Uroboros chapter 2 part 7

7

A small green fire flared for a moment then went out again. It had bathed the small room with a momentary green glow. A small flame in the dark. A bright flash of emerald spark. This pleased Damir. In his hand was a small, rough green stone. Not a bright green, but a dull, pallid green like stagnant water in a swamp pond.

Martin would arrive soon. He was sure that there would be no problems with the clerk from the mercantile. The trade he had offered the old man was more than fair and they did business often.

Damir sat back in his large, wooden, almost throne like chair. The room in which he sat was comfortably cool. The basement office of his shop. The room was dark. No lamp or torch was lit. Damir’s eyes were perfectly adjusted to the darkness. His pupils were wide almost to the point of consuming his irises, which were of a bright yellow tone.

He touched the point of his long, black thumbnail to the stone, which he now held between this index and middle finger. He gathered his spark, doing so slowly, carefully. Much the way a man gathers his will before preforming a strenuous act. He brought the power to a point and directed it towards the stone. No word was spoken. Just the gathering of himself. In one quick movement he moved his thumb up, scraping his thumbnail against the stone.

First came small green sparks, then the green fire flared again, filling the room with the eerie glow. This time it did not go out. It floated there above his open palm and the stone between his fingers. It was beautiful. The lick of the flame swayed and danced, going from the bright green of grass, to the dark green of emeralds. He gathered his spark again, this time mixing it with his inner force, his force of will. The flame grew, from the size of a coin to about the size of an apple.

There was much to learn. Much to see. Damir’s spark was strong, but maybe more important than that, it was concentrated. Focused in a way that was hard for anyone control. So easily could the spark escape. Flair up and burn all those around. It could also be overused. Burned out as it were. Then all that could be produced were weak sparks and ineffectual words.

The flame went a dull green color then went out despite all his concentration. It just slipped away. Damir sighed. He put the small green stone on the desk and leaned back in his chair.

How? How do I keep the spark going? This was the question he kept asking himself.  Over and over he would ask. But he had no answer.

He had grown stronger of course. Of this much he was sure. The small green flame was enough proof of that. But there was something missing. Some deep knowledge of the spark that eluded him. Physical magic had never baffled him the way the spark had. In fact, for physical magic, or liquid magic as most called it, he had quite an aptitude. In his younger days he had apprenticed under the Potion Master of Lock and within two years he had opened his shop. Liquid magic was so easy. All that was needed was patience and careful measurements. And as always, the proper ingredients. Goat horn, a lock of an infant’s hair, or the red blood weed thorns. Heat, or crush, or mix, or burn. All too easy, for a person of patience that was. Potions and elixirs to ease toothaches, growing out bald men’s hair, or even make any man unable to speak for a few days straight. Youngster were quite fond of this last one. But it was barely magic. The magic of the most common folk and sold as such.

Damir stood and lit the oil lamps. The office was small and lined with book cases, with his small desk and oversized chair in the middle. All the volumes were old and many in foreign and sometimes unknown languages. He studied the spines and the words written upon each. They were all about magic, in one way or another. He had read them all several times.

The city of Lock had been good to Damir and his shop. Damir had always been good to the people of this small desert community. He had always helped out the folken of this city as best he could. Never taking advantage of others and always, always, charging a fair price. So the people came to Damir with their liquid magic needs. He had quietly built his fortune over the years and he gave back to the community often. Most notable by building public canals and wells for the people of Lock and by giving out potions to those most in need. It was fair to say that the people of Lock loved Damir. He was the most beloved of the Green Folken and that was also clear. The people, along with the high Baron of Lock, had even made him a Lord. But the title was mostly an honorary one, as Damir did not own very much land. He did employ some twelve people to help with his shop, but that was it.

With his employees handling the day to day business of his shop, Damir spent most of his time and money in pursuit of his spark. Buying all the books on the subject he could get his hands on. Although after careful reading of each volume he found that they were mostly useless. The prattling  words of those who believed themselves sorcerers but could hardly do more than the most basic of magic. Moving coins or producing smoke from thin air, things of that nature. So Damir had been left to find answers alone. And alone he had come fairly far. Mastering the basics himself and pushing forward.

But Damir needed more. He needed insights and knowledge. The kind of knowledge he simply did not have. He sighed again and picked up his staff. It had been leaning in a corner by the door. Martin was on his way. So was the man from the desert. The man who served the Wizard. The Wizard was the key. The answer to all his questions.

Lord Damir left his office and ascended the stairs to his shop. On his desk, amid all the clutter of paper and parchments, the green stone still lay. It glowed weakly for a moment and went dark once more.