Lost

Pite awoke and felt great pain.

His mind swam and he couldn’t hear the warning whispers anymore. What’s happened?

The act of sitting up only brought more pain and caused Pite to lightly vomit on himself. His vision was blurred and he felt his heart beating erratically.

“Clifton!” he said with shaken urgency.

The servant could be heard shuffling into the bedroom. “Aye, sir.”

But Pite didn’t know what to ask right off. Perhaps he has done this to me? He’s been aching for a taste of magic ever since I took his orphaned backside in two years ago.

Pite saw a blurred figure step towards him. “Sir! Ya made a mess on yerself! Are ya well?”

Such innocence might be easily acted. “Clearly not, Clifton. Fetch a rag!

Clifton’s blurred figure didn’t move; Pite noticed the teen’s head cock to one side like a dog. “Ya canna be just flittin’ it off ya, sir? Like this?” Pite saw Clifton shake his wrist and knew the teen was mimicking a gesture that the wizened man had repeated numerous times. If only it were that simple, dolt.

Pite cleared his throat. “No. This is a test for you, Clifton. You yearn to harness magic but lest not allow your practical means of cleansing fall by the wayside.” Clifton cocked his head again. “A rag! Go!”

Clifton shuffled out of Pite’s view and the elderly man was left to himself. His head still swam and he pushed his fingers to his temples. My magic is gone. All that I’ve built up is away from me, and for what? So I may feel the common pains of those aged mortals around me?

The servant returned very quickly and tried forcing a dry cloth into the old man’s hand. Pite sighed and almost vomited again. “This need be wet, young Clifton.”

Clifton gasped. “Ya dinna be sayin’ to wet it, sir!” He sounded panicked and afraid. Ordinarily, Pite would’ve wiggled his fingers and made the teen’s muscles spasm in punishment.

I’d be so lucky as to do that much.

Pite sighed, choking back more vomit. “Go wet it and be quick!”

Clifton grabbed the rag and was away again.

Straining his ears, Pite tried listening for the even the smallest whispers he’d spelled upon himself as a means of protection. But, still, he heard nothing. He smelled the valrite ointment that he put on his neck each night as a way of keeping his mind’s energies from spinning out of control – a side-effect from overexposure to strong magics – but it wasn’t working. His head felt like it was careening on its side.

Pite’s nose began to bleed and he heard muffled versions of Clifton’s footsteps. The blurred figure of the teen was even hazier at the edges and he couldn’t even feel the rag as he saw it being pressed into his claw-like hand. “Sir? Ya bleedin’, sir!”

“Observant, you are, ya little magic-stealing thief!”

“What’s ‘at, sir?”

Pite frowned. “Did I say that aloud?”

The blurred servant nodded his head. Then he stood still and stepped back, somehow looking taller in the process. “But I can’t be stealing your magic while you’re alive, old man.” It was Clifton’s voice but nothing like what Clifton sounded like, and Pite knew it wasn’t just because of the muffling in his ears.

A chill ran down Pite’s spine and he tried asking Clifton what he was talking about but the chill sent Pite into a seizure. “Of course, I can’t steal your powers unless you kill yourself anyway. Which, because of that ointment, is something you’ve been slowly doing for almost a month now.” Then he added with a sneer, “Sir.”

Pite’s seizure subsided and he found himself to be free from his pains, but within the confines of paralysis. The urchin has swindled me! Has been deceiving me for two years, now! Pite knew that he had, within his mental repertoire, knowledge of mind-based spells, but his thoughts were dwelling on the idea that Clifton had bested him. He couldn’t focus.

“See, I read in your texts that torka pebbles can kill someone if enough of it is absorbed in the skin, so I crushed some and put it in your valrite. But I’m very surprised you didn’t notice the difference right away. Makes me wonder if the powers I’m stealing are gonna be any good.” Clifton shrugged and walked closer to the bed to look down at the ancient man. “Time will tell, old man. I guess since you’re not moving, you’re paralyzed and about to croak. I didn’t want all this to be so painful, but I really want your powers.”

Clifton moved his face closer to Pite’s. The teen scrunched his face up like he was about to cry. “I mean, you were like a father to me!” He held his gaze and then started cackling and went to sit in the next room and wait for his new powers to become available.

Pite knew that, as he neared his suicidal expiration, an orb of energy would float above his body. He knew this because this is what he saw when he first acquired his powers centuries ago. One only has to come and touch the orb and they’re an organism of tough magic. He realized that he felt like his magic was gone because, in truth, it was about to leave him.

Feeling his insides give way to death, Pite felt his spirit start to lose grips with his body. He then saw his magic float from his chest and hover in place. In his final moments, Pite saw a bird swoop in through the window and deftly fly through the orb just as Clifton came back into the room. “No!” shouted the servant as the magic was absorbed into the flyer and lost out through the window forever.

Pite smiled internally and let his spirit drift away wholly while harboring the knowledge that he hadn’t been completely bested after all.

Word Count: 1,000