Timaeus and the White Oak
L Dudas
There was once a love so infectious, so embedded, so ingrown in the very being of a man, that to see the shining rays of the sun once more, it must mar the flesh that houses it and break free. A love like that was found in the countryside of the Wolfhook Mountains, at the golden manor of the noble house of Silvius. Lord Silvius had come from a long line of very prestigious men who had made their money by a miracle. His ancestors were digging in the mountains to try to lay a trade route on the edge of their land when they happened upon an incredible amount of gold. This gold paved the way for a prosperous reign, as well as a vast manor with nearly every accent gilded and glittering. But to honorable Lord Silvius, no amount of gold could compare to his daughter, Daphne.
Daphne, beloved by all the people under her father’s rule, as well as all beyond, frequented the gardens her father commissioned at her birth. Her love for flowers, trees, and plants of all sorts, even the weeds, was evident to all who spent any considerable amount of time with her. And who spent a considerable amount of time with her? None other than the center of this tale, Timaeus, apprentice to the manor’s Master Sorcerer and keeper of the herbal garden. That is where we find them, on the day in which the sun shone brightly and the flowers bloomed in full.
“Timaeus,” Daphne said with a speck of concern in her honey-sweet voice. “The aster does not seem to be blooming this year at all.” Timaeus glanced to Daphne’s form huddled over the aster plants, her brows upturned with worry. She was still so beautiful, in fact, even more so by her concern for living creatures. In the rising sun her brown skin seemed to shine, despite the cloudy mood she was in.
“Let me take a look,” said Timaeus as he huddled down next to her and examined the dreary, near life-less plant. “Something does seem to be amiss, though it is nothing I cannot easily take care of. After all it is my job to tend to all the plants with any magical properties.” Never hesitating at an opportunity to come across as a hero, even in the smallest of ways, in front of Daphne, Timaeus stretched out his hands and with a faint silver glow, resurrected the plant to perfect health. Timaeus stood up with a sense of inner triumph parallel to that of a knight that vanquished a dragon.
“No matter how many times I see you use your magic, it never ceases to amaze me,” Daphne said in response as she took Timaeus’ outstretched hand to stand up. “Thank you for always letting me follow you around as you tend the plants each morning, I believe the gardeners of the regular portion of the garden get quite stressed with me standing over them. I can hardly blame them, though I am technically their boss in some sense.” Throughout her expression of gratitude, Timaeus could hardly listen, as he had yet to let go of her hand.
“Umm,” Daphne said with a bit of discomfort present on her face, “you can let go of my hand now.” Timaeus was mortified, and with a sputtering sequence of apologies, he quickly retracted his hand and sheepishly placed it on the back of his neck.
“You are always welcome here— anytime you need!” Timaeus blurted out amid his pale face burning a bright red. He thought he would be used to her presence after spending nearly every morning with her in the garden for the past five years since his master put him in charge of the magical herbs. Her desire to thank him— a lowly apprentice that she graces with her presence— was wrong. No, he feels as if it is him who needs to thank her for her lively chatter as he weeds or waters, her compliments on his work, and her never-ending questions about all the plants in the garden, despite probably knowing more about their properties at this point than he did.
“Lady Daphne!” Daphne’s lady-in-waiting interrupted Timaeus’ mind running amuck by entering the garden and calling out. “Lord Silvius requests your presence in his drawing-room immediately.”
“Goodbye, Timaeus,” Daphne calls out as she hurriedly strides towards the side entrance to the manor where her lady-in-waiting stood. Her gait was much more urgent than Timaeus had ever seen it. Come to think of it, Lord Silvius had never called for his daughter at this time in the morning, as he knew of her time in the garden, and how she adored it so. He was well aware of her time spent among the dirt and plants but turned the other way as not to steal even a bit of her happiness. So, this was quite strange and suspicious.
While Timaeus had finished all of his own duties, he always found random little tasks to draw out his time with Daphne, but now due to her summons, it was cut short. He could not help a bit of resentment bubble up to his consciousness towards Lord Silvius. He knew his place: he knew he could never really be with Daphne in the way he desired, so each morning was all he had. Timaeus tried to tell himself it was enough, to see her every day was enough. Yet, his feet seemed to move on their own, as well as his mouth that uttered a deafening incantation upon his footsteps. Now, he made not even a single sound as he entered the manor and snuck down the white marble halls to the door that led to the Lord’s private drawing-room. Behind him, Timaeus had not noticed that the aster he previously revived had withered once more.
With a simple temporary incantation upon his own ears, Timaeus could hear the conversation occurring inside. He prayed they would get to the reason behind this summons quickly, as he knew he had only a few moments before the guards would round the corner for patrol.
“Daphne, I apologize for calling you away so early this morning, but I’m afraid that young Lord Battlebrook will be arriving today as opposed to tomorrow,” Lord Silvius said. “Are you sure you want to do this? You know that I will give you any option for your future that I can.” Timaeus could hear the apprehension in the Lord’s voice. And who is this Battlebrook fellow? What an absolutely ridiculous and brutish name!
“I’ve made up my mind father,” Daphne said with a sort of deadpanned conviction and dullness Timaeus had never heard before. The usual cheery lilt of her voice was replaced by a certainty steadfast as a shield blessed by his Master’s enchantments. “I am nearing my twentieth year, and Lord Battlebrook would be a most advantageous candidate for marriage. I know the expectations of the role I was born into. You know I have never been the sort to be swayed by notions of romance, so a practical match would be best. His visit will be a good test of his merits.”
“Well, he is described by all the ladies at court to be most handsome, as well as being quite a strong, decorated knight…” Timaeus could not hear the rest of Lord Silvius’s sentence as he heard the clicking of the guard’s boots turning the corner. With the speed of a hungry fox fleeing from a chicken coop, Timaeus bolted around the nearest corridor and up the spiral staircase of the southeast tower. The rest of the steps up the staircase were agonizingly slow to Timaeus as he felt as if his shoes were made of solid iron. As he heaved himself to the second-highest level of the tower, he busted the wooden door open to his small, grungy room. Timaeus unceremoniously flopped himself upon his hard, skinny bed, burying his face in his lumpy beige pillow.
“Is this why she thanked me?” Timaeus woefully thought to himself. “Is this why she did not say ‘see you tomorrow morning’?” If she is spending all of her time with this Lord Battle-whatever, she won’t come by the garden as much, or worse– only when I am not there! Timaeus exhaled angrily. A worse thought suddenly encroached upon his mind. What if she marries him! “No, no, no, no, NO!” Timaeus cursed his own mind for dreaming up such a wretched idea. He continued to wallow in his own self-pity until he heard the brassy sound of trumpets announcing the presence of a visitor. A funeral march would have been a more appropriate tune in Timaeus’ mind.
Timaeus peeled himself off of his bed and peered out his small window. Below was one of the most ornate carriages he had ever seen, painted in rich reds and navy blues, with intricate gold accents framing the entire thing. The most eye-catching thing of all, however, was the man that emerged from said carriage. Timaeus’ looming dread-filled cloud descended further upon his head, clouding his senses even more. He had to see the harbinger of his misery himself.
He descended from the seclusion of his room to the bustling great hall, which was decorated with more extravagance than even Daphne’s birthday balls. Why was everyone trying so hard for this man? With his plain clothes and impressionable presence, Timaeus managed to blend into the servants attending the many residents of the manor as well as the guests they were planning to receive. Timaeus stood near the door to get the best view of intruders. With another blare of the trumpets, the great oak double doors burst open, and in came over a dozen servants carrying flags with the Battlebrook crest or chests no doubt filled with gifts. In the center of it all was the young lord himself.
“Introducing the honorable Lord Nigel Battlebrook, conqueror of the fearsome Thunderwood boar, and ruler of the vast Easton Valley,” his announcer’s voice grated Timaeus’ ears. And nerves. To top it all off, Battlebrook flashed a smile so bright, Timaeus swore it momentarily made him blind.
Worst of all, Timaeus looked towards Daphne, and from her throne, next to her father’s, she smiled and nodded in his direction, a preliminary stamp of approval. Battlebrook approached the thrones of the great hall and deeply bowed to both of the Silviuses. Timaeus could no longer hear a word of what was most likely quite an arrogant, self-aggrandizing, and irritatingly effective introduction speech. His eyes darkened with focus. Nigel Battlebrook, probably in his mid-twenties, was at least a head and half taller than him, and Timaeus was of average height. His body had clearly seen the wear and tear of battle and was better for it with prominent muscles under his tan skin. His face was the crowning jewel of his physical form with a coiffed mass of chestnut hair, stubble, as well as bright golden-brown eyes, high cheekbones, and a sharp jawline. His stance and the way he held himself were imbued with the confidence of a man that has never lost anything in his life.
After his mouth had stopped moving, Lord Silvius invited him to sit down at the long feast table prepared for his arrival. Before Battlebrook sat down, he turned to Timaeus and handed him his custom fur-lined red overcoat. “Thank you, good sir, and if you are careful when you put it in the coatroom, I’ll throw in an extra coin for your dedication,” Nigel said with an insidious amount of positivity and one of those devilish smiles. If Timaeus was angry before, he was now fuming enough to fuel a sauna. He kept his composure, smiled through gritted teeth as he took his jacket, and bowed out.
Timaeus snuck away from the welcoming festivities unable to bear any more of the lashings his heart and ego were receiving. He fumed all the way up the southeast tower to the very top floor, the laboratory of his Master, the manor’s personal sorcerer. As he entered the room, he used his magic to quickly open a window and toss out Battlebrook’s jacket. The Master did not stir at this, being much too absorbed with whatever potion he was brewing in the large cauldron in the center of the room.
With a disgruntled huff, Timaeus marched into the attached washroom and stared at his complexation in the mirror. What stared back at him was a pale face that looked a bit sickly, especially with his hollow cheeks and deep purple eye bags. His black hair was lifeless and thin, hanging messily below his jaw, and his eyes were a dull grey and bulged a bit from his face. His nose was crooked in nearly an ‘s’ shape from spells gone wrong in his youth and his teeth were far from straight as well. With each observation, his dejection deepened. His body was marred with scars from a sickly youth, his body so frail his ribs poked out when he lifted his shirt, and his veins decorated his forearms like flowing blue rivers. He knew he did not deserve her. The words of Lord Silvius rang in the back of his mind, and he gripped the sides of the wash bin so hard his knuckles began to turn white: “Most handsome, as well as being quite a strong, decorated knight.”
He dunked his head in the wash bin, staring deeper at his now drenched face, the wet hair sticking to his ghastly pale face and large out-turned ears. Slowly, with his pointer finger he poked his cheeks. Then, he pulled on the skin around his eyes to reveal more of the whites, entranced by the reflection reacting to his movements. Timaeus was seeing himself for the first time and prodded the skin around his lips next. Whatever being created him, made him look like this, but they were not the only one that possessed powers beyond the natural realm.
“Timaeus,” the voice of his Master called out. “What are you doing up here on your day off?” His Master’s voice was not accusatory, rather curious, as Timaeus generally made himself scarce during any off time. “Do you need something in particular?” Timaeus stepped out the door still soaked from the neck up. “Goodness Timaeus,” Master gasped at his state. “Did you lose a fight with a sea monster in the wash bin?! You look even more disheveled than you usually do! You really must put more care into your appearance.”
“Master,” Timaeus said darkly while scanning the bookshelves lining the lab with his gaze, “I am doing a bit of extra research on transformation magic to advance my skills.” His boney fingers slid across the spine of each tome as he passed. “I feel I’ve let myself get too complacent in my work, only focusing on herbalism and regenerative magicks as of late”.
“I agree and you are more than ready in terms of practical skill,” Master said slowly, “but, I find it pertinent to remind you of the permanence of transformation magicks.” With a flick of her wrist, Master summoned the very tome Timaeus was searching for to her hand. Timaeus’ eyes follow the arc of the tome as it glides through the air. “Any living being that is transformed by magicks can never return to its original form, no matter how many potions or incantations the sorcerer attempts.” Timaeus reached out to grab the tome, but Master pulled it away at the last second. “Start small,” Master said with an uncharacteristic gravity, “I know you are shaping up to be a powerful young sorcerer, so I will no longer hide knowledge from you, but remember that magicks rarely solves non-magical problems”.
Timaeus nodded slowly, and Master handed him the tome. There was a small smile that grew on her lips. As he headed out the door and down the stairs, he heard Master’s voice after him. “And for goodness sake, if you’re going to practice magic, don’t do it in the manor! Take it out to the woods!”
As the sun set, Timaeus holed himself up in his room at his wobbly wooden desk. He cast a small little ball of light to study by during the evenings and during the weeks that passed he would occasionally sneak out of his duties and studying to check on how Daphne and Nigel were faring. To his dismay, with each passing day, Daphne seemed to approve of Nigel more and more. There was a jousting tournament between Nigel and a great many other visiting knights that he won despite the many bad luck curses Timaeus attempted to cast. Nigel also dominated at poetry competitions, chess matches, and hunting parties. He never did get his coat back, but Daphne did properly introduce Timaeus to him, though Timaeus only gave a cold, impersonal greeting before scurrying back into his Master’s lab. While Nigel was basking in the light of the awe of all of the people in the manor, Timaeus was taking advantage of the dark of night to practice his transformation spells. Singularly focused on his new task, Timaeus would only visit the gardens quickly, to tend to the plants as fast as possible to have more time for his studies. Daphne, though more infrequently, would still visit the gardens by herself.
Then, it was finally the night all of Timaeus’s hard work had been building to. He trekked out to the forest surrounding the manor after sunset, as he had been doing for many nights leading up to this. He had had countless mistakes in his trials to perfect his transformation magic. He tried potions, the remnants of which still resided in Master’s lab in little glass bottles, but found his skills in incantations were much stronger. Timaeus took a deep breath in before starting, to clear his mind and focus his inner energy. A single mistake in intention or a wavering of focus could leave him horribly disfigured or in a form he didn’t intend. As he recited the incantation, silver mist rose up around him. His skin began to contort, his innards and bones rearranging within him, as his whole body began to convulse rapidly. The pain was excruciating, and the process felt eternal, but once the words had left his lips as he spelled the correct sigil, there was no going back. His screams could almost be heard within the manor as each cell within him was meticulously transformed.
He collapsed into a sweating, coughing pile before passing out by a small brook by the old oak tree. With the sun, he awoke the next morning, and as his eyelashes fluttered open, he was faced with his reflection in the water of the brook. He scurried back out of the mud in panic, not recognizing the face in front of him. The realization struck. It had worked. He stood up fully and wiped the mud from his face as he stood over the surface of the water. The man that looked back at him was more sculpted than the marble statues found throughout the manor that he had enchanted to dance for Daphne years ago. He had packed on a considerable amount of muscle, so that as he shifted, he realized he would need some time to adjust to it. The height would probably disorient him for a while. As for his face, the hollowness of it had filled out, his jawline was sharper, and his broken nose was healed in full. The prominence of his eyebags and veins was greatly reduced, and his hair gained volume and a bit of a wave. The only thing that remained the same was the dullness of his grey eyes. That the magicks could not change.
Satisfied with his transformation, he grabbed the now worn and well-loved tome. To remedy the issue of the jarring nature of his transformation, Timaeus had combined the transformation magic with a time glamour, adjusting each person’s perception to believe he had always looked like this, but it was really only hitting them now. So all their memories would be rewritten upon seeing him. Sure, it had taken an extra month of configuring and practice to make sure it would be compatible with his transformation, but it was well worth it in Timaeus’s mind.
As he awkwardly strolled back to the manor, it was a bit past midday. After cleaning himself up and changing into some clothes that fit his new form, Timaeus entered his old domain, the magical herb garden with newfound confidence. That was promptly shot down as he saw Daphne and Nigel strolling arm in arm, laughing about something. The sight was enough to undo the transformation in Timaeus’s mind. Despite being of comparable height to Nigel, he felt so small once more as he caught his gaze.
“Oh, hello!” Nigel called out from across the garden with a wave, alerting Daphne to his presence. They strolled over without a care in the world, as if nothing had changed. “Did you change your hair or something Timmy?” Ugh, Timmy. Timaeus hated that awful nickname Nigel had taken to calling him ever since they were properly introduced. Worst of all Daphne had begun using it as well.
“Or something…” Timaeus muttered under his breath. Daphne now saw him in his new form, but there was no reaction from her at all. No glances snuck at him, no look of awe. Timaeus knew he was much more handsome than Nigel now, perhaps she was just adjusting. Or the bright midday sun was washing him out.
“It’s a good thing we caught you, Timmy, before the grand dinner tomorrow night,” Daphne said. Timaeus had completely forgotten about that with all of his planning for the previous night’s magical metamorphosis. “I have barely seen you around at all for the past few months, so I wished I could have told you earlier when we originally decided.”
“Nigel and I are planning on getting married,” Daphne said with a gentle smile. “We have found we get along quite well, not to mention the benefit of his native land’s thriving metallurgy trade….” All that echoed in Timaeus’s mind was “getting married.” His initial state of shock wore off quickly as he saw their expectant faces waiting for congratulations.
“Well,” Timaeus said slowly, “I’m so happy for the both of you.” He unconsciously stepped back. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go assist the Master,” he said as he did a slight bow. “Nigel would you be so kind as to assist me with something, in say, an hour?” Nigel nodded with a smile, overjoyed that Timaeus seemingly had anything other than coldness towards him. If he was going to be the new lord of the manor, it was best to get in good with the rising resident sorcerer. Daphne, however, just stared at the scene quizzically but said nothing.
As Timaeus bounded up the stairs to the lab, he quickly checked for Master’s presence and was relieved to find she was out. Rather than the usual boiling emotions of frustration, anger, and betrayal Timaeus expected to feel, his rage was calm, focused. Clearly just competing with Nigel would not do, even though he was on a much more level playing field now. Timaeus had to completely eliminate him. “Though,” Timaeus thought to himself, “it would be a horrible waste of a human life to just dispose of him regularly.” In the back of the lab was Master’s special collection of tomes, which naturally, Timaeus had broken into and read years ago. He quickly dispelled the basic protection charms. “Honestly,” Timaeus thought to himself, “Master really is too careless and trusting.” Within one of these volumes was an extraction spell, deeply forbidden by the magical law and regular law, as it did involve murder. If the spell was performed on the heart of a freshly killed human, all of the human’s life force would transfer to the caster, extending the caster’s life and expanding upon his or her magical capacities.
With a dagger tucked into the inner pocket of his charcoal overcoat and the spell memorized, all Timaeus had to do was wait. He was positively twitching with excitement, barely able to keep down the smile that would form on his new pearly whites. He leaned against a bookshelf with his arms and legs crossed to keep himself in check. Just as the hour was up, Nigel promptly knocked on the door.
“Welcome, welcome,” Timaeus said with a giddy delight. “Come right in and stand over the cauldron, would you?” A soft giggle escaped his lips, though it went unnoticed by Nigel who was simply excited to be invited into the lab for the first time. As he peered down into the cauldron, steam rose into his face, and before he could even hear the footsteps behind him, he felt a sharp pinch in his jugular. Timaeus had seized the moment, lunging upon him with his dagger, plunging it deep within his neck. As Nigel crumbled to the floor and bled out, Timaeus angled the dagger at the base of the neck and pulled down until his navel, splitting open his chest. He then flung the dagger across the room, abandoning all decorum, and plunged his fists into his chest, digging around until he ripped the heart from his chest. His bloodied hands lifted Nigel’s severed heart, and he brought it up to touch his forehead as he leaned in, muttering the words to the spell. A rush of revitalization entered his being as he was once more surrounded by silver mist. Timaeus felt completely restored from his last two magical endeavors, though there was a dull ache in the back of his mind he just could not place. Just as he let out a sigh of relief, he heard Daphne’s sweet voice calling out for him and Nigel from the hall.
Before he had time to react she opened the door to find her fiancé dead and gutted on the ground, with Timaeus crouched over him, holding his still, bloody heart. Daphne, filled with panic, grabbed the first potion she could on the shelf near the door and held it out in front of her. “Don’t come near me!” Daphne yelled in a terror-stricken voice. She turned and desperately ran down the stairs, with a horrified Timaeus behind her. “Help! Guards! Anyone!” she yelled as she exited the manor and fled through the garden. “Timaeus has gone mad!”
Timaeus was panicked as well, trying to soothe Daphne as he chased after her, under the assumption he was still someone she trusted despite his scarlet hands. He wanted to hold her and tell her everything was all right. That they were free to be together now. That she did not have to marry this man she could hardly stand. That he did it for her. For them.
Just as Daphne passed the gate of the garden, her long pale, yellow gown got stuck under her feet, tripping her and shattering the potion bottle. Before Timaeus’s very eyes, the light of his life, the sun to his moon, the order to his chaos was enveloped in a sickly green and silver gas. Her screams were unlike anything he had ever experienced. The wailing was terrible, and it pained him so deeply he kneeled over. Every shriek pierced him, as he had Nigel. She was transforming before his very eyes, from the legs up, into a tall winding white oak tree. Timaeus crawled on his knees to her roots, bowed down before them as he sobbed, the blood from his hands mixing with his tears as they both watered her roots.
“Now, now.” Timaeus turned to see his master between his tears. “What a mess you have made, though I do approve of the new look. Suppose it’s for the best to have to move anyways. You got a bit too attached— you always were the sentimental type. Bad for sorcery.” Timaeus blinked up at his Master expressionlessly. She hoisted him up, putting his larger form on her back to help him walk back up to the lab. “You’re lucky I put a deafening charm on the entire southeast tower rather than just my laboratory. I have quite incredible foresight you know.”
“You have to help me fix her,” Timaeus said as he grabbed his Master’s collar. The desperation in his eyes was as bountiful as the tears. His lower lip began to quiver.
“And pray tell what will you learn from that?” Master replied with a light tone, despite her position of currently being lifted off of the ground by her now larger apprentice. “You can’t keep running to me after you break all your little toys. You’re approaching your twenty-first year; you’ve got to learn to live with your messes.” Master’s eyes narrowed at Timaeus. “Besides, I did warn you. Transformation magic is irreversible.” With that, Timaeus dropped his Master back to the ground, and she landed on her feet as gracefully as a cat.
L Dudas wrote this story in Introduction to Creative Writing.