Myrlin 1 :: 3

Three doses of Koxinto had steadied his heartbeat, and another two of Atad had ridded him of all the throbbing. Emrys had returned not long ago, shaking his head as he entered the store, and told him that she had escaped by the Eastern Terminal. ‘I called Velvel earlier to see if he could help us out,’ he had added, ‘he’s coming from Busan, apparently.’ 

He should’ve noticed the unusual white of her teeth, her masked scent and the retracted claws hiding in the form of manicured fingernails. Her voice was captivating and sweet, but far to enticing to have been just charming. A skinwalker, he determines, and an evil one at that.

 

The last customer had grabbed whatever he’d needed and left behind the corresponding amount of Pieces on the counter in a rush, presumably frightened by the sudden chase and by a limping Myrlin. Now with a couple of hours left until the arranged meeting between Talma and him, he’d closed the shop early and went out into town instead to pass the time with Emrys ambling by his side.  

Their steps trace the riverside, with cobblestone fences built low for seating and willows planted between gaps, pale fingertips rippling the surface in gentle, sweeping touches. With its ever-changing skies of suns and stars, flowing rivers of gold and turquoise, and buildings of diverse heights and styles �" the Breach, the safest haven for all witches, was as breathtaking as ever. Scents mingled and colours blended everywhere, prompting him to stop and take a look at everything around him.

A hang tugs at his cloak abruptly, grabbing the fabric around his elbow. ‘We should pay Aether a visit,’ Emrys mumbles, as they pass by a certain house built in an oriental style, with a low wooden porch built at the front of it and metal lanterns hanging from the eaves. But as the blinds are all drawn shut unlike normal, he shakes his head and pulls him along away from it. 'Not today,' he says as the other grumbles, 'I'd rather we walked around. Maybe pick up a few stones from Vel's store on the way.' 

'Vel is in Busan, though.'

He sticks his tongue out in response. 'Should get that attitude of yours fixed,' he says, and jabs a finger onto his forehead. 'Young ones nowadays.'

'You're getting old, Myrlin.' 

'I haven't grown a single white hair yet.'

'Pah,' Emrys snorts. '50 year-old you and your 19 year-old body.' 

'21 year-old you and your 5 year-old brain.' The two glare at each other in feigned aggression, but end up in a bunch of chuckles anyways. 'Poor griffin chose the wrong person to bless.'

'Curse, you mean. Thing had the brain of a bird.' 

'Edithorpe's research proves otherwise. Page 204, the thirteenth line says�"'

'"Intelligent beasts that are protectors of treasure and golden like the sun, leading men in their search of riches and dominance over all."' A paper published during his childhood, he remembers, that tells of a beast majestic and powerful, with the head of an eagle and the body of a lion. '"The beat of its wings and its shrill cry would send legions toppling over, and its talons would sweep over their heads to block out the sun and knock them over." Did you think you could beat me to that?’ 

Laughter ensues, and Myrlin crosses his arms. ‘You’re really getting old,’ the other chortles, wiping away a fake tear from the corner of his eye. ‘But your memory hasn’t gotten the least bit worse at all.’ 

‘Not sure if that was a compliment or an insult, but thanks.’ 

Decades of dedicated studying does you no harm, he supposes, especially when you have all the time in the world to obtain endless amounts of knowledge. 

Eventually, they find themselves grabbing a bite at a nearby bistro and lounging the hours away, Emrys writing out talismans and he himself indulging in newly published papers, and at five thirty they tread their way to the Nothern Sector, where Talma awaits at the open square in the middle of innumerable crossroads. 

‘Blessings,’ she greets them the same she does every time they meet, palms facing each other as she dips her head, and they return the long-held custom. ‘A rift was found in the Blockade this morning, a fairly large one, I’d say so myself. The Board has sent Raven and I to lead the patch up today.’

The plaza feels stuffy and tense around them, and the lingering scent of something remains. ‘Have you traced the perpetrator?’ 

‘Yes, he’s under interrogation right now.’ 

‘Any other passings?’

’None we could pick up. Murdock reported the woman you encountered this morning, Velvel is working with us to track her down. She escaped by the Eastern Terminal, I know you’ve probably heard, so the chances of this rift being related to her are low.’

He nods in understanding. ‘But, what’s with the atmosphere here? The air seems awfully stiff.’ 

‘Does it? I’m afraid I don’t feel anything, but do get ready for the patch up. We’ll be starting now soon.’

’Thank you.’ They join the small group of witches that have gathered, some of them carrying staffs or fiddling with wands and sticks to help them with the casting, some warming their hands in song or chanting prayers. Myrlin notices a familiar wheelchair at the edge of the group, and pulls Emrys along to greet their ‘friend’. 

Aether is sitting cross-armed in his wheelchair like always, stave strapped to the back post and lantern swinging from the tip. He sniffs when he seems them, and waves a hand vaguely at their coming. ‘Our favourite doctor and his puppy, hello. What a great day to be out here in the open.’ His voice is in its usual hoarse and airy tone, faint noises coming from his throat when he breathes in a little too hard. 

Emrys stiffens at the label of ‘puppy’, while Myrlin attempts a smile at him. ‘I’m sure it’s a great day for you, because it certainly has been for us.’ He receives a snort in response, before Aether finally lifts his head to look at them both. 

‘The air.’ 

‘Is everywhere around us?’

’No, s**t,’ he grits his teeth. ‘You know what I mean.’

Do all teenagers swear this much nowadays? ‘Yes, I do.’

’I’m pretty sure doc here can see it. Yes,’ he continues before Myrlin can retort anything further at him, ‘you can see it if you would just focus a little. Try not to breathe in too much, though; there’s something lurking in the air.’ 

The flicker of his lantern doesn’t go unnoticed, and Aether flinches the slightest bit when it does. ‘Damnit,’ he swears as he lowers his head again, ‘whatever it is, it’s bad. Real bad. And no one is noticing it.’ 

‘That I can tell, but thank you for the warning. Here’s a Twoup potion for your help.’ A vial of clear solution drops into his lap, and he fishes out another two for Emrys and himself. ‘I hope nothing goes wrong during the patch up.’ 

Their conversation is cut short as Talma speaks to the crowd. ‘Blessings, everyone. Thank you for coming on such short notice.’ The greeting is once again mirrored by all of the group, and Talma smiles as she continues. ‘As you’ve heard upon briefing, a rift was found in the Blockade this morning. Our job is to patch it up, and strengthen the wards around the Sector as well. Are there any questions?’ 

The group remains silent. ‘Then, let’s begin. Formation, everyone.’ The witches shuffle into a circle with their backs facing the centre. Tomes, staffs, wands, and hands are readied, and after a minute of silence, Talma leads them to start the chant. 

‘Parta, parta, nous hikas wamon janka! Hazule jan to gahui, slaobb nous eekijan...’ 

Focus, he thinks, as lines of different colours stretch into the sky, whites and golds from his own palms blending into the rest. Emrys’s distinct blue and beige comes from his adjacent, and the clear emerald of Aether bursts from across the ring, sparks flying as his lines weave through the air in ripple-like movements. Talma’s calm wine red travels in straight lines, a stark contrast to the green snakes next to hers. He catches himself admiring the view more than focusing on his own casting, but since he’s focusing on the products of everyone’s casting, he supposes it’s fine. 

The Blockade mends itself in its miraculous ways, taking the streams of lines and strings and weaving them into the patches of the quilt. A strong white gathers at the top as the holes disappear, and it breaks into a thousand pieces of stars when the job is done. 

‘Good work, everyone,’ Talma claps as they all lower their hands in exhaustion. ‘The Board thanks you for your commendable effort today. You are all dismissed.’ 

Dusts of diamond are still falling as most of the crowd leave. Aether loiters in the near-empty plaza, arms crossed once again in waiting. So much for his breathtaking magic, he laments as he sticks his tongue out at them, when he has the attitude of a shrew. 

Author's Note

bad writing hello