Reign of Discord

8

Sleeping through the rest of the night huddled in the dark, Jayce came by nightmares galore. They all involved the strange old man, who delivered a promising proposition, but one all too fragile in turn. Even with a night drowned in bloody outcomes, Jayce appeared at the old man's house the next morning, knocking shyly at the front door, which he learned was the utmost civil action. As expected, the door swung open immediately and on its own.

"I'm coming in," Jayce announced, strolling in, hands behind his back. His confidence trolled him when he decided it was all up to him: whether the old man was any good and whether he should stay or move on along.

But Jayce's confidence was straddled by this over-excited urge of curiosity. So much about this mage kept his mind raging with avid questions, and Jayce could even imagine himself using some of the magic in his daily life, creating endless amounts of steamy foods, ready to savor by himself and only him. Never needing to look through the collectives brim full of rotting used-to-be delicacies.

"In here, lad!" The old man yelled, as he stood next to a table crowded with open books and vials of glimmering liquids, the same room previously covered in liquids and smoke from the explosion earlier. He found it strange how confident the old man was that Jayce would come back. Jayce didn't even know if he would or not until a few minutes prior.

"Okay, Jayce. First things first, your hair. Sit over there and the damned witch will take care of you." Jayce followed orders obediently, not without questions.

"My late wife, lad. She died but decided she should stick around to watch over me." He chuckled halfheartedly. "Marriage really is more than a lifetime, believe me when I say that." Jayce didn't laugh. Knowing a ghost of a be would be cutting his hair was really no relief. He sat down for the sake of it, but didn't expect anything to come of it. After all, he wasn't sure about his belief in ghosts.

While he fondled over this ghostly thought, he heard snips too close to his ear and jolted away perhaps too fast. Blood was dropping from his ear and he mindlessly wiped it off without even a cringe.

"Let her do her job, lad." The old man said over his shoulder, not stopping or leering away his attention. Jayce sat still then, as an invisible witch snipped away locks of his dirty brown hair. He watched it fall to the ground, making no sound as it fell, as silent as death itself.

"Tell me then, how old are you?" The old man asked, Jayce never thought he would need to say, if this mage could see his name, couldn't he see his age?

"Five Quells, I am." Jayce said, agonizingly proud. He hadn't thought of how old he was! He was only 4 Quells when he left, he had come so far!

"Quells? Quells! Psh!!" The old man laughed, stinging Jayce's confidence. "You have a lot to learn, you do! You're ten years old for the English. They don't use Marish units."

"That's Marish?"

"Indeed it is! You count Marish, speak English...a whole mess was made of you!" Jayce had no reply, acknowledging for the first time now, he hadn't known how to count in English.

And that was only one of the few things he learned from the old Mage. But before long, Jayce had a head of a child, its true nature at least. The witch helped him bathe properly in a tub of hot water, which Jayce couldn't help playing in. The warmth and simple act of it drove him childlike. The witch appeared sometimes, only when the old man was not around. She too, had old dark leathery skin, but a smile warmer than Jayce's bath water. She spoke to him sometimes, and she acted very mother like, something Jayce didn't quite know how to react to.

But, he felt clean, revived! The witch couldn't help but laugh when he scared himself in front of a mirror. Jayce could defend himself appropriately, as it was the first he knew of a mirror, the dangerous reflective treat, and the first time he had seen what he looked like! After the fear wore, he couldn't look away. His tan skin almost glowed from being so clean. Scars raged his skin from every corner, his light brown hair was so cleanly trimmed, and his eyes were a milky brown, small and long. He just couldn't believe he was seeing himself for the first time!

But the kindness and newness of it all wore away his fear from the old man as well. Jayce began trusting him, who hadn't only taught him to read and write English but Marish as well! The purpose being so he could read spell books, the next step in this wild adventure.

Jayce, as it came, was a natural when it came to casting spells. Once the pronunciation and hand motions were conquered, he simply couldn't stop improving. His mental progress was sometimes far too fast! The old man couldn't understand how this boy, now 12 English years, ate up knowledge so fervently.

Jayce had the privilege of wearing clean new clothing that belonged to the boy whose bedroom he claimed as his own. Jayce was growing, they all saw it, and the most obvious proof of that was the clothes shrinking on him ever so.

But Jayce himself was too busy absorbing and discovering to notice. Two English years later had gone by so fast. Jayce was still to afraid to sleep in the home, as he felt it hadn't been long enough to forget Damek's touch.

But he had time to tell his tale, but not for pity. The old man made him unravel it, face it, in order to continue his growth. But the telling contributed to a deal of fury and tears. And Jayce began to feel pain again. Stepping on glass barefooted had no similar effect. Regardless, the old man was able to teach Jayce the most important thing of all: he learned the world didn't need to revolve around pain, and that his world was no exception.

---

But Jayce's time had come, and he knew was tired of being isolated in the old man's home. The old man told him terrifying tales of what was done to their kind, but Jayce realized then that the fear would not keep him out. The old man always told him about growth, and seeing the outside world would help him do just that.

The old man felt it: the boy had escaped once again, something he often liked to do. But that time in particular...it felt different.

The witch appeared suddenly, standing inquisitively near the old man, whose whiskers, turning ever so slightly white,, joined his mouth in a downward frown.

"He's not coming back, is he?" She asked, the first words spoken to her beloved since the day of her death.

"No. He's not..." He replied softly, standing reproachfully near the door, knowing all too well the truth in her words.

And he didn't.

Jayce didn't return.

---

Then the water engulfed him, fighting back the tears.

"You left them, remember? You left them and came back too late."

"I thought they wouldn't mind. I thought they would be proud. I thought I made the right decision."

"It wasn't even your decision. You had no choice in this."

"I did. I could have run away. I could have..." Then he went further into his memories, bracing himself to see the mistakes he had made once again, remembering the life he lead that ruined so many lives, including his.