What Might Have Been

Chapter VII

Yogul yawned and stretched with feline relish, working out all his joints in a symphony of cricks and kinks. His wife snored on, hogging the covers. Gap toothed, he smiled wide and pecked her on the temple; how much he loved her. Dressed in his robes and washed for the day, Wizard Yogul shambled down the steps to his shop below. He inspected the package with a frown. The note attached was nearly illegible but he recognized the name at the bottom. 

Odd.

Not the note, little royal-related Jane had a scrawling style of writing when rushed, but the box. Yogul’s posture leaned into a defensive, suspicious hunch. Midgardian objects—it was certainly nothing of this realm—would not, should not, have magical residue, let alone magic reminiscent of darkness. Does she know? Yogul doubted that. But then, he looked down at the note. No, she suspected something, maybe felt a tremor of danger even if she couldn’t place what it was. Logical theory dictated that all her time spent with the trickster and Queen inherently developed a supernatural sixth sense for magical sensitivity. Or she was just lucky.  

Taking out his spectacles, Wizard Yogul scrutinized the square more carefully. He may be not as spry as he was since the last millennia but his magical senses worked as fine as a well-oiled machine and he could still trounce thaumaturges younger and more physically capable than he; thus, his eyes did not miss the time-delay spell. Little royal Jane was very lucky indeed then. The time delay masked its presence like a blanket but Yogul could see it slithering underneath. Most likely Jane did not have to worry about being on the receiving end of a bad spell. Yogul did not wait for the spell to finish, rather he stood soldier straight and one of his withered hands fisted in an edge of the magic and yanked off its disguise, showing its ugliness for all magician eyes to see. 

Yogul was old. His eyes had seen many things, both beautiful and horrific, and his scars did not all have proud tales behind them. Little Jane was one of the more beautiful, the more innocent creatures with which he had the pleasure of acquainting himself. The dark cloud of magic within the box told him not all shared his positive view of the mortal. Yogul narrowed his eyes at the square block of timber. He had not seen such dark magic in ages. Mumbling a chant, his hand glowed and it reached out to touch the board game. A poisonous bang shot out, searing a long, bloody slice from the base of his thumb to his pinky and Yogul cried out, holding his palm to his chest. Sucking in breathes in a controlled manner, Yogul let loose a low moan. The dark magic hissed at him, warning him not to come closer.

Yogul got to his feet, grim-faced and determined; dark magic does not cow this wizard. 

Magic thrummed along his veins, pumped throughout his body in time with his heart beat. Gathering a much stronger amount of magic this time, Yogul lept at the box, slamming his uninjured palm onto the game’s surface and growled back at the dark magic. It coiled around the game like a venomous snake as Yogul’s limbs shook tried to tear it from its prize. Even with preternatural enhancements, Yogul’s entire body convulsed, straining to power-bully the other magic into submission. The magic snarled and lashed out, slicing skin dangerously close to the old Aesir’s eye and shearing his robes to ribbons. Sparks flew and magic from both sides lashed out, cracking along walls and smashing wares in his shop. The wards went wild, some letting out a siren and others bursting into flames blue, green and orange. One of his hands at last grabbed what must have been the magical incantation’s metaphorical neck for it fought more viciously now. He let the idea of victory strengthen him, reaching deeper into his magical reserves and pulled. He sensed something tear, just a stitch and then he bowled over from the force of his own pull. The dark magic he gripped so tightly drained away like sand in a fisted hand until only a few crumbled pieces remained. Yogul quickly placed them in a small glass jar, sealing it with one of his wards.