A sad little song in the night

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Author's note: Here is another one of my offerings to that fleeting little spirit called "futility". Never give up hope.

The first-person portion in the middle of the story is Pent's reflection on the events from the near future.

Enjoy the story, everyone.

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"I never truly understood how unexplainable life is until the night an innocent life was taken from me. Only then did I begin to realize how fruitless studying something so fragile is." –Lord Pent

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The marquess of Reglay, Pent, sat in his study and read. The place was a mausoleum of books piled one atop the other, stacked nearly up to the ceilings in shelves pressed tightly against the walls. The studious marquess sat in a soft chair sitting opposite a window at the back wall. Around him, many proper candlesticks sat alit, casting a soft, ambient light over the room's entirety and giving the room a quiet, pensive feeling. Every so often, he would look up from the pages of his book and gaze analytically out into the darkness.

What secrets the night holds, thought the thinking man, that it hides behind a veil through which none can see.

He flipped through the pages of the book, taking in the knowledge, processing the knowledge, then letting it wash over him. At some point in time, when the night was now full and vibrant in its darkness, Pent laid aside his book on a table beside him, set down the pair of reading spectacles he wore, and closed his eyes. He drew in a sharp breath and leaned back in his seat, letting the quiet he sought flowing over his body.

It was so, so wonderful, that rest, and the peace it becomes…

Here in the relative darkness of his eyes, floating listlessly in the room's gentle light, the honorable Lord Pent felt at ease. Not so much as in his everyday activities, no; he was marquess, and so he bustled and he walked and he talked, and he proved himself worthy of his people's trust. But there- there! He was…burdened. It was the responsibility, the pressure that killed him slowly, brought him down and tore his body apart. Marquess Reglay was more than up to the task of lording over Reglay, and he did so, and well.

But it burdened him nonetheless. The very things that drew him up in the eyes of his people slowly dragged him down, stressed him, consumed him, and reminded him he was still just a human being. Pent had immersed himself fully in knowledge many, many times before, and each time he gave thanks for the reminders that yes, he was real, and that all events can be measured tangibly on the world's scale. All this was just part of being a human.

There was a sudden, strange sound that rang out from the night air. It was faint, but Pent could make it out, and he rose to the window to observe. Through the shade, he could see nothing out of the ordinary, but he heard a chorus of odd noises coming at frequent intervals through the air. Together, they formed a quiet symphony that rang through the air: a gentle, mysterious melody. Each one was like a small, reverberating burst, a -snap!- that caught the air in its hooks on different scales and played out the tune to a tin perfection. It was an unusual thing to witness, but Pent paid it little mind- he merely stood there listening, ears pricked and body still, until the rhythm died down and gave way to only faint, steady crackles. Only slightly mystified, he turned away from the window.

Master Pent was the mage general of Etruria. Being the popular, entrusted dignitary as he was, he was often absent from the halls of the castle that was rightfully his. In his absence, the halls bustled with servants and vassals of various sorts- all of them bound not by a word of fear or a fatalistic sense of duty but by respect and admiration for his philanthropic ways and his kind, generous heart. His lady wife Louise and his young apprentice Erk made these walls their home, and whenever Pent returned from his various tours of duty, he was always greeted by warm words and warm arms. Their great castle was a living, breathing mind of knowledge; it was a thriving, beating heart teeming with love and gentleness.

Truly, it is something that magic could not, would not ever hope to replicate, he mulled as he stepped into the halls and took in a sharp breath of fresh air from the halls. It was in sharp contrast to the stuffiness of his study, where such things as circulation were relegated second to the circular pursuit of cycles of knowledge. Lord Pent took a left down the marbled halls, passing the open windows with their cool evening breeze, and skirted through the incandescent magic lights. He was invigorated, the general night fatigue giving way to the ever-welcome euphoria of discovery. The words on the pages of the books gave life, and now that life flowed through him and cascades around all his extremities, reinforcing his soul and clearing his mind.

Ahhh…the anima…directing the flow of the inner energies is startlingly refreshing. Wonder of wonders; if each of us could control this, our civilizations would be nocturnal as well as diurnal! I suppose this is what the Eliminian clergy would call the "grace of the gods", and the practitioners of the darkness would call "feral strength"…

At the midpoint of one corridor, where the white marble gave way to a beautiful mahogany door, Pent rose a loose fist and rapped. Here was the room of his apprentice, and he flashed a pensive smile towards no one in particular.

What Erk yet fails to understand is that magic is less a tool to exploit than it is an ally to be respected and revered. And, with that reverence comes a healthy fear. Our inner magic can kill us just as soon as it can give us life, and that is what he must learn to understand…

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On that one night, I had just returned from a meeting with the Etrurian Council of Magic…I had only recently became a mage general, and even so, I had returned with a bubbling young student with such unbridled promise. From the moment I saw him, I knew right there that a tremendous amount of skill lay within him. But most of all, there was a desire there, a passion for learning that could neither be explained nor rationalized. And, in him I saw something I admired completely: heart. From the first moment I saw him and heard him say in his eager voice "Master Pent! I wish to become your student!", I was utterly smitten with him. That was when I made a promise to myself, and to him by proxy, that he would become a master sage at the apex of his training.

So, on that night, I brought him to the study of my castle, with a gentle snowfall all surrounding us, and presented him to my lady wife Louise. I felt like the proud father I will one day hope to become, presenting him to her and announcing, "This is my student." I saw in Louise's face immediately the same pride and love for him that I felt- though she was more eager to show it than I, as I had convinced myself I must be firm and strong with the child. From then on, she treated him like a mother would treat a child. In his eyes, he was a mere apprentice studying under a lofty, powerful lord, but to us, he was…our child. We truly loved him.

Erk was a very diligent student, no less than what I had expected of him. He read the various magic tomes and reference books he was given with the same passion and devotion I had anticipated of him. Together, we trained in the practical uses of magic, in the application of chanting, in the proper direction of magic flow, in the correct allocation of the body's inner magic…he was a quick learner, and the thirst for knowledge he demonstrated only seemed to grow over time. My wife often related to me that whenever I left on my necessary tours of obligation, the young Erk would relegate himself to his room and read and read, never leaving to pursue any playful flights of fancy or even to tend to his own care.

"My Lord Pent," Louise had said in her melodic cadence, "I am concerned for our young student, Erk. Whenever you leave or are off on business, he shuts himself in his room, away from the outside world, and reads his books. He never comes out to dine when I summon him, he never seems to treasure my arms when I embrace him, he barely gets a wink of sleep…that night when he collapsed, I nursed him back to good health, and when I asked him what he had done, he merely said, 'I am sorry. I must become stronger to fulfill Master Pent's wishes…' "

I had answered her as best I could, that I would see to it that he moderated his studying and care to his health better. I came to realize at that point how…startlingly similar we were, he and I. But he never seemed to consider us family. He insisted on standing on his own two feet, refusing all of our nurturing and insisting he was "fine". To him, we were still strangers. Were we cursed to always be the distant outsiders who judged and never accepted? I would recall how he would never be there to greet me when I returned from a trip away; the only warm words and warm arms I would feel would be those of my wife. And at that, I felt…

Over the course of time- several months, perhaps- his eager eyes slowly became more learned, more mature, and at the same time, the young boy began to bear greater and greater stress. My lady wife would mention the tenseness in his muscles whenever he embraced her, the wavering pitch of his voice, the beads of sweat forming on his brow…he was remarkably successful in his training, but at what cost? His body was a powder keg, a crumbling crag that threatened to shatter, and break, and fall apart under the weight of its own existence. He had tremendous control over his spellcasting, tremendous control over the knowledge pouring into his head, tremendous control over the dreams he strove to reach. But that thirst for knowledge, that desire to become the best sage he could possibly be…I doubt he ever had control over those things. I dare to think that perhaps those things had control over him instead.

I had become mage general of Etruria, and at times, the duty, the responsibility, the sheer weight of the issues at hand threatened to overwhelm and envelop me. But Erk…he was being strangled by his own ambitions. He had…the terrible inability of not knowing his limits, and he insisted on always carrying himself to the highest possible standards. Erk often gave me the sinking, awful feeling that he saw me only with his mind, and never with his heart. Those were the depressing sentiments that I…that I perhaps, in my worst times, shared with him. Erk was a child who saw all the great things and neglected the small and I regretted that trait in him as much as I regretted it in myself.

- - -

The chamber was occupied to the utmost degree, filled with books, trinkets, shelves, and furniture almost to its ultimate limit. And yet as Pent entered the chamber after many unanswered raps, he felt an unquestionable air of emptiness here. There was an open window against one wall, letting a chill evening breeze waft into the room. Pressed tightly against another wall sat a small desk overwhelmed with myriad books stacked high into the air, resting neatly against one another. In the middle of that desk sat what looked like an advanced magic tome spread open halfway, the busy pages staring patiently at the ceiling. A small candle sat beside it and spread a faint light, barely illuminating a tiny circle on the pages; the flame flickered fruitlessly to escape its wick, dancing a melancholy dance of waiting.

A figure knelt by the window, a red cloak draping over his body and a red hood concealing his head. He didn't move an inch, save to shudder or twitch.

Pent stood frozen in the frame of the doorway, surveying the figure, moving his trembling fingers about, trying to rationalize. "Good Lord…not again…?"

The mage general approached the figure, sliding across the floor, and shook him gently, then more firmly, then with some measure of desperation. The boy stirred just a bit, and Pent turned him over in his arms to look him in the eyes. There he was, and any suspension of belief or disbelief was turned to stone horror and regret. It was indeed Erk, his young apprentice, his child with so much promise, lying there, weak and trembling. His eyes were shut lifelessly, the purple sparkling of intelligence and virility given way to an empty blankness.

It felt vaguely to the mage general like peering into the abyss.

Pent shook Erk gently and his eyes opened just a bit; they were slits of quiet purple sadness, and they cried out for love on his behalf.

"M-Mas…Master Pent…" Erk spoke. His voice was a weak, trembling cadence. It was hollow, empty, and yet seemed slightly deeper than usual; his intonation was sad and remorseful. Pent knew the answers to his suspicions before he touched his fingers to the boy's chest. He could feel that empty feeling from within the boy's body: a lack of one's inner magical energies from overexertion. The feeling was empty, dead empty, devoid of even a weak murmur; it was as though every bit of innate anima force had been purged, -purged!- from his body.

"By the gods, what…what has happened, Erk?" Pent exclaimed as he cradled the young child in his arms, rocking him like a gentle wave and staring intently into his face.

Erk is a smart boy…he can see the fear, the terror in my eyes, and I- I cannot hide this from it. I am incapable of- of hiding this from him!

"M-Master Pent, I…I was practicing magic," Erk croaked. "I was sending...different sized jets...jets of flame into the sky…"

Ah…jets of flame…were those the origin of those strange noises before? That was the song…

Erk looked as though he were about to cough, but he didn't have any energy left to do so, and instead he merely convulsed, his eyes growing large and pained before returning to slits. He groaned and mumbled, his head lolling around like a lifeless tongue. He tried so hard to smile, but his lips refused to move. There was the intent there, the trembling, good-natured intent to insist he was fine, that everything was okay! But nothing moved, not the corners of his mouth nor the fringes of his face.

And…there's nothing I can do! Pent admitted hopelessly. The flow of magic from his body is completely absent! Even if I were to give him the entirety of my magical force, the effects of the withdrawal would still…oh, gods have mercy on this child!

"Erk…why? Why would you do this?" Pent said, scolding him with a wavering tongue even as he held the boy close, cradling him in a vain attempt to revive him with all his love. "Your body…your body would have told you to stop, child! Your body would have screamed for mercy, Erk! Your body would have told you, 'you mustn't cast another spell, Erk!'"

It was painful, but the boy in the master's arm showed that strength, even…even now.

"M-Master Pent…I wanted…wanted to im…impress you, Master. You al…always stressed magical sta…mina…"

On the inside, Pent laughed at the truth of the statement. In the end, it was true, all true, and Pent hated it. It was all true, and all he was doing was following the truth, as diligently as he could. He took one of the boy's hands in his; it was limp, cold, and…soft as cotton. No, it couldn't be true. Something so innocent could not be lost, could never be lost, because the world wouldn't work that way, the world would work to protect the innocent and protect its balance...

Pent's arms held Erk tightly even as his brain tried to wrap itself around the reality of the situation and his heart tried to cease the horrible pains that attacked it and hurt it so, so badly…

"Master…" Erk tried to raise a hand, but the hand simply wouldn't move, and instead a tear slipped from an eye and trickled down- slowly, and with finality. "I'm sorry…I've failed you."

The man who was simply that- a man, the mage general, Marquess Reglay, Pent- held Erk in his arms and rose to his feet. The scientific, proper term for the young man now would be cadaver, corpse, "anima-abandoned": a lifeless, magicless, empty shell of a human being whom finality now sheltered. But Pent stood with the body in his arms and cried, cried over it, a whitewash of tears that were purposeless, but they helped to ease the pain, and they helped ease the young man's journey back into the commune from which all magic begins.

"What an intelligent lad you are, and yet…what a fool," Pent said simply, looking out into the undecipherable darkness, "What a sad, foolish boy you are, and now it's over, it's all…over."

Pent closed his eyes. Later, he would send jets of flame soaring into the night sky from the empty room, and play a dirge.