A few hours had passed since the two boys had finished their breakfast. They had not planned it, but they remained in Henry’s room after eating. They lay on his bed, talking, simply enjoying each others company. Charlie liked Henry’s room. He always felt at home in it, and he loved the smell. Besides, he could steal Henry’s shirts whenever he wanted whilst in it.
“Charlie?” Henry spoke, a questioning tone lacing itself through his voice.
“What’s your type? I’ve never really seen you gravitate towards anyone, no less a particular type.”
Charlie shrugged. “I don’t really know. Tall, taller than myself, and dark hair. Muscular, but not too muscular. Short hair, but not short enough that I can’t run my hands through it. Oh! I really like golden brown eyes, too. If they smell nice, also, that’s a plus.”
Henry chuckled, looking over to the mirror on his wall.
“So, basically, if I was a woman, I would be your type?”
To that, Charlie simply shrugged, knowing his action would be visible in the mirror, and turned, staring at seemingly nothing.
Henry turned over, facing Charlie’s back. “What’s so interesting, Charles?” He asked.
Charlie waved a hand toward the wall he was staring at.
Right where the younger had been facing, a large sigil had begun to glow.
“I think someone was here before we came in. The sigil isn’t finished, it looks like whoever was putting it there was also making it at the same time. I think if we had gotten back but ten minutes later, it would be done, and by the looks of it, that’s not a good thing.”
“What do you mean? What does it do?”
Charlie stood, moving over to the wall. A projection of the sigil came off of the wall, hovering between it and the bed. Charlie held his fingers together, hand pointed toward the sigil, looking as though he was holding a large pinch of salt. He opened his fingers, splaying his hand, and the projection became much larger.
Words could be seen, many lines of them, making up the strokes of the sigil.
harm cut bruise break agony strangle
These words, written over and over again in fifteen lines, enough that, when the sigil was completed, the words would be small enough that they would seem as mere lines, would do as they words said. If the sigil had been completed, when triggered, the things that came with those words would have been suffered by those who had triggered it.
Had the sigil been completed, they would’ve been harmed. They would’ve been cut by an invisible knife, one that worked through clothing without breaking it. It would’ve cut every inch of skin they had.
Had it been completed, they would’ve been bruised. These would be no average bruised. These bruises would be large, several inches across, and they would’ve been painful. They would’ve been deep purple, making it painful to even move, making their blood turn thin, potentially blocking each of their veins and arteries.
Had it been completed, their bones would’ve been broken. It would feel as though someone dropped several bricks on every bone in their bodies. Very few would’ve made it out unsnapped.
Had it been completed, their bodies would’ve been subjected to unexplainable, unbearable agony. There would be no way to explain how this agony would’ve felt, only what it would’ve caused. The pure agony would make them go temporarily, or permanently, blind. Their throats would close, and their hearts may stop, simply from the pain.
Had it been completed, they would’ve been strangled. There would be no hand, no rope, no bedsheets around their throats, but it would feel as though there was a hand wrapped around their throats, crushing their windpipes with as much pressure as an elephant's weight.
Had it been completed, the two would not have survived.
The Elders had been alerted, and three of the twelve now stood in Henry’s room, examining the sigils. Three more had been found, as one sigil is not enough to affect all in a room. They were all identical, at the exact same stage of completion, leading the Elders and the boys to the conclusion that four people were in the room, being controlled by one mind.
“When were they here?” One of the Elders, Chantelle of the southern farmlands, asked.
“Minutes before we got here, we were here for some hours before I saw the sigil, I saw the sigil an hour ago, so I would say five hours ago.” Charlie spoke up.
“So it’s safe to assume they’re no longer here.” Chantelle spoke.
“And it’s also safe to assume that they have a sightist. How else would they know to get out right before the boys came in? They got this close to having the sigils complete, one more repetition of the words in each of the lines would’ve finished it, but they knew to get out. If they didn’t have a sightist, they would’ve finished it.” Another Elder, Cameron of the northern isles, stated.
“But if they had a sightest, how would we not have detected their seeing?” The last Elder, Cafernolth, a man from Vanti, who now held the title of Cafernolth of the western suburbia, spoke.
Vanti was a country inhabiting many of the other islands in the archipelago that both Bishnaal, where Charlie was born and raised, and Oufnaguol, where he, Henry, and the Elders, all currently resided, were a part. It was a rather lavish country with no clear centre. There were cities on every island, each island looking like its own nation.
“Sigils, easy. Sigils can hide anything. It’s why they didn’t go for my room, because I have sigils there that stop sightists from seeing in. My room, to anyone that doesn’t have the right sigil, looks like a storage closet, one with no exit apart from the door in which whomever is inside would’ve walked in from.” Charlie spoke once more, rather confident in his words.
“You think anyone could block such intensive sightist activities with just sigils?” Cafernolth inquired.
“I’ve been working with sigils for two years and I can make any room, and anyone inside of it, completely disappear from everyone’s mind and memories, just with a couple sigils. I can make an entire room feel the power of any spell with just a few sigils. I can make my body so hot to the touch that clothing burns, metals melt, and anyone who touches me goes into an unconscious state of shock, effectively putting them in an immediate coma. If I can do that with just two years of practice, I think a true sigilist with over a hundred years of practice can hide a sightist and their activities rather easily, no matter how intensive said activities may be.”
Henry chuckled. All Elders look to him.
“You have something to say?” Chantelle spoke, a harsh tone in her voice.
“He chuckled because I clarified just how stupid magical beings can be when talking about a subject that is not one in which they are qualified, in not so few words.” Charlie defended, earning another chuckle from Henry. “In fact, considering none of you three know just how much knowledge the sigils I gave yourselves and the rest of the Elders give me, and Henry knew exactly how much they give me just by looking at them, I’d say he knows more about sigils than the three of you combined, and has more right and qualification to speak on the subject than any of you. Do my words reach you?” Charlie spoke with a rather defiant tone in his voice.
The Elders responded by walking out.
The moment the door was closed, Henry collapsed into a fit of laughter, one that twisted Charlie’s own face into a rather wide grin.
“Fuck, Charlie! I didn’t know you had it in you!” Henry managed between bursts of laughter.
“Hey, I can be a bitch when I need to. No one can be rude to my best friend except for me.”
“Damn right.” Henry stood, walking over to Charlie and wrapping him up in a big hug. “You’re growing up kid, and I won’t lie, it’s a little bit painful to watch. I still remember when you were eight years old. You were so short, and your voice was so high, and you had the absolute cutest face around. When my mother told me I was to protect you forever, no matter the cost, I was beyond blissful. That shit made me cry, I was so happy!”
Charlie’s grin turned to a peaceful smile, remembering the day they first met, as he wrapped his arms around Henry.
“Shut up, you’ll make me cry, and I’m not a pretty crier, we both know this.” Charlie muttered into the taller boys shoulder.
“Yeah, yeah, we both know I could easily calm you down with chocolate, cuddles, and my shirts.”
Charlie laughed softly. It was quick, quiet, but it was such a rare sound that it made Henry’s smile grow and his grip on the smaller boy tighten, proud that he made his friend happy.
“Vental vo piinton, Charlie. Love and peace, forever in each other.” Henry spoke, his voice light, gentle.
“Forever in each other, the light will be found.” Charlie spoke as he looked up, a bright smile plastered on his face.
“In the light we may find solitude, a solitude made of love and peace.” The pair spoke in unison, relishing in the moment, knowing that those moments would not be able to occur much longer.