Marcius merely nodded, since he was tired and sweaty. The muscles in his arms were sore, and the respite from chopping caused them to stiffen, making Marcius wince in pain as he opened the door to his room.
On the desk was the contract, with the scrawling signature of Antaigne, but more importantly, a wash basin sat in the middle of the room, gentle steam rising steadily. Marcius was quick to shed his clothing into a rumpled pile, giving an audible gasp of relief as the lukewarm bath soaked into his skin. Do things for yourself without magic, eh? He sincerely doubted the dwarf gathered the water and warmed it with his hands, but with a slight grin, he figured it was something he could always point out after the bath.
Marcius laid back; closing his eyes he could hear the sounds of crickets starting their evening cadence, joining the other sounds in the forest to create a relaxing melody. Most local people would have been surprised at the noise, for the fall season was approaching fast as the trees tried furtively to hold onto their browning leaves. Winter in the South wasn't too bad, but it was enough to generally drive most residents into hiding around this time of year, including the animals. But Antaigne's clearing went by different rules, as Marcius had learned.
He still remembered his first visit to the dwarf's place. Lian had lead the journey, escorting his young son and showing him the way there, as well as warning him of each of the traps the dwarf had placed along the trail. It was the middle of summer when they visited, but a field of white snow greeted them when they emerged into the clearing, wafts of thick smoke escaping the dilapidated cottage's chimney. Lian had merely shaken his head as young Marcius played in the snow, while only a few feet beyond, the thick clammy heat of midsummer ruled with a sweltering and unyielding grip.
"Such strange occurrences are common with the amount of magic present," the dwarf had said as explanation that day; though after the volume of magic Marcius had sensed in Ken's room which seemingly had no tangible effect on the environment, he suspected the oddities of the clearing were induced by some deliberate enchantment of Antaigne's.
Marcius dried himself off, throwing on only a pair of pants from his, thankfully now inanimate, clothing chest, and he dived under the covers with the weariness of one who had done a hard day's work. The bed was as soft as he initially assumed, but despite being tired, sleep eluded him as he tossed and turned, unable to feel comfortable.
His thoughts kept turning to the empty spot on the bedroom floor where the cage had been. It's really happening. . . the impending ritual that would culminate in him becoming a wizard. It's really happening. . . Marcius could feel the familiar creeping of nervousness in his stomach. What if it failed or he was not good enough to become a wizard?
There were a multitude of things that could go wrong, and Marcius went through all of them, one by one, in his head. After what felt like an eternity of agonizing and listening to the sounds of the surreal clearing, Marcius eventually started fading off into sleep.
❧ ❧ ❧
"Okay ye dolt, get up. Time fer the ritual." Antaigne had somehow managed to time his entrance to the moment that Marcius's eyes began closing. The stout dwarf's frame was a dark silhouette in the open door, through which the gentle cracking of the fireplace could be heard. Marcius groaned, but knew better than to keep Antaigne waiting. He groggily put on a shirt and followed the dwarf outside, his body still so sore that he limped most of the way there.
Marcius's weariness left him as he blinked a bit in surprise at the sight in front of him. It would seem as if the dwarf had indeed been busy. In the middle of the clearing, where there had previously been nothing but grass, the wood that Marcius had cut lay in a big stacked pile like a funeral pyre. The wood was situated behind a complex looking rune drawn with some material Marcius couldn't identify. Whatever it was, it glowed with a purple fluorescent light in the now darkened clearing. The moon and gentle evening stars were the only other witnesses to the dwarf's artistic creation.
At each corner of the mystic rune, a torch, rapidly shimmering through the colors of the spectrum, burned brightly on holders impaled into the soft earth, giving Marcius a minor headache just from watching them. Beyond the first rune, Marcius could see two other identical but smaller runes drawn, perfectly parallel with each other, with a smaller set of torches as well. A steel cauldron bubbled with some unknown viscous mixture on a small fire pit situated within the large rune. The smell made Marcius feel peaceful, not at all as unpleasant in that regard as it was in sight.
"Get in the middle o' the one small doodle; I'll place yer wyvrr in the other one." The dwarf gestured, the cage held firmly in between his hands. Marcius complied, and the magic in the air twanged, sending heat wave like disturbances throughout the clearing. Small shivers ran up his spine as he waited.
"Here take this," Antaigne instructed, handing Marcius what appeared to be a small stick wrapped up with cloth and coated in an unknown substance, "Put it in yer mouth an' bite down on it." The trepidation returned full force. He could only nod and comply because if he tried to do anything else, Marcius was afraid his voice or his actions would give away his fears.
Didn't Master Antaigne say this would hurt? Marcius gingerly put the stick into his mouth and bit down as instructed. Whatever the stick was coated in tasted faintly of vegetables and left a thick trail of numbness down his throat. Gradually Marcius felt his muscles relaxing and the gnawing unease in his stomach abated.
He felt detached, as if he viewed the world through a window, and he became dimly aware of a dull throbbing behind his temples as Antaigne took the wyvrr cage over to the small rune opposite of Marcius. The thought of spitting the stick out crossed Marcius's mind several times, but for some reason it seemed like too much effort.
Antaigne mumbled something to Marcius, who swayed a bit as he simply nodded to whatever the dwarf said. Marcius found he didn't really care about anything anymore, and with a blissfully vacant expression, he watched Antaigne free the wyvrr from the cage. The dwarf cast a spell that caused the struggling animal's muscles to lock up, and then with a solemn expression he held up a finger coated in the same stuff Marcius had taken, forcing it down the wyvrr's throat.
He released the paralysis spell as soon as the appendage left the needle toothed mouth. Antaigne then unceremoniously dumped the wyvrr on the ground, causing a brief sound of protest from the animal. The intelligent green eyes were quick to glaze over and, with his head drooping in a vaguely drunken manner, the wyvrr now sat complacently staring into nothing. Must be what I look like. Marcius found the thought highly amusing and chuckled. . . or at least he meant to, but the sound felt stifled and twisted.
Antaigne ignored him, instead taking up a post over the cauldron, shaking unseen kinks out of his arms. Various materials were taken out of the ever voluminous pockets of the robe as the dwarf's hands wove intricate patterns in the air, dropping a component into the bubbling cauldron at the apparent completion of each design. At the end of a pass, the contents boiled and sizzled as if the wizard's actions angered them, though the hue never changed from the bright green color the mixture had assumed.
Marcius was not sure how much time he spent watching the dwarf weave his spells, but he vaguely noticed that the patterns now had a slight visual tint to them. They left slight trails of energy as the dwarf's casting grew more hectic. The throbbing in Marcius's head grew more pronounced, matching the crescendo of the wizard's work, becoming unbearable as the cauldron started to glow.
The pain in Marcius's head became stronger and stronger, and a warm liquid started trickling like a gentle stream out of his ears, Marcius knew exactly what it was.
Despite the drug, he almost felt motivated enough to protest, when suddenly the sensation stopped, the abruptness causing him to lurch. He cautiously glanced at the cauldron, only to be rewarded with a painful, yet exquisite sight. A light bright enough to cause the drugged Marcius to squint in distress emanated from the pot.
Antaigne calmly reached in with bare hands, the sleeves of his robe rolled up his arms, and took out two pulsing white objects. The light from the cauldron vanished as if swallowed up by some unknown beast, leaving only spots that danced in front of his weary eyes.
Wordlessly, Antaigne stuffed the small glowing item into Marcius's hand then stuck the other object in the wyvrr's mouth. It felt like a hard crystal that warmed Marcius's entire body, and he found himself tightening his grip over it. Antaigne reclaimed his position between the sigils on the ground, his eyes closed.
He began weaving a spell, his brow scrunched up in concentration. The purple glowing material that Antaigne had drawn the runes in started to glow brighter with every pass and word that the wizard performed. The cauldron had somehow vanished while Marcius was distracted with the stone. The world began to blur and spin simultaneously. Marcius felt his grip on reality slip and a feeling of floating pervaded his senses, though his arms and legs were like lead, heavy and unable to move. The stack of wood burst into flames, flooding the area in heat, and Marcius began to sweat immediately.
The feeling began as a slight tingle on the back of his neck, something that was as noticeable as a trickle of water down a parched man's throat, and it felt just as good. The pleasure moved like a current through his body, ebbing and flowing in greater amounts and intensity.