Magika [Completed]

Chapter 11

Magika and earth presented an interesting duality. One, home to humans – mortal creatures whose lives were swift and fickle. The other, home of immortals and beasts that could tear down entire nations in the blink of an eye -- whose lives were long but wrought with peril.

Things in earth seemed to move faster and change faster than in Magika. Kitaya had watched as human kingdoms were torn down and built up, only to be torn down again – all in the span of a few human lifetimes. While in Magika, one monolith unimpeded could wipe a civilizations existence and leave the ground so barren that nothing could ever prosper there again.

There was no danger earth presented that an immortal couldn't subvert. Earth kept immortals safe, but Magika made immortals strong.

Even the air here smells different.

Yet as Kitaya took in a lungful, a strange sense of nostalgia overcame her. Magika was home after all, even though it had tried to kill her on multiple occasions.

She recalled a time when she was but a youngling, playing in the Konian gardens. Little did she know there was a field of knight roses nearby, and she'd unknowingly inhaled their pollen. The resulting sickness left her bedridden for a fortnight. But she'd learned from that incident, and always carried an emergency supply of medicine with her.

Still, it made her chuckle each time she reflected on it. She, an immortal being crafted by the hands of the gods, was undone by flowers.

"What's so funny?" Aldeheid asked.

She'd almost forgotten she had company. Her curious fool with eyes like an angel. "'Tis nothing." She drummed her fingers on Kaza's saddle. Their trip so far had been a quiet one, much to her surprise. She'd expected someone like Aldeheid to be a talker, but he seemed contented to follow along quietly. Occasionally, she'd catch him staring off into nothing or twisting his gaudy earring.

There hadn't been much personal information in his journal, outside of wanton spellcasting and penchant for killing capes. Fifty-one in total. But, from what had been written in his journal, most of those deaths hadn't happened at Etheria. 

There was nothing about his Nation of origin. No favourite foods, favourite activities. Nothing. Just mundane things about his training with Mellidius.

"So where do you hail from?" she asked, breaking the silence between them. "Your accent sounds... very north."

Aldeheid's lips tipped down and a sadness entered his eyes. He raised a hand to brush his cheek, but it seemed like an absentminded gesture.

Apparently, I've hit a soft spot. Kitaya considered taking the question back, but he spoke before she could.

"The tundra," he said simply.

Kitaya noted that he gave her no kingdom name, but decided not to press him.

"You don't sound Konian. I mean, your accent isn't like Mellidius'" he amended quickly. "It's not as thick."

"I adjust my tone and diction depending on who I'm talking to. It's a neat trick for someone who travels as much as I do."

"But it would be nice to hear your real voice." He smiled. "I'm sure it's lovely."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Again with that silver tongue of yours. Did that work on the ladies of the north? Or a lady of the north?"

He winced as though she'd physically struck him. "I... I don't have an answer for that." He looked away from her, signaling the end of their talk.

Kitaya frowned at him for a moment before pulling her map from one of the saddlebags. That little conversation had yielded more than she expected. Now she knew he didn't like to talk about his home. There was also something refined about him - a quiet politeness that he wore naturally. She'd rubbed shoulders with enough spoiled diplomats and snooty royals to know when someone came from high society. Perhaps she could pick his brain to find out why he moved to earth, or why Mellidius took him under his wing.