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Le vent nous porterà
Magnus, Catarina and Ragnor, as immortal Warlocks, know well about the importance to keep an anchor to their humanity. Among the three friends, Magnus is the one whom, sometimes, finds it the hardest to keep himself in balance and the other two know it perfectly, they are possibly the ones who know it the best, except that there is something not even them know, only Camille Belcourt does.
A bit due to his awful childhood, a bit due to being too emotional, his broken heart sometimes brings Magnus to isolate himself, even for whole years.
Warlocks tend to be very busy when working actively in the Invisible World. Especially if they have a name as big as Magnus' and Ragnor's. Catarina being no exception, apart from the fact she dedicates herself, fully, in the mundane world.
And they always knew it would come to that, eventually. Which is why, over 350 years before, the three friends made a deal. One day, one only day, every year to be dedicated entirely to themselves. To make sure to remember and celebrate who they really are, where they come from and also, how they will be together forever, no matter in what circumstances.
They had this idea together, while discussing under the stars of Peru in a warm night, in the garden of their mansion there. They swore, to each others and to themselves, that they will never miss to be there is that one day. And, by Ragnor's insisting claim, they also swore they would keep it secret, everything regarding it.
The day they chose, was not just any random day of the year, but one day with a special meaning for the three: 17th of April. The day in which Magnus and Catarina met Ragnor. The day their trio came to be. The day their friendship reached a new and deeper level.
They didn't set specific rules for that day, as it is meant to be something very solemn in a way, but in which they must stay true to their feelings, instincts and heart.
They just established the basics to coordinate each others. 24 hours completely dedicated for themselves only. Phones off and left behind. Making themselves unreachable from any sort of message and communication, that they was meant to be theirs and theirs only.
From 2 am to 2 am of the next day, to them, the world has to be Catarina, Ragnor, Magnus only. 364 days per year for the world and everyone else, 1 day for themselves. Even Catarina found it a reasonable deal.
The place they picked was mainly symbolic too. Since Magnus can no longer access Peru and Europe had been the fulcrum of their youth and their friendship, it had to be some place there. A place able to incarnate the whole meaning of that day and to also, somewhat, represent their immortality. They picked the Mont Blanc, somewhere near the top, but a totally isolated area of it where not even brave climbers would normally go. But still, very well hidden by powerful spells to avoid any mundane or others to get to their spot.
They don't meet at 2 am, but at Dawn. Ragnor claimed the 24 hours would include preparations time.
At dawn.
youtu.be/NrgcRvBJYBE
Like every years since that far starry night in Peru, the three open their portals to reach their meeting spot, separatedly.
Catarina is the first to arrive, with some minutes of advance. As every years, she is dressed in a white, light and soft dress, despite the place is snowy and freezing cold, even in April. She is barefoot and the pale light of the last stars softly enveloping her ble skin, shining on her white hair. Magnus is the second one to arrive. He is dressed in a rather old fashioned, black suit and wearing a top hat. The two exchange a soft smile, they had not seen each other since the previous year. Ragnor joins them seconds after, wearing a suit too, very particular, with Celtic decorations and jewelry.
Not a word, not even for a greeting, there is no need. Their smiles and soft gazes are enough, enough to express what they all are feeling, their complicity and love.
Magnus, upon arriving, takes Catarina and pulls her in a tight and warm hug, lifting her up as if she was a child. Ragnor does the same and then, he and Magnus hug each other as well, as tightly and warmly. In that moment, there is no place for grumpiness, crankiness of fake hate, they all act in the most natural way possible, moved by their feelings only and not by their pride or brain.
After some moment of hesitation, Magnus takes Catarina's and Ragnor's hand and the three start to walk together, through snow and ice, as nimbly as elves. In solemn silence.
Everything around them is like a symbol, reminding a hidden part of their nature, the eternal ice, the cold and even the sharp wind. They never teleport straight to the place, to the destination. They want to walk towards the place, together, in remembrance of how their path is the same and they will walk it together till the end.
Catarina sends very wide smiles to Magnus and Ragnor and even the latter can not help but return her a soft smile. If someone could see them, they could realize how deeply involved they are, how they walk together through the blizzard, aware that their bond can't break, no matter how hard things csn get.
The growling wind being the only sound accompanying them, the pale and shy dawn sun being the only light to guide their path, themselves being the only source of warmth. Their feelings naked and exposed without shame, no glamour to hide their demonic marks, no fashion rule to obey, no worry, no expectation, only Magnus, Catarina and Ragnor. Not another moment can be as pure and honest as this one.
After a time, that feels to them like an eternity, flying through them at an exponential speed, they reach the location of their destination. To mundane's eye, just a rocky wall encased in ice and covered in snow.
Ragnor raises his hand and with a few fast movements, his magic envelops the whole wall, slowly exposing a crystalline entrance to what would appear like a cave, digged in thick ice.
The three remain in front of the entrance, still holding hands, Magnus standing in the middle between his friends. They exchange a gaze, as to ask "ready?", before slowly walking inside.
The cave is small and as cold as it is outside. Barely the size of an half room. Nothing inside except from three small tables, like simple and tiny altairs, shiny white and smooth like ice itself, built by simply wedging in 3 marble blocks, two to form the supports and one, horizontally placed on top, to form the base.
On each Altair, stands one framed picture as to tell whom that specific one belongs to.
All the three pictures were taken from their memories by themselves, not with cameras. And they all depict a child, or better, them, when children. Their picture from a specific moment of their childhood.
On Ragnor's Altair, the one on the left side, the picture portrays a small, green child with white hair, dressed like an ancient Celt, in the arns on his smiling parents, in s moment of pure love and harmony.
On Catarina's Altair, the picture in the frame is that of a smiling, blue little girl with white hair, pretending to be asleep, but awake to enjoy that moment, in the arms of her mom, softly cradling her and singing her a sweet lullaby.
On Magnus' Altair, instead, tbe picture depicts him alone. His cat eyes glowing in an expression of unclear feelings, but clearly hiding great sorrow. Unlike his friends, he did not have a memory of childhood looking as happy or harmonic. He was a sad child and those few moments he didn't suffer as much, could still not be called moment of happiness. But he didn't have to feel any shame in this, his friends knew and showed him the most felt understanding, like always.
The pictures were on those Altairs ever since the place was creates by them and they are not the only thing on them.
Each Altair also sustains a huge book and some items belonging to different historical ages. Small items, in big numbers on each Altair, even though all very different. Those items symbolizing the friends they lost in the centuries, like small mementos to commemorate those people they held dear and weren't even granted a burial. A grave.
Each one respecting their own feelings and times, kneel in front of the respective Altair, Catarina, then Ragnor and finally Magnus, who kept his gaze on the picture and then the items on his Altair for the longest before kneeling as well. Among the three, he is the most sensitive, even more than Catarina and without doubt, the one who suffered the most, throughout his life.
Like his friends did shortly before, after meditating for some minutes, letting his mind wander like a castaway among the waves of his ocean of memories, he too takes the big book, opening it at the new page. With magic, he engraves a "351" in big and clear characters on the top right left side of the page.
Unlike the others though, he doesn't have to ponder for long. He knows, exactly, what moment, what memory of the past year he wants to add to his Book of Memories. His lips curving in a soft smile while approaching his hand to his head and snapping his fingers once. Where the blue magic came out, a picture now is.
A picture of Alec, but not a random one. In the specific, he decided to immortalize the smile he made, the first day they met, when Jace thought Magnus was complimenting him and the Warlock corrected him, saying he was speaking to Alec.
The surprised and innocent smile of a shy person who is so not used to shine, to be noticed, always hiding in the shadow of others, that a little compliment was enough to bring a ray of new light in his eyes. Something Magnus had never seen, something that struck him with a power he himself would never have thought, while just giving a random compliment to a person he found handsome, as he did with probably millions of women and men in his whole life.
He adds the new picture to the new page of the book, then just as his friends, he moves to the first page of his heavy book and starts to turn every page, giving each picture, each memory in each page, a rightful and solemn time of meditation.
As easy to guess, those books contain their best memories, in the specific, the picture of the best memory they choose from all the memories of each year. And with this year, they indeed contain 351 pictures.
For the three Warlock, this occasion is, mainly, a way to prove to themselves that despite all the bad, there is always some good, something worth living for. Through those books they can stay connected with their own lives, with their memories and with each others. A way to always remember where they come from and who they are.
An anchor, to not let time simply carry them away, like feathers in the wind.
A bit due to his awful childhood, a bit due to being too emotional, his broken heart sometimes brings Magnus to isolate himself, even for whole years.
Warlocks tend to be very busy when working actively in the Invisible World. Especially if they have a name as big as Magnus' and Ragnor's. Catarina being no exception, apart from the fact she dedicates herself, fully, in the mundane world.
And they always knew it would come to that, eventually. Which is why, over 350 years before, the three friends made a deal. One day, one only day, every year to be dedicated entirely to themselves. To make sure to remember and celebrate who they really are, where they come from and also, how they will be together forever, no matter in what circumstances.
They had this idea together, while discussing under the stars of Peru in a warm night, in the garden of their mansion there. They swore, to each others and to themselves, that they will never miss to be there is that one day. And, by Ragnor's insisting claim, they also swore they would keep it secret, everything regarding it.
The day they chose, was not just any random day of the year, but one day with a special meaning for the three: 17th of April. The day in which Magnus and Catarina met Ragnor. The day their trio came to be. The day their friendship reached a new and deeper level.
They didn't set specific rules for that day, as it is meant to be something very solemn in a way, but in which they must stay true to their feelings, instincts and heart.
They just established the basics to coordinate each others. 24 hours completely dedicated for themselves only. Phones off and left behind. Making themselves unreachable from any sort of message and communication, that they was meant to be theirs and theirs only.
From 2 am to 2 am of the next day, to them, the world has to be Catarina, Ragnor, Magnus only. 364 days per year for the world and everyone else, 1 day for themselves. Even Catarina found it a reasonable deal.
The place they picked was mainly symbolic too. Since Magnus can no longer access Peru and Europe had been the fulcrum of their youth and their friendship, it had to be some place there. A place able to incarnate the whole meaning of that day and to also, somewhat, represent their immortality. They picked the Mont Blanc, somewhere near the top, but a totally isolated area of it where not even brave climbers would normally go. But still, very well hidden by powerful spells to avoid any mundane or others to get to their spot.
They don't meet at 2 am, but at Dawn. Ragnor claimed the 24 hours would include preparations time.
At dawn.
youtu.be/NrgcRvBJYBE
Like every years since that far starry night in Peru, the three open their portals to reach their meeting spot, separatedly.
Catarina is the first to arrive, with some minutes of advance. As every years, she is dressed in a white, light and soft dress, despite the place is snowy and freezing cold, even in April. She is barefoot and the pale light of the last stars softly enveloping her ble skin, shining on her white hair. Magnus is the second one to arrive. He is dressed in a rather old fashioned, black suit and wearing a top hat. The two exchange a soft smile, they had not seen each other since the previous year. Ragnor joins them seconds after, wearing a suit too, very particular, with Celtic decorations and jewelry.
Not a word, not even for a greeting, there is no need. Their smiles and soft gazes are enough, enough to express what they all are feeling, their complicity and love.
Magnus, upon arriving, takes Catarina and pulls her in a tight and warm hug, lifting her up as if she was a child. Ragnor does the same and then, he and Magnus hug each other as well, as tightly and warmly. In that moment, there is no place for grumpiness, crankiness of fake hate, they all act in the most natural way possible, moved by their feelings only and not by their pride or brain.
After some moment of hesitation, Magnus takes Catarina's and Ragnor's hand and the three start to walk together, through snow and ice, as nimbly as elves. In solemn silence.
Everything around them is like a symbol, reminding a hidden part of their nature, the eternal ice, the cold and even the sharp wind. They never teleport straight to the place, to the destination. They want to walk towards the place, together, in remembrance of how their path is the same and they will walk it together till the end.
Catarina sends very wide smiles to Magnus and Ragnor and even the latter can not help but return her a soft smile. If someone could see them, they could realize how deeply involved they are, how they walk together through the blizzard, aware that their bond can't break, no matter how hard things csn get.
The growling wind being the only sound accompanying them, the pale and shy dawn sun being the only light to guide their path, themselves being the only source of warmth. Their feelings naked and exposed without shame, no glamour to hide their demonic marks, no fashion rule to obey, no worry, no expectation, only Magnus, Catarina and Ragnor. Not another moment can be as pure and honest as this one.
After a time, that feels to them like an eternity, flying through them at an exponential speed, they reach the location of their destination. To mundane's eye, just a rocky wall encased in ice and covered in snow.
Ragnor raises his hand and with a few fast movements, his magic envelops the whole wall, slowly exposing a crystalline entrance to what would appear like a cave, digged in thick ice.
The three remain in front of the entrance, still holding hands, Magnus standing in the middle between his friends. They exchange a gaze, as to ask "ready?", before slowly walking inside.
The cave is small and as cold as it is outside. Barely the size of an half room. Nothing inside except from three small tables, like simple and tiny altairs, shiny white and smooth like ice itself, built by simply wedging in 3 marble blocks, two to form the supports and one, horizontally placed on top, to form the base.
On each Altair, stands one framed picture as to tell whom that specific one belongs to.
All the three pictures were taken from their memories by themselves, not with cameras. And they all depict a child, or better, them, when children. Their picture from a specific moment of their childhood.
On Ragnor's Altair, the one on the left side, the picture portrays a small, green child with white hair, dressed like an ancient Celt, in the arns on his smiling parents, in s moment of pure love and harmony.
On Catarina's Altair, the picture in the frame is that of a smiling, blue little girl with white hair, pretending to be asleep, but awake to enjoy that moment, in the arms of her mom, softly cradling her and singing her a sweet lullaby.
On Magnus' Altair, instead, tbe picture depicts him alone. His cat eyes glowing in an expression of unclear feelings, but clearly hiding great sorrow. Unlike his friends, he did not have a memory of childhood looking as happy or harmonic. He was a sad child and those few moments he didn't suffer as much, could still not be called moment of happiness. But he didn't have to feel any shame in this, his friends knew and showed him the most felt understanding, like always.
The pictures were on those Altairs ever since the place was creates by them and they are not the only thing on them.
Each Altair also sustains a huge book and some items belonging to different historical ages. Small items, in big numbers on each Altair, even though all very different. Those items symbolizing the friends they lost in the centuries, like small mementos to commemorate those people they held dear and weren't even granted a burial. A grave.
Each one respecting their own feelings and times, kneel in front of the respective Altair, Catarina, then Ragnor and finally Magnus, who kept his gaze on the picture and then the items on his Altair for the longest before kneeling as well. Among the three, he is the most sensitive, even more than Catarina and without doubt, the one who suffered the most, throughout his life.
Like his friends did shortly before, after meditating for some minutes, letting his mind wander like a castaway among the waves of his ocean of memories, he too takes the big book, opening it at the new page. With magic, he engraves a "351" in big and clear characters on the top right left side of the page.
Unlike the others though, he doesn't have to ponder for long. He knows, exactly, what moment, what memory of the past year he wants to add to his Book of Memories. His lips curving in a soft smile while approaching his hand to his head and snapping his fingers once. Where the blue magic came out, a picture now is.
A picture of Alec, but not a random one. In the specific, he decided to immortalize the smile he made, the first day they met, when Jace thought Magnus was complimenting him and the Warlock corrected him, saying he was speaking to Alec.
The surprised and innocent smile of a shy person who is so not used to shine, to be noticed, always hiding in the shadow of others, that a little compliment was enough to bring a ray of new light in his eyes. Something Magnus had never seen, something that struck him with a power he himself would never have thought, while just giving a random compliment to a person he found handsome, as he did with probably millions of women and men in his whole life.
He adds the new picture to the new page of the book, then just as his friends, he moves to the first page of his heavy book and starts to turn every page, giving each picture, each memory in each page, a rightful and solemn time of meditation.
As easy to guess, those books contain their best memories, in the specific, the picture of the best memory they choose from all the memories of each year. And with this year, they indeed contain 351 pictures.
For the three Warlock, this occasion is, mainly, a way to prove to themselves that despite all the bad, there is always some good, something worth living for. Through those books they can stay connected with their own lives, with their memories and with each others. A way to always remember where they come from and who they are.
An anchor, to not let time simply carry them away, like feathers in the wind.
Ragnor, Magnus and Catarina.
Magnus Bane, Catarina Loss and Ragnor fell basically know each others since always.
They are best friends and their bond is indestructible and deep, despite they are exceptionally different one another and despite they don't meet often, in the current days.
Catarina Loss - The selfless.
Magnus met Catarina in Spain, when he was 16.
At the time, early 1500s, he was staying by the Silent Brothers, with whom he had been since he was 10. Together with Brother Jeremiah, he rescued Catarina who was about to be burned on a stake accused of being a witch, due to their beyond evident Demonic Mark: blue skin.
She is a few years older than Magnus.
Catarina is an exceptionally powerful Warlock who specialized in healing magic.
As her mother raised her with love and courage, despite their times, despite she knew what she was and despite she was born from a rape from an awful demon, she swore to herself that, in life, she would do all that is in her might to save as many mundane lives as possible. Hence why she has been working as a nurss since always.
Nowadays, she works day and night in a hospital, using glamour magic to hide her real look and thus avoiding to shock unaware mundanes. She lives for her job, literally, using magic to heal what medicine can not.
Ragnor Fell - The Cranky Academic.
Catarina and Magnus met Ragnor shortly after leaving Spain. Magnus wanted to desperately summon his demon father to see him with his own eyes and be confirmed his paternity, and Ragnor helped greatly, especially for what concerned Magnus' safety and probably, survival.
(Inventing the time of birth myself since it is not specified.) Ragnor is incredibly older than Magnus and Catarina. He was born BC, somewhere between 500 and 400 BC, in a Celtic community.
Due to his green skin and white hair, his parents thought him to be a faerie child and actually raised him with love and enthusiasm. Since they grew very fond of him, their love didn't change, not even when they found out the truth about him.
Ragnor is an exceptionally powerful and knowledgeable Warlock, with a rather bad temper and grumpy attitude, but a very good person deep inside. He will never admit it, but he is incredibly tied to Magnus, despite always having a sarcastic and sometimes cruel attitude in his regards.
Nowadays, he is the High Warlock of London and occasionally, professor at the Shadowhunters Academy, in Idris.
And Magnus? Ask him, he doesn't struggle when asked his story...much! :P
Anyhow, the three of them had amazing and unique adventures throughout the centuries, especially in Peru, which kept improving their bond and make it stronger.
They are best friends and their bond is indestructible and deep, despite they are exceptionally different one another and despite they don't meet often, in the current days.
Catarina Loss - The selfless.
Magnus met Catarina in Spain, when he was 16.
At the time, early 1500s, he was staying by the Silent Brothers, with whom he had been since he was 10. Together with Brother Jeremiah, he rescued Catarina who was about to be burned on a stake accused of being a witch, due to their beyond evident Demonic Mark: blue skin.
She is a few years older than Magnus.
Catarina is an exceptionally powerful Warlock who specialized in healing magic.
As her mother raised her with love and courage, despite their times, despite she knew what she was and despite she was born from a rape from an awful demon, she swore to herself that, in life, she would do all that is in her might to save as many mundane lives as possible. Hence why she has been working as a nurss since always.
Nowadays, she works day and night in a hospital, using glamour magic to hide her real look and thus avoiding to shock unaware mundanes. She lives for her job, literally, using magic to heal what medicine can not.
Ragnor Fell - The Cranky Academic.
Catarina and Magnus met Ragnor shortly after leaving Spain. Magnus wanted to desperately summon his demon father to see him with his own eyes and be confirmed his paternity, and Ragnor helped greatly, especially for what concerned Magnus' safety and probably, survival.
(Inventing the time of birth myself since it is not specified.) Ragnor is incredibly older than Magnus and Catarina. He was born BC, somewhere between 500 and 400 BC, in a Celtic community.
Due to his green skin and white hair, his parents thought him to be a faerie child and actually raised him with love and enthusiasm. Since they grew very fond of him, their love didn't change, not even when they found out the truth about him.
Ragnor is an exceptionally powerful and knowledgeable Warlock, with a rather bad temper and grumpy attitude, but a very good person deep inside. He will never admit it, but he is incredibly tied to Magnus, despite always having a sarcastic and sometimes cruel attitude in his regards.
Nowadays, he is the High Warlock of London and occasionally, professor at the Shadowhunters Academy, in Idris.
And Magnus? Ask him, he doesn't struggle when asked his story...much! :P
Anyhow, the three of them had amazing and unique adventures throughout the centuries, especially in Peru, which kept improving their bond and make it stronger.
Hunter's Moon.
Magnus sends a mysterious message to Erik, inviting him to join for a little investigation he was asked to help with, by some Werewolves of Luke's pack. They don't trust Shadowhunters much and want a trusted Downworlders they know who cares for them to look into it as well. And he thinks it will be positive for Erik to see how dangerous the situation can be at the moment and also to learn a thing or two in the field.
He waits to be joined by him at the Hunter's Moon, a pub owned and mainly frequented by Werewolves, the corpse of the young Werewolf is still on the street, not too far from there, but made totally invisible to Mundanes.
He waits to be joined by him at the Hunter's Moon, a pub owned and mainly frequented by Werewolves, the corpse of the young Werewolf is still on the street, not too far from there, but made totally invisible to Mundanes.
Vanvere supeeflue.
Evitando troppi giri e vanvere superflue, lui e Carlie sono amici da un buon secolo e mezzo.
Prima di sposarsi Adam ha fatto la stronzata di farsi trasformare da un giovane KoZ, e ora sta praticamente morendo.
I medici di Nortrig non possono fare nulla in proposito, e i grandi stregoni non li può neanche avvicinare, perciò, ovviamente, va da Magnus. Come tutti in fondo.
Bla bla bla lei le spiega tutto e Magnus inizia a fare le sue magie per tenere Adam in vita, ma avrà bisogno di aiuto. Gli servono ingredienti per una pozione e anche energia di uno Shadowhunter a supportarlo.
Carlie prende il telefono di Magnus ed il primissimo numero è quello di Alexander, così lo chiama.
(Se Alec mette in vivavoce per sbaglio, Jace può sentire tutto direttamente al primo colpo)
Prima di sposarsi Adam ha fatto la stronzata di farsi trasformare da un giovane KoZ, e ora sta praticamente morendo.
I medici di Nortrig non possono fare nulla in proposito, e i grandi stregoni non li può neanche avvicinare, perciò, ovviamente, va da Magnus. Come tutti in fondo.
Bla bla bla lei le spiega tutto e Magnus inizia a fare le sue magie per tenere Adam in vita, ma avrà bisogno di aiuto. Gli servono ingredienti per una pozione e anche energia di uno Shadowhunter a supportarlo.
Carlie prende il telefono di Magnus ed il primissimo numero è quello di Alexander, così lo chiama.
(Se Alec mette in vivavoce per sbaglio, Jace può sentire tutto direttamente al primo colpo)
His friends about his charanguista period. (1800s,
“What - what - what are you doing?" Ragnor demanded.
"I am almost six hundred years old," Magnus claimed, and Ragnor snorted, since Magnus changed his age to suit himself every few weeks. Magnus swept on. "It does seem about time to learn a musical instrument." He flourished his new prize, a little stringed instrument that looked like a cousin of the lute that the lute was embarrassed to be related to. "It's called a charango. I am planning to become a charanguista!"
"I wouldn't call that an instrument of music," Ragnor observed sourly. "An instrument of torture, perhaps."
Magnus cradled the charango in his arms as if it were an easily offended baby. "It's a beautiful and very unique instrument! The sound box is made from an armadillo. Well, a dried armadillo shell."
"That explains the sound you're making," said Ragnor. "Like a lost, hungry armadillo."
"You are just jealous," Magnus remarked calmly. "Because you do not have the soul of a true artiste like myself."
"Oh, I am positively green with envy," Ragnor snapped.
"Come now, Ragnor. That's not fair," said Magnus. "You know I love it when you make jokes about your complexion."
Magnus refused to be affected by Ragnor's cruel judgments. He regarded his fellow warlock with a lofty stare of superb indifference, raised his charango, and began to play again his defiant, beautiful tune.
They both heard the staccato thump of frantically running feet from within the house, the swish of skirts, and then Catarina came rushing out into the courtyard. Her white hair was falling loose about her shoulders, and her face was the picture of alarm.
"Magnus, Ragnor, I heard a cat making a most unearthly noise," she exclaimed. "From the sound of it, the poor creature must be direly sick. You have to help me find it!"
Ragnor immediately collapsed with hysterical laughter on his windowsill. Magnus stared at Catarina for a moment, until he saw her lips twitch.
"You are conspiring against me and my art," he declared. "You are a pack of conspirators."
He began to play again. Catarina stopped him by putting a hand on his arm.
"No, but seriously, Magnus," she said. "That noise is appalling."
Magnus sighed. "Every warlock's a critic."
"Why are you doing this?"
"I have already explained myself to Ragnor. I wish to become proficient with a musical instrument. I have decided to devote myself to the art of the charanguista, and I wish to hear no more petty objections."
"If we are all making lists of things we wish to hear no more . . . ," Ragnor murmured.
Catarina, however, was smiling.
"I see," she said.
"Madam, you do not see."
"I do. I see it all most clearly," Catarina assured him. "What is her name?"
"I resent your implication," Magnus said. "There is no woman in the case. I am married to my music!"
“When Magnus looked at Imasu, he saw Imasu had dropped his head into his hands.
"Er," Magnus said. "Are you quite all right?"
"I was simply overcome," Imasu said in a faint voice.
Magnus preened slightly. "Ah. Well."
"By how awful that was," Imasu said.
Magnus blinked. "Pardon?"
"I can't live a lie any longer!" Imasu burst out. "I have tried to be encouraging. Dignitaries of the town have been sent to me, asking me to plead with you to stop. My own sainted mother begged me, with tears in her eyes - "
"It isn't as bad as all that - "
"Yes, it is!" It was like a dam of musical critique had broken. Imasu turned on him with eyes that flashed instead of shining. "It is worse than you can possibly imagine! When you play, all of my mother's flowers lose the will to live and expire on the instant. The quinoa has no flavor now. The llamas are migrating because of your music, and llamas are not a migratory animal. The children now believe there is a sickly monster, half horse and half large mournful chicken, that lives in the lake and calls out to the world to grant it the sweet release of death. The townspeople believe that you and I are performing arcane magic rituals - "
"Well, that one was rather a good guess," Magnus remarked.
" - using the skull of an elephant, an improbably large mushroom, and one of your very peculiar hats!"
"Or not," said Magnus. "Furthermore, my hats are extraordinary."
"I will not argue with that." Imasu scrubbed a hand through his thick black hair, which curled and clung to his fingers like inky vines. "Look, I know that I was wrong. I saw a handsome man, thought that it would not hurt to talk a little about music and strike up a common interest, but I don't deserve this. You are going to get stoned in the town square, and if I have to listen to you play again, I will drown myself in the lake."
"Oh," said Magnus, and he began to grin. "I wouldn't. I hear there is a dreadful monster living in that lake."
Imasu seemed to still be brooding about Magnus's charango playing, a subject that Magnus had lost all interest in. "I believe the world will end with a noise like the noise you make!"
"Interesting," said Magnus, and he threw his charango out the window.
"Magnus!"
"I believe that music and I have gone as far as we can go together," Magnus said. "A true artiste knows when to surrender."
"I can't believe you did that!"
Magnus waved a hand airily. "I know, it is heartbreaking, but sometimes one must shut one's ears to the pleas of the muse."
"I just meant that those are expensive and I heard a crunch.”
“They were in Imasu’s house, as Magnus was not allowed to play anywhere else in Puno. Imasu’s mother and sister were both sadly prone to migraines, so many of Magnus’s lessons were on musical theory, but today Magnus and Imasu were in the house alone.
“When can we expect your mother and sister back?” Magnus asked, very casually.
“In a few weeks,” Imasu replied. “They went to visit my aunt. Um. They didn’t flee—I mean, leave the house—for any particular reason.”
“As a last resort he went up to the mountains and played there. Magnus was sure that the llama stampede he witnessed was a coincidence. The llamas could not be judging him.”
--Cassandra Clare, The Bane Chronicles
"I am almost six hundred years old," Magnus claimed, and Ragnor snorted, since Magnus changed his age to suit himself every few weeks. Magnus swept on. "It does seem about time to learn a musical instrument." He flourished his new prize, a little stringed instrument that looked like a cousin of the lute that the lute was embarrassed to be related to. "It's called a charango. I am planning to become a charanguista!"
"I wouldn't call that an instrument of music," Ragnor observed sourly. "An instrument of torture, perhaps."
Magnus cradled the charango in his arms as if it were an easily offended baby. "It's a beautiful and very unique instrument! The sound box is made from an armadillo. Well, a dried armadillo shell."
"That explains the sound you're making," said Ragnor. "Like a lost, hungry armadillo."
"You are just jealous," Magnus remarked calmly. "Because you do not have the soul of a true artiste like myself."
"Oh, I am positively green with envy," Ragnor snapped.
"Come now, Ragnor. That's not fair," said Magnus. "You know I love it when you make jokes about your complexion."
Magnus refused to be affected by Ragnor's cruel judgments. He regarded his fellow warlock with a lofty stare of superb indifference, raised his charango, and began to play again his defiant, beautiful tune.
They both heard the staccato thump of frantically running feet from within the house, the swish of skirts, and then Catarina came rushing out into the courtyard. Her white hair was falling loose about her shoulders, and her face was the picture of alarm.
"Magnus, Ragnor, I heard a cat making a most unearthly noise," she exclaimed. "From the sound of it, the poor creature must be direly sick. You have to help me find it!"
Ragnor immediately collapsed with hysterical laughter on his windowsill. Magnus stared at Catarina for a moment, until he saw her lips twitch.
"You are conspiring against me and my art," he declared. "You are a pack of conspirators."
He began to play again. Catarina stopped him by putting a hand on his arm.
"No, but seriously, Magnus," she said. "That noise is appalling."
Magnus sighed. "Every warlock's a critic."
"Why are you doing this?"
"I have already explained myself to Ragnor. I wish to become proficient with a musical instrument. I have decided to devote myself to the art of the charanguista, and I wish to hear no more petty objections."
"If we are all making lists of things we wish to hear no more . . . ," Ragnor murmured.
Catarina, however, was smiling.
"I see," she said.
"Madam, you do not see."
"I do. I see it all most clearly," Catarina assured him. "What is her name?"
"I resent your implication," Magnus said. "There is no woman in the case. I am married to my music!"
“When Magnus looked at Imasu, he saw Imasu had dropped his head into his hands.
"Er," Magnus said. "Are you quite all right?"
"I was simply overcome," Imasu said in a faint voice.
Magnus preened slightly. "Ah. Well."
"By how awful that was," Imasu said.
Magnus blinked. "Pardon?"
"I can't live a lie any longer!" Imasu burst out. "I have tried to be encouraging. Dignitaries of the town have been sent to me, asking me to plead with you to stop. My own sainted mother begged me, with tears in her eyes - "
"It isn't as bad as all that - "
"Yes, it is!" It was like a dam of musical critique had broken. Imasu turned on him with eyes that flashed instead of shining. "It is worse than you can possibly imagine! When you play, all of my mother's flowers lose the will to live and expire on the instant. The quinoa has no flavor now. The llamas are migrating because of your music, and llamas are not a migratory animal. The children now believe there is a sickly monster, half horse and half large mournful chicken, that lives in the lake and calls out to the world to grant it the sweet release of death. The townspeople believe that you and I are performing arcane magic rituals - "
"Well, that one was rather a good guess," Magnus remarked.
" - using the skull of an elephant, an improbably large mushroom, and one of your very peculiar hats!"
"Or not," said Magnus. "Furthermore, my hats are extraordinary."
"I will not argue with that." Imasu scrubbed a hand through his thick black hair, which curled and clung to his fingers like inky vines. "Look, I know that I was wrong. I saw a handsome man, thought that it would not hurt to talk a little about music and strike up a common interest, but I don't deserve this. You are going to get stoned in the town square, and if I have to listen to you play again, I will drown myself in the lake."
"Oh," said Magnus, and he began to grin. "I wouldn't. I hear there is a dreadful monster living in that lake."
Imasu seemed to still be brooding about Magnus's charango playing, a subject that Magnus had lost all interest in. "I believe the world will end with a noise like the noise you make!"
"Interesting," said Magnus, and he threw his charango out the window.
"Magnus!"
"I believe that music and I have gone as far as we can go together," Magnus said. "A true artiste knows when to surrender."
"I can't believe you did that!"
Magnus waved a hand airily. "I know, it is heartbreaking, but sometimes one must shut one's ears to the pleas of the muse."
"I just meant that those are expensive and I heard a crunch.”
“They were in Imasu’s house, as Magnus was not allowed to play anywhere else in Puno. Imasu’s mother and sister were both sadly prone to migraines, so many of Magnus’s lessons were on musical theory, but today Magnus and Imasu were in the house alone.
“When can we expect your mother and sister back?” Magnus asked, very casually.
“In a few weeks,” Imasu replied. “They went to visit my aunt. Um. They didn’t flee—I mean, leave the house—for any particular reason.”
“As a last resort he went up to the mountains and played there. Magnus was sure that the llama stampede he witnessed was a coincidence. The llamas could not be judging him.”
--Cassandra Clare, The Bane Chronicles