Chapter 5 The Dark Gift
The Dark Gift
Rhalyf leaned against the balcony railing and looked out at the vast night lake that spread out before him like a sheet of silk.
The surface was perfectly calm. The wind barely ruffled the surface.
He knew that the peaceful top was a mirage.
Beneath there were creatures fighting for their scaly, slimy lives who were ever eager to drag the unwary down into the depths with them.
He also knew that there were remnants of a forgotten civilization down there as well.
A small city that was flooded at some point and abandoned.
He had dived only a small portion of it looking for magical treasure and he hadn’t been disappointed. He’d discovered a clever chest that was larger on the inside than the out. Significantly bigger. The inside was as large as a house while the outside was just big enough to let him slip inside.
Just finding histories of the Under Dark itself were priceless.
Tomes and scrolls that were charmed not to be harmed by water or fire remained, shimmering with their magical armor, on rotting shelves, piled beside collapsed beds or stored in desks in ancient schools.
They explained just how vast a time this black plane had existed.
It laid out how countless civilizations had risen–some shining while others bloodsoaked–but all had fallen in the end.
Covered over by water, rock and the dust of ages.
Now that he was free to come and go from the Under Dark again, he would definitely be diving into the city once more to unearth its treasures, magical and otherwise.
I should see if Finley would like to go.
Thinking of Finley had Rhalyf turning to look inside the tower.
The young man was curled in a chair by the fire.
He sat cross legged with the book laid out over his knees while he had a journal and pen, making notes every so often.
A glass of wine and plate with a sandwich sat on a low table to his right.
He had taken one bite from the sandwich despite the fact that it was delicious.
Succulent roast beef had been cut thinly and piled high upon crusty bread smeared with tangy mustard, sharp cheddar, juicy tomatoes and crisp lettuce.
He had been like this once: completely absorbed in his magical studies while ignoring his physical needs for food, sleep and recreation. Ironically, it was his sister that had shown him the error of his ways.
They’d been sparring with magic and swords. At first, he’d been able to hold his own with her. The dust of the sparring circle had puffed up beneath his feet as he moved lightning-quick across the space.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Lightning blast.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Fire wall.
Tap.
Tap–
On his back, Haera’s sword at his throat, breathing coming in short, sharp breaths. She smiled down at him, tilting her head to her side.
“You’ve improved, brother!” She laughed, not taking the point of her deadly blade from his throat.
“You won,” he retorted with more disappointment than he’d meant to let on.
“Of course! I am older and more accomplished and more powerful and more ambitious…” She grinned wickedly down at him to make those “mores” both less cruel, but it didn’t work.
He had been training and tightening his swordplay and magic.
He should have been able to best her. But he had not.
The smile died on her handsome face. She looked thoughtful and maybe a little worried. Or no… “You're tired.”
“I…” That had been true. He’d started out strong, but then breathlessness had overtaken him and he’d had to fuel some of his physical movements with magic. That, of course, had limited the amount of magic he could expend against Haera. “Well, I’ve been–”
“Stuck indoors with your nose in a book!” She laughed and the sword tip was withdrawn from his throat. Her blade was back in its sheath and she walked jauntily around the sparring circle. “Rhalyf, you need strength of mind and body to fight properly.”
“Not to wield magic!” He sat up, dusting himself off. His hair looked gray from all the dark sand. “If we hadn’t been using swords–”
“You still would have lost.” She shook her head. “There is a physical component even to casting and I’m not talking about bloodletting. But you need to be very healthy for that.”
“You would use your own blood?” He muttered as he got to his feet.
“In a pinch, I would,” she answered with a faint smile. “Your feelings on shedding the blood of others is well known to everyone, dear brother, but surely you have no problem doing that?”
“It’s unnecessary if you are careful with your magic weave,” he said.
She lifted an eyebrow. When he said nothing more–cursing himself for saying anything at all–she nodded. “Despite your wasted physique, you did fight well and held your own longer than would have been expected.”
“Thank you.” He gave her a vinegary smile.
“I’m being serious, Rhalyf. You could be truly extraordinary if you would get out of your own way. Truthfully, I shouldn’t be giving you this advice at all.”
“Why? Worried I’ll exceed you?” He laughed bitterly. Both of them knew that wouldn’t happen.
She studied him out of eyes that showed nothing of what she felt. “Mother has done her work well.”
He blinked. What did she mean by that?
“All I’m saying, Rhalyf, is that the mind and soul are both housed in the body. Ignore it at your peril,” she tossed over her shoulder as she walked away.
And she’d been right.
Of course, he had resisted her advice for a time.
But then he thought to prove her wrong. He would eat well, sleep well, exercise and even perhaps go out and enjoy himself a time or two.
To his surprise and chagrin, his magical abilities had grown in leaps and bounds in comparison to his dedicated, obsessive studying.
“What is it, Rhalyf?” Finley asked, breaking him out of his reverie. The young man didn’t look up from the book, continuing to take notes and turn pages.
Sauntering into the warm tower and closing the doors to the balcony behind him, he answered, “I was just thinking of how much you remind me of… me.”
Finley snorted as he scribbled another note. “Imagine that. You thinking about you.”
Rhalyf picked up the pitcher of white wine. The pitcher was spelled to keep it gloriously cold and fresh before refilling his goblet. “Yes, yes, I am a bit narcissistic. But tell me someone who isn’t and I will tell you that person is a liar. I believe I have a healthy regard for myself.”
“You are almost as wonderful as you think you are,” Finley responded, the scratch of his pen on paper accompanying that.
“Almost?” He pursed his lips, but then laughed. “Perhaps you’re right! I can always improve.”
“So you aren’t perfect now?” Finley’s lips twitched into a smile and his eyes did flicker up to Rhalyf.
He was tempted to play up his arrogance for a moment to just keep those eyes on him. “Well, there are levels of perfection, you know.”
Finley laughed and did look at him fully. “And you’re at the bottom or top of those?”
“Guess!” He grinned as he stepped up so that he was directly in front of Finley.
“I don’t think I need to,” Finley responded dryly and his eyes threatened to drop once more to the book.
“Actually, I was thinking of a lesson I learned from my sister of all people. I really do think she was trying to do me a good turn. Strange, but true.” He reached down and placed his fingers underneath the cover of the book.
Finley’s shoulders tensed, but then the young man forced himself to relax.
He clearly was possessive of the book. That was understandable.
It was his one link to human magic. But it was a little worrisome too.
“That one cannot ignore the physical for the mental and spiritual. You need to eat and have a drink.”
Finley blinked a few times. “How long have I been studying?”
“Three hours.”
“Three hours?” Finley blinked again and took off his glasses. He rubbed his eyes, which were distinctly bloodshot. “I didn’t realize.”
“You were absorbed.”
“But you didn’t bother me at all!” Finley protested.
“I’m not–”
“It was three hours and you didn’t–”
“Three hours is long? Ah, yes, of course, it must seem so to you. But to me…” He just shrugged.
“Of course. I keep forgetting you’re an elf.” At his raised eyebrows, Finley amended, “Not that you are an elf, but that you would see the world differently because you are different from me. Which I know. You clearly are. In so many ways.”
“In good ways?”
Finley pinched the top of his nose again. “You know my regard for you. So yes, in good ways.”
He preened. Just a little. And he was surprised by the wash of warmth that went through him to get that compliment from Finley.
“Thank you for letting me have that uninterrupted time. Even if it wasn’t that long for you. For me it was priceless,” Finley said as he carefully made to close the book, but Rhalyf tipped his head towards it.
“May I?” Rhalyf asked. Finley hesitated. More tension in his shoulders. “If you don’t wish me to–”
“No, no, of course, please look at it. I want your–your thoughts,” Finley told him and the young man–firmly–handed the book to Rhalyf before picking up his plate with the sandwich.
Rhalyf gestured towards another high back chair that was resting against the far wall. It levitated across the room before settling right behind him. He sat down, making sure not to take the book out of Finley’s sight, as he examined the outside of the book.
It was old. Very old. But he didn’t recognize the spells that infused its pages that had kept them from crumbling to dust ages ago. The binding was exquisite with thin gold thread. He sniffed the cover.
“Did you just sniff the book?” Finley let out an uncomfortable laugh.
“Trying to recognize the species that provided the leather and blood it was written in,” he explained.