Extra. Lessons of a Magical Variety
Sometimes, it rained. Such was the life of a traveler on the move. To be drenched should the weather turn. The clouds had been dark for hours—Hawke was surprised it hadn’t happened before now. What pissed him off, however, was it happened halfway to their next stop. Too late to double back for shelter (not that Hawke trusted double backing at this rate given he couldn’t hear anything but the rain), but it was also too far to rush forward lest they push themselves too hard. It left him and Vahn under sparse trees, trudging up shallow hills and trying not to slip down the other side, and well, miserable. Hawke would have forged on, thinking of warm hearths they might find if they reach their destination soon enough (fat chance at that), but then Vahn pinched his sodden sleeve and tugged him still.
“We should make camp,” Vahn said like it wasn’t pouring buckets down on their heads. Somehow, even despite the weather, his mood remained chipper even after they’d put the Wayfarer’s Tower behind them. Hawke was honestly glad for that, but right this second, Hawke couldn’t match it.
“In a puddle?” Hawke asked.
Vahn scoffed. “Hardly! Come on, it’s growing late.” He scooped his bag up in one arm and raised the other arm above himself. “Air: still the droplets.”
And the rain did just that against his arm like a small shield had formed. Not big enough for Hawke to duck under it, but he quickly adjusted his lute (covered in his poor soaking jacket) so it was underneath the brief dry spot. Unfortunately, Vahn was staring at his bag like he needed a third arm and Hawke helpfully provided one and swept his arm underneath the bag so Vahn could search inside.
“Thank you!” Vahn drove his hand inside. “Let’s see… Space, I beseech thee, return to me my quartz of clear sight.”
Two clear chunks of quartz materialized like the bag spit them forth and Vahn caught them before they fell back into the darkness. They were about the size of Vahn’s palm, jagged corners making a triangular shape, and sparkled against the gray skies. Vahn peered up at Hawke, smiling.
“Want to see some sorcery?”
“If it gets us out of the rain—yes.”
Almost with a skip in his step, Vahn trudged on into the grass and took his rain shield with him. Hawke hurried after him if only to keep his lute beneath it. Eventually the coat wasn’t going to help anything and then his lute would get soaked and he’d be in an even worse mood. Thankfully, Vahn didn’t take them far. Just enough from the road so no passing wagon in the evening would run them down.
One quartz plunked into the grass as a soft spell form Vahn’s lips uncurled. The quartz glowed a vibrant orange, like a sunset, and Vahn took the other quartz paces away toward the trees and dropped it with the same incantation. Without asking, Vahn deftly took one of Hawke’s knives from his sash (how the magician knew exactly where that one was anyone’s guess) and deftly drew a shallow line in the dirt to connect the quartz in a kind of diamond shape. Once finished, Vahn slid his fingers across the blade, clearing of all dirt with another whispered enchantment, and then he sat in the center.
Exhaling, he began a louder spell. “Air, I command thee to weave yourself so as to protect me and mine near”—Hawke quickly crouched beside Vahn before the spell decided he was not near enough—“and between these quartzes so lovingly given, protect us from the torrent of rainfall around us.”
Magic rolled out of the quartzes and snaked through the path made with the knife, twinkling all the way audibly until it made a circuit. Then the air shimmered on all sides, the very top creating a point above them like a pyramid. The rain didn’t slide through and instead, plinked off the sides of whatever Vahn had created, and rolled downward like it would against a window. Air still ghosted through the space, so the walls weren’t solid, and Hawke tested the one nearest with his hand. It went through easily, so they also weren’t trapped. Definitely enough room for Hawke to stand too without getting wet.
When Hawke glanced at the magician, he was smiling. All proud and endearing.
“There. We can wait out the rain in here.” He pointed at the quartzes. “The quartzes have magic in them, so even if I lose concentration, the shield will remain.” He smiled wider and brought his hands together, eyes twinkling mischievously. “Now, want me to also dry us out so we don’t catch a cold?”
Even though Hawke knew Vahn was clearly showing off after getting more of his magic back, water was dripping off Hawke’s hair and it was everywhere it shouldn’t be, so he eagerly nodded. “Yes, please.”
If he’d known that meant disrobing as far as he was comfortable, he might have tried not sounding so eager. Helpfully, Vahn bit back all teasing smiles as they undressed. Not like it really mattered, but it must have been quite the sight from the road if anyone was traveling by.
Gently, with featherlight touches, Vahn drew his fingers across Hawke—horizontally across the width of his shoulders and then vertically from his forehead to his toes—and did it the same across Hawke’s back as well. Magic lingered as his fingers went, following the whispered spelled, and then all at once, hot air blew over Hawke. It dried him in an instant leaving his skin warm and soft, like they hadn’t just trudged on in a downpour. Vahn did the same to himself, much quicker, and then even he was dry.
“Handy,” Hawke said. “You could have done that when I threw you in the river, you know.”
“And erase evidence our little jaunt?” Vahn shook his head, grinning. “Besides, the spell actually takes a lot out of me, but I figure we’d rather be dry. Let’s get dressed and make camp.”
They redressed in dry clothes from their bags before Vahn set about drying everything else that had been drenched. They left their old clothes hung up on the branch coming into their little pyramid of dryness and the aroma of cardamom and orange ghosted through the space once the spell was placed. At least their things would be dry by morning.
Camp was made by awkwardly twisting and pulling the tent from Vahn’s bag. The pyramid was almost too small for the feat, but with some creative turning, they managed to get it out and even set up without either of them falling out into the rain. The campfire was made out of a crystal housing Solar Magic and while it was different than an actual flame (Vahn insisted it would not burn either of them), it still gave off enough heat for cooking. The light it gave was soft too, glimmering against the sides of the pyramid and making them shimmer.
All in all, not too bad. The evening went from miserable to acceptable. Quaint even. They could sleep out the rain and hopefully get a move on once dawn broke. After their small dinner of vegetable stew with questionable produce from the tower (Vahn insisted they were just a little magically altered—it was fine), the two of them sat back and watched the rain. It reminded Hawke of soft evenings with Trice. Watching the droplets run down the windows until they were both fast asleep in her tiny house hidden from the world.
Vahn had made himself comfortable, laying on his stomach as usual with half his body in the tent, and perused his ever-growing magic book. Definitely thicker than it had been when they’d first met.
Hawke was content enough to roll over to go to sleep, but then he noticed Vahn was stealing glances at him like he had a question.
He sighed. “Yes?”
“Why do you sound suspicious?” Vahn asked and swallowed a laugh from the look Hawke gave him. “I just have a request.”
Hawke raised his eyebrows teasingly. “Another one?”
“Less desperate request.” Vahn closed his tome and watched Hawke, waiting for permission. Might as well get it over with and Hawke urged him on. “I want you to try spell casting again.” Before Hawke could reason the request away, Vahn was sitting up, his expression too earnest. “Please! We might be able to do something now that I know what it is!”
With that face, Hawke couldn’t say no. He sighed though, letting Vahn know his reluctance, and sat up to face Vahn. “All right, fine. Just careful with the throat.”
To say Hawke didn’t like Vahn’s hand there would have been a lie, but there wasn’t a soul he’d admit it to. Vahn’s skin was warm as he rested his thumb against the hollow of Hawke’s throat. The second hand never came and instead, Vahn took Hawke’s hand in his and had him cup it like he was holding something.
“All right, try a little flame. Repeat after me…” Vahn cleared his throat and closed his eyes. “I ask thee, flame: flicker bright for me.”
“I ask thee, flame: flicker bright for me.”
Magic bloomed in Hawke’s throat, warm and tingling, but once he finished speaking, the magic remained within and died altogether. Vahn’s fingers flexed, like he thought he could coax it out, but it wasn’t to be. A soft sigh escaped Vahn, but instead of giving up like Hawke hoped, he pulled his bag between them.
Ah. Hawke knew where this was going. He should never have admitted to getting an item from that damned thing.
“Summon an item,” Vahn said.
“Like what?”
“Anything. I have a scarf in there.”
Hawke exhaled through his nose and settled his hand in the dark. It fluttered around his hand, cold and tingly, and he thought of this scarf he’d never seen. “Bag, bring me that scarf.” Magic bloomed in his throat the same, but nothing happened.
Vahn didn’t look displeased and instead, nodded slowly. “I figured. You’ve never seen my scarf before. I put your knife in there. Try summoning that.”
Hawke flinched. “What?! When?”
Vahn grinned. The little sneak. Hawke shouldn’t have looked away from the thing. “It’s safe! I promise. It’s just in the bag. You’ve done this before, so I know you can do it again.”
Hawke swallowed and Vahn readjusted his fingers on his throat. He thrust his hand back into the bag and thought of his knife until it became clear in his mind. “Hey bag, give me back my knife that Vahn stole.”
Vahn’s eyes narrowed despite his teasing smile.
Like before, magic in his throat flared. It tingled up, coated his tongue, and the bag’s insides shifted. The smell of lavender spilled out, reminding Hawke too starkly of Vahn, and a hilt thrust itself into his palm. He grasped it and drew it forth like it was some mystical sword. Definitely his knife. No worse for wear. Vahn hummed thoughtfully and withdrew his hand.
“I know you didn’t steal it,” Hawke said. “Just ask next time, okay?”
“I will.” Vahn folded his arms and watched where Hawke slid it to safety. “It’s unusual though,” he murmured and drummed his fingers on his chin. “The way I stitched magic into the bag is it responds to requests done via magic. Molly was able to follow my directions and was able to grab the firebird essence, remember? Even with hardly any knowledge of Space Magic.” Hawke slowly nodded. “But you work differently. You don’t cast a spell. Your magic simply fills with desire and my bag reacted to it. You didn’t really desire my scarf, so you couldn’t fake it, but you did desire your knife returned.”
Hawke was admittedly a little lost. He’d forgotten Molly had been able to follow Vahn’s direction back in Larkspur. All he knew when he summoned Vahn’s blanket from the bag back at the tower was that he’d been desperate to be useful. He was then desperate to show Vahn he could do it again and now desperate for his knife back.
“The same applies to people. The magic in the voice enchants them, but I wasn’t expecting it to work on a non-sentient object,” Vahn said. “Likely, it’s a unique quirk of Elwick’s own magic and not yours.”
Plausible, even if Hawke was not smart enough to reason the why beyond that. “Could still be what you said then—it’s not my voice, so whatever magic I actually have won’t respond unless I rely on Elwick’s.” It was Vahn’s turn to nod slowly. At least that made sense to one of them. “Think I could do it with your wand?”
Vahn looked uneasy thinking of the prospect. It was settled inside his shirt’s pocket and he pulled it free. “Not a good idea,” he said. “Magic wands are created specifically for their magicians. It might react badly to Elwick’s magic and besides, the motions are actually rather complex to teach on the fly…”
Hawke chuckled. “All right, I get it. I won’t try and blow off my hand.”
“It is preferable you don’t.” Vahn slid the wand away.
“What about nonverbal casting?”
Vahn hummed again and resettled himself in the tent. At least that meant no more experiments and Hawke let his shoulders relax. The rain was still coming down hard and their tiny campfire was occasionally washed out by a stray lightning streak, but those never struck close. Just left a lingering rumble through the air that softened over time.
Hawke had given up expecting an answer when Vahn finally spoke again.
“It’s not unheard of, although it requires a great mastery of many things,” he said. He’d begun drawing a design into the dirt with his finger. “Glyphs and sigils can help with that, but those aren’t very practical on the fly and the design themselves is a way of casting. You’re likely thinking of casting without all that.” He glanced up at Hawke and waited for Hawke to nod. “One way is to prime spells ahead of time. Most magicians carry quartz or other clear gems to achieve this.”
“Ah, so like the fire,” Hawke guessed.
“Exactly. That, unfortunately, takes time and knowing the spell inside and out. Primed spells are used to prepare basic stuff, but also utilized by duelists.”
Hawke didn’t like the sound of magician duelists. A shudder worked its way through him and Vahn chuckled.
“As disastrous as it sounds,” Vahn said. “But sometimes warranted. At least, they like to think so.” He idly drew a circle in the dirt with his finger, some design Hawke didn’t know. “But in battle, you don’t really want to do overly long incantations. All you’d need to do is prime the gem, touch it, and use the activation word. However, if you prime too ahead in advance, the spell grows weaker.”
Understandable, Hawke supposed. There was something else though, given the way Vahn seemed hesitant to continue. “Any other way for nonverbal casting?”
“Yes…” Vahn stopped drawing in the dirt. “You can do so without any of that—not even having to prime it beforehand—but usually, only High Magicians are capable of the feat. It requires vast knowledge and complete understanding of magic—inside and out. It’s honestly scary.” He folded his arms and suppressed a shiver. “You don’t know what’s coming and then it happens. It’s not something I’d wish on anyone.”
With how soft and distant Vahn’s voice became, Hawke wished he’d asked something else. “You had it happen to you a lot?”
Another sigh escaped Vahn. “High Magician Irius is especially quick to utilize such magic. Out of the current High Magicians, he is undoubtedly the most driven and diligent, but he has an incredibly short temper for all things down here. Especially magicians.”
Oh. Hawke hesitated, remembering all too well what Vahn had told him about his parents. How the High Magician was going to take Vahn away and all that did was make Vahn’s magic react badly, killing them. “Was Irius the one who—”
“Yes.” Vahn’s voice grew tense and he tightened his arms. “I learned quickly under his tutelage, all things considered, but it was never good enough. To him, I was still very much soiled. And when I snapped back, like any pushed child would in a world they hardly knew… well.” He swallowed and smiled sadly. “Could we move on? It’s in the past.”
“Yeah. Shit. I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s fine. You were trying to distract me and you didn’t know.” Vahn chuckled sadly, but didn’t look up. “You would think this many years away from the man, the memories would have softened.” He breathed out, like he attempted to exhale the bad memories, and rested his head in his arms. He finally peered up at Hawke again, but his expression was so tired this time. “How was your family? I hope better than mine.”
Irius hardly sounded like he counted as family, but it didn’t sound like Vahn had anyone else after his parents died. Asking what he remembered of them would likely also go wrong, so, Hawke took to the question as quick as he could and laid himself down beside Vahn.
“I guess it depends.” Hawke was on his way to spin a new lie, but then the desire to be truthful won out and he rubbed his throat to ease the magic back down. “I was the eldest of eight kids.”
“Eight?!” Vahn’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
“As chaotic as it sounds, yes.” Hawke laughed at Vahn’s breathless wow. “Feel for my magic if you think I’m lying!” He angled his chin upward, giving Vahn full access to his throat again, but the magician simply waved him off. “There were a few that were actually twins, but I don’t know how my mother did it. Lots of kids. Being the oldest by a few years, I was expected to keep them all in line.”
“What did your family do for a living?”
That wasn’t something Hawke wanted to get into with great detail, but he could offer something small. “My father had a name for himself and was a very busy and important man. We had a villa in this coastal city. I remember watching the ships coming and going from our roof. But he wasn’t around very often. He’d come home with riches then nine months or so after he left, there’d be another sibling. My mother never minded—she had the wealth she wanted and lots of kids to spoil when she wasn’t preening for high society.”
Vahn rested his chin on his palm and watched Hawke. “Why’d you leave?”
“Because I didn’t want to be stuck there,” Hawke said. “Running seemed the best plan at the time. Way better than being taken under my father’s wing and do what he was doing. Better than being expected to take care of all my siblings without leave to do anything I really wanted.” He sighed and ran a hand down his face. “I didn’t even know what I wanted to do, but I grabbed the lute and off I went.”
Sometimes, he wondered if he’d made the right choice. Life certainly hadn’t always been easy on his own—Elwick being the glaring example of a huge fuck up on his part. But he couldn’t even imagine life back there now. What would he have done or how? He wasn’t ruthless like his father, even at that age, so going into the family business wouldn’t have worked. And he couldn’t stand his siblings by the time he left. Staying for their sake would have ended him, he was sure.
Besides, no one had ever come looking for him that he knew of. Part of him was glad for it. If they’d caught up early on, he might have gone home. Not now. Too many years gone.
“It’s been ten years,” he whispered, more to himself than anything else.
Vahn considered him, curious. “That’s a long time.”
“I’m honestly surprised I made it this far. All I do is sing and play my lute.”
“And you do both very well,” Vahn supplied with a teasing smile. “Was it always on the move? I know with Elwick…”
“Here and there,” Hawke admitted. “Sometimes I’d almost forget he was following me, but then I’d hear him and split.”
“Nothing’s impossible,” Vahn whispered. “I promise.”
Hawke nudged him. “You pull out a tent that by no rights should fit into that bag,” he said and Vahn stifled a laugh. “I am well-versed in you doing the impossible.”
They eased into a comfortable silence, the only sound coalescing around them being the rain ghosting against the pyramid. It had slowed considerably since Vahn had conjured it. The thunder was farther off now. Maybe the stars would peek out before night was over. Hawke was content to wait for it, but it wasn’t to be. His eyes drew weary and heavy, exhaustion tugging him toward a pillow, and he glanced at Vahn.
He stopped short of a question and smiled instead.
The magician was asleep, curled on his side and facing Hawke. Maybe the magic had taken more of a toll on him than he’d let on. No matter. The question wasn’t important anyway. Hawke gently unfolded the blanket left in the back of the tent and drew it around Vahn before he lay on his back. Maybe he’d see a star or two before he drifted off.
The truth had left a fuzzy feeling in his throat after spinning so many lies about his family. Sometimes they were cutthroats he narrowly escaped from. Other times, they were farmers he wanted to do better than. So many different stories. He’d never even told Trice much aside from the ocean part.
That was what he missed, honestly. Mornings watching the ships come in. The way the sun glittered against massive sails. The fervor of the docks as sailors and cargo disembarked.
It didn’t matter now, he figured. Half-truths kept him safe. Lies covered his tracks over and over again so he’d never be found and dragged home. Although, by now, he was sure no one was looking for him. Maybe that was why it was so easy being honest. It wasn’t Vahn’s endearing curiosity—no, it was just how long he’d been gone. Yep. That was it.
As one star peeked out, then another, and then another while the clouds thinned, Hawke rolled over and faced Vahn. The serene look on his face as he slept. Maybe Hawke would hold onto that lie a little longer, at least until he could be honest with himself.
🙡🙢
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