by Scott King
At every aisle, Carter placed two fingers on the spine of the first book on the top shelf. Feeling nothing, he moved to the next aisle. Upon touching the book in the eleventh aisle, a probing wet sting ran along his bones, numbing his entire arm. It hurt, but other books had left him burned or sent him flying backwards. This one by comparison was mild.
"Here it is!" Carter picked up the book next to the one that had zapped him. It had no cover, and a metal thread was the only thing that kept it bound together. Lifting it with two hands, he held it out, but Owen shrank away.
"You imbecile." Owen pointed to the wood counter, and Carter set it down. "Do you know what that book is?"
"A spell book." Carter was confident about that much.
Using the back end of a quill, Owen flipped open the book and examined the yellow pages and intricate text. "Your guess is as good as mine because I can't read this. There is no telling what the spells, if they are spells, do."
"Only half the spell was from that book," Carter said.
"And where did the other half come from?" Owen said in a flat tone.
"Remember the whole Cartina incident?" Carter bit his bottom lip. He hated bringing up the Cartina incident.
"I will never forget it," Owen said.
"What incident?" Doug asked.
"A few years ago,"–a smile slid across Owen's face–"my ignorant protégé was turned into a girl."
"Not true," Carter said. "I was still a boy. It was an illusion spell. I merely looked like a girl to everyone else."
"And how did you get turned into a girl?" Doug asked.
"There was a witch lady and these wolves..." Carter trailed off thinking maybe it wasn't the best kind of story to be telling Doug. "The details don't matter. The point is that the spell I used on you was based on the spell that was used on me. I merged the witch spell with the spell from the book, and together, they should've destroyed your physical form and disintegrated you."
"And that didn't happen, so can we get to undoing it?" Doug said. "I don't want to stay in this soft body any longer than I have to."
"That's a problem." Using the quill, Owen closed the book. "I dare not attempt to undo such an amalgamation of spells. Too much could go wrong. You could end up a Greker, a house cat, or a pile of mush."
"If you can't, then who can undo it?" Doug asked.
"No one living." Owen leaned close and wiggled his nose as if he were sniffing the book. "The text is from before the Scourge."
"I don't know what that means," Doug said.
"The Scourge," Carter said.
The blank expression didn't leave Doug's face.
"It happened like eleven hundred some years ago," Carter said. "When the Alder, Urkish, Ketchka, Cylphana, and Erediä vanished from Majerä and all of Elderealm."
"I didn't know you humans used a term for it," Doug said. "So you are saying this spell is from one of the vanished races?"
"Precisely," Owen said. "If I tried to undo it, I could kill you or turn you into something else."
"I don't care." Doug clenched his fist into claws. "I'd rather die than be stuck like this."
"I can walk you through the merging of the spells." Carter opened the book and flipped to the page he had used. "It's simple stuff."
"You don't have the slightest idea about what you've messed with." Owen pinched the bridge of his nose. "How did you think to combine the two spells?"
"You know how sometimes with magic you can feel things?" Carter traced the text with a fingertip. "I can't read the words, but I can sort of feel them, and they had the same feeling as the spell the witch woman used on me. I could tell they would fit together."
"There may be hope." Owen opened his eyes and looked at Doug. "You can travel to Compitum and see the Oracle. She might be able to help you."
"You can tell me how to get to Compitum?" Doug asked.
"I can arrange travel." Owen turned, walking back toward the stairs. "I'll do so in the morning."
"Looks like we will be parting ways." Doug slapped Carter on the back. The blow was so hard that Carter had to brace himself on the wood counter to keep from falling over. "Not a moment too soon. Another day of you, and I likely would rip off your head out of frustration."
Owen stopped and looked over his shoulder, meeting Doug's gaze. "Carter will be going with you."
"I'm a dragon, not a wet nurse."
"And you could get there and be told the only way for the spell to be undone is for the original caster to undo it," Owen said. "He must go with you."
"You can't make me go." Carter crossed his arms. "Not alone with a dragon. You have to come with us."
"I dare not leave Hal," Owen said.
"Lies!" Carter was sick of all the big talk nonsense. For as long as he could remember, Owen had mentioned the big picture. He referenced nonsensical things, and in eighteen years, Carter had never seen a single sign that any of it was true. He found it easier to believe The Silver Lady was real. "You always do this. You always take the coward's path instead of doing what is right."
"I'm sorry you feel that way." Owen climbed the staircase. He didn't look back, and when he passed through the secret door, the magical lights of the library autodimmed, leaving Carter and Doug in darkness.
5
Being Human
Isleday, 5th of Hearfest, 1162.111
Doug awoke to a sharp pain in his stomach. At first he thought he might be sick, but as his belly gurgled, he realized he was hungry. As a dragon, he could go a week without eating and be fine, but as a human, he needed constant sustenance.
He searched the cottage, looking for the magician and Carter, but neither was around. Deciding he couldn't bear the pain any longer, he headed to the kitchen, hoping to find something to eat.
Along the back wall of the room was an oven, but he saw no hearth or place to ignite it. The side wall had a wooden prep table with three mortars and pestles on it. Above the table hung dozens of vials filled with dried herbs. Or at least he thought they might be herbs. They could easily have been something magic related.
There was a basin with a drain and stopper he thought might be for holding water, an alcove that formed a pantry, and in the corner stood a vault-like stone box with agyls drawn on it.
Wherever the food might be, it was out of sight.
His belly rumbled.
The sensation of hunger, this need to end the pain, was a horrible trait. He didn't understand how humans dealt with it. They were so weak and fragile. No. Now he was weak and fragile. He needed to accept it. Accept that for the time being he was human.
He sniffed and caught a mixture of odors that were hard to separate. Clove. Berry juices. Smoked hickory. Cheese. Lots of cheeses. Lots of nice-smelling cheeses, the aromas of which emanated from the stone box. It was as tall as he was and had a forward-facing door. When he peered inside, he was surprised to find that the contents were cold. That must be what the agyls were doing. They kept the items inside from getting warm and spoiling.
The shelves of the box were packed with eggs, meat, vegetables, and five different kinds of cheese. Doug selected a yellow cheese with a bloomy rind. It was soft to the touch and stunk, but it had a good kind of stink, in the way cheeses do.
He loved cheese, and it had been years since he had gotten the chance to eat any. He was tempted to search for bread or maybe a sweet fruit to complement the cheese, but he didn't have the patience. He bit into the wheel.
The cheese melted on his tongue like butter, and although creamy, it had a tangy citrus flavor with a hint of sweetness. It was glorious, and he devoured the whole thing.
Doug re-opened the stone box and looked for more food. He settled on a bundle of carrots. They had an earthier than normal flavor, and he wondered if, as a human, his taste buds had changed. His sense of taste didn't seem as dulled as his sight and smell.
Closing his eyes, he listened, trying to decide if his hearing was also diminished. The cottage creaked in the wind. He heard tapping on one of
the windows, maybe a bird or rodent. Past the walls of the cottage, he could make out a repetitive thumping sound followed by a groan he recognized as belonging to Carter.
Following the sound, Doug exited the cottage and found Carter outside the shed where they had gotten the clothes the night before. The boy was using some sort of paddle to mash the contents of a wooden barrel.
"That is foul." Doug winced, covering his nose. "It smells like rotting fruit."
"Huh?" Carter ran his hands through his short hair, flicking away beads of sweat. He looked down at the barrel and then nodded. "Well yeah. It's decomposing fruit that has been fermenting."
"Poison for a magical potion?"
"No, I'm making mash for alcohol." Carter went back to slamming the paddle into the barrel. "We are almost out, and Master Owen might need some for treating patients while we're gone."
"Where is Owen now?" Doug asked. "I woke up, and the house was empty."
"I don't know. We weren't exactly on speaking terms this morning. I saw him. He got dressed, packed his stuff up, and left. I guess he went into town, but I don't know for sure."
"So this..." Doug pointed to the barrel. "Isn't some sort of punishment?"
"We are going to be on the road for at least two stints. It needed to be done. That's all." The handle of the paddle thudded against the barrel as Carter let it go. He curled his arms upwards, stretching out his shoulder. "You are welcome to take a spin. It's fun."
"I'm too smart to fall for that."
"Was worth a try." Carter ran the paddle around the side of the barrel. "If you change your mind, let me know."
Doug grunted. He did not feel like helping out. He did not want to help out. He wanted to be home. He wanted to sleep in his own den. He wanted to live his normal life. He wanted to deal with his garden and the mite situation. If it went on for too long, he wasn't going to have food this winter and would be left foraging. He did not want to be here.
"You can't do that," Carter said.
"Do what?"
"Grunt like that." Carter let out a long sigh. "It's not normal. It stands out."
"Humans grunt."
"Yes, but your grunt is like a dog or animal grunt. I don't know how you make that sound."
Doug grunted again. "Like that."
"Well stop it."
"Why does it matter if I stand out?" Doug asked.
"Humans don't..." Carter's face scrunched.
Doug wasn't sure what the expression meant. It looked like Carter was in physical pain.
"Humans are not fans of what they think is different," Carter said. "If you act different, then they won't like you."
"I don't need to be liked."
"If they don't like you, they may pay more attention to you and might figure out you aren't human."
"So let them know. There is no shame in being a dragon."
Carter's face twisted up again. It then calmed, and he spoke in a soft tone. "The world out there isn't too great, and if what Master Owen said is true about dragon's attacking the Southern lands, then it might not be too safe if people learn you are a dragon."
Doug had faced dragon assassins, knights trained and armed specifically for killing dragons. He knew the stigma that came with being a dragon. His kind had been in hiding for so long that humans thought of them as monsters and beasts, forgetting they were sentient and intelligent. The attacks meant the sense of fear and hatred would be on the rise. Doug did not want to face a trained dragon killer while stuck in his current soft form.
"Alright." Doug tilted his head, conceding. "If I didn't want to stand out, what other things might I have to be aware of?"
"This will be great!" Carter chuckled and clapped his hands together.
Doug spent the rest of the afternoon listening to Carter drone on about fitting in. Most of it was extraneous, ranging from superfluous topics like Kelsam table manners or which greetings were appropriate to use with someone from Gara but not someone from Arwyn. It all boiled down to one thing: Keep quiet and try not to talk to anyone.
Owen returned an hour before sunset. He had several sets of clothes for Doug he promised would fit, and he informed them that, in two days, they would be taking a caravan to Compitum. Their passage had been paid for, and they would have a private hut.
During the conversation, Carter didn't say a word. It was the longest Doug had seen the boy keep his mouth shut. When they were done, Doug showered and insisted Carter do the same because, even with a wall between them, he could still smell the teenager.
Time dragged, and Doug spent the next two days learning more basic human etiquette. Some of it he knew, and some of it, like basic facial expressions, was helpful since to him most human faces looked alike.
On the eve of their leaving, Carter went to his room early. He and Owen still were not on speaking terms, and Doug was getting tired of it. Both clearly wanted to talk to each other, and yet neither spoke up.
Doug decided the situation needed to be addressed before they left. If not, Carter might be distracted on their journey. So he waited till after dinner and approached Owen while the old man worked at his desk.
"You should talk to him," Doug said.
Owen set down his quill and met Doug's eyes. "Should I?"
"Every day you don't speak, he gets a bit more angry. Considering what he did to me, it might not be a good thing to have his emotions all out of whack."
"Did he apologize to you yet?"
"For changing me into a human?"
"Yes."
"No, he didn't apologize. Did you tell him to?"
"I didn't think I needed to. I raised him to be better than that." Owen lowered his gaze. "For what it is worth, I am sorry. If I had done a better job, you wouldn't find yourself in this situation."
"I learned a long time ago that only the individual is responsible for their actions."
"True. Yet there are things in the world that shape who we are." Owen put his palms together. When he pulled them apart, an image made of light sprung to life, an amber flower reaching for the sky.
It was like looking through a window or seeing a reflection on a still lake. If Doug hadn't known better, he would have thought the perfectly straight flower was real.
The image zoomed out and revealed a pine tree that cast the flower in shade. The flower wiggled, and instead of growing straight toward the sky, it grew slanted, trying to escape the tree's shadow.
"Carter is his own person. He always has been," Owen said. "But it would be inaccurate to say my parenting hasn't influenced him. I truly am sorry for what you are about to face."
The image between Owen's hands twinkled and then faded away.
Doug had seen magic as a fledgling, but dragon magic was different from human magic. Or at least he thought it was. He had left the clans before he was old enough to learn such things. He had never seen any of the elders command light like Owen could. Of course, he had also never seen a stone box where fresh food was kept cold.
"You and Carter are about to head down a long, painful road," Owen said. "At times you will feel overwhelmed, like all decisions have been removed from your hands. When those times come, remember free will. No matter what has shaped you, you have the right to make choices, even if they lead to mistakes."
Doug didn't know what he was supposed to say, so he nodded his head and looked away. Carter had emphasized in their lessons the importance of eye contact. Making eye contact meant something, and the lack of it meant something else, often that a person held a secret or didn't wish to converse.
"Enough of this." Owen stood. "I do believe you might be right. Carter and I should at least attempt to make amends before he leaves."
Owen walked down the hallway and stopped at Carter's door. The door swung open, and the old man stepped out of sight. "I know you are awake," Owen said.
Doug wasn't trying to eavesdrop. He didn't want to be involved in the particular details, but with his sharp hearing, there was no way for him to block them out.
> He detected the sound of a fake snore.
Owen spoke a single word Doug didn't recognize. There came the rush of air and blankets rustling.
"Put me down!" Carter yelled.
Something, most likely Carter, thudded against a creaking bed.
"That was–" Carter stopped mid-sentence, and his tone changed from outrage to concern. "What's wrong?"
"In the morning," Owen said, "you will be gone."
"I know."
"You leave and don't come back."
"Am I going to die?"
"I only know your time here is finished. This part of your life is over."
"I'll try harder."
Owen laughed. "I'm not getting rid of you. You are leaving home. You might come back to visit, and should you, you'll always be welcome. As far as anyone is concerned, I consider you my son, and no matter where your journey takes you, you'll always be in my thoughts."
"What if I don't want to leave home?"
"You and I both know that's a lie. You've wanted to visit Compitum for years."
It must have been Carter's turn to laugh 'cause Doug heard a light chuckling.
And just like that, days of awkwardness between them seemed forgotten. Part of Doug was envious. It had been a long time since he had been close enough to someone to have a fight. Being in a fight meant caring, and Doug didn't care about anyone.
6
Pierogies
Ulesday, 7th of Hearfest, 1162.111
The odor hit Doug before he and Carter entered the Square Boulder. For the first time since leaving his cave, the scent of human stench didn't drown his nose, instead the smells flowing throughout the restaurant were of roasting meats, fried foods, and steamed vegetables.
"Want something?" Carter said. "The caravan we are taking doesn't load for a half hour so we've got time to kill. Plus it's basically against the law to go on a quest without first eating a bowl of pierogies."
