Mangowo
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Chapter 8: Kill or Clean?
🕑 Added 2024-08-27 17:34:00 +0000 UTCMorning had the cheek to arrive all too promptly. I shot a glare at the intrusive sunshine streaming through the window. Really, it had no business showing up so soon. My eyes were sleep-starved, though I felt oddly refreshed—a bit of a paradox, that. Perhaps it was more of a mental quirk than a physical one. Maybe the sheer dread and paranoia about the day ahead had settled in my bones.
I wrapped the sheets around my head like a fortress of fabric, determined to stay put. I didn't want to face the world today, fervently hoping whatever Lotte foresaw in my Fate wouldn't come to pass. Lotte always had her theories about Fate. Even if I knew something dreadful was on the horizon and tried to hide in the smallest of nooks, Fate would still find me. We all carry our destinies, like heavy, invisible luggage, and no amount of running could keep it at bay forever.
It was something Lotte herself would say. It wasn't hard picturing her, lounging with that grand serpentine hood of hers draped over a rocky outcropping, doling out pearls of wisdom. "Fate is a peculiar beast," she'd muse, her slitted eyes unfocused, probably lost in those Threads of hers. "It's like trying to dodge raindrops in a storm—no matter how swift or clever you are, you'll end up soaked."
"It's an omnipresent shadow," she'd continue, "never tires, never relents, always catches up. So, might as well face it with a bit of stiff upper lip, because hiding only delays the inevitable."
Geez, thanks for the confidence, Lotte.
With a resigned sigh, I cast a weary glance at the wooden clock. Nearly seven in the morning, it proclaimed. There was no eluding the inevitable. I heaved myself out of bed and shuffled towards the shower.
Downstairs, Father had already prepared a humble feast of bread and soup.
"You look tired," he observed, his words slightly muffled by a mouthful of bread.
I didn't feel particularly tired, but perhaps my visage told another tale.
"I'm fine. Just... I might have stayed up a bit later, tinkering with those mana batteries you got me. Simply couldn't resist."
He chuckled, "I knew you'd be all over them. But really, you shouldn't trade your sleep for them. It could become a rather dreadful habit."
"Yeah, yeah," I muttered, taking a sip of the soup. Hmm, a tad bland. I added a pinch of salt. "But you know how it is. You get in the zone, and before you know it, hours have flown by."
Not that I did that. Although, truth be told, I did use those mana batteries, but in quite a different capacity. The ritual had drained them dry, so I'd need to ask Father to recharge them with his mana. Perhaps later, as they weren't supposed to be emptied this swiftly. No need to raise any suspicions unnecessarily.
He nodded sagely. "Indeed. Just remember, even the most dedicated enchanters need their rest. Those mana batteries will still be there in the morning."
I rolled my eyes. "Alright, alright. I'll try to be more sensible. But no promises if a burst of inspiration strikes."
He chuckled, "Fair enough. Just don't come crying to me when you're yawning through your studies."
"Deal," I said, taking another bite of bread. "And thanks for the soup. Just what I needed."
"Anytime," he replied. "Now, finish up and get going. The day won't wait for either of us."
Tell me something I didn't know.
Before long, Father had fetched his Quilidar from the stables. The creature, with its two heads, emitted a pair of enthusiastic squeals as Father perched upon its back. He gave a hearty wave as he set off towards Alcor.
I waved back, grinning like a Cheshire cat. Yet, as soon as he disappeared down the cobblestone street, my grin did a vanishing act too. Lotte had urged me to say proper goodbyes, but I just couldn't muster the courage. Perhaps I wasn't as gallant as she fancied me to be.
I, too, had to go to school, however much I hated it. I slung a cloth bag over my shoulder and stashed a few books inside, knowing my previous one would be nigh impossible to find. I paused to gaze at their covers.
Magic of the [Winter Salamander] Path. Ah, those were the days when I was still ensnared by the fantasy that I, too, might one day tread that path. That I might advance my core, just like everyone else. To grow in power, in strength, but most crucially... to wield magic. That elusive, bloody magic. It was everywhere around me, yet never within me. The craving to manipulate it, to bend it to my will, to perform spell after spell – it gnawed at my very soul. This palpable frustration.
The world teemed with magic, dancing in the air, swirling in the streams, whispering in the trees. Yet, for me, it was just out of reach, like a tantalizing dream slipping away with the dawn. To see others conjure flames, weave illusions, and summon icicles with effortless grace only deepened my yearning. I was like a bird trapped in a gilded cage, wings fluttering against the bars, desperate to soar in the vast, enchanted skies.
My grip tightened on the covers.
When did this bitterness become my constant companion? The hunger for magic consumed me, haunting my every thought. It was a relentless ache, an unfulfilled desire. I craved – no, needed – that rush of power, the thrill of casting a spell, the satisfaction of bending reality to my whims. To live without magic felt like a half-life, a hollow existence. And so, I clung to the faint hope that one day, I might unlock that hidden potential within me and finally, truly belong.
It was this hope, no matter how slim, that kept me attending a school where I was deemed a cripple, all in the belief that one day I, too, would bloom and feel the magic.
Needless to say, I squandered those five years. Well, not entirely squandered. I became a top-notch Alchemy student. Even Miss Hester offered me an apprenticeship with her husband, an esteemed Alchemist in Alcor's adventuring guild.
Ah, but I knew precisely what stoked the fires of my alchemical passion, what kept this enchanting dream of mine flickering ever so brightly. It was that same magic, the elusive wisp I endlessly pursued. Anything that made me feel a part of that magic world, that world of wonders.
I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. Yes, I'd grown accustomed to it. But every now and then, certain triggers would press those bothersome buttons. Had to pull myself together before I spiraled into yet another pity party.
With a sigh, I slung my bag over my shoulder and stepped out. Locking the front door behind me, I made my way towards the watchtower. The deeper I ventured into town, the more I sensed something was amiss.
The market street was teeming with more people than usual. Randall was lively enough on any given day, but today, it was swarming with unfamiliar faces. Knights clad in identical black plate armour, helms obscuring their features, others in black and blue robes, and some sporting leather armour with swords at their hips.
My eyes narrowed as I took it all in. The ones in black plate armour were official knights from Alcor, marked by the Thunder Eagle insignia on their hips. The rest, I presumed, were adventurers, milling about like bees in a hive.
I touched my wrist where the 'contract' with Barn was etched. I'd donned a full-sleeved dress specifically to conceal it. What if someone had detected the ritual? Could all these people be here because of that?
Pah! I scoffed. An entire army for such a thing? Preposterous.
Soon enough, I found myself at the school's gates, and my stomach did an unpleasant flip-flop. Blast it all. Just yesterday, I had bolted from these very gates, reeking of magical beast droppings. And now, here I was again, like a moth to a particularly unpleasant flame. Honestly, the last thing I wanted was to step foot back in that place.
I couldn't fathom what I was doing here in the first place. There was, quite literally, a life-altering event looming on the horizon. Perhaps clinging to this smidge of normality was my mind's way of maintaining a semblance of calm amidst the chaos? A curious quirk of human mind. When faced with monumental change, one would often seek solace in the familiar, no matter how unappealing it might be.
The moment I stepped into the classroom, my eyes landed on Elise and her merry band of witches—no, seriously, they were quite literally witches—giggling away. As soon as I entered, their cackling ceased, only to resume with hushed whispers and then, like a spell breaking, burst into uproarious laughter. No need to consult a crystal ball to know I was the source of their amusement.
I tightened my grip on my bag and made a beeline for my desk, determined to ignore them. But then I stopped short. My desk, conveniently located by the window, was my sanctuary. Most lessons were about as useful to me as a chocolate teapot, so I'd gaze out, enjoying the breeze on my face, eyes following birds and the occasional magical beast soaring through the sky. It was my little slice of peace.
Alas, even that seemed too much for Elise. My seat was smeared with something slimy and vile—no doubt the same stuff they used to pelt me with before. A not-so-subtle reminder they wouldn't rest until my life was a complete and utter nightmare.
Without so much as a glance in their direction, I approached my desk. This wasn't the first time they'd defiled it, and I wouldn't give them the pleasure of seeing me move. I'd gotten into the habit of carrying a spare rag in my bag, ready for such delightful surprises.
As I bent down to fetch the rag, their laughter echoed louder. But then came a peculiar sound—a rattle of bones. I looked down to see a skeletal serpent, draped in a white cloth with painted slitted eyes, staring up at me. Oh, right. I wasn't alone today. Barn, my bony companion, was with me.
Barn clicked his jaw again, and though I had no idea how, I understood exactly what he wanted to say.
"Kill?"
"Absolutely not! No killing, and no attacking anyone unless they pose a direct threat to me," I hastily whispered.
I could practically see Barn's mood nosedive. His eyes, or whatever he had for eyes, locked onto the rag in my hands and that slimy filth on my seat. He clacked his jaw again, a sound like bones knitting together.
"Clean?"
I arched an eyebrow. "If you fancy it?"
His spirits soared. Perhaps he just wanted to lend a hand. Barn floated over my seat, his jaw clacking rhythmically. To my astonishment, every single impurity quite literally evaporated. The faeces stains transformed into stardust and vanished into thin air. The fine dust in the crevices followed suit, along with every trace of grime, muck, and even the faintest smudges of ink.
A purification spell? I knew priests often used such magic, but Barn? He looked like something from beyond the grave. Yet, I knew he wasn't an undead.
Barn clacked his jaws once more, waiting for my appraisal with his painted eyes comically wide. How did he manage that? I gave him a little thumbs up, and he clacked his jaw three times before touching my wrist tattoo and vanishing into thin air.
No one seemed to notice a thing. Well, the whole escapade didn't even last ten seconds. My desk concealed my seat well, and Barn was rather diminutive.
Elise's lot did grace me with another round of mocking giggles as I settled down. But I didn't spare them a glance, my gaze shifting immediately outside. The morning air, the gently swaying trees, the soft chirping of nature's minstrels, the birds. I closed my eyes, savoring this moment of tranquillity, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear.
Was I even remotely prepared for whatever today had in store?
