Closing his eyes, Mere visualised himself in a cold stone room, the Contemplation trance was easy for him now, easier than breathing. The grey wall in front of him lit up with scenes from his favourite worlds, most of them not yet fully sculpted. He selected a recent one;

Luqman scraped the intestines and assorted human fillings from inside the thoroughly roasted man, he tossed them into the snow-filled bucket smoothly. Today, it had to be today. The gates to the University were manned by the same distracted acolytes, their eyes glued to empty books as they doodled or scribbled. They always managed to look bored. In the greatest place in the world they were bored.

“Whose?” Sadiq’s gruff tone belied his boredom. “The Cryptic.” Luqman had memorised the name, he had worked for the opportunity to be the one to deliver it. Sadiq reached for the bucket with a frown, nose squeezed like a sausage between his lips and bulging forehead.

“No Sir, Master says this is a direct delivery. Sensitive and timebound.” Luqman declined with practised politeness, he had prepared for this, he had a stone he could use to knock Sadiq out if he had to. Today was his one and only chance, by the Harps, He had to get in, to see it.

Sadiq hissed, “Go on in” he waved “Everything here is sensitive and timebound” Luqman didn’t run, that would be suspicious, he hopped carefully up the grand stairs until he came to the third level, there in a nook a stone dragon opened its mouth. Luqman’s feet were dirty and he felt a low horror as he tracked dirt across the rough tongue of the dragon.

It could be real, and it would remember and hunt him down. The dragon’s throat opened to an untidy room, books lay all about, If he could read he would have stolen one, books of magic lay about carelessly.

The Parrot eyes the cramped treehole in disdain while the Ostrich eyes it with lust.

The robed magician sat on a throne of books, a woman knelt in front of him holding a stone sculpture to her chest. Yes, he was in time, this was all perfect!

“Delivery for The Cryptic” he could hardly keep the excitement out of his voice. The scholar waved at him to drop it without looking, he did so immediately hurrying out, as though he was scared, as though he was afraid of the scholar.

The darkness in the dragon’s mouth made him invisible as he lay down, flat on his belly.

“Let’s be clear, you know what you’re asking for.” The scholar’s voice was deep, ancient wisdom no doubt. A smooth brown finger cut off the kneeling woman as she made to speak “The child’s a man, I can’t promise he’ll like you or grow up to be some wonder or whatever foolishness you want. He’ll be odd, and I would be careful with fire around him. He may even remember his death. Do we understand each other?”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

“Yes, Cryptic” the woman whisper-screamed, her excitement contagious and Luqman smiled with her.

“Well, don’t waste my time. The belly of that child-shaped statue is hollow. Use your hand to scoop the intestines into it. Don’t forget to tell it what you want it to be and be quick! Woman. By the Carver the stone is going to cool off.”

The woman was quicker than Luqman, expertly scooping the dead man’s innards into the stone effigy of a child. The stone grind of the stomach closing was loud in his ear, louder than his panting heart.

“Whisper its name into its ear, quietly, don’t let the jealous winds hear.”

The woman’s lips moved slowly, almost like a kiss

. “What walks on four feet in the morning, two in the afternoon and three in the night?” The scholar asked the woman.

She lifted a scrap of paper and read off it. “A Man.”

The scholar nodded, “Quick as a butterfly, softer than cotton. Smaller than a needle. Without me comes death. Everything I touch dies. What am I?”

“Breath.”

There was a low crack as lines appeared in the stone effigy, the curled upraised fist of the stone effigy wriggled.

“I am a sack worth more than I contain, a shield soft as soil, armour strong as soaked wood. What am I?”

“Flesh” the woman’s voice was tight, flush with excitement. Stone shattered, dropping to the wooden floor in concert with the rising wail of a child. “Thank you, Thank you.” the woman wept, kissing the magician’s feet.

“Please stop.” his voice was surprisingly tender, “Take a trip into the dunes for nine months or so. Don’t let anyone see the child except your husband. If anything untoward happens or he seems terribly interested in burning flames, drown him. The soul is too strong.”

“Yes Sir, Thank you Sir. Yes sir.”

The magician looked at the door, “If you’re going to spy, you might as well learn.”

Luqman shivered, Him?

“Yes you, you sweaty slack jawed fool. I don’t see any other graveyard apprentice skulking in my doorway.

A loud screech jarred Mere back into the outer world and he grimaced, two children lay on the floor wailing and their wingless mother eyed him disdainfully.

“Sorry” he tried to apologise.

“Stupid Contemplatives, if you’re too good to walk why don’t you keep to the sky.” she spat at him, the greenish spit landing between his legs. There was a crowd forming, staring and Mere didn’t want to stay around longer than necessary. He thrust a few silver rods into her outstretched hands and instinctively activated his wings, of course nothing came out, I’m actually divorced. He thought bitterly as he fled on foot instead.