Highwater and Glass

The Ashen Feather, Chapter 2 - Horus

Oran spent the next two days researching the ash that dusted the phoenix feather discovered on the Archmage's windowsill. The hope was that the Archmage would return or send word within that time. But if he didn't, the ashen feather was the only clue to go by. It was a task that Horus expected Oran to undertake. Oran was always more deliberate and studious than him. Horus considered himself to be more of a hands-on learner.

He had always been that way. When he was still living with his mother and father in their disheveled fishing shack outside of Morningshire, he heard a lot about the proper ways to cast a line or a net, or how to scale and gut a fish, but only in putting it into practice did he ever learn. When the whispers of magic first came to him, he didn't know what to do. No book could teach them. If the Archmage hadn't come around when he did, Horus might've simply allowed his magic to fall away.

He would always remember that day, when the Archmage rode up on a silver steed. He was in Morningshire to aid in a disagreement between Dwarven merchants and Ravenshade smugglers. He was drawn to Horus's house after sensing the unusual collecting of magic in Horus's vicinity. Horus wasn't aware of any of this at the time. He simply remembered being awestruck by the most elegant-looking man he had ever seen. He hardly knew he was a mage, but in that moment, he realized he was attracted to men. Well, not just any men. The filthy, toothless, hairy men of Morningshire did nothing to pique his interest. He loved beautiful men. And there was no man more beautiful than the Archmage.

When the Archmage asked his parents if he could take their precocious son away to be his new apprentice, Horus began to pack his meager possessions immediately. He didn't care where they were going. He would have followed the Archmage to the edge of oblivion.

Oran found Horus after the end of the second day, lounging in the kitchen as a shade prepared an evening pie for the boys to share. He was holding the feather triumphantly as if it were a medal he had won in a race. He had gone a while without shaving and his auburn stubble was shadowing his face. Horus had to admit to himself that he looked quite handsome. He had always found the boy attractive, and as he got older, he found him becoming painfully so. If only Oran weren't so dense to his advances. Even after kissing him, Oran was clueless. Or worse, Horus mused, uninterested.

"Mount Griffin," said Oran, sitting next to him.

Horus was completely lost. Oran's words had nothing to do with his inner monologue. He watched Oran place the phoenix feather gingerly on the table. 

"Go on," he said.

"I ran a few tests on the ash, consulted Shega's Einalian Volcano Compendium and I'm thoroughly convinced the ash on this phoenix feather originated from the ashfall of Mount Griffin."

"The lesser volcano in Wyvern Rock?"

"The very same," said Oran. "And, since the winds carry ash from west to east, we can say with confidence that the feather was collected from a cone-shaped expanse anywhere between Mount Griffin and The Festering Marsh."

"That's a very large area, Oran. Say we search this expanse, what do you expect to find there?"

Oran shrugged. "I suppose at best the Archmage, someone who knows where he is, or another clue to where he went. And-"

"At worst, we find nothing," said Horus. A thought suddenly entered his mind and he surprised himself as he uttered it aloud. "What if the Archmage doesn't want to be found?"

Oran put his hand on his shoulder. His touch was instantly comforting.

"Then the Archmage should have never trained us to become the inquisitive spellcasters we are."