literature

Blue Syrup

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These were the times he dreaded the most.

Wind howled against the stonework. Snow bombarded the roof, hammering on it night and day in an unending siege. He could feel the weight of millions of frozen droplets pressing down from above him.
As he sat on his chair he could hear the protest of glass and mortar as ice crept inside every crack and tried to pry the building apart. A draft sent a shiver down his spine.
He tossed another branch on the already roaring fire, he pulled his fur cloak a little tighter around him, the hood tickling his brow.

The figure absently sipped his hot cider, oblivious to the taste as he worried about one thing after another. One hand scratched at his head where it itched from his weeks of nervous scratching, it had stopped hurting days ago.
He muttered reassurances to himself, this was a mages guild filled with trained practitioners of the most ancient arts, they would not let this place fall to a mere season. Besides this academy, where potential new mages were trained, had stood in this foul city for centuries, and would remain here for centuries to come. The army of servants and staff ensured that this place was kept in pristine condition for all of the arrogant little princes and princesses that came as students.
But then the paranoid little voice in his head chimed in.
Mages were good for breaking things, but they knew precious little about creating or fixing things, and most were only in the guild because they had powerful families or enough wealth to line the right pockets. The lot of them were corrupt or incompetent, the few that weren't were fools anyways.

The figure took another absent sip of its cider, a faint tremor rattled through the wooden floor as the building shifted in the cold.
This building was old, who knew what rot lay within the stones, every day that went by the place became older. Nothing could last forever, and this building likely did not have much longer. It is not like the servants and staff around here were very hard working, or loyal for that matter. Most were handmaidens, butlers, and washerwomen for the impudent brats whose parents coin funded the guild. He saw them often, drinking beers in their halls, stealing a smoke in empty classrooms, or talking to one another when they should have been working. They were just as lazy as their masters and he would not be duped into relying on them to keep this place afloat.
The figure took another sip, but found no cider within his mug.
He set it down and shook himself from his reverie.
He stirred the fire, beside it, on the flagstone was a barbed cage, inside resided a snake, it was coiled upon itself as close to the fire as the bars would allow it.

The figure felt a flash of rage boil through him.
How could that impudent creature sleep calmly at a time like this! She was out there, beyond his reach, all alone, vulnerable!
He forced himself to be calm. A deep breath in, rage out. A deep, warm breath in, anger out.
He felt his anger subside, of course it would sleep, he was tired too and found himself napping often. This season was horrible, but neither of them could be expected to remain awake and alert through all of it. He had been avoiding it for a while now, but the thought of sleep reminded him how exhausted he was. It did no good to worry, he would only make himself sick, and then he would be no good to anyone, let alone her.
He stroked his chin, and was shocked to feel stubble. His wits were fading from this siege of snow, he had forgotten to groom himself lately. He needed to relax, to think, to keep up his charade until he could return to her.

The figure grabbed the poker and violently whacked the barbed cage on its side. The snake inside hissed and screeched as the cage tumbled, sharp points ripping gashes along its skin, skin that flaked into ash.
When the cage came to a rest, a knobbly red beast with floppy ears, jagged teeth jutting from a long snout, and four arms that ended in sharp yellowed claws emerged. Already black scars were healing to its normal red. The Imp looked furious, but the fury swiftly became obeisance before its brooding master.
“My master?” It asked.
“Go, steal what I need for my soothe syrup, do it quickly and secretly.” He commanded.
“I obey.” The imp said, its form changing to a bulbous rat.

The figure watched the rat scurry away, its claws scrabbling wildly under the door. He wished he could send his imp out to her, but the cold would kill it as surely as any blade. He himself could not go, there was no way to hide his tracks in the snow. Even with so few remaining here during the winter, the risk was too great.
He went to a loose floorboard and pulled out a hidden chest. Within were many of his plans, in code of course. He went over them again. His math was still correct. All of the stolen magic, taken in minuscule amounts from hundreds of unaware students over the warm months, was stored with her. She could last for a year before he would have to replenish the reserves. His machine was working perfectly, he had inspected it right up until he last possible moment, it was perfect.
Then the doubt.
What if there was something he had forgotten? What if something broke and he wasn't here to fix it in time? What if this winter lasted a whole year or his math was wrong?
He could feel himself panicking.
He put his papers away and then gently rocked himself on his bed until the imp returned, its monkey arms filled with various magical and mundane ingredients, he was so pleased he only struck it a few times.

The figure set about making his soothing syrup, the task occupied his focus, it annoyed him that the blood was nearly clotted, he would have to risk procuring more soon. At last the syrup was ready, he poured more cider and put a few thick blue drops of syrup within. Immediately he could feel his fear receding. His plans were perfect, he needed to regain his strength, he needed to sleep.
The season would end soon and then he could replenish her reserves.
He had waited this long, he would not jeopardize the whole project out of fear.
He would be with her soon enough, he only needed to stick to his plan and bide his time.

She would wait for him, he had made certain of that.
 The next part in the tale. The shadowy figure is back, and likely up to no good.

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