The Return of the Sorcerers
The Return of the Sorcerers
“I’m beat,” I remarked. Gazing up at the blue sky from the saddle of a horse, I listened to the tranquil clip-clop of my mount’s hoofbeats as it trotted along.
There was no reply.
Lutz rode beside me on his own horse, but his utterly lifeless eyes were fixed dead ahead.
Looks like he’s too worn out for chitchat.
Our sense of fatigue was tremendous. We’d endured a forced march while left to roll around in the cargo compartment of a wagon, fired off a good deal more magic than we were used to, and as a kicker, we’d spent the whole time in a state of heightened anxiety.
At this point, even moving a single finger took effort. I had to concentrate in order to stop my eyelids from falling shut.
At any rate, right now, sleep couldn’t come soon enough.
In the end, the Kingdom of Vint took the Skellutian king’s personal unit into their temporary custody. What remained was a problem to be dealt with by the countries involved, and so our roles had come to an end.
Lutz and I had also illegally entered the Kingdom of Vint, albeit not by any choice of our own, but the two princes of Nevel must’ve sorted that issue out somehow.
We were on our way home after only a perfunctory questioning. A group of knights had been assigned as our escort, and after they’d greeted us, they’d relayed the prince’s instruction for us to spend the night in one of the border fortresses.
However, we’d strongly protested.
If I’m gonna sleep anywhere, I’d rather rest comfortably in my own bed.
Knights are sticklers for obeying orders, but they’d said no more and their hesitancy had immediately disappeared after Lutz had grinned and mumbled, “This’ll be my first time losing consciousness without my choker on, but I’m sure you’ll agree to overlook any explos—ahem—anything that might happen.”
Lutz had appeared far more languid than me, and it seemed that he’d wanted his own bed too.
“Don’t get too carried away though,” I’d warned with a strained smile. “Too many threats and we’ll lose our spot in the palace. Neither of us want that.”
In a rare sight, Lutz had nodded obediently.
Up until now, I’d worried that Lutz had lost consciousness in his saddle, because he’d barely moved at all. Suddenly, he piped up: “I want...”
I glanced at him, curious to hear what he’d say.
“I want to hurry up and get home,” he continued, his absentminded gaze still fixed on the horizon ahead. The small utterance that escaped his lips was something that anyone would say, but I’d never heard that phrase roll from Lutz’s tongue.
***
Lutz and I had first met in an orphanage, the summer we’d both turned seven.
If I had to distill my first impression of him into one word, it would be “distant.”
His silver hair, nearly white, and his alabaster skin were both so pale that he could’ve blended in and vanished among the elderflowers planted in the orphanage’s garden. His limbs had been so thin that I’d thought he must be a few years younger than me. The only spots on his body with any hue were his indigo-blue eyes, and even those lacked vigor.
His entire existence had seemed paper-thin.
What sort of upbringing creates such a distant person? I’d thought. I’d promptly found the answer to that doubt of mine after hearing the story of his upbringing.
Lutz had told me that he’d lived his early years hidden away from the world. The only ones that had known of his existence were his parents. He’d been kept a secret from his grandfather and grandmother, who lived far away, as well as from everyone in his neighborhood.
That struck me as odd, because it should’ve been impossible to know anything about a newborn baby’s magical potential. But Lutz possessed a truly absurd amount of power, so maybe there’d been some omen present when he was still a baby.
Many sorcerers, including myself, experience a change in their eye color when they activate their magic. Mine would turn from red to gold, and Lutz’s from blue to silver. He would’ve had hardly any power as a baby, so if there’d been hints of magic, it would’ve only been in tiny amounts. Certainly not enough to be perceptible through the normal five senses.
However, I’d be willing to bet that his eyes had changed color.
From that, his parents must’ve noticed his potential as a sorcerer, and they’d resolved to lock him away. Unfortunately, my speculation was nothing more than educated guesswork, as his parents had both already passed away.
Lutz had grown isolated after his admittance to the orphanage, and had refused to open his heart to any of the other children. That became a negative feedback loop though, where he’d reaped what he’d sowed—his isolation came from actively ignoring anyone who’d tried to strike up conversation with him. I’d been just about the only person who went out of their way to spend time by his side.
As for me, I’d apparently been abandoned in front of the orphanage right after my birth, so my time there had been longer than most of the other children. The little ’uns had looked up to me like a big brother figure, but in my heart I’d never truly accepted them as family. It was probably because of the faint awareness that I’d been cut from a different cloth.
The more they’d adored me, the more scared I’d grown of the day they’d turn their backs on me. At times I’d feel horrible, like I was suffocating.
But when I was with Lutz, I’d felt like I could breathe easier, just a little, all thanks to the indifferent attitude that he’d maintained towards me and everyone else. Because of that easy feeling, I’d started to spend more and more time with him.
There was a little hill on the rear side of the orphanage, and Lutz had enjoyed sitting by the bases of the tall trees that grew there. He’d always make a beeline for that spot when he’d finished his assigned chores—it became my routine to tag along without asking him, and snooze above the ground on one of the branches of the big trees.
During these times, conversation with Lutz was scarce—he always read his books and I had an afternoon nap.
“Should we go home?” I’d call down to him before the sun had fully set, but he’d never once replied to my question. Probably because the orphanage had never truly been home.
Not to Lutz, and not to me.
During the winter when we’d turned ten years old, my magical abilities had become known to the priest who ran the orphanage. For a few years, I’d felt a vague sense that there was an uncontrollable power lurking inside of me. I know now that magic seems to respond to the ebbs and flows of emotions.
In my case, my magic always spiked most easily in response to anger.
On that day, the priest had summoned me. He’d told me to stay away from Lutz, although not in so many words. He’d been dismayed that I, a “good kid” who was sociable (on the surface, at least), was spending time with Lutz, the “problem child” who took no pains to fit in.
I’d grown infuriated at the priest and the spiel of platitudes he’d employed to convince me.
At the exact moment that I’d shouted, “You don’t know the first thing about us!” a nearby book had erupted into flames.
Watching the priest’s distressed reaction, I’d succumbed to feelings of despair and resignation.
Oh. Turns out I really am a monster, I’d thought.
I had only Lutz to thank for restoring my loose grip on sanity. Lutz had appeared before the other children had noticed the commotion and crowded around. He’d held his hand above the book which had been burning, and it had frozen.
“I’m the same kind of monster that he is,” Lutz had declared. I’ll never forget the look on the priest’s face upon hearing that. His eyes had looked terribly empty, like a broth of concentrated fear, despair, contempt, pity, and a host of other dark emotions.
Despite that, the priest continued to insist that Lutz and I were normal children. “You’re normal kids, just more unique, but you’re still dear members of my family,” he’d said.
When all was normal, he’d interact with us with a smile, but if he caught a single glimpse of our magic, he’d tell us off, saying that it was evil, that magic was the devil’s power. The look on the priest’s face during those times had seemed far more demonic to me.
I couldn’t even get mad anymore.
In truth, the priest had only been covering his eyes, frantically trying to screw on the lid and hide the odor.
He hadn’t been thinking about our futures when he got angry; it hadn’t been his love for us that drove him to shirk away from our magic. Here were two children in his orphanage whom he hadn’t been able to fully accept, power and all, and the priest just couldn’t deal with that ugly part of himself.
After that, the seasons came and went, and Lutz and I turned thirteen.
Knowledge of our existence had finally reached Nevel’s authorities, and the curtain had finally closed on our misshapen family act. When the knights came to take custody of us, the priest had offered a show of resistance by arguing, but I saw the relief creeping into his facial expression. He’d continuously turned a blind eye to the cracks in our relationship, which had allowed it to deteriorate beyond the point of repair.
Even without the forcible termination of our “family” from outside sources, the end would’ve probably been imminent anyway.
Then, in the palace that the knights had escorted us to, we’d met the princess, three years our junior.
Her platinum-blonde hair flowed in gentle waves, so long that it dangled by her waist. Her eyes were a blue the color of the sky on a nice, clear day, and they were adorned with long eyelashes. She was at once adorable and cute, and at the same time, beautiful in a dignified way. In contrast to Lutz, I was an almost total stranger to the stories in books, but her appearance exactly matched my vague notion of what a princess should look like.
She possessed a simple-minded, innocent appearance, like every fiber of her being had been woven from only the prettiest of things. However, her looks belied her true intelligence.
On top of that, she was weird.
At first, I’d thought that she’d approached us in order to win our allegiance, on her older brother’s orders. But she’d acted too ridiculously honest for that to be the case.
When asked if she was scared of us, when probed about whether she pitied us, she’d unflinchingly agreed.
Hearing such up-front replies would’ve disarmed anybody. I couldn’t sense any deception in her words either when she’d said that she wanted to learn more about us. What choice did I have but to trust her, when she’d spoken with eyes so clear, devoid of all malice?
A princess would usually never be allowed anywhere near the likes of us, but she’d never tired of popping over for a chat. Her temper never rankled at Lutz’s rejections, and bit by bit, she drew us closer to herself.
I can’t say that I wasn’t surprised when she brought us handmade sweets, loudly proclaiming that she was aiming to win Lutz over stomach-first. She looked like she’d never even had to wash her own plate, but the delicious taste of the sweets she’d made had even surpassed the chef’s.
However much of a sourpuss I may have been, I couldn’t look at all the effort she’d put into understanding us and just shrug it off as a facade. Before I knew it, my heart was filled to the brim with the warmth she’d bestowed upon me.
This is enough for me, I’d thought. I won’t be so greedy as to hope that she accepts the other part of me, the sorcerer.
And yet, despite my thinking, she’d long since accepted that part of me too. She hadn’t averted her eyes like the priest—she’d acknowledged us as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and had still decided to remain by our sides.
The moment I’d understood that, the tension drained from my shoulders.
I no longer have to fear rejection. I don’t need to stubbornly turn my back anymore. After all, we’re her Stove and her Ice Room. Whatever airs we put on, it’s all meaningless now.
When I thought about it like that, it all seemed so hilarious. I couldn’t control my laughter. This is where I want to be, I’d thought. Here. Just the princess, Lutz, and me. That’s all for me. I won’t ask for anything more.
I don’t care what name is given to our relationship. We don’t have to be family; we don’t have to be friends. Let’s see, I’d even settle for master and servant.
***
“Teo,” Lutz called my name while I was entrenched in scrolling through memories from the past. He must’ve found my silence odd, so he shot me a suspicious look.
“Hmm? You call me?” I answered.
“Why’ve you shut up all of a sudden?” he asked. “What’s wrong? Got a cramp?” My eyes flew wide open.
His words sounded nonchalant and half-joking, but after a look at his facial expression, I understood that he was actually concerned. This was a reaction that I would’ve never dreamed of seeing from the old him.
“You’ve really mellowed,” I muttered quietly.
“What?! Is that all I get for worrying about you? Just you making fun of me?” The corners of Lutz’s eyes rose.
He’s not only mellowed, but he’s become a lot more expressive, I thought.
“No, it’s honestly quite moving,” I remarked.
“If you’re picking a fight, then get off that horse and let’s go for it,” Lutz declared.
“It’s all thanks to the princess,” I said.
Lutz’s white cheeks flushed. He groaned and lost his tongue, then turned his face away to obscure his beetroot cheeks.
“Whatever. Dumbass.”
“That’s me,” I replied leisurely, and he said nothing more.
From then on, we rode our way to Nevel’s capital without exchanging conversation. We squeezed in a few breaks and naps along the way.
When we finally arrived at the palace, we were both already dead tired. Willpower alone was just barely keeping us on our feet.
Our unsteady steps didn’t take us first to our bedroom, but rather to our familiar retreat—the greenhouse.
What am I even doing? I thought, astonished by my own actions. There was no guarantee that she’d even be there.
But I wanted to see her. And there, I felt that I just might.
I opened the door to the greenhouse.
A petite figure was visible beyond the green leaves. Her lustrous platinum-blond hair poked above the foliage. Her back was facing us, so she hadn’t yet noticed our presence. By her side, her personal guard reacted immediately, letting out an unamused snort.
That guard really knows how to get on someone’s nerves.
“Princess,” I called softly. My voice sounded horrible, hoarser than I’d ever thought that it could be. I feared that she wouldn’t hear me, but her shoulders flinched in reaction, responding to my voice.
“Princess.” Lutz called out this time, as if to rival me. His voice was strained as well, and hard to hear. Even so, the princess spun around.
Her clear, sky-blue eyes found us, and shot wide open.
Mind that they don’t fall out, I thought absentmindedly.
Her lips quivered, and slowly she mouthed our names, though no sound came out. She stumbled one step forward. Her personal guard reached out to support her, but she waved his arm away, dismissing him, and took another step.
Then, the voice we’d eagerly awaited called out to us.
“Lutz,” she said.
“What?” Lutz responded bluntly, probably a little embarrassed.
“Teo.”
“Yes, Princess?” I answered with a full-faced smile, letting my joy show in full.
She fell into a stunned silence, and tears began to well up in her eyes. The princess opened her mouth, and in place of words came a sound like air escaping. Then she scrunched up her face.
“Teo, Lutz,” she called our names again, and tears trickled down her cheeks, on and on, like an endless stream of translucent jewels. The princess didn’t try to hide her teary face, and began to wail.
“Wel—Welcome home...” she managed to articulate, while sobbing like a child.
What I experienced at that moment was euphoria. An almost agonizing joy overran my heart, and I felt overwhelming relief—I’d finally found what I had been longing for. The sense of satisfaction bordered on pain.
Even though I wasn’t sad, for some reason, the urge to weep struck me.
If I told her that the quivering in my lips beneath my smile was just me copying her lead, I wonder if she’d believe me. After all, tears of joy don’t do anything for the image I’m going for.
“I’m home,” I said.
I’ve finally found it. A place to come home to.