It’s quite a sight to see Cyran surrounded by rotting food.
None of them ever stain his robes, proof that his magic is still intact. But it certainly doesn’t stop the people from trying. Rotten eggs, mouldy fruit, all of them are sent flying his way by passing strangers. Even the children have started a competition to see who manages to land a hit on Cyran.
“Magister Merlin, look! My apple touched his shoe!”
“No way! My egg landed closer, look at his robe!”
Merlin has to gently push their way through the crowd of children. The children boo with disappointment when Merlin announces that today’s competition is over. No matter. The children will return, and so will the rotting food. There is no protection for one who stands guilty of treason.
Cyran sits through it all. A lone figure worshipped by decay.
The theatre is empty at this hour. The performing troupe rests in the finest inn of Savannah, wearied from repeating the story of King Rolan and how he saved Excalibur from Prince Orion and Magister Cyran. Every evening they act out the scene once more, drawing cheers from the people and a rain of coins that keep the troupe going. It’s getting annoying, the host confessed to Merlin. Especially when they have to clean up the theatre because of Cyran.
A traitor like this should be in jail, Merlin. Why do they keep letting him out here?
There is a cell in the dungeons. Hewn from the hardest stone, the walls are carved with runes meant to render magic useless. Iron shackles hang from the wall, one for each limb and one for a neck. Prisoners in the cell have to relieve themselves right where they are, and sleep in their own mess. Food is given once a day, water if the prisoner looks half dead. Wounds are left to fester. Guards stand outside the cell at all hours.
It’s where he belongs, Merlin. But if you insist…
The Queen was not happy to have Cyran out in the open. If Cyran somehow escapes, Savannah would have to sleep with one eye open for quite a while. No one wants Cyran out in the open. Hendrik, Gwyneth, Rowan. Even the nobles that once praised the ground Cyran walked on were now passionately describing the charges against Cyran. A strong binding spell in the form of a golden chain cast by Merlin’s hand barely convinced them. The chain is still there, gleaming under Cyran’s robes at his ankle.
An eggshell crunches beneath Merlin’s boot.
Cyran is gazing out at nothing, as he does nowadays. His staff hangs loosely in his hand, the head empty where a crystal once resided. The skin there is pale and smooth, devoid of the magic blackening his digits just a week ago. Merlin can still remember how the purple clawed across Cyran’s face and turned his eyes yellow. But the man sitting on the theatre bench is all human now.
“Twenty three children.” Cyran is still gazing at nothing. “Two more since yesterday.”
“Nothing like mischief that captures their attention.”
“They certainly would not have laid a hand on me before.” Cyran turns his gaze to the ground. A mixture of spoiled eggs and rotten fruit greet him. “I must have done something terrible this time.”
A gust of wind brings the smell up to one’s face. Merlin sets the rotting pile on fire, watching it burn to ashes.
“They’re telling me to evict you. The performing troupe.”
“Of course. They believe Merlin can solve all their problems.”
Merlin lets the mockery slip by. “You’ve been watching the play for a week now. It doesn’t seem like it’s helping.”
“Oh? Is my old classmate finally willing to come clean with me?”
Cyran sits perfectly straight, a trait he displayed since his younger years. Merlin doesn’t remember all that is missing, but the memory stars show enough to tell a story. If not for the memory stars, there would have been nothing to jog Cyran’s memory after he was pulled out from the abyss.
No one else saw it happen. Gawain witnessed the defeat, but even she could not describe what happened after that; it was recorded officially as a blinding golden light, and then Cyran was back on the ground, disoriented and missing bits of himself.
“If I tell you, how would we know if your memories have returned?”
“Then I see no reason to stop watching the play. Especially when it features myself as the villain.”
Merlin nudges the ashes on the ground with a boot into abstract shapes. Cyran watches with some distaste. “Even with your memory loss, you’ve never changed, Merlin.”
“I could say the same of you.”
A group of beautifully dressed people walk by. The ladies hide their faces behind glittery fans, whispering and looking at the odd pair sitting on the theatre bench. Cyran returns their look. The nobles sweep away in huffs.
“To think-” Cyran makes the ashes disappear with a flick of his wrist. “-that I can claim to be your equal now. Even if it’s something as laughable as memory loss.”
“Yeah? You wanna see who’s memory loss is worse?”
“Undoubtedly you will still best me somehow.”
“Competing over memory loss is so childish.”
Merlin sighs. The clouds crawl across the sky. Stall owners begin to pack up their wares for the day. Cyran didn’t lose his impeccable timing with his memory. Soon, the performing troupe will be preparing behind the stage for another evening of King Rolan. Cyran has arrived precisely in time to secure the best spot, even if it meant getting harrassed by children while waiting.
“You should consider what else to do while we try to fix your memories.”
“First of all, you can’t even fix your memory, Merlin. Secondly, where am I meant to go, when my appointment as Chief Court Mage has clearly been revoked?”
“Oh? The solitary pen, as they like to call it?” Cyran’s lip quirks at Merlin’s raised brow. “I may be missing my memories, but I am not deaf. I certainly wonder what have I been accused of to deserve such a treatment.”
“Another cell. Cassadee will keep watch.”
“Ah yes. The young mage that watches me like a hawk. Where even blinking can be miscontrued as a crime. Your protégé certainly picked up some strange lessons from you.”
“Yet you went as far as to reveal yourself just to vouch for her.”
Merlin dusted ash off themselves. They had no intention of sitting through another King Rolan play, not when the audience would be clamouring to talk about it with them afterwards. Cyran certainly had enough magic to shield himself from hostiles while watching the play.
Besides, the Queen was waiting for them in the palace. Letting Cyran roam around unfettered was not a permanent solution, but neither was keeping them in prison. How could Cyran stand trial if he didn’t even remember the crime he committed? There had to be a solution. But time was running out; if the palace didn’t act soon, surely the Syndicate would swoop in to retrieve one of their assets.
Merlin could call a Council meeting. Except they didn’t remember how to do it, and now only Gawain and Bedivere were available.
“I’ll see you later.” Merlin gave a tug on the golden chain spell on Cyran’s ankle. It was in place, as it will be.
Cyran barely acknowledged the tug. “Of course you will.”
Twenty steps later, Merlin turns back to face the theatre. Cyran is still sitting there, his black hair curling in the wind. It’s such a shame. If only Cyran had not turned to dark magic, things could have been different.
As if sensing their gaze, Cyran looks up. He smiles.
If only things had been different.
germansingergirl
ellievsbear
kaledo-art
