours later and still walking the mother feared they were lost, even though they had never strayed from the road.

The sun, at their backs at first, was now coming into view, about a handspan to the left of the road. As it continued its descent to the tops of the trees, Jessen spoke up behind her. Is there any more food left?

No, my love, Olyda sighed. I did not know we would be so long and I did not pack a lot. What little we have we might need for tomorrow.

All right, Jessen replied quietly.

Olyda persisted in walking, with Jessen staying behind her. She began to fear they might have to find a place to sleep, and she had brought no covering for them. At last though, she could see a roof ahead, to the right of the road. A farmhouse was obscured by trees, just beyond a simple wooden bridge overspanning a burbling creek.

They strayed from the road, following the trail up to the house. She knocked at the door and it was opened by a young lad. Upon inquiring Olyda was surprised to find they were standing before the very school itself.

The students seemed quite young, if the boy at the door was any indication. There didn’t seem to be a lot of them either; but then, Olyda mused, maybe this might be to Jessen’s benefit. Who was to know? She asked for an audience with the person in charge and was led down a hallway and out into the back yard, where Brother Danor was admiring a scrawny goat. Olyda doubted the little animal would provide milk and cheese for a whole school. Perhaps it was kept here for experiments.

Catching the man’s attention Olyda introduced her son, who remained silent.

The large, expansive Brother Danor, cloaked in a dark red robe, explained how he had once been a student of philosophy but his years of study had left him unfulfilled. Learning about human foibles at a remove was less satisfying to him than being among people and experiencing their behaviors. He preferred to be of service to his fellow man, and late in life he decided he wanted to be a doctor—to heal the body and not just the mind. He and some like-minded souls had founded this college, in this quiet intersection of river, road, and trees. It would be more than just a place for learning, he told Olyda. It would turn men into doctors, dedicated to healing and mending the human body. It was a necessity to start small, Danor explained, but he envisioned this humble house expanding into a sprawling two-story building that could house many students and teachers as well as provide classrooms and surgeries.

Noticing Olyda’s attention to his garb, he explained that, although no longer affiliated with a philosophy school, he had grown used to his heavy maroon coat and wore it still. In all kinds of weather, by the look of it, Olyda added to herself. The long coat swirled about his ankles as he led mother and son along the back of the structure, from one end to the other, pointing out what he envisioned. He was a large man, tall and stout, but with a surprising amount of energy. He had short curly hair, now graying; a full face with a double-chin; and a melodious baritone which he loved to employ.

This will be the student wing, madam, he said, gesturing to the sky above the farmhouse, with residences on the upper floor. The instructors will have their rooms over there, on the opposite end of the building, he added, pointing to the left. "Lecture halls will be below. Or maybe the instructors’ private offices will be below, separate from their private rooms. The classrooms can be on the students’ side. I admit I’m not certain on that score. He gestured vaguely at the western end of the back wall, which was partially obscured by a low, round cistern. He also, understandably, made no mention of the two privies, separated from the house and sitting along the edge of the western woods. And the central area, the Brother continued, the crux, if you will, will be a general meeting area. With a fountain or water pool for contemplation. Here the students can commingle between their classes, and share what knowledge they have mastered. Or maybe that’s where they’ll take their meals. Strike that. The dining hall will be under the students’ residences. And the classrooms and lecture halls will be in a third wing, jutting from the back right here where we’re standing. Yes. That’s right. He clapped his pudgy hands together. As you can see, I have great plans, madam. Great plans to attract great minds."

He had perhaps wanted to inspire her, but these great plans began to make Olyda feel sad. It’s very impressive, sir, she began. So much so that, well… I’m afraid…

Yes, madam?

I had hoped that my son could be accepted into your school, but… We are a humble family, and I fear there is no way we could…

Ah. I see, Danor said, though not unkindly. You are afraid you cannot pay for your son’s schooling. Yes. He took a moment to clear his throat. It is obvious to me that you are not simply desirous to dispose of some unwanted child. Olyda’s brow contracted, looking alarmed at even the thought of such a thing. It is clear you care for the boy and want what is best for him. She nodded now, causing Danor to nod back. Yes. Well…

Danor looked the boy up and down, as if appraising him. Olyda kept a sharp eye on the Brother, gauging his reaction. She wished Jessen would speak up for himself, but knew better than to prod him. At least Danor’s prolonged study seemed to suggest he did not think her son a simpleton. As if to dispel her worries, Danor began thinking aloud. I see an alertness, an attentiveness in the eye. This pleases me much and I approve of it.

Olyda smiled her relief. The brother continued. He might not have the makings of a student but he could still be useful as a house boy. Yes. He turned toward Olyda. Does your boy know his letters?

Yes, sir. He does.

How is his script? Is it legible?

Sir?

His handwriting, madam. Can you read it.

I’m not sure, to be honest, sir. We’ve never had much reason for him writing.

I see. I must say it would work greatly in his favor if he has a steady hand. We are limited in our books and I would be grateful to have someone who can transcribe new copies. He looked Jessen over again. Is he a good worker? Does he follow orders?

He’s very dedicated, Olyda said after a slight hesitation.

Well I can’t make him a student, but we could use a hand at doing odd jobs. He’ll get his meals, a place to sleep, and if he has time he can sit in on lectures. Does that suit you, mother?

The thought occurred to Olyda that she was but taking him from one apprenticeship to another. But at least here he would be one step closer to higher learning, to thirsty minds like his, and he might learn from simply being in proximity. She stood staring at the ground, but then looked up to meet Brother Danor’s eyes.

Yes, sir, she said. That will do nicely. A smile of relief tickled her face. Danor smiled back and offered his hand. They shook, with Olyda involuntarily curtsying.

That’s done then. I see the sun will soon go down. I assume you had a long walk to get here? Stay with us for our evening meal and I’ll see what accommodations I can find for you, mother, so you may sleep here before heading home tomorrow. Is that acceptable?

Olyda replied that he was being very kind and thoughtful.

Excellent, Danor beamed, apparently pleased with himself. His smile continued, and he stared at Olyda as if expecting more praise. She wondered, perhaps uncharitably, if he was one of those souls who not only love doing well for others but enjoy even more being recognized for it. He definitely talked as if wanting to be the center of attention—which, she conceded, was probably best for the leader of a school.

Olyda, at a loss for words, glanced to the doorway. Right, Danor said, noticing this, and he led Olyda and Jessen back into the house. In the end, mother and son stayed in the empty, drafty classroom at the front of the house. Rather than a bed to lie on, they sat side by side at a table. Jessen found great relief in finally slipping off his backpack. Olyda did not say much as the night wore on, and Jessen said even less. She sighed when she laid eyes on him and would often squeeze his arm or muss his hair. He eventually fell asleep, head resting on his arm.

At first light, while Jessen still slumbered, his mother rose and, gently kissing the top of his head, slipped away quietly. As the distance between her and the school grew, she did not look back and she willed herself not to weep.

Jessen was briefly confused when he woke. He was obviously not in his house and it took him a few moments to remember why. A freckled, dark-haired boy with an upturned nose had come into the room and was staring at him, as if waiting for Jessen to explain himself. Are you supposed to be here? the boy asked.

Jessen did not know how to answer. He wished the Brother were here to explain for him. He’d sensed the man’s warmth and good humor, and he missed it now. The boy tried a different question Are you new here?

Jessen nodded.

Well, class isn’t till later. We’re doing prayer outside now and breaking our fast.

The