Mage- The Ancient's Might

by S A Edwards

  The pure light reflected on the stone wall long before my aching legs reached the empty room. The eggs remained untouched, glowing as brightly as before, but the one Prudens referred to – Fate – seemed brighter.

  Something stirred within me: peace, hope, longing, and a strange need to approach it. Different this time. Unlike the Gates. I crept forward, my gaze never straying from the precious treasure.

  I reached out until my hands hovered inches from the surface. Heat radiated from it, and diamond-like bubbles rose from the casing. The whole thing sent magic tingling through every fibre of my skin, pulling me close, engulfing me in its warmth, its protection, an overwhelming scent of vanilla and comfort.

  I faltered. I shouldn’t. The egg wasn’t mine. What if something happened?

  The need to connect with it increased, dragging out any rational thought.

  I touched it.

  White light blasted from the egg, dazzling me with blinding brilliance. The room faded from view, filled with heat and light.

  I staggered back, raising an arm to shield myself.

  A crack reverberated.

  Power shimmered in the air.

  Then, the glow faded.

  The egg lay in pieces. Thick, smooth shell scattered across the floor in fragments, impossible to restore, and atop the crystal podium sat a very small, very beautiful Ancient.

  White scales shimmered over its tiny body. A tiny symbol, the same that marked Amicus’ wrist etched into its neck. A tail lined with jagged points swayed and curled around folded wings, and two, curved ears flapped near bright-blue eyes.

  Its lips folded back like a smile, revealing a row of sparkling, white teeth, and a tingle of joy washed through me.

  Footsteps pounded on the stairs, and Prudens rushed through the door, closely followed by Della. They surveyed the scene at once, their expressions ones of shock and excitement.

  My anxiety returned at once. “I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I was drawn to it. I didn’t mean –”

  “Why in the seven worlds would you be sorry?” Della asked. “We were hoping for this.”

  I staggered back.

  Prudens beamed.

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “You’re not mad I’m back up here?”

  Prudens’ laugh echoed between the walls. “Are you kidding? A newling has been born!” He clapped me on the back with surprising strength for one so old.

  The newling leapt from the pedestal into my arms, and then twisted around my neck, purring contentedly. His warm weight eased the tension in my shoulders. It rubbed its warm nose against my cheek, and its tail waved back and forth.

  “He’s pleased to meet you,” Della said.

  “He?”

  She nodded. “He’s been waiting for you since before anyone remembers.”

  “Waiting for me? But why?”

  “You are his circumstance.”

  The newling slid back into my arms, nestled up in the crook of my elbow and closed his eyes.

  Prudens squeezed my shoulder, and his voice softened. “It appears he will be spending the night with you. Come. I will direct you back to your room. Unless, of course, there’s another detour you’re planning?” His eyes twinkled.

  “Oh, no. Just this.”

  He smiled and gestured toward the stairs.

  My focus strayed briefly over the two remaining eggs, but the pull that manifested earlier held no more. The warm bundle in my arms didn’t react to my movements. His breathing remained slow and steady, and a trail of smoke swirled from slitted nostrils.

  I paused to catch my breath at the bottom of the stairs.

  Prudens leaned against the gate with a smile.

  “What’s his name?” I asked.

  “I cannot say.”

  Della appeared behind me. “I expect he shall reveal that in the next few days.”

  “Oh.”

  She chuckled. “You will understand soon enough.”

  Prudens gestured toward a hallway, so I pressed on, not pausing again until he stopped before my door.

  “Are you sure he should stay with me?” I asked. “I don’t know a thing about looking after a newling.”

  “You need not worry. He is capable of caring for himself.”

  I gazed at the creature, unsure how something that just hatched could know how to fulfil its needs, but I didn’t question him. So much about this world remained a mystery to me.

  Prudens eyes glistened, and I wondered if he knew of my thoughts. He gave a little bow. “I bid you goodnight. Sleep sweet.”

  The moment I closed the door, the newling opened his eyes. He pounced onto the bed and snuggled into the pillow, and then watched me with wide eyes.

  I perched on the edge of the mattress. “How am I supposed to wait a few days for your name? I have to call you something.”

  He didn’t move, watching me in silence.

  I cocked my head. “Maybe I’ll give you a name. Just for now. Would you mind?”

  He let out a long, loud bleat, and bounced on the pillow. Then, he spun around in circles, padded the fabric, and sank back down, wrapping his tail around his body.

  I giggled. “Your voice reminds me of the sirens back home. They would sound every day at evening to signal the end of the workday.” I leaned on the pillow beside him and pulled my knees up to my chest. “At the siren, I’d get to walk through the forest, along the border of the wall. And I’d meet with Charlie and …” A longing ache welled in my chest at the memory of my childhood with Charlie.

  The newling nudged my arm.

  I smiled down at him. “I wonder how much you understand. You really are wonderful. But maybe that’s what I should call you. Siren. Because the sirens marked the best time of every day, and you’re a promise of a better future, right? What do you think?”

  He pushed up against me, rested his head on my shoulder, and closed his eyes.

  I welcomed his warmth, the peace his presence brought. For a moment, the pain of losing Charlie faded, and I relaxed. “Siren. My perfect bit of peace.”

  18

  Warmth and weight on my stomach greeted me when I woke in the morning. Sunlight streamed through the glass ceiling, diminishing any need for the low-burning candles.

  Siren moved in the night, nestled into my side and rested his head on my stomach. At my movements, he opened his eyes.

  “Good morning.” I smiled. “Did you sleep well?”

  He stood and gave himself a shake, little ears flapping.

  I clambered off the bed and routed through the wardrobe until I found a pair of black trousers and a sapphire, short-sleeved tunic. Ankle-length boots stood beneath the hanging clothes and fitted me perfectly.

  I found a brush in the bathroom and ran it through my hair until loose waves cascaded down my back, and then returned to the bedchamber.

  Siren crouched on the bed, blue gaze fixed on me. When I approached, he leapt from the sheet. His weight felt heavier than yesterday, but it evened out when he spread across my shoulders and wrapped his smooth tail around my arm. I ran my finger along the spikes lining his tail, pondering on the fact that they never pricked me.

  “You’re so warm.” My hand trailed along his scales, and he shivered. His presence comforted me, and I dreaded the thought of losing him during the day. His warmth numbed the pain that accompanied my worry for Charlie and made it easier to think. Still, waiting around wasn’t an option. Charlie needed me, and the sooner I fixed the balance, the closer I came to rescuing him.

  Three raps on the door claimed my attention.

  Amicus stood on the other side, deep blue robes adorning his body.

  Relief at having a familiar face eased some of the nerves spreading through me. “Hello,” I said.

  He smiled and offered me his arm. “May I escort you to breakfast?”

  I took it, closing the door behind me.

  “Hello, little newling,” he said. “It’s so good to finally meet you.”

  Siren gave a curt nod.


  I blinked. “Did he … did you understand that?”

  He nuzzled my cheek.

  Amicus chuckled. “I must seem very young to him.”

  “Young?”

  “Of course. He’s older than any of us know. No doubt he’s been watching us for thousands of years.”

  “From his egg?”

  He nodded. “All of us can see the outside from our egg. We see everything our light touches.”

  “You mean there’s more to the eggs’ glow than just light?”

  “It is our eyes. Until we are birthed, we can see all things. It truly is marvellous.”

  I gazed into Siren’s wide, gleaming eyes, wondering how much knowledge he held, how much he had seen in his thousands of years of waiting.

  The scent of freshly cooked food reached me before we arrived at the hall, sending my stomach rumbling.

  At least 60 people sat inside, digging into sizzling strips of meat, flattened eggs, and bowls of white, creamy stuff. I gaped at them, wondering just how many Ancients there were living here. Certainly more than I’d imagined, despite the Might being a city.

  At the sight of the food, Siren bounded from my shoulders and skipped along the centre table.

  Voices sounded at once, and the Ancients flocked around to see the new addition.

  Unable to get to him through the crowd, I slumped into a seat near the entrance, shivering a little in the chill without his warmth.

  Amicus sat opposite and filled his bowl with the steaming, white stuff. “Milk-cream,” he said in answer to my questioning expression. “Try it. It’s almost as lovely as the newling.”

  With a little smile, I filled my own bowl and popped a spoonful in my mouth. Warm and thick, a slight sweetness set my tongue tingling and immediately eased my aching stomach.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  I nodded. Now that Siren was no longer with me I felt empty, though I couldn’t explain why. He’d only been with me a few hours.

  A flash of white dashed between the crowded Ancients and bounded across the table to me. Relief coursed through me when he pushed his warm head up against my arm. “Having fun?” I asked.

  He crouched with my bowl between us, but kept his tail draped over my wrist, and lapped up the milk-cream.

  Amicus raised his eyebrows. “You two seem to have made quite the connection.”

  “He’s good company.” I ran my finger around his tail, enjoying the smooth feel of his scales. “He keeps me warm.”

  He nodded. “I hear you were his circumstance.” He flashed a thoughtful smile. “I hadn’t seen that coming.”

  Prudens entered the hall, a golden band running along the hem of his white robe.

  Siren gave him a little nod, and then returned to the milk-cream.

  “You look well,” Prudens noted and drew out the seat beside me. “Today will be about training Siren.”

  I gave him a confused look. “Siren?” I hadn’t told anyone the temporary name I’d given him. “How …”

  Prudens tapped his head with his forefinger. “What Ancients know …”

  Of course. He learned what the other Ancients learned. But that also meant … “So, you know what happened last night?” Which explains why he knew Siren’s name, but also why he was so comfortable leaving the newling with me. If there was anything he needed, Prudens would have known and come for him.

  “I get the impression that this time will be different,” Prudens said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I learn what happens as he experiences it, but the connection between us doesn’t feel the same. Siren is my elder. I wonder if, when he reaches maturity, he will control what I learn and what is hidden.”

  Siren stopped eating and nudged the half-empty bowl toward me.

  I rubbed my fingers behind his ears, bringing out his purr. “Do you really think he could do that?” I asked.

  “I have no idea what he can do. His gifts will manifest when the time is right. Until then, we must wait until he is ready.” He ladled a spoonful of meat onto his plate. “Siren will take charge of his training. You may remain with him if you wish but take care to heed him. He will keep you in the safe parts of the Might.”

  It amazed me that someone so small and young could know of the dangers Prudens spoke of. It didn’t seem like his light reached the deeper depths of the Might, but perhaps I was wrong.

  At the end of breakfast, I wandered out to the courtyard with Siren plodding along ahead of me. He headed straight for the fountain and sprang onto the edge.

  White-petalled flowers bobbed on the water in intervals with golden tufts in their centres.

  “These are Lallanas,” I said. I had only seen them a few times in my lives: in the village I called home and in the Healer Capital. Very rare, they also carried danger. The bite of a lotus bug delivered fatal poison to anyone unlucky enough to be caught, although there didn’t appear to be any bugs here. Unless they were hiding. They were rather small.

  Siren leaned down, swiping at the flowers when they drifted near.

  Amicus stopped beside me. “Is that what you called them in your world?”

  “What do you call them?”

  “Ancient’s Spite. We eat a petal once every three hundred years to begin our cleanse.”

  “Your cleanse?”

  Siren slipped from the edge of the fountain and tumbled, head-first, into the water. It splattered across the stone and clung to my trousers.

  Heart lurching, I rushed forward.

  His head emerged from the surface, eyes blinking rapidly, and he let out another bleat, bringing cries of delight and amusement from the surrounding Ancients. He turned on his back, swimming, splashing and pouncing on the ripples, more bleats sounding in array.

  I sank onto the fountain’s rim.

  Amicus laughed. “You shouldn’t worry. He’s more capable than you give him credit for.”

  “He’s just so little. I keep thinking …”

  “He’s a lot older than he looks, too.”

  “I know.”

  “Relax,” he said. “Enjoy your day. No doubt he’ll keep you entertained.”

  “But what about the Whisperleaf Tree? Prudens said –”

  “It’s not safe to go yet. Don’t worry. It won’t be long.”

  I frowned. How long was long in the Ancient’s eyes? Every moment I failed to act put Charlie in more danger.

  Siren stopped his playing and approached to push a wet snout against mine. A soft scent of vanilla touched my nose and comfort washed over me. Then, he bounced away again.

  Laughter pursued Siren throughout the day wherever he went. He scampered from one place to the other, through halls and passages to a large field of amber grass. Crimson butterflies flitted above speckled flowers, fleeing Siren’s skilful attempts to catch them.

  At one point, his paws clamped down on one, pinning it to the ground. He crouched over it, tail wagging, and then he leaned back.

  It flew away unharmed.

  Toward mid-afternoon, he loped over to me and gave a long yawn.

  I giggled and knelt before him. “I didn’t think your training meant playing all day, although I suppose that makes sense. Or would, if you weren’t thousands of years old.”

  He pressed his nose against mine, and that sweet, vanilla scent drifted from his scales.

  “I’m okay with you having a rest. I’m pretty tired myself, but I’d love to go and see the library. Maybe I’ll try to find it whilst you sleep.” I reached out to him, but he pulled back, surveying me with wide eyes. Then, he padded away from the field.

  I followed in curious silence.

  He pressed on with quiet confidence, as though he knew which way to turn, and eventually stopped outside large, oak, double doors.

  Books lined the shelves and towered above us in crooked piles. A wide path led farther in, twisting and branching off in a maze of knowledge and wisdom.

  “You brought me to the library.” I stared at him, a
mazed. I’d never have found it on my own, and since he’d brought me here, he must have known that, too. “Thank you.”

  He sprang into my arms, nestled into the crook of my elbow, and closed his eyes.

  I crept over to the metal-bound book, very aware of the silence. Thick carpet cloaked my footfalls, and sheltered candles burned steadily against the walls. Dust ghosted the heavy, brown cover of the book, and golden, slanted writing curled on the front. ‘Nephilium’.

  I surveyed the heavy padlock, polished to a streak-less shine. What reason would they have to seal a book in the most heavily protected place in the world? Were the Ancients not even allowed to read it?

  I tugged on the padlock, but it didn’t loosen. Maybe a key would be hanging nearby. Doubtful, but worth a look. Unless … I let my hand drop. Unless I wasn’t meant to look inside. If it was sealed, it must be for a reason.

  Tightening my grip on the sleeping Ancient, I abandoned my place before the book and delved deeper into the maze.

  19

  Over the next three days, Siren played and pounced around the Might, delighting the other Ancients who followed him almost as much as I.

  Returning to the amber field, he capered from one side to the other, bleating a near constant tune until his wings stretched out in a curtain of dazzling white. He took off, flapping in unsteady beats, and tumbled to the grass. He rolled twice and flopped on his stomach with his tail between his ears.

  I raced forward, despite the laughter of the watching Ancients, but he stood and shook himself before I reached him. “Are you okay?” I asked.

  He nuzzled my hand, then ran off to try again.

  This time his wing-beats turned regular, and he soared over our heads with stunning grace.

  Then, he twisted and glided straight for me, wobbling more with each moment.

  He crashed into my stomach, knocking me to the ground. A peppery scent billowed from the grass, tickling my nose.