Hints From History

By his command, the aether swirled away, leaving him panting for breath. As Myrel helped him to the ground, he pushed back his matted hair, drenched with sweat. Across the room, the vines slowed to a stop, but their roots stretched across the floor, and a thorny bramble enveloped the table.

"I'll need my dagger to clean this up," Sylven said. He made his way around the vines, and crouched in front of Cyrus."How are you feeling? No signs of a headache, or loss of rationality, right?"

"Not-not that I can tell. I'm just a bit weak," Cyrus said, his skin pale and clammy. He glanced at Myrel, who was keenly studying the plants. "What happened? Why couldn't I stop my magic?"

"I'm not sure. It seems your magic is different from what I know," Myrel said. He knelt beside the vines, and ran his finger over them. "From what I can tell, the aether you used came from you, instead of the world. That's why you felt yourself growing weak. Your strength is directly tied to how much magic you can use."

Myrel grabbed an old leather journal from the shelf, and scribbled a few lines down. "Fortunately, there appears to be one upside to this, but it comes with a downside as well."

"What might the upsidebe?" Cyrus asked, picking his head up. 

"The lack of madness. With the amount of aether you just used, you should definitely feel something, but you're fine," Myrel said. He snapped his journal shut. "We'll need to try a few more times, before I'm certain, but I don't think you'll ever need to worry about succumbing to the pull of magic."

"That's… good," Cyrus said. He studied the thorny vines. "So what's the problem?"

"You'll die if you ever use more magic than your body can handle. It's why you passed out before. It was your body protecting itself before you went too far."

Sylven cleared his throat. "I think we can discuss that more later. Why don't you wash up and rest for a while. We'll see how you're feeling later."

"Oh, right. Yes, that's more than enough for today," Myrel said. He gestured towards the door. "Please, take some time to think about what you've learned. I'll spend the day going through my books, to see if I can learn anything else about your magic, or the people you're looking for."

...

As evening came to pass, Cyrus rested on his bed, staring out the window. A dark cover of clouds rolled across the sky overhead, threatening to unleash a heavy torrent. The tree in the center of the kingdom swayed beneath the wind, while the surrounding foliage waved from afar.

"Cyrus, come here. I believe I may have found something," Myrel called. The old man hunched over his desk, his wrinkles outlined by a flickering candle. He was flipping through the pages of an old weathered book, written in runes, with pictures drawn out of distant lands and foreign people.

"What is it?" Cyrus asked. He made his way around Sylven, who was dusting the top of the shelves from a rickety ladder. 

As he approached Myrel, the old man spun the book around, and shoved it into his hands. The yellow pages reeked of mildew, and the charcoal was smudged. The candle's wavering light revealed a beautiful woman, with feathered ears, and grey skin. 

"Should I know who this is?" Cyrus asked, frowning.

"You're looking at one of the Ashfolk, who rule the mountains along the western coast. The book itself was the journal of a wizard who lived over a thousand years ago," Sylven said, climbing down. He shoved the dust rag into his pocket, and peeked over Cyrus's shoulder, scanning the page. "It looks like a record of the Ashfolk, and their day to day lives."

Cyrus handed the book back to Myrel with a frown. "Who are the Ashfolk?"

"One of the seven races of this land, and the ones who pride themselves the most on their knowledge," Myrel said, his eyes brimming with excitement. "So little information is known about them, I had almost forgotten about this book. You might know them by a different name, though. The Altier."

Cyrus glanced back at the photo of the feather-eared woman. "So these are the people I'm supposed to be looking for? But why? What do they have to do with me?"

"I'm not certain, but maybe it has something to do with this," Myrel said, tapping a series of scribbles on the page. "It speaks of a place known as Amuriel, or the living forest. I've never heard of it before, but maybe the Ashfolk know more. Perhaps that's why the woman you heard asked you to find them."

Cyrus ran his fingers through his amber hair. "This… seems like a lot. Where exactly do the Altier live?"

"The journal says their kingdom resides in a dead volcano, somewhere within the Arkenthel mountains," Myrel said. He unfurled a map across the desk, and pointed towards a section left vaguely detailed. "Few men have been able to journey through the mountains, and make it out alive, so there's not much information about the area, but it should be somewhere around here."

Sylven pointed towards a small kingdom marked on the opposite side of the map. "We're right here, by the way. It'd take you at least half a year to reach by foot."

Cyrus furrowed his brow. "Is there a way to get there sooner?"

"I'm trying to find out. I have a few more records to sift through, which might help narrow down their location. For now, I simply wanted to show you what I had found. Oh! Hold on, there was also something I wanted to give you," Myrel said. He spun around, and dug through the draws of the desk. A moment later, he retrieved a small chest, and handed it to Cyrus. "This is an artifact my master forged for me while I trained. I stumbled across it while searching, and thought it may be of use to you."

Cyrus opened the box, revealing a bronze bracelet, embellished with light blue runes. 

"What does it do?" Cyrus asked. The cold metal tingled in his palm, and the bronze gleamed in the candle light as the runes glowed faintly in the dim room.

"Put it on," Myrel said, grinning. Sylven watched from the side, his brow furrowed. 

Tilting his head, Cyrus slid the bracelet over his hand, and held it up. A bit of a gap remained between his skin and the bronze, and the bracelet threatened to slip off as he lowered his hand..

"Is there a way to tighten it?" Cyrus asked, sliding the bracelet back up.

"Hold on," Myrel said, grabbing his wrist. 

Cyrus held still as the old man tapped his nail against the bronze, causing the glyphs to pulse faintly. He jumped as the metal swirled across his skin, tightening until it fit comfortably. He studied it carefully, flipping his hand back and forth. 

"You said this will be of use to me? How?" Cyrus asked.

"The runes affect the flow of aether, similar to how a beaver's dam slows the flow of a river," Myrel said. His eyes softened. "It's meant to keep you from losing control. I want you to wear it from now on, until you feel comfortable casting."

"Master, would you be able to add a second row of runes to the bracelet?" Sylven asked, grabbing a sheet of parchment, and scribbling out a line of glyphs. "These ones, to be precise."

Myrel studied the page and frowned. "This is an incantation to alter the color of hair? Is there a problem with his hair?"

"It stands out as it is," Sylven said. "I'm afraid it'll draw too much attention at the moment. If he wishes to leave, he'll need to hide his identity."

"If it's not rude to ask, what color is your hair now?" 

"A golden reddish color, I suppose," Cyrus said, tugging on a few locks of his hair. "If I had to describe it, I'd say it resembles the sticky strands of resin from a tree, before they harden into amber."

Myrel rubbed his beard. "Hmm. That is a unique color. If you don't mind, Cyrus. The bracelet?"

Cyrus slipped the band off, and handed it back to Myrel. The old wizard studied it, then muttered a few foreign words. 

"Cerinth lavoid."

Cyrus shielded his eyes as a bright light enveloped the bracelet. As it faded, two more runes were carved into the bronze.

"There. That should do it. Try it now," Myrel said, handing the bracelet back. Cyrus fitted it back onto his wrist, and shook his hand.

"Did it work?"

"See for yourself," Sylven said. He grabbed a mirror off the shelf, and passed it to Cyrus. 

In his reflection, he found his hair to be a dull brown color, lightly covering his still green eyes. Cyrus brushed his hair to the side and nodded. "Magic certainly has its uses. Now I won't have to-"

Cyrus trailed off, and pushed his hair further back. A small bump rose from above his temple, green in color. Tilting his head to the side, he spotted a similar bump above the other temple. Both were hard to the touch, like a small stone.

'That's odd. Did I hit my head when I passed out?' Cyrus wondered. Noticing Myrel and Sylven watching him, he dropped his hair. "Thank you. This will definitely help."

"I'm glad to hear it," Myrel said. "Let me know if you need anything else changed, and I'll see what I can do."

"I will."

Myrel gave a slight nod, and returned to his desk, while Sylven headed towards the stairs. He paused at the railing, and glanced back at Cyrus.

"I was about to start supper. Would you like to help me?"

"I can't remember the last time I cooked, so I'm not certain I'll be able to do much," Cyrus said. He arched his brow. "Are you sure you still want my help?"

"It'll be fine," Sylven said. He grinned. "It can't be any harder than what you did this morning."