by JM Coombs
Thomas shrugged, eyes shining with mirth. "Sure, why not?"
Richard leaned against the wall and scanned the letter in his hands. "It says that since we're still minors, our turn to enter Creakylid will be on our eighteenth birthdays."
"Then we have three years to prepare!"
Richard folded his arms. "And what would we do to 'prepare'?"
"Well, I'm going to practice my iron elemental magic. Good magic for a hero, that." Thomas looked at Richard with an almost pitying look. "I guess your first two choices of magic spell don't look so good now, do they?"
"Hey." Richard mock glared. "I haven't even agreed to this hero business, yet."
Thomas smirked. "I know you, Richard. You will."
Richard made his way up to bed that night thinking over the changes piling up in his world like tin cans stacked by the world's most suspect shop attendant. He'd always dreamed of travelling and exploring the world—of exploring Earth—and now he knew it would never happen. That was a bitter pill to swallow. On the other hand, he might be able to explore a completely new world—one that had never been explored before. That sounded almost as good, if not better. He nodded and opened the door to his room. That was a much better way to think of it. The tin cans were an art installation, not an unstable mess waiting to crush him utterly. He shouldn't think of this as losing something, rather he should see it as gaining something different. Not necessarily better, just different.
He closed the door behind him and quickly scanned his small room. A small pile of school books neatly stacked on the small wooden desk reminded him he had homework. His small bed was neatly made from where he'd left it that morning. And in the corner of the room, his small wardrobe….
Richard's eyes widened.
…His wardrobe was emitting a softly glowing blue light through the cracks in the doors.
Richard closed the distance to the suspect furniture in three cautious steps and inspected the doors with a frown, all thoughts of homework forgotten. Had he left something inside that glowed? No. He didn't have any electronics or anything like that. Might it be magical? Maybe. Should he tell Matron? He slowly shook his head. No. It was too late for that. Besides, the only thing he had that was magical apart from his crystal ball was….
Richard gasped.
…Was the magically locked book from his mother! Heart beating heavily in his chest, he quickly wrapped a hand around one of the wardrobe's door handles and yanked it open.
The old book sat where he always left it, next to the crystal ball he used for his memory palace. The book glowed faintly blue and was no longer locked. The tiny indestructible steel padlock hung open.
Richard took the book in shaky hands, walked backwards to the side of his bed, and sat down without looking behind him, eyes never leaving the book's cover.
He never thought about his mother more than he could help. It was a subject he tried to avoid whenever possible. Life in the orphanage wasn't horrible. It was fine. But he did wonder, sometimes. It was hard not to.
Richard carefully opened the journal-like book to the first page, and read.
Dear Richard,
You should be reading this on your fifteenth birthday.
Congratulations on not dying!
You will now be getting ready to perform your third ritual to acquire your third magic spell. I hope you haven't already chosen, because my birthday present to you is something of a family legacy — for you, anyway. Below are the details on how to perform the ritual to acquire the trunk expansion spell. With this spell, you can make a wooden trunk larger on the inside than on the outside. The ritual is bound to your blood. Only you and your children can perform it.
- Mum
PS. I am not dead.
Richard took a deep, confused breath. He ran a light finger down the paper. His mother was alive? He had no idea what to think about that. 'Congratulations on not dying'? What kind of mother writes that? Why was she contacting him only now? If she wasn't dead, why had he been left at the orphanage? He turned the pages, revealing comprehensive preparation details and chants for the most complex ritual he'd ever seen — so much more complex than the rituals he'd performed on his fifth and tenth birthdays.
The next thought screaming for attention in his head forced its way to the front of his consciousness. A blood bound ritual. His mother was a member of a blood bound family. No, more importantly, he was a member of a blood bound family! Blood bound families were serious business. They were like, the aristocracy of the mages. Was he a bastard? Was he sent away for protection? Because of politics, maybe? And this book… He'd never heard of magic like it ever before. It certainly wasn't one of the standard magical spells available to everyone. Mind you, he'd never heard of a spell that could expand a trunk either.
What would an expanded trunk be like? Would it weigh more if you put more things in it? What would happen if you tried to break it? What about if you turned it upside-down while it was filled with stuff? Could you make an expanded trunk inside of another expanded trunk? Suppose you used nails made of gold — would they expand on the inside too? Could a gold elemental mage liquify the enlarged gold nails straight out of the woodwork and carry them out of the trunk still enlarged?
He leaned back on his bed. His head came to rest on the small headboard.
An enlarged trunk would be great for travelling. He might be able to carry as much as an entire room's worth of equipment and supplies with him, depending on how large he could expand the trunk. Now that would be a useful skill for a hero to have…
He stopped reading the notes on how to complete the ritual required to learn the spell and stared at the bedroom ceiling.
…His mother was alive.
CHAPTER TWO
Memories of Dragons
The next day, a firm-jawed Richard went out and found himself a part-time Saturday job down at the local builders yard. That netted him £25 a week. £25 a week for three years was a little under £4,000. He became a frequent shopper at the country's car-boot sales and second-hand auctions — a hunter with a specific prey in mind — vintage woodworking tools.
Every time Richard caught a glimpse of old steel his heart would leap in anticipation. Slowly, he started to build up his collection — chisels, planes, saws, squares, sharpening stones, hammers, axes — he cherry picked the best of the old, and painstakingly restored them to near mint condition with the help of instructions he found on the internet.
He consumed the local library's collection of woodworking books in just a few months and started to order for his own collection a week after that, quickly branching out from woodworking to include all manner of useful topics for a traveller planning to leave civilisation behind.
His first attempt at building a trunk with his new knowledge and tools was a disaster. His second attempt was a lot better. By his third attempt, the trunk expansion spell actually worked and he got his first understanding of what his new power could do, and, more importantly, on its limitations.
The trunk had to be made by him. Pre-made trunks didn't work. They had to be vaguely rectangular and have a curved lid attached to the body. Once a trunk had the spell cast on it, which took almost a whole waking day, it became indestructible — at least, as far as Richard could make out. None of the things he tried managed to make a dent in them.
Weight placed in the trunks seemed to vanish from the world. He once filled one of his test pieces with water from a local pond and could still carry it, despite the water having to weigh several tonnes.
The biggest trunk he could get the spell to work on measured two meters long by one meter wide. The smallest measured just twenty centimetres on each side.
The dimensions inside the trunks measured five times as large as those on the outside, so his twenty centimetre mini trunk measured one meter a side on the inside — one whole cubic meter that he could sling over his shoulder and carry by his side.
He carried it now. In fact, he carried two, each one slung over a shoulder
by a long leather strap.
Three years had passed since he and Thomas had read the Earth eviction letter from the council. Three years of study, preparation, and hard effort — working out with Thomas whenever he had a spare moment and learning the basics of joinery when he didn't.
Richard made his way down the hallway from his room to his best friend's and knocked on the door.
The door opened. Thomas' head poked out and grinned. "Hey Rich, you ready to see the birthday boy off?" Thomas had grown quite a lot in three years. Both of them had. Continually lifting heavy things did that — something their foster sisters hadn't been shy pointing out.
"Your birthday boy ass is lucky my almost birthday boy ass engages his brain every now and again," Richard said.
Thomas smirked and led him inside. Unlike Richard's room—which was now wall-lined with enough woodworking tools to start a small carpentry shop—Thomas' looked like it could outfit a small back street gym. Iron weights, racks, and benches filled every scrap of space. Being an iron elemental certainly had its perks. "So, is that it?" Thomas pointed to one of the miniature trunks slung across Richard's shoulder.
"Yep." Richard drew the tiny trunk over his head and proffered it to his best friend. "Here you go."
Thomas smiled and took it. "Thanks, mate."
The girls all cried as Thomas left. They'd all have to wait for their turn. The rest of the orphanage residents weren't scheduled to leave for another year. Apparently the council was building a large orphanage building for them on one of the nicer Creakylid islands.
Richard watched his best friend's retreating back until he could see it no more. Hopefully Thomas wouldn't do anything too silly. His best friend did have a habit of acting without thinking. Richard then turned back to finish his own preparations. He still had one whole week to wait for his own birthday.
Later that day Richard bounced lightly on his bed, patted the sheets, looked around, and fidgeted. Seven — whole — days. Urgh! He rolled over and instantly rolled back upright. He got up and padded over to his small desk, now empty but for his miniature side-trunk.
The walls were bare. The shelves were bare. He'd managed to fit all his worldly possessions into one cubic meter — all his carefully assembled tools, every book in his small but treasured library, all the little things he'd been able to think of and afford to make a travelling adventurer's life easier — they were now all in this wooden box.
He opened the box, reached inside and drew out the first object his fingers found, his mother's book. It hadn't glowed again in three years. Not that he'd expected it to. He placed the book on the desk, reached in again and drew out his second most treasured possession. His crystal ball — a present from Matron when he'd completed his first ritual.
All mages needed rituals to learn spells. These rituals could only be performed once every five years. Richard's first ritual had been the memory palace, which allowed him to store his memories in a crystal ball and generally improved his memory abilities. These memories could then be accessed and re-lived either by him, or anyone else who also had a crystal ball of their own — so long as they knew his full name. Many mages had crystal balls.
Maybe he should start something like a public diary? A good number of mages used their crystal balls like that. Of course, they had to invest one of their precious magical spells in order to do it, so they weren't that popular, but since he had the ability already, why not? It was better than just sitting here with nothing to do.
Richard turned around, rubbed the back of his head, and started to speak. "Um… so, yeah. Hi! My name is Richard!" He stopped. No, that sounded stupid. He took a deep breath. "Hello everyone, my name is Richard, and I thought I'd show you what I've done to prepare myself for the journey to Creakylid." He paused. Yeah, that sounded a lot better. He took another deep breath before continuing. "I've no idea why you're watching this, or why you'd want to see it, but here we go." He then turned and slowly started unpacking his miniature trunk, giving a running commentary on each item, how he found it, what it was for, and how he was planning to use it.
Halfway through his explanation, the door opened and Matron poked her head through. "Richard would you—whoa. What's all this about?"
Richard looked up from where he'd been holding a book titled, 'The Oxford Handbook of Engineering and Technology in the Classical World'. The floor was covered with neatly arranged items. "I'm making a crystal ball memory of my preparations."
"Oh!" Matron smiled. "That sounds like a good idea. I'll be sure to tell Millie about it. She'll be fascinated."
Richard nodded uncertainly.
"Anyway," Matron continued, "would you come help me with dinner? Abigail isn't feeling very well right now."
Richard nodded again and left in mid-unpack. He'd finish his memory later.
The next day after breakfast, Richard finished his commentary, packed all his stuff back into the miniature trunk, sat heavily by his crystal ball, placed his hand on the glass sphere, and felt the magic flow.
Memories flashed across his eyes. He saw himself sitting cross-legged on the floor, talking about an old Japanese saw he'd found and restored. Carefully, he plucked out the memories he wanted and arranged them into something like a coherent narrative, doing his best to cut out all the awkward bits where he'd been umming and ahhing.
A few hours later, the magic faded and he opened his eyes again. Well, that was that. The memory was now on his crystal ball. Obviously, no one was going to actually watch it, but it would be nice to look back at it again at some point in the future.
He lay back on his bed, rolled over, stared at the wall, rolled over, kicked his feet up, and let out a long groan.
Bored!
He shook himself and smiled a grim smile. Oh well, could be worse. He could have been one of the others who had to wait a whole one-more year.
Six days later, it was Richard's own turn. "You make sure you look after the girls, you hear, Alan?" Alan had also grown quite a bit over the last three years, certainly stronger than Richard had been at fifteen.
Alan gave him a stoic thumbs up. "Will do."
Richard smiled. "I'm trusting you."
Abigale gave Richard a hug. "You just make sure to take care of yourself."
"Yeah, and make sure you find yourself a couple of girlfriends," piped in Natalie. "You're wasted otherwise."
Jessica, who was the youngest, had to stand on tip-toes to hug him.
Richard grinned. "I will, don't worry." He waved his final goodbyes, turned, and marched down to the railway station at the edge of town, council-issued, standard-sized rucksack on his back; self-made, non-standard miniature travelling trunk at his side.
No one questioned him as he got on the train to London. No one questioned him as he sat down in an empty seat. Not even the ticket man questioned him when he eventually walked down the carriage, demanding everyone else's ticket — the contents of Richard's rucksack saw to that.
Richard blankly gazed around the compartment. The movement of the train jolted through him every other heartbeat. Klur-Klunk, Klur-Klunk, Klur-Klunk. He gently patted his tiny trunk, reassuring himself it was still there. After three years, he was finally off. But to where? Despite all his planning, he still didn't really have a destination in mind once he got to Creakylid.
He knew Thomas was headed to the west-most islands. His friend had burst in on Richard one day, holding his crystal ball excitedly and ranting something about a town full of iron elementals.
Probably not his thing. He wasn't an elemental, after all. There were three types of mage — elementals, whisperers, and thumbs. Richard was a whisperer.
The train passed over a stone bridge. Klur-Klunk, Klur-Klunk, Klur-Klunk.
Having said that, there were only two directions he could really go once he was in Creakylid — east and west. Each direction would take him along the archipelago until he reached the mainland. If Thomas was going west, maybe he should go east?
The train arrived at Eus
ton and Richard made short work of his connection to Dover. The man showing people onto the massive ferry gave him a strange look as he passed by, but didn't make a fuss over Richard's lack of ticket. Richard couldn't help wondering if it was things exactly like this that would lead to their prophesied discovery by the non-mages. It did seem like unfair abuse of the system. He sat down in a corner where there wasn't a security camera and tried to look inconspicuous.
The moment he arrived in Calais, Richard's mage sensing ability pricked at his brain. There were other mages here. He was barely outside the terminal when he saw two middle-aged women standing in the carpark in front of a minibus. One wore glasses and held a clipboard from which a pencil hung by a bit of string.
The other wore dark eyeshadow, almost but not quite hidden by her warm smile. She held a large board, on which was written the word, 'Creakylid.'
Ah. Richard strode over to them.
The woman with the clipboard rose an eyebrow.
"Richard Struggle here for Creakylid."
"Right," said the woman in a business like tone. She inspected her clipboard. "Richard Struggle — born May 10, 1994." She looked up. "Happy eighteenth birthday, Mister Struggle."
"Thank you."
The board-holding woman glanced at the trunk slung around his shoulder, her smile fading to a slightly worried expression. "You do know you can't have any luggage apart from your rucksack, don't you?"
Richard nodded and smiled. "Don't worry, it fits in there." He gestured to his rucksack and climbed onboard the bus.
Two long hours later, after filling up with almost a dozen other mages—most of whom seemed to be much older than Richard—the bus pulled out of the carpark. The woman with the clipboard introduced herself to the group as Mrs. Fanny Flymoth, the woman who'd been holding the sign-board as Mrs. Kathy Flymoth, and their husband—who was also the group's driver—as Mr. Robbie Flymoth.