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Post by Sadie on Oct 5, 2009 12:24:48 GMT -5
Circumstances had been against them from the start.
When she was a baby and he was on the dawn of his fourth year, he presented to her a rattle, exquisitely crafted and brightly colored. A smile touched her mouth, and on impulse, he bent down to press his lips to her tiny, soft forehead.
In the background, men and women looked on in disapproval.
When she was five and he was almost at the age when he would proudly carry two digits, she was always on his heels like an eager pup. Already her hair grew in ringlets from her scalp, cascading down to her shoulders with warm brown curls. The halls echoed with their laughter, pure and joyful and untouched by the world outside the walls.
In the chambers, men and women shook their heads at the unscrupulous ruckus.
When she was fourteen and he was reaching the age of adulthood, he was there when she worried over foolish insecurities like the blemish on her chin that seemed a mountain. He assured her that it was hardly noticeable, that he would always protect her, and he let her clutch at his arm awkwardly as they entered the dining hall.
At the tables, men and women whispered to each other in tainted tones.
And when she was nineteen, he was called away.
"My princess, he murmured, kneeling at her feet. "I will return."
"Aliya," she whispered in protest, partly to rebuke him for using her title and partly because she could find no words for what she was feeling.
The shadows in his eyes matched his hair. "I must fulfill my duty to the kingdom. As newly-appointed captain, I will bring the troops home safely."
Her training kept her from weeping. "Promise me."
"I swear it."
And by the next morning, he was gone.
The days went by. The sun did not feel as warm anymore. The land looked listless and seemed without life. Or maybe it was just the princess who thought so.
She filled her hours with dreary lessons. After mastering stitches, she learned to dance. When she was as graceful as a gazelle, they taught her etiquette. When she was properly-mannered, she was taught history. Upon being well-informed, she practiced diction.
Soon, Aliya was not a young girl, but a young lady. Slender and refined, she let her locks grown down her back, pinning them in a plait when required to. A splatter of freckles graced her nose and arms. She was a pretty thing.
She did not seem to notice.
Every evening, after supper had finished, she looked out the horizon for the sign of flags in the distance that would announce a returning army.
Every evening, she was disappointed.
"Aliya," the King said through his thick beard on the eve of the twentieth birthday. "You have reached the age of marriage."
Her response was a whisper. "No."
"Now, don't be like that," her mother cooed. "The King of Darmare has a handsome young son named Phillip. He is your age and a good match for you."
The girl's chocolate eyes seemed lifeless. "No."
Once made up, however, no one could change the mind of the King. "He is coming here during the solstice to get acquainted with you. Do try to get along with him, my dear."
And that was that.
Prince Phillip was a tall man with a broad chest like a shield itself. He was handsome, to be sure, and Princess Aliya disliked him almost immediately.
He was everything a prince should be. Strong, able, and courageous. Proud and commanding. Striking, with an air of authority.
Once, he boasted of his home. "Our hall is twice this size, with golden suits of armor and exquisite harp players, and finery fit for a king."
Aliya said quietly, "Then why don't you pack your things and go back, if our hall is not fine enough for you?"
He did not boast again after that.
His attempts to woo her were laughable. The deer carcass that he hunted and brought home for her only made her want to vomit and weep for the poor creature. His brawn and showing off only made her feel alienated.
Indeed, she missed the boy who was once her lowly guardsman.
On the night that Prince Phillip proposed to her, it had been a full year since the army had marched off into the distance. The small part of her that clung to the hope of his return was fading away.
And as a princess, her duty was to her people.
Even though every fiber of her being screamed no, her lips formed the word, "Yes."
The castle burst into celebration. Arrangements were made immediately. Her parents and everyone and their goat came to congratulate her. The castle talk was of the fine King and Queen that the pair would make. Aliya did not feel like celebrating. She wanted to weep.
"Don't worry," Prince Phillip assured her. "You'll love our castle. My many servants are preparing it for you, and the splendor will knock you off your feet." She did not feel reassured.
On the night of the wedding, she went out into the garden to steel herself for the ceremony. The garden was empty, save for a few stray wanderers. Here, she could properly prepare herself to face what was to come.
A man older than she noticed her sorrowful state. "Princess," he asked hesitantly, "why do you seem so? Is this not the happiest day of your life?"
"Not so." She gazed out over the grass, wondering if the music had started. The man frowned.
"Pray tell, Princess, why? It distresses your humble citizen to see you as such."
It was improper to speak of it, but she no longer cared. "The man I love is lost to me. He is not by my side tonight. He promised he would return."
The man, turned away to gaze up at the moon, smiled. "Pray tell who this man is, if the Princess will forgive my prying."
"My loyal captain, my guardsman since birth. My protector in every sense of the word."
"He will be overjoyed to know that your affections still lie with him." As her head snapped up to stare at him, the man's smile widened. "Look yonder, Princess. He would have announced himself sooner, but for fear that your sights had moved beyond him."
Leaping to her feet, she ran down the cobblestone path and into the arms of the man in the distance with the familiar dark hair. He was unshaven, dirty, and smiling. And he was hers.
"I told you I would return," he murmured into her hair. "I would that you would show more trust in me."
And for the first time in a year, the princess smile a genuine grin. "I will, from this day forward, if you would consent to be by my side forever."
His lips touched her forehead. "I promise."
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Post by Sadie on Oct 5, 2009 12:25:53 GMT -5
In the village of Fearmonte, everything was a little different.
The houses were round and smooth, with large dome rooftops. When it rained, the citizens went outdoors to enjoy the weather. The grass was a light blue, and the skies shone a pale green. The mountains smelled of salt, while the ocean was scented faintly with pine.
Those in the village of Fearmonte lived a pleasant life. Every weekend, on the ninth and final day of the week, they would gather together and enjoy a large feast. They brought ketchup, topped with fries, of course. They had nice fruit sandwhiches and turkey salads, with creamed ice for dessert.
All around the young oak tree, they would sit and chatter away about their day. Little Juniper Williams got lost in the wide field next to the farms but was able to make her way bad, where she cried with joy. And Peter Mosston hit the ball against the fence today - his first home run! And did you hear about Scotty and Lottie's engagement? The necklace he proposed to her with was simply stunning.
But all the citizens of Fearmonte looked forward to the very end of their picnic, for the special event. They would huddle together and quake with fear as the traditional scary story-telling commenced.
For in Fearmonte, everyone was afraid. Mothers were afraid. Fathers were afraid. Dogs were afraid. And kids especially were afraid. The hope was that by telling scary stories, the people would overcome their fears.
But they didn't. To be precise, they made it worse.
In fact, by the time a child was eight years old, they were terrified. Spiders gave them the willies. The dark was too creepy to handle. Being left alone was not an option. And heights were the worst.
This was not the best situation for a child, because eight is when it happened.
Everyone in Fearmonte had their own special monster, you see. Each monster was assigned a specific child.
There were many types of monsters. Monsters in the shadow, monsters from the closet, monsters under the bed. There were big monsters, furry monsters, hissing monsters, scaly monsters, slimy and roaring monsters. Some monsters had beady yellow eyes, while other monsters had fierce red eyes.
But everyone agreed - no matter what a monster looked like, monsters were scary.
When a child turned eight years old, their monster visited them for the first time.
They spent weeks preparing. A child was shown pictures of monsters to show them what it might look like. Their parents drilled them an how to handle it. Words of paper-thin comfort were given. The bedroom was made as safe and happy as possible.
And then, rustle. Click. A kiss on the forehead. The parents would leave the child alone on the eve of their eighth birthday with nothing more than a, "Good night, sweetie. Good luck."
You see, any child at this point would be terrified. After eight years of ghost and zombie and vampire and werewolf stories, a child would be imagining the worst kind of monster. This child would be trembling, with a pair of wide eyes on the closet door and the moving shadow in the corner of the room and the floor all at once.
Unless this child was Wallabee Barnes.
This little boy with such a big name was sitting on his bed with his racecar blanket pulled up around his waist and his hands resting in his lap. The pair of baby-blue eyes he possessed were not terrified, but searching. In fact, one would have said he wasn't cowering at all. No, Wallabee Barnes was waiting.
The clock that his mother gave him was ticking in the corner. He pretended that each tick was a knock on the door. His monster was knock-knock-knocking, but he didn't want to open it yet. Not until midnight. Midnight was when the magic happened.
He must pretend to sleep. He knew that. So he curled up underneath his blanket, his carrot hair sticking out from beneath the covers like a plant. Each minute seemed to take an eternity, taking their sweet time instead of ticking.
Finally, he heard it happen. A creak.
It could have been anything, but Wallabee knew. He waited and waited, agonizingly patient, until he heard another creak. Finally, he could bear it no longer. Throwing back the covers with a wild sense of excitement, he turned and found himself inches away from a big pair of yellow eyes.
He screamed. The monster let out a shout. There was a loud thud as the monster toppled to the floor, away from the bed.
Wallabee leaped off the bed and clutched at his blanket, his thumb stroking the racecars. It was a furry thing, it seemed, the fur a deep green like the sky on a cloudy day. The hands were giant claws, and the feet seemed as big as his head. His jaw seemed capable of crushing a boulder, so thick with teeth that were each a knife by themselves.
With horror, Wallabee announced, "You crushed my tower!" He had spent all afternoon carefully constructing a tower out of wooden blocks. The architecture left much to be desired, but it had been Wallabee's pride and joy of the moment.
The monster blinked a few moments, clearly stunned by Wallabee's lack of fear. Deciding to try again, he leaned down, and, with a great show of each of his razor teeth, roared in Wallabee's face.
"Gross!" Wallabee wrinkled his button nose with a look of utter disgust. "Your breath smells so bad!"
Once again, the monster was taken back. He blinked and straightened, his thick brow furrowing in confusion. Wallabee inspected him with a curiousity fit for at least a dozen children.
"You're supposed to be scared."
The monster's voice was thick and growling. Frankly, Wallabee was surprised he could talk at all.
"I'm not."
Reaching out a pudgy hand with short fingers, the boy's hand rested on the furry arm of the monster. His fingers explored the fur with a fascination that was anything but fear.
And strangely enough, the monster seemed to look at the boy with a seemed bit of fascination as well.
"You're not scary."
The monster scooped him up and set the boy on his shoulders, and Wallabee clutched at the fur on his broad neck. "Are you sure?"
"Yes."
Wallabee wondered what his fellow villagers had been scared of for so many generations. This monster was not scary, but different. And different seemed like nothing at all.
"Would you like to go on an adventure?"
They stood on the very edge of the closet door. The darkness inside theatened to consume him, but he saw naught but promise inside. The promise of adventures untold and discoveries made.
"Yes."
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Post by Sadie on Oct 5, 2009 12:26:53 GMT -5
The night was reaching out its deep-hued fingers across the sky, casting a shadow over the neighborhood as the sun slid down to slumber. The occupants of the neighborhood were playing and laughing joyously, skipping through sprinklers and riding bikes. Here was a place where you didn't need to be afraid of the dark.
"You can't catch me!" With a splatter of freckles across her cheeks like stars, a girl giggled aloud as she evaded the fingertips of her friend. Her honey-colored hair whipped behind her in a dance.
Oh, how he wanted to catch her.
Under the pretense of tag, he chased her, down the lane and through the bushes and beneath the old willow tree. When he finally caught her, they were both panting heavily. He didn't want to let go of her wrist, but he did. Her skin was so warm. Were all girls as warm as she?
Their names were called separately by their parents, and they parted ways after promising to go blueberry picking the next morning. Inside his room with his toys scattered about, the boy clutched at his stomach.
Butterflies in the stomach felt weird.
Her eyes were lovely when they sparkled with tears. But he didn't tell her that. He was too busy listening. If he had to guess which part of him was the strongest, he would have guessed the muscles in his ears. He was always listening.
"Aaron, h-he told me that he likes Melanie," she blubbered, accepting the tissue he held out to her. "He's t-taking her to the dance instead. I tried s-s-so hard."
She had. He had watched her change her usually sporty style to something more feminine, in hopes of attracting his attention. She dabbled her face with powders to bring out her eyes and lips and everything else. She had spent days of her middle school life calculating how to get close to him.
If anyone deserved Aaron, it was her.
"Why doesn't he like me, Danny?!" she bawled, shoulders heaving. He put a steady arm around her.
I like you. I'd take you to the dance. I'd never make you cry like this. But Daniel never said those words.
The muscles in his throat weren't as strong as the ones in his ears.
The music was loud and obnoxious in his ears. The lights, cheap and too bright, nearly blinded him in their technicolor fashion. It was much too crowded in the tiny, sweaty room. And his suit itched like nothing else.
But he had promised her that he would be there, to watch her shining moment.
"Announcing our Prom Queen. . . Cassandra Callahan!"
He clapped and cheered louder than anyone else. The crown was placed on her head and she stood there, beaming through her happy tears, and he felt so proud of her.
The Prom King was announced, too, but Daniel didn't pay attention to him. When she had the chance, Cassandra rushed off the stage and to Daniel. He hugged her, gently, so as not to ruin her floating blue gown.
"I won!" she breathed, excited and breathless and amazed all at once.
"Congratulations," Daniel smiled, always knowing she would win. She was perfect.
"I have to go dance with the Prom King. Thanks Danny! You're the best friend ever!" She kissed his cheek and rushed away, leaving him on the side with only her words.
He didn't want to be her best friend.
He wanted to be her Prom King.
Sitting on the too-lumpy bed, he flipped through an old photo album until he found the picture he was looking for. In it was a beaming little blonde girl, with melted ice cream running down her chin. The boy next to her, with dusty brown hair and dark hazel eyes, was letting her bite off of his ice cream cone, since she had finished hers.
He picked up his phone and dialed a number he had long since memorized, and automatically smiled when her voice chirped through the line. "Danny?"
"Hey, Cassie. How's it going?" His voice was too quiet. He cursed himself.
"Oh, amazing! I'm going skiing with my friends today."
"That's really fun. D'you. . . d'ya want to hang out this weekend? I haven't seen you in ages. And I finally have a car." Weak laughter. "It took long enough, right? It's hard to be at college without a car."
It was quiet on the other end. "Oh. . . I'm sorry, Danny. I'm going up north this weekend with a friend of mine. But we'll hang out some other time! Definitely!"
He mumbled something and then said his goodbyes.
He wouldn't call again.
The autumn afternoon is so breezy. Cassie clutches at her scarf to keep it from escaping her neck. But she understands her scarf. She just wants to dance in the wind, too.
Her coat is too thin and she can feel the cold reach her very core. The street seems empty but she knows it isn't. She just doesn't look at the faces of the people walking by.
It hasn't been many years, but Cassie has aged enough for a century. Her eyes are a million years old, and have seen the world. Her hands are in her pockets, because she doesn't want to reach out anymore.
A current shoots through her and she realizes why. That face is like a shock from the past, jolting her to her very soul. She has to talk to him. Her entire being demands it.
"Danny! Danny!"
He turns to her and she expects to see a smile, but it isn't there. "Yes?"
He has changed, too. His boyish features are gone. In their place are a square jaw, scattered with stubble, a crop of tousled hair, and the same deep-set hazel eyes. She stands there, gaping, because she has no idea where to start.
His eyes flash with recognition. "Cassie?" There it is. The smile she had yearned to see. But then it's replaced with concern. "What happened to you?"
She shudders and does not answer his question. "You look well, Danny."
"Thank you. I own a small business. I've done decently."
She can't bite back the question. "Are you married?"
"No." His grin, she realizes, has stayed the same, as he seems amused at her apparent relief. "Was that jealousy?"
Her grin is not so easy to find, but it's there. "You were my best friend."
"I always wished back then that I'd been more to you." His blunt reply surprises her. He is no longer her shy little Danny. He has changed, but for the better.
"I-"
"Let me buy you a hot chocolate. You're freezing." He takes her arm, casually, but they fit together. Cassie wanders how she was so blind all those years.
"I would like that."
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Post by Sadie on Oct 5, 2009 12:30:29 GMT -5
Boils got you down? Are rats driving you mad? Are you constantly having to rid your garden of obnoxious dragon weeds?
All these problems, and more, are easily fixable by Master Merlin. In fact, he makes quite a business with quick fixes like that. His shelf is full of them – yellow vials for weather, blue for illnesses, red for love potions (those don’t come cheap, y’know), and green for just about anything else.
In fact, Master Merlin can do anything, of so they say. He even makes spells for the king.
But Master Merlin’s greatest achievement was not at all grand. Oh, no. In fact, most people don’t know about it. Only those lucky enough to have heard the story.
You want to hear about it? Well, I suppose I can share it, if you promise to keep it a secret. You swear it? Good. It all started out on a windy autumn day. . .
Gavin Thomas was the kind of boy who had, well, a way with things. Street-smart and quick-tongued, he loved to roam about the cobblestone avenues with calculating blue eyes and a mop of wind-rustled coal black hair. Over his head was his signature cloak, a once-black robe that was now dulling into a grey. It cast a shadow over his face and made him blend in with the browsing crowd.
Which was what he needed. The timing had to be perfect, otherwise he’d miss his chance. His stomach gave a little growl, and the sound seemed to push him forward.
Suddenly there was a loud bang, and the street erupted in chaos. Once he had accomplished that, it was a simple task to grab a large red fruit, a loaf of honeyed bread, and escape out into a separate route unnoticed.
On any other day, he would have been unnoticed and eaten his feast in triumph.
But that day was not Gavin Thomas’ day.
A weathered hand seized his shoulder and spun the boy around. A million excuses rushed to his lips, until he saw the eccentric star-shaped spectacles of Master Merlin. He had his theories about the old man’s sanity, so he wasn’t concerned. “Hey, Merlin.”
The man studied him with a serious look, one that hinted of disapproval. “You use your gift to steal?”
Gavin should have been surprised to know that Master Merlin knew of his magic, but Master Merlin seemed to know everything. “I was hungry,” he offered feebly.
Strangely, the man didn’t rebuke him. “Do you have a home, Mister Thomas?’
“No, sir.” His voice offered a challenge, daring Master Merlin to discipline him for his crime because of his lack of parents.
“Come with me.”
Gavin would have argued, but found he couldn’t. His tongue had been glued to the top of his mouth. Bloody magical fool! Scowling the entire way, he trudged after the old bat, thinking up the best insults he could with unusual vigor.
The whole way, the bespectacled man rambled to him. “You’ll need some new clothes, and for blast’s stake, wash your hair. It’s not very cozy, I’m afraid, but we’ll make due. Besides, I make good bread. Magic cooking skills, if you will.”
It would have been so lovely to interrupt him.
“Not much room, either. You’d best get over any fears of rats that you might possess. And strange smells. No more stealing, kid, you understand that? Good. Up this way, hurry now, we’d best be getting there before nightfall.”
Finally, the spell released his tongue, and Gavin burst out irritably. “What are you talking about?”
“Your apprenticeship, of course,” Master Merlin responded, as though this had been completely obvious the entire time. “It’s not often I meet one with as much magical ability as you, much less homeless. So I’m making you my apprentice.”
What? “And if I don’t want to be your apprentice?” the boy asked testily. He definitely wanted to keep his time with the insane old man to a minimum.
Master Merlin simply smiled, with a grin that was far too wide and somewhat toothy. “You have no choice, my dear boy. In fact, you’ll find that your feet don’t agree with you.”
Sure enough, Gavin continued following him, even as he strained at his muscles to turn around and go back to his hole in the alley. “This is kidnap,” he muttered through clenched teeth, thoroughly enraged.
“It’s only kidnap if the one being kidnapped does not want to be kidnapped.” He turned down a path that led into the thicker part of the woods, with trees threatening to cover them completely. The sky was already darkening into a dull blue that made chills sweep over Gavin’s skin like a tidal wave. “And in time, you’ll find that you don’t want to be kidnapped.”
“Wh-“
Master Merlin turned, and held out a palm with long, spindly fingers that looked fragile enough to break. “I can teach you magic, Gavin.” His palm burst into flame and then faded out, leaving pure, unflawed skin behind. “I can train you to bend your magic to your will, so that it is not a power, but a tool. If you agree to be my apprentice, I will make you into Master Gavin, much different from the street-urchin boy you know now.”
Gavin’s eyes widened as he realized the full impact of what was happening. Greedily, he nodded, black hair flopping into his eyes. “I’ll do whatever you say, Master Merlin. Teach me!”
The old man smiled mysteriously and kept walking, hands clasped. “Oh, my dear boy. You will learn. That I promise you.”
Within one week, Gavin regretted his hasty promise to do whatever Master Merlin requested.
His house, if it could even be labeled as such, was small and built with stones, with a chimney that emitted colored smoke puffs. The corners were filled with spiderwebs that looked as though they had been there for decades, and almost everything was under one layer of dust.
There was a shelf that covered the entire wall, with various bottles of varying colors. Master Merlin was very clear about that shelf when he caught Gavin fingering a bottle. “If you touch it, I will turn you into something small and green and possibly slimy.”
After that, Gavin didn’t touch it.
He slept in the attic, which Master Merlin had furnished for him. It was a nice room, except for the spiders and the occasional bat.
During the day, Master Merlin worked him like a slave. He dusted, washed, sorted, labeled, and scrubbed whatever the man could find for him. It was tedious and tiresome, and Gavin often wanted to walk out. But then he would sigh and resign himself to alphabetize all of Master Merlin’s weather spells, or whatever boring task Master Merlin could find for him.
He did so because, during the night, Master Merlin would teach him to use his magic.
It was like water, the way Merlin used his magic. The power flowed through him, seeping out and swirling whatever way he commanded it to turn. He shaped it, each individual droplet, to be used for great purposes.
Gavin, they found, commanded his magic more like a flame. It was quick, raging, and it shot out of his limbs in bursts. Once it escaped him, it consumed all nearby, with roaring might. Inside his very soul, it seemed to burn hungrily.
However, Gavin soon realized that there was something much more entertaining than simple spells. And those were the people who came for the simple spells.
Oh, they came. They hiked up the path, men and women of all ages and sizes and temperaments. Gavin’s job was to answer the door, and he got to see each one.
Some of them would meekly ask if they could please, oh pretty please buy a spell. Others demanded a spell for their dog/cat/spouse/neighbor/cousin’s nephew’s goldfish who was poor/sick/unlucky/heartbroken/suffering from an overgrown wart that swelled and turned odd colors. And every once in a while, someone would burst in with a heavily bleeding person, desperately pleading for a healing spell.
It made life interesting, that was for certain.
It also made Gavin wonder how simple farmers could get into such apparently disastrous accidents, and why they didn’t have a doctor. But Merlin never questioned it, so Gavin didn’t either.
Overall, the work was easy, if somewhat dull, and Gavin wondered when he could finally escape back into his streets.
Until one day.
The bull strung above Merlin’s door jingled as a guest pushed it open. Gavin sighed, preparing himself for the demanding customers that were always a few notches too loud.
Instead, he found a small young woman with a heart-shaped face, and a cloak draped over her shoulders. Dark brown wavy curls cascaded down her back and shoulders, and her wide hazel eyes were bright.
Upon seeing Gavin, she stopped, with a slight show of confusion. “Master Merlin? ‘Ave you made yourself younger?” The slight accent in her voice hinted that she came from a family of nobility.
“And for some reason, Gavin felt flustered. “N-no. No! I’m Gavin Thomas, I’m his apprentice.” After a second, he hastily added, “Ma’am.”
“I see.” She looked past him. “Is he here?”
“Uhh. . .” He gestured awkwardly toward the stairs. “I’ll go get him, Miss. . .”
“Naomi.” She took a seat on one of the couches with the outdated patterns and pulled off her cloak, looking out the window unconcernedly. Gavin hurried up the stairs into Merlin’s private room.
“There’s a girl here to see you. Naomi.” The man looked up from his cauldron and beamed as through this news made him the happiest old man alive. Gavin silently hoped that the excitement wouldn’t stop his feeble heart.
“Come! Come, come, come!” While practically yanking the boy down the stairs, he cried out, “Naomi! My favorite customer! What brings you into my home to brighten up my otherwise dull décor?”
“Another rat infestation,” the girl answered, pronouncing the words with disgust.
“Aha. I have just the fix.” Merlin plucked a vial from his shelf and waved a few fingers over it. “Put a few drops on your doorstep and it should be fixed by the end of the week.”
Naomi let a few coins drop onto the table and turned to the door, before Merlin suddenly announced, “Let Gavin escort you down the walk. It’s getting dark.”
Before Gavin could object, Naomi nodded and slipped outside the door. With ears that were a shade that was slightly too red, Gavin followed her. She set off down the path silently, clutching the vial.
“So. . .” Gavin mumbled, to break the silence. “You have a rat problem?”
“Yes.” Her tone implied that the question was worthless.
“That’s troublesome.”
“Yes.”
The path was not long, and soon they had reached the end. But for Gavin, it had felt like centuries. “Well. . . good luck. And walk home safely.”
She offered him a hint of a smile, and then was gone.
Was it just him, or did Merlin have a slight smirk as the pair had left?
A week later, Gavin thought they were under attack. But it was only Naomi.
“The potion did not work!” she shouted, her face flushed in rage. “The rats are back, twice as bad!”
Dumbfounded, Gavin just stood there, the target of her directed anger. Her little fists were clenched. Ha. As if she could be dangerous. “I-I’m sorry, Merlin isn’t here. Would you like to wait for him? He should return shortly.”
In response, she sat herself on the couch and folded her arms with a huff.
“Uh. . .”
Having her right there felt really weird. Like he was supposed to do something. In the small kitchen he found a tray of biscuits and carried it out to her. “Uhm. . . biscuit?”
Her glance at him was not amused. Probably a “no.”
“They’re really good,” he drawled, taking one himself. “You know you want one.”
She was extremely skilled at keeping a straight face. Deciding to try a new tactic, he swept a hand over the tray and the tiny biscuits shaped themselves into cinnamon rolls instead. Little wafting smoke rose off the tops, and Naomi could not keep her eyes from straying to the cinnamon rolls with a look of shock.
“You’re magic!” she burst out, yanking her hand back as though this suddenly made him dangerous.
“Well,” he admitted, “Not as good as Merlin.” Just as fast, his voice turned proud. “But I can do something things!” With a flourish, he pulled a bouquet of flowers out of his sleeve and presented them to her.
“Oh!” Oops. Realizing his mistake, he replaced the snapping snapdragons with colorful lilies, much to her relief. Without warning, she laughed, and it was the happiest sound he’d ever heard. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“So is that why you are the new apprentice?” she asked, daintily taking a cinnamon roll. “You will be our new Master Merlin?”
“I hope not,” Gavin replied matter-of-factly. “That would mean growing a beard the size of an anaconda. I think I’d be okay with being Master Gavin, though.”
They laughed at Merlin’s expense together and Gavin felt a sort of friendship with her. He didn’t know why, since she did not seem to have any affection for him beyond what was socially necessary.
With a bang, Merlin swept into the room. He grinned at the pair and began chattering a bit too excitedly. “Naomi, it’s so good to see you again. I was just wondering today if the rat potion had worked. Or has your mother fallen ill again? She must learn the value of proper usage of thick winter coats.”
“No, the rat potion did not work.”
He seemed aghast. “Let me try again immediately! I am so very sorry.” While he scurried around to get that for her, Naomi gathered her things. Gavin was sorry to see her go already.
“Gavin,” the old man suddenly announced, “will walk you out again.”
This time, Gavin didn’t try to object.
As they trotted down the path, Gavin finally mustered up a mumble. “It was good to see you again.”
“Good night, Mister Thomas,” she curtsied, before hurrying away.
Master Merlin was enjoying himself much too immensely.
“Sit up straight,” he would instruct, and Gavin would look at him as through he were mad and slouch lower. Then Master Merlin would slyly say something along the lines of, “I suppose I should be grateful that Naomi, at least, can sit properly.”
Without trying to appear obvious, Gavin would then straighten his back slightly and pretend not to notice.
In fact, Merlin was using the boy’s infatuation with the girl as much as possible. They were becoming fast friends – Naomi brought him many stories from the streets and exciting pieces of news, and Gavin loved to perform little tricks with magic for her.
He felt like the way things were going, he could very well accomplish his goal. In fact, as he watched them grow closer, he was certain it would work.
“I do not understand.”
They were seated around a table with honeyed bread in the middle. Merlin raised his eyebrows at the girl, like two caterpillars on his face. “Understand what, Naomi?”
“You are the greatest wizard on earth. ‘Ow is it that your spell ‘as failed to get rid of the rats fourteen times?”
“It is very odd,” Merlin replied, without looking confused whatsoever. “Why not let Gavin give it a shot?”
“. . . What?”
His face was completely startled, and his hands started twisting in his lap. “But I can’t, Merlin.”
“Sure you can!” Merlin boomed, clapping him on the back. “Give it a shot!”
“Well. . .” Gavin stood up and walked over to the shelf, scratching the back of his head. Merlin hadn’t taught him anything like this. He would have to improvise using a spell that had already been created.
There was a vial for getting rid of parasites in the garden. That was pretty close, right? So he plucked it from the shelf and examined it, chewing on his bottom lip meanwhile. Then he went into the cupboard of ingredients and dug through until he found a few rat’s tails.
Ugh. They smelled.
Dropping one in, he poured his magic into the vial, bending it to his will. That would work, or so he hoped. Wordlessly, he handed the vial to Naomi.
“I will go try right now!” Excitedly, she rushed out.
“My dear boy, you’d better pray you did it correctly,” Merlin said cheerfully before turning away and closing the door behind Naomi.
Thud thud thud.
“I’m coming!” Gavin shouted, carefully juggling many vials in his arms to keep from dropping any. Merlin would have his head if he did so. He set them down and hurried to the door and opened it to a wide-eyed, breathless Naomi.
“It worked!” Flinging her arms around him, she pressed her mouth to his with so much enthusiasm that Gavin almost fell over.
In the doorway, Merlin coughed, and the two broke apart instantly, with streaks of red on their faces. For an old man, he carried quite a mischievous grin on his face.
“Not in the doorway, if either of you mind.”
Do you see now, Merlin’s greatest achievement? No? Let me go on to explain.
After courting her for an entire year and some, Gavin married her, and become heir to her father’s inheritance. He was a fair leader over his district, and he eventually became the father of three charming children. His lovely wife was often overheard commenting, “He’s such a gentlemen.”
You see now? It would seem an impossible task, wouldn’t it, to raise an obstinate street urchin to such an honorable rank. But Merlin could do it.
And all it took was a girl, some rats, a magical brilliant mind, and fourteen spells that might or might not have been purposefully spelled incorrectly.
I suppose we’ll never know.
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Post by RohaHat on Oct 9, 2009 10:20:42 GMT -5
x3
I'm afraid I can't give you some kind of in-depth comment or criticism on these stories, because they are simply awesome. I have difficulty reading, as in I have very little attention span, so I like short stories, and I managed to read all of these with no problems. x3 The pace is great, the grammar is great, I think the only flaw I saw was a speech mark that found itself in the wrong place, but the stories themselves are great. x3
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Post by Sadie on Oct 9, 2009 10:43:19 GMT -5
Wow, thank you so much, that was so kind of you! I like short stories, myself, just because they're easy to write but you can still do so much with them.
But again, thanks, it's so nice of you to comment on these! I'm really glad you liked them!
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