Dragon Fire, Chapter Two

Nature was all well and good in theory, but Jax knew he was, to his core, a born-and-bred city boy. Two weeks hadn’t seemed like such a long time when Florianne first presented the idea to him, but on his last night in the wilderness he could comfortably say that it was too damn long.

Since he was ten, he’d been studying courtly magic: spells for art and light and music, for illusion and secrecy, for divination and creation. Not spells of the kind one used to survive the wilderness. He was passable with battle magic and the like, but Florianne had admonished even his most basic survivalist spells as lacking.

Admittedly, he had gotten much better at his warding spell in the first few nights. Necessity and ingenuity and all that. But apparently it still wasn’t up to the caliber his mentor would expect, as it had seemingly gone off after the borderline had been crossed, effectively trapping the intruder inside the barrier with him until he dissolved the spell.

So. Not ideal.

I must have placed the sigils in the wrong order or something, he mused to himself as he eyed the stranger who had stumbled into his camp--though he was convinced he had done it exactly the way he’d been setting the ward for the last week or so, and then it had worked perfectly well. Maybe he hadn’t accounted for the change from woodlands to foothills…stone on stone was always a difficult spell to stick properly, maybe he could–

He was being rude.

“So…I’m Jax,” he introduced himself to the clearly travel-worn young woman crouching at the edge of the campfire’s light. “Well, Jaxen, but just Jax will do.” He paused expectantly.

The hunter–he had to assume she was a hunter, judging by her attire and the bow over her shoulder, the knife at her side–said nothing.

“Right. I’m–I’m Jax. And…you are?”

She stared at him. The firelight reflected oddly in her hazel eyes, making the edges of her iris glint gold. Just when he was sure she wasn’t going to answer him at all, she seemed to come to some sort of decision, shoulders dropping a fraction from her ears and her head tilting oddly to the side.

“Varya.”

“Varya,” he repeated, strangely relieved. At least she’s not just going to sit there and stare at me in silence. He hadn’t had a conversation with another human in nearly two weeks, and even such…odd company as this Varya person provided was a balm. “Nice to meet you.”

The young woman--Varya--blinked at him. “It is?”

…What?

“Well, yes,” he chuckled, resisting the urge to rub the back of his neck in a nervous tick. “I mean, the circumstances are unusual, but I’ll admit I’m glad of the company. I haven’t exactly enjoyed wandering these woods alone.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

It was a reasonable question, but she sounded almost belligerent. The sharpness of her tone took him aback for a moment, and he found himself just staring at her in surprise for perhaps a second too long before he could actually respond.

“My mentor, she thought it would be good practice,” he explained, or tried to.

Varya’s frown deepened. “Practice for what?”

“Oh, magic,” he responded easily, happy to be moving to a subject that seemed safer. Were all mountain hunters this standoffish? He’d certainly dealt with his fair share of suspicious or suspect individuals back in the capital, but something about this woman was just…odd. Aside from the worn quality of her clothes and the rather harsh appearance of her weapons--was that knife made of bone?--which could be explained away easily enough by a life of subsistence hunting and wasn’t actually all that uncommon this close to the edge of the valley, he wouldn’t have expected a roaming hunter to be so resistant to meeting a fellow traveler.

…Was she hiding something?

I’m being paranoid. He pushed the idea from his mind. This was what too long at court was doing to him--maybe Florianna had had a point about the wilderness after all.

Varya was still staring at him, though now her frown seemed to be more of confusion than annoyance. “Magic?” she pressed, shifting her weight a bit so that one knee pressed to the earth, balanced maintained with her free hand lightly braced beside it. It struck him as a position a crouching mountain cat might take when it was deciding whether to pounce or flee.

He nodded, straightening up a bit. “Yes, magic! I’ve been apprenticed to one of the most powerful mages in the kingdom for nearly a decade now--she thought I needed some hands-on experience outside of court, though, so…here I am.” He spread his hands out in front of him.

Varya shifted again, both hands braced on the earth in front of her now, her gaze intensifying until he felt he had to look away.

“Show me.”

“I--what?”

“Show me.” She nodded to the fire, though her eyes never left his face. “That…thing you did before. With the flames. That was magic, yes?”

“Thing? What--oh!” He grinned a little sheepishly and nodded. “Yes, that was a spell. I’ve never been a very good cook at the best of times, so out here, I figured I should just--oh, damnit.”

The ritza. He’d completely forgotten about it, and now what he’d hoped would be his last dinner out in the wilds was…rather crispy. Sighing, he waved a hand at the fire and muttered a basic flame spell under his breath so he could pluck the spit free without burning himself before awkwardly balancing the thing on a smooth rock he’d decided to use as a plate.

“There’s some magic for you,” he noted off-handedly in Varya’s direction. “Nothing all that exciting, but it’s been one of the more useful spells for me out here.” He glowered at the overcooked rodent and prodded it with a finger--a decision he instantly regretted, jerking his hand back with a hiss and instinctively putting his fingertip in his mouth for a moment to dull the heat.

Damn thing was hard enough to catch, you’d think it’d at least have the decency to be easier to cook.

His eyes flickered toward Varya, and he saw to his surprise that she was…smiling. Well, more smirking, really, but it was by far the friendliest expression he’d yet seen on her face. “The magic does not stop you from burning dinner?” she asked pointedly.

He snorted and shook his head. “Unfortunately, if there’s a spell that prevents a person from getting distracted from their current task, I’ve yet to learn it.” He sighed and shrugged. “Better than nothing, though. And hopefully the last meal I’ll be cooking this way for quite a while.”

“You are leaving, then?” Any trace of mirth was gone from Varya’s voice and face, that same burning intensity from before back in her eyes.

“Ah–yes. I mean, of course, I don’t live out…”

It suddenly struck him that a hunter might actually live in these foothills. His face heated and he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well, I–I live further south. I’ll be heading home in the morning.”

“Good.”

Alright then. He was going to try not to be offended by that. Before he could come up with any sort of proper response, Varya abruptly continued, “You said south. How far south?”

“Oh, further than Lowshir,” he replied quickly, assuming that the small village closest to this part of the foothills was where she hailed from herself. When she continued to just give him a blank stare, he continued, “I’m from the capitol, actually, so much nearer the southern border.”

She was still frowning. “Why come here?” she pressed intently. “Why so far away from your d–your home for this…hands-on magic?”

“Well, Florianne–my mentor–she doesn’t trust me, I think,” he chuckled. When Varya didn’t join in, he cleared his throat and carried on, “She knew it would be too easy for me to find my way to some small town or village unless she dropped me way out in the middle of nowhere, so she set the transportation spell to–”

“Transportation spell?”

He nearly flinched back from the sudden vehemence in her voice. “Er, yes,” he stammered out. “I mean, it’s very advanced magic–I’ve been studying since I was a child and I’m still years away from doing something like that myself–but for Florianne it wasn’t too difficult to set up.”

Varya was glaring at him now, and he felt suddenly like he used to when he first began studying with Florianne and the sorceress would catch him slacking in his lessons. “And you–magic-people, like you, you can just…do that? Travel so far with your magic?”

“Oh, gods no!” he laughed, raising both hands. “No, not me. Flor is probably the most talented mage of the century. Most people need a full circle to cast a spell like that--though she can do it on her own, with the proper preparation. Like I said, even with a circle I’m still quite a ways away from a spell that advanced. Most mages are.”

“So you cannot simply…come here. Not in numbers.”

Ooohhhhh…

Some of her behavior began to clarify and he shot her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “No, serrah, we cannot. I assure you, your mountain villages are quite safe from cityfolk like myself.”

Varya nodded briskly and said again, “Good.” Then she finally seemed to realize that might be considered rude and she actually…blushed. Well, to be fair, that could have been a trick of the firelight, but he was almost positive it was a blush. “That is…we are used to our privacy, out in these mountains,” she mumbled by way of explanation.

Jax’s smile widened a bit and he nodded. “Oh, believe me, I understand. To be entirely honest with you, after the last two weeks, I don’t think I ever need to repeat my survivalist experience,” he chuckled. “But if you’re not from Lowshir, then where do you live? I thought it was the closest village to the foothills--there’s reports of dragon activity in these mountains, I didn’t think anyone dared live closer.”

He couldn’t actually say what Varya’s expression suddenly morphed into--some strange combination of surprise, irritation, and something almost like guilt? She opened her mouth, but before she could answer him, a high, thin call pierced the chill night air.

They both froze. Jax felt himself blanche. Even he could recognize that sound. Suppose it was too much to hope to avoid them entirely…

Varya confirmed his fear, suddenly on her feet and facing the darkness of the mountainside, her knife once more readied in her grip as she fell back into a clearly well-practiced fighter’s crouch.

“Cur’callim.”

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