by T Ariyanna
His fingers flexed in the air towards the large vase that sat atop the fireplace. It was dark blue, with violet waves along the sides. It was corked shut, and the name carved on the side was barely visible beneath all the dust. Theresa.
He lost his balance and fell against the stonework of the fireplace, his feet thudding on the floor as he righted himself.
He opened one bright green eye cautiously, glancing into the doorway at the back of the house. His father was still sound asleep in his chair, a whiskey bottle hanging loosely in his calloused fingers. He let out a snort and shuffled in the chair, though didn't stir any further.
Arion let out the breath he had been holding and turned back to his goal. He placed one hand against the stones, and started to climb the fireplace. He jumped, fingertips skimming the dusty edge of the urn. It wobbled on its perch, but settled in the dust again.
One more time, Arion told himself. He gave another leap, putting all he had into the jump. He grabbed the urn with one hand. Lightning illuminated the room, making the stars on the urn glimmer. The loud crash of thunder that followed immediately startled him, and the vase slipped from his grasp. It toppled from the ledge and hit the floor, crashing into a million pieces and scattering glittering ashes onto the floor. The rain of the sudden storm thrummed against the side of the house, but it wasn’t loud enough to cover Arion’s mistake.
He dove to scoop the ashes into his hands, but quickly realized there was nowhere to put them. As his head spun side to side, looking for anything to help, a glow caught his attention. The ashes all around him began to shine with a faint green light. The small pile of ash in his hands disappeared, fading into his skin. The rest filtered into the air, and he swung to scoop it up, but they sank into his hands as soon as he touched them. He stared in wonder at his hands, now giving off that same faint glow, buzzing with energy.
His wonder was soon replaced by terror as a bottle clattered to the floor, rolling towards him. He turned slowly towards the kitchen, his father's shadow getting closer.
“Arion, what the hell are you doing?!” Kole's voice rang out over the storm. Arion huddled against the side of the fireplace, hoping the shadows would hide him. Arion peeked out to see his father stomping towards him, his huge fists shaking uncontrollably, and his face was completely red. Arion imagined smoke furling from his nose.
Kole was a very large man, built perfectly for his job as a lumberjack. A thick beard covered his chin, and his dark green eyes had dimmed with age. He wore muddy overalls and thick button-up shirts, both sporting holes. His leather boots were in the best shape, as Arion was forced to maintain them every time his father returned from a logging trip. He’d never seen his father without them.
Kole's hands shot out and grabbed Arion by the collar, lifting him four feet into the air to meet his gaze. “What did you do?” he growled, and Arion coughed from the smell of alcohol on his breath.
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Please, I just wanted to see her, to talk to her, just once,” the boy begged. Kole dropped him to the floor, and the porcelain from the vase cut Arion's hands as he caught himself.
Kole sunk to the floor on his knees, tenderly picking up the pieces of the urn. He turned them over in his hands, trying to fit them all back together.
“Please, Dad. Let me help. I…I can fix it. I can…” Arion pleaded.
“You can what? You're just a worthless kid. Get out of my face, you bastard,” Kole grumbled, pushing Arion away. Kole had so much strength in him that even his small actions sent Arion sprawling to the floor. Arion scrubbed his tears away with blood-covered hands.
Arion dug through the pieces of the urn until he found two with matching edges. He picked them up, and pressed them together. They slipped against each other, and the edges cut at Arion's hands even more. He held his breath, and tried again. He whispered under his breath, begging for the damage to be fixed. His hands grew warm, and buzzed like they had when the ashes disappeared. Spots of green light shone from under his skin. The buzzing grew stronger until it hurt, like needles stabbing at him from the inside. Like something was within him, and desperate to get out.
He set the pieces together again, and the pain in his hand dimmed. It felt like it was physically leaving, though he couldn't tell where. A burst of green lightning raced from his fingers into the two pieces of the urn, towards the crack. Once the lightning vanished, Arion stared at the pieces in awe. They had been forged together, as good as new.
“Dad, look! I told you I could fix it! Look!”
Arion waved the fixed piece of the urn in his father's face. Kole snatched it away and looked over it, his face turning white.
“What's wrong? I fixed it!” Arion squealed. He shot his hands out toward the other pieces, as though it were a game, but Kole's hands caught Arion's wrists first.
Kole held him still for a moment, his eyes darting over the wreckage. “It was empty,” he whispered, tightening his grip on Arion. “The urn was empty.”
“It wasn't before, I swear. The ashes just. . . dissolved, or something. I don't know what happened.” Arion wriggled in his grip, his voice breaking in fear. His father's eyes had glossed over, and he wasn't listening.
“Why was it empty?” He turned on Arion, tossing him through the air to land near the stairs. “WHAT DID YOU DO?”
Lightning struck again as he hit the wall, and Arion saw the pure rage on his father’s face. He had seen him angry many times before, but this was different. It was intense, and raw, and terrifying.
“What are you talking about? I put the pieces back together, that's all!” Arion cried, crawling up the stairs away from his father. Kole caught him by the hair and slapped him across the face, hard enough to cut his cheek.
“Get out of my sight!” Kole screamed. “Get in your room, and don't come out until I figure out what to do with you!” Kole hit him again, sending him tumbling up a few more steps. Arion was frozen for just a moment before he turned and scrambled up the stairs, running up the steps as fast as he could.
His legs didn't want to work the same way they had before. He held the arm that had hit the wall to his chest, shuffling to the end of the hallway to his room, biting back the urge to cry. Why does it even matter? I should be used to it by now. Suck it up! he told himself, but it only seemed to make it worse.
He threw the door shut behind him and climbed onto his bed. His room was mostly bare, only a bed and a small dresser, half-filled with old clothes. He had a few toys that he had gotten from his father, before the abuse started, the last things he had ever gotten from the man. His bed was shoved into a corner of the small room; below a window he had thought of leaving through all too often.
The rain was beginning to calm, fading into a soft drumming against the glass. Thunder could be heard rolling in the distance, ominous and threatening. It sounded as though it might come back for him at any moment, much like his father.
He pulled his legs to his chest, ignoring the heat in his arm, praying it was only bruised. He felt the strange buzzing again, though now, it was everywhere. It zoomed around his chest, ached his muscles, and throbbed in his ears. It was strongest just over his heart, and it squeezed inside of him until he couldn't breathe.
“Stop, please. Just stop,” he whispered. He laid his left hand over his heart, and the energy subsided, though he knew it wasn’t gone. He could still feel the weight of it in his chest, as though it was merely contained. It flowed within him just as easily as the blood in his veins.
He wrapped his arms around himself and cried as silently as he could. He didn't want to give his father another reason to return. He looked out of the window, staring into the stars. The moon was already high in the sky, and the weight of the night was heavy on Arion's shoulders.
Just as he was starting to sleep, Arion was jolted to attention by a light tapping on the window. He saw a small owl, perched on the sill outside his window. It was black, with white spots on its wings and belly, and a white mask around its eyes.
/> “Its feathers look like snow,” Arion whispered. He wiped his cheeks dry and shifted towards the window.
The owl turned its head and stared longingly at Arion with its big eyes. It tapped on the window again, the sound of nails against the glass hurting Arion's ears. Arion reached up slowly, unlocked the window, and opened it enough for the owl to glide onto his bed. The owl hopped toward him, fluttering its wings. It then flew in circles around the tiny room, diving towards the floor only to turn up to the ceiling again. In twirled in the air, shaking its feathers dry.
Arion jumped from his bed and stood in the center of the room, spinning in circles along with the bird until he was dizzy. He fell to the floor, a hand upon his head. The owl landed in front of him, his head cocked to the side. Its face was mere inches from Arion's.
He laughed abruptly, scaring the bird. It took to the air once more. Arion shot a hand out toward it, holding himself up on his other hand.
“Wait! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you,” Arion whispered. The bird paused, then slowly fluttered to the floor. It hopped from one foot to the other, trying to settle on the uneven floorboards.
Arion giggled again, and reached his hand out to the owl. It looked at it a moment before crawling underneath, and pushing the soft feathers atop its head into Arion's fingers. He rubbed the owl’s head and the bird let out a satisfied coo. When Arion stopped, the owl ruffled its feathers and blinked at him in disappointment.
Arion turned and dove under his bed. When he emerged, there were his dirty, broken toys clutched in his hands. “Do you want to play? I don't have many toys, but I like them anyway. I don't think they make toys like these anymore. Father gave them to me a long time ago. He said they were beasts from a dark time, whatever that means. I think they look cool.”
Arion held them up one by one to the owl, who watched intently. “This one's a car. It's like a carriage, but there's no horse! It just goes on its own, and makes loud sounds.” He erupted in a chorus of growls and screeching noises, pushing the toy around on its three wheels. The next toy he threw through the air, retrieved, and threw again, over and over as he talked. “This one's my favorite. It's an airplane, and it flies just like you! I'd love to fly and see how tiny everyone is!”
He fell down on his back beside the owl, gliding the toy plane through the air, making rumbling noises. The owl bent down and pushed the car with its beak, sending it in a wobbly path.
“There you go,” Arion said. He watched the car roll to a stop. The owl pushed it again, and it rolled straight into the leg of the bed. The bird ruffled its feathers again and hooted with annoyance.
It turned back to Arion, but the boy was staring solemnly at the toy plane in his hands. “Father said they used to exist, a long, long time ago. The Mages built them for us, so we could see more of the world. But humans got scared, and destroyed them all, everything the Mages built. We do everything the hard way now.”
Arion glanced out of the window, until Centric, home of the Mage's, came into view. From this distance, all that could be seen were the shining towers. They were thin and pointed, slicing through the clouds that floated overhead. Arion swore they could even reach the heavens.
Bright light shot from the tops of them in wide beams, illuminating all of their city. They gleamed silver in the moonlight, and were blinding under the sun. They were made from metal, melted earth that had been formed into something new, something stronger than stone. They would never erode, or fade. They would never fall.
“Look at the Towers of Talgrin! We could have stuff like that, but people would rather be boring. I even heard the Mages can control lightning, and they have lights made out of it! And father calls them monsters. We're the ones that willingly went back into the Dark Ages.
“Everyone hates the Mages now, especially Father. He's always going on about how he wants to tear their towers down, but that's all he does. Talk. He hates them almost as much as he hates me sometimes. . .”
Arion trailed off, and the toy fell to the floor with a clatter. The last wheel it had broken loose, leaving the plane stranded while the wheel rolled under the bed.
The sound of flapping caught his attention, and his head shot up just in time to see the owl's tail disappear out of the window. He scrambled onto his bed, trying to catch it, but he was too late. It was gone. He felt like he wanted to cry, or scream, but he couldn't decide which. He fell onto his back, covering his head with his arms. “Good going, Arion. No one likes a sob story.”
But just as quickly as the owl had left, he was back again, landing heavily on Arion's stomach. Arion shot up, holding his stomach, and the bird resettled on his legs.
“You came back,” he said in awe, sniffling. He lifted his hand to pet the bird again, but it jutted its leg in the way with one sharp movement. Arion froze before realizing there was a small piece of paper wrapped around the bird's leg.
Arion pulled it off gently and stared at the words. “Father doesn't like me going to the village for school. I haven't really learned how to read,” he confessed. He looked at the owl in shame, but it pushed the note closer to him. He took a big breath, and read as best as he could.
“D…dear Arion. This is Snow. He is a nice owl, and he came now because you need him. Today is your thir…thirteenth birthday, my love, so he has a present for you. I love you, Arion.
- Mommy.”
“Mom?” Arion dropped the note, and gazed at his door. “The closest thing to my mom was in the urn downstairs, until I broke it. The ashes disappeared, they must have blown away, or something.”
Father had always told him that mother had gone up to the stars, so she could watch over Arion, though he had grown too old for such fantasies. His mother was dead, lost in childbirth. “How can she write if she's dead?” He tossed the letter to the side, and turned away from the owl.
Arion watched the owl rush to the window to retrieve a large package. He dropped it into Arion's lap, the weight of it surprising him. The owl perched on Arion's knees, and pecked at the package. It was big and square, wrapped in dirty brown paper and tied with twine. A small paper was tied to the present with Arion's name written on it in big letters.
Arion pulled at the string and ripped off the paper. Inside was a giant book, too heavy for Arion to lift properly. It was bound in old leather, the corners tipped with shining metal. The opening was clamped shut with a lock, but there was no hole for a key. Instead, there was an engraving of a lightning bolt on it.
The energy in his chest was riled up again, racing through his veins. His fingers twitched, and he bit his lip. The energy was nagging at him, and he grabbed the lock and pulled it as hard as he could. He was desperate to find out what was in the book. His heart was beating fast as he attempted to pry the book open with his bare hands.
Tears stung his eyes again when the lock didn't budge. “Why give me a present I can't use? It's stupid.”
Arion lashed out, kicking the book from the bed. It startled Snow, and the owl jumped into the air, making an angry noise and fetching the book from the floor. He returned it to the bed with ease, carrying it by the spine in his small claws.
“How can you do that? You're so tiny.” Arion said. He nudged the book away, slowly this time so he didn't spook Snow.
Arion crossed his arms over his chest and stuck his lower lip out, eyeing the book. Snow hopped onto the book and nipped at Arion’s hand. Arion pulled away, glaring at the owl. Snow simply pecked at the carving of a bolt and stared at Arion.
“What do you want? I can't do it,” the boy said.
Snow stepped off the book and swiped the dust from the cover with its wing, revealing the title. He pecked at the words and hooted at Arion. He leaned closer, tracing each letter with his finger as he read them. “O.F. M. A. G. I. C. Of Ma…magic?” Arion stuttered.
Snow sprung into the air, spinning around and letting out a high-pitched hoot. Arion grabbed the owl and clamped his beak shut. “Shh! Do you want him to come back?” Arion hissed.
/> Snow shook his whole body, whether in agreement with Arion or simply to adjust his feathers, Arion wasn't sure. His eyes darted to the door, but he heard no movement from downstairs.
“You really want me to try again?” Arion whispered. Snow dipped his head swiftly. “Fine, but it's the last time.”
Arion pulled the book to his knees and flipped it onto its spine. He ran his fingers over the lightning bolt. Taking a deep breath, Arion closed his eyes and pressed his left palm to the insignia. All of the buzzing in him raced to his hand. His hand was burning from the inside, but he held his ground.
Arion pushed against the book harder, scrunching his whole face. The heat in his hand grew, and his fingers spasmed as the energy pulsed under his skin. He was getting scared. Arion opened his eyes and tried to pull his hand away, but it was stuck. He bit his lip to keep from panicking. He pushed the book from his lap and shook the hand that was stuck to it.
He looked to Snow for help, but the owl seemed overjoyed. Snow’s eyes had brightened up, and the white spots on his feathers seemed more vibrant. “What's going on?” he asked desperately.
Arion stifled a scream as all of the energy focused on the center of his palm. A green light shown from his hand, growing brighter and brighter until the whole room was illuminated with its glow. Instantly, everything went dark, and then the book launched backwards with a burst of green sparks. Arion was thrown against the head of his bed and the book fell to the floor.
Snow had jumped to the window, and was flying right outside the pane. Arion looked at his hand, cradling it in the other. Instead of cuts, he saw one big burn in the shape of the insignia. It faded into a scar quickly. Half of the scar was red, stained from the blood that had been there before. The energy within him had settled into his blood and bones, and it gave him comfort now, rather than pain. He knew now it was a part of him…something he could learn to control.
He glared at the book, but his anger was chased away by surprise. The lock had popped open, and the volume of pages had forced the book open. He crept along the bed, forgetting about his hand entirely.