Elixir Part 2
New to this story? Read Part 1
M
The morning sunshine slipped between the curtains on the window and danced across his closed eyelids. Sleep had been surprisingly restful though his dreams had focused almost entirely on his guest. Frustrated at his unconscious’ fixation, he flung the covers aside and resolved to begin his day. Padding silently to the kitchen he passed the guest room. He listened at the door and heard only the soft murmurs of sleep within. His guest was no doubt exhausted from her frantic flight to his home, leaving him to enjoy his morning alone.
Once in the kitchen he began his rather mundane routine of making breakfast. He summoned and cracked a pair of eggs onto the pan after a quick spell to heat it. He smiled softly, remembering the numerous attempts to craft the spell and the even more numerous burnt eggs that had resulted. He had mastered it in time though so the eggs were perfectly cooked as he slid them onto his plate. The rest of his meal promptly followed and he made his way to his outdoor balcony instead of his dining room. The air was crisp after the storm that had rolled in overnight. He quickly dried the furniture and settled himself to watch the beginning of the day. He had just his morning tea left when the henhouse below him stirred to life. He went back inside and collected a small pouch before teleporting down.
“Good morning ladies,” he greeted as one by one hens emerged from the tiny hut. He dug into the pouch and spread out their breakfast which they happily began pecking. He moved through his property, sedately attending to his morning tasks. It went slower than it should have, his coughing fits delaying him. It was not large, the space within his thorn wall, though it housed much of what he required to live secluded from the world. Not all however, as he noted his dwindling supply of meats and cheese in his kitchen. Another trip to one of the nearby villages would be due soon. The floor above him creaked softly, announcing his guest was no longer slumbering. Summoning another couple eggs, he began readying her breakfast.
A
She groaned as light invaded her cocoon. The bed was downright dangerous in its comfort as it encouraged her to simply rollover and burrow deeper into its plushness. Her stomach had other ideas however and made its opinion known quite loudly. Sighing, she dug herself out of her mound of blankets and headed to the washroom. She was just finishing up brushing her hair when there was a knock on her door.
“Come in,” she called, tucking away the fact he did not merely enter away with the steadily growing evidence that her host was in fact not the monster rumor painted him to be. He glided in empty-handed, but with a seemingly careless wave, a tray of steaming food appeared in place of the platter from the night before. Instead of more cider, a delicate tea pot and cup sat beside the tray. She fought the urge to raise an eyebrow at the action for she must be mistaken. This terrifying sorcerer capable of hurling fire and lightning down upon his foes could not possibly be showing off to a girl, though a small part of her couldn’t completely dismiss the thought.
Instead, she dug into the breakfast as he stood quietly. Only when she had finished all save her tea did he clear his throat. She prepared herself for an interrogation, sure that this was the end of his courtesy towards a trespasser.
“I trust the accommodations were satisfactory,” he began. She nodded though he hadn’t phrased it as a question. “I would like some questions answered.” Again she nodded as she sipped her tea. “First, what is your name?” Not the question she expected to come first, but perhaps she should have given her treatment so far.
“Anora,” she answered, “may I know yours?” A risk to be so bold, she knew, and yet she did not feel it to be one. He looked surprised by the question, but nowhere near the anger she knew was common amongst wielders of the arcane arts.
“Malcolm,” he said, “though I prefer to go by Mal. Why were they chasing you?”
“Mal,” she said softly, testing out the sound of it. It was not like the other sorcerer names she’d read about. Each one trying to be longer and more menacing than the last. She felt oddly safe with this sorcerer though she worried that her next words would shatter that safety. “They were chasing me because I escaped. I was to be executed.” She curled the tea cup close, soaking in its warmth as she shivered from the memory. So focused on her cup, she didn’t notice the shock on his face.
“Executed?” His voice rose and shook with anger. “What crime could you have committed to have earned such a sentence?” Anora flinched at his tone though she knew the anger was not directed at her. She bit her lip, uncertain how to phrase the response. It was a rather complicated series of events that had led to her sentence so she decided to share her story.
It had all started with her mother’s death last autumn. Her mother was a scholar and tutor for the local lord’s children. With her death, Anora had nearly lost her home had she not found work in the kitchens. As winter settled on the manor, more grew sick like her mother had. One of those was the youngest son of the lord. She was instructed to prepare broth regularly for the boy. His nurse fed him the broth, but one day when she arrived with the broth the nurse was not there. The boy had begged her to feed him instead. She had done so, carefully blowing on each spoonful to ensure it was not too hot. She had just finished and was preparing to leave when the nurse came in. The nurse was furious she had not waited, but when she checked on the boy her rage turned to terror. The boy she had fed was not breathing. She was arrested and charged with murder even though she was not to blame. The illness had claimed many as young as the boy, but the nurse was insistent that Anora had somehow poisoned the broth. So without further investigation, she had been locked away and sentenced to die. She had managed to escape the prison thanks to her slender frame fitting her through the small window she had fashioned a makeshift ladder to reach. The grate covering had been so rusted it practically fell apart at her touch. The dogs had sounded the alert though and they had come after her.
Her story told, she focused again on her tea which had grown cold. A hand wrapped about the cup and it began to steam again. She looked up and was surprised to see Mal so close, his dark eyes boring into hers.
“Your mother,” he whispered his fingers brushing her pendant, “she gave you this?” She nodded, speechless from the proximity. The way his voice wrapped around her, cocooning her in warmth, sent shivers down to her toes. She watched something pass over his face, glaze those dark eyes, before he backed away and began to cough. She wanted to comfort him, but stayed seated until the fit passed. When it did, she put down her empty cup and asked about the coughing fits.
“Those are not normal are they?” He shook his head and launched into his own story.
M
Mal shook his head at her question. He didn’t have to explain himself to her, yet he felt something when they were close just now. Something in those blue eyes had reached out to him so he took a breath and reached back.
He had been in his study, a new scroll spread open on his desk. It had been a rare find, a spell able to manipulate the weather, specifically rain. He had nearly lost his orchard to drought over the brutally dry summer and this spell would ensure that would never happen again. At least, in theory. The spell was complex and on his first two attempts he had achieved only a wisp of a cloud. His third attempt had resulted in a mishap. The cough was the result of the rain cloud ending up in his lungs. He had a fix for it, a special tea could be brewed and would allow him to draw out the cloud. However, procuring one of the ingredients was problematic for him, especially with the cough. The root only grew in a secluded mountain region in the north, a three day ride, with it being twice that on foot.
“Can’t you just teleport,” she asked, “use your magic to get there instantly?” He chuckled as she wiggled her fingers to imitate spell casting.
“I need to be able to visualize where I’m going,” he explained patiently, “I could shorten the time by jumping as far as I can see, but it would be draining and the cough worsens the more magic I use.” He mentally scolded himself for revealing such a weakness, but Anora just looked contemplative.
“It won’t get better without it though, will it?” He shook his head. A normal cough would have, but the cloud fed on his magic, sustaining itself. “When do we leave?” He blinked owlishly, completely surprised that she would care enough to travel such a long way to help him, a stranger. It was early enough they could pack and leave before noon so he said as much. She nodded and smiled at him. “Then let’s do so.”
Once their packs were ready he grabbed the pouch in the kitchen and headed to his chickens. He spread out enough for them to eat for the duration he would be gone and gave each one a quick pet. He looked up to the balcony and saw Anora gazing down at him, a soft smile tugging at her lips. Something about her smiles warmed him and he felt his own lips tug upward in answer.
Packs strapped to their backs, they headed toward the thorn wall. There was no gate in the wall, but Mal simply raised his hand and chanted softly. The vines raised and uncoiled before them, leaving an archway for them to pass through. The soft gasp of wonder from Anora pleased him in a way that surprised him.
A
Anora was unused to hiking and her feet protested mightily by the time they stopped for lunch. She had traded the soft slippers for boots, but as she pulled them off she wondered if she’d made the wrong choice. Her groans caught Mal’s attention and she soon found her blistered foot in his hands. It was oddly embarrassing being under such scrutiny. She had been in little more than rags when they’d met, her body caked in filth, yet she had not felt ashamed. She watched him dig out a jar from his pack and apply it to the blisters. It was cold and tingled a bit. Her eyes widened as the blisters vanished. He did the same for the other foot and she sighed with relief.
“Thank you,” she said as they resumed their trek northward. Mal nodded in acknowledgment. He was an enigma, she decided, a quiet, gentle enigma with the power to… she stopped walking and turned to him. “The scroll spell was for controlling weather, yet I saw you throw fire and lightning at the villagers.” A smirk appeared on his face as he answered her.
“Illusion is far easier magic,” he explained, “harnessing the elements takes more complex spells. Water has always been a harder element for me to master too. My affinity lies with fire.” She found the fact it was all an illusion comforting. He was not some godlike creature that could rain down death from the sky at all. It was just fancy theatrics and had her remembering his trick with the trays.
“The trays were real,” she stated, “the cider, the eggs, and everything.”
“Quite real,” he agreed, “that was transportation magic. I simply swapped the empty platter with the tray I had already prepared downstairs.” She had been right, she realized, he had been showing off to her. They resumed walking and she spent the time quietly studying her companion.
He was taller than her, but that wasn’t hard with her petite stature. A lean build, designed for libraries instead of fields. His hands were also naturally suited for books over plows, with long slender fingers that could easily curl around the thick books she'd seen stacked in his study. His hair made her jealous, falling in an flawless ebony curtain down his back while hers was a tangled mess of straw that barely grew to her shoulders. His face tended to look gaunt with such sharp features, but his smile softened them and lit his dark eyes up as well. Those eyes, so dark they looked almost black. They had looked like empty voids that night, but reminded her of the night sky littered with stars now. She pondered the change and wondered if it was merely her shift in perception that brought it about. She still had a long way to go before she could say she knew the quiet boy beside her, but she was as eager to take that journey as she was to proceed with their actual one.
M
Mal could feel Anora watching him as they walked, his back itching to turn around and look. He refrained and tried to focus on the trail ahead. He had brought his staff with them and found it helpful to steady himself during his coughing fits. He wondered what she saw, studying him as she was.
She probably saw him as frail, an invalid worthy of pity, of scorn. His father would have said as much, he knew, had seen him as a failure right to his last breath. Yet he couldn’t truly believe it, not when those blue eyes met his. She looked at his magic and gasped in wonder, in delight. There was no fear or loathing like the villagers nor ridicule like his father. She had reached for him right at the beginning without hesitation, not with pity, but concern even though she likely had heard the rumors that painted him as a monster. Even now, she suffered blisters and aching limbs to reach a destination that was of no use to her, only to help him. It sent his mind reeling to find a logical reason behind her actions and stoked a warmth in his chest that he was beginning to enjoy.
Spring was slowly taking hold on the rolling hills around them and Mal thought of his orchard, his trees had only just begun to show buds. He loved when they bloomed and would often read beneath them. He found himself wondering if Anora would enjoy it as well and jolted at how easy it was to picture the two of them lounging beneath the apple blossoms. He shook the thought aside and looked behind him.
She had her attention down at her feet, but the slight color in her cheeks had him wondering if she had indeed been staring at him. He was impressed she kept up with his longer stride, though he imagined his coughing fits likely gave her time to catch up. She wore a simple tunic and pants, same as he did, clothes he kept for his supply runs to the local villages. He had gone into a village in his robe once and the villagers had panicked, closing up their stalls in the market and hiding away as if he were carrying a plague. He’d gone back the next day dressed in the clothes he had on now and they hadn’t batted an eye at him.
Turning his attention back to the path ahead, he finished his climb up the latest hill. Ahead lay a forest where he often would forage for mushrooms, berries, and the occasional herb that would not grow in his garden. It was not the season for such, he knew, instead there would be the risk of traps left by hunters hoping to snare a rabbit or larger game animal. He waited long enough for Anora to join him as he considered the path ahead.
“How big is it?” she asked him, “Will we clear it before nightfall?” He caught the slight tremble in her voice and looked at her. She barely reached his shoulder, her blue eyes wide as she looked up at him. Fear, he noted, but not of him.
“It is not that deep,” he assured her, “we will make camp well beyond it.” Indeed it would take no more than a couple hours to reach the other side though it held no real danger to them. They headed down the hill together and entered the shady wood.
A
Anora entered the forest with her senses on high alert. She had never ventured so far from her home and found herself imagining all kinds of dangers lurking in the shadows. White-barked trees, their skeletal branches tipped with tiny new leaves, stood like silent guards around them. She tried not to jump at every rustle and creak, but she was not having much luck. Her companion either was oblivious or purposely ignoring her unease and she could not decide which she preferred as she trailed behind him.
Another rustle, to her left this time. Movement caught her eye, something leapt toward her onto a fallen log. She screamed, along with the creature on the log, and tumbled backwards. The furry animal dove back under the dead leaves, its striped body perfectly camouflaged. Anora sat where she had landed, her face heating with embarrassment at having been frightened by such a tiny creature.
“I think you’ve scared every chipmunk in these woods now,” his voice was soft with a hint of amusement. She refused to look at him and instead glared at his boots. She heard him shift and the view of his boots became blocked by his knees. “Hey,” he said softly and she felt him gently take her chin and tilt her face up to his. She met his eyes and saw concern in them. “Are you alright?” She sighed and nodded. Her pride had taken a beating, but she was otherwise unhurt. He stood and helped her up. “I know these woods as well as my own kitchen,” he assured her, “you have nothing to fear here.”
“You could have said as much before I made a fool of myself,” she groused back. She watched him turn back to her, his face unreadable.
“Two autumns ago I was foraging for mushrooms,” he paused, rubbing the back of his neck, “I startled a skunk.” She blinked, once, twice, a chuckle spilled out, then a laugh.
M
He stood and watched as Anora laughed. The smell had clung to him for days in spite of multiple baths and cleansing spells. It was worth reliving the moment, the embarrassment, he decided, in order to hear her beautiful laugh. He was relieved to hear it, the tone she had berated him with had upset him though he couldn’t figure out why.
Mal pondered it while they resumed their journey. She was right, he knew, he should have shared the fact he knew these woods when he noticed her fear. He simply hadn’t bothered and it had upset her. He realized he had grown too unaccustomed to interacting with others beyond the merchants he dealt with. He was determined to do better, to be better, for her.
As he expected, they cleared the woods well before the sun reached the tree line. He judged they had two, maybe three, hours left before they needed to stop for the night. They had made good time by his estimates and he hoped the rest of the journey would go as smoothly.
The terrain was steadily becoming less hilly, but far rockier as they made their way north. Flat chunks of pale gray rock littered the scrubby grass and wiry clumps of bushes offered meager shelter to any wildlife in residence. Clusters of crocuses heralded the arrival of spring, their vivid purple petals bright against the drab landscape. Mal knew night would bring a chill to the steady winds here and quickened his pace.
He saw the cluster of boulders he was looking for just as the sky took on the rosy glow of sunset. He glanced back at Anora and realized she had fallen far behind him without him noticing. He waited for her to catch up, guilt sitting heavy inside him. Better, he admonished himself, do better.
“We can camp amongst the rocks,” he said once she was beside him again. “They will block most of the wind.” He watched her nod, too out of breath to speak. “I’m sorry I went too fast, please tell me to wait if I start getting too far ahead. I haven’t traveled much beyond this area so I’m unsure of the dangers going forward.” She gave another nod and he resumed his trek to the rocks. Light would begin to dwindle quickly now and he wanted to be sure the camp was ready before dark.
A
Anora sat and watched Mal prepare their camp. She had offered to help, but he had insisted she rest, apologizing again for rushing her. She appreciated the break and found watching his meticulous actions relaxing. She was surprised by the seemingly endless supplies he pulled out of their packs. It hadn’t been all that heavy and certainly not big enough for the poles he was currently pulling out of his. Magic, she decided, was useful for more than terrifying mobs and showing off to girls.
Soon there was a warm campfire chasing away the chill that had come with the dark. Mal had pulled the logs out of her pack and set them alight with a mere flick of his wrist. It wasn’t until he placed a steaming bowl of stew in her hands that she dared to voice her question.
“How?” he repeated, a smile tugging at his lips, “with these.” He held a pouch in his hand. It was just like the one he’d used when feeding his chickens, she realized. “They link to specific locations you designate when creating the spell. This one is tied to the spot above my woodpile by the main fireplace. I can just reach in and take a log from the pile as needed.” She watched him swap pouches, holding the new one out to her. “Here, use this one.” She put down her bowl and took the pouch. It felt like an ordinary piece of burlap, no tingle or hint of magic at all, and seemed completely empty. She put her hand in tentatively, a small part of her expecting a trick. She felt something round inside, the texture rough and firm. She drew the item out and found a roll in her hand, its crust a delicate golden brown. She placed the roll in his expectant hand and she soon smelled it too. She carefully retrieved the roll and handed him the pouch. She tore the roll in half and watched as steam escaped. Warm as if just pulled from the morning ovens. The delight at such magic was hard to hide and she soon found herself grinning at her companion. She watched him return the smile, his dark eyes sparkling, and noticed a soft pink dusting his cheeks.
Anora leaned back, feeling drowsy and full. The stew had been delicious and the warm roll and crisp cider had made it one of the best meals she’d ever eaten. She looked up from her bowl and found Mal watching her from across the campfire, his eyes hooded.
M
Mal knew he shouldn’t stare, but he found his gaze constantly drawn to her, a magic she alone possessed. Three hearty meals today had already done wonders for her, he noted. Her heart-shaped face was perfectly designed for smiles in his opinion and he found himself seeking out ways to bring them forth.
The pure delight in her grin over the roll had filled him with a warm buzzing that reminded him of the air after a lightning strike. She was indeed like lightning, he decided, setting his nerves buzzing with every smile. It puzzled him too, but it was an enjoyable bafflement. He had never encountered anyone like her though he knew his childhood had not been typical by any means. His brow furrowed as he slipped into the past.
Mal was tied to a post, naked save a small cloth covering his privates. Tears streamed down his face and his small fists clenched against the ropes holding him.
“Burn the rope,” demanded the man behind him. Mal tried again and again to obey his father, but the ropes held firm. Pain sliced along his back. There would be no mark from the whip, he knew, his father’s magic was refined as well as strong. Again he tried, but the flames would not come so instead the whip did.
Mal shook away the memory. It had taken over a week to conjure a flame strong enough to burn those ropes, much to his father’s disgust. Even now, a decade later, he still could barely summon enough to like a campfire. A disgrace, his father had called him repeatedly over the years, and Mal couldn’t find it in himself to disagree.
A yawn crept up on him as he gazed across the flames at Anora, his eyes drooping. He realized he was staring again, but was too tired to care. Her blue eyes were hidden beneath her golden lashes as she looked down at her bowl. In the firelight, he could just make out the freckles that danced across her cheeks and over her delicate nose. A nose that scrunched adorably when she was lost in thought he’d noticed. His gaze had just drifted to her lips when her blue eyes flicked up, snagging his attention. He blinked slowly, dimly aware he had been caught staring.
He watched as she stood and made her way over to him. Her motions were relaxed so he felt sure she was not mad at him. He offered no resistance as she took the empty bowl out of his hands then hoisted him onto his feet. Her hands guided him to his bedroll then gently shoved him down. He sat obediently and allowed her to tuck him in. Those warm hands left and he couldn’t help the plaintive whine that came from his throat. They returned, softly stroking his cheek and running through his hair. He remembered his mother had done that every night, at least, until she’d vanished after yet another bout of arguing with his father.
“Sleep now,” Anora gently commanded. As if she were the one with magic, his eyes closed and he drifted quickly into slumber.
Continue Reading: Part 3
I’d love to hear what you think of the characters so far. I didn’t build back stories for the original characters which made the whole story feel off. I built them each one now that I’m rewriting it and it’s made it easier for me to see where I messed up interactions and behaviors. I’m hoping things will feel more natural and believable in this version.
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