The Monk's Habit (The Disinherited Prince Series Book 2) Read online

  The alternative was a commitment that Pol would ensure the monk would follow. He took a deep breath and began shoving the weed in his mouth. It tasted like bitter lettuce, but he noticed a mint-like tang, which, coupled with its appearance, likely led to its name.

  He needed a drink of water before he could finish and finally downed the entire bowl.

  Searl grinned as if he had pulled something over on Pol, and he worried that Searl might win the bet.

  Nothing happened while Pol sat at the table. Searl functioned for some time before he fell asleep. Pol rose to put the bowl at the sink and his legs began to wobble. He put his hand to his head and felt the floor begin to buckle, twist, and whirl.

  His legs collapsed beneath him, and he fell to the floor. He looked over at Searl’s face, which began to wobble, expand, and contract. When he shut his eyes, strange colored patterns began to appear and then began to whirl around and shift.

  Pol’s mind focused on the colors swirling and pulsating and creating patterns that repeated, but didn’t make any sense.

  ~

  Snoring broke into Pol’s dreamless sleep. He opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling of Searl’s cabin. After bringing his hand in front of his eyes, Pol could tell he was back to normal. His eyes ached, of all things.

  He walked outside, surprised that he didn’t stagger like he had the previous evening. After dumping a bucket of water over his head, Pol blinked away the drips and drifted over to the vegetable garden. He stood looking at the minweed, growing abundantly between the other plants.

  Pol felt no urge to stuff his mouth with the weed. In fact, he sighed with deep relief when he found that minweed held as little attraction for him this morning as it had yesterday afternoon.

  He thought about his agreement with Searl and realized how stupid he had been. Darrol would have never let him take such a risk, but now that was behind him. Pol knew he had won a small victory. The trick would be getting Searl to abide by his commitment, and that was no sure thing.

  After walking into the woods, Pol found more minweed growing in the patches where Paki and he had removed the plants. They grew like weeds, malicious weeds. He bent over and continued to pull.

  He went back and found a shovel in the lean-to.

  What did you do last night? I caught that you were anxious about a risk, Demeron said.

  “I made an ill-advised bet with Searl. I hope I won.”

  You don’t trust him?

  Pol considered what trust was. “I can’t trust a man who doesn’t control his own soul. I hope to remedy that, but I’m not sure how.”

  Remove the person or thing that controls him. That’s what I would do if I had rider that wasn’t nice. You’ve seen me do that.

  Demeron had bucked Coram off of him.

  “I’ll be back to take you both out for some exercise later.”

  Do that for my sake and for his. Demeron moved his head towards Searl’s horse. The animal lifted its head up and neighed. He patted Demeron and poured some grain out for him and the other horse. He groomed their coats and then took the shovel into the woods.

  How could Pol remove minweed when it was so ubiquitous? He began to dig, alarmed that the familiar beating of his heart and shortness of breath had returned. Pol put his head on the handle of the shovel. His strength had begun to deteriorate. He looked over the small patch and felt discouraged. It would take him years to destroy the local minweed, and at the rate he was going, he’d be gone before he completed the task.

  Pol returned to the cabin, fixed some lunch, and sat holding a cup of tea. He had to sniff it to make sure it was minweed-free, now that he knew its taste. Searl still snored and likely would for another hour.

  He looked over the agreement they had decided on the previous day and made a copy. One for Searl and one for him. He signed it and left the copy out for Searl. Pol had fulfilled his bargain, but he didn’t know if Searl would honor his or not. It wasn’t as if he could force the monk to do anything. You really couldn’t threaten the man who you depended on to heal you.

  Some time later Searl began to stir. Pol reheated the tea and brought out some stale bread for dipping.

  “You’re alive?” Searl said, chuckling. “Want more?”

  Pol shook his head and waited for the monk to get up and sit at the table.

  “I guess I’m not the kind to get addicted. I must admit that I took a wild ride, but I’m not sad to say, it will be a one-time experience.

  Searl looked disappointed. “You are going to hold me to that?” He looked at the agreement.

  “It’s the most important agreement of my life,” Pol said.

  The monk didn’t say anything for a bit and dipped his bread into the tea.

  He looked at the tealeaves in the bottom of his mug. “I’ll cure you,” he said, his voice nearly a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry?”

  “I shouldn’t have agreed to take on your dare. It wasn’t very noble of me.”

  Pol laughed without humor. “Noble? What is noble about serving only yourself? You were noble when you used to travel around here and heal. Why did you stop?”

  Searl didn’t respond. He finished his breakfast and went outside to wash. He came back not much later with his hair wet. Pol was afraid he had taken a detour to the vegetable patch.

  “Will an hour work this morning and an hour in the evening?”

  “With a dose in between?”

  Searl nodded, and for the first time he actually looked ashamed.

  Pol agreed. “I’ll head to Hill Creek for some more supplies while you sleep. I’d like some fresher bread.”

  “Fine,” Searl said. He toweled off his wet hair with a rag that might have been part of his monk’s robe.

  “Lay down on my bed. Be prepared to feel some discomfort.”

  Pol straightened out the covers and did as he was told.

  Searl pulled up a chair, and then put his hand out, leaning with the other on the bed frame. “Heart first. I hope you don’t mind my babbling as I go. It helps me concentrate.”

  Pol shook his head. “I don’t mind. Concentration is good.”

  Searl spent time with his eyes closed, and then Pol felt little surges of heat in his chest. He cried out as the heat turned into real pain.

  “You have to endure it. I am remaking your heart. There will be lot of this. Are you willing to endure it?”

  Pol blinked tears from his eyes. “Please continue,” he croaked.

  After what seemed like ages, Searl sat back and patted Pol on his shoulder. “As you can imagine, I must change the pattern of your heart bit by little bit. It is a slow, slow process, and you will have to endure more. It takes a lot of my strength, too, but I’m glad to see, I haven’t lost the knack. I thought that I would, you know.”

  Pol nodded. “Maybe I won’t be heading to Hill Creek today.” He felt like a washerwoman had wrung him out.

  “Out of my bed. It’s time for my dose, and I need it.”

  Pol twisted around and sat up while Searl gathered his mind salad outside. He felt rugged, as if someone had scraped the insides of his chest. Maybe that was Searl’s technique. Pol had just been reminded that magical healing was not without its price.

  He rose and climbed gingerly up the ladder to the loft and lay down.

  Pol woke up to Searl calling to him. “Get up, it’s time for your next treatment,” Searl said.

  Pol felt better, but his insides still were uncomfortable. He made it down to the main level and found that Searl had laid another blanket over his bed.

  “Are you ready?”

  Pol just grunted. “I will do whatever it takes.”

  The second session was a repeat of the first, but Pol felt worse.

  “I don’t think I can handle this tomorrow,” he said. “I need to recover.”

  “You do indeed. I’ve done more than I normally would.”

  Was Searl punishing him? Pol wasn’t in a position to know, but he did need to rec
over.

  ~

  Pol rode Demeron down to Hill Creek in the afternoon of the next day. Searl was asleep, or whatever the minweed did to him most of the day after he and Pol had come up with a list of provisions.

  Searl’s horse followed behind carrying two sets of saddlebags, with Demeron leading while the other horse faithfully followed.

  “I thought you fellas left Searl’s place,” said the clerk Pol had met before at Jerkin’s General Store.

  “Three of us did. I stayed behind for a while. I’m trying to help out Searl.”

  “We could still use his help from time to time.”

  Pol handed over his list and waited while the clerk filled the order. Both of them filled the saddlebags, and the grain sacks were slung over the saddle of Searl’s horse. Pol had hoped Searl would be awake when he returned, but the monk disappointed him.

  For the next three weeks, Pol received two treatments every other day.

  He lay down, and Searl began to work on a spot just underneath his left rib.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Working on your spleen and then your liver.”

  Pol blinked through the pain. “What about my heart?”

  “It needs another few days to heal, and we’ll see if we are done there.”

  “Done?” Pol couldn’t believe it. “My heart is fixed?”

  Searl nodded, trying to suppress a smile. “We will see. I’ve never had to rebuild a heart quite like yours before, but it should be better than new. Your lungs will work fine with a stronger heart.”

  “My body won’t reverse your work?”

  Searl shook his head. “There is always a possibility, but I use a different technique than the monks at Deftnis did.”

  Pol didn’t know what a new heart would feel like, but he could withstand the pain to improve the rest of his system.

  “What’s wrong with my spleen and liver?”

  “They are undersized and need to be rebuilt as well. I’ve had plenty of practice on livers. Alcohol and livers are not friends, and I’ve improved more than a few. Spleens are not much different, but they are more fragile. It’s not unusual to remove spleens rather than rebuild them, but in your case, I think I can rebuild it better than it is. The spleen is important in protecting against infection. Remember we talked about infection being a battle. The spleen is part of the body’s defense.”

  “I will trust your judgment. When will I feel the effects on my heart?”

  “Try some magic in a week. There is still some natural healing to do before you should exercise it,” Searl said.

  Pol wouldn’t dare try sooner. He had waited a long time to be unaffected by his heart.

  The treatments continued, but the spleen and the liver took much less time.

  A week had transpired, but Searl told Pol to wait a bit more.

  “I’ll do a bit of work on your lungs, after all. You could use more capacity,” the monk said.

  Pol finally sat up. “That’s the last?”

  Searl nodded. “I didn’t think you’d get me to stay sober long enough to cure you. You helped me stay that way. I admit I didn’t give you much in the way of cooperation, but you made me prevail.” He grinned. “Now do something that exhausted your strength before.”

  Pol stood and lifted the table up to the ceiling. He tweaked a twirl and brought it back down. He could feel a slight drain on his energy, but he lost less than he usually did performing a locating spell. He couldn’t help but grin.

  Then he went outside with his throwing knives and threw them into a tree trunk fifty paces away. He could never throw one that far using a sip of magic, and this time he added more than a sip into the flight. The grin didn’t leave his face.

  Pol held out his palm and tweaked a magic light out of air. He shouted with excitement. He was cured! Pol went over to Demeron, who stood looking.

  You seem very happy. Your magic is easier?

  Pol smiled and then laughed. “It is, isn’t it?” He looked across the yard at Searl and ran towards him. His lungs hurt, and his heart hurt, but it didn’t beat in his ears. “I guess I overdid it,” Pol said.

  “You’ll need to build up by exercising. Come on inside and we’ll work out a plan. You need to be in better shape when we head north to find my daughter.”

  Pol looked forward to improving his physical self. He followed Searl into the cabin.

  “Run until your heart starts to hurt, just a bit. Your heart will be hurting more than your lungs for a while, and then it will be the reverse. You’ll need to buy more food since your body will be burning more food,” Searl said.

  “It’s a virtuous cycle, eat, exercise, rest, eat, exercise, rest. If you eat and don’t exercise or don’t rest, the cycle isn’t virtuous. To build your strength, lift as much as you can stand. Lift until your muscles hurt.

  “You do a little damage to the fibers and your body responds when it heals tiny tears by increasing your muscle mass and making you stronger. That’s the theory.”

  “Now it’s my turn,” Pol said, while he put his hands on Searl’s shoulder.

  After the treatment, Searl sat back and worked his shoulder. “It’s nearly good enough to stop taking minweed.” He walked to the sink and plucked a large handful and chomped on it. “Nearly enough.”

  ~~~

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  ~

  AT SEARL’S INSISTENCE, POL SPENT MORE MONEY ON MEAT AND MILK. Pol had to drink the milk in a day or so, before it spoiled, and he found himself making more trips into Hill Creek. Each trip, Pol would run next to Demeron for a bit, instead of ride. He continued to feel stronger. He could feel his body respond to a stronger heart and bigger lungs.

  Pol had always felt scrawny, but his ribs were starting to disappear, replaced by a layer of muscle. Now that he felt better, it was time to work on Searl’s habit. If they were to leave the foothills and travel north to Dasalt, where Searl last heard from his daughter, Pol didn’t think they could make it letting the monk sleep eight hours during the day.

  After Pol had returned from one of his trips, he woke Searl up.

  “It’s time for you to clean up,” Pol said.

  “I’m clean enough.”

  “No. We can’t travel to your daughter and have you awake for only a few hours a day. You have to wean yourself. Let’s say one dose at night before you go to bed.”

  “My shoulder.”

  “I can treat your shoulder, even better now,” Pol said.

  Searl looked a bit afraid. “Maybe I can leave my daughter alone. She might not want to see her addict father.”

  “I think it is her father who doesn’t want his daughter to see the addict,” Pol said. He knew he was out of line talking to Searl like that, especially since he had no idea of what he could do to cure Searl.

  “I can take bushels of minweed with us,” Searl said.

  “It’s not the minweed,” Pol said. “It’s your ingestion of it. Let’s reduce your ingestion and try keeping you sober for a day.”

  Pol could see the shine of sweat on Searl’s forehead. Pol had to summon the courage to help a magician at the black level.

  “You can teach me higher-level magic now that I won’t faint every time I try something new. That can keep us busy while you aren’t sleeping under the influence,” Pol said.

  Searl looked serious. “I can but try.” He didn’t smile or look encouraged. He walked over to his bowl of minweed and took a handful. “We begin tomorrow.”

  Pol would have rather had Searl start at that moment, but he didn’t want to force Searl anymore than he had to.

  Searl collapsed onto his bed after eating some food. He wouldn’t wake until morning.

  Pol took the shovel out of the lean-to and began to hack away at Searl’s supply. With new strength, he began to root out the minweed patches in the forest. Not only did he maintain his heart rate, but he also could feel the muscles in his arms respond.

  Pol took care of three patches and returne
d to the cabin. Searl still snored away in oblivion as Pol made himself a hearty stew.

  In the evening, he took both horses for a ride towards Hill Creek and back, not wanting to wander around on unfamiliar trails. He didn’t want another encounter with the weeders.

  When he returned, Pol still felt unsettled, so he found his sword and began to practice forms. His anticipation magic didn’t need to be used to put precision into his moves like it had before. Now he could actually incorporate the forms that he had not been able to handle for any length of time.

  Pol could feel new power in his strokes. He knew he still lacked the strength of a full-grown man, but he maintained his practice for far longer than he ever had before. He began to enhance the power of his swings with sips of magic, and Pol felt a smoothness in his forms that didn’t exist before.

  He laughed, knowing that until he sparred with a known opponent, he wouldn’t know how much progress he had made, but still, the practice did him a great deal of good. While he left Searl sleeping in the cabin, he came out at night and practiced his swordsmanship and his knife throwing.

  ~

  Searl woke early the next morning. Pol had already fixed breakfast and filled the inside cistern.

  “Good morning,” Pol said.

  The monk covered his face with his hands. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “You aren’t doing it on your own,” Pol said, thinking back to the support that Mistress Farthia, Malden, and Val had given him in Borstall. “I am here to help.”

  Searl snorted. “Such words coming from a fifteen-year-old?”

  Pol stood a little straighter. “I am a well-educated prince and a very quick study. I relieved the pain in your shoulder, didn’t I?”

  The monk waved Pol’s comment away. “And I am a better educated Eighth Level magician.”

  Pol bowed to Searl. “I yield most things to your wisdom and experience.”

  “I caught that ‘most,’ lad.” Searl went to the sink and emptied some water from the cistern into a bowl. He splashed water on his face and rubbed it hard with a scrap of towel.