Chapter 5: Magic

Chapter 5: Magic You pulled me back, breaking the connection between my hand and the door handle. "What do you think?" you asked. I rubbed my hand and looked at him ruefully. "I think..." The discomfort from the door quickly disappeared as I pondered the question. "I think this spell protects this door by making people weak when they touch it." "Right. It drains their energy, to be precise. Remember a spell needs all three to function: an inscription, a medium, and an energy source." "Wait, but normally, no one’s touching it, so it has no source of energy, so..." I stared at the door. The lights had returned to their usual tiny glimmer. "Right now, the door isn’t being protected, is it? But as soon as someone tries to open the door, they touch it so the spell gets a source of energy which activates the spell?" "Correct." "That’s so smart!" "And energy efficient. A spell like this can lay dormant for years and still work when the time comes." "Wow..." I looked at the door with renewed appreciation. "It would be good to use in a tomb." "That’s what they were originally used for," you said. "Really?" "Sure, now step back." I obeyed as you took the centre in front of the door. You pulled a piece of paper from your pocket then crouched and placed the paper on the ground. "What’s that?" I asked. "Do you recognise it?" I shook my head. "Makes sense. You were pretty out of it." You held the paper up for me to look at. "You remember there was another man with your father this morning." I nodded. "Colin." "Colin?" you scoffed. "Alright, Colin , then. Let me guess, you didn’t hear his voice." I thought back. "You’re right. He never said anything." "That’s because he wasn’t really a person." You placed the paper back down on the ground then stabbed an edge with the blade of your sword. "He was just a paper doll, a servant." The sword glimmered for a moment then suddenly the paper fluttered, and I caught sight of markings inscribed on it. These vanished as soon as they appeared, almost as if they were shoved aside by the bubbling surface of the paper. I automatically took a step back, but you remained crouched with your hand on the hilt of your sword still imbedded into the paper. The liquid-like paper swirled then darkened then suddenly rose up, stretching higher and higher until. "Colin..." There, standing at only a foot high, stood a perfect miniature of the man my father had introduced to me as Colin. The miniaturised man blinked and looked around then suddenly, as if shocked by something, he leaped away from us, skirting around you and headed towards the stairs. "He’s trying to run!" I exclaimed, immediately taking after him. "Teng-wa!" you ordered sternly. The little man, Colin, froze in place. Bran lifted the sword an inch in the air then brought it down again. Colin turned and walked, carefully, back to where the paper had been just moments earlier. "What did you say?" I asked in a whisper. I thought it had to be some kind of spell. "I just told him to behave himself," you replied. "Now," you pointed at the door, "Open it." Mini-Colin gave a little bow then went to the door. I didn’t exactly like the guy, but I suddenly felt a pang of worry. I knew what was in store for him. I glanced at you. The red lights on the door flared out again as soon as Mini-Colin touched the door but before I could feel sorry for the little man, you had already slashed your sword. The lights went out like an extinguished candle. I looked at the door and saw that, other than the lights, nothing had changed about it. It didn’t have a scratch. Mini-Colin slowly got to his feet. "Faan-ei, " you said and tapped your sword on the ground again. Mini-Colin immediately went rigid then twisted then disappeared as he turned back into that piece of paper. I stooped and picked it up. "Did my father make... him?" I asked. I held the paper out to you, and you took it. "Don’t know," you said. "I’d have to run some tests to know for sure." "Is it... safe to bring him around like that?" My knowledge of this new supernatural world was limited to say the least, but I’d played enough games to know that carrying out innocuous bits of enemy wasn’t a good idea. "It’s fine," you said. "You’re right to be wary of him though. Normally I would be too, but this," you raised your sword, "has severed all connections." "Right..." You folded up the Colin-paper and put it in your pocket. "Try the door again," you said. I eyed you warily and didn’t move. You chuckled then reached for the door yourself, opening it with a clatter. Dust and the smell of mothballs assaulted us as the door swung open. "Ugh..." I covered my mouth and nose. "Tell me, why could I open the door this time?" you asked "Because..." I said, "I don’t know. Because your sword is special?" "You’re not wrong, but that’s not the reason. I could have just slashed the door and cut everything, including the metal, but then we wouldn’t have a door. No, what happened was something else lured the spell into action which allowed me to target just the inscription without damaging the medium." "Colin?" "Colin," you confirmed as you stepped over the threshold. You felt the wall on the inside with a hand. There was a click, and the lights inside glowed on. I looked over your shoulder as you went in but there was a wooden screen set up about a metre of the way in, blocking everything. "Shoes next to the door. I’ll find you some inside slippers..." I wasn’t actually wearing shoes - you’d given me a pair of spare slippers since my own shoes had presumably exploded when I’d gone dragon earlier - but I set them aside and waited obediently in front of the wooden screen. You padded back a few moments later an dropped a pair of slippers in front of me. They were pink and fluffy. I looked at your feet. They were bare. I put on the slippers. "How do you normally open the door then?" I asked as I followed you into the living room. It was larger than I expected and rather homey with crisscrossed wood floors and orange walls. There was a patterned rug in the centre of the room with large beanbag cushions on it and a coffee table. Around the edges of the room were a variety of bookshelves and cabinets with equal numbers of books and knickknacks on them as well as a number of closed doors with ornate carvings on them. It was, overall, a rather intense place to suddenly walk into. I went to one of the shelves and ran a finger along the spines of the books. They were all in Chinese, but even though I couldn’t tell what they were about, I knew they had to be significant. Only significant books get hardcovers that look that pretty. "Oh, I just cut the whole door down," you replied. "You alright with just water? I’m not sure what else is here." "Water’s fine," I said, following you into what was apparently the kitchen. I stood at the doorway and looked in. Much like the living room, it was also rather opulent in its decoration with patterned tiles and appliances of all colours except white or black. "So, you... break the door every time you go home?" "This isn’t my home." I stared at you. "What?" You looked incredulously at me from the sink as you filled up a pink, metal kettle. "What? You think this is my place? Does it look like it would be mine?" I gaped at you. On the one hand, you had a point, even with what little I knew about you, this place really didn’t scream ’Bran’, but on the other... "Wait, so you just broke into someone else’s house?!" I looked around. No, I was wrong. We broke in... I tried to remember what I’d touched. If I moved quick, maybe I could destroy the evidence. "Relax, it’s just my aunt’s place." "Is that supposed to calm me?" I asked while my eyes roamed the room. You finished filling the kettle, put it on its stand, flicked the switch then went into the living room and sat down on one of the beanbags. I followed, wringing my hands. "Is she... going to be angry about..." I pointed at the door. You shrugged, closing your eyes. "If she is, then that’s her problem." I stood in my pink fluffy slippers on the edge of the rug and watched you, waiting for you to say something more. But you didn’t. I think you fell asleep. It was rather quiet in the flat, almost silent except for the thumping drone of dance music coming through one of the walls. The kettle whistled. I sighed. There was nothing for it. I went to the kitchen to pour us both a cup of hot water.