Bab 36: CH36 - Herald of Change
Edmund woke up with a start, jerking upwards into a sitting position. Or, at least, he tried to. His attempted movement failed miserably, bringing him nothing but blinding pain. Settling against a rough texture behind his back, he tried to relax.
Breathe in for four seconds. Hold for four seconds. Breathe out for four seconds. Hold for four seconds. Repeat.
He could sense a weighted bundle of warmth draped across his body: a thick, woollen blanket by the feel of it. A moist poultice of herbs had been applied to his calf and forearm, tightly wrapped with gauze. There was a faint bitter flavour on his tongue, which he identified as a blood replenisher from the taste.
Even before his hearing and vision were restored to their full capacity, he could sense the presence of two minds around him. One was energetic and excited, while the other was more reflective and calm.
As the fire crackling reached his ears, Edmund tried to force his eyes open in vain. Gunk seemed to have glued his eyelashes together, sticking them shut. When he finally succeeded, it was to see the blurry visage of a young centaur poking at the fire, a smile on her face. Next to her was an older member of her kind, her pupils glowing with light.
'Clio,' he recognized absentmindedly, 'and the speaker.'
His forehead wrinkled in realization at the implications of that.
'Shit! If she can see me, then I might have to obliviate her. Or maybe I can get her in a contract as well? Or maybe—' Edmund internally debated with growing anxiety.
"—Child," the speaker interrupted, "I have left your mask on. Be calm. Focus on your rest and recovery."
Edmund sighed in relief before blushing faintly. Calling it a mask was a bit of a stretch. He had worn a black rag tied around his head from his nose downwards. The makeshift garment was one he had found in the Room of Requirement, with little dancing unicorns magically moving about on it. Not exactly menacing, but it served its purpose.
The memories of the battle raced through his mind in a flash, making Edmund grimace at the reminder.
'A defeat,' he frowned. 'A severe defeat. At least I survived, even if only because Moros underestimated me.'
His forced positivity did not cheer Edmund up, much as he wished it would.
'If the speaker were not waiting for me, I probably would have been dead. Either because of blood loss or discovery by some other creature of the forest while I was defenceless,' he thought darkly. 'Luck. Luck is what saved me.'
He swallowed back his self-disgust, trying to think about how to rectify his faults rather than dwelling on the past unnecessarily.
'I'll need to be better. My training will have to be pushed up a notch if I want a chance at defeating Moros confidently,' he began to plan.
His mind was galloping at maximum speed, and he was determined not to fail a second time.
"Slow down," the speaker soothed as she plodded over to him. "Give yourself a chance to process before you start preparing again. Excess haste only leads to mistakes."
"How did you know what I was thinking?" Edmund asked, regaining a little bit of his composure.
"Experience," the speaker snorted. "I know you better than you think, child."
*Hmmph* he responded by looking away from her irritatedly.
Purposefully oblivious to his self-loathing, the speaker disregarded his sour mood. Instead, she cautiously unwrapped his bandages, careful not to disrupt the natural healing of the wounds.
His calf, while incredibly swollen, seemed alright to Edmund at first glance. His forearm, however, most definitely was not. The site where the graphorn had gored him was massive, a giant lengthwise cut. He could visibly see the skin knitting together rapidly, making him pale at the thought of how bad the injury must have been before.
Using a wet rag, the speaker gently wiped away the topical mixture she had applied so she could better assess the damage.
She hummed in consideration and reapplied a fresh coat of the foul-smelling herbs. Edmund winced in pain but made sure not to move until the speaker was done. Sighing, she tied the final knot on his dressings, securing them firmly.
However, the speaker still did not move from her spot. Tilting his head her way with her hands, the speaker gave him a warm look.
"You are too hard on yourself, Edmund," she whispered so Clio would not overhear. "There is no record of a manticore ever being killed by a human. Let alone one of this calibre, especially by an eleven-year-old."
Edmund made to protest, but she shushed him sternly.
"No. You will hear me out. I am not saying you cannot do it. In fact, I am sure you can. But you will not punish yourself for 'failing' when no such thing has occurred," she scolded.
They gazed at each other fiercely for several moments before Edmund finally nodded in acceptance.
"That being said, there is no harm in strategizing about how to defeat this beast now that you have gained some insight," the speaker conceded.
"Defeat?" Edmund scoffed incredulously. "I need to improve by leaps and bounds before I can even think of fighting Moros without fear of death!"
In response, the speaker bonked his head with her knuckles, making Edmund look at her in betrayal.
"Use your brain, boy! If you fight alone and you fight fair, then perhaps you might be right," she lectured. "But who says you have to?"
"I don't understand," Edmund said bewilderedly.
"Of course you don't," the speaker clicked her tongue. "That's why I'm here."
Despite his annoyance with her crypticness, Edmund could not help but feel a tiny seed of hope sprout within him.
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- (Scene Break) -
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When Edmund's eyes opened next, it was to a feeling of soreness in his muscles. His wounds had closed, leaving only pink skin in their place. It was not ideal, but it was far better than the torturous sensation he had been experiencing a few hours prior.
The sun's last rays shone through the canopy of trees, bathing the area in dim light. Looking around, Edmund's brows furrowed.
"Where's Clio?" he asked the speaker.
"Clio has gone back to the tribe where she should have been all along," the speaker replied with fond exasperation. "When I left camp with the healing supplies for you, she followed behind me. I should have sent her off then and there, but I could not risk her drawing attention and delaying my return to you."
"You like her," Edmund deduced.
"Yes. I do," the speaker confirmed before returning to the parchment upon which she had been scribbling furiously.
"What are you up to?" he questioned curiously.
"I am designing something. Something for you," she said, looking up at him to judge his reaction. "It is a ritual set, similar to the world anchor. Three rituals in total, one for each of the magical Trinity."
Edmund's eyes widened in surprise and anticipation, prompting a grin from the speaker.
"The dark lord may be one of the most knowledgeable wizards on the planet, but there is plenty of magic unknown even to him," she added slyly. "The centaurs have honed mother earth's gift of magic over the centuries, passing down their collective learnings to each generation."
"The set will be unique, different from anything any other human has ever undergone," she proudly declared.
"But... what about the dark lord?" Edmund asked conflictedly.
"What about him?" the speaker queried with genuine confusion.
"I have to give him some sort of reason for not completing three of the rituals he has planned for me," he snarked sarcastically. "Maybe you don't know, but he isn't exactly the most understanding or stable guy."
"Show him the set I have planned for you," the speaker dismissed. "See if he complains then."
"Just like that?" he asked, feeling baffled.
"Just like that," she affirmed.
"Are you crazy?" Edmund demanded. "I'll have to tell him about you!"
"Hah!" the speaker laughed. "He already knows about me."
"Huh?" he goggled.
"Boy, I am the most accomplished diviner of all! Do you really think that every dark lord that rises has not already attempted to recruit me?" she boasted.
"How did you refuse him? Did you refuse him?" Edmund inquired fascinatedly.
The speaker smirked condescendingly in reminiscence.
"When he came to me, I told him I had already foreseen the meeting," she recalled. "He was arrogant, as most power-hungry would-be conquerors tend to be. He lost his arrogance quickly when I warned him that Dumbledore would be informed about the location of his trinkets if he dared to interfere with my people."
"Ballsy!" Edmund burst out chuckling. "So why didn't you? Tell Dumbledore, I mean, after the dark lord was banished."
"Fate. It would have made no difference regardless of what I did. It may be hard for you to believe, but several 'absolute point' events will occur no matter what happens. There is no changing them, at least by me," she looked pointedly at him then.
"I am going off on a tangent. Voldemort made a non-aggression contract with me immediately thereafter, and it was the last I heard of him," she finished quickly. "I would recommend you tell him that you rescued one of my tribe, perhaps from an acromantula. He will only be pleased by the fact that I have taken a shine to you."
"As you say," Edmund dipped his head.
"Be careful, Edmund. There is much you do not know about me. And much more that you do not know about other powers in this world," the speaker warned. "You cannot assume things because of your past knowledge. Your information is lacking, and becoming dependent on it will get you killed. Even the events leading to Voldemort's death are likely to change. Your existence is proof that things are different. They will only become more so because of your continued presence."
Edmund scowled at the thought but acknowledged her words with a grunt.
"Do not be scared of this change. Relish it," the speaker advised. "Preserving the timeline solely for the sake of doing so is foolish. Besides, trying to conserve the sequence of events as you know them is futile. While you may be the only one that can make lasting splashes in this reality, the ripples you create will affect everyone and everything."
"It is a great honour, Edmund," the speaker pronounced reverently. "In every sense of the word, you are the herald of change."
PERTIMBANGAN PENCIPTA 
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