The Wizard And The Dragon

by Joseph Anderson

  The kitchen was kept in the same orderly pristine condition as the study. Everything looked to be in its rightful place, in a system that eluded her. She felt like she was rifling around a stranger’s kitchen as she prepared a simple meal of porridge. The basics of cooking seemed to still be present in her mind but no more than that. She reasoned that she simply never learned more than what was necessary.

  She ate at the table and then left the dirty pot and bowl for later. She considered disposing of the many apples around the kitchen but set it aside, eager to enter the study. There were too many unanswered questions and too many inconsistencies. She knew that either the note or Calder was lying to her, or at the very least her past self had kept things from the man. Book after book detailing her exploits and day to day life seemed to lend itself to Calder being kept in the dark, and she decided to investigate that before anything else.

  There were rolls of empty parchments in the drawers of the desk near her bedroom door. She kept track of her findings between each book, quickly noting down the different dates and the length of the gaps between each entry. There was at least one record for every month of each year that she read through, even if the month’s details were mundane things. It was dark outside when she had finally worked her way backwards from the most recent journals. She was now certain that at least half of the book had been systematically cleansed of any mention of Calder, but it was the oldest dates that now gave her pause. She stared at the numbers again and again, hoping that they would begin to make sense. They didn’t.

  Eight hundred and sixty-seven. I am eight hundred and sixty-seven years old.

  The oldest book began with no introduction either, no dubious opening or remarks about a newly started journal. It read like yet another continuation in a long series, like every other volume did. She searched through the rest of the shelves and found no others. The journals were kept rigidly apart from the other texts and she found none older.

  She read the most recent journal in its entirety. There were many mentions of things Calder had described. An ogre that had attacked the town. A den of vampires she had found and exterminated in a place called Bancroft’s Dam. Pages had been torn out, ruining each of the narratives as, she guessed, they mentioned Calder’s role in all of them. There was nothing said about the Varis he had stated. The most recent year had been ripped out completely.

  She began to loathe her past self for her deceptions even as she wondered if they were necessary. As she read the other texts, those describing monsters and their qualities, she found that it was a trend among her past selves. She knew for certain then that Calder was wrong, she was far older than he had ever been told. The bickering on the pages was proof enough.

  Each of the books began with a picture of the monster they were devoted to. She read about trolls first. The first page had an accurate, anatomically correct drawing of the monster and the second had a more creative, artistic rendition of the beast. The next few pages had general notes on the monster and then several blank pages for more information to be added later. After the empty pages was another sketch of a specific part of the monster. There were more specific notes and then more empty pages. Another body part followed and the cycle repeated until the end of the book.

  The troll is a fearsome combatant, the book began. For you, maybe, was scrawled in the margin next to it.

  Their size varies considerably between each individual and their access to sustenance. I have seen some as small as a human child. The largest I have encountered has been:

  There were a series of numbers continually crossed out until five meters tall remained unscathed.

  The troll’s most intriguing ability is also their greatest strength. Given adequate nutrition, they are capable of regenerating their flesh and bone at a rapid rate. Wounds that would be fatal to nearly any other creature are merely inconveniences to the troll unless proper measures are taken. Burning or beheading the corpse is required to ensure that the monster remains dead.

  Acid works too, in the margin next to it.

  The brain is the important part, was written vertically on the side of the page. Bash open the skull and remove the brain. Save the major arteries in the neck for extracting blood for potions.

  The book continued on with each entry composed in the same way, a collaboration of knowledge from her past selves. The mention of potions made her stop and think. Something didn’t make sense to her, a mass of details in her head that was spelling out that she was missing something. She turned and looked up at the chandelier in the room and then at the hidden compartment, its panel was still open and the swords were visible.

  She got up and walked into the bedroom. Something was missing and it was the thought of making potions that had sparked the realization. She tried to picture what had happened before she had woken up staring at the fireplace the night before. She would have written the note and then stabbed it through the door with the knife. She would have drank the poison and then gotten into bed. She sat down and it was then that the thought struck her.

  Where was the empty vial of poison?

  The bed was checked first. The blanket and furs underneath it were stripped away and made a pile in the study. She checked under the bed and then pulled it away from the wall when she couldn’t see anything. She moved everything she checked out of the room until the floor was clear. There was no vial on the floor, or in the armor compartment that Calder had opened. There were only clothes in the bedroom cabinet.

  She marched back into the study and stared up at the chandelier, the very first thing that had nagged at her since she started exploring the house. It hung on a thick chain from a small slot in the ceiling. The chain looked solid, too large for the modest chandelier. She walked underneath and could reach up and touch it easily. Any chandelier in a room otherwise so plain and functional made little sense. The fireplace was more than enough light for reading and writing. She hadn’t even bothered to light the candles.

  She reached up and grabbed the center of the chandelier. She pulled it down and felt it give for a moment, only a moment, and then catch. She let go and saw the chain slide back up through ceiling, the barest of movements but something all the same. There was a loud crunching noise when she pulled down with both hands from the direction of the central fireplace. She let go and stared at it.

  Why are there two fireplaces? The question came back to her from the night before.

  The kitchen was too hot with both fires burning but she was certain now. She stood in the kitchen facing the central fireplace, her back to the cooking hearth. The hooks were there, on the opposite side of the room, hanging pots and pans over the fireplace that never used them. She had been so sure before of how far they extended in the stone but now she doubted herself.

  She cleared away the hooks and then grasped one of them and pulled on it as hard as she could. It slid from within the stone and revealing itself to be far longer than she thought, enough that it must have protruding directly above the fire. The other hooks came out just as easily and she put them carefully on the kitchen table. She went back into the study and pulled on the chandelier once again.

  The chain lowered easily as she pulled on the chandelier. A grinding noise came from the fireplace and she felt resistance as she pulled down. She pulled harder and watched as the stone floor of the fireplace began to rise up through the chimney. It ascended at the same pace as the chandelier descended in her hands until it was near the floor of the study. Something snapped then, something in the ceiling sliding into place and locking together. The chandelier refused to be pulled down anymore but neither did it rise back into place when she let go of it.

  The thrill of discovery ran through her. She practically dived onto the floor to look into the fireplace and what had been hidden underneath it. A hidden chamber, she was sure of it, and the stairs she could barely make out in the darkness all but confirmed it. She took one of the candles from the desk and lit it with the fire in the kitchen. She leaned into the cen
tral column with the light and saw the stairs leading up toward the bedroom and then abruptly stopping.

  She pressed herself against the stone wall in the bedroom and felt for any hidden switches or compartments. There were no false stones or handles of any sort. She went to the hidden compartment instead, taking out the armor carefully piece by piece and inspecting the knobs and hooks it had been placed upon. None of them turned or could be manipulated by her hands. She was getting frustrated now, so close to revealing a secret and being stuck on what appeared to be the last part.

  She went back into the study and stared at the chandelier. She turned to where the swords were hung and looked over them. Three swords but four places to put them on display. She put her hands on the bottom hangars and tried to turn them. The left one twisted between her forefinger and thumb, clicking after she rotated it a full circle. A creak droned out from the bedroom and she peered in, seeing that the wall had opened from the inside and parted to show the stairs. A hidden door.

  She grabbed one of the swords and unsheathed it without thinking. She held out the candle as she took the first step. Half way down it was barely enough light to see the next step below her feet. The stairs descended farther than she anticipated. She felt like she was an invader when she reached the bottom. The room was completely dark, so much so that she couldn’t see the walls around her. She stepped forward.

  Something flashed above her head and she stopped underneath it. It caught the candle’s light and she reached up to it. There was something embedded in the stone ceiling, something resembling a metal basket or framework. There were large objects inside, catching the light and reflecting back at her like jewels. Each of them were larger than her fist. She held up the candle for a closer look and the flames brushed against the glittering objects. The flame was abruptly sucked up into the one it touched, slurped up like the flame had been made of liquid. The flame appeared caught in the middle of the jewel, an exact dancing replica caught inside of it before the fire grew brighter. It spread to the rest of the jewels in the basket like they were pieces of firewood. The first one grew so bright that it hurt her eyes to look at but the light was soon leeched away by the jewels adjacent to it, eventually settling to a calm, pleasant glow as the light moved gently through all the gems in the basket.

  It took effort for her to look away from the display of magic. The light felt too warm when it came from such a cold source. It filled the room easily and she continued to be amazed as she looked around herself. She let her sword arm relax at her side. There were no monsters around her, only a continuation of her home.

  The walls were lined with shelves and counter tops. There were hundreds of glass bottles and jars. They were filled with strange liquids, some of which glistened back into the room when the light hit them. Some of the jars were filled with blood, others with organs, pieces of animals and monsters that she couldn’t identify. Although it was rare, some jars had contents that were alive and moving, tiny squirming things that shifting against the glass too small to shake their prisons off the shelves.

  The counters had more gemstones and other vials. There were open books that she looked over. One displayed the method of preparing the poison she had drank, complete with an empty vial next to it that she guessed she had drank the night before. There were bowls of coarse powder and blunt instruments next to them. Mortar and pestle, she somehow knew. There were varying shapes and sizes of glass bottles and flasks, alembics, clamps, stands, and dishes. They were in immaculate condition, cleaned immediately after they had been used. She thought of the mess she had made in the kitchen upstairs and knew instantly where her priorities would lie.

  There were stacks of books in each corner and more on the shelves near the stairs. The ones on the shelves were books on alchemy: ingredients, techniques, recipes, and ongoing research. There were more detailed sketches of plants, animals, monsters, organs, and how to prepare them. The stacked books, she discovered with a shock, were even older journals that predated the ones upstairs. She left those alone, exploring the rest of the room. Over eight hundred years was old enough for one night.

  A strange object caught her eye on the counter. It looked like a small wooden rod but it was as cool and smooth as metal in her hands when she picked it up. There was a small gemstone lodged into the base of the item and a darker square on top that seemed the perfect shape for her thumb. When she pressed on it, the item grew warm in her hands until, with a sudden pop, the gemstone was gone. A perfectly shaped green apple appeared from the front end of the item and fell to the floor. She marveled at the apparent transformation of the gem and could barely begin to comprehend how the magic had worked. She looked back up at the glistening stones of light and put the item back down.

  There was a door in the corner to her right, a meter or so away from the stairway. She opened it slowly, just enough to see if it was dark inside. When it was, she went back upstairs to replace the flame that the gemstones had stolen from the candle. There was a second basket of similar stones in the new room. She watched as her surroundings gradually became visible to her. She became more and more stunned as more of the room was revealed to her.

  There were no other doors. There were no windows or other openings. It was the final room of her house. There were wide shelves near the ceiling decorated with the preserved heads and skulls of dozens of different monsters. There was a troll and an ogre among them. The names of the others escaped her.

  There were weapons displayed on the walls. Swords and axes, sparkling with gemstones of their own. Decorative weapons. Embroidered shields and armor. Trophies. Prizes. Rewards from rich and powerful people. She gave each of them the briefest of glances. It was the floor that held her attention. The light from above her glimmering back into her eyes.

  The floor was covered in gold and silver. Piled up to her waist at the highest points. There were encrusted goblets and crowns, stacks of exquisite jewelry clumped together as if they were worthless. There were hundreds of gemstones amongst the gold and silver pieces, some even larger than the ones clasped in the metal framework on the ceiling. Money. Hundreds of years worth, perhaps even thousands. She felt no joy at the sight of it, no anger nor wonder. Only confusion and the never ending echo of an unanswered question.

  “Who am I?”

  Also by Joseph Anderson:

  andersonjph@gmail.com

  Fantasy

  The Wizard and the Dragon

  Monster Slayer Series

  The Monster Slayer Series One, Complete

  Origins

  Vampire Season

  The Immortal Demon

  Werewolf

  Zombies

  The Monster Slayer Series Two, Complete

  The Slayer and the Dragon

  The Ogre and the Bridge

  The Beast of Charn

  A Murder of Vampires

  The Missing Bride

  Night of the Necromancer

  Science Fiction

  Bounty Hunter Series

  The Bounty Hunter Series One, Complete

  Revenge

  Redemption

  Vampire

  Into The Swarm

  Reckoning

  The Bounty Hunter Series Two, Complete Set

  Resurrection

  Soldier’s Wrath

  AI’s Rage

  Smuggler’s Peril

  The Swarm Unleashed

  Suicide Mission