The Forbidden Spell

“‘It’s the egg!’ The first wise man argued.

‘No! The copaltrix! The copaltrix comes first!’ The second wise man chastised. ‘The true egg here is your head. The truth can’t even pierce through that hard shell!’

‘Ahh! That’s enough!’ The first wise man erupted. ‘This debate is leading nowhere. I will just show you that I’m right!’”

    Little bells’ sounds.

“Since both these ohh-so-wise men were losing patience, the latter decided to use a spell to prove the other wrong. The words flowed, flowed, flowed out of his mouth, until reality began distorting. They flowed, flowed, flowed, about to unveil the truth. But such a feat required a spell ohh-so-long that, before he had the time to finish, the Militia had the time to send one of their men. And chop, chop, chop, the head of the first wise man fell to the ground.”

    As the jester kept narrating, he pressed too tightly onto the egg he was playing with this whole time.

    Crack.

    Until it burst between his fingers.

“And in the end,” I asked, raising an eyebrow, “what was first? The egg, or the copaltrix?”

“Who knows?” The jester mimicked a careless reply. “It wasn’t that important. But the Militia would tell you that what came first this day were the cracks in that wise man’s head.”

“What is even the Militia?”

    Little bells’ sounds ceased.

    The jester raised his head to observe me, his expression unreadable.

“The Militia… A group of powerful gemans ensuring that the use of magic across the kingdom doesn’t cross the limits they set.” His practised smile stretched on his face. “They have existed for so long that people can’t remember anymore times without them lurking around the corner, ready to catch between their claws those guilty of excess.”

    Even as a shut-in at the castle, I had heard about the militiamen before. The jester used to weaponise them in stories he told to entertain me.

“They have so much influence in the kingdom that, aside from the royal family,” he added that day, “nobody can hope to escape their judgment.”

𖢻 𖢻 𖢻

    A reality that the man who just barged in the Di Amethyst’s place seems pretty infatuated with.

“You are sentenced to death.”

    That smug smile doesn’t leave his expression as he’s standing mere steps away. Golden accessories weigh on the thin, white veil occulting his eyes, as if to make sure the wind wouldn’t blow it aside. Attached to the rim of a black hat, the fabric is translucent enough to let him see beyond, but doesn’t betray the nature of his eyes. Only the end of his white locks are apparent.

    Probably part of the Militia’s uniform, along with the silver cape, its lapel a gradient of blue. I would be less positive about his fancy costume.

    Since silence followed the words uttered by that man, I glance at Rosa.

“Goddamn it, say something! Play the mother part!!”

    But even that aura-filled woman froze at the death sentence.

“You can’t be telling the truth!” I return my gaze to the militiaman, nervously laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. “This has to be a mistake. What could I’ve done to deserve capital punishment?”

    To which he reacts with a repetitive click of his tongue, waving his index finger. Several gem rings adorning his hand.

“Young girl, the Militia doesn’t make such distasteful mistakes.” He wouldn’t part with that smile of his. “We have precise instruments telling us without fault whenever someone happens to use more magic than they should. And, as unfortunate as it is, my last investigation led me to a certain crystal forest…”

    My breath hitches at his words.

“I needed to defend myself from that monster!” I protest. “If I didn’t use magic, it would’ve killed me!”

“Ohh, the quartzal. I indeed found its corpse.”

“See! I might have overdone it, but that can’t result in death! That’s not a crime!!”

    Of course, I have no idea what exact magic Pecce did use. But even if the spell she used was powerful enough to attract the Militia’s attention, even if it was worth a punishment according to their metrics, there was no way…

“You’re very right.” The weird man replies, unbothered. “Given the state of the quartzal, I can confirm that no abusive spell was used to defeat it.”

    A glimmer of hope.

“Then-”

“That’s not what you are accused of.”

    But, of course, hope only exists to be undone. Just like people’s smiles.

    Slowly, the man steps closer, his heels tapping against the floor until he stands right in front of me.

“Magic is said to be powerful enough to allow one single individual to destroy the kingdom.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Rosa finally deigns to interrupt. “Peccelotte is not only inexperienced, she’s a Di Amethyst. Our lineage isn’t even known for the raw magic their hearts hold.”

“The most dangerous spells aren’t necessarily ones of brutal force,” the white-haired militiaman resumes, “not the kind that you would use against a monster. A common one, on top of it. But as a guardian of Juwel’s wisdom, I’m not telling you anything you weren’t already aware of, now am I?” He glances at her, Rosa’s expression stiffening.

    Nobody makes a move, nobody makes a sound when the militiaman kneels down just enough to stare into my eyes. But all I can perceive beyond his veil is a vague dark blue hue. A shiver running down my spine.

“Only forbidden spells capable of bending reality leave behind them such potent emanations.” He lowers his voice to address only me. “I wonder. I really do wonder, young girl, what kind of spell you cast. Does it have something to do with the geman corpse we found there?”

    I can’t help but flinch at his words. Unease. There’s something in his tone that I can’t quite place.

“Please, sir. Reconsider!” Gordon, who made no sound until now, steps forward. “Miss Peccelotte has barely reached adulthood. I beg for your comprehension, don’t take such a young life!”

    Before I have time to justify myself, the man straightens up. Yet, he utterly ignores the butler. Instead, retrieves a piece of fabric from his pocket.

    I step back the moment he reaches it out towards me, with the clear intent to gag me.

“Whatever I say, this man won’t listen to me. Why does it always end like this… Shit! Shit! Shit!”

    A sudden move.

    Surging from behind him, Gordon jumps towards the white-haired man. A dagger shines in each of his hands as his figure grows closer, about to slice the militiaman’s throat. Yet the latter still smiles as if he didn’t notice.

    But, when the sharp edges of the daggers are about to pierce his skin, the militiaman’s smile widens and he whispers a single word.

“Brei.”

    It is all it takes for the blades to shatter into pieces, startling Gordon.

    In a move too fast for the eye to follow, the white-haired man spins to the side. The next moment a loud thud echoes. Gordon is pinned to the floor by the militiaman’s hand, pressed to the back of the butler’s neck.

“How did he do that?” I widen my eyes in shock as a certainty settles in my mind. “I won’t be able to escape him.”

“The wisest choice you could make indeed; to attack without using magic.” The militiaman comments, insensitive to the murder attempt. “If you did try, you wouldn’t even have managed to articulate your command spell. A silent attack was the most efficient move. Unfortunately for you, it doesn’t make a difference in the end.”

    The butler groans, glancing at him.

“Keep your hands off her...”

“Enough, Gordon!” Rosa exclaims.

“Ohh, that’s okay.” The white-haired man resumes. “I find it quite admirable of him to be ready to defy the Militia only to save his young mistress. Devoted people are too rare in this world, if you ask me.”

    But, despite his words, his expression shifts as he turns a cold gaze towards Rosa Di Amethyst.

“That said, I would advise you not to rock the boat. You can still avoid your daughter being publicly charged with Prince Razzel Od Mithril’s murder.”

    Colour drains from everyone’s face, mine absolutely included.

“Sedexxo umgla.”

    The moment the militiaman utters these words, I feel a rusty taste fill my mouth, wide open.

    A wet thud. My attention attracted to the floor, I stare at the rosy piece of flesh lying there.

“After second thought,” the white-haired man adds, “it’s safer to simply rid you of that tongue. That way, you won’t be tempted to use magic.”

    My pupils shrink from unbearable pain as blood floods into my mouth. Splatters at my feet. The only sound I’m now able to produce being an unhinged screech.

𖢻 𖢻 𖢻

    Water drops from the porous cell’s ceiling. Drop by drop. Too old to completely shield from the rain.

    Drop by drop.

    No sound echoes from the corridors. No lament, no exchanged words. Not that anyone among the inmates can.

    Leant against the white wall, I stare blankly in front of me. Additional walls and bars were built with bone powder, rearranging the interior of a giant monster skull into a jail.

    Is there even anyone else in here? Do they keep anyone instead of just killing them?

“Ahh… I have had enough of this. It’s not as if I could’ve lived peacefully, anyway. Let’s just end it quickly.”

    My senses numbed by a wound too fresh, all I can do is wait anyway. Wait, until they behead me or whatever. At least, I’m pretty sure that’ll be far more bearable than my previous death.

“How did I die the first time, before I became Razzel? Was it painful?”

    All I can recall from those distant days is a vague, loud noise. Something akin to a honk. It’s not a thought I can focus on long enough though, the smug expression of that militiaman flashing through my mind.

“That bastard… He had no intention of letting me deny that I killed… Razzel Od Mithril?” I let out a faint snort. “Imagine being accused of killing yourself.”

“Fwihh…” A concerned squeak makes me glance at a certain little cloud. Until now, Fufu hid in the folds of my dress to avoid getting noticed. Not daring to show himself, yet not fleeing either. Were it me, I would’ve stayed at Rosa’s place.

“Still here little guy, huhh?” I observe him in silence, his mithril eyes quivering with fat tears, his cottony body alike. “No survival instinct in this fuzzy thing, right? He should better go away before someone finds him.”

“Fwiiiihh!”

    With another squeak, Fufu floats in the air. His body contorts, reshapes without struggle into the shape of some sort of fluffy hat. Slowly, the Fufu hat then floats towards me until settling on top of my head.

“I wonder if I lost my sanity or if, somehow, that little thing did understand me.”

    The contact leaves a soft warmth at the top of my head.

    Somehow, it’s comforting.

“Ahh… it’s not that important.” My eyelids don’t consent to stay open any longer. “I’m tired…”

𖢻 𖢻 𖢻

“Mother!” Peccelotte’s voice calls.

    But, a book in her grasp, Rosa Di Amethyst was already heading towards the door.

“Wait!”

    Rosa paused but briefly on the threshold. With a frown, she glanced at Peccelotte.

“We finished the lesson for today.” Her gaze lingers momentarily on her daughter. “Gordon awaits you for magic practice in the courtyard. A respectable lady doesn’t make her instructor wait.”

    And with that, she was gone.

“But…” Peccelotte lowers her head, whispering to herself. “I wanted to spend some time with you…”

    She hoped her mother would have noticed that she made extra efforts not to space out, not to be clumsy around her. To resemble more what she wanted her to be.

    Just to make her proud. Just to be worth more than frowns and lessons about magic theory.

 𖢻                           

𖢻 

                 𖢻

    Her beetroot hair undone, her maid was combing it with dedication. Peccelotte knew Semia wasn’t the kind to speak a lot, and that was okay. It also gave her a break after the day’s unceasing blathering of her instructors and books alike. Indeed, even books’ words felt like intrusive voices at that rate.

    Hence, more often than not, Peccelotte and Semia would remain silent, the maid sending to oblivion the knots in her long locks.

    This time, however, Peccelotte felt like she needed to share some words.

“Do I really need to attend Prince Razzel’s coming-of-age celebration?”

“Naturally. That is a great chance for you, being born the same year as the prince.” Semia replied, matter-of-factly. “Thanks to Madam Rosa’s influence, you’ll be granted a moment of attention during the celebration as well.”

    But that was what she feared. Peccelotte’s fingers gripped tighter the fabric over her lap.

“What if…” She trailed off. “But what if!”

    Semia said nothing. She kept combing her hair, waiting for her mistress to find her words.

    Fists loosened.

“There’ll be a lot of people attending the event.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll have to say hello to a lot of guests.”

“Yes.”

“What if I fall in love with one of them?” She blurted out.

    Semia paused her combing. She remained still, and Peccelotte could see her pensive gaze reflected in the mirror.

“I’m a Di Amethyst.” She resumed. “One day, I’ll have to become the clan’s head. Mother will expect me to get engaged to a member of our clan.”

“It’s not forbidden, even for someone of your rank, to marry a geman with a heart different from yours.” Semia noted.

“But it’s seen as arrogant to do so… unless you’re of a rare variety. Like the Od Mithril. That’s what mother taught me. The Di Amethyst are known for their wisdom, not for their strength. Even if casting elaborate spells is often more natural to us, our clan counts enough of our kind to allow me to choose a sp… spouse among them.” Peccelotte averted her gaze with a blush. “So, that means… that means if I fall in love with someone else, it will just break my heart. I will have to keep it all within me.” She mid-closed her eyes. “I don’t want it…”

    Putting down the comb, Semia leant in closer, her hands pressed to Peccelotte’s shoulders.

“If this were to happen, I’ll make sure to collect all your heart’s shards myself and put them back together.”

    And, with these words, Semia’s hands gently brushed down her mistress’s forearms before cradling her in a kind embrace.

𖢻 𖢻 𖢻

    I wake up with a jolt. With no idea of how long I slept, with no idea if it is day or night, I can only focus on a single thought.

“What was that? Why did I dream of Pecce?” My breath is ragged. “No. This wasn’t just a dream. This can’t be.”

    It felt too real, like those times I am reminded of my past life. But this time, it’s different. These are not my memories…

    Footsteps. A rumble.

    A guard unlocks my cell’s door, sliding it along its rails. A loud thud echoes as the door made out of bones stills.

“Get up. Time for you to bid your farewell to life.” He utters. “They’re waiting for you.”