so Yanko and Falcon had never dared to challenge them. Yanko knew little of the types of spirits inside, so he selected one randomly. He doubted Falcon needed a glass and was about to close the door when the glint of something in a drawer that hadn’t been shut all the way caught his eye. Metal was a scarce commodity in Nuria. His curiosity prompted him to tug on the handle. If it was a firearm—also a rare commodity here, where magic was preferred over technological gadgetry—it could be useful on his quest.
But it wasn’t a gun in the drawer. It was a golden amulet, one with a spherical jade stone in the middle, held in place by a lizard’s claw—or maybe that was supposed to be the claw of a mythological dragon. A curious piece of jewelry, one Yanko had never seen his father wear. He touched it, wondering if it had any magical power, and a flare of warm orange light washed over him. Energy sang to him, not unlike that of the orbs that powered the carriages, but he immediately sensed that this piece had been Made for a different purpose. Not to power vehicles but to protect its wearer somehow. From what, he couldn’t tell, but an impressive amount of energy hummed within the jade sphere. He was surprised he had not sensed its presence in the house before. Maybe it had fallen dormant after not being touched for so long.
After nibbling on his lip for a moment, Yanko took it out and set it on top of the cabinet. Taking something of his father’s felt like stealing, but if this truly could offer some protection to its wearer, it could be useful on his journey. Besides, he had never seen his father wear it. It seemed a shame to leave a powerful artifact to collect dust in a drawer.
“Yes, get your excuses all in order for when he comes home and demands to know why it’s missing.”
Yanko tugged open the drawer below it. As long as he was snooping, he might as well do it thoroughly. It wasn’t as if he should be packing or sleeping or something else useful in preparation for his journey.
This drawer also held a single item, a picture in a frame, an illustration that depicted Father as a young man, carrying a sword on his belt and wearing a soldier’s uniform. He stood arm in arm with a handsome woman with strong, defined features and flowing black hair that fell halfway to her waist. She wore the colorful red of a warrior mage, her expression determined and almost fierce as she stared at the painter. Father’s face, turned slightly toward her, was softer, a warm smile to his lips. A man in love.
Though it should have been obvious, it took a moment for Yanko to realize he was looking at a picture of his parents. Of his mother . He had never seen an image of her before, and Father had claimed there weren’t any in the house, that he had gotten rid of all traces of her when she left and never came back.
Yanko put the picture back. Father had never lied about Pey Lu’s current occupation, one that occasional mentions in the newspapers confirmed, and Yanko hadn’t grown up with any delusions or romantic notions about her. Of course, he had been curious as a youth, but her own parents still lived in a neighboring village, and they had confirmed that she had never sent letters home, not to Father, and not to them. If she cared what happened in her homeland, none of her kin could verify it.
The last drawer was deeper, and Yanko pulled it out to reveal a folded crimson robe made from a rich material like silk, but heavier. Gold trim and several layers gave it an elegant look, but it wasn’t until he touched it that the garment came to life for him. It didn’t glow the way the amulet had, but an energy radiated up his arm, like touching a stove and feeling its heat, but more profound.
“Mother’s robe from the war,” he decided. It, too, must have protective energy locked within the fibers of the material or perhaps in the ancient runes that lined the cuffs and hem. He didn’t know how to tell what they could
But it wasn’t a gun in the drawer. It was a golden amulet, one with a spherical jade stone in the middle, held in place by a lizard’s claw—or maybe that was supposed to be the claw of a mythological dragon. A curious piece of jewelry, one Yanko had never seen his father wear. He touched it, wondering if it had any magical power, and a flare of warm orange light washed over him. Energy sang to him, not unlike that of the orbs that powered the carriages, but he immediately sensed that this piece had been Made for a different purpose. Not to power vehicles but to protect its wearer somehow. From what, he couldn’t tell, but an impressive amount of energy hummed within the jade sphere. He was surprised he had not sensed its presence in the house before. Maybe it had fallen dormant after not being touched for so long.
After nibbling on his lip for a moment, Yanko took it out and set it on top of the cabinet. Taking something of his father’s felt like stealing, but if this truly could offer some protection to its wearer, it could be useful on his journey. Besides, he had never seen his father wear it. It seemed a shame to leave a powerful artifact to collect dust in a drawer.
“Yes, get your excuses all in order for when he comes home and demands to know why it’s missing.”
Yanko tugged open the drawer below it. As long as he was snooping, he might as well do it thoroughly. It wasn’t as if he should be packing or sleeping or something else useful in preparation for his journey.
This drawer also held a single item, a picture in a frame, an illustration that depicted Father as a young man, carrying a sword on his belt and wearing a soldier’s uniform. He stood arm in arm with a handsome woman with strong, defined features and flowing black hair that fell halfway to her waist. She wore the colorful red of a warrior mage, her expression determined and almost fierce as she stared at the painter. Father’s face, turned slightly toward her, was softer, a warm smile to his lips. A man in love.
Though it should have been obvious, it took a moment for Yanko to realize he was looking at a picture of his parents. Of his mother . He had never seen an image of her before, and Father had claimed there weren’t any in the house, that he had gotten rid of all traces of her when she left and never came back.
Yanko put the picture back. Father had never lied about Pey Lu’s current occupation, one that occasional mentions in the newspapers confirmed, and Yanko hadn’t grown up with any delusions or romantic notions about her. Of course, he had been curious as a youth, but her own parents still lived in a neighboring village, and they had confirmed that she had never sent letters home, not to Father, and not to them. If she cared what happened in her homeland, none of her kin could verify it.
The last drawer was deeper, and Yanko pulled it out to reveal a folded crimson robe made from a rich material like silk, but heavier. Gold trim and several layers gave it an elegant look, but it wasn’t until he touched it that the garment came to life for him. It didn’t glow the way the amulet had, but an energy radiated up his arm, like touching a stove and feeling its heat, but more profound.
“Mother’s robe from the war,” he decided. It, too, must have protective energy locked within the fibers of the material or perhaps in the ancient runes that lined the cuffs and hem. He didn’t know how to tell what they could
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