Not Much Of A Wish

…

As they both returned to the room, the man quietly closed the door behind him.

"Stay close with me boy," the man said solemnly to El while putting the candle back on the table.

"Ok…" El replied briefly, sensing the tension emanating from the man.

Afterwards, the man turned the wooden cork of the vial, then pulled it open. Pouring a few drops of that unrecognizable fluid into one of his palms, he clenched that hand tightly while swiftly giving the vial and the cork to El who currently at the side of his legs.

"Close it tightly, boy!" the man said, with El quickly heeding his instruction and handling it with care.

The man then brought his hands together, cupping them. Closing his eyes, he subsequently brought his palms close to his mouth, creating a hole between his thumbs. The man then uttered something into it, which El could not understand, even though it was still the same familiar language. It was as if the meaning itself somehow inexplicably eluded from El's mind, slipping through his ability to comprehend – like water slithering through his fingers.

Then in a voice barely above a whisper, the man began to speak. And at one and the same time, a chill raced down El's spine, raising the fine hairs on the back of his neck, as if the very air around him had thickened with an unseen presence.

In the books El once read in the village, Witches usually performed incantations to activate their spells. He wondered if what the man did was the same as what he had read at that time.

"Mortis umbrae, guide mine hand,

Conceal mine actions, as grains of sand.

In this space, let none perceive,

What I do, let them not believe."

As the man kept chanting the incantation, the longer it went on, the more El indistinctly felt the ambience in the room turn to a shade even darker, as if there were a color even blacker than the night itself.

"As thou dost speak, so shall it be,

Hidden from sight, eternally free.

By the power of darkness, I beseech thee,

Let mine deeds be lost, like whispers at sea."

A gentle wind blew aimlessly in the room, originating from an unknown dimension, caressing El's skin with its cold, harrowing touch.

El swore to himself that he could feel a pair of eyes observing him quietly from the very darkness, or perhaps from the shadows themselves. They seemed to come from many directions, yet he was certain they belonged to the same gaze. He felt a chill of death in those stares, as if something unknown, representing the end of a fate itself, desired to claim his breath – much like the times he had teetered between life and death during the drought that plagued the village. And with nothing to drink, he ended up unconscious from it. That experience was carved deeply into his memory.

And now, El's back was once again drenched in sweat, while shivering in place.

On the other hand, the man's clasped hands abruptly released an inky black smoke between his fingers. It drifted upward through the air, forming a spiral in its path.

And at last, the man said, "A blood to thee, O lord. For a veil is all I entreat."

{Veil of Shadows} –> (This time it was not spoken. Just the name of the whole spell)

Just after he uttered those final sentences, everything all of a sudden went silent. The inky black smoke in the air formed a straight line that receded back to the man's hand until there was nothing left. For those who couldn't see in the darkness, there was nothing else left to it. However, for El, who could see in the darkness, he noticed that the shadows in the room seemed to change into something else, as if they were alive and sentient, wiggling abnormally in its place.

"Alright, all's done and well executed. Been a long time since the last time I use it. Not really sure if it was going to be a success. But it was me who done the deed. So, everything of course will be fine…" after delivering those pieces of sentences in a swanking and nonchalant manner, while gazing at El with a delighted smile, the latter could only return the look in a daze.

'You mean you've done all those thingy things making me shivering here, without knowing if you'll going to success or not?' El thought, feeling weird and uneasy for what the man did, as he couldn't really fathom what he really felt right now, whether he wanted to say it was cool and fascinating – or downright eerie and unsettling. So, this time around, he decides to keep his mouth shut less the man trying another thing that seems to be dangerous.

As El giving to him the earlier vial that had already been sealed back, the man raised it to his eyes, and then carelessly and vigorously shook it a few times. Afterwards, he shoved it to El's hand.

"I'll teach you later how to use it when I'm back…"

"Alright."

"So, let's go with the secret code this time. You need to asked first when someone's knock on the front door, or maybe they already arrived at your door."

"Ok. What to ask?"

"You ask, – Chicken???"

"Chicken? Why chicken??"

"No reason. Just feel like it."

"… ok then. I asked, – Chicken???"

"Yes. Then I answer, – It wasn't your time to crowing yet, mister," the man said that with a smirtle under the candle lamp.

"… ok. So that's the answer then," El said flatly.

"… … you are no fun at all kid," the man replied with obvious dissatisfaction.

"Is that supposed to be funny?" El asked, genuinely curious.

"No. Ok, back to the secret code. You asked again to the door, – Is there any sauce for the chicken, sir? and my answer is, – It was velouté sauce, sir. Made of butter, flour, and chicken stock. And it'll be even better if you added a splash of dry white wine. The consistency needs to be right, and don't forget about the black pepper," the man stated it with so much passion, it makes El couldn't held back a question arising from the back of his throat.

"So, what is this all about with chicken and the sauce?"

"Ah, I'm just craving it for sometimes by now. I didn't order it at the restaurant before because I already ate it last week. Anyway, when I'm back, we're going there again, alright? I will show and explain to you about the restaurant itself. There is a reason why that restaurant is the most famous here, yet only the locals know about it. It was an epic tale kid, I tell you…" mentioned the man with a smile hanging on his lips.

"Okay then. I'll wait for you here."

"Do you remember the last code though. If it was different, don't open the door. We need to stick to the intricacy and the finesse kid. Should I write it down?"

"No, I remember it. Don't worry."

"Ah, you are right? You are smart after all…" said the man, as if he was sure about what he was saying, making El curious about the memories which he actually lost before.

"Sir, I wanted to ask. How long do you think I had lost my memories? We had calendars at the village, but it was way outdated. I don't know my birthday too, so. How old do you think I am???" El asked with a glimmer in his eyes. There was a hint of a well-hidden pain behind his question.

He did not even know his name, his date of birth, or whether he had any family at all. He had no idea if his parents had abandoned him there by choice or if they had been lost to the cruel hands of fate before leaving him. Perhaps, more optimistically, they were still searching for him, desperately hoping to reunite with him.

But he would never know and would remain oblivious to all of it. The ache of not knowing was a heavy burden he had carried until that day.

Yet deep down, the truth that remained and stayed glued to his heart was, that he hoped his parents had cared about him and still cared even then. For an unknown reason, he had been left there, in the village where death was a shadow that attached itself closely to everyone's head in that barren land.

He imagined them scouring – traversing the desolate terrain, their hearts filled with determination, never giving up in their search for the child they had lost.

But he had known the real truth about it all. The last children, other than him, who had died at the end of it, had parents who were killed in the attack by the invaders. Everyone in that village had a history. Records could be traced in a dusty library, where birth certificates were hidden in a concealed compartment.

But not him.

There had been no record whatsoever.

He had been an enigma, a ghost without a past. It was as if he had materialized from thin air, a baby left on the doorstep of a weary and starved couple he called uncle and aunt, growing up under their care, only for them to die trying to keep him alive.

Until he had been taken by the two elders, a grandfather and a grandmother known to everyone in the village, he had overheard their hushed tones speaking purposefully at his side. Perhaps out of pity, they had warned him indirectly not to trust the two, mentioning that the grandfather and the grandmother were not good people.

So now it had come to this point. At the very least, he had wished to know through the man how old he was at that moment.

That had not seemed like much of a wish, had it?

…