Wyvern Tails and Phoenix Feathers

The Porcelain Heart, Chapter 4 - Bryn

Bryn spent many years with the Archmage based in the Ravenshade stronghold of Old Eagle's Nest. While life on the warfront had its share of excitement and horror, Bryn found his daily routine quite dull. Between meetings with stone-faced diplomats and humorless generals, Bryn encountered very few people his same age and developed zero friendships.

One connection he did foster, however, was with the spirits of plants and animals that existed around him. The Archmage told him he could feel this bond as his understanding of the arcaén blossomed. He could focus his ears to hear birds sing sweet songs and learn their melodies. He could feel rain clouds gather and wind shift direction. He could also hear the overwhelming buzz of flies as they swarmed a decaying body. Oddly, he found it to be a noise that stood out to him above all others.

He sat in a courtyard one afternoon waiting for the Archmage to finish an appointment with an ambassador from Gora's Keep. In his boredom, the buzz of flies quickly increased in volume until the symphony was all-consuming. He wandered to the source and found the corpse of a crane partially concealed by a patch of vinca. He could see its sinews and exposed bone. It had been dead for a while.

He gazed up at the courtyard wall and discovered a shiny silver placard set beneath an arched window. It was polished routinely to reflect a crystal blue sky. It was a deathtrap for birds. The gathering flies celebrated the crane's demise.

The Archmage taught Bryn that every mage had an inherent connection with a school of magic. Oran Highwater specialized in storm magic, Horus Morningshire, in fire. His gift was supposed to be the same as the Archmage's; aerothurgy, the manipulation of wind. And while he did feel the call of the wind, it was not as deeply and darkly as he felt entwined with death magic. But how could the Archmage be wrong?

He was alone in the courtyard and it was terribly quiet. There was no telling how long the Archmage would keep him waiting. With the intriguing carcass of a crane at his disposal, Bryn decided to have a necromantic dalliance.

He drew a small needle from his bandolier, pricked his thumb, and pushed the blood out to drip upon the bird. As soon as blood met flesh, a connection formed between Bryn and the crane. He was greeted with the faint memories of its former life. He hatched from an egg, grew feathers, and soared. He fractured his graceful neck against the unrelenting metal placard.

Bryn twisted his wrist and arched his fingers as if manipulating the controls of a marionette. With the flick of his hand, the crane lurched to its feet, struggling to hold its form with creaky withered ligaments. Soon, Bryn had it standing and walking. He opened and closed its beak. He flapped its tattered wings.

Before he could discover if he could make the crane fly again, a rush of cold wind knocked his puppet against the wall. He felt a strong hand on his wrist. The grip was firm and painful.

"What do you think you're doing?" the Archmage whispered to him.

The intensity of his anger was surprising. Bryn was nearly in tears from the fright alone.

"I- I didn't know when you would be back," he stammered.

"How many times do I have to tell you, the arcaén is not your toy?"

Bryn didn't understand. The Archmage encouraged his constant study. He spoke on the virtues of discovery and curiosity.

"I was studying," Bryn protested.

"Necromancy- here," the Archmage finished his sentence for him.

"You said it wasn't bad," cried Bryn. "You're hurting me."

The Archmage sighed and released his grip. But he didn't apologize. His anger had yet to subside.

"Necromancy isn't inherently good or bad," he said. "But people, common people find it upsetting. Life is a great disturbance only death can equalize, and yet it is only perceived as bitter and cruel. It is not befitting of your temperament to associate with death. I want you to be known as compassionate, beloved, and kind. I don't want people to see you as frightening. So tuck this away. Never in public, do you understand?"