The Adentures of Niall Cadfael MacLir

The day was moderately warm, if you lived in Hell, the sun had burned off every imaginable trace of moisture, and any residue had been atomized leaving the day hot and dry, and everybody had sought the shade long since, well, almost everybody. A man walked into the town that day, the sun seeming to settle and light his hat like an otherworldly flame, even his shadow seemed to flit, ghostlike beside him, and those who saw him were not altogether certain whether he was real, or merely an apparition of the heat. The man stood about six feet tall, with deep brown hair cascading over his shoulders that danced in the breeze created by his passage. Looking at his mane you could not be certain whether it was truly long, or just looked that way. His coat long and dusty, looked like it had seen battle, or had been washed in a river of dust, perhaps both, it flowed long and barely did his boots show from beneath it. His trusted boots, battered and worn, and with many a mile wearing the soles.

I suppose I could open by saying...'My name is Ishmael'...but it isn’t, so I won’t. This is my story, as told by me, as I saw it, but as those of who travel alone oft times do my view of myself is sometimes what the educated folks call third person. At times my style is terse and then poetic, it depends all upon my mood. With this warning, I will now regale you with tales of high adventure upon the highways and byways of life, tales flowing from the fountains of time over the rocks of life, streaming over the many trails I have trod, finally joining the great river which we call life. My name is of no import, if I told you, you will have forgotten it by the morrow, but as you need something to call me other than, 'Hey you', you may call me Niall, it is a good a name as any, and fits me better than some other things I have been called over the years.

When I was but a young lad, I decided to leave the home of my father and seek my fortune. I loaded a pack with everything I thought I might need, a change of clothes, a couple of books, my knife and its sharpening stone, a little food, and matches. Tied to the top of my pack was my bedroll, and tied to the back was my cookware. Over one shoulder I had a canteen filled with water, and hidden in the folds of my coat another canteen, filled with whiskey, medicinal of course!

It was a fresh autumn day, and I set out, early in the morning. The trail was well travelled and in due time I caught a ride with a passing traveller. The fresh clear air, the grey of dawn, a pack on my back, and a tune on my tongue, it was a great way to start an adventure.

A hundred years ago it seems, now, I was young and stupid yet full of life. It was only natural that I would try to help those in need. So when I met that woman and her child crouching pitifully by the side of the road I tried to help. I asked her what the problem was, why she was in such a state, what I could do to help...

“Please kind sir, my child and I are perishing, for want of food, our last meal was a lifetime ago, it seems, and we are not the only ones, our entire village was destroyed”, she pleaded.

Now, I should have known better, for there were monsters that even a young man should not want to deal with, no matter how immortal, or strong.

“A creature from the depths of Hell has come and ravaged our village, he burned our houses, drunk our beer, and ate or destroyed all of our food, now he roosts in our village as if it were a nest, and none dare go near him, forty of our young men tried to throw him out, they all went in but none has yet come back out”, She told me, as the child whimpered by her side.

“I reckon, I could go and take a gander”, I said, planning to slay dragons for a pretty girl, even if she did have a weeks worth of dirt, and a grubby child with her.

I was young, and thought with my nether regions, and bound myself to a quest like an insect into the sweet interior of a pitcher plant, and so I went to the village, imagining the reward I would get for banishing this creature. Perhaps if I had been thinking with my brain, instead of something else, I might have tried to find out more.

A few miles more, and the trail to the village seemed to disappear into the woods, it was there, but it was overgrown with weeds, and in one place a tree grew in the space between the wagon ruts, and still nothing registered in my mind as to there being a problem. In the course of time I entered what must have been a village, at one time... Perhaps a century had passed since the last person had lived there, and yet the entire village looked free from overgrowth, in fact nothing grew there. I looked and could see burn marks on some of the buildings, old paint chipped and fading, hanging loose from boards ancient with dry rot, but not even moss growing on them. It looked like something terrible had happened there, so terrible that time had not touched the village, not in the manner it should have. Not a bird sang, nor mouse stirred in the ruins, and my hackles raised, for I felt as if something terrible was watching me, perhaps even stalking me, but what could hurt me... I was young, and immortal!

Every young man thinks he is immortal, at least until he must face his own mortality, but when a youth thinks with his genitals rather than his brains, even a dire threat to his mortality can be brushed off. In the middle of the village was a statue, rather there was forty statues, each looking like a young man, each with a shield, and sword, yet the shield and sword were not stone, nor rusty as if somebody, or something had polished them, often, till they shone in the sun, or gleamed by moon light. Perhaps the creature had done this for some reason of vanity, even the statues did not show the normal wear of age, but looked as if they had been carved that day. It occurred to me that the girl had said that a number of young men had entered, but none had yet returned, perhaps these were statues of those men, raised in honor of some heroic sacrifice, how stupid I was not to even think of those ancient tales of Medusas, and Basilisks...

It was sheer chance that I was not also a statue, but as I looked at the shield of one statue I saw a beast behind me, not its eyes, but its tail, and hindquarters, and I realized that this must be the creature of which I had been told. So then my task was simple, I had to slay it, all creatures beneath the sun are killable, some are simple, and others not so simple, but I was the top of the food chain, and this beast would learn that the hard way. In my pack I had two books, one was a beastiary of creatures to be found in these lands, and the other a general soldiers guide to survival in various types of climate, and terrain. Having not seen more than the rear end of this creature, it seemed to me that finding the right creature in the beastiary might be difficult, but i was mistaken, the entry read basilisk, wherein I read that said creature can turn a being into stone with one look from its eyes, and the venom from its fangs was an even more awful way to die, as the victim turned to stone from the inside out, there was only two known ways to slay the creature, the first way was the method of Perseus and the Medusa, make the creature see its own reflection, or to poison it with its own venom. The ways both had difficulties, naturally, to kill it with its own venom the venom had to be unleashed within its heart, the and for the creature to see its own reflection it needed to have both the inner and outer eyelids up, at the same time, and the inner ones were always down in the day time. A Basilisk being a creature of the dark, and dwelling within caves, and subterranean caverns, it was blinded by the sun when above ground, and sight was could only be minimally achieved by the lowering of the inner eyelid. The book went on to tell about how such a creature looked as if it was half snake, and half Crocodile, only came above ground to nest, and only males nested, it was undetermined whether they were hermaphroditic, or not as only males had been observed, or slain.

I had no basilisk venom nor a mirror, so I was in a bad way. However, the book did describe that the creature was blind by the light of day. The book contained no dissection of a basilisk, so I could not believe that the internal structure was any different than any other creature, stab far enough into the eyeball, and you could seriously hurt or even slay the creature. Trick was to get close enough to blind it without being caught by its hypnotic stare, and without being bitten by its venomous fangs, or being stepped on, as the creature was as tall as the fabled Oliphaunt, and probably twice as heavy, if it stepped on me I was sure it would really sting. I am no more fond of pain than the next man, so I would try to avoid being squished beneath its feet.

This basilisk was roosting above ground, in the ruins of a town, and it never occurred to me that the book might be wrong, or that there might be a reason it was here. The man who taught me to hunt told me that the first rule of hunting is to be smarter than your quarry, considering I was hunting a dumb beast that should not have been a problem, right? The book failed to mention that this particular beast had an intelligence level higher than a dog, it also failed to mention the terrific stench of its breath, obviously the people who had slain them before were lacking in the sense of smell, because let me tell you its breath was worse than mine in the morning, i was busy studying on the problem when the problem overshadowed me.

The creature had noticed my presence, and crept up behind me, which is remarkable for an animal the size of a bull elephant. Not a sound had I heard until the sun was blocked by an immense shadow, I yelped, and ran, leaving my things behind. Not very heroic I know, but my mother always said that discretion was the better part of valor, of course the old soldier who had given me the survival handbook had put it differently, a man who up and runs lives to fight another day. I do not know for certain what might have happened, perhaps I would have been as flat as my bag, that it stepped on, as it followed me. Suddenly the hunter was the prey, not the role I had envisioned, nor the way the bards tell stories of the heroes of old. I ducked into a building, and dashed out the back door as the basilisk followed me.

The building was old, and made of wood and in its passage the basilisk left little but flying splinters. I ran down one alley and headed up another street, trying to lose the creature, but to no avail, the thing had my scent like a bloodhound on a trail. Strange how it could smell anything over its own putrid stench. I continued to avoid the charging beast, gaining some ground in the corners, until I realized I had completely circled around, and was back to the statues. Most of the statues held swords, but one of them held an assegai, this was a weapon I could use, the shaft was in excellent condition considering the age it must be, and it fit my hand as if it had been built for me. With a weapon I knew how to use, I finally stood a fighting chance, which against this kind of beast is very little chance, in fact slightly greater than a snow flake in Hades.

As I was looking for an avenue of attack, I noticed one of the buildings was a bit more solid looking, perhaps even older than the surrounding buildings, as it was made entirely from stone, based on the relative closeness of rooftops I figured I could jump from a wooden building onto its roof. From the roof, I thought I might have a better vantage point with which to attack...little did I know. As the Basilisk hunted me on the street level, I crawled up a wooden building, to its roof, then as I was jumping to the stone building, the creature caused the building to disappear in a shower of splintered wood. As i reached the stone building I scrambled a little, as it is very disconcerting to have the building you are in the process of jumping off of disappear, practically beneath your feet. I turned to see the basilisk from a safe vantage point.

From head to the tip of its tail it was over thirty paces long, it stood over a story high; as a result I could have stepped from any roof in town onto its back. The tail was long and scaled, an iridescent green, turning into a slight olive color as it reached the body, but what was most amazing was upon the back of the critter, there appeared to be the rotting remains of what appeared to have been a saddle. This basilisk playing hide and seek with me was somebodies horse, though who would want to ride a basilisk is beyond me.

It never occurred to me not to jump on the back of the monster, how else was I supposed to get the assegai near its eyes, without looking into them myself, and thus being turned to stone. So I leapt from the roof onto the passing back of the basilisk below, the decrepit saddle burst beneath my weight, but as I straddled it, my feet found the intact stirrups, and slid into them, as of their own volition. Now I was a basilisk rider, though my intention to slay the beast remained the same, I found myself in a conundrum; I could in no way extricate myself from the stirrups, so I could not get to a decent position from which to hurl my assegai. Further, as the beast felt my weight, it started to leap about, like a bucking horse, and it was all i could do to remain on the back, without being dashed to pieces against its back.

The basilisk dove, and leapt, it turned on a farthing and gave change, it writhed and tried to toss me off its back, but still I clung for dear life, after an eternity of thrashing the beast quieted, like a steed, and waited. While the creature was thrashing I found hand holds, on either side of the neck, mere loops of stone, yet somehow they must have acted as reigns, for it was when I pulled hard on them that the beast had quieted. With a basic idea in my head I tried kicking in with my heels, and the beast stated off at a trot. Now if you have never ridden a basilisk before, let me tell you that it is nothing like a good horse, no, the actual swaying of the beast had such a lulling effect I was in danger of falling asleep, bad smell and all.

My original intention was to ride the beast out of town, but with forest converging on all sides, that seemed to be a bit unpractical. Before I could get to the edge of town, the farthest edge from where I had entered, I came across a wizened old man, who sure enough was still living.

He looked at me and his eyes clouded in a shroud of incomprehensible rage, he spluttered out at me, “Y-ye’ve stolen me horse… give ‘im back now! Or I’ll turn ye into a toad”.

What can I say it was so comical I laughed.

“Give ‘im back, I say, he’s mine, mine I tell ye, ye’ve got no right”, He bellowed.

“Old man, I was commissioned to drive a monster from Hell’s rim rock, out of this town, so the inhabitants could return, I intend to do that”, I told the spluttering old geezer.

He chuckled at that, ”Inhabitants”, he wheezed, “There've been no 'inhabitants' of this town in a hunnert years, not since I took over this town, Monster you were commissioned to deal with wasn’t old Blacky here, why he wouldn’t harm a fly. And He’s my horse, and you give him back this instant, or I’ll, I’ll turn you into a fish, and eat you for dinner.”

With that he pulled out a stick, and waving it at me he muttered under his breath. I do not know what he had been expecting, but a little spark fell from the end of it and fizzled in the dirt, and evinced a tiny puff of smoke when it landed there, but nothing else.

“Too bad old man, your stick does not look to be working, maybe you should try something else”, I told him.

He waved his stick with a flourish that made his beard wiggle to and fro like a leaf in the wind, he jabbed, and stabbed, and mumbled some more, this time something really did happen. A crack of thunder erupted where the man had stood, and a flash of blinding light, and where the man had stood was now an anciently evil looking frog, even more, the basilisk, upon whose back I was sitting was now quivering, as if it was about to vanish like a dream, there was another flash of light, and where there had been a basilisk, now there was a horse, deep and black, and the saddle had come together as if it had been magic. I am now, as I was then, a practical kind of person, and I know magic does not exist, but if it did, I am sure it would look something like what happened that day.

There was a deep shimmering, and the village itself crumbled into dust, except for the stone building which was suddenly overgrown with a hundred years of forest, it was as if it had all been a dream, except that I had a horse, and an angry frog, where before I had been alone and on foot.

A docile horse is one thing, but a frog so angry it tried to bite me every time I came near it was another, but frog or not it refused to leave the horse, and I could not leave the maddened creature out here in the woods, miles from the nearest pond. When the Basilisk had turned into a horse, and the decrepit old geezer into a frog, I became able to dismount, and so I did. I saw the probable location the old man had come from and began to investigate there, it turns out it was the stone building from which I had leapt earlier.

I entered the building, which was about the only building left, the only building which had not succumbed to a hundred years of vegetation growth in a split heartbeat, and found within it was cozy. A work bench, lined with dozens of dirty dishes stood in the middle of the room, vermin shuffled through the plates, and pans as if they belonged there, they never so much as noticed my approach. Along the far wall was an ancient tapestry, worm eaten, and holed, held together by mere threads, the dyes so faded that it was impossible to even imagine what the pictures upon it might have been, beneath it lay what seemed to be a rumpled mix of rotting cushions, and blankets, possibly a bed. But from the stench it would be difficult to sleep in, I imagined, there mixed in the rumpled sheets lay the decomposing corpse of some creature, I never knew what. Perhaps the old man had had books once, but he either had burnt them for warmth, or they had long since succumbed to the elements, indeed there was nothing in the room that seemed even remotely worth keeping. However I kept looking, for wizards were reputed to have fabulous treasures, at least that is what the bards always sang of, at least in this case the bards were once again wrong!

The only treasure the old geezer seems to have hoarded was dust bunnies, and desiccated corpses of rodents, and mummified insects, where ever I looked death was present, a collection of death by various means, slowly returning to the dust. So I left the building, having discovered nothing of use, I saw and collected my semi flattened pack from where I had left it, and the basilisk had trod upon it. There being no more need for haste, I looked through and found the binding on my bestiary was broken, my food squished beyond recognition, and my canteen only slightly warped by the pressure of the beasts tread. It was better than I could have hoped, so I loaded my pack tied it to the back of the saddle, and just before I mounted the horse I picked up the wizened old toad, and the funny stick the old man had dropped, Perhaps, I thought, that I could some coin for it, at the very least it would make good kindling for a fire. As I reached for the tiny frog, it glared, let out a hissing croak, and tried to bite my hand. A mouth meant for eating flies is not well suited to taking a chunk from a man’s hand, so it did little but moisten the web between my thumb and forefinger, and allowed me the chance to pick it up, and put it in a safe pocket.

It never occurred to me that the frog might be better left in the wood, to the tender mercy of the woodland creatures, I was young, and thought first of finding a pond for the creature to live out its days. Mounting the horse I followed the trail out to the main road, I saw no sign of the young woman, nor her offspring, and the path had become if it were possible, even more overgrown, in the few hours since I had set forth to rid the village of the unwanted monster. Back on the main road again, I continued until nightfall, meeting not one traveller, in any direction, and so I spent a lonely night by the side of the road, the horse grazed on the sparse grass, and the ancient, wrinkled old frog ate a hearty meal of insects buzzing through the night, and I went to bed hungry. The grey of morning came far too soon, I drank a little of my whiskey, and remounted my horse, and remembering the ancient frog, looked about, only to find it crawling out of my pocket, wherein it had spent the night, I guess it lacked sufficient warmth elsewhere, but I did not bother to check my bestiary.

The next day, was little different, but that night I camped in a site near a stream, where it looked as if others had camped in the past, there I managed to tickle a couple of trout out of the water, and soon had them roasting by a fire. I had never realized how hungry I was until I smelled the fat a dripping and sparking in the fire, all be it I had no spices, it was still a sumptuous meal for a starving man. The following day I came across the first sign of habitation around midday, though it was apparently a ruins, I heard chanting , and murmuring echoing from within, odd smells of burnt dog hair, and wet spiders seemed to emanate from the very stones, I did not know what it was but perhaps the residents could help me along my way, so I nosed the ex-basilisk on over to the forward gate and called out for the gate keeper.

“Go away, no peddlers, or solicitors, trespassers will be persecuted”, a gruff voice from deep within the door told me.

“You have me wrong, friend”, I said, “I am but a poor lost traveller looking for a town, I was hoping you could direct me”.

“GO away”, the voice said again, sounding even more unfriendly, “No peddlers, or solicitors, trespassers will be persecuted, go away”.

“You are not very friendly, are you, let me tell you, I have been on the road for three days, and aside from the ancient village, where I fought with a basilisk, the ancient man who claimed the basilisk was his horse, and a very dirty young woman with her child, I have seen nobody, and no other signs of habitation, and I am needing directions, a bath , and a pond for an ancient old frog, that has burrowed very deep into my pocket, and is muttering froglike imprecations at me at this very moment. So would you kindly show me your face, and give me direction to where I might find these things, and on top of all that, the word is prosecuted, not persecuted”, I replied, perhaps in a bit of a means to brag, but I was young, and bragging was the arrogance of youth.

“I have told you twice, to go away, You will not be warned a third time, and if you had faced the basilisk in the village, you would now be a statue, therefore you are a liar, This is the school of Magistry, and we are accepting no new apprentices, and giving no travellers aid, so GO AWAY”.

“NO”, I replied, “There is no such thing as Magic, there is nothing that science cannot explain, even if I do not understand sufficient science to explain it.You are an annoying creature, who apparently is too afraid to even show your face to a passing traveller, and you are more outrageous at claiming I am a liar, If you were a true mage you would see I am riding the basilisk, as you are hiding, and not bothering to even look at me, you must be the lout, and the liar”.

No sooner had the words left my mouth than the great oak doors shifted, with a horrendous squealing noise that obliterated all sound, and sent my head reeling, and the horse prancing, and the frog curled even deeper into my pocket as if trying to escape the horrid noise. A short man, may be 4 feet tall, with a beard that fell to his ankles stepped through the tiny crack betwixt the doors.

“That is a horse, not a basilisk, young man”, he told me.

“It was a basilisk, and I was riding it when an old geezer like you came out, waved a stick under my nose and in a burst of smoke turned, apparently, into a frog, the same venerable creature that is luring deep in my pocket, and evading my hand. It has hissed at me, spit at me, and even tried to bite me, evidently a bit annoyed that I am riding its horse.”, I explained.

Another ancient man stepped out from between the doors, and looked at me, and then at the gate keeper, “Sthyllian you reptile, go back to your gates, let a mage handle this” he declared.

The gate keeper scurried backward, like a roach in the light of a candle, and was soon hidden in the recess.

“You must forgive us, Sthyllian is a bit simple, but he is good at scaring away unwanted visitors. This ancient village you spoke of, did you know the name of it?” The old man asked.

“I never was told its name, but I was directed there by a young woman who was so thin I could almost think she was a reflection, or what some might call a wraith.”, I went on, “I was told that forty warriors had entered and had not yet returned, that some beast from the pit of Hell had devoured all the food, imbibed all the beer, and generally made the village uninhabitable”.

“The description fits, over seven decades have passed by since we received word of a horrible evil encroaching upon a village, Sthyllian was a powerful mage apprentice then, and he and his master set out to deal with this evil. It is said that power corrupts, but this evil corrupted the two in two different ways, we have little knowledge of what truly occurred for when Sthyllian returned he was as you see him now, his master just disappeared. Over the years forty adventuring knights set out to rid this evil from the village, and none were heard of again, now we know what happened. But how it is that you were not corrupted is still a question that needs to be answered. Come I n and dine with us, and perhaps we can find out the reason for you winning where those more powerful failed like they did”, the mage responded.

I decided to take his invitation, for truth be told I was more than a little hungry and my belly was trying to imitate the roaring of a Hippogriff. Within the school, beyond the gates, were clumps of robed men, and woman tossing fire, and what appeared to be lightning at targets, most could not hit the broadside of a basilisk from a couple yards away. If this was magic then they must have been practicing to start themselves on fire, for I could see no other use for such skills, the first Javelin would pierce them through, if this was supposed to be some kind of defense. Beyond the display of ineptitudes was a display of adepts maladapted to magery, because they were mixing various ingredients in a cauldron, and each had his own cauldron, instead of dropping piddling little arcs of lightning, or splashing fire balls on their gowns, these adepts were apparently trying to make soup, and failing… soup is not supposed to bubble up and send most of itself flying out to coat the cook in a sticky goo, that then engulfs the luckless victim in flames. All I saw was sloppy application of science, nothing magical about anything that I saw, not until I sat down to eat, and the explosion of flavors on my tongue was sheer poetry. As I savored every bite, the sweet, the sour, the salty, all blasting my taste buds with sensations of color, and sheer sensory delight, my disbelief in magic slighted.

As I swallowed the last mouthful I opened my eyes to find all the mages in the dining room staring at me transfixed, as if I had grown a second head, so I asked what they found so interesting in my eating, my host explained that they had not had a visitor for so long that I was a rarity, and the fact that I was enjoying what to them was rather unstimulating fare was the source of their amazement. When they told me the food was bland, I argued with them, telling them about every little explosion of flavor that so overwhelmed my starved mouth, that it was with an almost sexual pleasure that I devoured my food. In fact I was certain the chef had imbued the food with some magic, perhaps it was in the delicate spicing, or maybe it was in the smoke that glazed the meat, or possibly in the mulling of the wine that I sipped like it was ambrosia, on the other hand, maybe the magic was in the fact that I was starving, and not a very good cook myself!

The elderly gentleman who had brought me in, and invited me to partake with the mages, was waiting as I finished off the last crumbs, and licked the juices off of my fingers. He led me to a room, and told me I could stay there for the night, and perhaps in the morning questions would have answers, if only for the mages. I was in no hurry, and I thought that it could not hurt to stay a bit and learn what I could. I had the rest of the day to myself so I wandered and watched these magelings failing miserably. I was young, and not all that wise, but I was still wise enough to hold my tongue, mostly.

There was one young adept that was rather striking, and she held my attention more than any of the others, perhaps it was her beauty, or perhaps it was the spectacular way in which she failed in her practice, or maybe it was just the magic of youth. She was about as tall as me, with hair that seemed to change color depending on her mood, I watched it turn from a deep black, almost blue like a raven in the shadows, to a blazing fiery hue of orangey red. Her face was not all that remarkable, her eyes were green like the emeralds from the ancient stories, her lips were like the deep dark roses that climb the ruins of old castles. Her entire body was covered by a robe that while it hung loosely about her, also seemed to define her femininity, it was luxurious silk, which like her hair seemed to change color with her moods. I stood watching her unaware of the passage of time, I was enthralled.

I could not have been watching this girl for more than a few minutes when she noticed me, instead of trying to start a conversation, or telling me to go away she pointed at me and yelled. I do not know what she was trying to accomplish, but I am sure what happened was not it. Lightning dribbled from her finger and as it hit the ground it rolled into a ball, when the lightning ceased oozing from her finger the ball exploded in what looked like a display of fireworks, the streams of which danced on the breeze emitting a rainbow of colors. With a look of outright fury the girl tried something else, and from the palm of her hand a fireball appeared. She threw it at me, but some wind must have caught it, for it curved back the way it had come, and she wound up throwing herself to the ground to avoid being caught by it. It ended its journey by splattering against a stone wall, which melted into the remarkable resemblance of a man and a woman kissing, or maybe I just thought it resembled that. She tried again, this time she muttered and drew signs in the air, and a gust of wind circled about her, eventually it lifted her up and threw her my direction. I thought it might be good if I tried to catch her, it might appear appropriately heroic, and having nothing in my hands, I reached out to catch her. I did break her fall, but not in the way I imagined, she was moving far too fast for me to heroically catch her instead I wound up being hurled backwards by the force of the wind, holding on to her all the while. We hit the ground and tumbled over and over until we finally came to a rest at the feet of the elderly mage who had invited me to stay.

The girl had wound on top of me, her robe had wrapped itself about my hands and feet so that we were, for all intents and purposes bound one to another, and try as she might to escape we became all the more entangled. Finally I spoke, but perhaps I should have stayed silent until she strangled herself trying to be free.

“Girl, relax, all your fighting is doing is getting us bound tighter to each other, soon you will be so tightly bound to me we might as well be one body.” I calmly explained with all the charm I could muster.

“Argh!...you had to come here of all places, now, when I was so close to completion”, she sobbed.

The old mage looked at us, entangled in a compromising position, and muttered a few words upon the wind, which still surged about us. The wind relented, and after a few moments so did the girls robe, which was a good thing, for had we gotten bound any tighter she would have felt exactly what I thought of her. As we stood up she flushed as she saw the old man, he told her to go back to her practice, if she could. Taking a deep breath, her hair a brilliant red, she whirled about, stepped on her robe and fell into my arms. I looked up to see the old mage softly laughing.

“Becka, you had better come with us, it might be safer for all involved. I watched your entire performance, and if you were trying to win the heart of another mage, your display of prowess would have sufficed, but Niall here is no mage. I would be willing to wager he was watching you without ever knowing what had drawn him into your spell. I further would wager you had no intention of making him fall in love with you, you are the first two in half a century to be a victim of the fates. The very power of a love meant to be drew you two together, and at the time the fates decided was right.” the mage lectured.

“Young Niall, I know you do not believe in magery, and trust only in science, but you ought to know that a thousand years ago, according to our ancient tomes, Magery was considered a science. The arcane sciences study creation, and manipulation of the elements, a thousand years ago it was also the realm of the priests of Holy Mother Church. Alas a heresy crept in, and the church excommunicated those who studied the arcane sciences. I could tell you of this heresy, but by now even the church has forgotten the reason, forgotten the heresy, and as a result evil now has a strangle hold on the world. In the study of magery we study the actual creation, indeed, it is said that the Creator Himself used a form of magic, when He breathed life into man, and when he spoke creation into being. In studying the elements we have learned not only how to destroy, but also how to heal, how to build, how to create, which are things abhorred by Mother church.

“Know this, young Niall, and remember it also Becka, when the Creator formed man, he also formed a woman to be with him, to help him, and the two were bound by a twinned soul. Ancient legend has it that in the beginning, when our souls not bound up in this flesh, before the creation of man, it said that the heralds of the Creator took the souls of people and declared ‘this boy for this girl’, and that is how the destiny of love came to be. I do not know if it is a true legend, but it seems reasonable, for over the years we have observed the odd things that happen when twin souls are united, as yours have been. There is a link, formed by fate, it happened when your eyes met, and your souls recognized each other.

“What has been observed of this effect is this, no matter how far apart you may try to run you will always find your way back to each other, however unintentionally. When one of you is injured the other will cry out in pain, when one of you is sad, or angry, or happy the other will feel the same though separated by ten thousand leagues. It is also an observable fact that when two such people finally unite they are a force so formidable that all short of the Creator tremble before them.

“Becka, I have known you since you were a wee lass, I dandled you on my knee as a babe, you know that I only want what is best for you, and it is my considered opinion that you and Niall ought to marry. This would be an occasion of great moment, and we would be pleased to host a priest for such a wedding, but such a matter should not be entered into lightly. When you two met there was almost a clap of thunder, it was as if a gong went off in the heads of the council, indeed it is sounding still, and as young Niall, here, is not a mage this leaves us with many questions, for such a fated love has only been observed amongst mages, and never amongst the mundane”.

As the old man wandered off, I looked at the girl, her hair was like the brown of a chestnut late in the fall, I could not help but look, and wonder about this days revelations. I was getting the nerve up to ask her if the old guy was always so long winded, but she interrupted me…

“Maybe you think you are going to marry me, think again buster, you interrupted my plans, butting your nose in where it was not wanted, I wish you would just go away and leave me alone. I have no use for someone to disturb my studies before I become a full mage”, with that she whirled around and began to walk away, I think she would have run but for what had happened last time. I could not be certain, but I thought I heard her begin to cry, all I know is I began to feel terribly sad, as if I had proven to all and sundry that I was even less intelligent than they already thought.

I walked away, and headed for my quarters, or so I thought. I entered the cell and lay down on the bed and drifted off to sleep, my dreams wrent by a woman who walked with hair of fire, in fact in my dream she seemed almost an elemental being, blazing, burning, with gleaming cinders for eyes. She strode through my dreams, and I knew my heart burned with an unquenchable passion. I dreamed that I held her in my arms, and kissed her lips and was unharmed by the fire, indeed it wrapped itself about me, and shrouded my body, and I could feel her breasts pushing against my chest. I would have gone further and done more, but for two things, first there was an unfamiliar pain in my groin, and half asleep I undid my leggings and pulled them down so as to relieve this pain, (and the pain went away, mostly). The second was a voice that was agonizingly familiar, the voice of the fire elemental from my dream, “Braggart”, she exclaimed. Then launched into a series of invective that made the moss wilt beneath the pure torrent of it.

I looked up groggily to see the girl there flame billowing from her hair, eyes black as a ravens wing, smoldering with pent up passion. “What are you doing in my room”, I asked.

“Your room… you are laying on my bed, fouling it with your unwashed body, doing who knows what unspeakable things, and your organ is like a tree, and I did not need to see that”.

“I apologise, lass, I thought I was in the room assigned to me, and as for my organ, I can scarcely control it, I am told some men have the ability, but I do not. In fact, when this happens sometimes it does not lay back down for hours, as for being unbathed I have not been made aware of any river nearby in which I can wash”.

“Hours”, she queried, raising an eyebrow.

“Hours”, I confirmed.

“Then I shall do something about that, braggart”, and pulling a bucket of water from out of the billows of her robe she proceeded to douse my groin with the ice cold liquid. Thankfully my organ subsided, and I was able to pull my leggings back up.