Standard disclaimers for Majutsushi Orphen apply. Don't own
Orphen, don't own Leki, don't ::sniffle:: own Majic either. Drat. So,
basically, suing is pointless. Really. I mean, all I've got to give is my
student loans and other bills… Hmmm, if someone sued you and they lost,
and you could give them your debt in return…that would be really, really
cool. On second thought, sue me, please!
Warnings: Um, mostly introspection, light shounen ai, I guess,
since this is supposed to be a glimpse of why Orphen apprenticed Majic in
the first place. I guess this is kind of a prequel to Wise Beyond His
Years, but it's not necessary to read that in order to understand
this.
A/N: I guess this is dedicated to D-chan, since she gave me such
a stunning review (not to mention plugging my fic ^_^) for Wise Beyond
His Years. She made me blush, which was unusual but nice. Now, go and
read her stuff as well!
The moon was full and hallowed with an eerie purple shadow, one that
had sent many a villager scurrying into their homes, making a warding sign
against evil. Two people, however, disregarded such superstitions and were
enjoying the opportunity that the light and quiet afforded.
They weren't together—at least, not directly. They knew each other, of
course. They'd known each other for nearly eight months now, having lived
under the same roof.
Then again, knowing each other and knowing each other were two
very different things.
Majic Lyn was many things—kind, honest, pretty, hard working,
self-effacing, and, for the most part, humble. However, he was also
impetuous, cat-curious, and seemingly oblivious to the things most people
considered dangerous.
This was, Orphen told himself, the number one reason he was skulking
after the boy through the shadows of the forest's edge. Well, that and the
fact that his own curiosity was eating at him worse than a vulture on a
fresh carcass. He scowled at his analogy, the picture drifting into his
head of young Majic dead at the foot of an enormous cliff, carrion birds
circling overhead. Really, what on earth could have prompted the boy to
head out into the forest on his own?
Majic paused, turning his head to look over his shoulder, hand
clutching at the straps of his small pack. Quickly Orphen darted into the
shadows, back pressed against the knobbly bark of one of the ancient
trees. He closed his eyes and attempted to clear his mind, keeping his
senses on alert. When he could hear the gentle scuff scuff of feet
on dirt and pine needles once again, he left his hiding place and
continued after the blonde boy.
He was only fourteen, according to his father. In Orphen's opinion,
Majic seemed much younger than that. Not necessarily in physical
appearance: In that respect, Orphen could remember being that slender at
the same age, having the same roundness to his cheeks. However, Majic's
body definitely wasn't used to hard labour, and the boy had probably never
had to defend himself in any way before. He was unusually effeminate in
face and mannerisms; soft wheat-gold hair brushing his ears and the top of
his collar, wide aqua eyes always blinking and alert, as if attempting to
take everything in at once. And then there was his voice—it was a woman's
voice, really, and though Orphen suspected that it would deepen in a few
years, Majic would probably always have a throaty contralto rather than a
"man's" voice.
Smiling into the semi-darkness that the trees provided, Orphen
wondered if that bothered the boy any. Some of the boys back at the Tower
had teased Hartia endlessly about his chiselled cheek and jawbones, about
the light sprinkle of freckles that danced over his cheeks and narrow
nose, his full almost pouty lips, and his shoulder length hair. Of course,
Hartia had been a very competent sorcerer, not to mention his—well,
Krylancelo's—closest friend, so the teasing hadn't lasted very long.
Leticia and Azalie had been the only ones to continue, but they hadn't
really counted, not when Rai and Hartia and Komikron and he…Krylancelo…had
been able to stick together and fight the girls off.
Majic…
From what he'd seen and from what Majic's father had told him, the boy
hadn't had any close friends in his life. There had been a girl who'd been
a decent sort of friend, if occasionally a little to rambunctious and
enthusiastic about things, but she'd been two years older than Majic, and
her mother had sent her off to a boarding school in hopes of refining her
manners. Since then, Majic had kept to himself, going about his duties at
the inn and then disappearing either into his room or into the wilds
beyond Totokanta when he was done.
If he were to admit it, Orphen's curiosity had been peaked for weeks.
Seeing the boy in the daylight…and then following him out at night… Why,
it was almost as if he were two different people!
Majic was now cutting up through the tree line to the ridge top,
pausing once again though his attention didn't waver from whatever was in
front of him. With a sigh, shoulders slumping, he began to shuffle over
the ridge and down the hill.
Now, previous excursions through the forest told Orphen that there was
a lake on the other side of the ridge. But what in the name of dragons
could Majic want to go to the lake for with high moon being so close? He
should be in bed, asleep, like all good little teenagers!
Orphen snorted at that, a smile tugging at his lips. Like he'd
ever been a well-behaved teenager…
Sliding briefly on the scree, Majic threw one arm out for balance,
stumbling at the end but managing to remain upright. He giggled, a sound
that carried like a bell peal on the quiet night air…a sound that tugged
at a forgotten corner of Orphen's heart. Throwing the pack aside, Majic
stretched his arms over his head, leaning from side to side. Eventually
his arms fell limply back to his sides and he crouched down, appearing to
contemplate the calm water's surface.
Orphen found a semi-comfortable spot amidst a fallen tree and berry
bush, folding his arms before him and resting his chin atop them. Sighing
again, he nibbled his bottom lip, eyes narrowed upon the blonde below.
To his surprise, Majic kicked his shoes off, bending over to pull his
socks off as well. Then, without even a glance around, he began to strip
free of clothing, letting the garments fall haphazardly to the ground.
Orphen gaped openly, wondering if the boy had taken leave of his senses;
sure, it was spring, but it wasn't that warm! However, once Majic's
skin was completely bare to the night sky and he began to step into the
lake, Orphen found he couldn't turn away, no matter how much his remaining
shred conscience told him he should.
It wasn't necessarily voyeurism that made him continue to watch Majic,
though if he were being completely honest with himself, the sight of the
boy's pale, slender body in the moonlight was enough to make even a god or
goddess blush. What made him continue staring was the unusual sensuality
with which the boy manoeuvred through the water, fingers trailing at his
sides and just behind him, hips twisting in a slow, serpentine walk. He
stopped when he was chest deep, raising his arms over his head, fingers
flowing through his hair, over his shoulders, leaving glistening trails of
moisture.
For a moment, Orphen forgot to breathe.
Silver light danced upon the boy's fingertips, almost unnoticeable in
the bright moonlight. Being who he was, though, and what he was, Orphen
knew the light instantly, knew it the way he knew his own limbs, his own
soul, his own heart. He rose to his feet, leaning forward to make certain
that his eyes and senses weren't deceiving him.
They weren't.
Mage light. The brilliant glow that speckled pale skin with dapple was
mage light.
Once again breath stuttered across his lips, warm and damp, and his
eyes continued their wide survey of the tableau. Never, not once, had
Majic or his father mentioned the boy have sorceri potential.
Majic's silver-tipped fingers once again dropped to the water, leaving
trails of light. After a moment, the boy dove into the water, the glow
being the only telltale sign of his whereabouts.
He sat down abruptly, barely noticing the pain from his backside quite
firmly meeting with the rocky ground. Majic had the sorceri blood. Majic
had untrained talent, gifted to him by a relative descended from the
dragons. Smiling a bit foolishly, Orphen watched Majic surface, shaking
his head to throw back water. He cut through the lake with lazy yet
efficient strokes, swimming with the ease of a boy who had grown up around
water. He was fourteen years old, which was a bit late to start training
someone, but given the small display he'd already seen… Well, Orphen would
say that Majic already had a natural if not conscious grasp of his powers.
And it certainly explained the previously unexplainable attraction to the
innocuous-seeming blonde.
Majic stumbled back onto land after an indeterminate amount of
time—Orphen, caught up in his internal musings, really hadn't been paying
attention—collapsing to the sandy shoreline on top of his small pack. Arms
flung out willy-nilly, legs bent in uneven angles, head thrown back with
eyes closed, chest rising and falling with ragged, short gasps… Orphen
suddenly couldn't remember the last time he'd seen anything more
beautiful.
In the five years—six? He couldn't remember exactly how long it had
been since he'd left the Tower of Fangs. He'd had only one true partner
during that time, and even their relationship hadn't lasted very long;
Steph hadn't been Azalie, and Steph had given up his powers for something
else. It wasn't that his affection for Steph had faded with Steph's loss
of power, it was that…that he couldn't understand how someone could so
easily dismiss the loss of something that was a part of themselves, that
seemed as necessary to Orphen as blood and air and food and shelter and…
And here was a boy, a lovely, kind, engaging boy, who had the gift and
seemed to hold it in the same regard as Orphen himself did.
Rapt expression and intense focus returning, Orphen watched as Majic
stood and collected his clothes, pulling them back on hastily. He imagined
that it was quite cold down by the lake's edge, especially after having
just come from the water. Still looking dishevelled, Majic dropped to his
knees once again and began to scratch into the sand.
Curiosity began to eat at Orphen after awhile; from his vantage point,
he didn't have a clue what it was that Majic was doing.
Every so often the boy would pause and rear back on his haunches, as
if to better survey his work. He'd shake his head occasionally, hands
smoothing the sand back over before scratching into it once again.
This continued for several minutes, until finally Majic rose
unsteadily to his feet, swaying like a tree in the wind. He held his hands
out before him, and Orphen was certain that if he'd been closer, he would
have heard the boy muttering an incantation.
However, just as a pale pink glow began to gather about the boy's
hands, a single tear slipped down Orphen's cheek, and he watched as the
boy collapsed once again to the sand, exhaustion taking its toll and
pulling him into unconsciousness. Slowly wending his way down the
shoreline, Orphen crouched down beside Majic, fingers trailing through
blonde hair as his eyes surveyed the grooves in the sand.
Frowning, his fingers drifted from silken strands across smooth skin,
finding warm, damp liquid rolling down a rounded cheek. Gathering the
liquid to his fingertips, he unconsciously brushed his own tears as he
raised his hand over the runes and uttered a single word spell—one that he
hadn't spoken in years, for the style had never been comfortable to him.
"Miseru yo!"
The runes lit, one by one, until their phrase was clear in its
entirety.
'Iris…Mother… Please come home.'
A summoning. Crude, ignorantly formed, and lacking a few of the key
elements, but it was the rudiments of a summoning nonetheless—complete
with the sealing ward scrawled beneath, the runes for the five elements
etched within and without at their proper coordinates.
He understood, then—understood better than he had in years. Despite
the glaring differences, there were underlying similarities between Majic
and himself that couldn't be ignored, similarities that were submerged
beneath murky layers of false banter and smiles. How often had he tried
the same thing for Azalie, for the Bloody August? How often had he failed,
ending in the same state as Majic?
Both of them…only in darkness could they cry.
Pulling his hand back, Orphen again looked at Majic's face. In sleep,
rather than being free of trouble, creases marred his brow and the corners
of his lips, which were pressed into a taut line. So much for the sleep of
the innocent, Orphen thought.
Disregarding the pack—and grateful for the fact that no-one was around
to witness this unusual act of tenderness and concern—Orphen gathered the
blonde's limp form into his arms and close to his chest. Rising, he began
the trek back to Totokanta, figuring that the boy was too exhausted to
wake any time soon.
Another tear slid from his cheek, splashing onto unresponsive lips.
Because only in darkness did he feel safe enough to cry.
"Where'd you find him?"
Orphen was slightly startled when Bagup Lyn stepped from the shadows,
a frown creasing his forehead. He was staring at Majic's limp form, lips
pursed in concern.
"At the lake. Does he do this often?"
Bagup turned his head to the side, away from Orphen's searching gaze.
"Often enough. Thank you for bringing him back, sorcerer." He stepped
forward to take his son's body from Orphen, both eyebrows rising when
Orphen clutched the boy closer, eyes narrowing.
"Your son…he has the blood of the dragons in him."
Majic's father took a fumbling step back, blood draining from his
weathered features. "How…"
"I saw him, tonight. Unconsciously he called the magic to him in a way
that I've seen few do. And he wrote something in the sands…something that
I found most interesting, given that you told me his mother had died."
"Oh?" Bagup nervously licked his lips. "What's that, sorcerer?"
"It was a summons, oyaji—a summons for a woman named Iris."
Bagup leaned heavily against the wall, a shudder running through his
body. "I'd hoped he'd forgotten," he whispered, passing a hand in front of
weary eyes. "He was so young then…"
"Iris is his mother, isn't she? Why would he be trying to summon her
to him if she was dead?"
"Because she's not."
Orphen was startled at the blunt statement. Bagup looked at him
finally, apparently tired of dancing around the issue. "I met Iris when I
was probably about your age. She was a small thing, so delicate in
appearance, and yet she lived alone in the woods to the south of the city.
Large aqua eyes, a lustrous tumble of wheat-blonde hair…a sweet
personality and generous smile… The animals of the area loved her, birds
flocking to her hands to be fed, the deer grazing in her front yard. I
suppose I should have known then, known that she was completely human,
but…"
Orphen completed the statement for him. "But you were in love."
Bagup shrugged. "How could I not be? Everything about her was perfect,
sorcerer, and I pursued Iris with the fervency that only the young can
muster. She agreed to marry me a year later, and two years after that…two
years after that, Majic was born."
He sighed, looking away. "I probably should never have forced her to
leave the woods, but I did. I convinced Iris to come away with me, back to
Totokanta. My family has owned this inn for generations, and my father was
ailing. He died not long after we returned, and it was then that I began
to notice a difference in my wife. She would sneak out at night,
occasionally with Majic in tow, and disappear for hours. When she
returned, her hair would smell of trees and earth, and would often have
bits of vegetation stuck to her clothes. Sometimes her hair would be wet,
and I'd know that she'd gone to the lake.
"Just after he turned three, Majic set fire to the kitchen."
Orphen started, nearly dropping the boy in his arms. Deciding that it
would be prudent, he snagged a chair with his foot and manoeuvred himself
into it, not caring what Bagup thought of the fact that he was holding the
man's only child in his lap. "How did he manage that?" he hissed. "Most
children at the Tower of Fangs take at least a year of constant tutoring
to show aptitude of such proportions."
Again Bagup looked away. "I didn't want to believe it at first. After
all, Majic was only three, and there was the possibility that he'd been
telling tales for attention."
"What happened, oyaji?" Orphen snapped with impatience. He was glad
for the fact that Majic had thoroughly exhausted himself, and wouldn't be
waking until probably tomorrow. What would the boy think if he saw their
long-staying guest arguing heated with his father?
"Majic said that he saw his mother eating a rabbit—still alive,
struggling in her grasp, blood running down her mouth. He panicked,
screaming for her to stop. She wouldn't and he unwittingly set the kitchen
afire."
Slowly putting two and two together—and coming up with four no
less—Orphen gave Bagup a pitying look. "She was Old Blood. And she was
never trained, was she?"
"Who was there to train her?" Bagup asked with a shrug of his
shoulders. "She never talked about her family, but I have a feeling Iris
spent her life almost completely alone. And, you must remember, that there
were still factions of the Gods' Followers roaming the land. Had she tried
to make her way to the Tower of Fangs, she probably would have been easy
prey."
"So why didn't you send her when the Tower representatives came
through the town? I know that Childman-sensei found Komikron here.
Actually, he would have found Komikron here about the time your wife
started to revert."
Finally Bagup looked angry—mostly likely at Orphen's cold tone, but
probably also because he was questioning the man's actions. "She had
become an animal, Orphen, and she knew it. When an incident before Majic's
fourth birthday caused our son to be grievously injured, Iris decided that
she needed to leave. She healed him as best she was able—healing had never
been her strong suit, though she had wished it otherwise in the years that
she had lived in the wilds—and did something to make him forget
what had happened. Instead, she gave him the memory that she had fallen
ill, and when he awoke, I told him that she had passed away in the night."
He sighed. "In some ways, it was like she had. She packed her
belongings and returned to the wilderness. Once or twice I looked for her,
but given the state I found her home in, I think I'm glad that I didn't
find her. Have you ever heard the villagers speak of the Lady of the
Wilds?"
"I've heard a rumour or two."
"I think that whatever part of my wife that was human has vanished
completely beneath the pervading blood of her sorceress heritage."
There was sorrow in Bagup's voice—as well as a touch of fear and
loathing that Orphen could understand even as he condemned the man's
prejudices. "And what about your son, oyaji? Huh? Will you simply wait
until your son remembers the truth? Or will you wait until he realises
just what it is that makes his fingers dance with light at the lakeside,
what drives him to draw sorceri runes in the sand?"
"What would you have me do? Send him to the Tower? You've seen him,
sorcerer; my boy is as gentle, as innocent as they come. Your Tower would
chew him and spit him out within a week, and then I'd be left with a
broken wreck of a child. I've heard the stories—and if you're a product of
that school, I can't say as how I have much faith in them."
"I am a product of myself!" hissed Orphen, eyes narrowing. Despite his
leaving the Tower, it had still been his home, filled with good memories
and good people. "Everything you see before you, oyaji, has been a product
of the choices I made, not what others made me into. I—chose—to—be—me!"
"So what are you telling me, sorcerer? To let my son go?"
"I'm telling you to let your son choose. Believe me, oyaji, you don't
give your son nearly enough credit."
Cold words, clipped words, delivered in a flat tone by a face suddenly
devoid of expression. Shivering, Bagup looked away. And the sorcerer
wondered why he questioned him, wondered why he doubted when Orphen could
suddenly look like Death when he'd looked like Passion a moment before?
And the nerve of implying that he didn't know his own son!
He swallowed, mind churning with disconnected thoughts. As a father,
what should he do? His son was fourteen years old now, and in only a few
more years he would be considered a man. But if what the sorcerer had said
was true, then Majic could very well end up like his mother, a renegade
sorcerer living like an animal in the wilds… And Majic…Majic had been
slipping away from him slowly in the last few years. Maybe he really
didn't know his son as well as he thought he did.
"When he wakes." His voice was thick with emotion, and he turned his
eyes away lest the sorcerer see the tears that filled his dark eyes. "When
he wakes, tell him—and let him choose."
It was the sound of an obnoxious magpie at his window, as well as the
sensation of not being alone, that woke Majic Lyn from his sound sleep.
Cautiously opening his eyes, he took in his surroundings. Same ceiling,
same oil lamp, same bookshelf, same dresser… Yep, it was his room. But how
had he gotten home? The last thing he remembered was swimming in the
lake.
Turning his head slowly to the side, he squeaked, eyes flying wide.
Their long-term guest was sitting in a chair beside his bed, arms resting
on his knees, unusual angular sienna eyes fastened on him. "Good morning,
kid."
Majic blinked…and blinked…and blinked some more. "Good…good morning,
Orphen-san."
Orphen smiled, reaching out and ruffling his hair. "You gave your
oyaji a bit of a scare last night, disappearing like that. Good thing I
was able to find you."
Blushing, Majic thought about throwing the blanket over his face; he
hated how easily he was embarrassed! "Um, I'm sorry, Orphen-san. Thanks a
lot for bringing me back."
Orphen's smile became more of a rakish smirk. "Well, I've gotta tell
ya, I had a bit of an ulterior motive."
Had he had enough breath, Majic would have squeaked again. The intense
look Orphen was giving him, leaning forward like that… Stupid, stupid
facial capillaries! "Oh?" he asked breathlessly.
"As you know, I'm a sorcerer, a child whose family can claim blood
with the dragons."
Majic nodded, dropping his gaze to Orphen's hands. He'd always been
intrigued with the man's hands…slender fingers with tapered ends, the pads
obviously callused from some variety of work, though the blonde had never
seen Orphen do work in the eight months he'd been in residence. "Yes."
"A lot of times sorceri talent goes unnoticed in a child, which is why
the Tower of Fangs sends representatives through the various towns to
search for untrained talents."
He had a nice voice as well, smooth like velvet, filled with grudging
warmth. It reminded Majic in some ways of his mother, that hovering
warmth. "Not really. I was always busy with errands for Otousan when the
Tower representatives came through town."
To Majic's surprise, Orphen bit back a curse, his face seeming to go
from open and pleasant to angry and deadly. Despite this, Majic didn't
shrink away; he found something endearing about how open the man was with
his emotions, how easily he gave way to his extreme feelings. Surely it
beat keeping everything bottled away behind a smile…
"All right, kid, I'll quit beating around the bush." He looked up,
fixing Majic with a pointed look. "You've got sorceri blood."
Majic found that he couldn't look away—nor could he blink or breathe.
"Wh-what…?" He couldn't have heard correctly…could he?
"It's untrained, but it's there. I saw you tap it last night, down by
the lake."
Sitting up, Majic placed his head in his hands, closing his eyes as he
tried to remember. "No, that can't be right. Last night I…I…"
"You can't even remember, can you?" Unusually gentle, Orphen placed
his hand on Majic's blanket-covered knee, sliding onto the floor beside
the bed. "You don't do it consciously, but, deep inside, your heart knows
you have the magic. I wouldn't be surprised if you've been using it for
years."
"But…" Majic looked up, confusion swimming through aqua pools. "But
Otousan would have told me, Orphen-san. He would have told me if I had the
ability for magic."
"I thought I was protecting you."
The quiet admission startled both Majic and Orphen; the latter's hand
tightening on the former's leg. Without realising it, Majic leaned into
the touch—into Orphen—as if expecting to be protected.
The action didn't go unnoticed by Orphen or Bagup.
However, despite his actions, Majic's lips were pursed in thought,
gaze unfocused as he addressed his father. "Protecting me?"
"It doesn't matter anymore," Bagup said with a sigh. "And it's
probably better this way. If you agree to it, I want the sorcerer to teach
you how to use your abilities, Majic. Maybe he'll even help you get into
the Tower of Fangs."
Orphen bristled at having plans made for him without being consulted.
"Now wait just a—"
Bagup turned his head away from his son, his hard gaze for Orphen
alone. "You're the one who set this into motion, sorcerer, so you're the
one who'll deal with the consequences." And, with that, he left.
Majic slumped, reeling from the revelations. "Me…a sorcerer?"
"Well, not quite yet, kid," teased Orphen, despite the fact that he
was still disgruntled with Bagup's heavy-handedness. "You'll have a lot of
training to go through."
"You know, Orphen-san, I used to have dreams…dreams about my okaasan…
She was a sorceress, wasn't she?"
"From what little your oyaji told me, she was."
Majic frowned in thought, peering down at his hands, which he was now
wringing together fitfully in his lap. "But what if I'm not any good,
Orphen-san? What if—"
Orphen brought his hand up to the boy's lips, a wry smile gracing his
face. "Okay, for now, let's not go over any 'what if' questions, all
right? The only thing you need to do is think about whether or not you
want to become my pupil…my apprentice."
As soon as he'd said the words, Orphen felt as though a tremendous
weight had been lifted from his shoulders, but he couldn't explain why.
Maybe it was because of the way the boy smiled, tears flecking the corners
of his dark gold lashes. Maybe it was because of the fire burning behind
aqua panes, a passion, a determination, a desire to succeed, to believe.
And maybe it was because the boy was able to do something that Orphen
envied. The tears splashed free, drops of warm, salty life that landed on
Orphen's hand, reminding him for an instant that the world wasn't always
bleak and cold and empty. Majic continued to smile, one hand hesitantly
moving to cover Orphen's, the tears captured between their skin. There
were no fancy words, no binding oaths, no declarations of undying
devotion. There was only the tentative bond of hands, and the simply
uttered whisper of "Yes."
For master and apprentice, for one who could only release tears in the
dark and one who could still muster tears in the light, it was enough.
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