"The world seems not the same,
Though I know, nothing has changed
It's all my state of mind
I leave it all behind."
-from Pale by Within Temptation
Chapter Eight: The Change
Nergal returned that night more confused than he had ever been in his entire life. Inside, he was facing an epic conflict between what he thought he wanted and what he wanted to think. The mighty clash of ideals, morals, preconceptions, opportunity, and potentiality ravaged him, and a restless feeling overtook his body.
The building was quiet. Nergal skipped up the steps to his room, and upon entering, he happened to glance at the clock. Eight o'five, it read. He forgot something…but what?
Deciding not to have to deal with another worry, he forgot about whatever he forgot in the first place and set to work at trying to sort things out in his mind. He fell against the bed, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath that made his body wiggle.
The Church sanctified the use of magic. God inspired the Church, chose those who ran it. How could they be led astray? Then again, it was just as Timoras said: it was all a tactical move. Nothing spiritual about it. But magic could be used to help people, and helping people was good. Healing people was good.
Magic was evil. Magic would corrupt him.
And what about dragons? Could Nergal really believe that dragons—the same creatures that killed his kinfolk, that incited such fear, that destroyed so much— would actually want to live side by side with humans? All it would take was one catalyst to set them off, and Nergal was good as dead.
He almost felt guilty thinking this. Emese was so sweet, and Jaffry accepted him so easily. Timoras…Timoras, for all his gibes, seemed sincere. Timoras wanted only for the good of Arcadia. Nergal saw many dragons today, and none of them—not one—so much as looked at him funny. Most ignored him. Most did not care.
A thump banged on his door twice, and Emese pushed her way into room, a tray busying her hands. She smiled at him.
"Thought I heard you come in. You missed dinner while you were out with Timoras, so I thought I'd bring you some." Dinner! That was it! He forgot about dinner at six o'clock. Truth was, he had not been out with Timoras all that time. They departed when Timoras had to meet someone and all for the best too, as things became very awkward after Timoras spoke with him. Nergal spent the rest of the day wandering around the city and trying his best not to get lost.
Shaking her lavender locks over her shoulder, Emese set the tray down on his bedside table and leaned over his bed. "You look distressed."
"It's nothing."
Emese rolled her eyes. "Did Timoras say something stupid and hurt your feelings? Because, I swear, I told him to try to be nice for once."
Nergal pushed himself up with one hand. "No, he was very cordial."
Emese appeared unconvinced, her arms folded across her chest. "So what's wrong then?"
"I'm homesick." The lie came out as fluid as water.
"Oh. Well, if there's anything I can get you—"
"No thank you. But, if you'd stay, I want to ask you something."
Emese smiled. "Of course."
"When you study magic, what do you use it for?"
The question was the last thing Emese expected, and her smile fell in her surprise. "Um, different magic is good for different things. Jaffry is proficient in anima, which is very nature based and he's studying cultivation techniques to help to feed, uh, the growing population. Elder magic has fewer practical uses. It's more of a universe study that I'm pursuing at the moment. I'm trying to pinpoint these things called fluxes— you'll learn about them—, how they function, and how to put them to use."
"What about healing?"
"Healing?"
"What if I wanted to learn healing magic? Would Afa teach me?"
"Afa will teach you anything you want to learn, but you have to find your proficiency first. Healing is very much associated with light magic, and we have very few tomes on that. Anyone can learn it though, but it takes more time for some than for others."
"Timoras told me a Bishop from the Church fled here some time ago. Do you think I could meet him?"
Emese's eyes went wide, but this time, it was a pleasant shock. "Of course. He's a bit out of it, mind you. Crabby too, but I'm sure he would love some visitors. I'll bring you over there one of these days."
"Thank you."
Nergal looked at the tray she had brought him: a bowl of stew and a piece of rock-hard brown bread. No matter how much he tried to summon some hunger, he had no desire to eat and merely watched the vegetables bob at the top of the broth. Emese sat down next to him, fidgeting slightly. She wanted to say something; the way she clenched her hands in her lap, and the way she bit her lip told Nergal that much. Something she wanted to get out of her.
"Nergal, when you look at me, what do you see?"
The tray rattled in Nergal's grip. "I see a woman."
Emese quirked a smile, but it disappeared in a second. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."
Nergal could not speak. A hundred excuses came into his mind, a hundred answers occupied his thoughts, and a thousands blurs swept it all away. It almost hurt how much he had to sort out; it pained him down to the very bottom of his soul. Damn, he did not want to have to decide. Life had been so much easier when people told him how to think, and he just wanted someone to tell him what to do so he would not have to decide by himself.
The indecisiveness was so unlike him, and yet he yearned to be free of the responsibility of thought. His frustration racked him like no sickness had; it made him want to writhe and tear at his hair.
And yet he just sat there, suffering the emotions as still as he could until he finally voiced it in a fleeting whisper. "I'm so confused."
"Nergal?"
"What am I supposed to think? What am I supposed to do?"
Emese approached him delicately, a hand on his shoulder, a sympathetic voice. "Whatever you think is right?"
"But I have no idea what's right? What's good, what's bad? The light, the dark, the good, the evil, there's nothing but gray shadows here." It filled the air with a sharpness and loudness he had not anticipated, but it felt good.
Emese sighed. "What is good? Love, tolerance, acceptance; those are good. What is evil? Passage 8:14 of your Holy Book states 'Nothing on this world is evil unless we make it so'."
The flames settled to a bare licking at his soul. Nergal swallowed; he knew that passage but it never came to him in his deliberations. Croaking, he managed to ask, "Even magic?"
Emese smiled, "especially magic."
----
The conversation with Emese had almost settled it. Though a deep perturbation remained in him, Nergal had almost entirely decided, but he sought one more thing before he made it final. He knew Jaffry's sentiments and Emese's and even Timoras'. While Afa no doubt would provide with endless wisdom, Nergal wanted to talk to Phillip.
The next morning, he slipped out early and made his way to the stables while the sun lingered low in the sky. He made his way to the stables, the creatures beckoning him with snorts and stomps.
The stables had a musky smell to them and were shaded from the warming desert. Dark and cool, they housed only animals. Neither Phillip nor Denning was here, but Nergal could wait. He passed from stall to stall, looking in at the creatures. The horses had a lithe build, lighter than the plow horses used where Nergal came from. A golden tone covered most of their buckskin hides, but one had a chestnut sheen and the other glistened with an onyx coat.
At the very end, in the wider box stalls, Nergal saw the wyverns. They were every bit as he remembered them. The first he peeked in on slept, curled against the straw-lined ground. With every breath, his stomach rose, and the light danced off his scales. The other one was very much awake. Nergal saw it staring at him through the small opening, his black eyes unflinching as he snorted. The creature raised its nose and poked it out over the door, and hot puffs of foul-smelling breath hit Nergal.
With a small pang of alarm, Nergal realized the wyvern could break out of the wooden barrier very easily. He stepped back as the wyvern extended his neck out of the stall towards him, sniffing him.
"Asla, heel!" Phillip sounded more like he was commanding a dog than a wyvern. The wyvern's eyes flitted to the side focusing on Phillip. "Back!" Phillip wielded a whip and stretched it between his hands as a warning. "I said back!" The wyvern retracted its head with a loud grunt. "Well, then, this is a surprise. What are you here for?"
"I wanted to see you, actually." Nergal realized as the words left his lips that he sounded very odd.
"Really? Well, you could have done that without inciting the world's nastiest creature. Damn, I hate Asla. I told Afa that when we got her, that she had a bad streak in her, but the old man just had to have her." He spun around. "Denning, once you're finished feeding them, take Marlo out around the ring." He turned back to Nergal. "Listen, say what you have to say, I'm too busy for idle talk."
"Is there a better time?"
"Not really." Phillip brushed past him and opened a closet at the end. "God damnit, I swear, if that bastard Glen hasn't gotten our horseshoes, there's going to be hell to pay. Jasmine can't go much longer without it." He swore again and kicked the closet closed.
"Can I help then? I know a bit about horses."
"Don't you have things you need to be doing?"
"Not yet."
"Fine. Grab the brushes—they're right there with the tack—and follow me outside." Nergal looked to where the saddles hung, and below them was a bucket filled with tools and a brush. He grabbed the bucket and followed Phillip, who led one of the buckskinned horses, out of the stable.
The sun dulled in Phillip's ash brown hair, which went down to his shoulders in a tight ponytail. Broad shoulders flexed as he handled the sweet-tempered mare, and his intense eyes were so dark they appeared black.
"Give me that." Phillip snatched the brush away and began to sweep the flank with wide strokes. "So what do you want?"
"Your advice actually."
"That's what's so important? Really, I don't have time for this. Go find Jaffry or Timoras or –"
"Uncle!" A half-scream, half-squeal erupted from the other side of the barn. Phillip cursed and left the horse, rushing to the source. Nergal knew it was Denning, and he took off after Phillip, skidding in the sand as he rounded the stable corner.
Denning, sprawled on the ground, sucked a sore finger while staring at his knee with weepy brown eyes, an upturned saddle next to him.
"Clumsy brat! Goodness, Denning, can't you do anything?" Nergal heard Phillip say. "Didn't even skin the knee. Get up and back to work. You can't be crying over every little trip." He turned to Nergal, his expression darkening. "What are you gawking at? You left the horse alone out there?"
At this moment, Nergal remembered the untied horse they abandoned at the sound of Denning's cry. He turned back and ran to where he left the creature; the horse had barely moved a couple feet and gave him a bored stare.
"You're lucky she ain't a bolter."
Phillip's direct rudeness began to wear at Nergal. He said with a small snap, "You're not very nice to Denning, are you?"
Phillip gave a disdainful snort. "I think you'll find I'm not very nice to anyone. At least, that's what I've been told. Besides, I didn't ask for the kid. He's my sister's kid. Her dying wish was that I take him in, and you know, you can't go around denying dying wishes. They're a special sort they are. God forbid you refuse someone's dying wish." His sardonic words made Nergal flinch. Before this, he had met nasty sorts of people but none quite like Phillip.
"At least your sister had time to give you a dying wish," Nergal said, feeling very defensive all of a sudden. He did not like Phillip at all.
"Oh really? Is that supposed to be a bad thing? I didn't like my sister. My sister didn't like me. To this day, I believe it was the fever that made her choose me as his guardian. His idiot of a father had already gotten himself killed by dragons. Must've inherited his smarts from that side of the family."
Nergal's face flushed, and it was not the heat of the sun causing it. Frustration bubbled and mingled with an ire struggling to remain under control. He felt his fists clench.
"How can you say that? About your own family none the less."
"What happened to you, Nergal? What happened to you that supposedly so horrible? There had to be something. I can see it in you; you have a look of mourning about you and sorrow and doom."
Nergal swallowed. Never in his life had he wanted to punch a man so badly. "My sister died too! She was murdered in fact. She didn't have a kid, because she was only eight you know. Didn't do anything either. Mother dearest couldn't pay the debts so they took their payment in blood. Saw it all too." He bit his lip, shut his eyes, and tried to force back the water flooding his eyes. He did not want to cry; he did not want to show weakness in front of this insufferable man.
"Horrible things happen in this world, Nergal." Phillip's voice never wavered or changed tone; the coldness resounded in every syllable. His dark eyes pierced Nergal without a hint of sympathy. "Why the hell do you think I chose to come here? Arcadia is an oasis, and the only struggles we face here are to keep it that way."
Nergal stepped back, back again and again, until he realized he was retreating from Phillip. "I have to go." And he fled. Not walking, not running: his stride was a combination of both, designed to keep both his dignity and distance.
His feet took him to Afa's stoop, and he entered the house, the cool, untouched air was a relief against his face. Quiet and lonely, the hall stretched before him, and the open library door invited him in.
Nergal walked past it, expecting to see someone inside, but it was as empty as the hall. Books: his escape from the world. Perhaps they would console him and give him advice.
Bookshelves covered three of the walls; the fourth dedicated to a wide window that threw light against a circular table with chairs fixed around it. A collection of tomes had gathered on the table, some cracked open and others stacked. Paper with scribbled notes littered the tabletop and slipped off onto the floor, at the feet of one chair pulled out from under the table.
Nergal traveled the length of the shelves, acquainting himself with its volumes. Beautiful bindings and printed letters greeted him with a sweeping pleasant sense. He found books on geography, history, astronomy, anatomy, geometry, algebra, and…and…
One book, its black spine stuck out an inch from the others, caught his attention.Furster's Guide to Elementary Particular Fluxions. Nergal could not place its subject; he had never heard of Fluxions before, though the term sounded slightly familiar. Something he had never heard of, something new to be discovered: it excited him. Eagerly, he took it off the shelf and opened it in his hands.
Flipping through the first pages, he studied the introduction. Terms beyond him and abstract ideas flooded his mind. What in the world did it mean by animistic properties? How in the world did constellations relate to the control of solid matter?
"Nergal." Nergal stiffened at the voice, his fingers freezing against the book. "Find anything interesting?" He knew at once that the crumbled voice was Afa's. He turned and nodded, a bit shy. Afa stood with a crooked smile and his white beard knotted down the front of him. "Well, let's have a look at it."
Finding his mouth dry and sticky, Nergal approached Afa with the cover displayed. Afa blinked and smiled.
"Ah, good ol' Furster. Knew the man myself, I did, I did. Met in a bar actually. I remember quite well; he was sprawled on the floor, too drunk to speak! Or was that Menningham? My memory betrays me. But I do remember that no one knew his elder magic quite like Furster did. If there were two things he knew about, it was elder magic and good tea. Treated me once to a drink from his collection of fine spiced teas; that was a treat. I remember—" Nergal listened dumbly as Afa babbled, his story incongruous. He stopped and blinked as if trying to figure out where he was. "You want to see a quick bit of magic?"
Nergal paled. "Not right now, Sir."
"Nah, this will be quick. Stand a little further from me."
Nergal backed away. "Please, I rather—"
"Just stand there. Good, good. Now, see Furster's book? Watch carefully." Afa tossed the book in the air; the pages fluttered, and then Afa muttered a quick, intelligible word, and it burst into flames.
Nergal gasped as Afa caught the book with a bare hand and extinguished the flame with puff of air. He shook the book in front of Nergal and grinned at the pages, free from scorch marks.
"See? Fire doesn't have to be harmful. Easy trick that was."
Nergal went to examine the book. "That was actually pretty amazing, sir."
"I do hope you'll be staying with us, Nergal."
Nergal gulped, and suddenly, he could not face the man. He remembered his decision after talking to Emese. It was then he knew he wanted to stay, despite all his uncertainties, and it was now, when the thought of leaving and returning to the farmhouse, he realized how much he dreaded that place, how he never wanted to return—not without Stella, not ever.
He lifted his gaze. "Sir, I do hope I am welcome to stay."
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Author's Note: Not much to say except if I got something wrong about caring for horses, you'll have to forgive me. I know next to nothing about them and had to wikipedia some things. Reviews are loved, as always. Tell me what you liked and what you didn't like. Thanks to JSB for betaing.
