Capricorn42
Well-Known Member
Hi All
This is another wizard story featuring Philias, the ancient wizard who is growing on me, I must admit. I do like the idea of a hero who uses brains rather than brawn to win the day - maybe that's just me. Maybe I've watched too many Agatha Christie murder-mysteries. Anyway, I would love to know what you think of this one.
The two wizards met, as wizards often do, on neutral ground.
The family who owned this house, perched on a sun-baked Mediterranean hillside, slumbered in their bedrooms, oblivious to the time of day and to the strangers who had taken over their kitchen.
Philias and Markan gazed at each other across the kitchen table.
“How did you get here?” Markan asked.
“Taxi. From the village.”
“Hmm.”
“You?”
“I drove.”
“I don’t see a car. I didn’t hear one either.”
Both of them had water and salt before them, neither of them touched either.
“It’s hidden. And protected.”
“Ah. Well, Markan, you don’t need to worry about that. I’m not interested in trapping you.”
Markan smiled sardonically. “Indeed. But why here, Philias? This village has nothing in its bones to attract a man like you. I don’t see you as a tourist. You belong in a dusty library. Or even better, in a glass case in a dusty library.” She sniggered.
“I like the weather here,” Philias said. “It’s good for my health. I admit, today it is hotter than usual. An old man like me needs to be careful, in this heat.”
Now Markan laughed out loud. She sat back and gazed at the old wizard. “You asked me here for a reason and it wasn’t to complain about the heat.”
“No. It was to complain about her.” Philias looked to his right, through the open door, to the young woman soaking up the sun in the yard.
“Elseth? You asked me to bring her.” Markan lent closer. “I assumed you wanted to borrow her.”
“I certainly do not.”
“What is she to you?”
“An abomination.”
The two wizards, on either side of the rough table, stared awhile at each other.
“You haven’t touched the offerings,” Philias said, nodding at the water and the salt. “I put them out in good faith. You owe me the courtesy of tasting them.”
“I will not. I’ll take nothing from you.”
“Your suspicion clouds your judgement.” Philias, with a deliberate movement, took a pinch of salt to his tongue. He washed it down with a sip of water.
“I’m not impressed by this pantomime,” Markan said.
“Perhaps, but now you owe me a favour.”
Markan smiled. “I get it. You do want to borrow Elseth. Abomination or not. You just don’t want to pay for her. You old devil. Fine, I’ll humour your ancient protocols. She’s yours for the next hour, do with her what you will. She’s nothing but parchment and blood to me.”
Philias shook his head. “I don’t want your succubus. I want her gone.”
“You have morals? Please.”
“I know a demon when I see one.” Philias touched the locket at his throat. “Tell me her real name,” he said.
“What? Don’t be ridiculous.” Markan smiled at Philias. “Perhaps the heat has gone to your poor, raddled old head, eh? Perhaps you ought to stagger off and take a nap? You can snuggle up to the peasants who own this hovel, they would probably enjoy that. All of you, all in one bed. Mum, Dad, a wizened old man with a face like a cracked mirror.” She got to her feet. “I’m leaving. I clearly wasted my time coming here. You have a reputation, Philias, for being clever. I assumed you might be hungry as well, but no, instead you just wanted to whine about my succubus. Go search for demons somewhere else, Philias.”
By way of an answer, Philias reached out to the pile of salt before him. “You’re leaving, the salt is untouched. I claim a forfeit. Tell me her real name.” He touched his locket one more time.
Markan stared at him, then flicked her eyes towards Elseth.
“Ah,” Philias said. “I believe her real name is Shamon.”
“No.”
“Your forfeit was a second’s glance into your mind. Thank you.”
Both wizards turned towards the door as a thin and creaking wail split the air.
Markan started towards Philias, her face red with rage. “You lied to me!”
“I did not.”
Markan hesitated, despite her rage. “I could cut you down,” she snarled.
“Like the way you used that thing to cut down foolish men? No, Markan. You won’t touch me because I’m too old to be worth the effort.”
“Is that so.”
They stared into each other’s eyes. Philias put out a finger towards his locket.
“Too old, you say.” Markan drew back. “Not too old, I hope, to peer over your shoulder for the rest of your miserable life.” She turned and left the house.
The wailing continued for a minute before finally fading. A faint scent of burning flesh drifted into the house.
Philias sat back and closed his eyes, touched the locket once more and the scent was gone. Sweat ran down his face.
A few minutes later the mother of the house found him there, at her kitchen table. She was sleepy and bewildered but she remembered her manners. The old man, who said he was travelling and had stopped to ask for a moment away from the heat, took some water gratefully before asking if, perhaps, he might telephone for a taxi back to the village.
The End
This is another wizard story featuring Philias, the ancient wizard who is growing on me, I must admit. I do like the idea of a hero who uses brains rather than brawn to win the day - maybe that's just me. Maybe I've watched too many Agatha Christie murder-mysteries. Anyway, I would love to know what you think of this one.
Philias and Markan
The two wizards met, as wizards often do, on neutral ground.
The family who owned this house, perched on a sun-baked Mediterranean hillside, slumbered in their bedrooms, oblivious to the time of day and to the strangers who had taken over their kitchen.
Philias and Markan gazed at each other across the kitchen table.
“How did you get here?” Markan asked.
“Taxi. From the village.”
“Hmm.”
“You?”
“I drove.”
“I don’t see a car. I didn’t hear one either.”
Both of them had water and salt before them, neither of them touched either.
“It’s hidden. And protected.”
“Ah. Well, Markan, you don’t need to worry about that. I’m not interested in trapping you.”
Markan smiled sardonically. “Indeed. But why here, Philias? This village has nothing in its bones to attract a man like you. I don’t see you as a tourist. You belong in a dusty library. Or even better, in a glass case in a dusty library.” She sniggered.
“I like the weather here,” Philias said. “It’s good for my health. I admit, today it is hotter than usual. An old man like me needs to be careful, in this heat.”
Now Markan laughed out loud. She sat back and gazed at the old wizard. “You asked me here for a reason and it wasn’t to complain about the heat.”
“No. It was to complain about her.” Philias looked to his right, through the open door, to the young woman soaking up the sun in the yard.
“Elseth? You asked me to bring her.” Markan lent closer. “I assumed you wanted to borrow her.”
“I certainly do not.”
“What is she to you?”
“An abomination.”
The two wizards, on either side of the rough table, stared awhile at each other.
“You haven’t touched the offerings,” Philias said, nodding at the water and the salt. “I put them out in good faith. You owe me the courtesy of tasting them.”
“I will not. I’ll take nothing from you.”
“Your suspicion clouds your judgement.” Philias, with a deliberate movement, took a pinch of salt to his tongue. He washed it down with a sip of water.
“I’m not impressed by this pantomime,” Markan said.
“Perhaps, but now you owe me a favour.”
Markan smiled. “I get it. You do want to borrow Elseth. Abomination or not. You just don’t want to pay for her. You old devil. Fine, I’ll humour your ancient protocols. She’s yours for the next hour, do with her what you will. She’s nothing but parchment and blood to me.”
Philias shook his head. “I don’t want your succubus. I want her gone.”
“You have morals? Please.”
“I know a demon when I see one.” Philias touched the locket at his throat. “Tell me her real name,” he said.
“What? Don’t be ridiculous.” Markan smiled at Philias. “Perhaps the heat has gone to your poor, raddled old head, eh? Perhaps you ought to stagger off and take a nap? You can snuggle up to the peasants who own this hovel, they would probably enjoy that. All of you, all in one bed. Mum, Dad, a wizened old man with a face like a cracked mirror.” She got to her feet. “I’m leaving. I clearly wasted my time coming here. You have a reputation, Philias, for being clever. I assumed you might be hungry as well, but no, instead you just wanted to whine about my succubus. Go search for demons somewhere else, Philias.”
By way of an answer, Philias reached out to the pile of salt before him. “You’re leaving, the salt is untouched. I claim a forfeit. Tell me her real name.” He touched his locket one more time.
Markan stared at him, then flicked her eyes towards Elseth.
“Ah,” Philias said. “I believe her real name is Shamon.”
“No.”
“Your forfeit was a second’s glance into your mind. Thank you.”
Both wizards turned towards the door as a thin and creaking wail split the air.
Markan started towards Philias, her face red with rage. “You lied to me!”
“I did not.”
Markan hesitated, despite her rage. “I could cut you down,” she snarled.
“Like the way you used that thing to cut down foolish men? No, Markan. You won’t touch me because I’m too old to be worth the effort.”
“Is that so.”
They stared into each other’s eyes. Philias put out a finger towards his locket.
“Too old, you say.” Markan drew back. “Not too old, I hope, to peer over your shoulder for the rest of your miserable life.” She turned and left the house.
The wailing continued for a minute before finally fading. A faint scent of burning flesh drifted into the house.
Philias sat back and closed his eyes, touched the locket once more and the scent was gone. Sweat ran down his face.
A few minutes later the mother of the house found him there, at her kitchen table. She was sleepy and bewildered but she remembered her manners. The old man, who said he was travelling and had stopped to ask for a moment away from the heat, took some water gratefully before asking if, perhaps, he might telephone for a taxi back to the village.
The End
