by DeMaizu » Mon Oct 24, 2016 9:29 am
I scrambled down the hill, clutching my staff in my right hand and my tin whistle in the other.
“I — am — so — late! I — am — so — late!” I chanted under my breath, my heart beating like crazy. What was I late for? A lesson. A magic lesson, to be more accurate. But if Master caught me out there—!
I tripped over my stupid dress-that’s-not-a-dress robes, yelping as I face-planted into the dirt. Almost immediately I was back up, brushing myself off as I ran. I was the apprentice to a sorcerer, really the only one around these parts — and no small wonder, seeing as they had been outlawed by the king years ago. I’m not sure how my master, Yuudai, had managed to stay hidden from the king and his guards for so long, but I don’t question it much. I do question the king’s logic. Yuudai, while scary and loud and bossy, isn’t evil. I’ve always felt like my master has a huge sense of justice, which was probably why he took in a stray thief like me in. Anyone else would have reported me to the authorities, or thrown me out on the curb. Not Master Yuudai — he’d given me a meal and a place to stay the night, and then offered to teach me proper magic in the morning. Magic! I still can’t believe my luck. I definitely didn’t believe Master Yuudai when he’d said I have so much raw magic energy it was coming off me in waves.
My flashback was cut short as I tripped again. This time, though, I had to stay there for a second or so as sheep baa’d and chewed the hem of my — coat, let’s call it; yeah, that works — and catch my breath. I’d been running from the marketplace about a mile or so from Master’s cottage, and it is no small task to run there and back in those stupid, heavy, dragging pieces of cloth.
I burst through the door, panting, only to find the cottage is empty.
“Master?” I peered in, setting my staff against the doorframe carefully. He’d kill me if I mistreated my magic tools even a little. “Hello?” Our cottage is like one of those picturesque places you see on a post card - at least on the outside. The inside is an entirely different story; jars and jars of powdered bones, scales from all sorts of scaled creatures, petrified cockatrice feathers, phoenix feathers, banshee vomit (that’s one particular magic ingredient I never relished collecting), and much more that Master’s collected himself because I wasn’t there to do it yet, and that’s just the jars. Shelves of books, magic and not, magical creatures’ skeletons, diagrams of their bodies . . . I could go on. Anyway, what I’m saying is that Master’s home is chock-full of odd and exotic things. The last time someone came inside, they had the quite the shock.
“Master?” I called again. By now, I was starting to get a little concerned; he didn’t usually take this long to reply unless he was sleeping — but he usually took a nap around noon, and it was only nine in the morning, and he was an early riser.
A clatter sounded from his study, followed by three short squawks — Master’s Familiar, Sotiris. Master told me once that it means “salvation.” Sotiris is a lesser phoenix, not to be confused with a greater phoenix; the difference is that greater phoenixes are always on fire, although the size of the flame depends on their mood, and they’re usually huge — for birds, anyway — around five feet tall or so, with twice that size wingspan and half that for the length of their tails. Lesser phoenixes usually only go up in flames when they think they’re in danger, or they’ve lost control of their emotions (which is why many of the things in Master’s house are fire-proofed with spells; Sotiris is an extremely emotional creature). Plus, they’re about the size of a bald eagle, usually. Sometimes you’ll get one the size of a vulture, but that rarely happens. Sotiris (or Iris as we like to call him) is actually a runt, about the size of a northern goshawk.
“Iris?” I walked into his study, the familiar messy clutter greeting me. Iris was burning slightly, like usual, lying under fallen books (yes, they were fire-proofed). “What happened?” I walked towards him, tucking my tin whistle in one of my pockets (which is one of the few things I like about my coat; the many, many, many, deep pockets). “You don’t usually fall under Master’s books on . . .” I checked the covers, “the legality of Necromancy.”
He turned a beady glare on me, his eyes stating Get me out from under these things. NOW, mortal. Or I’ll burn your fingers again.
Yes, Iris has burned parts of me. Mostly my fault, but I’m starting to think he enjoys it a little too much. Anyway, I lifted the books and set them aside carefully, remember Master’s warning to treat everything in his house with respect. Iris flapped to his feet, letting a small chirp as thanks. I nodded, asking “Do you know where Master is?”
He tilts his head at me, intelligent eyes reflecting the light filtering in from the window. Then he lifts his wings, taking off and settling down on my shoulder, pointing to the house’s basement with a wing. I stare at him, a little speechless. I’ve been here for five years and he’s never once let me inside there.
“Ow!” I rubbed my temple where he pecked at me, his eyes saying what his mouth can’t again; Go down there, idiot. “Are you sure? Master’s never — OW! Okay, yes, you’re sure.”
I went back and grabbed my staff, since i was pretty sure Master always took his with him — follow your guardian’s example, right? I hesitated right in front of the door, my hand hovering just above the doorknob. Sotiris was having none of that, though, and started pecking the side of my head until I swatted him away.
“I get it, I get it! Jeez . . .” I grumbled when he flapped back to my shoulder. I took a deep breath and turned the knob, hunching my shoulders a little. Unsurprisingly, nothing happened; no boom of magic, no glowing light, no nothing. Well, except for Iris rolling his eyes in the most exasperated expression I’d ever seen him wear. So I started forward, a little embarrassed. The stairs were dilapidated, or well on their way to it; cracks were everywhere, mold growing on some of them.
“Master?” I peered down as I went, muttering a small chant to light up the end of my staff as a sort of torch as it got darker. I glacned around. The stairs were going down a lot deeper than I’d thought they would, deep enough that the light from the ohuse was gone by the time I got to the bottom. “Hello? Are you down here?” I smacked myself mentally after that last question; of course he was down there. At that point, it was less of a “basement” and more of an underground cavern. What the heck, Master? I know the definition of basement is a room completely below ground, but this was a little more excessive than that; crystals were studded in the walls (albeit very small ones), reflecting the light on the end of my staff, the rock smooth to the touch.
I flinched as my staff’s light went out. It had happened before, usually when I lost my concentration; I just had to re-light it, but Iris beat me to it and ignited his head. Or more accurately, the feathers at the end of his head.
“So keep going?” I asked the bird, who was busy staring at his own reflection in the parts of the walls that were mirror-like. He glanced back at me, like figure it out on your own, you idiot. I’m not your mommy. So I kept going.
I’m not sure how long the tunnel went on. I just kept walking along in a daze, kind of hypnotized by the lights playing off the walls. When we reached the end of it, Iris had to peck me again to keep me from falling off the edge. I took a few steps bak from the very sudden drop, stumbling when I went too fast.
“Thanks,” I told the bird. He nodded in haughty acknowledgement. He took off, my eyes following him — and my heart nearly stopped. Sranding on a small ledge was my master, his staff in one hand and his flute in the other. It was the creature that was standing in front of him that tok my breath away, though; a huge, huge, HUGE dragon.
Master turned when Iris settled on his shoulder, seeing me. He pointed, and the dragon turned their head. I wasn’t really sure whether I wanted to run or not, but while I was busy being indecisive the dragon was suddenly in front of me with Master Yuudai on their nose.
“Sotiris lead you here, I see.” Master’s voice was rough, sore from the sickness that swept over the town a few weeks ago. Healing magic has never been his strong point, so the most he could do was take the sickness into himself. Being someone with magic in his blood, it was easier for him to recover from it then most, but it still left its impression on him and me. “Sota, this is Sylvester. Sylv, my apprentice Sota.”
The dragon — Sylvester — stared at me with gold-brown eyes, as if deciding something. Eventually, he nodded slightly and spoke.
“Yuu has told me about you, Sota. He said you had the magic soul of a dragon, and I can see he speaks the truth.”
“Youi make it sound as if you can’t trust my word,” Master grumbled, sliding down onto the ledge with me.
“there are times when I cannot trust your word,” Sylvester said mildly.
“Um, wait,” I said, confused. “What do you mean ‘magic soul?’ What is that?”
Master and Sylvester peered at me, again looking like they were deciding something. Then Sylvester frowned (or, I think he did; it was hard to tell, what with dragon faces being less expressive than humans’) and turned to Master.
“You have not told him?” Sylvester’s tone was reproachful, and to my amazement, Master looked away and scuffed his foot - usually it was me doing the embarrased hemming and hawing!
“we haven’t gotten to that yet,” Master said, looking like a scolded child.
“hmm.” Sylvester gave him a look, then turned his attention back to me. “Think of your magic soul as a jar, of sorts, that holds all your magic potential. Dragons, being one of the oldest beings who grasped magic, have the biggest magic souls.” He peered at me, only it was like he was looking just over my shoulder instead of me. “You have one of the biggest ones I’ve seen.”
“Um,” I started, unsure of what to say. “Thanks?”
Sylvester snorted, blowing my hair back from my eyes. “It’s dangerous, for a creature of your size. Have you not considered where that magic would go?”
“No . . . ?” I glanced at Master. He was studiously pushing his toe across the floor, making patterns in the dust of bits of rock that had fallen off the walls.
“WHy did you not tell him this immediately?” Sylvester reprimanded Master, sounding like a very exasperated mother. “then he might have come choose sooner.”
“Choose what?” I asked, more confused than before.
“I didn’t think he was ready,” Master argued. “He was used to a life of thievery, and suddenly I thrust this magic business upon him. If I told him he has so much magic—”
His words broke off into some indecipherable gibberish, but Sylvester seemed to understand him just fine because he interrupted in the same language. They went on like that for a while, totally ignoring me and Sotiris. So eventually, I just took out my tin whistle and blew as hard as I could. A very shrill noise came out, amplified by the echoing cavern walls. They looked at me, surprised.
“Choose what?” I asked, dropping the instrument back ion my pocket.
Sylvester glared at Master and said, “a familiar.”
I stood there for a second before I really registered what Sylvester said. “Wait, a familiar? Master said that only happened when a sorcerer graduates from training!”
“Under normal circumstances,” Sylvester agreed. “however, in normal circumstance humans do not have so magic they could possibly explode.”
I gulped. “Oh.”
“Yes,” Sylvester agreed. “Oh.” He lowered his snout so that it was touching the ledge. “Here. I have someone in mind for you.”
I glanced at Master, who gestured for me to climb aboard. So I clambered on Sylvester’s nose, extremely clumsily. He turned, after amking sure I was balanced, and started walking off.
“Do you know how dragons are born?” he rumbled, his slow voice sending vibrations up my spine. I shook my head before remembering that he couldn’t see me, and said I didn’t. “Well, usually a lady dragon has her clutch of eggs and they will hatch. but sometimes, a dragon will be born from someone who has regrets, something they needed to do but could not for some reason or another.” I stayed silent, as Master usually told me to hush and listen. “The souls will hatch from eggs, but it is the forming of the eggs that is important. One such soul came here yesterday. I thought you might like to meet her.”
“The egg hatched already?” I asked, a little startled.
“No, but she is about to.”
“Then how do—” I started, but he cut me off.
“How do I know what their gender is? It is hard to explain.” We lapsed into silence the rest of the way, Sylvester’s steady gait taking us through a long, long tunnel. The sides of the walls were smooth, rubbed that way by his scales. from time to time, we would come across a cluster of torches in the wall, the fire reflecting Sylvester’s scales. When the tunnel stopped, opening into a huge cavern, my breath caught in my throat.
Millions upon millions of eggs, lying on nests of moss and leaves. Different sizes, different colors, different shapes . . . . It was amazing.
Sylvester picked his way among them carefully, making his way to one egg in particular; a deep violet, with lines of silver running across it like a web. It was small, compared to the others, about the size of an ostrich egg (or so Sylvester says; I’ve never seen the egg of an ostrich, so I wouldn’t know). I slid down from Sylvester’s nose, kneeling down next to it. It just . . . it felt like there was someone saying my name from inside there.
“You feel a connection?” Sylvester sounded pleased, like he’d thought this wouldn’t happen but hoped it would.
I nodded. “Can you hear her?” I ran my fingers along the egg, as if I was in a trance.
Sylvester shook his head. “No, but that you can means your fates are already entwined.”
I looked around. “What do you mean?”
“familiars and their partners are connected by fate,” Sylvester explained. “Your teacher and Sotiris cannot live without the other.” When I gave him a confused look, he tilted his head. “Let me put it this way,” he said eventually. “If Yuu dies, then so will the firebird. If that emotional, flighty thing dies, then Yuu will lose his life as well.”
I clutched the egg to my chest, as if that would stop it, bringing a chuckle from the older dragon. “Is that going to happen to us?”
“that you will die?” Sylvester nodded. “Everyone dies eventually. But I doubt your end will come any time soon.”
I looked down at the dragon egg, staring at the patterns on its shell. Already, it felt like there was someone in there, trying to get to me.
“she’s hatching very soon,” Sylvester told me. “Her first view of the world will most likely be you.”
Just as I turned to give him a reply, the egg shook in my hands. Miniature cracks marred the surface when I looked back at it, a small beak poking through. Squeaks filled my ears as the rest of her head emerged, a pair of intelligent eyes peering at me.
“Hi,” I whispered. Her paws were out, resting on the edge of the egg’s hole. I rested my thumb on one her paws, smiling like an idiot. She squeaked again, scrunching her eyes up. She started making noises like a cat hacking up — and then she sneezed fire on the egg, somehow missing me, and melting the rest of the egg shell off of her. Sylvester laughed, his voice ringing off the walls.
“I was not expecting that,” I said, blinking. “Do baby dragons usually do that?”
“Yes,” Sylvester assured me, leaning down to look over her. “Though there is not usually someone holding the egg to possibly be scorched.” He peered at my hands. “I forgot that humans with dragon familiars are immune to fire,” he murmured.
I blinked at him. “Say what now?”
He turned to me, amusement glinting in the huge eye that I could see. “I believe Sotiris will have trouble setting your fingers aflame from now on.”
I snorted.
Who is that?
I jumped at the sound of a voice inside my head. It sounded familiar, feminine. I looked around to see the baby dragon staring at me with an inquisitive gaze. Who is that? She repeated. Is that Sotiris?
No, I answered, unaware I was speaking to her inside my head. The dragon behind us? That’s Sylvester.
Oh. She shifted, flapping her wings. Then who are you? Are you Sotiris?
No, I grinned. I’m Sota. Who are you?
I’m —! I’m . . . She paused, frowning. I’m . . . Her gaze fell on my coat. Or more specifically, the pin with my initials peeking out from one of my pockets. I’m Pin!
Last edited by
DeMaizu on Mon Oct 24, 2016 10:40 am, edited 1 time in total.
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XD
