“I am sure there is Magic in everything, only we have not sense enough to get hold of it and make it do things for us”

-Frances Hodgson Burnett, The secret garden

It took hours.

It could have been worse. She had access to an old elven sorceress, or at least her spirit, who could give her insight she would otherwise struggle to gain.

But it was nevertheless complicated magic and she had never done something like this before.

A point in her favor- She did not need to understand what she was doing, simply copying it flawlessly would do.

Asandria nonetheless tried. ‘Your soul is your magic. So if you want to easily increase your potential, you could try to strengthen your soul. That is much easier said than done and most of the ways that work are, for good reason, seen as abhorrent to a sentient being.

But there is a way that is neither an atrocity, too dangerous to contemplate, or needs the personal intervention of the divine: the bonding of a familiar.

You anchor your souls together and can thus lighten any load the other might experience: be it attacks that target your immaterial self, curses for example, or spellcasting.’

She mimed drawing a breath. ‘But most small creatures who are readily available don’t have much in the way of a soul, at least magically speaking. So it is most useful to those not so well-endowed. And that my dear is the theory. Now for the ritual itself…” She looked happy to be talking about a subject she loved.

Alyssa painstakingly inscribed the runes in the soft stone, using the basilisk's claw because it scored even iron and steel. After doing that, she had to imbue the runes with magic using her blood and the surprisingly compatible sulfur-filled water. She managed all that after a few hours of hard work.

Mireille looked on speechlessly. “How do you know all this? This seems more complicated than even the branding. Don't tell me, you are a dark witch and have been taught by demons! It's all true.” She mock-shivered.

Alyssa, sweating and tired, threw her a reproachful look. “Please, this is hard work, could you perhaps do something useful, like say, gathering firewood?”

“Yes, yes, firewood coming along.” Mireille got up and went outside to forage for mostly dry wood. She had been a bit bored, looking at her friend poring over scratches in the stone.

After having inscribed, attuned, and filled the runes with magic, she had to memorize a song. Thankfully it was not needed that this be perfect.

It was more the intent, and some resemblance to the old elven it was based on, that was needed. Asandria would do the rest, as she did with the healing spells Alyssa still struggled with alone.

Then, after resting a bit, she began the working. She sang her wish for companionship and mutual protection, her hope for friendship. Asandria supported her without fail even if she looked a bit wry at her attempts to inject the notion of partnership, thinking it unnecessary.

The runes first began to glow softly, then they began to shimmer. After a long time, at least it seemed so to her, they began to shine brightly, the light like the sun seen through turbulent water, always in motion.

As she touched the egg, her right hand lit with an inner glow containing uncountable spell-glyphs. All the while her pale left hand seemed to swallow what light came near without said hand ever being obscured or darkened, like a pearl lying on black samite.

With a crack, the leathery egg was pierced from within, yellowish water gushing from the hole and with it a small creature.

It was thin and sinewy like a snake with a long tail holding a scorpionlike stinger at the end and a thicker body with two legs and two wet folded wings bearing claws at the end of the joint. The head was like a lizards with two horns (even if very small at the moment) curling backward. Two large eyes opened and regarded her intently, while she marveled at the bright green color of the slit irises.

The sudden emergence seemed to have angered the little dragonling causing it to hiss and lash its tail. Even if wyverns are considered among the least of dragonkind, they still carry the blood legacy of the ancient god-dragon, if scholars are to be believed, and that carries with it a certain inborn arrogance.

Asandria hovered near her ear and whispered ‘Now, feed it your blood as I taught you.’

Wincing, Alyssa made a shallow cut on her right hand and then stroked its head, blood dripping into the open maw. White light filled the blood and the runes flared once before going dark. There was a musical high note hanging in the air like the magic was singing, then silence. The cut healed on its own, leaving a silvery scar.

A deep and stable bond formed between the small creature and Alyssa. She felt its thoughts and its hunger.

It wanted something to eat.

Asandria had told her that the first it should eat is the rest of its egg, even the leathery shell. She took the wyvern, a feeling of familiarity and safety radiating from it, then began to feed it the rest of the egg.

Making soft noises the little beast then soon fell asleep.

Mireille got back to a sleeping Alyssa with the dragonling wound about her neck a long forked tongue licking her cheek as it slept.

‘Would be even cuter without the stinger and needle-like teeth.’ Mireille surmised.

Putting the wood she had gathered in a pile she approached. The small lizard opened one eye and hissed warningly. “Hey you overgrown newt, that is my pillow you are lying on. I don’t mind sharing but no stealing!” As if understanding her he sniffed in her direction and then laid back down curling tighter.

Grumbling she laid her cloak near the pool but safely distant to the menacing stinger, and also went to sleep.

The ground was quite hard so they woke up stiff and in a bit of pain.

“Ah. At least it was warm.” Mireille stretched with an audible crack. “Ouch.”

Alyssa stroked the little wyvern. “What is your name little one?” She mused. The dragonling arched his sinuous neck into her touch, making rasping sounds reminiscent of purring.

“Spot.” Mireille was fast. “Because he got those…”

“...spots. No.” Alyssa shot that down. She tapped her nose while contemplating. “I think I will name him Cyrus after the draconic mount of the folk-hero Asander.”

“So you want to fly around and save damsels in distress. Mh. When I remember my stories right he had his way with the ladies. Should I be concerned?” Mireille wiggled her eyebrows.

Alyssa hit her on the shoulder, causing the newly christened Cyrus to hiss.

“Stop it. Let's talk about our route for a moment. I think we should go for Thundersplit pass. It shouldn’t be too far and from there we can reach Margrinar, where hopefully we will not be persecuted.”

“All for it.” Mireille looked nonchalant and was trying to feed Cyrus with a bit of jerky.

“Where did you have that jerky? We could have used it in the stew.”

“Saved it for a bad day. Bribes are okay too.”

Cyrus gobbled down the proffered food looking marginally more friendly.

“What did I say, it works.” Mireille looked smug.

Alyssa shook her head in exasperation. “Ok. Then you think of a way to make our next meal more palatable. I fear we have to incorporate some meat for little Cyrus anyway, so we should think about hunting. Does your lightning bolt leave something behind when it hits a bird?”

“Mh. No, I don’t think so. But we could always try for a bear or something like that.”

“I would prefer something that did not have us on their menu. But whatever works I guess. I could try the firebolt perhaps.”

And having a last wash in the pool they left the cave. Alyssa fed some of the leftover egg to her familiar who then slept on her shoulder.

The early autumn began to color the surrounding woods in yellow and red, the conifers lending splotches of dark green to the palette. This land was never densely settled, even in the times of the expansion, when humanity had tried to lay claim to large swathes of the untouched wilderness.

There had not been many who were tempted away from what civilization could be saved from sunken Allisair.

Standing on the hilltop the forest extended as far as the eye could see, birds bursting forth from the foliage, startled by some unseen predator. The silvery gleam of a mountain stream broke the uniform mass along with some larger hills, and there were some small columns of smoke probably coming from a fishing village.

This should be their next stop. Hopefully, the priorities were indeed not on their capture, a rider could have been there days ago.

Rumors put some wood elf settlements in the deeper parts of this forest, called the Tensiellan or green parent in ancient elven. Farther to the west there were roaming orcish bands and goblin nests, and even sightings of a green dragon presumed to be living in an old elven castle, long since abandoned. All of this had been part of an empire that predated humanity on the continent but had fallen around the time Allisair had broken the covenant.

Asandria floated nearby and sensing her gaze, turned, tilting her head quizzically.

“It's nothing. I was only thinking of the stories about this place.”

‘This here was the domain of the enclave of the shade a circle of druids who kept watch on the eastern borders, there was also the castle of the Mornriders, an order of knights riding pegasi. There were numerous smaller settlements and estates hidden in and grown from the forest. But all of this was already in decline when I met my end.’

“You are doing it again. Are you talking to Cyrus? He is sleeping if it did escape your notice. Is there someone with us?”

“It might sound very strange but yes there is.” Alyssa braced herself. “When I was fleeing through the Fernwood I encountered some old elven ruins and was very badly hurt.” She stopped to calm her breath. “And in that ruin, there was a ghost. She, Asandria is her name, rescued me. She is with us right now, but for whatever reason only I can see and hear her. I wanted to tell you, but I did not think you would believe me.”

“Seeing and hearing what others cannot, is not often a good thing. But at least you won't get lonely.” Mireille grinned. “A ghost! I always loved ghost stories. You have to get her to tell me one. A ghost story told by a ghost should be the pinnacle of ghost stories everywhere!”

“Could you be serious for once! But at least you are not angry.”

“To tell the truth, I have become sort of jaded? Is that the right word? Seeing those with me at the branding ceremony die, the undead attack, freeing a vampire girl, fleeing with a dark witch? I think meeting a ghost I can't even see is not the worst that has happened. Hello, Asandria by the way.” She looked to Asandrias right while bowing. The so addressed laughed a bit. ‘Greet her from me, will you? I will repay her open-mindedness sometimes. It's a precious thing in your situation.’

After bickering and laughing a bit they set off again, trekking into the forest in search of the road.

On a not-so-distant hilltop.

Tonalla looked up and met Christina's questioning gaze. “I have not seen any sign of the undead. But this is a campfire that has burned maybe a day ago. It could be Alyssa and this Mireille.” “Don't mention their names, they are traitors and deserve no such consideration. At least we seem to be gaining ground. Maybe the undead they are consorting with is near. May Ielenia show us the path.”