Magika [Completed]

Chapter 2

Twenty-four.

That was how many cape trials Aldeheid had done at the Etheria. And he'd failed each and every one of them. Out of those twenty-four, Gwen was the first one to die. But that was one too many. All the others had fallen ill from having so much of their magic drained. 

Then again, cape trials had always been a problem for him, even before he came to earth. But that was a time he didn't want to think or speak of. Earth was supposed to be a new beginning for him, a time to leave the things of the past in the past. He'd started the song and dance of cape trials all over again, because he'd found a mentor who convinced him his problem was remediable.

After all, reciting spells was a magician thing. Having a cape as a source of magic was a magician thing. But killing capes wasn't a magician thing. It was an Aldeheid thing.

It seemed no matter what he did, disaster followed. No matter where he went, he could never find peace or purpose. Such was his lot. Mellidius had been wrong; his problem wasn't remediable. Because if it were, he would've been fixed already. There were only so many ways one could recite spells.

Some may have blamed his predicament on bad luck, but Aldeheid couldn't, in good and sound conscience, blame his fate on such a silly notion. No, what was happening to him was far more deliberate. There had to be a cruel god following him around, pulling the proverbial strings in the background, gaining pleasure and sustenance from his misery.

Or perhaps everything was his fault. There were those who believed one could speak their own fate into existence. And he wasn't exactly a warm ray of sunshine. How many times had he convinced himself he'd fail before even trying? Countless.

With that considered, it wouldn't be so farfetched to think that his serial negativity had contributed to his hard lot. Perhaps if he'd been more optimistic about finding a cape, he'd have one. One who was fearless, strong and capable. More importantly, one who could handle the insanity of his spellcasting.

Ridiculous, he thought, as he ventured further away from the Bastion. Dried leaves crunched under his feet and more fell from overhead, painting the mountain trail with the colours of autumn. Birds flitted back and forth in the canopy and forest rodents disturbed the underbrush.

Gallitel had warned Aldeheid to stay away from Claudia, and he planned to do just that. By getting as far away from the Bastion as possible. His hair was still damp from the quick bath he'd taken before leaving. He'd used balms to soothe the burns and bruises on his hands but no amount of medicinal treatment would take away the guilt that weighed him down. 

So he walked, as he always did in moments like this. He walked until his legs gave way beneath him, and exhaustion left him too weak to think about what had happened.

Claudia should've strangled him to death. Or better, Gallitel should've thrown him head first off the west balcony, and done to him what he'd done to so many capes before. Maybe he would've seen said capes on the other side. Maybe they would beat him senseless like he deserved.

Gwen, the beautiful flower that she was. He'd crushed her.

Like the murderer he was. Gallitel's punishment for him was almost comically light-handed. He should've been beheaded and thrown to the scavengers.

Aldeheid continued his trek well into the valley, bypassing the town to wander the rolling foothills beyond. Their heather-brushed crests rose and fell like waves on the ocean, and he waded through them until he reached the Phantom Orchard.

The cluster of trees was laden with fruit, but even the human villagers knew better than to eat any. There couldn't be any beneficial sustenance hanging from trees that disappeared and reappeared randomly.