Atzar Being a Stick in the Mud, Episode 352

[Atzar]

Closed.


“Tell me, boy,” the archmage Levis addressed Atzar. “What is it that you covet? If I asked you to name your most prized possession, what would it be?”

The prospective apprentice shrugged. “Happiness.” His quick answer prompted a dismissive snort.

“Your answer lacks depth, boy. I’m not impressed by your attempt to tell me what you think I wish to hear. Try again, and put thought into it this time.”

Quelling the momentary urge to retort, the young mage did as bidden. His most prized possession. “My magic,” he replied after a moment. He said it with hesitance. While a more thoughtful answer than his first, it admittedly felt a bit obvious.

“Better,” the elder man acknowledged. “Your magic is indeed important, a cornerstone of who you are. But one cornerstone may be replaced with another, yet the house built upon it would look the same. Think. What is it you wish to gain with your talent? What gives you your happiness?”


Atzar hadn’t known how to respond at the time, and that fact troubled him. It took failure and rejection to reveal the simple answer: pride. And Levis had taken it from him. Only once he felt the void of its absence did he appreciate its value.

Now he sought to retrieve it. He strode with purpose up the wide, clean boulevard of one of Radasanth’s nicer districts. Here lived an interesting dichotomy, an amalgam of those who achieved great success at their pursuits and those who were simply lucky enough to be borne in the correct womb. The former were some of the most important people in Radasanth; the latter, some of the most useless.

He surmised that he could even spot the differences between the two as he walked. The lucky ones looked down their noses at him. How dare he infest their rightful sector of the city? The successful simply ignored him entirely. Atzar wasn’t sure which was worse. Both merely served to remind him of the sense of self-worth he had lost.

A left turn. This street was narrower than the boulevard he had just left, though still as clean – or cleaner, if one took the relative lack of worthless bluebloods into account. A large structure loomed on the right, its facade built of grey stone. He knew its owner by reputation: Bleddyn, a renowned scholar and, more importantly, an accomplished wizard. In him Atzar saw a potential recourse for his previous failures. Levis had spurned him, but perhaps this man could be convinced to intervene on his behalf. The young mage would do whatever it took.

As he drew closer, he could make out the building’s name, chiseled neatly into the rock. Althanaeum. Atzar paused for only a moment. The importance of this meeting was not lost on him. He could not make a mess of this.

Grasping firmly the reins of his motivation, he steeled his nerves, approached the great wooden door and knocked.

[Resolve]

"What kind of wussy knock was that?" a voice piped up from behind him. A girl about his age hopped up the stoop two steps at a time until she met him at the landing, the intense turquoise of her dramatic scarf bright against her dark Fallieni skin. Her peculiarly pale eyes, blue and clear, teased him almost as much as her words. "But it doesn't matter, they never hear the door anyway. Come on," she said, pulling open the heavy wooden door and ushering him into the Althanaeum.

A chilly draft greeted them, the embrace of the gray stone edifice much cooler than the sunny street. They entered a long entry hall, some stairs secreted away toward the back, with tall archways leading to the main library. If the place ever bothered to hire an interior decorator, it might have been grand –– majestic, even. But, stark and gloomy as it was, the shadowy place nearly felt like a dungeon.

"So, what's your name?" the girl grinned, pearly teeth and oversized earrings sparkling white in the dim light.

"Atzar," he answered tentatively. "Atzar Kellon. This is Bleddyn's library, right?"

She nodded. "Nice to meet you, Atzar, I'm Resolve. Hang on." The girl jogged down the hall toward the library, several silver anklets of tiny bells jingling in her wake, and then she started yelling. "Luned! There's someone here to see the old guy!" Her voice resounded sharp inside the echoing space, causing the boy to flinch. "Luned!" She peered around the entrance of the library room, shrugged, and made a sprint for the stairs. "I'll find her, just hold on!"

A bit shellshocked, Atzar waited in the hall as bid, crossing his arms as he looked around. It was only then that he realized the lighting wasn't sourced from windows, but rather tiny orbs which floated in the rafters and offered a meager glow over the vast space. A brow quirked as he considered what other magical conveniences such a legendary establishment boasted. Half-functioning taps, perhaps?

"Hello?" a second, similarly feminine voice interrupted him, and he looked back down to see another girl step into the hall from a side passage. Older by several years, such might have earned her some air of authority, but her mussed braids and sepia-stained freckles spoke otherwise. She wiped inky hands on the skirt of her gray-blue uniform, only making the mess worse. "I'm Luned, Bleddyn's apprentice. Can I help you with something?"

[Atzar]

It wasn’t often that the young mage found himself speechless. Resolve swept him into the shadowy interior like a whirlwind, poking fun with one breath and shouting at somebody else with the next. So much for reproving glares and reproachful hisses of “Quiet! This is a library!”

“I’m Atzar.” He found his voice when Luned approached, fingertips brushing his dark hair behind his ears. “I’m here to speak to Bleddyn. Is he here?” He tugged the collar of his white linen shirt away from his neck. The relative finery felt foreign and awkward to him, but he had thought it wise to make a good first impression.

“Sure. What sort of business do you have?” If this messy girl was any indication, then perhaps white had been a poor choice of attire. He glanced down at his clothes, a bit dismayed. The shirt and dark gray trousers hadn’t been cheap. He didn’t care for the prospect of ruining them.

“I’m looking for work,” he answered. “I practice magic, and I know of Bleddyn’s reputation. I think we can help each other.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “Alright. Well, let’s see if he’s free.” She walked away, and Atzar followed a little uncertainly.

Luned led him through a library, the air filled with the unmistakable scent of paper. Shelves reached to the ceiling, stacked neatly with not only books but also all manner of other trinkets, gadgets and doodads. Atzar could have spent a decade in this room, and the next day still would have uncovered yet new mysteries. Spectral lights ghosted in the rafters, casting eerie shadows that shifted as the glowing orbs swayed.

“This is impressive,” Atzar offered, hoping to coax conversation out of his reticent guide.

“Yeah.”

At the other side of the room they walked beneath an arched entrance and into the vaulted hall beyond. A row of wooden doors stood in their frames, silent sentinels to the wonders lying within.

“So what kind of man is Bleddyn?” he tried again. “I only know what I’ve heard from the stories.”

"Boundlessly intelligent, though a bit, erm... well, it can take some time to warm up to him,” she answered. “He has a unique sense of humor."

“Unique?” the mage pressed.

“You’ll see.”

At the end of the hall, Luned knocked on the door. When no answer came, she tugged it open anyway and beckoned him inside.

This room stood in stark contrast to the main chamber. While the other room was meticulously sectioned and organized, this one would have given a fastidious individual a heart attack. Books, scrolls, and papers jumbled in piles on nearly every available surface. Assorted songbirds whistled their cacophonic medley from the sills of great windows, the afternoon sun playing across their forms, illuminating their varied colors. An ancient man sat in his chair facing the small creatures, offering a small handful of seeds to each of them in turn.

“Bleddyn.” The girl’s voice cut through the wall of tweets. A bird flitted away at the sound of her voice, only to return in a different place on the sill. “A visitor.”

With significant effort, the old man turned and regarded them with milky eyes. He looked as Atzar thought an elderly wizard should, with long, snow-white beard and flowing robe. He should have picked a more striking color, though. The gray-blue thematic among the residents here looked a bit too plain and modest.

“This is Atzar,” Luned said to the elder wizard. “Atzar, Bleddyn.”

“Ah,” Bleddyn responded. “And what is it that you want, boy?” Boy. Levis had called Atzar that as well. He’d have been fine if he never heard that form of address again.

“Work.” The young mage took a step forward. “I practice magic. Perhaps I can be of use to you.”

Bleddyn regarded him pensively for a moment. “I see,” he said finally. “And what would you ask in return?”

Atzar hesitated a bit. Knowledge and money were all well and good, but his true desire was to find somebody influential enough to intervene with Levis on his behalf. But was it okay to overtly state such? “Whatever you see fit.” He chose the safe route. “I’ll work for money, and I’d also love to study here, if you’ll allow it.” He matched the elder man’s gaze, his proposal hanging in the balance.

[Luned]

The old man laughed, much to Atzar's dismay, full bellied and all. It disturbed some of the birds from their perch, flickers of gold and blue flitting away in a scatter of seeds toward the warmth of the sun. "Well," he began with a wheeze, "to be truthful, I'm not sure what work there is available. Tell me, what skills do you have? How many languages do you know?"

The boy suppressed a frown. "One," he admitted. "Just Tradespeak."

"When Luned interviewed for apprenticeship, she knew both modern and ancient Raiaeran and had begun practicing conversational Aleran," Bleddyn said. "She had researched my background and presented me with a draft of an agreement. Knowing I began my career as a simple scribe, she put her heart and soul into the craft of the document. I couldn't have possibly said no, even if she wasn't a natural talent."

The girl flushed, still standing in the doorway with her hands clasped primly behind her back. She stared at the floor, fully enveloped in the awkwardness intended for the aspiring mage in question.

Atzar sought the right words to justify himself and failed to find them. Fortunately for him, his sheepishness pleased the old man.

"But you are still young, so we can call this a learning experience. How old are you, Atzar?"

"Seventeen," the boy replied readily, glad for an easy question.

Bleddyn nodded, fingers steepled over his cluttered desk. The long sleeve of his robe trailed in the crumb-filled plate which had held his breakfast toast. "Ah, same as our little Resolve. Now, Luned," he looked to his apprentice, "you said your helper has had some trouble keeping up with organization and cleaning in the stacks. What do you say we give this young man a trial period so you may concentrate better on your real work?"

Luned nodded with a tentative smile, glancing between them. "That would be very helpful, yes," she agreed.

"Two weeks," the ancient scribe offered Atzar. "You are welcome to room and board if you require it, and at the end of the trial, we shall discuss appropriate compensation for your contributions. At that point, we may reevaluate your role here according to how well-suited you have proved yourself to be for this establishment. Does that sound fair to you?"

[Atzar]

There was only one choice for Atzar. “Yes, sir,” he answered immediately. Did he want to spend all of his time organizing dusty old books? Of course not. But if it afforded him the opportunity to study in Bleddyn’s library – or better yet, if it set him back on the path to an apprenticeship with Levis – then he was willing to make that sacrifice.

The mage spent the rest of the afternoon tagging along behind Luned as she briefed him on their classification system and showed him his responsibilities. He was to return misplaced books, keep an eye open for out-of-order items and make sure everything stayed clean and dusted. Grunt work, really, but he’d expected as much.

That evening Luned and the human twister known as Resolve invited him to dine with them. Their arrangement was charming in its simplicity, a small table in the kitchen just barely big enough to sit the trio comfortably. Cabinets and countertops lined the room’s perimeter, and the stove was built into a pleasant, warm fireplace. A big nearby window looked into a spacious courtyard.

Delicious aromas wafted from the stove and set the mage’s mouth to watering, concocted by the flighty Fallien lass of all people. Luned had stepped out for a moment to carry Bleddyn his dinner on a tray, and Atzar gazed with a certain amount of longing into the savory vegetable stew while they waited for her to return.

“Smells good,” he noted, arching an eyebrow at Resolve.

“I know, right?” She flashed him her bright smile. “So, where are you from, anyway?”

“Radasanth.” He shrugged. “Are you apprenticed to Bleddyn too?”

“No, I just like it here,” she replied. She leaned forward, clasping her hands underneath her chin, light blue eyes staring into his. “I heard you talk about magic. What kind of stuff do you do?”

Atzar grinned. Two of his favorite subjects: himself, and his craft. “Elemental magic. Mainly fire and ice, though I can do it all when I need to. I’ve worked at it for most of my life.”

“Show me something!” Resolve returned his smile. Luned returned then, and the bubbly dark-skinned girl beckoned her over. “Luned, come here! Atzar’s going to do magic.”

The mage looked at the girl from Fallien, choosing to ignore the warning look that Luned shot her. Resolve was pretty, in an exotic way. Her choice in attire highlighted her dark skin and hair, and her eyes shone light blue like twin rings of ice. Actually… that gave Atzar an idea.

It took but a few seconds to create a necklace of ice on the girl. The chilly chain rested on the nape of her neck, supporting a modest pendant at her collarbone. The mage sat beaming at his work while Resolve giggled and stood to see her reflection in the nearby window. Luned quietly quirked an eyebrow and took her seat at the table, addressing her stew with spoon in hand.

“It will melt, unfortunately,” Atzar explained apologetically. “I haven’t perfected that particular trick just yet. I’ll get it, though.”

Resolve grinned, toying with the pendant and still looking at her reflection. “What else can you do with it? Like, I saw this guy throw balls of ice once. Broke the other guy’s face, and there was blood everywhere! Can you do that?”

The response wasn’t quite what Atzar had expected. “Well… yeah, I can do that,” he stumbled. She hadn't responded with the glowing admiration he had hoped for, but nevertheless Resolve seemed entertained. The mage took what he could get.

Luned looked up briefly from her dinner with a roll of her eyes. ”Kids.”

[Resolve]

Small talk filled the remainder of their little dinner party. The girls had many questions for Atzar, giving him a welcome opportunity to talk about himself at length, and then he turned the inquiry back on them, prying about the mysterious old man. The sun had just begun to set as they finished eating, the vibrance of the courtyard outside fading to a more modest shade of green as the world slowed in anticipation of sleepy twilight.

"Do you all live here?" Atzar asked, looking between his new colleagues.

"Bleddyn and I do," Luned said, posture weary as she leaned against the back of her chair. Her hands rested clasped at her waist as if in effort to contain her full stomach. "Resolve usually stays a few times a week. We like the company, and goodness knows we'd starve otherwise."

The cook in question grinned, leaning forward with her elbows propped on the table. "So, are you staying with us, then?"

"Seems wise," he shrugged coolly. "I hope to make the most of my stay and utilize the library's resources when I'm not working."

"You sound like Lune." Resolve's nose crinkled.

In spite of her younger friend's dismay for studiousness, this pleased the scribe-in-training. "I think you'll get on well here," she said with a little smile. "Now might be a good time to show you around upstairs, but what of your belongings?"

"Ah, yes," Atzar nodded, smoothing a crease in his shirt. "I left my things at an inn nearby, I can go fetch them now. It's not far, shouldn't take long."

"Sounds like a plan," Luned agreed, finally dragging herself from her seat. "That should give us time to clean up and figure out where to put you."

[Resolve]

When Atzar left, the young ladies cleared the mess, an efficient process with Resolve's inhuman enthusiasm for housekeeping. With dishes air drying and coals going cold, they made their way up the gray stone stairwell and into the living area to make space for the newest addition to their motley little family.

The second floor was surprisingly cozy, touched by homeyness which the professional space of the establishment sorely lacked. Sparse tapestries coaxed some semblance of warmth, more of the same curious lights dotting the heavy wooden rafters. It consisted of a hallway which stretched along the length of the kitchen and archives below, several doors on either side. Behind one open portal sat a comfortable parlor of sorts, plush couches and wingback chairs in burgundy upholstery encircled around a fireplace. A private selection of books lined the shelves, which encompassed nearly every inch of wall space. Behind others were guest rooms, washrooms, and spare studies, most dusty and cluttered with storage. At the very end lived Luned's room, its large windows open to the courtyards and a view of rooftops which stretched out toward the river, and next to that, a little spot Resolve had carved out for herself.

They chose Atzar a room next to the parlor, giving them all plenty of breathing space. As they cleared some cobwebs and dressed the bed, Luned expressed some concerns.

"I'm not sure what Bleddyn was thinking," she said, tucking in the corner of the quilt. "He didn't ask for a reference or anything. Doesn't that strike you as odd?"

Resolve shrugged, drawing aside the curtains and opening the windows for some air. Early summer in Radasanth was a blissful thing, warm in the day and cool at night with plenty of rain to keep humidity at bay. She thought she could smell the rainclouds collecting on the horizon. "He knows what he's doing. Besides, he's cute."

"Yes, with his dashing, overgrown beard and dazzling, cataract-riddled eyes," Luned teased with an eye roll as she fluffed a pillow, then sighed. "Of course I trust his judgment, but there's something a bit strange about the whole situation. And I do not want to catch either of you skulking about," she said, eyes narrowed as she jabbed an accusatory finger in the younger girl's direction. "Dinner was awkward enough, I don't want any mischief going on under this roof. Got it?"

The other girl shrugged innocently with a little smirk. "I'll be on my best behavior," she promised.

Scouring the room with an appraising look, Luned nodded, deeming it ready. Resolve followed her out into the hall, where the little scribe hesitated and offered her a tentative glance over her shoulder. She spoke quietly, nearly in a whisper. "Rosie's explained… er… things to you, right?"

Resolve's jaw dropped at the mention of the prostitute. "Luned! I can't believe you just said that," she said, doubling over with laughter. "Oh gods," she wheezed, bracing herself against the doorframe. "Can't breathe!"

"Shhh, I'm serious!" Luned frowned as she crossed her arms defensively, an intense red blossoming in her pale cheeks. Her attempt to shush the boisterous girl was to no avail, her embarrassment only worsening her reaction. "Resolve!"

Somewhere between the teen's gasps as she struggled to breathe between wholehearted bouts of laughter, someone cleared his throat, and they both looked peered down the hall to see Atzar standing at the top of the stairs with his luggage. "Sorry, did I interrupt something?"

Luned's blush deepened until it was nigh violet, and Resolve cut over her stammering with a more articulate response. "No, no, it's fine," she said, still catching her breath as she wiped tears from her eyes. "We just finished putting your room together. Here," she stepped aside, presenting the doorway. "Welcome home."

Neither of the girls were sure how much of their conversation he'd heard, but he gave them an odd glance as he brushed past with his things. Resolve's mirth proved uncontainable after that, and Luned dragged her away to their rooms in a meager effort to let Atzar settle into his new home.

[Atzar]

The next several days brought the onset of normalcy as Atzar settled into life at the library.

Resolve came and went, so the task of maintaining organization and cleanliness largely fell to the young mage alone. Even so, he quickly got the hang of his new job. The unfiled stacks dwindled and disappeared, and a number of misfiles were restored to their homes. He helped guests find and return books as necessary, but visitors’ hours were short and consumed little of his time. After the second day, Atzar got plenty of practice at appearing productive while not actually doing anything.

He began sneaking in reading time during working hours. At first he did so surreptitiously, standing in front of a shelf with an open book, ready to hastily file it should anybody intrude. Then he grew bolder, encouraged by the fact that Luned was content to leave him to his tasks and Bleddyn never ventured out from behind the closed door of his personal study at all.

On the fourth day, the afternoon visitors had come and gone and the mage had nothing to do. He sat at a small wooden table in a nice, secluded corner of the library, an open book on the Eternal Tap in front of him. But Atzar was restless. The book didn’t do it for him, probably because he’d read similar things about a dozen times. He sat up in his chair, pondering his next move.

It occurred to him that he could earn approval if he sought out Bleddyn or Luned to ask for more work. It could garner him a stronger referral from the old man later on, or perhaps even an offer of a permanent position. But their sedentary lifestyle would drive him nuts, he knew. Atzar wasn’t the type to be content living vicariously through the eyes of others; he had to see everything himself. Even now he yearned to be out doing something. Books were precious, but they could not replace the real world.

And he did know of one alluring alternative to that option.

After a brief detour to return his book, the mage made a beeline for one of the archives jutting off of the main chamber. Their closed portals implied their forbiddance, but he had never been explicitly commanded to stay out. Besides, it wasn’t like anybody would be along to check on him anyway. A brass placard hung on the door, advising of the contents within. Regional Archive: Raiaera. Atzar found elves to be intolerably superior, but he couldn’t deny their magical gifts. If the library housed any magical wonders, then there was a decent chance he would find them behind that door. Anxious fingers tested the handle, found it unlocked, and opened it. After a furtive glance to make sure nobody was watching, he entered.

Inky darkness engulfed him as he closed the door behind him, but a small blaze began its energetic dance at the end of his right index finger. Magic, after all, could do more than charm pretty girls. Or ‘break the other guy’s face,’ as Resolve had put it.

The shelves in this room stored only books, and a quick perusal of the rows left Atzar disappointed. Xem-Zund this, Xem-Zund that. The devilish necromancer’s moniker appeared everywhere. The mage had no interest in necromancy. He was looking for branches of magic that wouldn’t get him stoned out of any civilized town in the world. Unfortunately, a quick scan revealed no such treasures in this small chamber. However, there did exist another door in the back of the room. Private, it read.

Like a fly to sugar he moved toward the door. He just wanted a peek. Wouldn’t even touch anything. The lock briefly resisted his entry, but such simple metal contraptions presented no insurmountable barrier to a wizard of Atzar’s abilities. The device clicked open and, with a final look behind him, he crept inside.

[Resolve]

Resolve hadn't much control over her mysterious Ahketamikan abilities yet, an anomaly which her mentors attempted to handle in their own scholarly way, but there was one thing she knew about herself for certain: no one ever snuck around in her presence and got away with it.

Unfortunately for Atzar, he was no exception to the effects of her poorly managed talents.

She had discovered them slowly in the beginning –– a looming figure in the corner of her eye, a voice on the wind which no one else heard. The girl could commune with the dead and unseen, as well as read spiritual imprints of the past on people, places, and things. More often than not, this strange ability was a source of stress and confusion, but with practice, she had begun to control it little by little.

One manifestation of her sixth sense was a sort of innate people radar; she could feel presences within several hundred feet, even able to recognize people she knew. It proved to be quite handy, but paled in comparison with the things Luned and Bleddyn told her would develop over time. The abilities to manipulate energy, the planes of existence… and exorcise rogue spirits and demons. Her enthusiasm at the prospect was nigh uncontainable. Someday, thanks to what she inherited from the Fallieni father she'd never met, Resolve was going to be a bona fide badass.

Her mentors discouraged her from doing her own research on the subject, but she really just couldn't help herself sometimes. On the sly, she'd been collecting some resources, doing her best with her lacking book smarts to explore her heritage on her own. And, like others, the regional archives had piqued her own interest; Fallien's vault had seen many a discreet visit from the budding exorcist. One or two artifacts may have even gone missing to curious fingers, but the aloof pair who ran the establishment seemed none the wiser.

When Resolve finally found a free moment in the library, having spent a hectic several days at Luned's whim to keep her separated from their new charge, she beelined for her stash. To her dismay, the young man had been too good at his new job –– he'd discovered the bounty of tomes stuffed under the circulation desk and, she assumed correctly, put them away.

"Gods damn it," she hissed under her breath as she knelt on the hard floor, peering under the massive piece of meticulously crafted mahogany. It had taken her weeks to find them and like hell she'd remember their obscure titles. Resolve groaned softly in resignation, dragging herself back to slump into the great armchair behind the desk, and closed her eyes. As she did so, she offered room in her focus for her spare sense to slip in, carrying with it a glimmer of interest. She blinked then, as if having just seen something out of the corner of her eye. Why was Atzar in the archives?

A mischievous grin stole across her lips as she stood, slipping quietly through the silent library and into the lofty hall of doors to investigate. Sure enough, she felt his presence behind Raiaera's portal –– oddly enough, the first she'd pried into upon her own acquaintanceship with the Althanaeum –– and allowed herself in. To her further titillation, he had gone as far as to break into the vault where they stored the more valuable –– and dangerous –– items. While the main archive was an utter mess, too many artifacts crammed into too little space, the vault's shelves had been meticulously organized, everything tucked away with a respect the other items hadn't earned. She couldn't help but wonder what had inspired him to pry. Was he a spy sent by one of Bleddyn's rivals…?

She discovered the boy with his back turned from the door, leaned over with a conjured flame to inspect something which he cradled cautiously within his palm. She felt something strange emanating from the object which had piqued Atzar's interest, though she couldn't quite pinpoint its aura. Such a thing might have unsettled her, but she'd come to expect oddities in the library long ago.

"What're you doing?"

At the sound of her voice, Atzar nearly leapt out of his skin, consequently dropping the object. It was a ball of gold-flecked quartz, likely worth more than his pitiful soul, and as it hit the stone floor, it ricocheted and cracked. A draft swept through the room, putting out the light and drawing a heavy darkness over the startled inhabitants.

Quickly, Atzar conjured a fresh light, illuminating the pair of hapless teens with a gold-red flicker of magical fire. He glanced down at the forlorn object in a shocked and helpless sort of way, then glared up at the interruption, his flame-bearing hand balled into a fist. "It was open and I––" he began defensively.

"Shhh," the girl said, stepping in with a sashay of crimson cloth and long limbs. She closed the door behind her. "You don't want Bleddyn to hear, do you? Quick, put it back where you found it and we'll pretend it never happened." Something about her body language was edgy; the draft had put her off, ominous somehow, but the strange aura appeared to have dissipated. That helped her relax somewhat.

Atzar did as she suggested, though as he tucked away the damaged artifact in its velvet-lined case, he eyed her skeptically.

"Bleddyn caught me in here years ago," she explained, leaning back casually against the frame. "Scared me half to death, closest I've ever seen him to a rage."

The boy lifted his hand to rub at his neck, pleasantly surprised by his new friend's empathy. "Well, thanks."

"No problem," she grinned with a wink. "We'll just say you owe me one."

[Atzar]

Embarrassed into obedience, Atzar passed the rest of the afternoon without further incident. He worked his way up the aisles and shelves, running a cloth over the already-clean wooden surfaces, checking for any misfiles that he might have overlooked during his first thousand searches. Flawless as expected.

Throughout the tedium, the mage couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Probably Resolve, he surmised. Doubtless she was lurking somewhere nearby, taking it upon herself to make sure he stayed where he was supposed to be. Still, numerous glances in all directions never revealed the flightly Fallieni.

Atzar didn’t see her until a couple of hours later, when she fetched him to help with dinner. An array of vegetables and other ingredients occupied the counter space, and the stove exuded welcoming warmth. She tasked him with chopping onions and tomatoes while she tossed together a simple dough. The wizard did as he was told quietly, the scene of his shame still fresh in his mind.

“You’re cutting them unevenly,” she pointed out, poking a floury finger at his lopsided slices.

“Does it matter?” He stared down at his work. Wouldn’t change the way they tasted, after all.

“It’s a question of style.” Setting her dough on the counter, she took his knife from him and finished in fifteen seconds what would have taken him five minutes. Then she returned his blade and went back to her own task.

“Not bad,” Atzar conceded, begrudgingly admiring her perfect pieces.

“It’s just cooking.” She tossed him a couple of small orange peppers. “Cut these too. Be careful, though, they’re really hot. Don’t touch your eyes.”

He scoffed. “Spicy things don’t bother me,” he proclaimed.

Resolve grinned. “Care to make a wager?” She reached into a nearby basket and pulled out another pepper. “Bet you can’t eat the whole thing.”

Atzar sliced into the first pepper and received a whiff of the heat. Just that quick sniff nearly set his eyes to watering. Still, he couldn’t just back down; it was a matter of pride. His mind raced, searching for a graceful way out. “Only if you eat it too,” he countered. Surely she’d relent now.

“Done.” His heart dropped as she produced one more of the brightly-colored vegetables and handed him his own.

“What are we wagering?” he asked, looking at his morsel, hoping his reluctance didn’t register in his voice.

“We’ll figure that out later. Ready? Go!” She bit into the smooth flesh of her pepper. Hesitating only a second, Atzar did the same.

The flavor surprised him. Vibrant and tropical, it had a spicy tang but not nearly as much as he had feared. He took another bite, enjoying the experience and congratulating himself on the bravery that had gotten him there.

“Delicious!” he said to Resolve around his mouthful. Then he looked more closely at her face. Red flushed her dark-skinned cheeks. Her chewing slowed. Sweat broke out on her forehead. He exulted; the challenge was his.

Then it hit him.

While he had studied his adversary, the heat had sneakily grown in his mouth. His tongue, lips and throat all prickled painfully. His mouth lolled open, his scalp tingled, and he looked desperately about him for something, anything to quench the inferno. His eyes itched and watered, but he was afraid to wipe the tears away.

Her own eyes wet, the Fallieni lass bumped his shoulder and pressed a cup into his hands. Milk. He drank deeply, treasuring the reprieve from the flames, however temporary.

He heard a cough from the doorway, and they both turned to see Luned staring at them, an eyebrow raised. It struck Atzar how silly they must have looked. He would have blushed, had the pepper’s intense heat not already colored his cheeks crimson. Tears streamed down his face, sweat beaded on his brow, and his swollen tongue hung from his mouth. He was half-convinced that his hair was on fire. Wordlessly he sipped from his cup again.

“I won’t even ask,” the scribe stated wryly before leaving.



“So that’s two things you owe me now, right?” Resolve thrust an elbow in Atzar’s ribs as she assembled their handiwork into a pie. “I’ll have to think of something good.”

The mage stared at her. “What’s the second one?” he asked.

“Duh. Did you already forget about our wager?” she grinned. Taking one last piece of dough, she covered the vegetable filling.

“I didn’t lose that bet,” he protested. “You didn’t eat your pepper. That was part of the deal!”

“I ate as much as you did. I just didn’t feel the need to finish because you wimped out.” She adopted an aloof expression as she crimped the edge of the crust with a fork.

This girl knew all of the buttons to press to get him mad. “What-“ he spluttered. “Don’t act like you toughed it out or anything. You didn’t like it either, I could see it on your face!”

"Sure. Here, set this in the oven for me.” Grumbling, he hefted the sizable pie and crossed to the stove. Cradling the entrée against his side with one hand, he opened the door.

A gout of flame whooshed out. He jumped backward, miraculously saving their dinner from a messy fate on the floor. Automatically he tapped into his magic, stifling the blaze. He stood staring at the stove, heart leaping from his chest.

“What happened? Are you alright?” Resolve took the pie and set it on the counter, peering into the oven from a safe distance.

“Does it normally do that?” Atzar demanded.

Resolve shook her head, her customary vivacity quelled like the roaring flames the mage had smothered. “No. Never.”