Lennox & Sinclair

Words, an equation of ideas meant to communicate the abstract. Hours researching the theorem. Nights spent healing wounds from failure. After months of trials, documenting the most minutiae errors, and hair-pulling anger they found the correct order. Glory came up short, seeing the unformed gems not a unified whole of symmetrical preeminence. The wizard leafs through notes, searching for an answer the spell’s failure. Their stomach growls, a sigh past between their lips.

“ Why’d it fail?” they asks.

Out of habit, they stare at the masterpiece iron Windmill lantern clock, it’s single hand rested on five—evening. Gliding a brown fingers across the cold square case, over the wingframe’s ornate fretwork, caressing tapered columns. Moving onto the engraved dial, depicting the tulip head wreathed time Goddess Aneka, Twirls their index around the clock’s bell. The first time they held it in their hand, cried for a minute. They got the present during the spring and Jan approaches, they still wipe tear away every so often. By no means are they poor, owning a Windmill was a dream . The clock completed their room.

After admiration of the workmanship, they depart to the kitchen. Entering the room, a heady mixture of tart aromas attack their nose, lifts their spirit. A delicious meal in preparation looking at the billows of smoke hangs in the air. Their stomach growls again. Thinking of the phrase: “A magician can make food magically disappear”. An axiom they plan on living up to.

The wizard sat at the table. In front of the Wizard, their servant busy cooks. A Hecatoncheires. One-hundred long arms moves in different directions either cooking or cleaning up—or both. Perfection if you asks them. Looking around their kitchen, everything in symmetrical precision. Not an inch off, nor a degree. As per their specification. The vibrant purple walls compliment the silver table, which offsets the checkered flooring.

“Ho, ho. Aroused from your prison. Eh, Lennox?” a soft, humorous voice spoke. Appearing from behind is a color ginger. Their partner of a decade.

“Pish posh, Sinclair. A wizard's workroom, not a prison! but—”

“A place of serendipitous creation and wonderful happenings. As you said plenty over the years.”

“I shall declare again until you learn,” they proclaimed, index finger in the air, chest puffing out. Lennox made a fool of themself, as their beloved laughed at them.

Sinclair, grabbing the tea cup—thanks the busy Lurch—sips and speak: “Pray tell, what are you working on in such secrecy.”

“What’s alchemy, my dear?” they ask.

Their partner nods. “Marriage to you for ten years, I learned more about your studies, I’d rather stayed blissfully ignorant about. Alas, the transmutation of metals into gold.”

“Wonderful, I taught you plenty. What I am attempting in my workroom: to turn misshapen gems into a unified whole.”

Lennox smiled at the red eyebrow raised at them. Of course as partners for years, they predict each thoughts before they even can speak them, still they humor each other.

“Magic cannot alter anything natural; the paramount rule, no? Alchemist can transmute metals, but the gold reverts back. Why try the impossible?”

“You listen to my lectures, my dear,” Lennox said, toothy smile. “But, yes. Our world remains—magically—unchangeable. A rock is a rock, no magic changes a rock. However, I see possibility. Alchemy, Sinclair. They discovered a way to transmute metal into another form. True enough, the longest recorded process last a day. They walk on the right path. What if one should attempt to unify three similar materials? Yes, I’m aware an attempt like mine’s unoriginal. Nevertheless—”

“Ye Gods, cannot I enjoy tea before dinner? Hush or should I learn a spell to silence you? I regret to say a that wouldn't stop that mouth of yours. Perhaps your mother cursed you as a babe to gab on. And mine cursed me to endure it out of love. Woe is me, woe is me,” Sinclair dramatically interjected.

Aside from Lennox's smirking, the two sat silent till dinner time. The servant place plates of food on the table. After finishing roasted pork, beans, and cottage pie. The couple thank Lurch for the superb meal, and took apple crisp and vanilla ice cream to the workroom. Reading a book on alchemy by Professor Emeritus Walter Arden of the School of Magic Arts. Simply titled Alchemy, found on bookshelves of hobbyist and professionals alike. Lennox reads intently as Sinclair savors a spoon of dessert. Murmuring words penned down shy of fifty years ago. ‘The overbearing truth of alchemic magic hides a double meaning in itself, I learned not only in studying it, but teaching it. As true as we cannot morph the natural world. We too cannot change the rule. Thus making this particular art redundant, in the purview of outsiders. Thereby lies beauty. We chase permanence, a desire of immortality.’

“What are you chasing?”

“What I've chased all adulthood; the esemplastic power of magic to create perfection. A fool's dream, but I’m one to the end,” Lennox said.

“Hm, broad. What specific thing do you want to create, and why’re you chasing it?”

“That shall remain a secret.”

“Still won’t tell me? Oh well. I leave you now, it’s Lurch's story time. He gets grumpy when The Raven Ate The Sun isn’t read before bed, as you know. Do not stay up late, you act more foolish sleep deprived,” their partner respond.

A quick kiss and Sinclair left. Lennox decides to perform the spell. Words spoken with authority bring about strong casts. Uttered meekly, it’s comparable to a fresh wizard—amateur at worst. They get into the idea they're a God commanding mortals to work together. When magic happens, they analogize electricity jolting through the body. All five sense heightened to its zenith. They see white clouds and blue sky through their cieling. They hear Sinclair’s soft voice reading to Lurch, smells the dinner they ate, honeysuckle perfum. They feel apart of the world itself, like they molded into the constitution. Power surges through them, building up into one giant charge of freedom. Now, they must release that power. That’s where words come in, Lennox spoke as if they’re a deity.

“Gems form into a unified whole!”

The three misshaped rocks shine brightly, and Lennox felt confident as the spell turned out stronger than expected. Perhaps this authority he needed, that of a God. As the hubris elevated his ego, disappointment brought it down to mortal levels as the shine died and they remain separate. They thought to pick up their notes, instead slumps into their chair, unable to muster the desire to read anymore. Lennox thought of Sinclair.

“I wonder if they'd accept these? I wanted the perfect birthday gift for the perfect partner,” they rise up sighing, walks toward the door. Turns off the light. Lennox left. In the dark, the three gems glow in unison, creating a symmetrical unified whole.



Originally, I thought to see if this story could’ve been published, but then I said screw it. Post it here on my blog. As always: https://www.reddit.com/r/dabellwritesfiction/comments/vtqdwq/lennox_sinclair/ for comments or email me at dabellwrites@protonmail.com

#fantasy #shortstory #sliceoflife