Chapter 2: Magic of Convenience
2nd of Benathus, 414 EC of the Fourth Rekindling
06:38
The duo trudged through the snow, the aftermath of yesterday’s White Out making it a pain to travel even slightly outside the village. The sled was even more stubborn than their feet, getting stuck on the soft crunchy snow repeatedly, costing them more precious seconds. Luckily, the village folks managed to band together and clear away some parts of the main road. The outer perimeter, however, was devoid of attention, completely covered by immovable snow piled up to their calves. The duo gave up around twenty paces out, returning with huffs and frustration all around.
Willem suddenly spoke, patting snow off his boots. “…I can ask old man Hubbs to help us. Say we’ll pay back in three or so days.”
“I just told you every, single, reason why I don’t want to deal with him.”
“Well, this doesn’t concern your house. Worst case scenario, he burns us or himself. I figure that’s better than being homeless.”
Wyatt stared at the trail of parted snow they just walked through, thought of the efforts to push the sled, and sighed.
“…Fair enough.”
They both turned at the same time, but Wyatt was quicker this time.
“You’re paying though.”
Willem had no objections.
The small village was convenient, Wyatt had to concede, as people were never too hard to find. Just a few mastance over in the rail town down south and he wouldn’t be able to make head or tail of the layout. In a sparsely populated village such as his, there was never repetition. No matter if a White Out had happened just yesterday or even if the village would be bulldozed tomorrow, there would still be something to remember it by, and to make his way around.
In this case, past the western edges of the village, following the three cottages built half buried into the ground on the left with leather-draped market stalls on the right, pass to the left path on the end of said road, stopping at the hunter’s workshop with a giant piked hog-like head on the left corner and walk around six houses, and finally-
A hut.
The hut.
It was built entirely out of packed ash. Sol knew how that happened – the only explanation Wyatt heard was some kind of magic, and Willem knows explicitly that the magic involved repeatedly packing ash over and over again in some way. He tried replicating this but failed miserably, only ever earning the ire of his parents rather than a revolutionary building material. A straw thatched roof and a small chimney on top of it, sitting about a block above the ground. That casual ignorance of insulation made the building seem almost insulting, annoyingly flaunting its magic.
Wyatt shuddered, mouthing, “Everything about this place feels wrong“, letting Willem approach first.
“You have an issue with his place?” The taller man asked, looking straight at the conservatively spaced hut, taking perhaps only a seven-by-seven pace space at best.
His companion sighed. “Too flashy for me.”
Willem raised his eyebrow. Other than the material, there was nothing to gawk about the hut at all. An unimpressive little abode in a village of other unimpressive houses, built for but shelter against the cold. The confusion in Willem’s tone reflected that superficial view of the residence. “Flashy? What, the hut?”
“Yes, the hut!” Responded Wyatt, shaking his head. “But it’s obviously not the hut itself, it’s the material. Why do we have to slum with dirt and logs when the old guy who burns down buildings on occasion gets a magic hut?” He approached, tapping the rough yet firm solid wall of ash. “It’s convenient. Too bad he doesn’t sell it for, y’know, other less fortunate people?”
“Yourself, mostly?”
“…Don’t put words in my mouth.”
Grumbling, Wyatt turned to the wall and knocked onto it, the structure shaking a little as he did. Each tap of his knuckles knocked some flakes of ash out of the wall, making a soft “Thump!”, that hopefully drew the attention of someone inside. The ash did feel a little better to knock at, coarse but also semi-soft in a way, like knocking into solid sawdust.
“Thump! Thump! Thump!.”
Three knocks, as ordained by standard courtesy.
…
“Thump! Thump! Thump!…”
Three more knocks, as ordained by standard social tolerance and Wyatt’s general inability to be patient for whom he assumes to be a scam who scrounged up to this far out village. The old man would have at least been decent if he had opened his door on time, which he currently seemed to be allergic to.
“Maybe he’s not home?” Willem conjectured, pulling back his friend. “And stop that. You’re just being petty.”
Wyatt huffed, “If he has such a fancy place, why don’t he stay in it?” He waved his hands in hopelessness. “This would be less trouble if we just dug up a path to the ice bed.”
Willem parted his hand away from Wyatt’s shoulder. “Then we won’t have any strength to bring the ice back!” His gloved hands went to his side and rubbed himself by the side of his arm, gathering more warmth from his layers. “I’m sure he’s around.”
“…Right.” Wyatt shuddered, eyes narrowing. “More trekking for me.”
The men shuffled back from the house in silence. They dragged their feet through the slightly snow-parted ground, akin to a demure dance, footwork and music notwithstanding. That was up until they were halfway towards the road, when the door to the hut finally creaked open like scraping metal. It did leave a lasting impression, if nothing else.
And in all his infinite wisdom, Hubbs stood there with a slump.
The old man was in a thick, almost robe-like black underlayer that wove itself in and around his stomach, arms and legs. Around his waist tied a sash that put the outfit together without spilling outwards, covering all but his hand and face. The rest of him was sheltered by a cloak of orange cuffs around his neck, shoulder and back, with a hood that covered his hair and hid a shadow under his eyes. He towered over both younger men, showing clear physical superiority. As for what could be seen of him, his hand was ladled with burns and so was his middle aged face, only barely hidden by a gray-ash colored beard that extends downwards like a human rope.
He took a step forward ominously. His movements calculated, his feet cladded in simple wooden sandals, a testament to his nearly perfect control of the temperature. His arm extended, his voice boomed.
“Who dares disturb me?”
Then his foot landed.
…And then he stumbled forwards, crashing headfirst with a weak yelp before landing in a Thud. He imprinted himself into the snow, which in turn muffled his loudness to embarrass him as little as he could. An angel formed itself in the ground that day, metaphorically of course.
Both young men stared at the scene with a complex mix of emotions on their faces; a mix of confusion and concern for Willem, for Wyatt it was more disappointment than anything. Eventually, the latter waved.
“Good morning, Hubbs!”
Hubbs did not respond.
2nd of Benathus, 414 EC of the Fourth Rekindling
06:45
Both Wyatt and Willem struggled to help the old man up, rapidly patting the snow off of him as he slowly got rid of the humiliation that he partly brought to himself. The awkward moment of silence caught all three, for if any words were to be exchanged now, they would certainly leave an everlasting bad impression.
In hindsight, maybe building one’s house at a pace above the ground was a bad idea. Hubbs lifted his lips, measured.
“Can I help you two?”
“Yeah.” Wyatt started, hand on his side. “We want you to burn something for us.”
“Ah, you see, I would do that,” the older man groaned, patting his back. “But the last time I did that, people came at me with picks and hatchets. If you have any sense, you could see I’m rather ambivalent about the idea.”
Wyatt squinted, “What in Sol’s light is “ambivalent“?”
“Anyways! Hubbs,” Willem started, clearing his voice and in turn clearing the air. “What Wyatt means is that we need you to do your magic to clear a way for us towards the lake’s bank.”
Hubbs staggered back. “Out- Outside of the village? This isn’t a request from any black armored men you saw coming from outside, isn’t it?!”
Willem paused.
Wyatt lifted his left eyebrow.
“I told them to stay away from me! You go tell them they don’t have any rights out here! And… Whoever they send, even if it is Sol himself, I’m not paying back what I own !” The older man’s hand went up his sash. “Not a single Essence!”
“What are you talking about?” Asked Wyatt, hand dropping to the side, more out of awkwardness at this severe case of oversharing, making him forget (willingly and unconsciously) why he was even here for a single second.
“…You know, those men in black suits of armor… Insignias… Speaking in a sublime softness that can soothe over a rabid criminal…”
The young men looked at each other, expression unreadable before Willem returned to him, shaking his head, voice partly concerned and confused.
“We don’t know anything about that, but if you’re in danger, we can talk to the village Chief-”
“Oh! Oh thank Sol, you almost scared me!” Hubbs laughed heartily, going back into his hut while Willem was still getting his words out. The door shut behind him as sounds of rattling and metallic clinking emanated from within.
Wyatt spoke first, voicing their shared thoughts. “He’s a bit of a loon, isn’t he?”
“Just give him some time.”
Just a few moments later, Hubbs would make good on those words.
When the burn-scarred magician sprung the door open once again, both young men noticed the thing that danced in a sway on his hand. It was a peculiar sphere with holes dotting its top hemisphere, suspended from a linked chain. It was entirely metal, shiny and color akin to bronze. The sound it made wafted through the air as it creaked from the sway, drawing attention to its almost hypnotic presence. Crink, crink, crink!
“Now this, boys,” Hubbs started, snapping both out of their daze. “Is your key through that frozen barrier.”
He lifted the sphere from the top, revealing a small platform made of a tar black material, basalt-like in nature, though too warm to be mere basalt. He placed something like deformed pieces of dried bark onto the platform. From underneath the robes, the old man’s body glowed an incandescent yellow. He placed his middle finger and thumb on top of the platform, then snapped!, his fingers sparked, igniting those pieces of bark into a small but impossibly warm flame, too controllable to be natural. The old man closed the sphere, smoke billowing out of its porous top. It smelled surprisingly pleasant, like the smoke of roasted beef before dinner.
From the chains upholding it, he held it towards the young men.
Willem took it first, his eyes softening as he inspected the object. “What…is this?”
“That is a Church-blessed thurible! Seems like it had some divine power left after all.” He laughed, breathing in the smoke that came out of it. “…I do miss Sol’s miracles. Always so convenient.”
Wyatt widened his eyes in disbelief, before shaking his head clear. Magic is wonderful and all, but he came for something that would help him, not a parlor trick. Not to mention, if this is Sol, the sun god’s power, then its current form and warmth like
gentle fire was disappointing. Not useless, but the power of a missing god should be more impressive, right?
“It smells nice and it’s warm.” Wyatt said casually, pulling on the chain from Willem’s hold, “Does it do anything else other than that?”
“Doubtful, are we? Look below you, boys!”
Admittedly, they were curious, so both turned and looked.
Sure enough, the snow around them in a 5-pace radius started melting away, seeping into the base soil before evaporating away harmlessly into the air. Willem stomped the ground to test it and realized even the top layer of the dirt was turning packed and dry. Yet he felt no discomfort from the relic, as if its heat only affected the frost.
“Wow…” Willem breathed, looking around him.
Wyatt said not a word, but his eyes did widen to a bewildered look.
“That’s going to cost you.” Said Hubbs, coming from out of the side of his door, leaning against a wall.
“If everyone had this, the village wouldn’t need to clear so much snow every so often…” commented Willem, seeing something like this for the first time.
Hubbs shook his head, still smirking with pride. “Oh no, that’s a special one-time deal. It doesn’t work forever, only for about two hours before it runs out.” His hand took up his chin. “But if you all want to… I can give you a discount–”
“Do you think it will melt all that ice?” Asked Willem, already walking towards the main road.
“Wouldn’t it be bad if it did?” Wyatt answered, walking by-side with him.
Hubbs popped a vein on his head, chasing after the young men and grabbing them by the hoods. “…Would you two listen to someone while they’re talking? I’m older than you, no less.”
“Oh? Oh right, we’ll pay you by mid-hours three days later.” Said Wyatt, unconcerned.
“That’s not what I meant.” The older man claimed, voice turning serious. “That thurible you’re carrying has limited use. Two hours is an estimate, but if you keep going through the snow like you own that wasteland, you’re going to bleed it dry.” He lets them go. “Make a path and then return through it, that’ll extend the lifetime considerably. Before you ask – No, it does not melt all the ice, at least not with the intensity I’ve put it at.”
Willem shook, always attentive. “Thank you!”
“…What he said.”
And off they went out to greet that white wall again.
