13.

  "What the hell was that?" I asked the Pigeon King after explaining what had happened in the cinema.

  I had hopped two trains and a rail car, looking over my shoulder the entire way. The unsettling feeling of something watching and following me never left, and I eyed every shadow and dark patch with suspicion the entire way.

  "Oh, it's nothing, little mageling. Don't be so easily frightened," the Pigeon King said, waving a dismissive wing at me. "These sorts of places are filled with the remnants of life. Spirits and shades cling to the mortal realm in such places. They're harmless enough.”

  "It spoke to me," I said to him.

  “It did?” the Pigeon Kind said. “What did it say?”

  “It said I have been seen.”

  The Pigeon King stopped his preening and looked at me with sharp, golden eyes.

  "Oh, well, that is disconcerting," the Pigeon King said and then shrugged his wings. "These entities are tied to specific locations. You do not have to fear. The thing has not followed you, and it cannot harm you, mageling. Now, did you get the ingredients?" he asked, changing topics quickly.

  "Yes, I got the white dove feather, the shadow, and the remnants of memory, or whatever you called it," I said, pulling the two vials and the dove's feather from my pocket.

  "And you bottled the shadow at its longest?" the Pigeon King questioned.

  "Yes, I did it right as the sun rose. The shadows couldn't have been longer.”

  "Good, good job, mageling," the Pigeon King said.

  We were back in the churchyard, which seemed to be the Pigeon King’s base during the day, and the pigeons had somehow converted the birdbath into a cauldron, with a fire crackling underneath and water bubbling inside.

  "Is this the potion?" I asked.

  "Well, it's the base for a potion," the Pigeon King replied. "You see, all potions begin in the same way: water, fire, earth, air. These are the basic elements of life. With these ingredients, we shall make you a potion to make you as fleet of wing as the finest racing pigeons.”

  "It's gonna give me wings?" I asked excitedly.

  "Well, not literally. Come on, mageling, I speak in metaphor. Keep up!" the Pigeon King snapped at me. "Now, similar to how you craft anything else, it requires concentration and deliberate action. You are going to craft this since it is for you, and while we pigeons have centuries of experience, we don't know exactly what it feels like to be a human. Only you can know what it would feel like for your limbs to suddenly be lighter and faster, and for your whole body to feel more agile and powerful. This is a thought I need you to keep in mind while we brew. Understand?"

  I nodded.

  "Good. Now, first, take the white dove feather, and I want you to imagine your body feeling as light as that feather, to be blown on the wind back and forth, a mere gust could take you away any moment," the Pigeon King said.

  I closed my eyes and tried to find that meditative place. It was coming to me easier nowadays. I didn't have to spend 20 or even 30 minutes sometimes to try and create these pictures and live within them. It was still too long for the Pigeon King who sighed and tapped his claws, which made it even harder for me to concentrate.

  “It doesn’t usually take this long,” I muttered, feeling sweat trickle down the nape of my neck.

  “Are you having performance anxiety?” The Pigeon King tittered.

  I ground my teeth and silently cursed the fat pigeon. I forced my mind to calm. I ran my fingers gently across the soft feather and repeated the Pigeon King’s words in my mind. Poorly rendered images began to swim around my mind. I clung to those images, trying to sort them, to build on them, to find the truth within them. I imagined the sensation of being as light as the feather, of flying on the winds. I pictured myself up amongst the clouds, rolling listlessly on a gentle breeze. There it was! Carefully, I submerged the feather into the potion, and the water bubbled fiercely.

  "Good," the Pigeon King said. "Now I want you to take that shadow, and I want you to imagine yourself as weightless and immaterial as a shadow. Imagine the lengthening shadows and how light can dissipate them in a second."

  It was more of an abstract thought, but I was in the zone now. I pictured the long lamppost and the way its shadow crawled from beneath it as the sun began to rise. I pictured lines of light breaking up the shadow and consuming it. BEads of perspiration peppered my top lip and forehead now.

  "Take the vial, uncork it, and drop it into the potion quickly," the Pigeon King instructed.

  I did as he commanded, keeping the image in my mind, and I dropped the vial into the cauldron. Out of the corners of my vision, I noticed the potion starting to change colors; it was turning a strange purplish shade.

  "Now, for the final vial," the Pigeon King said. "You must imagine your life as fleeting as those that have passed before you. You are the shade, you are the nothing, unable to be seen, heard, touched, or felt. You know neither cold nor warmth, nor love or hate. You simply exist, weightless and unnoticed."

  A shiver ran through my body. I knew what it felt like to be nothing. To be ignored. To be uncared for and forgotten. My hands began to tremble. The corners of my mouth tugged into a frown. A lump formed in the back of my throat. Oh yes, I was all too familiar with being nothing. Cold sweat dripped down my lower back. My breathing had become ragged and uneven. Then I saw it… the eyeless shade. Its long red tongue licked its teeth, saliva dripped from its maw… it was coming closer. My whole body was shaking. I raised the bottle.

  "Stop!" the Pigeon King commanded, and I froze. "Think," the Pigeon King said simply. "Still your mind. There can be no fear, no doubt, no resignation. Think again, boy, and don't you dare put that vial anywhere near this potion until you are absolutely sure of yourself. There can be no doubt."

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  The Pigeon King's voice was surprisingly harsh, but it steadied me. I started to think again, trying to ignore the blooming silhouette of blackness at the corner of my vision. I swallowed down the lump in my throat and took long deep breaths through my nose.

  It took a long time to slow my thumping heart. I stood there long enough for my feet to begin to hurt. Slowly, cautiously, I began to put myself back in that cinema. I began to hear the little girl's voice, the shade that just wanted to watch her film with her parents and eat her popcorn and laugh and giggle. That same warm sensation washed over me again, and this time I was absolutely certain.

  Without waiting for the Pigeon King, I uncorked the vial and slid it into the cauldron. I heard a hiss and a whoosh of power. I opened my eyes and saw the concoction bubbling and roiling. Two pigeons walked in circles around it, dragging branches through it to stir the potion. The Pigeon King flapped his wings and hovered above the cauldron, muttering something I could not understand, peering intently into the potion's surface. There was a crackle of energy, and the pigeons scattered. Only the Pigeon King remained, chanting softly to himself.

  "Take it off the fire, mageling," the Pigeon King said, his voice a low growl. I did as he commanded, dragging the former bird bath-turned-cauldron off of the fire and placing it gently on the floor. The Pigeon King alighted next to the potion and sniffed it. "I think we may have just got it right," he said, nodding his head approvingly. "You aren't as dense as you look."

  "Thanks," I replied, mopping sweat from my brow.

  "You're most welcome, my featherless follower."

  The Pigeon King strutted around the cauldron, then flapped his wings and landed on top of his favorite statue, looking down at me. "The potion will take a small while to brew. Once it is ready, you will have only 30-60 minutes before its effects wear off."

  I nodded, feeling suddenly exhausted. The night's adventures had kept me awake, and I couldn't remember the last time I slept properly.

  "Go now, my featherless follower, and return to me tonight once you are rested and fed, and we shall dine on the finest donuts in the land!" the Pigeon King cried out.

  "Sure," I mumbled, yawning deeply and scratching my head.

  "Return at dusk, Mageling, and not a moment later."

  "No problem," I replied. "Goodbye, my… lord… Pigeon," I said, still unsure about the formalities of our relationship. But the Pigeon King seemed satisfied and waved me on with a wing. I yawned deeply again and yearned for my bed. It had been a long night.

  *

  I was so exhausted I slept right through the day, resurfacing somewhere around sunset with just enough time left to wolf down some stale bread that I had recovered from the dustbin outside the supermarket on the way home. Once I had choked that down, and drunk enough water to make me feel nauseous, I was back on my way to the market square to meet up with the Pigeon King.

  "Mageling, you have returned!" the Pigeon King cried out as I approached the market square.

  There seemed to be even more pigeons now, hundreds of them, all roosted and scattered about the market square, pecking and cooing and flapping their wings aggressively. It was like a veritable army of them, and the Pigeon King sat, if a pigeon can sit, on what looked like a small makeshift throne fashioned from a doll's rocking chair. The Pigeon King lounged on his throne, throwing his wings left and right, welcoming me.

  "The potion is ready, young mageling. Are you?”

  "I guess so," I said, feeling suddenly uncertain about consuming a magic potion of whose effect I had only the Pigeon King's word for.

  "Then step forward and become a flightless bird!" The Pigeon King threw his wings wide and indicated a small cup laid out in front of him.

  I approached the cup and picked it up. The potion congealed into a sluggish, thick green goop. I eyed it suspiciously and gave it a sniff. It smelled strangely salty, like seaweed.

  "Come now, boy, don't be shy," the Pigeon King said with a wicked look in his eye.

  I took a deep breath, looked around at the amassed army of pigeons, held my breath, and then drank from the cup. It actually didn't taste terrible, a touch on the salty side, and the consistency left much to be desired. I had to chew it in order to get it down, but I gulped away at the potion while the Pigeon King watched me with open fascination. I finished the potion, wiped my mouth, and looked up at him.

  "Did it work?" I asked.

  The Pigeon King flapped down from his perch and paced around me, his head bobbing in rhythm with his steps.

  "Perhaps," he replied. "Try to do something.”

  "Like what?" I asked.

  "I don't know. Jump.”

  "How high?" I replied sarcastically, and the Pigeon King just cocked his head.

  I rolled my eyes and then jumped. Nothing particularly seemed different.

  "Give it a moment," he said, seeing my unimpressed face.

  I waited for a moment, pacing around in circles, jiggling myself, trying to feel if anything changed, if anything was different. Then I jumped again, and this was marginally higher. I landed with barely a sound and then bent my knees and jumped again, and this time I cleared at least four, maybe five, feet from the ground from a dead stop. I surprised myself, windmilling my arms in midair, and as I landed, there was barely a sound, barely a feeling. I didn't even need to bend my knees.

  "Cool!" I exclaimed.

  "Good," the Pigeon King cooed. "Try to run and jump up onto that ledge there." He flapped his wing at a ledge above a door that had to be at least 10 feet off the ground.

  I nodded and ran for the ledge. I leaped, and it felt so strange, as if I weighed nothing. I floated through the air, hit the ledge, and then pulled myself up with barely a recognition of effort. I stood on the ledge, then hopped again and grabbed the top of the building, pulling myself over that edge and onto the roof. This felt amazing!

  On a whim, I ran towards the end of the building and leapt, crossing the alleyway below, which had to have been at least eight or nine feet wide, onto the next building, hitting it and rolling, feeling almost nothing in the impact. It was like I was made of bubbles or feathers or shadows. I kept sprinting, relishing the feeling of running so fast, and I leapt again, clearing at least 12 feet this time. As I landed, I hopped over a small chimney breast in a fluid motion, landing without any sound whatsoever. I skidded to a halt and walked over to the edge of the building. All the pigeons looked up at me, and they flapped their wings excitedly. The Pigeon King flew from his throne to hover in front of me.

  "I see it worked then.”

  I looked down at my hands and at my feet and looked up eagerly.

  "Awesome," I said to him.

  "I imagine so," the Pigeon King replied. "But be aware, mageling, all power comes with a trade-off. This potion will last perhaps an hour at most. You need to make sure that you are back before then because all the energy you are expending now is going to have a come back.”

  "What do you mean?" I asked.

  "You are taxing your muscles," the Pigeon King explained. "Your body is using up resources and muscles in a way it's never done before. When the potion wears off, well, everyone must pay their debts.”

  I wanted to feel nervous after that cryptic warning, but I was too buzzed from the potion. I just wanted to run and jump and see how far and high and fast I could go.

  "Don't waste time, mageling," the Pigeon King snapped, as if he read my mind. "Get to the bakery and bring me my confectionaries!”

  "No problem," I said with a grin, and then I took off running, flying across the rooftops, whooping and yelling, feeling a level of exhilaration I'd never experienced in my entire life.

  Magic is awesome!