A Destiny of Dragons (Tales From Verania 2)

Chapter 6: Shit Just Got Real

WHEN I was twelve years old, Morgan of Shadows told me the most remarkable thing. Up until that point, I had been starry-eyed by the idea that I could do magic, that a man who seemed more myth than anything else could have come for me, that he saw something in me. I was just a boy from the slums with no prospects. I could read, sure, and I could write, even though it resembled chicken scratch. I was smart (probably too smart for my own good, according to my parents), but I wasn’t much more than that. I would either work in the mills like my father or at

the flower stand like my mother, and no matter the number of stars I wished upon, nothing would change my destiny. Some people, I knew, were meant for greater things. I wasn’t one of them.

Until I was.

And in that first year, I didn’t think I blinked even once, too busy staring at anything and everything I could. There was the castle, of course, and the King who knew my name. There were the Castle Guards, gruff men who would lay their life down for the Crown. There were the kitchens, with the cooks who made meals from sunup to sundown, covered in flour and flickering shadows from the fires in the ovens.

There were classes too, so many classes that I had to go to that sometimes, at my laziest, made me wish that I’d never stood in the alley and shouted Flora Bora Slam. There was proper etiquette I had to learn that didn’t involve magic: how to bow in front of the King (“But he doesn’t care! He winks at me and wriggles his mustache!”), which fork to use for which course at dinner (“They’re all forks! Why does it matter how many prongs this one has? It’ll still put food in my mouth!”), how to waltz (“Dancing? Send me back to the slums. I don’t even care!”). I was measured for new clothes, my hair was cut, and fingernails were hardly ever dirty. Morgan knew it could be overwhelming, and there were days I didn’t have to worry about any of it, days we’d spend holed up in the labs and I could watch him conjure spells with a wave of his hand, learning ancient words like fie and twe and ain that would cause the hairs on my arms to stand on end.

It was one of these times that he said he had something very important to discuss with me. I sat on the counter in front of him, my legs dangling. He didn’t like when I sat there but never made me move once I had already jumped up.

I nodded solemnly and stared at him with wide eyes. “Is it how to blow something up in a fiery explosion with nothing but the power of my mind?”

He frowned. “What? No, of course not.”

“Oh,” I said. “That’s… disappointing. I really thought today was going to be the day when you would teach me Fiery Mind Explosion of Doom.”

Morgan sighed, a sound I was getting quickly used to. “You capitalized that in your head, didn’t you?”

I grinned at him. “That’s how you know it’s real.”

“Sam, there is no such thing as Fiery Mind Explosion of Doom.”

“A wizard is only restrained by the limits of his imagination,” I recited dutifully.

“I will regret ever having taught you that,” he said. “Mark my words.”

I reached over and patted his hand. “Probably. But if it’s not exploding things, then what is it?”

“I need you to listen to me, Sam. Because this may be the most important thing you could learn as a wizard.”

And didn’t that just send my heart racing.

“Do you know what a cornerstone is?” he asked me.

I shook my head, because I still didn’t know a lot of things. “Is it important?”

“Oh yes,” he said. “It might just be the most important thing. You see, Sam, when a foundation is laid, the first stone placed atop it is called the cornerstone. It is important because all other stones will be set in reference to it. It helps to determine the position of the entire structure. Do you understand?”

I nodded.

“Magic works the same way. It builds upon itself after the foundation is laid. A cornerstone is needed to direct how the magic will grow. Without it, the magic would be shapeless. Or worse, it could grow out of control into something wicked. Something dark.”

“Like the Dark wizards?” I asked quietly.

“Yes, little one,” Morgan said. “Like the Dark wizards. Their magic is a misshapen thing, something grotesque and flawed. They think themselves above structure. Above a cornerstone. They see it as a hindrance. A restraint. Something that could hold them back.”

“But it isn’t.”

“No. It’s not.”

I scrunched up my forehead in thought. “But… I don’t want to carry a stone with me forever. It’d get heavy.”

There was a smile on my mentor’s face, and how my heart thumped at the sight of it. This man, this strange, strange man who had come out of nowhere to rescue my family from a life they didn’t deserve, had become very important to me. I don’t know that I was old enough to understand the specifics of love. I knew I loved my mother. I knew I loved my father. And I knew I loved Morgan of Shadows equally, but in a category all his own. I didn’t understand it, but I wouldn’t question it.

“You won’t have to carry anything physical, little one. Though there are times the weight of it will seem like a burden.”