The Conciege
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Gifted - Chapter 7: A Dragon
🕑 Added 2024-01-09 06:12:24 +0000 UTCFive minutes later, Melmarc arrived at his neighborhood. It was an interconnecting area of tarred roads and currently empty sidewalks. Houses stood side by side, demarcated from each other by white picket fences.
Each home had its own front yard with each individual designs. Some kept clean lawns and others let theirs grow out in odd ways, leaving only a clear path from the front porch to the picket fence.
In the entire neighborhood, there were two known Gifted, none of which were married to each other. Then there were his parents, the only Gifted that were Delvers. So four in total. Since it wasn’t a mandate of any kind that Gifted become Delvers, most of the Gifted were free to live their lives however they pleased.
Obviously, criminal acts were frowned upon, and there were special rules designed for the Gifted who committed crimes of any kind. Some states even went the extra mile, building prisons designed to hold only the Gifted.
Melmarc walked past each house until he arrived at his own. His mind was filled with Delano’s words. He knew his friend had been joking, but he couldn’t get the possibility out of his mind.
It was common knowledge that the Gifted gained their skills around the age of sixteen. But there were instances were a Gifted gained theirs late. It was a very limited circumstance, and there were only records of four Gifted who’d gained theirs at the age of seventeen. But few didn’t mean impossible.
Ninra was fine not being Gifted, but Ark had been in a somber mood on his seventeenth birthday. It hadn’t been the most obvious, but Melmarc had seen it. For most people, seventeen marked a new age. For Ark, seventeen marked the end of his dream to be a Delver.
Inside, Melmarc was greeted to the sweet smell of pasta. He closed the door behind him and walked into the living room.
He met Uncle Dorthna lounging on one of the sofas, occupied with something on tv.
“Evening, Uncle Dorth,” he said, walking by. “Who’s on kitchen duty?”
“Your sister.” Dorthna spoke without looking away from the television. His voice was deep but smooth, nothing like Melmarc’s father’s hoarse baritone.
Melmarc positioned himself behind his uncle’s couch. He dropped his basketball on the ground, placed his foot on it, and rested his hands on the back rest.
Dorthna tilted his head up to look at him. He paid Melmarc half his attention while the television played an episode of a show called The Damned and Daring.
It was one of his uncle’s favorite show where seemingly normal people played a game where they were dared to do seemingly abnormal things with a price at the end of the season for whoever was able to last until the end.
“What can I do you for?” Dorthna said finally.
“Nothing much.”
Melmarc remembered the folded up donut wrap in his pocket. He hadn’t actually planned on keeping there, he just had a habit of keeping disposable things with him until he was near a bin he could properly dispose the, in.
But since his uncle was around, he might as well have it. For reasons unknown to anybody, uncle Dorthna liked having things like that. It wasn’t necessarily trash, just simple disposables that were relatively clean.
In the beginning, it had started with him taking them from him and his siblings when they were younger, then asking for them politely as they grew. Before they knew it, they were keeping things just so they could give him. Nothing too old, though.
They’d finally learned that anything under ten minutes was always welcome. Fifteen minutes was stretching it. And anything more than fifteen minutes was definitely going to be rejected. Not that all of them made the cut. These were only criteria that determined if he would receive it. The criteria that determined if he would keep it remained a mystery to them.
Ninra had offered him one of the wraps from her laundry that was over thirty minutes old once, and he’d looked at it as if she’d offered him poop.
This has to count, right?
Melmarc slipped his hand into his pocket and brought out the folded wrap that had housed the donut Eroms had given him and held it up for his uncle to see. “I got you this.”
One side of Dorthna’s lips quirked up in a slight smile at the sight of the wrap, and he raised an open palm to receive it.
Melmarc placed it in the open palm. “It’s a wrap for a donut my friend gave me. He said he got it from the lunch lady in school.”
“That sounds interesting.” Dorthna was looking at the folded, white wrap like it was the most interesting thing in the world. Melmarc could turn the tv off and he wouldn’t notice.
You don’t sound very interested in the backstory, though.
“Anything else for your good uncle D?” his uncle added, placing the folded wrap gently on the couch beside him.
“Not really.”
“Well, thank you.” With that, his uncle returned his attention to the tv where a guy was wrestling a live anaconda.
Uncle Dorthna said none of the dares were actually harmful, but Melmarc had a tough time believing him. Especially when dares like this one happened.
Satisfied with their short encounter, Melmarc turned to go, but Dorthna’s voice stopped him.
“Aren’t you going to go help your sister in the kitchen?”
Melmarc shrugged his bag over his shoulder out of habit. “She’s good. If there’s anything she’s a master at, it’s making pasta. She even does it better than mom. Where’s mom, by the way?”
Uncle Dorthna was rarely around unless their parents were out on a job, and his mom had been home when he left for school this morning. She’d been discharged from the hospital a month after him, and had stayed home for two more before returning to work.
“She’s not out on work, if that’s what you’re asking.” Dorthna absently turned the wrap with a finger, moving it by its edges. It made a perfect turn each time, as if he’d placed it on a stick and not their rough couch.
How does he keep it turning in place?
“Is she home?” Melmarc asked.
“Yep.”
Melmarc nodded. He didn’t need to ask about his dad. Their dad had been called to work a few days ago and was yet to return.
Melmarc made his way to his room only to stop at the door.
“Uncle D,” he asked.
Dorthna turned to look at him. “Yes, kiddo?”
“Are you ever going to tell us what you keep doing with all the things we give you?”
A sad expression crossed Dorthna’s face, but it was gone as if it had never been. “Every trash has a story to tell. Some are worth listening to, and others are not.”
“So you’re listening to their stories?”
“Nope.” Dorthna turned back to the tv as if he’d given a perfectly logical answer. “Thanks for the wrap, kiddo. It may not look like it, but I really appreciate you helping out.”
Helping out with what? Melmarc thought as he entered his room.
Dorthna had been a Delver once, until something had happened to make him retire. What type of Delver he had been was a mystery. Apart from his uncanny ability to make things turn on their own, he had never displayed any skill for as long as Melmarc had known him. And he and Ark doubted he used his skill for a task as boring as making trash turn on their own.
“Alright, Ark,” he muttered as he stepped into their room, taking off his bag. “What’s so important that you couldn’t wait for me to get—”
He stopped at the sight of an empty room. To be more precise, the room was full. They had exchanged their twin beds for two single beds when Ark had turned thirteen, so there were now two beds in the room. Apart from that, not much had changed. The room was the same.
But there was no Ark.
His phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out. Emblazoned on the screen was one word.
ARK
He accepted the call and placed it to his ear.
“Did you get lost?” Ark asked immediately.
“That’s what I should be asking you,” Melmarc replied, tossing his bag on his bed, and placing his basketball on the ground. He sat on his bed and began taking his shoes off. “I just got in, and I can’t find you.”
“You should’ve said so.” He could still hear the excitement in his brother’s voice. “Hurry up, then. Forget about your shoes and socks and come find me.”
Melmarc paused half-way through undoing his shoelace. “Alright but I’ve got to know where you—”
The call ended abruptly, and Melmarc removed the phone from his ear.
“You’ve really got to get a hold of your emotions,” he muttered as he slipped his phone back into his pocket and got up from the bed.
When his brother got this excited, there was no calming him down. According to him, his therapist said that was part of the reason he had IED. He wasn’t the best when it came to controlling himself. He was impulsive, and needed to learn how not to act on his impulses.
Melmarc rolled his basketball under their reading table, left his bag on his bed, and walked back into the living room.
“Have you seen Ark?” he asked Dorthna as he passed him. On screen a lady was eating a live cockroach from a bowl of live cockroaches still crawling about.
Melmarc almost gagged.
Dorthna raised his hand and waved it in a random direction. “Check out back. Something’s got him all excited since he got back from school.”
“Any idea what it is?” Melmarc was past the living room and into the dining now. Far enough that Dorthna had to raise his voice slightly to answer.
“No idea. I tried asking him, but he said it was a secret.”
So he does know how to control himself.
“Thanks, Uncle D.”
Dorthna waved his thanks down with another vague gesture before dropping his hand.
Melmarc smiled at how quickly he’d gone back to his show when he realized the folded donut wrap was still on the couch next to his uncle, spinning on its own. It hadn’t been that long since he’d given it to his uncle.
I guess it made the cut, he thought as he walked into the kitchen.
The first thing to greet him was the sweet, strong smell of pasta and chicken stew. He inhaled deeply before he could stop himself and caught his sister staring at him with a smirk.
Ninra was, for a lack of better words, pretty. And Delano’s crush on her certainly wasn’t unfounded. Even as his sister, he could see it. She had their mother’s eyes, a deep forest green that was just a little light around the edges. Her brown hair was always braided one way or the other, and she cared so much for her face that he couldn’t remember ever seeing any pimple on it since she was fifteen.
She was beautiful, but he’d never be caught admitting it. For record purposes, she’d always be ugly.
“This is dinner,” she told him pointedly. “You missed lunch so mom had me keep yours in the fridge. If you’re hungry, put it in the microwave. If you want any of this, you’ll wait until dinner.”
Melmarc pulled out his phone and checked the time, then turned it for her to see. “Who cooks dinner by 4pm.”
She turned, dropping the spatula in her hand in the sink and turned on the tap. “People who know it’s better to eat dinner before 8.”
She washed her hand under the running water then turned the tap off.
“Anyway,” she continued, turning back to him as she dried her hands with a kitchen towel. “What’s got Ark all giddy? I haven’t seen him this happy since we ran into that Delver at that carnival and they told him that he could also be a Delver.” She turned her head to the ceiling in thought. “I never can remember that guy’s name. You remember him, right? he was one of those ones that walk around in spandex and like to play superhero.”
Melmarc knew exactly who she was talking about. He knew the Delver’s skills, too. But he shrugged.
“I remember,” he answered, walking up to the fridge. He wasn’t going to be eating now, he just wanted to have a glance at what lunch had been. “So he didn’t tell you why he’s so happy?”
Ninra snorted. “When do you guys ever tell me anything. It’s why I went to church every day praying for a sister when mom was pregnant with you. Then she went and had you. If I didn’t believe God loved me so much, I’d have thought he was trying to punish me.”
Melmarc spared a brief moment to stick his tongue out at her before returning his attention to the fridge.
Beans for lunch, then pasta for dinner. He reached inside and moved the transparent flask that held his share of lunch. Not too frozen yet. I guess lunch hasn’t been that long ago.
He closed the refrigerator and turned back to his sister. “Do we have any bread?”
“Nope. Ark had the last slice.”
“Of course he did.” Melmarc walked across the kitchen, made his way to the back door. “He’s out there, right?”
“Yep. Tying himself up in knots trying not to tell anyone why he’s so happy. Do me a favor, yeah. I know it’s a secret, but can you tell me when he tells you?”
Melmarc thought about it.
“Nope.”
He pushed the door open and stepped out into the backyard.
“You were meant to be a sister,” Ninra muttered.
“I heard that!”
“You were meant to!” she called back.
………………………..
Melmarc stepped into a breath of fresh air.
As Delvers, even if government employed, their parents were rich as individuals. Married, they were very rich. However, they weren’t ones to live the life of extravagance. It wasn’t that they were frugal or anything like that—at least that what uncle Dorthna said—it was simply because they didn’t really have what they really wanted to buy.
The proof of their wealth could be seen in little things. Ninra’s college was one of those things. It was the best the country had to offer when you put their reputation and the success expectancy of their graduates. Two years ago it was voted the best school in the country on an educational standard. Last year it came third and Ark had cracked a joke about how Ninra’s IQ had dropped the school’s average IQ.
Another place where their riches showed, but only to a minute degree, was in the backyard.
First, it was the largest in the entire neighborhood. Their mom had always been in love with gardening, and whenever she had the time, she could always be seen here, tending to roses and hibiscuses and flowers with names Melmarc couldn’t remember.
It was as large as the entire house, maybe larger. She filled it with flowers aplenty so that their entire backyard was one wide patch of green field surrounded by colors. There were roses, hibiscuses, sunflowers, astrantia, astra, azalea, calendula. Or as Ark liked to call them: Red, purple, yellow, pink, white and vomit green.
Where he got the last part was anyone’s guess, but any time he made fun of how colorful the garden was, he never missed out on vomit green. So Melmarc never forgot it.
He couldn’t forget how happy their mom had been when she’d returned home to find the entire garden recreated. Their dad had called it a piece of her once, and Melmarc only came to agree the day their mom had come home.
It was like a privately owned enchanted forest. It smelled like it, too.
Melmarc took in another breath, inhaled the sweet smell of a garden properly cared for. It helped that whenever their mom wasn’t around uncle Dorthna was always more than happy to tend to it. On the one hand, it meant that he and Ark didn’t have to learn gardening. On another hand, if their mom had insisted they care for it, she was most likely going to end up with some dead flowers.
He found Ark squatted at one end of the garden. He had a wide and dusty brown hair. His shirt had two tears across the back. Each one was a straight line that gave a glimpse of his fair skin beneath the shirt.
Melmarc couldn’t remember any stories of Ark getting into a fight in school today so he couldn’t imagine what could have turn his brother’s shirt. And if he hadn’t heard of it, then his brother hadn’t gotten into one. It was just how it was, Ark’s fights were never quite.
The only reason he hadn’t still been expelled from school was because some of his fights were clearly justified in defense of Melmarc, and most of them were usually out of the reach of teachers.
“So what’s so important that you forgot you were supposed to tell me where to find you?” Melmarc said, approaching his brother.
Ark raised a hand to stall him, only half-turning but not looking at him. “Be quiet.”
“Okay,” Melmarc dragged the word, uncertain.
He stood where he was, not sure what his brother was doing. The only thing in the garden besides them and the garden, was a small box all the way on the other side of the garden.
Melmarc looked around one more time, then plopped down on the grass. It was soft, but capable of staining his pants.
“There we go,” Ark said finally, standing up and dusting his hands. The action left his dust filled hands less dirty but not anywhere near clean.
“Am I still playing mime or can I speak now?” Melmarc reached into his pants pocket and brought out his phone. “Or this going to be a waiting game so I can just start reading one of my books.”
So far the stories he read online had no new chapters coming out today. He’d only pulled his phone out because he’d had nothing he was doing with his hands. The part about reading his books was an empty bluff. Well, it wasn’t like he couldn’t go hunting for new books to read.
There’s always a hidden gem somewhere in here… or something I would like a lot less than the last story I didn’t like.
“You hurt my feelings.” Ark placed a hand to his chest in mock hurt, realized he’d just stained the shirt and proceeded to dust it off with his still dirty hand. After a brief moment, he stopped and looked at Melmarc. “I’m a klutz.”
Melmarc shrugged. “Look on the bright side. You could’ve been an ugly klutz.”
“Touché.”
“So why are we in the garden, Ark? Did you suddenly awaken without anyone noticing?” Melmarc had intended for the words to come out as a joke but there was no hiding the slight tension beneath it.
But why? It’s not like I’m worried.
One look at Ark’s face told him the answer to his question. The glint in his brother’s eyes and the wide smile dimmed slightly.
Melmarc felt bad for even bringing it up. I guess that’s a no.
“Way to hit right where it hurts,” Ark said, then did a three-sixty.
Melmarc noticed there were a few more tear marks on the front of his shirt. “What the hell happened to your shirt?”
“Nothing a trash can can’t fix,” Ark answered with a dramatic bow.
“But we’re not here about my shirt,” he continued before Melmarc could point out that the shirt seemed like a pretty important topic of conversation. “What we’re here for is complete more interesting. And just because I know the shirt’s going to bother you for a long while, what I’m about to show you is tied to the great mystery of my amazing shirt.”
“How did you even get in without anyone asking about your shirt?”
“That.” Ark pointed at something in the corner.
Melmarc looked. Crumpled in the corner was a grey hoodie, he didn’t recognize. “And no one asked why you were wearing a hoodie in the middle of summer? You’d think that would be worth a few questions.”
“Just last week, I took up lacrosse.” Ark shrugged. “I’m the impulsive one, remember? Anyway—”
“Whose hoodie is that?” Melmarc was still looking at the hoodie.
They had black hoodies and blue hoodies. No grey. He and his brothers had similar tastes in clothes and light colors weren’t part of those tastes.
“I borrowed Freda's hoodie.”
“You borrowed your girlfriend’s hoodie. I’m assuming this was after whatever happened to your shirt happened to your shirt, and she didn’t think to ask what happened?”
Ark just stood there, staring at him, saying nothing.
Melmarc’s brows wrinkled in a slight frown. “What?”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re a spoilsport?”
“Worrying about my brother doesn’t make me a spoilsport.”
“It does when he has an amazing announcement to make and you keep interrupting with boring questions. Now shut up and hear my announcement.”
Melmarc pressed his lips in a thin line. He pantomimed zipping his mouth closed.
“Now,” Ark stepped sideways, “as I was saying. I did not get any skill out of nowhere, and I’m not suddenly gifted. Sad, but I’m kinda accepting that at this point. The silver lining to that is you get a chance at having powers.”
“You do know that thing about how married gifted only have one child that gets to be gifted is just a rumor, right?” Melmarc interrupted.
Ark smirked. “Is it?”
“Think about it. We all know that skills aren’t some kind of mystic power. Its abilities generated from an accumulation of innate mana which cannot be measured. When someone has enough of it, it coalesces and forms your first skill.”
“You aren’t saying anything that supports you.”
“It’s like biology,” Melmarc explained. “If your heart pumps enough blood, you stay alive. If you don’t have enough platelets and protein plasma in your blood, you get issues with your blood clotting when you have an injury. If you don’t have enough innate mana, you don’t get a skill. So two Gifted only being able to have one gifted child doesn’t make sense. What if they have thirty children, do they only get one gifted? What if they have only one, does that one become the only gifted? What if they have one child and that child dies does that—”
“That’s dark,” Ark pointed out, and he paused.
“Fair point,” he conceded after a while. “My point is that two Gifted won’t get only one gifted child. Mana isn’t some mystic thing or sentient will that chooses who gets to have skills or not, just the way tallness and shortness doesn’t pick which kid is going to be tall or short when a tall person marries a short person. It’s just dumb luck.”
Silence settled between them when Melmarc was done.
Ark scratched the back of his neck. “If I was some random stranger listening to you over the phone, I’d think you were short.”
“I don’t think—”
“But that’s not why we’re here, spoilsport,” Ark interrupted him. “I will admit you’ve taken all the excitement out of it, but an announcement I have, and an announcement I must make.” He walked over to the cardboard box that occupied the back yard with them.
“There better not be another snake inside that box, Ark.” Melmarc didn’t like how whiny his voice sounded, but he really hated snakes.
The last one Ark had brought home had tried to bite him before Uncle Dorthna had found out about it and thrown it out.
Ark chuckled. “I already told you it’s not a snake.”
He bent down and held the box, then continued. “You know how I don’t have powers of any kind whatsoever?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’ve got the next best thing.” Then he raised the box. “Tada!”
Melmarc couldn’t tell what exactly it was he was looking at when the box came up. It was a bright orange with blue spots that glinted under the evening’s dying sun.
He could make out a tail, what could be scales on its orange body. He bent his head to the side. Is that a head?
Whatever it was, it looked a little too large, when compared to the rest of the body. He saw clawed limbs, too. So Ark was right, that definitely answered the question about his shirt.
Melmarc’s brows furrowed. “What am I looking at, Ark?”
“This,” Ark gestured at the creature, and it turned around, as if on cue, “is a dragon.”
The creature turned and Melmarc spotted stubbled horns extending from both sides of its head.
“Uhhh… Ark.”
“Yes?”
“I don’t think that’s a dragon.”
