Hard Core Chapter Two

Timothy tries to explain magic and Anoir lies about her motives.

Timothy was slowing down again. He dragged his feet along the dirt path, kicking up clouds of dust.

Then the boy began to whine. “Darkness-”

“No.” she cut him off.

“But we’ve been walking forever!”

“It’s been half an hour.”

He bounded in front of her. “How do you know that?”

She shielded her eyes against the afternoon light. “The sun.”

The idiot turned and started a staring contest with the giant ball of light. She pushed his face away with the flat of her hand.

“Don’t stare you moron. Follow the shadows it makes.” She pointed at one of the larger rocks along the path. “The shadows are get longer after midday.”

She glanced over at the boy to see him staring not at the shadows but at her with awe painted across his face.

“Gods, it’s not magic.”

They continued to walk in silence for a while. Timothy squinted at each passing rock as though it held the secrets of the universe.

“How did you know you had… magic?” Anoir asked out of the blue.

Timothy looked up from the beetle he had been following, surprised. “I don’t know.” He thought for a bit. “How did you know you had tears?”

“I’ve always had tears.”

“No you didn’t, they only come when you’re sad.”

Or scared, or angry, or any other million reasons. Anoir had lost track of the reasons since hitting ten. Sometimes she hated being a girl. Boys didn’t seem to cry nearly so much. It was really annoying.

“So you can do only do magic when you’re sad then?” she asked, trying to steer away from the subject of tears. Just hearing about it made the memories rush forth with reasons to burst into them again.

Timothy shook his head, blonde hair flapping across his face. “I can only do it with I think really hard.” He played with a seam on his shirt. “But it never does what I think.”

Anoir raised an eyebrow. From the two seconds of watching him think she was pretty sure concentration had nothing to do with it, but she wasn’t a Magin. Let the boy believe what he wanted. Long as he could do it when it counted. That was all that mattered to her.

“Maybe you just need more practice.” She suggested.

“Yeah!” he agreed cheerfully. “I didn’t get to do much at St Francis. Or any really.” He bit his lip.

“How come?” Anoir prodded.

Timothy pulled the thread of out the seam and started unraveling his shirt. “Cos it’s Daemoncraft.”

He stood up straight and stared unseeing at the horizon. “Magic is the tool of the Daemon to change the world the Gods have given us in their good grace and wisdom. To change the Gods' world is to spit in their face.”

Anoir took a step back. Timothy had a glazed look on his face as he spoke.

“Magic is Daemoncraft and we shall never partake of the Daemon’s methods so long as we so shall live. Amany.”

“You don’t seriously believe that?” she said incredulously.

The boy blinked as though suddenly remembering where he was. “It’s The Truth. I have to believe it. The Gods willed it so.”

Anoir tilted her head and eyed the boy. There was something strange in his head if he could do magic and believe that garbage at the same time. She could use that.

“So what do the Gods say about boys and girls adventuring to strange new lands in search of Daemon Bandits?” she asked.

Timothy brightened at the mentioned of Daemon Bandits. “Oh that’s fine. That’s Gods work!”

She smiled thinly. “Of course it is.”

He bounded over a bigger rock and ran in front of her again. “Is that what we’re doing?” His eyes couldn’t get any bigger than they were right then.

“Yes.” Anoir said slowly. “Yes, we’re hunting down Daemon Bandits.”

“Okay!” he ran down the path and back up again. “Why?”

Anoir bit back a new flood of tears. It didn’t matter how much time and distance she put between herself and it, it always made her cry as hard as the night it had happened.

“Because it’s Gods’ work.” She said quietly.

“Cool!”

Anoir continued her steady pace as the blonde boy zipped all over the path in front of her. He’d regret that later. You needed to conserve strength for these treks. But he’d learn. He’d have to. She needed his magic. It was the edge she’d been looking for.

She touched the knife underneath her shirt.

She’d need both edges to get to the bandits who had ruined her life.

Author's Note

I may add more to this, it seems awfully short...

Reviews

[M Garcia]

Nice addition. I like the format and the story. I do hope you continue with it.