Chapter 2: Scene 4

Okay! The final scene of chapter 2, and the final scene that I'll be making public for awhile. I really appreciate all of the reads so far, and I can't wait to get the book finished up!

This one is a bit longer with more magic, world-building, and more. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: This scene is a first draft. All characters, names, locations, and plot threads are subject to change.

Joshua brought up the rear of their tiny, single-file party. No one spoke. The sun completed its retreat beneath the trees, ceding the sky’s providence to the dim subtlety of the moon. Despite having taken this journey a million times, the geography felt strange to him. If it weren’t for the constant beckoning clank of Percival’s staff, he might have walked right by the obscure trail entrance leading to his mentor’s home. 

His feet were dragging when the cottage came into view. It was a quaint, circular structure–wider than it was tall–with a simple thatch roofing. It stood atop a long, gentle slope that rose above the forest, a respite of open skies and panoramic views on a clear day. The night hid the details of the cottage, so his memory painted the purple wisteria vines on the curved stone walls and built the extensive garden that lived adjacent. Between the trio and the cottage was a long, uneven staircase of weathered granite that even gave Percival pause. 

“Up we go then,” the old man sighed, then chuckled good-naturedly, “I’ll say I’ve worked up quite the appetite!” 

A brief eternity later and Joshua was summiting the last of the steps. His body was a collage of various pains, and he was too tired to begin unpacking his mental state. He caught John Maple marveling at the hilltop despite his drooping eyelids and slumped shoulders; it occurred to him that his friend had probably never seen a place of such natural beauty before. Percival opened the rickety front door and called out a greeting to the motley cat who was watching lazily in the window sill. 

“Have a seat–rest,” Percival stood aside in the doorway and ordered them in with a wave of his arm. 

John Maple and he didn’t have to be told twice. The pair shuffled indoors ahead of Percival, drawn in by the cozy ambiance. It was a small circle brimming with the curiosities of a storied life: piles of books formed uneven pillars around the perimeter of the circle; shelves near the hearth were stocked with vials and jars of fragrant flora and liquids of every shade, most of them foreign and strange; no piece of furniture seemed to match with another in style or material–the small cot of bright, sturdy pine looked bizarre grouped with the dining table, a piece carved from blackwood–its timber was dark as the night sky; undecipherable symbols formed an etched border around the rectangular surface. 

“I didn’t know this many books existed…” John Maple trailed off, gaping at the nearest stack of literature which altogether stood at eye-level. Joshua plopped down on a teak stool that was too tall for the dining table. John Maple followed suit, but carefully, his eyes narrow with suspicion. 

“An old man like me has got to entertain himself somehow,” Percival replied, his cheery demeanor beginning to peak through the heavy clouds of the afternoon. The mage started a fire in the hearth, casting a warm, amber glow in the space. Small flames crackled softly in their growth, stretching upward to the cooking pot. 

The lounging cat leapt from the windowsill, landed silently on the stool next to John Maple, and greeted the new face with a raspy mew. Joshua idly traced the symbol carvings on the table, watching Percival move about the tiny kitchen. His mentor set aside a jar and two vials, and stood waiting for the water in the pot to boil. The jar was packed with dried grey leaves; one vial was filled halfway with some yellow powder, and the other with murky liquid.

“Who’s this?” John Maple asked. He was smiling down at the cat. It was demanding affection by shoving its little head into his palm.

“Bucket,” Joshua chuckled. His voice cracked with dryness. 

“Bucket?”

Percival laughed heartily. The sudden noise made Bucket start; she shot an annoyed look at the old man. 

“That’s what I found her in! Look at her, so tired of my nonsense these days.” 

He might have imagined it, but Joshua swore he saw the cat roll her eyes before she bounded back over to the windowsill and vanished into the night. 

A few minutes later Percival populated the table with a meal: a plate of warm bread, several fresh oranges, and mugs of cool water. Joshua, parched, almost choked on the water in his haste to hydrate. John Maple methodically picked apart one of the oranges; the smell of citrus filled the air.

“Slow down, boy. It’s not going to disappear,” Percival scolded as he refilled the mug of water. 

“Sorry, sir,” Joshua muttered, “Also, sorry about not bringing any fish. I mean–I brought some but–” 

“You are very generous to even consider such a thing, Joshua. Not to worry.” 

Percival then filled two small vials with the strange mixture that had been boiling away in the pot for awhile. The liquid was thick like mud and an unsavory yellow in color. “Drink up, both of you.” Percival ordered, amused at their grimaces, “Not the most pleasant taste, but you’ll feel better.” 

Joshua took the vial and shared a wide-eyed look with John Maple. The mixture smelled better than it looked, at least. With a huff he knocked back the sludge in one swig, his face twisting up in disgust. It took everything he had not to throw up. He saw John Maple holding the vial, watching him apprehensively, 

Then, to his amazement, a warm sensation dispersed throughout his body, accumulating around his wounds. The ugly bruise on his forearm, his scraped knee, and the stringing prick on his neck from Will’s knife all became incredibly hot, but not unpleasantly so. When the sensation faded, he watched as the bruise on his arm went from angry red to deep purple to a soft, greenish-yellow in a matter of seconds. John Maple must have taken his at one point–his split lip was fusing itself back together before his eyes, like it had been a week, not hours, since Eric punched him. 

“That–that was a potion!” Joshua cried in wonder, ecstatic that his stinging wounds had subsided into dull aches. 

“A simple concoction of lavender leaves, an interesting root called turmeric, and the venom of a caladral–an illusive little sea creature. Not to worry! When handled correctly their venom has powerful healing properties, as you both can tell.” Percival helped himself to a piece of bread. 

“Thank you, sir, for everything,” he said. Now nourished and relieved of pain, his mind began to wander off toward inevitable questions. He could see a growing anxiety in John Maple’s expression–they were in the presence of a mage, and everyone in Harmony knew that mages were bad; this dawning realization was setting off alarm bells in John Maple’s world of legality, no doubt. 

“No need to thank me,” Percival’s eyes were patient. “Now, I am sure you two have many questions?” 

Emboldened by permission he asked away, the boyish excitement at having witnessed magic returning to him in full force. Percival held up a hand to still his barrage of questions, eyes on a quiet John Maple. 

“My new friend, do you have a question?” 

John Maple looked intensely at the empty vial in his hands, brows stitched together. Then, he met Percival’s eyes and made a shaky statement: 

“Magic is outlawed.” 

John Maple was raised to see a world that made sense. Everything must fit neatly into boxes. Wicked or righteous. False or true. Foolish or practical. 

Percival folded his hands and thought for a moment. “Yes, John. I am guilty under Salvacian law. See, we fear what we do not understand. The event which inspired such law was both deeply tragic and a gross corruption of magic. I can understand your suspicions of me, though I hope that you might consider today as a promise that I mean you no harm.” 

The event Percival was referring too was the infamous Coronation of 1105, a year before Joshua was born. King Minos ruled in those days, the hero of old who brought Salvacia through years of bloody conflict with Fraximar, their rowdy neighbors to the east, and inspired a golden age. The king had three children: Adam, the oldest; Europa, the sister; and Leon, the youngest. By 1105, King Minos was a declining man. Salvacian custom was to cede the throne to the oldest child. 

But King Minos did not trust Adam. His eldest son carried intense ambition, and a phenomenal proficiency with magic–a combination Minos wished to avoid. So he declared Europa, the middle child, the one to take up the mantle of queen and forge a pragmatic path forward for the kingdom. On that faithful Coronation Day, with every family filling the streets of Knightindale to watch the grand procession of tradition, Adam let his bitterness be known in a gruesome way. The ground opened up and animated corpses filled the marble streets, ravaging their way through families and soldiers indiscriminately, monstrosities at the whim of a vengeful master. The city drowned in blood that day. Thousands were killed, including the would-be queen Europa. 

In the wake of Adam’s betrayal and his daughter’s demise, King Minos died that evening of a broken spirit. The throne was thrust upon young Leon out of necessity, bringing with it the colossal task of picking up the shattered pieces of a kingdom. To this day he remains king–a bitter, cautious man with a deep animosity for magic; it was his pen that wrote the laws declaring magic use an offense punishable by death. Mages, rare even in welcoming times, became the social equivalent of lepers overnight. Those who didn’t flee met swift ends. 

 No one knows what became of the forsaken Adam. Some say he fled to the remote Mystic Mountains, but that was 18 years ago. 

While Joshua remembered the story, John Maple considered Percival’s words. 

“What will happen when Will and the other boys tell the people in the village what they saw you do today?” 

Forlorn crossed Percival’s face once more.

“The baron is a fair man who I consider a friend. I do not worry about his wrath, though it may be time to move along for a spell. I am a man of peace. My continued presence here may cause unrest in the village.” 

The thought of Percival being forced to leave killed Joshua’s curiosity. He stopped wondering how the bow had caught on fire and started worrying about life in Harmony without Percival. 

“That’s not fair! You were protecting us!” Joshua griped. 

“Alas, we make do. You know, I find that every great journey starts with a situation like this!” Percival winked. 

“But, where will you go?” 

“Not far! just for a while. I’ll only be a thought away.” 

“I–We’ll come with you!” Joshua was scrambling, roping John Maple in with his desperate escape fantasy. 

“Something tells me you are traveling a slightly different path, my dear friend.” Percival was being unusually cryptic. 

“When will you have to leave, sir?” John Maple asked. 

Percival rose to his feet and meandered over to the window. His long beard swept about as a gust of wind rushed into the cottage. Riding the wind’s coattails was a growing commotion. 

“Sooner than later, it seems,” Percival muttered, his eyes peering down the hill at something. “If you have questions, Joshua, now is the time to ask them.” 

Joshua started at Percival’s direct tone. He hopped to his feet and rushed to the window. At the bottom of the hill was a growing mass of torchlights, their flames flickering violently. There was an angry buzzing sound like an agitated beehive. Chills ran down his spine, rooting him to the spot. A mob was working its way up the long stairway.

“Now is the time to ask them.” Percival repeated. 

He surprised himself by reaching into the pouch and grabbing the crystal. The second his fingers touched the frigid surface the cottage collapsed into a vivid crystalline network–a tree glimmering and refracting on the edge of an oceanside cliff. Branches extended from the trunk, and leaves extended from branches, a vast collection of crystals just like his own. Then the leaves began to fall, one by one, each turning to purple dust when they touched the ground–until there was one left. The lone crystal was blown just slightly off course, where it missed the ground entirely, plunging the few thousand feet down to the ocean below. 

Then Joshua was flung back into the real world. The stone walls of the cottage reappeared, along with his two companions. The voices of the mob continued to climb the hill. 

“Now where did you get that?” Percival whispered, his eyes on the crystal but thoughts in a distant land, a crystalline world of his own. 

“I found it in my cast net this morning. I don’t know what it is.” Joshua shook his head, trying to clear his vision of the strange crystal tree.

“Um–sir,” John Maple was on his feet now, “is that the villagers outside?” 

Percival’s eyes hadn’t left the crystal. “Yes, John. They will be quite happy to see you both, I’m sure.” 

“We will be seeing each other soon, Joshua. Guard that closely and show it to no one.” Percival said in a low tone, then grabbed his staff where it leaned against the wall. The boys watched him move around the room gathering various items anxiously as the angry voices grew more distinct outside. 

“It was most wonderful to meet you, John Maple! You two look out for one another. The immediate road ahead is a treacherous one, I’m afraid,” Percival flipped the tattered hood of his robe over his head, shrouding his eyes. “These are strange times. Strange times, indeed.”

Without elaboration, the frail mage evaporated into a kind of mist that seemed to float right through the stone wall at the back of the cottage. Joshua locked eyes with a gobsmacked John Maple. He barely had time to hide the crystal in his pouch before the door was kicked in with a deafening crack. 

Ethan Mark