Chapter 3

It took him two days to find the ritual. A ritual for immortality. That, after all, was why he had bought the tome. For the secrets of defying death. It was a simple ritual. He needed something new, preferably just made; Something old, preferably hundreds of years old; a clock, preferably an old one; and a "personal gift."
Ferin went to his various rooms searching for the items needed. Eventually settling on a new apple, an old book, and something Dorian had gotten him for his birthday a few years back. The one thing he did not seem to have was an old clock, which bothered him immensely. Out of all the items how did he not have a clock?
He sighed and placed the items in a room far enough away from his living quarters that, if the spell were to go wrong, wouldn't wreak his house. Ferin grabbed some food and slipped on his coat, before hurrying down the road. it would take him at least half a day to get there, but he knew a place that had several old clocks.
It was a place he had explored several years back, when he was still training under his master. it was an old house that was already falling apart. Ferin hoped it was still there, if it was not he would have to go into town and hope someone was selling an old ancient clock for something cheap.
Ever since he had gotten the tome, he had not really had time to work and had spent the majority of his savings searching for the tome. But if this ritual worked then there would be no need to hurry back to work. He could relax, study and experiment with rituals and spells like he had wanted to do.
After several hours of walking and taking a quick break for lunch he came upon the house in much worse condition than before. The house was a considerable size with many windows most of them with glass missing. The paint had long since been worn away leaving only a faint trace of blue and green. There was barely a roof, the better part of it had collapsed. The door was gone leaving just the rotting doorway with its mantel falling apart. The veranda was sagging and did not look like it would hold his weight. The house was in a sorry state, which made Ferin a bit sad.
He stepped across the weeds and overgrown grass, and gently stepping on the rotting plank of wood that no longer resembled a step. The wood creaked and cracked but surprisingly held his weight. He hurried onto the veranda and into the house. It was lit fairly well with the sunlight coming through the windows and the open doorway. He walked through the gathering room, noting the deteriorating couches and chairs; the blankets eaten away by moths years ago.
Ferin walked through the kitchen cobwebs gathering in its corners. Dust floated through the air and landed on the old table in the center of the room. He looked around the room and saw dirt had somehow found its way into the china cabinet. He stood a while looking at the tea set with its small cups and saucers and an elegant teapot. The tea set shook old memories loose, but Ferin pushed them back down and reminded himself why he was there.
He needed to find an old clock and there was not one in the kitchen. He hurried out and shook off the feelings of the past and went into one of the bedrooms finding a clock. It was not pretty. The face was cracked and bits of the glass had broken off. The hands were nowhere to be found, and some of the numbers had faded. Its base was rotting and most of the gears were covered with rust.
He cautiously picked it up and was about to leave the room when something caught his eye. A flash of red peaked out from under the bed. He knelt down and pulled out a little toy wizard. It was decaying, just like everything else in the house, but the red of its clothes seemed to have faded little. As if stubbornly fighting against time.
Ferin stared at the toy wizard as memories came to his mind. While other boys in his town had soldiers, he had wizards. He never brought out his wizards when his parents were around, that's why when his parents met with other nobility he would stay in his room and play with his wooden wizards. Ferin remembered when his father had found out about the toys.
He had come home from playing and his father had called him to the study. Ferin remembered thinking his dad was going to play with him, like he had promised, only to see his toy wizards on his father's desk. He remembered his father scolding him and telling him how dangerous wizards were, forbidding him to have anything to do with them, before taking the toys outside and burning them.
He put the toy back and wondered who had had a toy wizard like him. He stood up with the clock and left the old house. The sun was setting by this time. He did not want to spend the night near the old house, but he also didn't want to walk back home at night.
Even as a wizard strange things can happen to you at night. Ferin figured it would be safer to stay near the house, despite the fact the house looked a little disturbing at night; but there was nothing he could do about that and started grabbing the rotting wood from the house and some weeds and grass.
Before too long he had a small fire in front of him and the old clock beside him. It was a cold night, but Ferin hardly noticed it, sitting by the fire wrapped in his thoughts. He sighed and leaned back in the grass staring up at the stars. Soon, I'll be better than those stars. Ferin thought, And I'll be greater than the planets. One day, he would be better and one day, no one would doubt him. One day, Ferin would become greater than himself.
And Ferin hoped that day would be tomorrow.
When morning came the fire had gone out and a fog had rolled in. Ferin rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stood up carefully picking up the clock and starting off back home. it was about noon when he arrived back at his townhouse. He hurried upstairs and set the clock next to the rest of the items.
He laid the tome next to him and followed the next instructions in the ritual. He set a large block of stone in the center of the room and lit a fire on top of it. He placed a small table over it and set the items on it in the appropriate order. First, the apple, then the old book, thirdly personal gift, and lastly the clock.
He saw the fire under the table start to burn through it, eating away at the wood faster than a normal fire. The heat started to become stifling. Ferin ignored it and started to say the words. The fire became hotter. His heart beat faster. He could feel power pumping through his veins. He imagined the freedom he would have without worrying about death. The fire grew faster and consumed the items on the small table.
A storm appeared outside, seeming to have come from nowhere. Rain started to pour from the sky and pelted the roof, lighting flashed and rivaled the fire in brightness. Thunder shook the house, causing several of Ferin's belongings to fall onto the ground. The wind outside slammed against the windows, and a dark cloud covered the sun.
Ferin heard the thunder and glimpsed the lightning. The room darkened and the fire was brighter than ever. He took a breath and inhaled the smoke. It caught in his lungs and burned. This was going to work. Ferin said the second half of the spell, and closed his eyes waiting. This was going to work. He could feel it. A fire seemed to ignite in his bones.
Then heat from the fire started to dissipate, and after several more minutes the fire was gone. And all that was left was ashes on a block of stone. The storm from outside had disappeared. It looked as if it had never been there. The grass did not even appear wet.
Ferin stood up and looked at himself in the glass. His reflection looked back. His dark black hair disheveled with bits of grass from the night outside the house. His black eyes were wide full of with expectation. His skin was pale with faint scratches and scars from previous experiments.
Nothing had changed. He could feel it. The fire in his body was gone, and the power that had flowed through his veins had vanished. It did not work. The ritual had failed.
Ferin fell to the ground and stared at the ashes on the stone. He had failed. Again. He had done everything right. Every word was pronounced correctly. Every object was to the letter. But just like every other ritual, it had the same outcome.
Ferin was still mortal.