BWC 1 - Connorchap

“Alright, I’ll take that one,” she said confidently, pointing.
The scroll-vendor looked up to her with the slightest wisp of befuddlement behind his eyes. “My lady, forgive me, but I do not know what you mean.”
The scholar, too, let loose a hint of befuddlement.
“That one there,” she repeated, gesturing once more to the scroll. “That’s the one I would like.”
“Why this one?” the scroll-vendor asked.
“What? You asked me to pick one, and I did! Why not that one?”
“My lady,” the scroll-vendor said apologetically, “I am afraid that this scroll cannot be sold.”
There was a small buildup of people behind the scholar by this point, waiting to see the scroll-vendor’s selection, anxiously peering over each others’ shoulders to see what the holdup was. The scholar looked with a furrowed brow at the pale scroll sitting unrolled on the counter. “But it’s with the other scrolls for sale! It sits right where the rest of your writings can be seen, and yet it cannot be bought?”
“Oh, my, yes,” the scroll-vendor realized, “forgive me, that is my mistake, of course.” He took the scroll and deposited it in the chest behind his counter. “I had been reading that and must have forgotten to put it away. Forgive me.” He gave a quick bow.
The scholar looked back nervously at the waiting Yogetians, who were beginning to grumble. Then she turned to the scroll-vendor and said, “Why is that scroll not in with the others in the first place?”
“It has personal significance,” the scroll-vendor said with a sniff. “I apologize if you had settled on that scroll as your final choice, my lady. Perhaps you would like to pick out something else?” His hand swept over the various scrolls tiling the counter.
“No,” the scholar shook her head insistently, giving the offered scrolls but a glance, “thank you, but the Enaam Eryuko is the one I would like.”
“My lady,” the scroll-vendor said, his brow beginning to sweat as he glanced at the potential customers growing impatient as they waited for this Catchkrian woman, “as I have said, that scroll cannot be sold. May I ask why it caught your attention, so that I may find another of similar content?”
Here the scholar hesitated before answering. “I have a friend who has a particular interest in scrolls of magic,” she ended up saying, grimacing at needing to be so elusive.
“A particular interest, you say?” The scroll-vendor’s eyes cast over the scholar’s features suspiciously. The scholar knew what he was thinking. “If your friend has such a particular interest, then could I suggest that he come and make a selection himself?”
The crowd behind grew more impatient. The scholar noticed, and hurriedly said, “No, I don’t think he would be able to afford the trip.” Not after the accident at the inn, she thought to herself. “Is there no way that I could possibly negotiate buying the Enaam Eryuko scroll?”
“Unless your friend with the particular interest shows up himself, my lady, I can be of little assistance to you.” The scroll-vendor glanced around her, and to his horror saw a waiting customer leave irritably, fed up with the wait. The scroll-vendor turned shakily back to the scholar, and said, “Please, my lady, if you are making no other selections today, may I suggest that you go on your way?”
The scholar cast one last disappointed look over the scrolls and said, “I suppose that I will take that one, then.”
The scroll-vendor nodded curtly, plucking the indicated scroll from the counter and holding it out to the scholar. “Eight Bagohi for the Breloc Cultist scroll, my lady.”
The scholar fumbled for her money purse as the crestfallen vendor’s waiting customers began to drift away like leaves on an autumn wind. Finally the eight pieces of silver were placed on the counter. “Thank you,” the scroll-vendor grated, sweeping the coins into the pouch at his belt. “Enjoy your scroll, my lady.”
“Thank you,” the scholar said apologetically, finally leaving the scroll-vendor’s stall and disappearing into the crowded market street. The scroll-vendor looked to the next customer, cursing his ill luck; where twelve customers waited, five still remained, and they were surly and unwilling to buy much. For the next few hours the scroll-vendor was feeling rather sour towards Catchkrians in general.


Sweat beaded. Eyelids flicked. Hands shifted. Toes stretched. Breathing remained calm.
The mage had not touched the floor for the past eighteen minutes.
It was a new record for him, but he was not one to settle for merely beating what he had already done. He wasn’t finished yet. He would stay up until he could hold himself no more. Let us see, the mage thought in an unused corner of his mind, if we can beat twenty minutes.
Had the mage been known to the scroll-vendor from whom the scholar had purchased a scroll on Breloc Cults, then the scroll-vendor would have been sour towards him, as the mage was a Catchkrian – though if the scroll-vendor knew much more about him, then ‘sour’ would inadequately describe his real thoughts. The mage, however, knew nothing of the scroll-vendor, and the scroll-vendor nothing of the mage, so the mage didn’t worry about that. He didn’t worry about anything. His mind was clear, poised, at peace; an undisturbed pool of crystal clear consciousness.
A sound jangled through the closed door of the room, but the mage remained undisturbed. Nineteen minutes. His mind instinctively counted out the duration of his meditation, without him needing to pay attention to it – or, of course, to anything else.
“Nyche!” his sister’s voice rang through the house. The mage dropped a few inches, but immediately rose back up, his concentration unbroken. He refused to let the ground pull him down. It was simply not part of any possibility whatsoever.
“Nyche, I’m back from the market!” His sister, the scholar, came in through the door bearing a few limp shopping bags, but immediately stopped upon seeing her twin brother sitting cross-legged in the middle of the room, two feet from the floor. His eyes remained closed and calm.
The scholar nodded quietly in understanding, and left her brother to levitate while she unpacked the meager food supplies she had picked up onto their rickety table. Their living quarters weren’t that superb, or even really decent. But, for the time being, the island of Suraki in Yoget was their home. It was temperate, it was green, and it wasn’t Catchkria. That excused any problems of small cottages and little money.
Four minutes later the mage’s eyes came open; soft blue eyes, keen yet mild. Slowly, ever so slowly, the mage Nyche eased down towards the ground, gradually releasing the magic that held him up, until he gently touched down upon the floor. Then he sprung to his feet and stretched out his muscles, cramped from holding their position for so long. “I’m down, Naomi. Thank you for waiting!”
Naomi the scholar came back into the room, viewing her brother stretching down and touching his toes. “How long did you hold yourself up this time?” she asked with a slight smile.
“Twenty-three minutes,” Nyche responded breathlessly, standing up and loosening his shoulders. He glanced over as a water jug plucked itself from the wall and swung through the air into his hand, and he drank deeply from it. “Ah… I think that I’ve gotten a bit better since we left.”
“A bit,” Naomi said airily, knowing that just two months ago Nyche would have been pressed to levitate himself for even two minutes. “But only a little, of course.”
“Of course,” agreed Nyche, dumping the rest of the water over his head. Naomi suppressed a giggle.
“Oh by the way, Nyche, I found that scroll.”
He wiped the wet locks of hair out of his eyes, and exclaimed, “You mean the Enaam Eryuko?”
“The very one. Though after twenty-three minutes I don’t see why you’d need it.”
Nyche shook his head vigorously to dislodge the water from his hair, and the flying droplets carefully parted to avoid getting his sister wet. “Do you know that the mage Vagetzu could levitate himself for three whole days, never eating or drinking? Twenty-three minutes is nothing!” He gave a wily grin as he passed Naomi in the doorway on his way to the kitchen.
“Oh, then maybe you should learn how to control your stomach, not momentum. Three days is ridiculous!” She followed him into the kitchen, where he was rifling through the shopping bags. “You don’t seriously want to levitate for three days, do you? What would be the point?”
Nyche found a rice cake amongst the food, and bit into it vigorously. “There wouldn’t, really,” he said around his mouthful of food, “but it still means that there’s room for improvement! I approve, by the way, of the rice cakes.”
“I thought you would,” Naomi said, and she snatched the rest of the bags away from him. “That’s why I’m locking them in the pantry right now.”
“Good, I can practice controlling lock mechanisms,” he said off-handedly, plucking another rice cake from the bag with magic as he glanced over the scroll Naomi had bought. “This isn’t the Enaam Eryuku, though.” He lifted a bag open and peered into it, as if searching.
Naomi finished locking away the bags. “The vendor wouldn’t let me have it,” she said simply.
Nyche looked up with indignation, cheeks bulging from rice cake. “He wouldn’t?” Then with a grimace he swallowed the rest of his mouthful. “Was it that expensive?”
“I don’t know, he just wouldn’t let me have it.” She sat heavily at the table in one of the two chairs that they had. “Said it wasn’t for sale.”
Nyche shook his head as if to wake himself, this time flinging a few droplets into Naomi’s face. “Oh, sorry. Why wouldn’t he, though? Was it just sitting there?”
“You read my mind.”
“Can’t do that just yet, Naomi.”
“He said it had personal significance, or something to that effect.”
“But…” Nyche paused to scarf down his second rice cake thoughtfully. “Hold on – was it in Yogetian?”
“Uvagram, with what looked like mage runes from what you’ve told me about them. I think the vendor knew that I was your sister, and he remembered what happened at the inn.”
Nyche blanched at the mention of the accident. He nudged the embarrassing memory aside with a third rice cake, and asked, “But how could it have personal significance to him if he couldn’t read it?”
Naomi snorted. “Nyche, think! That’s what you trained to do! Maybe it was a family heirloom. Maybe he’s just saving it for a buyer who could pay a significant amount more. Maybe he could read it, even!”
“But only magi learn Uvagram,” Nyche said uncertainly.
“That’s a pretty naïve thing to think,” Naomi said mildly. “It’s probably leaked out to hundreds of people. Or maybe the vendor didn’t want to give it to me because he knew that I’m the sister of an illegal mage.”
Here she stopped – saying it out loud made Naomi feel a little worried for her brother. For both of them, actually. She didn’t want to leave Suraki, just when they had settled down.
Nyche swallowed, but nodded. “That’s true.”
Naomi rocked her chair idly on it’s back legs, staring into space for a moment. Then her eyebrows came together in a frown, and she said, “You know, now that I think of it, the scroll vendor had said that it was left out because he had been reading it. So… I suppose he must read Uvagram.”
“Or, you could consider the possibility that he was lying.”
“He didn’t have a reason to.”
“Plenty of people lie when there’s no reason.”
Naomi nodded in silent agreement, and there was a pause, punctuated only by the distant sound of birdsong.
Then she said softly, “Tomorrow will be our birthday.”
“Mm-hm.”
“We’ll be twenty,” she added wistfully.
“I’ll be old enough to get a license.”
“Do you think you’re ready to?”
Nyche opened his mouth, but then shut it. Then he opened it again, and said, “I’m not quite sure.”
“You’re nervous, aren’t you.”
“Very. It’ll be hard enough to avoid getting arrested immediately when I approach the Order.”
“But you’ll be able to convince them, Nyche. You always can convince people. It’s what you do best.”
“Besides flinging tables across barrooms,” he said dryly.
“Nyche! What happened at the inn was an accident. You couldn’t – ”
“Yes, I know, I know. But it was an accident that I could have avoided. How can I get a license as a legal mage if I can’t even control my magic?”
“You just…” Naomi looked to the wall, and sighed.
“We won’t be able to stay here, Naomi,” said Nyche.
Naomi responded “I know,” even though she didn’t. But she knew that it was dangerous here on Suraki now, and now she could see that Nyche was right. She felt cold.
“Did you see that fellow from the tavern again?” asked Nyche offhandedly.
“Yes,” Naomi replied, and stood and busied herself with putting some dishes away in cupboards.
“Well? Did you talk to him?”
“No,” she said shortly, stacking plates.
“…Did he talk to you?”
Naomi rolled her eyes. “Yes. Why?”
“What did he say?”
“How should I remember?”
“I would think that you would remember a little, at least.”
As she put away the drinking cups one by one, she said curtly, “Well, he asked as to how I fared, and he asked what the scroll I had bought was, and he asked if I thought that it would rain, and he asked when I would next come to the tavern.”
Nyche grinned. “And you said?”
“I said that I fared well, and that the scroll was on Breloc Cultists, and that I hadn’t the slightest notion as to whether it would rain or not, and that I really didn’t plan ahead of time when I would deliver the payment to the landlord for our cottage. He responded ‘Good,’ ‘That sounds fascinating,’ ‘Oh,’ and ‘Oh’ again.”
“I knew your memory wasn’t failing.”
“Obviously yours is, else you would remember by now that it isn’t any of your business.”
“We’re twins! Everything you do is my business!”
“Since when has that been the case? Oh, yes, now I remember – never! Honestly, Nyche, it really doesn’t matter. I’m going to bed.”
As Naomi headed for her room, Nyche shot after her, “What’s his name?”
Naomi paused. Then she muttered, “Ujan.”
“Ujan,” repeated Nyche, rolling the name around his tongue. “Interesting name. How about the last name?”
“I’m going to bed,” Naomi said firmly. “Goodnight, Nyche.”
“And a goodnight to you, my most sought-after sister.” He stood and bowed theatrically. Naomi rolled her eyes and shut her door sharply. Nyche simply grinned to himself, and began lifting the remaining food items into various cabinets using the power of his will.


“Oh dear,” the Scroll-vendor moaned.
“Excuse me,” Naomi said, “I don’t know if you remember me from yesterday, but –”
“I remember you, sure enough,” the Scroll-vendor said brusquely. “Come to drive off customers again, eh?”
Naomi winced. “Sir, I assure you that driving off customers was never part of my intentions, and it remains absent from them in this visit as well. I would just really like for you to reconsider my offer on the Enaam Eryuko.”
“Nothing to reconsider. The Enaam Eryuko is not for sale, and that is final. Good day, my lady. Next!”
“I’ll pay twenty Bagohi,” Naomi insisted.
“Not for sale. Next!”
“Forty! Forty Bagohi, more than you could make off of five of these scrolls!”
“If you would leave my stall be, then I might just sell five scrolls anyhow! Take your forty Bagohi and your haggling elsewhere. Next!”
“Sir, there isn’t anyone in line behind me.”
The Scroll-vendor looked past Naomi sharply, his eyebrows furrowing upon realizing that she was right. “Well, that’s true. And what with there being no customers, I’ll take my break now.”
“I’m a customer!” Naomi said indignantly.
“Not a customer that I will serve.” The Scroll-vendor headed for the back of his tent.
“If you don’t let me buy something then I’ll have to report you to the authorities!”
The Scroll-vendor whirled on her. “Madam! I reserve the right to refuse service to any customer who does not hold at least a modicum of human manners, and I furthermore reserve the right to keep hold of items that are not even for sale! Good day, my lady!” He turned once more.
Naomi murmured, “But you don’t reserve the right to practice magic without a license.”
The Scroll-vendor stopped dead. He said nothing.
“You’re an illegal mage, aren’t you.”
“You can’t prove that,” the Scroll-vendor whispered hoarsely.
“Yes,” Naomi said quietly, “I can. Your scroll gives it all away. You said you had been reading it earlier, though it was in Uvagram, and at first I thought that you just happened to know the alphabet. But then I remembered that half of those symbols are mage-runes, which you couldn’t have learned through any means other than magical training, as only a mage can comprehend their meaning.”
The Scroll-vendor hadn’t turned around. “How do you know all of this?”
“I think that it is common knowledge what my brother did at the inn,” she responded. “Now, I would really appreciate you reconsidering my request, in light of recent discoveries.”
For a long, dragging moment the Scroll-vendor remained motionless, and Naomi remained peering intently at him. Then he turned. “I’ll want forty-five Bagohi for it.”
“For the trouble I’ve caused you, I’ll give you fifty.”


Five minutes later Naomi walked lightly down the country road, a spring in her step. She felt a little bad about threatening the vendor like that, knowing from Nyche what kind of lives illegal mages had, but the scroll-vendor at least had a decent job, and his magic wasn’t that strong anyway. For him it wasn’t a matter of running from the Yogetian government to avoid incarceration or execution; it was just keeping it a secret from the neighbors that he could lift jugs of water without touching them. Nothing much. She had paid him an extremely handsome amount of money, too, certainly much more than the scroll was worth.
She gave up trying to convince herself that it was fine; she felt bad about it. The scroll might have been significant to the vendor, or maybe he was going to pass it on to another mage. The only reason that she got it was for Nyche, who’s need for it was greater.
Suddenly she noticed a crackling, murmuring sound, and she glanced up sharply. Smoke was wafting over the hillside, the noises of burning wood and shouting men accompanying it.
Naomi started to run.


“Sir, we can’t take him alive!” the young officer shouted over the clamor. “He’s too strong!”
“Strong enough that we can’t likely bring him down, either,” the captain of the guard barked back.
“Then what do we do?”
Nyche crouched panting behind the overturned table amidst their severely damaged kitchen, straining to hear the officers speaking while also attending to the dozen or so soldiers battering at the front door. He had strengthened the wood and hinges enough that it wouldn’t break soon, but it took some focus, and he was beginning to tire.
The captain of the guard responded to the officer, but the pounding at the door drowned out their voices. Nyche searched around with his will and rooted out the momentum of the battering ram being brought back for another assault, and quickly switched it’s momentum to quadruple strength, sending the ram and it’s soldiers flying backwards. Then he turned his attention back to the officers long enough to hear one of them say, “Burn it down? Are you sure that would be wise?”
Nyche blanched.
“Only option left,” said the captain. “Get the torches!”
“But that will force him out into the open!”
“And tell Officer Gorjem to ready his archers.”
With the haste of a trapped animal Nyche ripped through the cottage to his room, hurriedly lunging across it and snatching his beloved from the wall. His dearest, his priceless, his cherished companion, guardian, and child; his sword. In a graceful ballet of metal the sword was unsheathed and it’s weight shifted from Nyche’s left hand to his right, it’s edges singing through the air, it’s handle fitting to Nyche’s hand the way only his own sword ever could, with affection. He held the blade still for a moment, flinging the soldiers back from the front door once more, eyes closed as he readied himself. Now he just needed to find Naomi.
Torches were thrown against the walls of the house, and they set fire obediently. Nyche gathered himself up, preparing.


Naomi came sprinting over the hill, and screamed; the cottage was on fire. Flames devoured it up to it’s roof, and black smoke billowed endlessly from the blaze. Surrounding the house were a dozen Yogetian soldiers with longbows drawn and arrows strung, all trained on the burning building and waiting. Many turned when she screamed, and as she dashed forward a few soldiers turned to train their arrows on her, ordering her to stop, asking her if she was the illegal mage’s sister, asking –
“Sluthuku, Nyche’s in there! That’s my brother in there!”
This answered the soldiers’ question, and fortunately they didn’t understand what Naomi had just called them and grabbed her and held her fast. She strained against the soldiers futilely, tears running down her face, and yelled out, “Nyche, get out of there!”
Later Naomi was told that Nyche actually did hear her, and that this triggered him to act at that precise moment. The cottage’s flaming roof burst apart as the figure of Nyche, sword in hand, burst skyward in a great leap that only a mage could ever accomplish; arrows poured at him from the arches but were redirected harmlessly at the fire. Then with an earsplitting bang the soldiers holding Naomi were flung in every direction like dandelion seeds being blown away, and Nyche landed lightly by his sister, grabbing her around the waist. She put her arms around him tightly and closed her eyes as he leapt again, not feeling the upward surge because of Nyche’s alteration of their momentum. The second waft of arrows was deflected with a twirl of Nyche’s sword, and a third never came; the mage and his sister were bounding across the fields towards the coast, free.
“I think we should find another island now,” Nyche said hoarsely as they soared through the air. “They had been organizing after the accident at the inn and conferring with the mayor, and they were trying to arrest me.” He paused as they came down at the ground once more, then once he had leapt again he added, “At least we made it out fine.”
Naomi nodded silently, holding on as tightly as she could. The land fell away beneath and behind them as they leapt again, abandoning their home once more to find a new beginning. After a moment of pause Naomi whispered through the wind, “Nyche, I had wanted to tell you something.”
“What’s that?”
As Nyche the mage and Naomi the scholar reached the peak of a leap, Naomi quickly reached into her cloak and pulled out a scroll, which she handed to Nyche. It was the Enaam Eryuko.
“Happy birthday, brother!”