The Magus Chronicles
Book One: Nightsong
Chapter One: Sharlot
Midnight is the witching hour - or so the superstitious claim. But Magus didn't really have room for superstition, and traveling during the day had proved rather trying, his red-violet eyes nearly blinded by the sunlight and his colorless complexion unable to stand the beams that shot down from the burning mass. Albinism had never been a picnic, but he'd learned to live with it, even though he still wondered why only his midnight blue hair decided to have pigment. He wasn't even quite sure he remembered what had brought him to such a sunny country in the first place. After departing Leene Square, he'd returned to the Middle Ages to resume his search for his sister, but Imarn was seeming like another dead end to him.
True, he was better accepted in Imarn, where Magical ability and pointed ears weren't viewed as freakish. It only took him a few minutes in town to determine that he'd spent far too many years among Humans. Seeing other Elves again was refreshing, and Imarnish libraries supposedly held the most information on Mystics (the Elven kind, not those foolish beings he'd been surrounded by in Medina) of any in the world. Perhaps if they remembered the Zealans, he had a better chance of find Schala.
Alas, nothing comes easily. Magus didn't speak a word of the Imarnish tongue and had thus far been unsuccessful in finding anyone who understood Common spoken with his accent. Until now, he hadn't even realized he sounded so much like a Zealan. He'd have thought that the years among native speakers would have faded it, but apparently, he'd been wrong. By the time he was ten years old, he'd already lost the war against the phonemes. Perhaps if he found a larger city, he'd come across someone he could communicate with, but having no one he could talk to now, he couldn't locate the larger cities.
Magus cut his brooding short as he became aware of an approaching figure on the road. Coming over the rolling hills of greenery and swirling mists was the silhouette of a woman - no, a girl, the Zealan decided as she drew closer. She was small, and her build was slight and more childlike than a grown lady's was.
As she drew closer, Magus became more and more suspicious that she was perhaps related to a pixie. Compared to the sorcerer, this new traveler was especially tiny - not standing five feet tall and possessing a frame that could only be described as "willowy." She was a pretty, little sprite, looking to be about fourteen or fifteen to the Elves, owning the delicate beauty of a china doll. Her complexion was dark beside the Zealan's but still rather fair, and her hair fell in silky waves of a dark, ginger color. Her eyes sparkled a shade of turquoise that reminded him in some ways of his beloved sister, and the slant of her eyes and the curve of her cheekbones called to mind unmistakably his own people. Despite her small stature and red hair, he found himself convinced that Zealan blood ran in her veins.
The girl wrapped her forest green cloak more tightly about her willowy frame but approached the sorcerer in brisk, measured steps. "Goodevenin'," she brogued, though remarkably more clearly than anyone else he had yet encountered in this country.
"It's awfully late for children to be out," he remarked nonchalantly. And any time is an odd one for a child to be approaching me.
"Well," she replied, "travelers cannot always choose their time to travel, regardless of age."
Magus raised an eyebrow. Child, I could be anyone. Who I am is bad enough, and I could be so much worse. "What do you want of me?"
The girl rocked back on her heel, clasping her hands behind her back. "Well, ya see... Ya're not from 'round here, and I noticed you were havin' troubles understandin' people."
"You noticed I was having trouble... back in town?" The girl nodded. Magus cast a glance behind her in the direction she'd come from but made no comment. "What are you hoping to gain from it?"
"My home is a long way from here, and I don't have much money left. I thought maybe ya needed a guide-"
"Girl, don't you realize I could be a rapist or a murderer?" Either you're bullshitting, or your parents taught you that strangers have the best candy!
Oddly enough, the corners of the girl's mouth twitched in some form of barely-suppressed amusement. "Be that as it may," she responded dryly, "I'm already out here alone with ya, and there's no changin' that, now." She smirked in a way that almost reminded him of himself. "And you're also the most concerned predator I've ever met," she added in perfect Zealan.
Magus stared at her. He was convinced now that someone must have sent this girl, but his curiosity was overwhelming him. "What's your name?" he asked in his native tongue.
"Sharlot Taishani M'leira," she responded. Taishani - a Zealan name, meaning "small lady." "Do we have a deal, then?"
"I suppose we do," the sorcerer mused. "You may call me 'Magus.'"
Sharlot grinned broadly, turquoise eyes bright. "Alright, then, Magus. Shall we be off?"
Disclaimer: While I would absolutely love to own Magus... er... the rights to Chrono Trigger, I do not. They belong to Square.
Author's Note: I should have the next chapter up within a week... providing my internet decides to start working in my dorm again. In the meantime, I'd appreciate it if I could get some reviews to let me know how I'm doing. Thanks:)