Chương 24: Family Found

All his life Cormac had heard his mother's stories about Bran Fiadh. Time and perhaps brevity had worn any rough edges off of the man - he was a saint. He came from saintly people, surely. He could see now that his mother's hopes for him rested entirely on finding this wealthy family who didn't know he existed and them welcoming him with open arms. Easier said than done. The closest city to the Second Ring border was also its capital - the city of Shirren. But closest wasn't really close.

He had miles and miles to go. Bran had told Cormac's mother about his life in the Third Ring, so she had a few landmarks to triangulate from. She had made sure Cormac memorized all of them. A young boy hiking the roadways on his own was not a common sight, but not so unusual of one that anyone bothered him about it. Very quickly Cormac learned that not all shoes were good for all tasks, and the twice-removed slip-ons from a local shrine charity he'd worn for the last year were not good for hiking long distances.

They completely fell apart within one mile of each other. He must have been a pathetic sight - trudging along a dusty road with a slim bindle and no shoes. So it really wasn't a surprise when a cart slowed next to him and offered him a seat. The man driving it was an acolyte of Bodac - one of the beings that were the closest thing the Tír had to gods. The minds that had formed the world, each a different race in their own image. He was rotund and balding, but he had a friendly smile and a scrawny apple to share.

You're an unusual one, the acolyte said. Cormac just shrugged. Already in his time across the line he had begun to feel lost - everything was different. The houses looked different, the roads were paved with different material - even the common dress of the acolyte was different than the Second Ring's holy men. Hard to believe they were the same country. He didn't need the acolyte pointing out the ways in which Cormac stood out. I saw someone with your Nature once, a long time ago, the acolyte said offhand.

I hope you avoid his fate, son. Cormac's jaw dropped. He hadn't even told his mother what fórsa nature he'd woven. It had come upon him late in the night after he had snuck out of his room and stolen an entire handful of taffy from a dry goods store. He'd managed to slip away due to a lucky series of events that became more and more improbable the more he reflected on it.

After making good his escape and staring at the stars outside the cabin they shared with two other families, a feeling of rightness had settled upon him and he intuitively knew he'd somehow chosen a nature. And which one. What was he like? Cormac asked. A gambler. Honestly son, it's a hard profession to avoid, with your Luck. But he wasn't smart about it. Started getting cocky, getting flashy. He wasn't lucky enough to avoid a knife to the throat from a Fourth he'd swindled after taunting the man all night.

Cormac nodded. He'd definitely had to restrain himself. He and his mother had already been unpopular in their little village - there was no need to make it worse by draining everyone dry of all their coppers. But, if Cormac just happened to be better than average at throwing bones, well… everyone has their lucky days. The acolyte had not been heading all the way to Shirren, but he got Cormac a lot closer.

It was dusk when he shuffled into the city proper, his feet sore and unused to the hard cobblestone of the Shirren streets. He debated waiting until tomorrow to try to find the Fiadhs, but it was getting dark and he had nowhere else to sleep. And - it was a big city. He might not find them tonight anyway. That thought was prophetic, because he didn't see a single one of the landmarks his mother made him memorize that night.

It must have been well past midnight when he finally gave in, slumping down to sleep on the hard floor of the closest alley. He was too tired to dream. In the morning he awoke to a terrible pain in his back and found that his coin purse was gone. No matter - there wasn't much in it anyway. And while he hadn't mastered his fórsa nature, he could probably scrounge up a few coins with his luck, if he needed to. And perhaps when he found the Fiadhs, it might not matter anyway.

Around noon he finally spotted the first landmark - an open-air arena where only seven people were watching a play. The city was so different from what he was used to - so many people, so many unpleasant smells… but also, so much energy. It felt like something was happening here and while he had no idea what that thing was, it was exciting to feel like you might be a part of it. The second landmark was a statue of some old general.

He only remembered it because it had a famously long nose that everyone always rubbed for good luck, so now the nose was polished to a high shine while the rest of the statue was dull quartz. It created the impression that the sculptor was insinuating the general was a drunk. The third landmark was the hardest to spot until the sun went down - the brightly lit sign of an oddly-named casino: Oscar's Out. Bran had no idea why it was called that, but the house of the Fiadhs was only two blocks away.

Cormac swallowed hard, butterflies the only thing in his stomach. After asking a handful of people along the way he found it. Any illusions he had about the Fiadhs being wealthy were quite thoroughly dismissed. It was a small single-storey house in a style he was not familiar with. There was a pronounced veranda nearly half the width of the house in the front, but it was closely packed in with its two nearest neighbors, both larger apartment buildings.

A small symbol representing the shrine of Bodac was hung in a tiny window. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. He knocked on the door. An older woman opened it with a pleasant smile, but on taking one look at Cormac's face, that smile fell. Ah. Come on in, son. Cormac entered and found the inside a cluttered mess. It was the type of clutter not created by a neglect of order, but by an overabundance of love.

He could see each knick-knack piled in the seat of each chair was only there because it brought the old lady happiness. Portraits of various quality dominated the walls - was there one of Bran, he wondered? A pleasant smell of cinnamon wafted from the tiny kitchen. It wasn't a manor… but it could be home. The lady asked him to sit at her kitchen table, the only two chairs not piled high with tiny pleasant things. He did so, but she detoured for a moment to a jar in her thin pantry.

She fished something out of it and held it close in her hands as she sat down across from him. She studied his face for a moment, but that seemed to make her look sadder. My son was a good boy. A good soldier. A good man. But he… fell in love easily. I don't want you to think he was callous - I believe he meant it every time. The lady sighed deeply. He would tell me about them when he came to visit, each time a different one. In his eyes they were all unique and beautiful. I believed every word he said, every time.

But… Cormac understood with a sinking feeling. I'm not the first wayward grandchild who's knocked on your door, am I? She shook her head. Not even the sixth, I'm sorry to say. I don't want you to think I don't care - each time I see my Bran in a new face it fills me with joy. To know that parts of him are still alive… it's a blessing, my boy. But… I already have three of them going to the courts over who gets to inherit my house after I die. Another two borrow more money than I really have every week. I just…

I'm an old woman at this point. My husband has been dead a century. I can't take any more responsibility. Cormac sighed. I understand. This was a dream my mother had for me - her hope that the Fiadhs were an influential, well to do family. That I could have a comfortable life free from the kind of pain she endured. I think… I think I always knew it would be a fantasy. The world just doesn't work that way. He laughed sharply. I guess I'm just not that lucky.

They spoke a little more, but he could tell that the desire to know more about her son's life had waned over the years - and really the only new information he could share was about his death, which she didn't care to hear about. He stood and bowed - was that a thing they did in the Third Ring? He thanked her for her time and walked towards the door. She called him back a moment later, and after searching his face one last time gave him a stiff hug. He could feel it in her thin bones.

She wanted to love him, but she simply couldn't afford to. There was already too much clutter in her heart. In his final steps out the door she pressed a silver coin into his hand. It was what she had retrieved from her pantry - she must have been planning to give it to him from the beginning. Cormac walked a block away, then sat down on the sidewalk and cried. He cried until he couldn't any more, and his stomach reminded him that he had not eaten all day.

He took a few more minutes to mourn his mother's dream, then stood up and brushed himself off. He walked directly to the casino. Luckily for Cormac, this wasn't the type of casino that cared if a child plunked down the last of his coins on a roll of the dice. Everyone towered over him, leering like a pack of wolves. He focused on the dice and rolled snake eyes. Grinning impishly, he moved to rake his winnings back to his side of the table when an iron hand slammed down on his wrist.

We may not be the fanciest joint in the city, boy, but we're smart enough to notice when a cocky brat like you uses fórsa on the dice. They literally threw him out of the building, keeping his silver as a penalty for trying to cheat. The bouncer quietly told Cormac that he was lucky - if had been an adult that silver would have also paid for the bouncer to break a few bones. Cormac sat forlornly on the street where he had been thrown.

For someone with luck powers, he sure felt like the unluckliest kid in the world right now. That was when he felt a faint tug at his belt. He whirled, grabbing a wrist in the same way the bouncer had. Except this wrist was thin and tiny. He was holding a young girl, maybe twenty or thirty? Her dress was muddy and torn, though it looked like it might have been fancy at one time. I'm sorry, she said sadly. I thought you might be too upset to notice. Cormac let her go, disgusted at this city.

It wouldn't have mattered. Haven't got a copper to my name. The girl sighed. I've been trying to steal things. Food, or money. I almost stole a table knife once! But… I'm no good at it. My name is Cormac… Fiadh. Róise Séarlait. Cormac stewed in his own thoughts for a moment, then noticed something unusual. From Róise's chest, a tiny golden thread wafted gently out to touch his own. He had never seen his threads behave like that before - usually the threads were signs of the luck he made. But…

perhaps it could also show where luck might find him on its own. Hmm. Maybe we can help each other. I'm not too great at stealing things either, but I bet together we could nab a few coins. Want to try? She scrunched up her face, confused. Why do you want to help me? I just tried to rob you. Yes, and it was adorable. But, I think we can benefit each other. Who will pass by a little thirty-year-old who is asking if someone has seen her mommy? Róise's eyes flashed. I know where my mother is. And I'm forty. Seriously?

You're tiny. I'm a pixie, idiot. Cormac shrugged. Never met one before. While that's happening I'll try my luck at getting them to drop something. Róise sighed. I've tried everything else. They hit four marks before they nailed it. Cormac had never used his luck so aggressively, but he was developing a method for sending out good luck threads and bad luck threads at the same time - it seemed to increase the odds that he would be successful.

The first time a coin purse dropped to the ground, Cormac was lucky enough to catch it before it made a sound. They counted their loot in a shallow alley not far from the casino. It was six copper - just enough to buy dinner. Cormac grinned. I think this might work out. From that day on the two were inseparable. They got so good at thievery they were flush with cash some days, though Cormac found himself acquiring a taste for fine food that tended to empty their pockets faster than it should.

It was on one of those days, where the two huddled together in a small room they leased from an old widow Róise asked Cormac what he wanted from all this. He thought hard about the question. Money. I want to be rich enough to buy my way out of any problem. Live my life the way I want to, not bound by anything. Real freedom. How about you? Her little eyes burned at the question, and Cormac saw a rage in them that had only now bubbled to the surface, previously hidden by the raw need to survive. I want to get strong.

Strong enough to kill anyone who tries to hurt me. Cormac sat with that in silence for a moment, then nodded. Okay. That sounds better than my thing. That's what we'll do.