Chapter 5 Caelum Six Years Old #2
The fox writhed closer until she was nearly in his lap and Caelum fell onto his knees, still stroking her soft fur.
She extinguished her tail entirely then, and crawled right up into his arms so that Caelum could cradle her against his chest. The fur of the tail was still hot, but it hadn’t burned him yet, not once in any of the times he’d visited her here.
Usually, he didn’t have so much time here.
Usually, he had to run back before he could properly cuddle her.
He smiled now as she sniffed all over his face and neck and arms and shoulders and down to his pockets, looking for more presents.
After the creature started whining again, he pulled out the piece of meat he’d stolen from the kitchen.
Unwrapping it carefully, he fed it to the little thing, which immediately began making happy yipping and yelping noises again.
Then her sharp, white teeth got a grip on his gold ring and Caelum drew his hand away sharply. He waggled his finger at her nose.
“No, no,” he scolded. “You can’t have that.”
The creature complained it its meeping and muttering voice, but went back to snuggling against Caelum’s chest. She rolled onto her back, this time in his arms, and Caelum stroked her velvety soft fur and rubbed her round tummy some more.
She waved her little paws around, wagging her bushy, warm tail, and Caelum grinned.
One of his father’s drakai told him about the firefox burrows.
Of course, the drakai didn’t speak English very well, so it really called them something else, something that sounded like tulikko in their thickly-accented tongue.
It said they lived by the river so they could fight with one another on the river rocks without setting the forest on fire.
He also said Caelum should bring them “something shiny” to make friends.
According to the drakai in question, a young male named Uric, the nest existed out there for centuries, like a magical rabbit warren under and around the dead English oak.
Caelum had named this one Cwn Annwn, after the Welsh hellhounds he was also particularly fond of, but he called her “Gwen” or “Gwenny.”
They were friends.
Gwen was the only fox who ever came out to look at him, and that was only after some coaxing.
It wasn’t until the third day of trying that the firefox summoned enough bravery to emerge all the way out of her hole to look at the gold letter opener and piece of beef pie Caelum had brought to tempt it.
He’d almost resorted to using magic to force one of them to come out, but then he first saw the tip of her black nose and waited.
The next day, he also saw her alert black ears, and glowing red eyes.
The third day, she’d come out to take the letter opener from his fingers.
Caelum had been pleased.
He hadn’t wanted to use magic. He’d wanted it to be his friend.
The young firefox came out faster the time after that, and faster still the next.
Now all it took was a whistle. Sometimes Caelum brought presents, sometimes he couldn’t find anything he thought the fox might like, nothing that wouldn’t be missed, and he just brought her something to eat.
Now the fox came out whether he had a present or didn’t, or even if he forgot food.
Caelum decided that made them friends.
The thought gave him a funny, warm feeling in his belly.
It also worried him.
He wasn’t supposed to have friends. His father was very clear about that.
When his mother had people over for tea and cake, or his parents threw one of their lavish parties, Caelum wasn’t allowed to go.
He wasn’t allowed to be seen by anyone who came to the castle.
On those rare occasions when his parents’ friends brought their young witches and mages to the Black Tower, the rules were even meaner.
He got sent to his room and locked in, with strict orders not to use magic, not to make a sound, and absolutely not to break out, either by the windows or door, or he’d face punishments worse than any he could imagine.
Even with those dire warnings from Rolf and his father, he’d managed to sneak out one time, just to look.
His father found out, of course. The next time they had guests, he locked Caelum in the dungeon under the family crypt.
Caelum wished he’d brought more gifts for Gwenny, with his father gone so long. He wanted to give his friend another shiny thing.
A button. A key.
A coin.
He considered calling the drakai, Uric, and asking if he could bring a spare spoon or something else Gwenny might like, something of a particularly shiny gold his father wouldn’t miss.
He hummed and thought, then decided against it.
His father always seemed to know where his servants were, including the drakai.
He always seemed to know what they’d been up to.
He snuggled the creature a while longer.
He eventually got worried about the time, the mud on his clothes, his father’s unpredictability, the spell he’d put on Rolf, and decided to go back.
He kissed the little creature on its wet, black nose, and it whined and chattered at him.
Caelum put it down.
He watched it trot back to its hole. Its tail rippled with blue-green flames before it reached the entrance, and Caelum grinned.
Then he turned around and dashed back towards the gardens, and the rear gates of the Black Tower’s grounds.
“Come here.”
Caelum felt his whole body tense. His muscles knotted, seeming to lock in place under his nearly translucent skin. Within seconds, his whole body hurt. His arms, back, and shoulders. His neck. His face. He could feel it, a whisper of magic crackling in the air.
Something dense. Foreboding.
His father’s expression didn’t move.
Caelum couldn’t wait. He knew he didn’t have long before he’d pay for his hesitation. He stood up from where he’d been sitting cross-legged on the floor.
“What did you do today?” his father asked.
Caelum didn’t look up.
His father didn’t like it when he met his eyes. Do not stare at me insolently, like we’re equals. Lower your eyes, before I remove one of them––
“Manipulation spells,” he blurted. “Some scrying. With the crystal in the library.”
“How long?”
“T-two. Two hours?” Caelum guessed.
“You’re sure of that?”
Caelum frowned, staring at the flagstones. “I think so.”
“What next?”
“Spells… I mean, shielding spells. Defensive shields,” he corrected, knowing his father didn’t like imprecision. “I tried to create the mirrored kind.”
“How long?”
“Three hours.”
“You are quite sure?” his father asked.
Caelum felt his heart pound harder in his chest. His fingers compulsively pulled and tugged and twisted in the fabric of his jumper behind his back. His father noticed.
The cane came down, hard, on his fingers.
It happened so fast, Caelum sucked in a breath.
It took another second before the pain seared through his hands.
One of his fingers no longer worked right.
Something was wrong with it.
“Don’t fidget, Caelum,” his father warned.
There was a hum in his words, something akin to pleasure. Humor, even.
Caelum knew his face was turning red. He knew his breath was hitching. He swallowed down the scream that wanted to leave his lips, choking on it. He knew his eyes were too wet. He knew if he made a sound, this would go much, much worse very quickly.
“Answer the question,” his father commanded.
“Y-yes.” Caelum forced out the word. “I’m sure.”
“Interesting.”
His father slapped the gold Anubis head at the end of his cane lightly on a gloved hand.
“Do you know why I find that interesting, Caelum?”
Caelum didn’t move.
He knew better than to answer.
“Hmm. Well.” His father took a step back, as if to survey the entirety of his son.
His voice now sounded bored, indifferent.
“If you don’t know why I find that interesting, then I really think you should come with me to the gardens.
There’s something I would like to show you. I believe it will be instructive.”
Caelum blinked, confused.
He fought to keep it off his face.
At least one of his fingers was definitely not working right. A sharp piece of it stuck out, the angle wrong, and it hurt so badly he didn’t want to look at it, or touch it. He gripped his wrist tightly in his other hand. He tried to ignore the wet feeling running down his forearm.
“Outside,” his father said, his voice harder. “Now, you ungrateful suckling. And don’t snivel. Or I’ll break more than a few digits.”
Caelum turned his head to find his father standing by the glass doors.
He trotted faster, moving silently, still clutching his wrist in his good fingers, wincing and hissing softly as his steps jostled his hurt hand.
He followed his father all the way out to the small lawn where his mother had a wrought iron table and chairs positioned under a striped awning, then out further, past the roses and snapdragons, then out further still to the greenhouse filled with orchids.
His father twisted him to the left, instead of out to the meadow.
He led Caelum past the clearing with the precisely-lined labyrinth made of black and white crystals, interspersed with amethyst and emerald.
Caelum had been fascinated by the labyrinth for as long as he could remember.
It looked like magic, felt like magic, but Caelum didn’t understand how it worked.
His father made him walk it sometimes, over and over, training him to keep his mind blank.
He explained it as a method of improving Caelum’s concentration, which would help him with the seeing arts, and, more importantly, with his ability to control his magic.
Caelum had no idea if it worked.
Today, his father didn’t stop him at the labyrinth.
He kept walking.
He took Caelum to the very center of the gardens, where a tall fountain stood, made of white marble and surrounded by a thin bed of lavender.
A flock of dragons took up the stone centerpiece, their wings spread, half of them spouting flames.
The statue and fountain had been charmed so that the wings and the mouths appeared to burst out with green flames at night, lighting the centerpiece and illuminating the clearing between the high hedgerows.
Even now, in late afternoon, Caelum could see shimmers of red and orange in the leathery stone wings and between their gaping maws. Their sharp teeth glowed bright even under the sunlight. But he could only look up at the fountain, confused.
His father never took him out here.
This was where he brought guests.
Adults.
His father tapped the bottom of his cane sharply against the stone.
“Other side, Caelum. Pay attention.”
Caelum obeyed. He walked around the fountain to join his father behind another dense hedge in another clearing just behind the central one.
He walked around the tall hedgerow––
He came to a dead stop. He smelled it, before all else.
He saw the drakai first.
The young male, Uric, had been pinned to a board by the head, an arrow through the center of one eye.
Caelum stared at the creature, shocked by its pale, white body and drooping, leathery, batlike wings.
He’d never seen a drakai without its flames.
It looked unbearably small, like a skinned squirrel with a human head.
It was unquestionably dead.
One of his father’s goblins, Mikkus, stood next to the board, holding a long knife.
The goblin glanced up, but wouldn’t quite meet Caelum’s gaze.
Behind him, maybe fifteen feet back, Rolf leaned on a stone statue of a wood nymph. He was smoking, his black eyes staring at Caelum with venom.
Between the goblin and Rolf with his hawk-like face, there lay a pile of dead bodies.
Some were skinless, some not; each roughly the size of a small dog, or a large house cat.
They weren’t all the same size, though, Caelum realized as his eyes roved in horror over the sections of lawn.
Some were larger, some closer to the size of a ferret, or a kitten.
Some were leaner, some plumper. Some had skinned, ratlike tails, while others still had the full plume of their thick, deep-black brushes.
Some still had fur on their longish legs and dog-like paws.
Some looked vacant, lifeless, others like they’d been caught in some silent scream.
Mikkus was skinning them, one by one.
One by one, he stretched the skins out to dry.
He pegged each one to the long board where Uric was hung.
“I thought I might make a blanket,” Caelum’s father remarked. “Would you like that, Caelum? Given you’re so fond of rubbing your hands all over the dirty things.”
Caelum felt light-headed.
The pain in his hand was forgotten.
He felt like some part of him disconnected from the rest, like a balloon.
“You are the only hope of Magical civilization,” his father enunciated coldly.
“You were born for a single purpose, Caelum… a most glorious and incomparable purpose… one weaker mages would have killed you for, had I not intervened. Yet you continue to show me nothing but ingratitude. To ignore even the most basic lessons I try to teach you. You thwart me. Disobey me. Outright refuse your responsibility. For what?” His cold, silver eyes settled on Caelum’s face.
“To wallow in the mud and filth with lesser creatures?”
Caelum barely heard him.
His eyes had found something else.
On a low table near the row of stretched skins, a pile of items glinted in the afternoon sun.
Mostly small, mostly gold-colored metallic objects had been collected there: shiny coins and buttons, thimbles, figurines, gold-painted stone, bolts, rings, a bent fork and knife, small pieces of gilded stone and plaster, gold bracelets, gold keys, a gold pendant and chain.
Caelum’s eyes fell on one object in particular.
A scratched gold pocket watch with an etched hummingbird on the case.
He threw up.
It came up so fast, he had no hope of stopping it.
His father’s cane tapped warningly on the marble, but Caelum couldn’t stop.
His stomach lurched.
He threw up again.
And again.
He could barely breathe by the time he’d finished.
Then, the punishment began for real.