Juder
07-01-2014, 02:36 PM
Merlin and Malice
Part One: Expectations
Prologue: The Wizard and the Boy
Merlin, the wizard, looked out of the ornately decorated windows of his little shop and examined the behavior of the townsfolk. He was looking at one boy in particular, who seemed to be around the age of six, and was now playing soccer with the other local children. Nothing seemed spectacular: he looked perfectly ordinary. He was still awkward, like most small children are, and he hadn’t yet grown into his features; his arms were a bit too long for him, his feet were still large, and his head had a tendency to tilt to one side.
Merlin himself remembered when he had been that age, but that had been a long time ago for the legendary magus. Now, he was grown, and had grown quite well into the body that God had given him. His long, sandy hair flopped easily down to his shoulders, his lovely blue eyes were sharp and calculating, and his sharp face was quite handsome. It was a curse, he thought, to be so young forever. The problem with being immortal was that it never allowed for change; it was as if the world were experiencing time, withering away and growing intermittently, and he was watching from the outside, much like he watched the village through his glass window.
Griffith, who had been his confidant and advisor for a very long time now, spoke out from one of the shadowy corners in his shop. “Don’t just stare, Merlin. Go outside. Talk to the boy. He is the one you’ve been waiting for, right? Isn’t he the one who you said is the one destined to save us all?” He put a gentle, caring hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “If you’ve been waiting so long, Merlin, I don’t understand why you insist on staying a stranger. His name is Malice, you know.”
Merlin chuckled, as if Griffin had just made a joke. “Malice…what a fitting name for him. I remember the time when I was his age, barely able to control sparks and make a simple fire. I burned down the village quite a few times before they made me and my mother leave. In that way, Griffith, he and I are the same. I never was accepted into the ranks of society, and neither will he.” Merlin turned to look at his friend. “That, however, is where our similarities end. I don’t remember a time where I was expected to carry the world on my shoulders. That is what he is experiencing now. If I talk to him, I will have to tell him. Do you really want me to thrust such a responsibility on someone so…ridiculously small?”
The shop fell silent at that, and Merlin used the silence to return to his task of observing Malice. He only saw it fit that the little orphan would get a name like that; he was as sour as acid, as potent as poison, and as silent as a snake. In more ways than one, he was every single one of those things. The boy who played so well with the other children, covering himself in sweat and sand, was a Basilisk, the deadliest of all creatures. He was the last of his kind, much like the wizard that observed him so religiously, and he knew that the age for such creatures ended in the middle ages. In nineteenth century London, it was like finding a needle in a haystack. He stuck out sorely, and every inch of him was lethal: his blood, saliva, and his bite would kill someone in minutes.
Griffith finally stepped out of the shadows, his reddish-brown hair falling in curls around his face, his scar and hawkish features all training on Merlin. “I think you’re wrong, Master Merlin. Malice needs someone to be there for him. He will be very lonely without someone like him to guide him and accept him. Do you really think the other children, or their parents, for that matter, will even come near him once they find out what he is?” Griffith pointed out. “If you will not talk to him, Merlin, at least prepare the boy.”
Griffith left the shop, the weight of the door causing the shop to shake as it closed. Layers of dust stirred, shaken off of multicolored glass bottles that hadn’t been touched in many millennia. Merlin coughed, the dust reminding him that he’d allowed himself to fall behind on cleaning the shop. Then again, it was easy to do so when every day seemed nothing more than a moment, passing as quickly as a spark.
He removed himself from the window, picked up his duster, and started to work on the polished ebony floors.
Part One: Expectations
Prologue: The Wizard and the Boy
Merlin, the wizard, looked out of the ornately decorated windows of his little shop and examined the behavior of the townsfolk. He was looking at one boy in particular, who seemed to be around the age of six, and was now playing soccer with the other local children. Nothing seemed spectacular: he looked perfectly ordinary. He was still awkward, like most small children are, and he hadn’t yet grown into his features; his arms were a bit too long for him, his feet were still large, and his head had a tendency to tilt to one side.
Merlin himself remembered when he had been that age, but that had been a long time ago for the legendary magus. Now, he was grown, and had grown quite well into the body that God had given him. His long, sandy hair flopped easily down to his shoulders, his lovely blue eyes were sharp and calculating, and his sharp face was quite handsome. It was a curse, he thought, to be so young forever. The problem with being immortal was that it never allowed for change; it was as if the world were experiencing time, withering away and growing intermittently, and he was watching from the outside, much like he watched the village through his glass window.
Griffith, who had been his confidant and advisor for a very long time now, spoke out from one of the shadowy corners in his shop. “Don’t just stare, Merlin. Go outside. Talk to the boy. He is the one you’ve been waiting for, right? Isn’t he the one who you said is the one destined to save us all?” He put a gentle, caring hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “If you’ve been waiting so long, Merlin, I don’t understand why you insist on staying a stranger. His name is Malice, you know.”
Merlin chuckled, as if Griffin had just made a joke. “Malice…what a fitting name for him. I remember the time when I was his age, barely able to control sparks and make a simple fire. I burned down the village quite a few times before they made me and my mother leave. In that way, Griffith, he and I are the same. I never was accepted into the ranks of society, and neither will he.” Merlin turned to look at his friend. “That, however, is where our similarities end. I don’t remember a time where I was expected to carry the world on my shoulders. That is what he is experiencing now. If I talk to him, I will have to tell him. Do you really want me to thrust such a responsibility on someone so…ridiculously small?”
The shop fell silent at that, and Merlin used the silence to return to his task of observing Malice. He only saw it fit that the little orphan would get a name like that; he was as sour as acid, as potent as poison, and as silent as a snake. In more ways than one, he was every single one of those things. The boy who played so well with the other children, covering himself in sweat and sand, was a Basilisk, the deadliest of all creatures. He was the last of his kind, much like the wizard that observed him so religiously, and he knew that the age for such creatures ended in the middle ages. In nineteenth century London, it was like finding a needle in a haystack. He stuck out sorely, and every inch of him was lethal: his blood, saliva, and his bite would kill someone in minutes.
Griffith finally stepped out of the shadows, his reddish-brown hair falling in curls around his face, his scar and hawkish features all training on Merlin. “I think you’re wrong, Master Merlin. Malice needs someone to be there for him. He will be very lonely without someone like him to guide him and accept him. Do you really think the other children, or their parents, for that matter, will even come near him once they find out what he is?” Griffith pointed out. “If you will not talk to him, Merlin, at least prepare the boy.”
Griffith left the shop, the weight of the door causing the shop to shake as it closed. Layers of dust stirred, shaken off of multicolored glass bottles that hadn’t been touched in many millennia. Merlin coughed, the dust reminding him that he’d allowed himself to fall behind on cleaning the shop. Then again, it was easy to do so when every day seemed nothing more than a moment, passing as quickly as a spark.
He removed himself from the window, picked up his duster, and started to work on the polished ebony floors.