Status: In progress...
The Art
Little Book
My over-the-top uncle, I mean, Chris showed me where I could wash up and then I followed him through another door from the square into a long room with a long, perfectly set, wooden table. I figured that this was the dining room. Everything smelled delicious and it looked so colourful. When we were seated, a servant opened all the dishes and started to serve.
“So,” Chris began, “How are you finding the house?”
“Wonderful,” I answered, “But confusing.”
“Yes, it is rather huge. You should take a little look the library – The room you were peeping into. And the gardens are marvellous. I’ll have a body guard ready for you.”
“A body guard?”
“Yes.”
“Why? I’m only here to learn art from you.”
“Yes, the Art of Magic.”
I let out a yelp and nearly fell off my chair as I choked.
“Diaphragmustus!” my uncle commanded and suddenly, the piece of food I was choking on shot out of my mouth and against the opposite wall.
I blushed as I tried to get my breath back, then tried to apologise.
“Oh, it’s really nothing,” Chris made a dismissing gesture with his hand, “It happens eighty percent of the time.”
“Eighty percent of the time of what?” I was feeling quite shocked with confusion at this point.
“Why yes! Did you think you were the only little brat who would come here with the purpose to infringe on my space and be taught by me?” Then he went on ever pleasantly, “That’s why the bodyguards are there. I have great enemies. They’re especially on the look out for you. You see, I taught your mother.” He looked smug at ‘your mother.’ He gave a smart nod.
I didn’t know what to say. My mother was a Magician?
“No, child, not a magician!” Chris looked at me as if I was cookoo. “There are different ranks or levels of The Art, but a magician works in a circus. Don’t tell me your mother changed careers to go and work in a circus!”
“No, no, I don’t think so.”
“And why do I think you would know. She died shortly after you turned a year old.”
“Did I kill her?” I asked, bewildered. I was thoroughly confused by everything by now.
“No, she got killed because of who you were.”
“Because of who I am? I don’t understand.”
“Because of whom you are. Because of what you are! You are her daughter. The daughter of the one of the only ones alive at that time who still had Kortic blood.”
“What do you mean? What’s Kortic?”
“They were after you too, for they weren’t sure whether you had inherited it from her or not. She hid you in the hollow of a tree in the woods and was killed hours later.”
“I was taken to the orphanage. Why did they want us dead just because of…chaotic blood?”
“Kortic. Ancient magical creatures that roamed the woods, but swam after dark. They were powerful creatures. So Askarat wanted them wiped out.”
I couldn’t help laughing. “Askarat must be the bad guy! Get it? Ask-a-rat?”
“Very funny. You’ll have to become serious before you learn The Art.”
We finished dinner and I walked back to the library. It was easy enough to find. I went inside and all I saw were books and books and books stacked in bookcases against the walls right up to the ceiling. It was a little dusty in some places and the curtains were closed. The hanging light provided good light, though. I wondered whether my uncle had actually read all of these books. There were probably more than a thousand.
I walked over to one wall and started counting the books from the top left corner when a book near the middle caught my eye. It was way too high up to reach. I took a chair from the table and stood on it, but it was still too high. I tried jumping, but I toppled the chair over on landing and fell. Disgusted, I put my hands on my hips. I looked around again. There were no long things with which I could get the dusty book out of the bookcase.
Then it occurred to me, why did I want that book so bad if here are loads of others to look at? I walked up and down the room, but none of the books interested me. I took some books out and paged through them, but they were also boring. I sighed and sat down on the floor.
It might seem strange that I prefer the floor over chairs, but I am most comfortable and creative on the ground. I put my chin in my hands and rested. If only that book would fall out of the bookcase. I imagined it leaning out of the bookcase and toppling out of it. I love making up stories, whether they’re about animals, people, or books, as in this case.
I jumped and jerked my face out of my hands. I had just heard a sound. I looked at the floor and there, right in front of me, lay the book. I looked around to see if my uncle had read my mind again and thrown the book at me. I really didn’t believe in this magic stuff, even if it was fun in stories. There was no one and nothing but me in the room. I shrugged and picked up the book, telling myself that it had probably been ill balanced up there anyway and that a mouse could easily have made it fall from there.
It was a really old book and not very attractive. The brown leather cover was battered and many pages were loose. There were places where fish moths had eaten on the pages so words were missing and it was full of dust. I couldn’t even make out the title, but I decided to take the little book with me.
“So,” Chris began, “How are you finding the house?”
“Wonderful,” I answered, “But confusing.”
“Yes, it is rather huge. You should take a little look the library – The room you were peeping into. And the gardens are marvellous. I’ll have a body guard ready for you.”
“A body guard?”
“Yes.”
“Why? I’m only here to learn art from you.”
“Yes, the Art of Magic.”
I let out a yelp and nearly fell off my chair as I choked.
“Diaphragmustus!” my uncle commanded and suddenly, the piece of food I was choking on shot out of my mouth and against the opposite wall.
I blushed as I tried to get my breath back, then tried to apologise.
“Oh, it’s really nothing,” Chris made a dismissing gesture with his hand, “It happens eighty percent of the time.”
“Eighty percent of the time of what?” I was feeling quite shocked with confusion at this point.
“Why yes! Did you think you were the only little brat who would come here with the purpose to infringe on my space and be taught by me?” Then he went on ever pleasantly, “That’s why the bodyguards are there. I have great enemies. They’re especially on the look out for you. You see, I taught your mother.” He looked smug at ‘your mother.’ He gave a smart nod.
I didn’t know what to say. My mother was a Magician?
“No, child, not a magician!” Chris looked at me as if I was cookoo. “There are different ranks or levels of The Art, but a magician works in a circus. Don’t tell me your mother changed careers to go and work in a circus!”
“No, no, I don’t think so.”
“And why do I think you would know. She died shortly after you turned a year old.”
“Did I kill her?” I asked, bewildered. I was thoroughly confused by everything by now.
“No, she got killed because of who you were.”
“Because of who I am? I don’t understand.”
“Because of whom you are. Because of what you are! You are her daughter. The daughter of the one of the only ones alive at that time who still had Kortic blood.”
“What do you mean? What’s Kortic?”
“They were after you too, for they weren’t sure whether you had inherited it from her or not. She hid you in the hollow of a tree in the woods and was killed hours later.”
“I was taken to the orphanage. Why did they want us dead just because of…chaotic blood?”
“Kortic. Ancient magical creatures that roamed the woods, but swam after dark. They were powerful creatures. So Askarat wanted them wiped out.”
I couldn’t help laughing. “Askarat must be the bad guy! Get it? Ask-a-rat?”
“Very funny. You’ll have to become serious before you learn The Art.”
We finished dinner and I walked back to the library. It was easy enough to find. I went inside and all I saw were books and books and books stacked in bookcases against the walls right up to the ceiling. It was a little dusty in some places and the curtains were closed. The hanging light provided good light, though. I wondered whether my uncle had actually read all of these books. There were probably more than a thousand.
I walked over to one wall and started counting the books from the top left corner when a book near the middle caught my eye. It was way too high up to reach. I took a chair from the table and stood on it, but it was still too high. I tried jumping, but I toppled the chair over on landing and fell. Disgusted, I put my hands on my hips. I looked around again. There were no long things with which I could get the dusty book out of the bookcase.
Then it occurred to me, why did I want that book so bad if here are loads of others to look at? I walked up and down the room, but none of the books interested me. I took some books out and paged through them, but they were also boring. I sighed and sat down on the floor.
It might seem strange that I prefer the floor over chairs, but I am most comfortable and creative on the ground. I put my chin in my hands and rested. If only that book would fall out of the bookcase. I imagined it leaning out of the bookcase and toppling out of it. I love making up stories, whether they’re about animals, people, or books, as in this case.
I jumped and jerked my face out of my hands. I had just heard a sound. I looked at the floor and there, right in front of me, lay the book. I looked around to see if my uncle had read my mind again and thrown the book at me. I really didn’t believe in this magic stuff, even if it was fun in stories. There was no one and nothing but me in the room. I shrugged and picked up the book, telling myself that it had probably been ill balanced up there anyway and that a mouse could easily have made it fall from there.
It was a really old book and not very attractive. The brown leather cover was battered and many pages were loose. There were places where fish moths had eaten on the pages so words were missing and it was full of dust. I couldn’t even make out the title, but I decided to take the little book with me.