Hasselti wandered through the corridors of Dragonhome with her fingers sliding over the carved designs on the walls and her eyes unfocused. She was bored to death. Her brother was busy working on his masterpiece and needed ‘quiet’ and ‘no distractions’, and their parents were away in Cythule for business. They would have supported their son and his work first, anyway, and told her to study quietly.
Study what, though? Hasselti knew all the theories of magic appropriate for her age. She could use magical items someone else had made but hadn’t found the certain kind of magic that she had a talent for, like her brother had. He had a talent for creating enchanted artefacts; machines which worked by magic as well as gears. But she could make magical objects about as well as a possum could.
She did have a knack for picking up an artefact and being able to explain what it did, how it did it, and even who made it, sometimes, if they had left a signature. Her brother would often ask her to explain what she felt when she touched some item he was studying. Even though he was older and much more skilled in magic, she was more adept at reading magic than he was.
Like the walls. They were often embedded with some kind of spell or spelled artefact, usually it was a simple light spell or the name of some past person, but occasionally she found stories told on the walls. Sometimes genealogical stories, sometimes old folk tales, sometimes stories of people the corridors were named after or had lived there. Reading them was more interesting than studying magic she already knew and had no affinity for, but it wasn’t considered a good use of time by her parents. She couldn’t earn a living reading the magic of others, unlike making incredible objects; that was ridiculously lucrative.
“What are you doing here?” asked a deep, thrumming, inhuman voice.
Hasselti gasped and reeled backwards in shock. A huge reptilian head was staring down at her. She immediately thought in terror that the dragons from the underkeep had awoken and were taking back their ancient home, enraged by the Dragonari people living there. But then she noticed the head swaying gently on a thick, sinuous neck and she heard a quiet sliding sound. It wasn’t a dragon at all.
“Oh, it’s just you,” she said in relief.
She had heard stories about the giant snake in the mountains but he was reclusive and preferred to stay away from the people who lived there. He was hundreds of years old and was occasionally consulted by the Dragonari council, but he stayed away from the more populated parts of Dragonhome.
“Oh, yes, ‘just’ me,” said the giant snake mockingly. “Just me asking you why you’re here in this abandoned place.”
“How is it abandoned if you’re here?” asked Hasselti.
“I have to live somewhere,” explained the snake, gesturing around with his head to indicate the corridor and the wide doors set into it. “Nobody comes here anymore so it seemed suitable.” He set his large eyes back at Hasselti in a hard look. “Why are you here?”
“I’m bored,” complained Hasselti.
“So you went on an adventure alone to the cursed corridor of Dragonhome. That’s either brave or stupid.”
“The what?” asked Hasselti. “There aren’t any such things as curses!”
The snake’s neck rippled up briefly and Hasselti thought he was shrugging. “There is a curse here, and it doesn’t need you to believe in it to exist.”
“Then why aren’t you cursed for living here?”
“I am a giant snake,” said the snake flatly. “This is a curse against humans.”
“Oh.”
“You see what I mean by a suitable place for me to live?”
“Yes,” replied Hasselti. “I didn’t know about that when I came here; I was just…”
“Aimlessly poking around?” asked the snake sharply. Hasselti looked embarrassed and he went on, “It’s not a crime to be bored, but you should take care that you know where you’re going.”
“In case there’s a curse?” asked Hasselti.
“Or you get lost or run into something dangerous.”
“Uh… are you dangerous?” Hasselti felt a little unwell, staring up into his big eyes and watching his large fangs as his mouth opened to speak to her.
“Yes, but I enjoy having company from time to time,” replied the snake in a pleasant way and Hasselti thought that perhaps the way his skin covered up the corners of his eyes meant that he was smiling. She smiled back.
“Would you like to come in, bored friend?”
“Yes, please,” answered Hasselti brightly. She waited while the snake wound himself around and back inside the room he had indicated and followed him. He coiled himself into a pile on one side of the room and she looked around with interest.
The room was filled with nice furnishings pushed against the walls, which were lined with cupboards and embedded with many spells of light and warmth, though they were mostly inactive. Hasselti felt the spells and thought they needed a bit of cleaning and care and it had been many years since they had been seen to. There was a lot of dust everywhere.
“I’m Hasselti,” she said to the snake, glancing over her shoulder at him while she explored his room. An open cupboard beckoned her and she peered inside it.
“That’s a pretty name,” said the snake. “I’m Shryylyth.”
“That suits you,” remarked Hasselti. “It sounds very snake-y.”
Shryylyth did his subtle smile again. “Dragon language can sound that way sometimes.”
Hasselti looked back at him inquisitively. “Why is your name in Dragon language if you’re a snake?”
“Why is yours?”
“That’s fair,” said Hasselti. She squinted closer at something in the cupboard.
“This place looks like a sorcerer’s enchanting room.”
“That’s because it is one,” explained Shryylyth. “It’s not in use now, of course.”
“Did the sorcerer die?”
“Hmm,” mused Shryylyth. “Probably. But that’s not why he left.”
“Was it because of the curse?” Hasselti asked. “Is that why he left all of his things behind? Some of these are really valuable. I’ve never even seen a whole box of opal dragon scales before.”
“The whole area was cursed and he had to leave very quickly to be safe,” said Shryylyth and he watched with amusement as Hasselti snatched her hand out of the cupboard and stuck it into her opposite sleeve. “I can tell you the story, if you like.”
Hasselti dragged a chair out of a corner, righted it, and sat down. “Yes, please.”
Shryylyth took a deep breath, settled his coils more comfortably, and began. “A long time ago, there was a powerful sorcerer who lived here. He was talented and rich and he was working on his most incredible creation; a Cylerion animal.”
Hasselti gasped and Shryylyth paused. “That’s what my brother is working on! He is going to make the first Dragonari Cylerion animal.”
Shryylyth nodded his head. “Then you know how difficult a task it was and you know the sorcerer failed.”
“Yes, I suppose so…” Hasselti thought for a moment. “But my brother will do it.”
“With support from you, he has a good chance,” said Shryylyth, humouring her. He waited to see if she would say anything more and when she didn’t, he continued.
“The sorcerer had the best materials and the best skills. He worked tirelessly to create a horse Cylerion animal. He wanted a magical mechanical horse to rival the silver and gold horses Keilda and Seimati and to prove that Dragonari sorcerers were just as accomplished as Montaborean sorcerers, though the Cylerion animal was created by a Montaborean sorcerer who passed his secrets only to his countrymen.
“That secrecy was the sorcerer’s downfall.” Shryylyth took a long pause for effect.
“The sorcerer pushed all of his will into the individual pieces of the horse, but they would not go together. The sorcerer spelled his materials until they knew nothing but that they were meant to be a horse, until they knew which horse they were to make up, but they could not form that horse.
“It wasn’t long before the sorcerer realised he had made a big mistake. He had created a soul for this Cylerion animal and no body to house it in. Do you know how he knew that?”
“No,” replied Hasselti in a quiet voice, her left hand in her right sleeve and her right hand inside her left sleeve, each hand holding the opposite elbow.
“Because he started to hear something outside while he worked. A sound like hard feet on the stone. A sound like hoofbeats.” He tapped the very tip of his tail in a four-beat pattern. It sounded eerie in the dusty, dark room.
“When the sorcerer heard the hoofbeats, he would say ‘Just a little longer, just a while more’ as he worked on the body for the horse. But he knew it was getting impatient. The hoofbeats became faster, like the horse soul was agitated.” He tapped his tail more quickly. “The hoofbeats became louder, like the horse soul was stomping around.” He tapped his tail harder.
“Still the sorcerer worked, feverishly hard, to create a body for the soul of the horse he created so foolishly by meddling with magic he did not understand or know the making of. He tried and failed so many times but he knew he could not give up. He knew the horse would not wait forever.
“Then, one night, he knew his time was up.”
Hasselti waited, listening to the tapping, and as the pause grew long, she asked “How did he know?” in a whisper.
“Because the hoofbeats stopped.” His tail stilled.
Hasselti froze in the sudden silence.
“The sorcerer stood at his door where he had heard the pacing horse for so long, but he could not hear them. He thought perhaps the horse had left him, but as he waited, he did hear something. He strained his ears and he heard it more clearly.”
“Heard what?” murmured Hasselti.
“Don’t you hear it?” hissed Shryylyth. “Be quiet and you will.”
Hasselti waited and listened. She couldn’t hear anything.
“The sorcerer waited and heard… the sound of breathing on the other side of the door.”
Hasselti’s ears were filled with the sound of her breath- or was it her breath?
“He checked the crack under the door and saw no shadow cast by whatever was at his door. The breathing continued.”
Hasselti tried to breathe quieter to check if it was just her breathing or something else’s.
“The sorcerer did not dare move or open the door, afraid of the soul of the horse he created. In the morning, he moved what he could to another place in the mountain and abandoned the rest, including all of his work. The other people who lived in the corridor started hearing the hoofbeats as well.” He tapped his tail again, slowly and quietly, and then quickly and hard. “Until one night when the hoofbeats ceased.” His tail stopped. “And all they heard was breathing.”
Hasselti gripped her elbows tightly, trying not to breathe.
“Eventually, they all ran away. And now the corridor is home only to me.”
“And the horse soul,” added Hasselti.
“I suppose so, but if I hear anything odd in the night, I ignore it,” said Shryylyth carelessly.
“I… should go home,” said Hasselti, trying to keep her voice steady.
“Oh, I hope I haven’t bored you.”
“Nope,” said Hasselti in a tight voice. “Thank you for the story!”
“Do visit again if you like,” Shryylyth invited. “But listen out for the horse and run if you hear it.”
“I will!” said Hasselti shrilly and with a hasty “Goodbye!” she dashed out and ran home.
Later that night, she lay awake, trying not to hear her own breathing or pay attention to the tapping sounds she thought she could hear pacing up and down outside her bedroom.
Reply
