Fiction logo

The Trick

A Fantasy Short Story

By K.T. SetoPublished about a year ago Updated about a year ago 10 min read
2

They were an odd pair and were obviously up to no good. You could tell by the way they walked towards the cave. A furtive shuffling of feet with lots of looking around. Shadowed in the last moments of twilight before the moon rises.

The man had skin the color of amber and was very short and skinny. He wore oversized pants that were cinched up with a bit of old rope, so the bottom hem scraped the dust when he walked. He stayed close to his companion, like longtime friends or sometime lovers. His demeanor was almost protective, despite his diminutive size.

The woman was tall and broad. With long tangled black hair, she’d covered with a tattered scarf. She towered over him by at least two feet, making her tall for a human, but too short to be a Fomorian. Big enough to draw stares, complicating her desire for stealth.

It was she that carried the pack, slung over one shoulder so the breadth of it sat just under her prodigious bosom and rested lightly on her belly. The worn leather bulged and was open at the top. Shaggy fur stuck out so she could pull it down and peer inside. She did so often, the way one might check an oven full of holiday goat. When they reached the cave, the man held up a hand and peered into the growing darkness, listening. Turning his head this way and that in the cool night air.

“I don’t hear it,” he whispered, and she frowned, peering around as if she could see something he hadn’t.

“That don’t matter none. The got power to veil themselves, don’t they? It’s why we made this decision.”

“You decided.”

“Aye, and you agreed. Now turn those big ears to listening out for trouble and leave me to get rid of it.”

The man glared at the woman as she slowly stepped toward the cave entrance. He wanted to stop her, but he knew he couldn’t keep her from going inside. He wanted to protect her, yet the darkness of the cave terrified him. His heart raced as he watched her move further from him, into the shadows, and out of sight.

The smell of brimstone greeted her, and she stumbled. She’d thought this to be the lair of a Blue, not a Red, but having set upon this course, she could do naught but follow through. It would have her scent by now. And because she’d snuck in, she couldn’t even claim ‘guest right’ for her folly. As soon as she deemed herself deep enough in the cave to have some protection from the elements, but not close enough to the lair for danger, she stopped and pulled the strap of the sack from her shoulder. Standing still, she peered down at it with a troubled look on her face, then shook her head. Choices were few, and she’d made this one, though it pained her. Setting the bag upon the floor, she turned and scurried back the way she’d come. As soon as she reached her companion, she nodded, and the two fled into the night.

It was the smell that woke him, which spoke to its strength. The distinct odor of something living in his antechamber and the soft noises it made. He slept most days now, as his needs were few and his mind craved the labyrinthine halls of the dreamlands. When you live centuries and not decades, you can indulge. Let your consciousness fall ever inward, ignoring the trickling passage of time. So, there were even odds as to if he’d bother waking no matter what day you chose.

He followed his ears from his bedchamber out into the long dark of the cave, sniffing the air to parse out exactly what had awoken him. The sack lay just out of sight, tucked in a corner. Up close, the scent made his mouth water. He took in the heady aroma of life untainted by the trials of existing in a world such as theirs, then frowned and shrugged off the drugging scent, realizing what was being asked of him. How many times had he repeated this ritual over the years? Wallowing in the scent of pure flesh lingering in the air to draw out the moments between discovery and the disappointment of her impending failure. Too many for memory or sentiment.

Kneeling on the hard packed earth, he reached down and pulled the sack open to look inside. A girl of three lay sleeping, snuggled deep in a mound of furs the color of midnight. The furs smelled of oxen and death and he wrinkled his nose at the stench. The light wisp of night air caused the child to open her eyes and smile, a curious up tilt of lips that spoke to her innocence and previous care. Only one well used to love and comfort exuded such simple trust. Well, she would learn otherwise soon enough, but for the moment, it suited him to give her what she so obviously expected.

“Come little one, tis cold and dark here. I’ve a fire in the hearth and something warm to fill your tummy. Are you hungry?” he asked, lifting her into his arms and carrying her and the sack back down the passage into his home.

The moment he entered the sitting room, he looked right and left, setting the lanterns aflame with a thought, then moved swiftly to the pile of pillows on the floor by his enormous hearth. It took up the entire far wall and was large enough to lay several full-grown trees inside. At the moment, it held only a small mound of smoldering coal, far too little to fill the space but more than enough to heat the chamber when they were lit. He pursed his lips and blew softly, sending an invisible lance of flame to set the fire burning high and watched as the caught and held flickering in the slight breeze of the cavernous space.

Laying the child upon the pillows, he lowered himself to sit beside her and regarded her thoughtfully. She was a handsome child. Warm plump limbs the color of amber and a mop of midnight curls. Her hazel eyes shifted in the light- brown, then green, then gold. The large innocent orbs fringed by long black lashes and tilted upward at the sides, giving her an almost predatory look. They were eyes he recognized as he saw them every time he passed a looking glass. In fact, the child resembled him in coloring so much that a passing stranger would take him for her sire. Not that he’d indulged himself in that manner in decades. It had been at least 50 years since he’d had any type of bed sport, at least not while he was awake.

“Mama told me to show you my tummy,” the child said, grasping the edge of her nightshirt and pulling it up, blithely unashamed of her nakedness. He looked at the flame shaped mark above her belly button and frowned, seeing the faint blueish tint, and feeling his heart speed in response. Reaching out, he tugged the shirt from her hands, smoothing it back down around her body and took her tiny hand in his. It was so much bigger and his fingers with their long sharp nails looked almost obscene curled around hers.

“Sometimes it hurts. Then my hands get too hot, and I see funny,” the girl said, and he sighed, rising to go to his cooking area and put a bit of broth in a bowl for her. He stared at the contents of his larder and added some meat and some dried fruit to a plate, conscious of the implications of his choice. As last meals went, this was a poor offering, but it was all he had on hand at the moment, so it would have to suffice.

“What is your name?” he asked, and remembered the sack, reaching over to pull it open again and take out the scroll tucked beneath the furs. He unrolled it and read the finely printed script, and sighed again.

“I’m Marigold. Mama said it’s a pretty flower like me.” He nodded and then sat down to watch as little Marigold daintily ate the food he’d provided.

“Mama said I would see her later. I had to come see you first, but she didn’t tell me your name. She said she will see me later. That’s what she said, later. When is later?”

“My name is Aido. Later is after I show you my trick. Do you like tricks?”

Marigold nodded and clapped her hands. No doubt the child had seen many a trick in the village when the tinkers and travelers passed through. But his trick wasn’t like theirs because he didn’t rely on subterfuge to entertain. He used magic. Aido waited until the child finished eating and took the plate and bowl back to the cooking area before coming to stand in front of her. Holding her gaze, he stretched his arms up and outward, then started shaking, his body beginning with his shoulders, and changed.

Like the first time he’d transformed, he had a moment of pain and then he reached for his true self and the pain slid to the edge of his consciousness, unimportant in the rapid upswell of his magic. Glowing amber skin gave way to a rainbow kaleidoscope of scales that covered his body from the top of his head to the tip of his long, spiked tail. His talons clicked together as they dug into the earthen floor of his home. When the transformation was complete, he filled the chamber but for the area in front of the hearth where the toddler sat.

Marigold’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open, fear and excitement vying for supremacy as her small body fairly vibrated with the need for action.

“This is the trick. I pretend to be a human.” He opened his jaws wide and showed her the razor-sharp teeth that filled his enormous maw. Marigold shrank away from him until he closed his mouth and lowered his head. “Now your turn, little one. Show me a trick.” He sniffed at her, smelling the wildness blooming from her fear and pushing back the scent of an innocent human child so strongly that his heart sped. Could it be? After all this time. He looked over at the corner of the room by the hearth, at the pile of tiny bones. So many failures. So many monsters disguised in tender mortal flesh.

“I don’t got a trick.” Her voice was tiny, but he could see now that her eyes glowed and he risked what he hadn’t in years. He blew a breath of magic over her so that the surrounding air sparkled with it, and she trembled in the heavy night air. Then her head fell backward, and she let out a little scream as she fell backward and a wave rolled up and under her skin, signaling the start of her transformation.

Aido watched as the tiny girl struggled through the painful throes of the change. Amber skin rippled and reluctantly gave way to scales in muted shades of black and blue. The tiniest stubs of wings, more a suggestion than an actuality, sat high on her shoulders as her body doubled in size. Even with the proof laying on the floor before him, he waited, wanting to be sure she wouldn’t lose the form and his magic hadn’t forced upon her a change that wasn’t true.

He remembered the last time that had happened. When the villagers had brought the changeling to him to test. The boy had embraced the wildness, then turned into a howling beast. One moment a sweet and mischievous boy of four, the next a shaggy half mad thing with snapping jaws. He hadn’t waited for him to take a second step before swallowing him whole, not bothering to bite or chew something so small. Opening his eyes, he saw the wyrmling was wobbling around on her four stubby legs, learning to walk and balance her oversized head and tail as she moved.

“I told you Marigold. You play the same trick,” he whispered, knowing that the baby dragon no longer recalled their conversation or her previous life. One day, she might remember who she had been before, but it was unlikely. For now, for the first time in 200 years, he had a baby dragon to train.

Fantasy
2

About the Creator

K.T. Seto

In a little-known corner of Maryland dwells a tiny curvemudgeon. Despite permanent foot in mouth disease, she has a epistemophilic instinct which makes her ask what-if. Vocal is her repository for the odd bits that don't fit her series.

Reader insights

Nice work

Very well written. Keep up the good work!

Top insight

  1. Excellent storytelling

    Original narrative & well developed characters

Add your insights

Comments (2)

Sign in to comment
  • Testabout a year ago

    I appreciated your unique take on the challenge, and you're excellent with descriptions. It was so easy to picture everything. My only word of caution would be to be wary of being so descriptive that you hold up or disrupt the narrative momentum. Just try to find organic ways to work details into the narrative to keep it flowing.

  • Gary Ragnarssonabout a year ago

    I enjoyed this a lot! There were a couple times I noticed drifting out of the story, and I think it’s that you fell into passive voice in one paragraph, while describing the character’s appearances. We all do it! Just thought I’d point out that tiny little detail 😊 Your storytelling style is really nice by the way, it feels like sitting around a camp fire 🔥 I loved the concept too, and would actually love more!

Find us on social media

Miscellaneous links

  • Explore
  • Contact
  • Privacy Policy
  • Terms of Use
  • Support

© 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.