Flashback Yatani Rice

[Richard]

Winter 12, 506

The Goddess Syna was gracing the crystal city, and the people of Lhavit were just returning from their Dawn rest. The daylight hours were spent in scholarly pursuits, and the Witte family was no exception, as they followed the deep traditions of the beautiful city they called home. Before Richard was awake from his nap, his father was already awake, and making the first meal of the day. A sweet rice dish, with sliced yatani and small bits of roasted lamb that was covered in spices, and salt. It was Richard’s favorite breakfast, and it was high in energy and protein for the long day that they had planned.

As the smell filled the small apartment they lived in, it brought the boy back from the dreamscape. He stretched, and breathed in the smell deeply. The steam from cooking rice seemed to fill the room, as the sun cut through it, and the spiced that the lamb was coated in tickled his nose. He stood, and dressed quickly. He hoped that the big breakfast meant that something important would be happening today. He enjoyed the lessons his father gave, and he liked to spend time with his father.

Richard quickly set the table for his father, and got two cups of water with yatani slices. “Good morning.” His father called, in a tone that was almost like singing. William was in a good mood today.

“Good morning, dad.” Richard smiled, waiting at the table for the meal to be ready. His stomach ached slightly, the sweet rice would help cease the pain from being empty and make a nice base for the lamb to sit on while they spent their day. William set a stone pot on the bare table, with a wooden ladle sticking out of it. The father scooped a large portion of rice onto his son’s plate, and then a portion onto his own. “Smells good.” The boy continued. He knew how hard his father tried to care for his son.

Richard ate the rice, and lamb quickly. The sweetness of the rice made it seem like a treat. “What is the plan for today?” Asked the young boy, trying to sound like an adult.

“Well, first things first,” started his father, “We are going to start drawing runes.” His father beamed, he seemed to enjoy teaching his son. The pair quickly ate, and cleared the table soaking the dishes in buckets of water, they would be washed later. Today they didn’t have time to do dishes just yet.

“Go get the parchment, quill, and ink.” Ordered William firmly, as his son ran off through the small house to get the materials. The table was pushes into the center of the room, and the two chairs were moved to be close to each other. “Ok, so what is a glyph?” his father started.

Richard looked at the paper, thinking as hard as he could. He looked at the scars on his arms, and thought harder. His father wouldn’t have initiated him if he didn’t believe his son was smart and able to think critically. He looked at the paper, “Well its something drawn.” That much was painfully clear by the supplies that were lain on the table. “… and it has something to do with magic…” he continued. But after a few ticks, it was clear he could go any further down that path of thought.

“Well, you almost got it,” chuckled his father, who dipped the quill in ink. “Now, I’m no expert at drawing these, but there are some basic ideas that every glypher knows.” William touched the pen to paper, and slowly drew several runes. “Glyphs are versatile things, but they also exist for the single purpose you draw them for.”

He drew a large circle, that looked almost like a caricature of the sun, with waves of light and heat that almost looked like they would flicker off the sheep skin parchment. “This is a focus. It stores magic. I could, for instance, throw a fireball at this paper, and it would store the fire ball.”

“But… if I did that, then that same fire ball would be hurled back at me with the same force I put into it.” He drew a series of runes, stylized stars, and moons, and candles in what appeared to be a random order, but never with two of the same runes touching each other. The process took several chimes for William to complete the circle of symbols. “This is a barrier. It prevents magic from leaving the focus until it is broken.” He paused, and thought, like he was forgetting something. “Ah, alternatively you can use a trigger to release the magic from the focus.”

“The power does not come from the symbol by itself.” He paused to let that point sink in before continuing, “you must give the symbols meaning. These symbols will not keep the fire from coming back at me, I have to believe and know that these runes will stop that magic.”

Richard watched as aptly as he could, he always enjoyed learning from his father. William was the only family he had left in the world, and the family was important in the city of Stars. The room filled with the smell of ink, and parchment, and it exhilarated the boy. His father handed the quill to his son, and moved the ink vial out closer to him. Richard took the pen in his left hand, and dipped it in the black ink. He brought the tip of the feather down, and traced it across the lamb skin.

“You must draw them with conviction.” His father corrected, softly, trying to instill confidence in his son, not scold him, “Remember, the symbols themselves don’t matter, make them have meaning.” His father watched closely. This lesson was important, and these simple symbols could be powerful in the right hands.

Richard drew a barrier, in symbols that appeared much like his father’s, but they were sloppy, and it took several chimes to draw each run in the barrier. He felt his tongue poke out of his mouth with the effort. After what seemed like a bell, there was a small, lopsided, circle staining the parchment. He grinned at his father, proud of what he had accomplished.

William ruffled his son’s hair, “You’ll get there.” William chuckled, “Want to learn a neat trick with glyphs?”

Richard eagerly nodded, he was starting to enjoy glyphs, “More than anything.” He answered hurriedly, unable to handle his excitement any more.

His father laughed, and took the quill back, “Glyphs don’t only store magic, they can also be used as a pathway, helping you channel your djed.” William drew two lines of parallel barrier runes, along the paper, “If you were to draw this on your arms, and hands, it will help you channel res.”

William handed the quill back to his son, “Ok, now I want you to draw a path on your arm.” His father paused, and began again slower, “ Remember that magic is dangerous, and every day you live with is both a blessing, and a responsibility.” He moved the ink well next to his son’s arm.

The boy rolled up his sleeves, exposing scars running up his arms, from his elbows to the tips of his middle fingers on both hands. He dipped the quill, and watched it soak up the black ink, and he touched the pointed tip to his right forearm. The ink was cold, and the quill felt like it was biting into his skin as Richard dragged the tip to draw a straight path of barrier runes down his arm, to the tip of his middle finger, scratching the ink into his nail.

“Good,” William said, but Richard didn’t hear him, he had already closed his eyes. Richard held his breath, and tried to still his thoughts, and excitement. He was barely a novice at reimancy, and even drawing forth res took considerable effort. He felt shivers down his spine as a blue ethereal gel began to coalesce in the air in wisping tendrils from his arm. He breathed deeply, trying to stop the sweet feeling of drawing out the res. He smacked his tongue, the feeling of delicious sweetness flowed through his arms, and into his chest, slowly relaxing and soothing him. He growled softly in pleasure, before his father interrupted him, “Enough!” William cried loudly.

Richard opened his eyes sharply, snapping back into reality. His soul felt empty, and the small sphere of blue ethereal res quivered slightly as his concentration wavered briefly. He sighed, wishing for the feeling again. The runes on his arm has dissipated, leaving only slight red marks on his arms. He concentrated on the almost fist sized, and quivering and swirling sphere. “That was…” Richard furrowed his brow, and reabsorbed the res, soaking it into back into his hands slowly. He breathed in sharply, the feeling of the gel pushing back through the skin was almost relieving, but put him on edge. He wanted to use the res, he wanted to burn something, he wanted to watch a fire grow, he wanted to make something go up in flames!

“Get out of that line of thought,” his father said calmly. He knew the risks of raising a child with the art, and knew the risks of the art himself. “Did you notice the difference? His father continued, in a lighter tone, trying to take the darkness out of the moment.

Richard thought for a moment, “I think so, it was exhilarating.” The boy said, regaining his excited mood, losing the anger and wired feeling from using reimancy. He looked over his hands, the quickly fading red marks, the pink- white scars, and he thought about the feeling. The chills, the sweetness of casting out his res, the desire to destroy, and cast even more res. His father had only told him to be careful with magic, but he had never been told of the why. Was magic addictive? The young boy didn’t have the proper experience to know for sure, he had no context to view the sensation in. He began to feel drained, as the excitement wore off. The reality that no child should have to deal with was starting to set in. The idea that he may be stuck with a dangerous, and deadly gift was wearing down his youthful views.

His father stood, and stretched, “Well, I think its time for our noon nap, don’t you?!” He bellowed, letting out a long deep sigh as his muscles, and joints were inundated with fresh blood.

Richard nodded tiredly, that was it, he was just sleepy. His mood would get better when he woke. He stood with his father, who patted his head before heading off to his cordoned off section of the small house, leaving Richard alone in the dining room area. He stood, unmoving for several chimes, before quickly washing the dishes from the meal in just a few bells ago. It was easy work, and let him have an excuse to stay up a little longer and think.

Did he really want to continue the art? He couldn’t get his mind off the idea of casting more. He set the dishes to dry, and climbed into his simple, but oddly comforting bed, as the snores of his father began to reverberate through the house.