Unstable Magick

Flash fiction for the 30 DAYS OF FANTASY WRITING CHALLENGE

Prompt 7 of the 30 DAYS OF FANTASY WRITING CHALLENGE:

A Clock Appears in the Field

This is a prequel to Dragon-born, the story I wrote for yesterday’s prompt.

Image credit: 1tamara2 on pexels.com

Daryn hadn't always been a recluse. In his younger days, he'd been something of a charmer at court. Women wanted him, men wanted to be him—that sort of thing, although sometimes the other way round. He'd been a favourite of King Harald, and then his son and successor, King Ivor. By the time King Ivor’s great-neice took the throne (at knife-point), life at court had long since begun to sour for Daryn. Seeing all his acquaintances age and die made him bitter, and watching wealthy aristocrats bicker (and sometimes murder) over a throne while common folk starved made him disillusioned and cynical.

He retired to the tower sometime around his hundred and fiftieth year, still looking 25, as powerful sorcerers were prone to do. It was no elixir of life—the constant use of magic simply regenerated his cells at an unprecedented rate, whether he wanted it to or not.

Alone and embittered, Daryn shunned all company and searched for something else to fill the void. He mastered telekinesis and shape-shifting, and even dabbled in teleportation. It was around this time that he developed an obsession with portals. Not just run-of-the-mill take-me-to-the-palace ones, but interdimensional portals. Daryn became concerned with the fabric of space and time and, more specifically, how to put a hole in it.

This he managed, three hundred years to the day since taking up residence in the tower. Precisely where he had punched through to, he wasn’t sure, and to be perfectly honest, the portal seemed a tad unstable. He wasn’t sure it was supposed to make that roaring sound, or suck in random items of furniture. Perhaps, Daryn pondered, as he watched a side-table skitter across the room and disappear into the portal along with a priceless first edition of Magicks of the Occult, he should have done this particular bit of magic outside.

Dodging a standard lamp as it shot past his head, Daryn peered into the portal. There was certainly a lot of light, but beyond that, he couldn’t discern much. There was really only one thing for it, and that was to go and see for himself.

For safety, he took the form of an enormous hydra with three heads. Whatever was on the other side of the portal couldn’t be as intimidating as that.

---

Rowland had been born and bred in the magically-saturated Karstlec Mountains. A shepherd by occupation, he was used to unexplained events. Only that morning, the fleece of one of his sheep had turned golden for no reason whatsoever. Then, a young man in a toga had appeared out of nowhere and tried to take it. Rowland would've let him—his ma would've given him what for if he'd come back minus a sheep, but this fellow was wielding a sword and a spear, and Rowland only had a catapult. However, as good luck—or erratic magic—would have it, a sinkhole had opened right under the warrior’s feet and he disappeared into it.

Now it was late afternoon, and the sheep in question looked ordinary again. For the past half hour, however, other strange things had been occurring in the quiet pasture. It had started with a clock which popped into existence right by Rowland’s elbow, and ticked loudly. Rowland knew better than to touch it, so he shuffled sideways. It was a good thing too, because a side-table with spindly legs materialised in the exact spot he’d been sitting. An ancient-looking tome slid off it, falling open as it hit the ground. Rowland, wisely, averted his eyes from the page, causing him to observe the other items appearing among his flock: a crumpled tapestry, a bottle of something sickly green and glowing, an armchair, a smouldering log … He ducked as a standard lamp flew overhead and buried itself in the grass not three feet from Doris, the previously-golden-fleeced sheep.

It wasn't unheard of, but it was unusual for so many foreign objects to turn up in one place at the same time. What was even more unusual was the vortex forming over Innesgharst Peak. Rowland stared, transfixed, at bright sunlight filtering down through the wispy white clouds which rotated slowly over the mountain, while his own world's sun was setting behind him in an angry flush of red amidst bruised clouds heavy with rain.

As he continued to stare at the weather from another world, a great dragon rose up into the sky from Innesgharst Peak. For an instant, it was silhouetted against the lemon light of the otherworldly sun. Then, it dived into the mouth of the caldera atop the mountain. The sky above the peak cracked and fell in great chunks into the caldera after the dragon, and all the strange objects littering Rowland's pasture were suddenly sucked back out of his world and into another.

---

Daryn shot through the portal and straight into a lake of cool, white light. It was liquid, but thick and sticky with magic. He was caught like a fly in a spiderweb. He struggled onward, but he’d lost his forward momentum, and it was like trying to swim through treacle. He drew power from his world behind him and, inch by inch, he forced his monstrous body through the layers of enchantment. He was almost there … almost there …, pushing with all his might, eyes pressed shut against the blinding sunlight above. Then, a shadow fell across him. He opened his six eyes to see an enormous winged shape hurtling towards him. There was no time to get out of the way, erect a shield or even cast a protective charm.

The creature crashed into him and together they fell backwards through the portal.

Thank you for reading!

The story continues in Of Spells and Spelling …