Chapter 4: Spite
I hope none of you readers are thinking that this is gonna be a romance. No siree.
It could... work, I guess, but I don't think I could pull it off, not in this world. And part of me can't get over this odd revulsion I feel towards the concept of Wizard and Witch in a relationship.
As she watches him interact with Master, Witch sits in a dark corner of the tower they use as a classroom and practices lighting her thumb on fire.
The magic is easy, but she's sweating a bit, and she can't keep herself from monitoring them. She sees Master pat his shoulder and smile, Again, the corners of his eyes folding and his lean, sharp face heaving upwards.
She feels empty and even a little sick, having to see their display, as if the little louse had lived in the castle since he was born.
Witch is trying to refocus herself when Master waves her over and tells her to call him Wizard.
She grinds her molars together and grips the apron that covers her dress, leaving tiny half-circle indentations from her ragged nails in the hardened leather. This is almost her worst fear, right next to the one where 'Wizard' (she almost cannot bring herself to actually refer to him by that name; he is no wizard. He is a simple dirty street rat) is swept away by Master, and she is forgotten, left to spend her years idling away lighting her thumbs on fire.
She never knew his name, and is belatedly a little upset at having missed the opportunity to control the stupid weasel like a slave. Somehow he had known not to introduce himself, she was sure.
Master launches into a little Magic theory lesson as he sits on a rug near the empty fireplace.
Magic theory is her favourite, and she's read all the books she could understand on it, but tunes in anyway. The knowledge that she is far ahead of him in at least one subject (his 'talent' is of no importance and Witch doesn't like to think of it) is soothing.
In front of her is a shallow dish of water, a couple dry leaves, a scrap of parchment, and a heap of black soil containing a pea seed, but they've ceased to be interesting.
Master explains to Wizard the concept of magic; she can't see his face, for he is sitting in front of her, but she imagines it to be similar to the one he had made the night before when she had done her little fire-trick. Full of concealed wonder and just enough fascinated incredulity to disgust her slightly.
"Magic is made of the energy that is contained within us, the natural power of our bodies and minds. As we grow and develop, in both knowledge and in our natural forms, we may increase the amount of energy that can be utilised at once. Look at Witch,"
He points over at her, and Wizard swivels around quickly to stare at her.
She quickly pretends to be busy manipulating the water so that it hovers hands-free, shaping it into a ball over the dish for a few seconds.
"She is focusing her energy on her fingers so she can shape the water. This power can be used for all kinds of purposes; the strongest wizards can access hidden worlds and call forth spirits."
Witch turns her attention to the seed in the dirt. She can feel it there, if she really concentrates: the small spark of heat and light- a soul.
She builds up the water-ball again and slowly positions it over the soil mound. There is a familiar burning tension in her body, not quite painful, (as if she is feverish) and she feels a rushing relief as something nameless drains from her body.
The sphere falls from the air and soaks the soil- she can feel a flicker of vitality in the sleeping pea. She feels the tentative prodding of some tiny tentacle against the seed's outer shell.
She is focusing fiercely now, blood rushing in her cheeks and pounding in her head, making her sweat.
Witch lays her palm on the dirt and visualises sending life into the plant-embryo and she feels it leave her once again and travel into the new threadlike roots. Its growth accelerates rapidly under her attention, and its soul glows healthily as it pushes up from the soil.
From the little stem unfolds a soft, rudimentary leaf.
A seven-day process in less than a minute. She leans back against the cool wall, panting, and brushes her sweaty brownish hair from her damp neck.
Wizard observes her while she does this, enchanted by her little display, amazed at the speed of the pea's development.
Witch is unsure if he can even see the plant's soul, reinforced and made strong by her effort and thrumming with vigour.
He glances up at her with his green eyes (green like the glass bottles Master brings home sometimes from his travels, she thinks) and keeps staring down at the plant. He furrows his brow and sticks a finger in the dirt.
the plant slowly grows an inch and forms another two leaves, to her astonishment.
Witch wants to clap her hands around her work suddenly, shield it from his poisonous interference.
This is not his achievement. This is not his to take.
But she is mostly spent, and loath to move, and when Master looks up from his Magic theory book and notices them there, he sees only the wizard-brat with his grubby finger still in the dirt and praises him like he's gone and found the solution to all Mankind's conflicts. Oh, he's never used magic! He sensed the soul right away! What a good boy, what a smart boy, what talent!
Witch is not recognised or praised, though this the most she's gotten a plant to grow using magic since she started, and it makes her guts roil and her eyes sting with angry tears of childish abandonment.
As soon Master turns away to go back to his book, she makes a small spark on her fingertip, using the last remains of her sapped magic, and lights the plant on fire.
Witch sneers at Wizard's face, crestfallen and crumpled with surprise as he watches it burn, watches his very first tangible achievement curl up and wither into black dust.
Thank you kindly for your support! I always look forward to hearing your comments.
An extra thank you to mylafter, who asked if this story could be a (small) component in their Harvest Moon-inspired game. Check it out once it's done!
