Overhead branches made a kaleidoscope out of Narrentry Woodland's skies. Clouds shaded indigo, charcoal, and black with speckles of orange indicating the sun was setting behind the storm. The scents of wet soil and leaves hung musky, but fresh in the air. Cypur took a deep breath, filling his lungs to the brim before letting out. 

On his shoulder, behaving herself, Wescherlie did the same. The beauty caressed his aesthetics, making him want to capture this moment with an AutoPic. He would have brought one if this wasn't a run for his, and for Wescherlie's, safety.

Remember this. He promised himself, and he knew he would.

As evening hushed into night and the warm tones faded from the sky, a whitish-blue glow appeared in the shadowed parts of the wood. Night, or a cloudy evening, meant that things obnoxiously glowed. He spotted a glowing rat, scurrying among leaves, nibbling on milky-white mushrooms in its path. They were the culprits that made Narrentry Woodland glow but gave sustenance to every plant and animal. They were a vital part of the life cycle.

"Exspiritavius lumesius." He named the mushroom, recalling an encyclopedia he once devoured. He thought he could sure devour one now. His stomach grumbled for dinner, forgetting he'd just eaten.

"Ex, what?" Wescherlie whispered after a beat.

"Basically, Glowing Ghost." Precense picked a mushroom. "Poisonous to us, though."

"Well, then, just say it," she grumbled. "You don't have to make names all complicated."

"It's not. The luminescence is in the nutrition," Cypur explained, "making the animals and the ground where they poop, glow." He pointed to an area of the ground where the glow splattered.

"Glowing poop?" She snickered. The glowing things around them were bright enough to illuminate her face in an eerie light. He noticed that upturned beak. A mischievousness glinted in her eye.

How immature! Cypur gave a wry smile. He hadn't really thought about it, but now the idea tickled him, though he didn't dare show it. Sorcerers did not laugh at immature jokes. Accepting his magick was out of control didn't mean he was willing to give up on being a Sorcerer. He would do the smaller things first. Work his way up.

"Cypur, Wescherlie, I was thinking to take you around north through part of Berlennia. It's quite barren so—"

"Barrenlennia, you mean," Wescherlie said.

"Berlennia," Precense stressed the name, "is barren so you wouldn't be seen by anyone that might tip you off. No one lives there."

Cypur traced their route on the map in his head. The way Precense was taking them would just graze the Unseen Town's borders also known as Narron. It was the only town that existed in the woodland. The inhabitants were rumored to be reclusive, unfriendly, and weird. 

All that was written about them in books was they were a clan of Human-born Sorcerers who followed some ancient Sorcerer belief system. It was a twisted form of aesthetic ethics that required Human sacrifices to be given to their god.

But no one could say for sure if that was true, because no one had ever met a Narron. They kept away from the rest of Sorcerer society and Sorcerer society kept away from them.

After a while, the rough forest floor flattened out into a well-used path. Precense stopped, alert, and then Cypur realized, too. Someone was coming using short-distance teleportation. The bursts of magick he felt were getting closer. Wescherlie perched atop Cypur's shoulder.

Before long, a man and a woman teleported before them. They each held a cardboard sign in their hands and one of them had two signs. The signs had 'yes', 'no', and 'perhaps' written on them. Cypur waited for them to say something. The song of a cricket permeated the awkward silence as if it this was all a joke.

"Excuse us for trespassing," Precense began and took a step forward, holding up his hands to show he meant no harm, "we are just passing through and we shall soon be on our way."

The man, a rather boney, sunken-cheeked thin man with ghastly skin gestured feverishly to the woman with lots of twisted facial expressions. The woman, who was also quite thin with ashy pale skin, held up her 'no' sign and gestured feverishly to the man.

The man panned his gaze from Wescherlie, who cawed, to Cypur and then Precense. He then raised an eyebrow so high it looked like it might just leave his face. Then he turned to woman and contorted his face into anger and then sadness, and even made like a pretend cry with no sound.

Yep, these guys are weird, Cypur concluded. It was like a silent theater or a guessing game. He noticed both citizens had a name tag pinned to their collar. The man's name was 'Cofercrane' and the woman's name was 'Fifi-Linlin'. Another citizen, an elderly man with white hair, teleported behind the duo with his own set of cardboard signs. His name was 'Nuthinportant' and he made wide gestures with sharp glares at Cofercrane and Fifi-Linlin.

After a moment of gestures, the Narrons seemed to have come to some decision or agreement. They each shook hands with each other, gave satisfied nods, and Nuthinportant brandished a sign with 'NO' in capital letters and then took out a new sign from within his cloak which was a lot less tattered than the other simpler responses. It was a full sentence written in ancient Sorcerer tongue spelled out using Universal letters.

"Ayf wy syy hum, wy tayk hum yundor oaur wying und dayn wy kuntahkt hyr."

If we see him, we take him under our wing and then we contact her, Cypur read. And it was a headache to read. Wescherlie was twisting her head nearly upside down trying to make out the words. Cypur shifted his shoulder to put her off balance and she cawed in annoyance. But he didn't want the Narrons to even suspect the raven on his shoulder could read.

Both Cofercrane and Fifi-Linlin held up the 'yes' sign together because there was only one between them. Then Nuthinportant smiled at Cypur and then at Precense and gestured for them to follow.

Contact her. The policewoman, Cypur guessed. There was probably a large ransom up for him by now. No one could be trusted not to turn him in at this point.

Precense whispered, "Comply or fight." And left it at that. They all followed the Narrons into their town.

A long dirt road stretched before them until a sheet of fog blocked them like a wall. When Nuthinportant touched the fog wall it opened a circular doorway. Up until this point it was quiet all around except for the occasional critters making their little territorial cries. But when they passed through into the threshold, the sounds of a lively town in the midst of a celebration hit him.

Thumping drums, clanking bells, and long, blow horns symphonied their tunes on a breeze. With it came a concealed culture scented with incenses and a dialect so thick it sounded like a different language. Narron was like a whole other world.

"We have heard much about you Cypur Cromlight," someone said in a very thin, barely audible voice especially over the sudden thunder of drums. "How your magick could potentially be very potent and strong. Perhaps, gold, as well."

It took a moment and the turn of a head to realize Nuthinportant was talking. His grinning cheeks were flushed, and he began to walk in the rhythm of the drums. His white beard stretched to hang down long to his feet and remarkably he never tripped. His cloak filled out as some kind of illusion magick came off to reveal a chubby old man with a dragging white beard, flushed cheeks and a red cherry nose.

"Ha, ha!" He laughed in a thin, jolly voice. "We know how to Faud force. Gold magick, nuh-uh, no problem."

Nuthinportant's cheerful attitude certainly didn't rub off on the other two Narrons. Fifi-Linlin kept shaking her 'no' sign in the air while Cofercrane was staring hard at Wescherlie. Cypur, to play the part of a pet owner, reached up to pet Wescherlie's feathers and she let it happen. It was delightfully soft. Softer than silk.

Once they came to the town gates, it was hard to hear himself think. The drums were practically echoing in his chest. Before he could wonder what the celebration was for, or where the drums were coming from, two little boys, younger than him, came running out of the gates and grabbed his arms, and, he was elsewhere.

The teleportation happened too quick for him to object, and the boys were gone from his side. As he stood stunned in the middle of a domed room with candles all around, an old man that looked like Nuthinportant had dieted and gotten taller, stood before Cypur with the same Nuthinportant cheery smile, but not bottom teeth.

"I am Doctor Faud, they call me. Nuthinmuchyportant, is the name, or Much, you can call me," he said, "I believe you met my father, Nuthinportant. I can help you bring your Faud about which will help you do magick even better." He gave an open-mouthed grin.

"But first, you must tell your Rauvuren to come sit over on this nice cushion here so she would not be harmed."

Cypur hid his surprise. He would have to be careful with his emotions.

Cold and calm, betray nothing, he told himself.

"She's not a Rauvuren, although I wish." He snapped his fingers, teleporting Wescherlie to the cushion. She stumbled but regained her footing. Teleportation of others could be done with a spell, but he developed a way to do that magick through his snap. Bored but exceptional gave him some nifty tricks overtime.

Facing Much he said, "You can help me bring out my Faud? But why? What would be in it for you?"

"Ah," Much said and rubbed his beard. Silence stretched between them. Cypur heard some carnival or party going on beyond the dome. Where had they taken Precense? He caught a flash of yellow and green light behind a wooden structure. Taking a step back, he peered out when his boot hit something.

A candle had toppled, but Much was righting it already and it floated back to its spot. Cypur hadn't noticed, but candles surrounded him in a circle. White chalk marked the floor with a sigil. A circle here, triangle there, what was this symbol? He knew it. Of course, he did. It was in one of the old spell books he poured over last year, or the year before.

"I heard your magick is pure gold." Much said. Behind him, Wescherlie was pretending to be a raven, pruning her wings.

Or maybe she really is pruning her wings.

"That's what's claimed," Cypur glanced briefly at Much who was using orange magick to make incense flow around the small room, "but I don't know anything."

"Sure, sure you don't," Much gave a crooked smile, "Not like you didn't see your magick come out and kill that Zarkentauf kid. Word has traveled from the citylands. Magick has no color, but yours does and pure gold at that."

He snapped his fingers.

The sigil ignited orange. Cypur's body went rigid and couldn't move. Panic rose in his throat, constricting his chest when he recognized the sigil at last.

"This is illegal. Forbidden for a good reason. Mister!" He tugged his wrists, but they were bound in invisible rope. Wescherlie squawked, trapped under a magick-binding net. Purple light with while sparkles swirled around her but turned to sparks when it hit the net.

Much created a runic symbol and touched the candle. It flamed to life. He went around to each one. Invisible rope tightened around Cypur's legs, winding, winding, coming around his waist. He couldn't budge no matter how hard he twisted his body. The ropes dug into him. Pain came and went.

Think, think! Cypur had to get his mind together. Didn't he know anything? But his mind was muddled, foggy, and he couldn't at all. Much was chanting a spell. Tingling magick traveled up and down Cypur's arms, sinking into this skin, searching for the core of his powers. This wasn't to help him. This was to steal his magick.

The door banged open behind. "How's it look?" came a male's voice.

"Cofercrane, see here!" Much pointed at Cypur's hands. Golden sparks danced along the tips of his fingers. "Quite deep. Get the bottle ready."

As Cofercrane fumbled around in the back, more spectators poured in. Out of the corner of his eyes, Cypur spotted Fifi-Linlin waving a 'YES' sign over her head. And there was Nuthinportant, arms outstretched, sending pink magick toward the circle, contributing his powers. The rest of the Narrons joined in, humming as one. 

Something clawed at his insides, pushing against his chest. Searing pain made him writhe about, but he could hardly move. He tasted sweat on his lip. Everything was burning.

Any explosion, or escape, something! He raked his mind. Didn't he know any spells to throw them off? All those books he poured over. Forbidden magick. He closed his eyes briefly, imagining the Academy library, deep into the cellars, an old dungeon held forbidden books. It was a little curiosity one day out of boredom.

The scene wavered as golden light flowed into his memory from the peripherals.

No! He pushed it back, turning the corner in his memory, down the hall. The darkest one. He had been afraid to call out even a light spell, but he did. The door shuddered and the padlock glowed. It was easy. He was in. Cypur hurried the memory up, trying to find that one book. Forbidden magick, hidden away for centuries.

Someone kicked him in the back. He fell to the floor, hitting his face. The memory wavered. Behind him was Gallen, eyes black with aesthetic possession. He whispered incomprehensible words. Cypur scrambled to his feet. This wasn't the memory.

Gallen reached for him, but he slipped away between shelves. Dusty books strewn with cobwebs, barely visible in the dim light that followed. He skidded to a stop as the real memory overlapped. A thick book with a luxurious jeweled cover of treasure binding, reflecting the light he cast over it. Green, blue, and gold. A codex, untitled, but filled with spells forbidden to knowledge today.

He opened the book on the shelf, unable to hold it in one hand. Runic letters danced before his eyes. That day he had found one interesting explosive spell that he secretly memorized, but never had the chance to try it. He poured through the vellum leaflets, carefully turning the thin pages. Illustrations of Sorcerers standing before yawning holes, before portals, creating time warps or raising the dead. In the present, nervousness drummed in his heart. Where was it? That spell.

That's it! He smiled in the memory at his discovery. But before he could read the words, golden light flashed, shoving him out of the memory.

Damn, come on! He tried to remember again, but it was already fading. Come on, I know this one. I saw it. What was it?

Something punched him in the lungs, forcing the breath out of him. His eyes snapped open as he gasped for air. Golden light came in streaking bursts out of his chest, crumbling the ceiling. Laughing filled his ears. A laugh of crazed greed. Cypur's magick burned every part of his body, head to toe. But he grasped for the memory. A shiver zipped through his body. Nausea rose from his stomach, scrambling up his throat, but then it went back down again, poking and prodding.

No, not nausea. Extraction. Through blurred vision, he made out Much standing in the circle with him, arm stuffed into Cypur's chest, magically searching, pulling, tugging.

"I got the gold!" Much shouted and the crowd roared.

Cypur could hardly comprehend the sensation. It was like Much had grabbed his guts from the inside, fingers curling around it, sending shivers up his spine. He shuddered and tears formed in his eyes. Much dragged something through his body. In its wake, it carved a hole in Cypur. Empty, hollow, worthless. He instinctively knew that once extracted, he could never get it back. That was the side-effect and the reason it was forbidden.

Did Much have any compassion left? Cypur licked his lips. One last try to talk him out of it.

"Please, Mister," he begged, "I'll do anything. Anything! Leave my magick alone."

But Much was beyond reasoning. "Pure, so pure, and gold. Beautiful. I want to bask in this wonder!" he said in a breathy voice, "Come to me, come, come—"

Much froze. Deep, purple light curdled around his neck like smoke. He wheezed and his eyes rolled back in his head. He fell to ground. The candles nicked out, and shadows fell in the dome. Narrons screamed, running about. Cypur caught sight of yellow and green magick. A giant wolfish Faud snapped its jaws at running Narrons who desperately tried to fight back with their own. The invisible ropes holding him faded one by one and he fell to the floor.

"Cypur!" Wescherlie called. "Oh, my world, what have they done to you!" She grabbed his arm to help him up.

"I'm okay," he croaked and cleared his throat. "How did you get out?"

Cypur stood on weak legs, holding his chest. Something settled back down in the place where it belonged. A comforting warmth eased his pain, his nausea, and his weak legs, one by one. His magick was safe within him. Near his feet, Much lay on the ground, slowly regaining his breath. Around them, a fight ensued. Long flowing brown hair with yellow and green highlights appeared.

"I'll hold them off, you go!" Precense called and disappeared outside.

Cypur looked at Wescherlie. Leave Precense behind? She mirrored his expression when they heard the dreaded voice.

"Excuse me!" came the policewoman. "Brevelord-Precense hor Brevelord, you are under arrest for violating—Cypur Cromlight is here! Find him, and the Rauvuren."

"Damn it," Cypur said, and he and Wescherlie made for the backdoors. The front doors had Precense keeping the Narrons away from him. He would be ever grateful. Precense didn't have to do this.

But at the backdoor was Cofercrane and Fifi-Linlin.

"And where thinks you're going?" Cofercrane sneered, raising his arms he said a spell for water. Fifi-Linlin intercepted Wescherlie and the two females faced off in combat.

Cypur quickly made a shield of wind around him to block the water attack. Water sprayed white around the wind shield, obscuring his vision. He quickly sent the water back at Cofercrane, but the male was now behind him. Cypur leapt to the air and hit his head on the beam.

With a grunt he landed on his side, cracking an arm bone. As the wound slowly healed, Cofercrane, laughing hysterically, shot out his Faud, a white crested crane with a pink throat and translucent feathers.

"Now what, gold boy?" he sneered.

The crane dove at him with its sharp beak. Cypur rolled away, wincing as his healing arm crushed again. He saw Wescherlie, huffing as she fought Fifi-Linlin who didn't look tired at all. A kick to her face was caught and Fifi-Linlin threw Wescherlie off balance. She fell on her back. The Sorcerer was on top of her raining punches as Wescherlie blocked.

"Two left!" the policewoman called. Dread filled him. Had Precense been captured?

Cofercrane was suddenly on top of him, pulling his attention away. Cypur struggled underneath, trying to think of a way out of this. If only he could remember that spell!

My dagger, he recalled and slipped his hand into his pocket, pulling out his dagger, he stabbed Cofercrane in the stomach and shoved him off.

Wescherlie wailed and he snapped his head in her direction. She was on her stomach and Fifi-Linlin was tugging at her wings.

"Give them here!" she said in a squeaky voice. "How you fly without transforming, the power is in the wings."

He turned back and Cofercrane was already getting to his feet. But instead of making his way toward Cypur, he turned his attention to Wescherlie. His eyes turned black.

"You're hurting me, wench!" Wescherlie said.

"That's the point," Fifi-Lilin groaned.

"Let me do it." Cofercrane went up to them. He held up his hand and a sword flew into it.

I have to do something! Cypur gritted his teeth and tried to get back into the memory, but his heart was racing, and he couldn't concentrate. But he had to do something. Wescherlie needed him. At that moment, a lizard head poked out of his chest.

Time seemed to slow. He heard the policewoman shouting, Narrons screaming, and there was Wescherlie's cry. The dark blue lizard shimmered with gold and looked at him with big eyes. Cypur gaped at the sight. Was this his Faud?

Hands grabbed him from behind in a backwards hug. The lizard slipped back inside. It was Much, recovered from being choked. Cypur's arms were held at his side so he couldn't twist his wrist to stab Much without stabbing himself.

"I saw it! My own eyes. Give it here," Much hissed. "Come on, sissy boy. I heard you like males, you sinful thing. You don't deserve to have such power."

All his defects came pouring into his mind. He didn't deserve this. He was the worst Sorcerer to ever live.

Stop. He told himself. Stop it. Cypur bit his lip, shoved the tears away and cut himself some pie called 'slack'. Who was he anyway? 'Cypur the Softy Sorcerer' who couldn't stand up for himself even if he tried? Wasn't he ahead of his peers, despite being held back? And he designed this cape himself. And he had naturally golden hair.

And matching golden magick. He smirked. What was wrong with that? Nothing.

He knocked his head against Much's jaw, elbowed him in the throat, and kicked him in the crotch. An old man had nothing on him.

"You've messed with the wrong Sorcerer, Much." Cypur lifted his head as best he could in his Narsy way. Slowing his breathing, he called to his magick and the memory of the forbidden spell fell on his lips.

"Nielia fausa, gelili, preima!" Cypur grunted as his Faud sprung from his chest. A streak of golden light it was until it took shape to attack Cofercrane and Fifi-Linlin. The roof began to cave as Cypur repeated the spell, feeling the power surge through him. He almost wanted to laugh. His body felt light and free.

Rubble avoided him. Dust billowed all around. In this moment, he was powerful. With a flick of his hand, he brought down the rest of the roof. He sent stone hurling at the Narrons.

"Starlights!" Much shouted from somewhere. "Evacuate!"

"Cypur?" Wescherlie called. He made sure there was enough dust around the Narrons to conceal his escape. He hurried to her, and they left the dome. Outside, buildings were crumbling. A large quake shook the ground. Wescherlie lost her balance, but he helped her up. They stumbled through the falling town. Dust curled up around them and making them cough.

Wescherlie paused abruptly.

Cypur stopped. "Wha—"

"Duck!" she shouted. He crouched to the ground as her foot came up over his head, kicking away a black-eyed Narron, sending him flying. There was a crunch as he hit a building.

"Starlights, Wescherlie," he gasped. He hadn't even heard anyone approaching them. "How did you know?"

"Instincts." She shrugged.

They slipped away and into the cover of Narrentry Woodland. There, Cypur and Wescherlie went as deep as they could go until they came upon a little stream. He stopped to lean against a tree and his knees buckled under him. The fresh forest scents filled his lungs.

"Bastard," he breathed out. A Faud. He had a Faud. He realized the Faud hadn't followed him, but he wasn't worried. Fauds could harm Sorcerers, but Sorcerers couldn't harm Fauds.

"I have a Faud," he said out loud. "It looked like a lizard." A tingling feeling entered his chest and a sliver of golden sparkles disappeared inside of him.

"I think that was it." Wescherlie rested her hand against his chest. "Yep, I can feel your magick, a lot stronger than last as if you've finally acknowledged it."

Cypur combed his hand through his hair which was starting to feel quite greasy. "I need a shower." But he didn't want to talk about showers. He wanted to talk about his Faud. Why had it taken so long? What was he to do now that he had one? And he was able to do that forbidden magick so easily. He could have destroyed the whole town.

Which is why it's forbidden. Unable to control how much explosion you make happen.

"Me, too. I feel icky." Wescherlie sat beside him. Cypur glanced down at his hands, feeling the magick tingle in there more than he had ever noticed before.

"Golden magick is impossible," he thought out loud, "No one has colored magick. All magick is white and Sorcerers use color magick to put their favorite colors on them. What am I anyway?"

Cypur rubbed his face, feeling sleep creep up on him. As an Apprentice rank, his magick capacity was limited. Such strong magick like that winded him. He wanted to rest by this chattering stream while listening to the wind rustling the leaves, tempting him to sleep like a hypnotic lullaby.

Wescherlie broke the silence. "Your high-level Narsy magick was pretty awesome, by the way."

Narsy magick? Cypur let out a sniff of a laugh. "Well, you were pretty cool, too."

In retrospect, they escaped an entire town of crazed Sorcerers, and the policewoman. Precense was their loss, but Cypur knew the worst they could do to him was to send him to jail in the Fifth Ring. He didn't do anything too illegal in the eyes of a Sorcerer. He would soon be released.

"Partners in crime?" Cypur smirked at Wescherlie, and she grinned, crinkling her nose. He held up his hand and she high-fived him—a Universal gesture celebrating a moment of success. Soon, they headed for Priviturn Lake through Berlennia to find the old woman who was once a Zarkentauf resident with hopes that she would be nice enough to help.