Prompt# 329- Fixation - Untitled NaNo 2012 - Tekia - original

[tekia.livejournal.com]

Title: Untitled NaNo 2012
Fandom: Original
Prompt: fixation
Warnings: none
Rating: PG
Summary: For a very long time, Nazca has avoided facing his crimes, but with e world changing around him, it looks like his past is coming to find him.

The human arrived to find Nazca's door firmly closed against him, the window sealed tight. Nazca sat with his back to the wall, listening carefully to the sounds of the human searching the outside for him.
"Hello," he called out, but Nazca didn't understand. Couldn't understand. The language of the human was a strange thing to him. "Is anybody here?" He could hear the human walking around the shelter, from the door to the corner and back. There was a knock on the wall. "Please, I need your help."
The lizard scrambled up to Nazca's knee and flicked his tongue out at him. Nazca nodded. This was stupid of him. He shouldn't be cowed like this, but out there chasing off the human. He was frightened of a human. Biting his lip, Nazca stared at the lizard. The lizard was no help.
"Please," the human said again, and his words drove Nazca to his feet. He ripped aside the heavy curtain over the door and glared at the startled human.
He was tall. Much, much taller than Nazca could ever dream of being. The elf only came up to the man's shoulder. Growling low in the back of his throat, Nazca tipped his head back to glare up at the man.
The human gaped at him for a long moment before he finally, visibly forced himself to speak.
"You are the one they call Nazca?"
Words aside, Nazca could still remember his name. That was his name. How, after all these years, had the human's remembered his name? He narrowed his eyes even more. What sorcery was this? He waved a hand, maybe the old mime of a shooing gesture. The human stepped back, as if afraid Nazca, nearly half his size, was going to hurt him. Maybe more than just his name had survived the time, and the humans knew to fear his power.
Aside from being so much taller than him, the human was also wider. The breath of his shoulders filled the doorway, and would have cowed Nazca had he been a few steps closer. He wore his long yellow hair pulled up and away from his face in thick braids tied with a leather thong. It was almost white in spots where the sun had bleached it. His eyes were near in color to the plants Nazca worked so hard to harvest, the green of their new leaves sprouting up out of the dry dirt.
Right now, his eyes were wide with fear, heavy with exhaustion, and full of hope. “Please,” he said again, a hand held out in supplication. “You are my last hope.”
Nazca rolled his eyes and took a step forward, reached out and touched a finger to the man’s lips. He paused when the man flinched, but moved forward again once the man stopped moving. He touched the tip of his finger to the man’s lips and then brought the finger to his own. Magic moved between them, stealing the man’s words, his language from him and gifting it to Nazca.
As the magic flowed, Nazca felt it twinning around him, inside him, and through him. It was like the cool winds of the desert’s night, so welcome after the harsh dry heat of the day. It flooded him with the knowledge that he could do anything with his magic.
Resolutely, he shoved those thoughts and ideas away and focused on the spell that would allow him to speak with this human, that would allow him to understand him. Language filled him, crawled over his tongue and down his throat and into his lungs, expanding and billowing until his lips parted and he spoke for the first time in forever.
“What do you want?” His voice was soft, low and sounded like wheels over gravel. It hurt to talk, his throat aching with each word.
The human dropped to his knees with a clatter as the bottles and tools for food preparation settled around him. “You are Nazca, the mystic that lives where none dare?”
The words took a moment to make sense of themselves in his mind, and when they did, Nazca rolled his eyes. “Mystic, no. I am Nazca. You shouldn’t have come. Your trip was pointless.” He searched for the word he wanted. Found it. “Leave.”
The man scrambled to his feet, shoulders bowed as he tried to beg with his whole body. “Please, you are him. I have searched the known world and all that is left if you. I have traveled from the bowels of the human cities and through the archives of the demons to find the help I need and only the wisp of any help comes with your name attached.”
Nazca folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe. The lizard climbed up onto him once more, and the human’s eyes followed its path. “How did you find me?” The stars had long ago told him that his name hadn’t been spoken for ages.
The man tore his gaze from the lizard that lounged on Nazca’s shoulder, its tail stretching down toward the dirt floor near Nazca’s bare feet. “There are books covered in dust in the forgotten libraries of the ancient races.”
“Ancient races,” Nazca repeated, tasting the words, testing them to find if they meant what he thought they did. Ancient; old. Lost to time. Gone. Yes, that suited his people. “How did you find the libraries?”
He gave a half-hearted shrug. “I searched.”
Suddenly, Nazca shook his head. “If you found my name, then you should have found that you should never have come here.” He pushed away from the doorframe and shooed the human again. “Leave now, and speak naught of me, for only ill can come from having my name on your tongue.” He turned away, finished with the human and allowed the curtain to fall closed behind him.
His heart was fluttering rapidly in his chest, and he could feel a flush on his cheeks. Emotions ran rampant inside him. How long, how many years had it been since he had spoken? Since he had laid eyes upon another being that could speak with him?
His fingers trembled with the urge, the want to touch. He balled them into fists at his sides and slid to the floor once more, his fists pushing into his eyes to hold back the explosive riot of emotions. Longing to reach out and pull that human into his life. Words were beautiful, and they were like the water to his unquenchable thirst. How he longed for words to be a part of his life once more.
He bit his lips against the impulse to talk to the lizard now that he had had a small taste of speaking. He covered his mouth with both his hands and squeezed his eyes closed as he heard the human begging on the other side of the wall for his help.
What could he do that he hadn’t already done? What could he do that wouldn’t end in such tragedy? He had fallen into that trap once and feared falling for it again, knowing that it was oh so simple to walk that path and be blind to the faults until it was too late.
It was too late.
It was too late for him, for his people, and even for that man outside his door. He had already committed the worst crime, and everybody had paid the price for his foolishness. He had damned them all, and his punishment was to be locked away from the things that could make him happy.
After the man finally stopped begging at his door, after the sun had set, Nazca finally forced himself to stand. He felt numb after the flood of emotions ran their course. He moved without putting much thought into it, rekindling the fire, putting the hot soup over it to boil, and arranging the lizard over the heated rocks so that he didn’t burn off his tail. He sat at the table and stared out at the middle distance while the soup boiled. His body was still trembling. Something was clawing in his stomach, twisting his insides around until they were so tight that it put him off the soup. He pushed the soup away from him and watched as the lizard's pink tongue flicked out and began lapping up the broth.
He hadn't opened the window and thus couldn't see the stars, but he was too frightened to open it. He didn't know if the human was still there or not. He was too afraid to find out.
He crawled onto his cot and hugged his arms around his shoulders, his eyes squeezed shut against the knowledge that he was so weak.
He had thought that he could just turn everything off, but it only took one human to prove to him that he was truly no more prepared to face his solitude.
The lizard dropped onto him, startling him awake with the breaking of the dawn. Nazca sat up and ran a hand through his hair, blinking in the darkness. A moment later he remembered the human. He stood stiffly and carefully pushed the window open with his forearm. Just outside, the human had made camp, his bedroll laid out along the length of the shelter and the human was bundled up against the chill of the night. Nazca frowned down at him and felt the lizard climb up to peer out the window with him.
Nazca let the window close softly and bit back the feeling of pity he felt, knowing that the human had spent the night without a fire to keep him warm. He knew better than most how cold the desert could be without the sun to warm the sand. It wasn't his concern. It shouldn't matter to him at all.
He shook his head and swore he could feel the lizard watching, judging him.
Finally, he slammed his fist on the table and scooped up the bowl of dried dates from his garden out back and went to the door.
Even if he was sending the human away, he knew how hard that journey was and how much it had to take to go that distance. He knew that a body couldn't make it if it wasn't taken care of.
He pulled the curtain away, and the human started awake. He jumped to his feet and spun to face Nazca.
"You're-" He started, but Nazca interrupted him by shoving the bowl into his chest.
"Eat these, leave the bowl, and then be gone."
Reflexively, the man gripped the bowl to his chest. "Please help," he said, as if that was the only thing he knew how to say.
Nazca shook his head. "I'm not what you're looking for. Find someone else to help you."
"There is no one else. Only you."
"I don't have what you need."
"I believe you do. Please, try."
Nazca stepped back, retreating into his shelter. The human followed.
"Please."
Nazca hissed. "I cannot."
"You won't know until you try. That's all I ask."
He paused in the doorway. His nails were digging into the palms of his hands as he fought with himself. He knew he shouldn't do anything. He should turn his back on the human, make the human forget him. He knew he should keep his word and never enter into the world of the living again. Keep himself locked away.
He sighed and turned to face the human, and he could feel the disappointment in himself growing. "What is it you need?"
With those words, he could feel his own guilt weigh down on his heart.
The human stepped forward, paused, then knelt to pick something up from under the blanket. He pulled free a child, a girl child, with a riot of black curls and big brown eyes. She blinked in the sun as her head listed to his shoulder.
"This is Salima, my sister's daughter." He lifted her as he stood, the little girl's arms and legs clinging to him like a vine on a tree. She turned her head so that she could keep her eyes on Nazca, and blinked slowly at him. Where the man had been hiding her, Nazca hadn't a clue.
She slipped one finger into her mouth and chewed on the tip as she stared at Nazca.
Nazca returned the stare and felt his magic boiling just under the surface. He shook his head.
"I cannot help her." Even from this distance, he could feel the heat coming of her as if she were the one boiling on the inside. Her breathing was labored, and she looked frail, likely to break with a good gust of wind. She was sick, dying perhaps. "She is beyond my abilities."
The human shook his head. "You haven't even looked at her. Look!" He knelt and set the girl on her own feet. "She was born early, small enough that we weren't sure that she would make it through the night, much less the first year of life. She still lives, but she has had a fever since she was born. She's sick. Neither medicine man nor shaman has been able to help her. No demon cares enough to face me, and no angel will touch her. You are our last hope, Nazca of the desert."
Nazca took a deep breath, closing his eyes against the sight of the beseeching man and child.
It wasn’t his duty to care for this child, nor was he free to do so. His punishment was meant until the end of time, and, as the world still existed, thus so did his punishment. He had whetted his appetite for magic, and that was enough to convince him that he should never touch it again. That slope was too steep for him to dare traverse. He backed away and shook his head.
“She’s dying,” the human said, his voice thick with sorrow and pain. Enough pain and sorrow to stop Nazca’s retreat. Sighing heavily, Nazca opened his eyes and gazed at the dark child, so full of heat and so weak with it. “Any little help you can give, I beg of you.”
Nazca rubbed his hand over his face and felt the fight give way. “What is your name, human?”
“T-Tanis.”
“Tanis, you were a fool to come here.”
“You are our last hope.”
“The journey across the desert could have killed her.” And yet, just looking at the human, Nazca could see the determination in how firmly he held his jaw, the hard glint in his eyes. The hope.
Nazca nodded. “Bring her inside.” He stepped into the shadows of his shelter and went directly to the window, propping it open. The human followed, hovering with his child just inside the door. Nazca waved him toward the table. “Set her there, and fetch a jar of water from the well.”
Hesitating only a moment, Tanis settled the girl on the table and ducked back out into the sunlight. Nazca turned to regard the girl watching him with wide eyes. She was thin and small, her eyes deeply sunken in with her illness, and her skin a pale yellow.
Nazca stepped around her and the table toward his scrolls. Since touching the human’s language, his magic has flooded into his blood once more, faint, but there none the less. Words come to him, and he can now remember written words. He now pulled down the scrolls that had befuddled him only a few short years ago, and begun reading.
He read about the star that showed up, brighter than the millions that surrounded it. He read the secrets that he had lost over time, and he connected the dots.
The child was the same age as the star, and she burnt brighter than the humans that surrounded her. This child was going to change the world, and hopefully not the same way he had done all that time ago. Hopefully not in a bad way.
Tanis returned and Nazca directed him to pour some into the pot over the fire, and then to drink. The girl drank greedily, confirming that the desert had taken a toll on her. As she finished a second cupful, Nazca sat at the table with his scroll laid out before him.
"Do your readings tell you anything?"
Nazca glared up at the man towering over him. "I haven't even examined the child, what makes you think I can understand her illness with only a glance?" He stood abruptly and stalked to the wall of scrolls that had collected more dust than there were grains of sand in the desert. He dusted a few off before turning back to him. "Her mother, where is she?"
He shook his head, his yellow hair slipping over his shoulders. "She died birthing the child."
"Her father?"
"I do not know him. I had left for war when she was still young, when I returned, she was full with child, no mate in sight." He watched Nazca pick through several scrolls, slowly lowering himself in the chair Nazca had vacated. He rested one hand on the child's knee. She continued to sip at the water.
Nazca finally came to a stop next to the fireplace, scroll firmly in hand. "Nobody knows about him?"
"Our mother said he was a messenger from the Cities."
"So he came, begat a child, and left. Seems to follow the same pattern."
Tanis' eyes went wide. "You know something?"
Nazca sighed and made to sit, but he paused to frown at Tanis sitting in his chair. He laid the scroll on the table and went to stir the boiling pot of soup. Tanis jumped to his feet and turned the chair toward Nazca. Nazca waved him away, reaching for herbs to add to the soup before testing it. Nodding to himself, he ladled a spoonful into his sole bowl and offered it to the child.
"She is a half breed."
Tanis seemed to need a moment to understand, his head tilted to one side as he thought it over, his green eyes on the child who had set aside the cup and was digging into the soup with her bare hands. Nazca pulled her hand from the hot soup and offered her the eating spoon. She had the same confused expression as her uncle, a small purse to her lips as she fumbled with the spoon.
Finally, Tanis said, "Humans can't have children with demons or angels." He shook his head. "It's never happened."
Nazca could feel the side of his lips turning upward. "And demons and angels are the only other races in the three worlds."
Tanis opened his mouth to object, then paused. "You're neither," he said softly and turned newly opened eyes upon the child.
"I am neither, but I am the last of my kind." He stirred the soup again. He could feel the human's eyes on him again. "You said yourself, you sought out the ancient," he liked that word, "races for help."
Tanis' voice was stronger when he responded. "You're the last of the great mystics, the last elf to live. For this reason alone do I know of you. Your people were written down in books long ago, and those survived. But I have found no note of other races that could still be alive today. The fae are so long gone that they're only myths now."
Nazca doubted that. The fae were as devious as they were clever. If they wanted to hide away from the three worlds, then that's just what they would do. Forever if need be.
"Are those the only two races you know about? Elves and fae?"
"Demons and angels and humans."
"Of course, as they still exist. Not every race wrote down their histories."
Tanis sat again. "What other races were there?"
Nazca arched a brow before he realized that, yes, were was the right form. The ancient races were gone, lost ... ancient.
Words gained new meaning all the time. And ancient now meant lost and gone to him. Like so much else that he hadn't noticed until this human and his child had come into his life.
"Dragons."
"Dragons? Those ..." Then he stopped because what did he know? Nazca cast a glance at the girl, now dipping the spoon into the bowl perched precariously on her knees and then into her mouth.
"They once ruled the skies in ways demons can only dream of ruling the skies." Nazca leaned against the far wall, as far away from the pair as he could in the small shelter. "They were beautiful, with wings that stretched the width of the sky and glimmered like jewels in the sky. Birds could never reach their colors of glory." He felt another smile come to his lips once more at the memories. "They used to fly in herds, filling the skies on their migrations."
"What happened to them?"
Nazca opened his eyes, not having noticed that he had closed them, seeing still the bright colors of dragon wings. "They were not as powerful as they thought, nor were they as immortal as they thought. Not enough children, and too much danger. They died, and were not reborn in youth." He turned his eyes toward the child, soup staining her tunic. "But, they were born to humans."
Tanis brushed the hair from the girl's bowl and frowned. "Her father was a dragon. How can you be so sure?"
"How long has she had the fever?"
Tanis turned his worried eyes from Nazca to the child - Salima. She licked her lips and held the empty bowl up to Tanis who took it and set it aside. "She's been ill since her birth, with the fever."
"It's not a fever. Dragons are much warmer than humans. Their stars, much brighter. She is ill, but not with anything human related." He shoved away from the wall, tossed the scroll he had been holding onto the table and pulled another one free. "She is starving. Dragons eat meat, lots of meat, and they feed off the inherent magic of gold. To be healthy, she needs gold and a few good meals."
Tanis' eyes were wide again. "How- I have no gold. Our family was poor, and what money I gained in the war went to our family's farm." He was petting Salima's hair, and the girl was leaning heavily against his shoulder. "What am I supposed to do?" He made a face. "How am I supposed to raise a dragon?"
"Half dragon," Nazca corrected absentmindedly. "Or maybe quarter dragon. That seems more likely." He found the scroll he knew he had seen while looking for the explanation of the star and returned to the table. He put it over the other scroll and ran a finger down the faded ink. "Here, the linage of dragons as recorded by the elders." Tanis stood, towering over Nazca's shoulder as he peered down at the scroll. Nazca shifted, suddenly all too aware that he was so much smaller than the human. In one move, he had no doubt that Tanis could fling him across the room; he could do so much harm to him, while Nazca was so weak.
His magic was there, sure, but could he be fast enough after all this time to summon it to him to defend himself? He hoped he didn't have to find out.
Strange that, paranoia after being alone for so long.
He ducked out from under the weight of Tanis' presence and retreated toward the fireplace, where his lizard sat watching them with distain.
"Those on the list are dead," he murmured, twisting his hands together before him. "As far as I know, what children they had died with time as well, but if you find her father, perhaps he will take her."
Tanis shook his head. "She may be his get, but she's my child, now. When my sister died, it was to me she trusted the care of her child. I'll not break my promise."
Nazca gazed at him in wonder. "And you haven't, have you? You've searched far and wide for a cure for her."
"And I've found you." He held his hand out, palm up, toward Nazca. "Will you, with your lost knowledge, help me care for her?"
He wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to. To be around other living people, to speak with, to share with. He wanted it so much he could taste it.
"You should leave." He could hear how his voice had turned dull with pain and sorrow. He licked his lips and tried again. "You really should leave. You have come seeking answers, and now you have them. Take them and leave."
The room was silent as Tanis stared at Nazca, and as Nazca stared at the door. Then, "Milord, how long have you been hidden away here? Locked away from people?"
Nazca's eyes shot to Tanis', startled. "I am no lord. I am here of my own free will. It was my choice to come here. And here I will stay until I repent my sins and am welcome into the afterlife."
Tanis nodded. "How long do elves live?"
Nazca opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Elves were long lived, indeed, but he had outlived not only his peers, but their children, and their children, and he had outlived all of the elves in the whole of the three worlds.
How long was he going to live? He had already lived far longer than he had expected to.
In the end, he merely shrugged. "You'll have to get her meat, and lots of it."
"I'll go hunting." Tanis glanced at his pack still lying just outside the door.
Nazca shook his head. "Wait until the sun sets. That's when the beasts come out to hunt." Then he scowled. "But you'll have to go far from here. I've only seen this lizard and that snake this far into the desert. That's not enough to get her healthy."
He left his scroll on the table and peered out the window. "It'll be a few hours still until sunset. You may rest here until you leave."
There was silence in the shelter for a long moment until Nazca finally turned toward the human with an arched brow. "What?"
"There has to be more that we - you- could do for her."
Nazca shook his head before the man had finished talking. "No, no, you must leave. I cannot have you here."
"Why?"
Nazca frowned. "That is none of your concern. I have left the three worlds to their own devices. You have no right to ask anything of me." He ducked out of the shelter and stalked toward his garden.
The space he had made into his garden was massive, far larger than the shelter itself. Long ago, friends and family had brought him bags of fertile dirt, enough to change the landscape from barren desert into a healthy yard.
On the far side there was a line of fruit trees and someone, at some time, had woven the branches of one tree into a bench with magic, and it was toward that that Nazca stalked.
He could hear the human following him. The little girl gasped softly at the sight of the bright colors of his garden. Nazca lowered himself to the bench, his feet only just touching the ground. He was going to have to do something about that, he thought as he watched the little girl reach out to touch a flowering plant.
Tanis turned his eyes toward Nazca after he set the girl on her feet. He approached, and Nazca gestured to the open space beside him. Tanis sat, his longer legs easily touching the ground. In fact, he had to stretch them to be comfortable. Nazca scowled. He wasn't so sure he liked humans.
Together they watched the little girl explore the garden. She didn't walk anywhere, only standing still and touching what she could reach. After a long moment, she sat heavily on her rear and giggled at herself.
"Can we stay here?"
Nazca arched a brow at Tanis. "No."
"Please. We have nowhere else to go that can help us. With your wisdom, anything that comes up, you can help us."
Nazca shook his head. "I shouldn't."
Tanis smiled. "Please."
The little girl pushed herself back to her feet and stumbled over toward them, landing against Tanis' knees. She smiled up at him. Nazca could feel the heat of her body even from that distance.
"Fine. But you must provide your own meat. I do not eat meat." He couldn't hold back the look of disgust on his face as he contemplated the girl's future meals. The man chuckled and Nazca turned his glare onto him. Tanis had the decency to cover his grin with his hand as he reached with his free hand for Salima.
"I will, if you will care for her while I hunt?" He offered Nazca a small, unsure smile. Nazca nodded and leaned back on the bench, letting the trees shade him from the noon sun.
Salima climbed up into Tanis' lap and turned to face Nazca. With his eyes closed, he fancied that he could feel her eyes on him, her gaze burning as hot as her skin. The desert won't do much for her health, half human that she was, but maybe if he used his magic to make the well bubble up into a pool...
His lips tightened at the thought.
He was far too hungry to use his magic. He knew his will was weak and he would too easily slip into old habits if he let himself go. No magic. That one spell was enough. It had to be.
With his body's fixation on magic so powerful, he couldn't risk tempting himself more.
He could remember how to speak and how to read, and that was enough to help the woebegone duo.
After all, his punishment was to be away from the sources of magic and the influence of the outside world. His punishment was never meant to be cut off from all living things.
That had been his choice.
They dozed in the hard sunlight until Salima began to fuss. Nazca fetched another jar of cool water and let the girl play, cooling her skin and maybe even dropping the heat of her constant fever for a moment or two. Tanis wandered the garden as the girl played, asking after fruits and leaves he had never seen before.
"My father was a farmer, but I never had an interest in following in his footsteps. When he died, our uncle took over the farm, which was quite alright with all parties involved. I went to war, which wasn't at all alright with my family." He shrugged. "It had to be done, though. If the baron hadn't gotten enough volunteers, then he would have had drafted even more, and who knows what would have happened to the village? So I went and I fought for my lord for eight years."
"Who did you fight?"
"We fought demons mostly. The angels act like they're not a part of the war as much as they can, and try to stay out of the battles until the demons drag them into the whole mess. I have never faced an angel in battle, but I have seen a demon and angel fight each other. Never have I seen such an awesome and terrifying sight." He shook his head, eyes large, expression showing his disbelief still. "How humans think they can win this war, I'll never know after seeing them fight."
Nazca nodded in understanding. "Their battles are things of legend, but don't let that fool you. Angels are arrogant and can't see their shortcomings. Demons are hot headed and never remember to watch their backs. Just because they make a grand display of it all, doesn't mean they're anything more than they are."
"And what are they?"
"Fallible."
Nazca gathered a basket full of fruit and went into the house, Salima wheezing along behind him, one small fist clutched into the fabric of his tunic. He set the basket on the table and sat the girl on the chair with a bowl of herb leaves. He showed her how to rip them apart, and then left her to it while he prepared a simple meal.
Tanis hovered in the doorway, one big hand sliding over the frame. "Your shelter could use some work."
"It is old," Nazca agreed.
"Did you build it?"
"It was here when I got here. Empty and forgotten long before then."
"When your race was in their prime, there were ancient races then too?"
Nazca blinked at him a moment, nonplussed. "I suppose so. I hadn't thought of it like that." He tilted his head, trying to remember. "When I was a child at my mother's knee, she spoke of the desert dwellers that hid away from the sins of the world, keeping the desert between them and the greed of the rising empires." He closed his eyes and could almost feel the soft touch of his mother's hand on his hair, although he couldn't remember her voice or her face. Or her name.
"They were rich and powerful and they were said to be the wisest of all living creatures. In my youth, we were taught that those that came before us were more pure of heart and soul than any that came after and it was from them we claimed our heritage came from."
"Is this true?"
Nazca's eyes popped open and he shrugged. "Who knows? Those that might have have long since died, and those that came before are long since forgotten. This was a way station between villages in the desert that have long since disappeared. Nobody was using it when I stumbled upon it, and so I made it my pris-home."
Tanis watched him flutter about the fireplace a moment before he finally looked away and back to the crumbling frame. "I could fix this. I'd need supplies, which, about two weeks through the desert and back, I could make do."
"Two weeks?" Surprise flooded Nazca, revealed in his voice. "Two weeks to cross the desert twice?"
Tanis nodded. "There's no water between here and the nearest outpost, but one week will see me from your doorstep to the village, and another to return, with a day or two to seek supplies and refurbish my water supply."
Nazca leaned heavily against the fireplace, the banked fire nearly as hot as Salima's skin. "When I came here, the desert took much longer to cross."
"The world is changing," Tanis said, his voice low, sad, as if he were able to see the changes as easily as the stars. "Even a desert is subject to the winds of change."
"That takes a long time to happen," he murmured, more to himself than to the two staring at him. "Seven days to travel with no water, how did you manage with the child?"
Tanis gestured to his pack. "I have in there only skins for water. There's ... not much left." He placed a hand on the child's head. "Like I said before, you were our last hope. If I couldn't find you, then we would have perished out here, succumbed to the heat together."
The little girl looked up from her task, her large eyes searching Tanis' face. He smiled down at her. "I'm very glad that we found you." Nazca stiffed when he realized tears were filling the man's eyes. Tanis quickly brought his free hand up to cover his face.
Words failed Nazca. What could he say to this human that had sought him out, sought the last of an extinct race, to save his sister's child, willing to give his own life in the effort? The pain and stress this man must have gone through humbled Nazca.
Before his crime and punishment, would Nazca ever have given as much to anybody? He turned his back on the human, giving him a bit of privacy with his emotions, and busied his hands with herbs and jars and anything to keep him from wringing his hands helplessly as the man struggled to get himself under control.
The little girl made a soft sound of distress, and Nazca turned in time to see Tanis plucking the girl up out of the chair. She patted her uncle on the head as he smiled fondly down at her. From across the room, Nazca could see that his hands were still trembling. It must be a huge relief to finally have found Nazca, someone to help him.
After seeing this, how could Nazca refuse him?
“If I let you stay, there are rules and stipulations.” Tanis’ head snapped up, and Nazca turned his back on those telling eyes. “The first is that I will not leave here. If you want my help, you’ll come to me.” He didn’t know if he could trust himself, out there, where there was so much that needed to be fixed and so much that he could fix. Not everything that was broken needed fixed, and that had been his weakness. Fixing the child would be easy, feed her the right foods, treat her like a dragon instead of a human, and her health was sure to flourish.
“I understand.”
“Second, if I use my magic for your benefit, then you take responsibility for me.” Nazca turned to face him fully, back straight and shoulder pushed back. He was going to show his hand, here, and he wasn’t going to be ashamed of his past. He had done what he had done, and that was in the past. “I have made mistakes in the past because of my arrogance, and I will need you to tell me when I go too far.” He swallowed hard and found that he couldn’t hold Tanis’ gaze. He looked at the floor and bit his lips. “I seem to be unable to tell when I need to stop. I’m too powerful to be allowed free will over my magic.”
“Is that why you’re here?”
He nodded, once, sharp. “Yes. I was once the most powerful magician in the three worlds, and I was spoilt and arrogant and blind to my mistakes.”
“How-“ He broke off to set Salima back on the chair. The girl clung to him until he forced her to release him and replaced her hold on him with the spoon again. She clutched the spoon tightly, but kept her eyes on him, worry shining clear. “How am I supposed to,” he wrinkled his nose, “to control you? You’re ancient and powerful, and a magician. I’m only human. What can I do to stop you that you can’t just,” he made a vague gesture with his hand, “overpower, ignore?”
Nazca nodded again, less sharp now, more understanding. “I won’t give you power over me. I don’t know you, and this could be a trap for all I know.” He ignored Tanis’ wordless sound of protest. “But I will give you this.” From under his shirt he pulled a charm attached to a frail chain. The tiny object wasn’t much, but it had meaning to Nazca. He pooled the chain in his hand and held it out. The light pouring in from the open door and window reflected off the silver chain, casting bright sparks through the room.
The charm itself was no larger than his thumb, made of clay, and in the form of a lotus blossom. At some point in the past, it had been painted brightly, although Nazca couldn’t remember what color it had been. It was now a dark brown color, cracked with age.
“This holds special meaning to me.” He couldn’t remember why. “And as long as you have it, I shall hear you. With this in your possession, you have my ear whether I want it or not. I’ll have to listen to you.”
Tanis breathed out a breath Nazca hadn’t noticed him holding. “This won’t give me control over you?”
Nazca narrowed his eyes. “No.”
“Good.” He held his hand out under Nazca’s outstretched one, and Nazca poured the necklace into his upturned palm.
“Now, go to the well once more, fill your water skins, and prepare to journey due south of here. I will summon a beast from that direction for you to hunt.”
Tanis blinked in surprise. “You can do that?”
Nazca sniffed and tipped his chin up a notch more. “I can do more than that, but that is enough for now.” Who knows how well his magic will obey him after such a long streak of disuse? “Go, I must work.” He turned back to the pot over the banked fire. He pulled it toward him and knelt.
Behind him, he heard Tanis say, “Stay here, love, keep an eye on him.”
Nazca turned a glare onto them from over his shoulder, but Tanis only laughed, ruffling a hand through Salima’s hair. He ducked out the door, pulling his pack with him. Once he was gone, Salima and Nazca stared at each other for a long moment.
What had he just opened himself up to?
His lips tightened and he nodded to her, made her smile, and went back to working with the pot, his mind elsewhere.
His magic was a constant buzz just under his skin now that he had used it once. Now that he had made the conscious decision to use it again, it was as if the magic was sitting up, begging for his undivided attention. His fingers twitched to etch sigils into the air with fire, his lungs burned with the impulse to let words of power fall from his lips like water over a cliff. His blood sang with the power flowing through him, and it was all he could do to keep kneeling before the fireplace and not jump to his feet and command the very earth under his feet.
He was stronger than that. He had to be. He knew he was. And wasn’t that the way of thinking that got him into this mess in the first place? He knew he could control his own magic, and he knew that he could control everything around him.
Knowing that he could didn’t mean he should, and that’s what he was hoping the human could understand better than he ever did.
His people had once stood on the precipice of the world. They had great wisdom and even greater power. Being brought up in that type of society was what tainted Nazca’s way of thinking. He was naturally predisposed to think of himself as better than those lesser beings that lived such short and violent lives. Having locked himself away for so very long surely had to have had an effect on him. Maybe this time he’d be better.
Less of a danger to others.
He shook his head, fisted his hands until he could feel his short blunt nails digging into his skin. He shouldn’t think of a future as a magician. Use the magic to help the child, and that was it. That’s where he had to stop. He couldn’t risk anything else. There was no this time will be different. There was not going to be a second time.
His magic was going to-
Abruptly he stood and shook out his tunic. “I dislike this,” he said to the child watching him still. He huffed a breath and began piling the scrolls up so he could tuck them away. “Your star is very bright,” he said in a calm tone, changing the subject. “If what I remember to be true, is true, then you are meant for great things.” He eyed her, making her giggle with his overly intense look. “Or it could just be your dragon blood making the star so bright. Your kind are so very different from humans, after all.”
With the table cleared, Nazca leaned on the surface, head ducked so he could look the girl in the eye. “What plans do you have for your future? Will you hide away, pretend to be a human as your father obviously has, or will you let the three worlds know you are a force to be reckoned with?” He smiled. “I should teach you. You’re only part dragon, a quarter dragon, half at most, but still, you have the blood of dragons in you, and so you have magic in your blood. What can you do, I wonder?”