The following is an original work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book/story are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The following is intended for mature audiences only.
Chapter 10
Practicing a well-tested, petulant, teenage posture, I slumped deeply into the chair at the only desk in the too large study. Small library? I still hadn’t decided. Neither really felt right.
Bookshelves lined three walls with volumes whose only purpose was to collect dust and occupy space. A grand fireplace took up the entirety of the fourth wall. A slim door nestled in the one, thin break between shelves. Regrettably, no windows. No other signs of life besides myself, my tutor, and the fire used to shed some light in the dark, stone room.
My modest desk sat in the middle. My back to the darkened hearth. Deep red and gold woven rugs covered the stone floor. Helped minimize the echo and chased away a bit of the chill when Master Dagus wouldn’t allow me light anything more than the tall wrought-iron candelabras that stood around the room in random places providing the only source of light.
My classroom for the last fifteen years whenever I was in Eitiris.
Master Dagus, the only tutor I have ever had, was rattling off instructions I barely heard over the ringing of my own boredom. The lesson this morning had little to no power over the sullenness my father instigated at breakfast.
Before me sat a series of objects. A candle, an oilcloth set in a brass bowl, a kerosene lamp, and a small pile of kindling stacked haphazardly on a porcelain dish.
There was no need to hear Master Dagus’ words. I knew what was expected of me without digesting a single syllable from the man’s overworked mouth. The task would undoubtedly be to use the appropriate rune activated spell to light each item in turn.
Small and particularly old looking, Master Dagus had to have been alive when the gods roamed this realm. It was considered impolite to ask Eildun their age without some sort of pretense. It could have been possible that he was gifted Idun’s fruit toward the end of his human life, but it felt more fitting to assume he was more ancient than most of Eitiris’ landscape.
Since my father had only been around for about one thousand years, give or take a decade or so, but looked no older than a human male in his late forties. Whereas Master Dagus appeared to be at least twice that.
Head full of white hair, no two strands pointing in the same direction. Unlike his mustache. For some reason, those bristles uniformly agreed to lay perfectly docile hiding his upper lip. It stood thick and prevalent against his pale, ridged skin.
When my tutor’s prattling paused and the room fell into silence I turned in my chair to find Master Dagus leaning against the mantle. Expectant look on his face. An annoying, reoccurring theme in my life as of late.
Facing my desk with a sigh, I began to wonder how much longer I would have to pursue lessons in magic. This was the year I was supposed to settle into whatever power I was meant to have. Able to fill that vacancy inside that was supposed to hold a well of power.
When casting, I was able to fill the well with a trickle of power. Just enough to complete my task. Never able to retain any or actually fill it with more than a smidge. Thus far, nobody seemed willing to explain how to do it either. Too taboo that I would even have the audacity to ask such a question.
It was no surprise Prince Injaenus came to mind at this moment. If only I had seized the opportunity and actually held a conversation with him rather than fumble around like a muted nitwit.
Not one word. The entire dance we shared I wasn’t able to utter a single word. I was literally handed a chance to speak with one of the only people who could possibly relate to anything I had to say. There were only two monarchs on the Continent of Corianth. One Fae and one Eildun. I had so many questions. Questions that usually received narrowed-eyed glares as responses from others.
I didn’t even know if the prince would have answered any of my questions or treated me as most. Like an ignorant child. Sure, to an immortal I was still in my infancy. My ignorance can only be the outcome of my environment. Right?
Even I wasn’t naive enough to believe that.
Shaking the prince from my thoughts, I stared at the open book to the side of the collection of flammable objects. It was already opened to the page explaining the runes I would need to cast the spell. Eyelashes brushing against the mask as I rolled my eyes. The simplicity to which the book broke down the steps was even insulting.
Pricking my finger with the tip of a small blade. Squeezing out enough blood to copy the runes onto a clean sheet of parchment, I didn’t try to hide my sigh. Was I truly so underestimated?
When casting with runes and blood, it didn’t particularly matter where the runes were written. But I couldn’t imagine what my desk would have looked like after spending the last decade casting with blood directly onto the wood. Hence the parchment.
Not paying too much attention to what I was doing, I chose the first set of runes I saw outlined on the page and copied them down.
I no longer knew why I was here. My lessons should have been focused around harnessing my full power, accessing it, manipulating it, retaining it. Learning the dynamics of magic so that I could understand and wield with knowledge and responsibility. Instead, I was still learning to not fumble around in the dark or freeze to death next to a cold hearth. Something I mastered more than a decade ago.
My focus was now a thing of myth. Mumbling so Master Dagus would think I was speaking the enchantment instead of the utter nonsense that was tumbling from my lips between curses. At this point I didn’t care if I failed casting or if I burned the man’s bushy eyebrows right of his stupid, ancient face.
Mindlessly, I reached into my empty well and coaxed a trickle of power to flow through.
The air began to grow thick. A spark igniting in my center conjuring a pinpoint of interest. My focus began to narrow. Magic pulling at me, begging to be used with a physical force that had my leg muscles tensing in my seat. A sensation that had never accompanied casting before. No matter the level of power I attempted to wield.
Usually I had to focus. Like really focus. Urging my inner strength, pointedly, toward a certain rune or element until I felt a tug. Only then would I be able to accomplish anything. Conjuring fire took a bit less concentration since I did it so often bored within my chambers.
Instead, today I was having difficultycontrolling the level of magic that was begging for attention. The well in the center of my being felt as empty as when I stepped into the room. None of this growing power was being retained. More and more power flooded my body. Waiting.
I imagined wrapping a hand in the magic, pulling at only what I needed. Using my other hand to push the bulk away before it overwhelmed me. Abating some of the increasing tension. But my well remained frustratingly empty.
Sweat dripped from my brow and slid between my skin and mask.
Visualizing, I tried to fill an actual well I conjured in my mind. A deep, thick, stone well. Pouring buckets of power into the structure. I could feel the magic moving, flowing, being swayed in a unified direction. But not in the direction of my reserves.
Then where was it going?
“Aeeiiiiii!” Master Dagus yelped.
Pausing my attempts at magical shepherding, my eyes blinked rapidly. Trying to focus past the blur I hadn’t realized my sight retreated behind.
All the elements on the desk were lit. Flames danced strongly atop the candle and lamp. The oilcloth and kindling had been reduced to ash. The heat at my back was enough for me to surmise that the fireplace was no longer dark and cold. The smell of singed fabric also told me Master Dagus had likely been leaning against the mantle when the fire ignited.
I didn’t even try to hide my smile. His brows were intact, but a tendril of smoke was still wafting from the right side of his robes.
The smile melted from my face as my brow began to furrow. I could feel them.
All of them.
Each flame was connected to me by an invisible tether. The power flowing through me. Using me as a conduit. The air around me still felt heavy, only now it was charged.
Taking a deep breath, gritting my teeth, I pushed against the magic trying to force it to slow. Controlling it was no longer the small task I was accustomed. The current was strong, willed by its own volition. It seemed happy to be using me and didn’t appreciate that I was trying to put a leash on it. Resisting my efforts seemed to weaken it though.
Sweat continued to build under my mask. Closing my eyes, I formed a mental door. Similar to the ones I would fashion in my mind to fortify my mental shields. Imagining that door closing against the onslaught of magic instead of leashing it. Funneling it to flow as an afterthought instead of an all-consuming torrent through a small crack.
As soon as the flow was locked into a manageable flux, the flames, all of them, shot up into the air a few feet before settling into a dull, steady burn.
Drained, I slumped in my chair. Exhaustion pulled at my eyelids and lungs. I barely noticed when Master Dagus stuck his head out the door and stammered to the guard on duty.
Great, I thought, the old nag is tattling on me.
It was only moments before Minister Khayin appeared at the door.
Had he been waiting outside the door? I couldn’t help but wonder. There was the usual guard just outside the door and two at each end of the hallways. Was he worried I would remove my mask? Master Dagus was on the list of those who would not be put to death for seeing my face, but it was still highly discouraged.
Hushed whispers floated to my ringing ears from the other side of the room before Master Dagus raised his voice, demanding I perform another spell.
When did my ears start ringing?
Working my jaw, trying to shake the undercurrent of sound, I tried to focus. A simple healing spell this time. I was even better at that than conjuring fire. I had been a very adventurous child and my father did not approve of a princess having an array of scrapes and bruises all the time. Constant visits to the healers for minor injuries had become cumbersome.
Grabbing the small blade once more, I splayed my hand on the desk. Palm up. This was the part I dreaded the most. With one swift movement I traced the tip across the center of my hand. A shallow gash sufficient to appease my tutor.
Dipping my finger into the pooling blood, preparing to trace the proper runes on the parchment. Before my finger could begin the first rune, the flow of magic I had pushed aside began to push back. No longer docile in the back of my mind as it now fought to be used.
Slightly relaxing the mental door inside my mind, allowing a small trickle through. Laying a mental path from the flow to my hand. Surprisingly, the power flowed in a willing current. Happy to be given a path to follow. I could feel it travelling down my arm, past my wrist, and into my hand. Coaxing flesh to knit together.
Rustling of heavy robes from behind was enough of a distraction to make me realize I potentially just made a fatal mistake.
As quickly as possible, I scribbled, using he blood while I still could to write down the proper runes and mutter the correpinding spell. I put no effort into the words. All focus remained on the flow of power, not allowing it get out of hand.
Healed, I held out my hand to Minister Khayin and my tutor. Making sure that the bloodied runes on parchment was visible. While hoping they wolud pay no attention to the useless runes from earlier.
Without a word, both men gave me their backs as they walked away to the far corner to whisper in hushed tones.
I prayed to the gods that neither of them were hovering while I wasn’t casting the spell. I hadn’t used runes or chanted to conduct the spell or control the flow of power. That type of control was a Fae trait, not Eildun. True, runes or blood were not vital to Eildun casting magic, but words were.
What was happening to me?
