Spike let out a sigh as he watched the white sands of the hourglass slowly drained into the bottom portion. His uncle’s scolding played in his mind repeatedly as he tried to figure ways to improve his work further. Spike had been told he made improvements, but the fruits of his labor was far from the quality his uncle wanted.
“Perhaps we should go over your vocabulary,” His uncle had muttered. “You’ve seem to have forgotten what perfect means. What else should I expect from you though? Go make us some dinner. Might as well be useful in the kitchen.”
While Tirek kept him busy with his studies, Spike also had several chores to tend to around the house. Sweeping, dusting, and even laundry all fell to Spike, as well as cooking. His culinary duties made Spike relieved that his uncle spared no expense when he built the kitchen. After all, Spike’s grandmother constantly said that food was only as good as the kitchen it was cooked in, and they had one of the best kitchens in Arcania.
There was a large stove with enough room to make six dishes at once. Next to the stove, a sink so Spike could clean the dirty plates and cups. On the left side of the stove was a stone countertop that was perfect for cutting meats and vegetables. Along the back wall was brick oven that could roast all kinds of meats. To the left of the cooking stations was a door that led to a large cellar filled with meats, cheeses, vegetables, fruits, more meats, countless containers of spices, boxes of teas, baked sweets, juices, and finally, wines. Spike didn’t know how the food stayed so fresh given that it sometimes sat for weeks, but his uncle gave him a rather simple answer. “Because of me.”
Tonight Spike had decided to bake a turkey, one of his uncle’s favorite foods. In case it was not enough to lift his uncle’s spirits, he had already cooked several side dishes and had brewed some of his uncle’s favorite tea. All that remained was the roasting bird that, judging by the smell and the sound of its simmering juices, was almost ready to come out of the oven. All that remained were a few moments of patience. The last of the white sand fell to the bottom of the hourglass and Spike instantly perked up.
Opening the oven, a powerful aroma wafted through the house, alerting Tirek that dinner was ready. Spike had already placed a bowl of vegetables, some gravy, freshly baked rolls, pan-fried fish and the tea in the center of the dining room table so that he and his uncle could reach each dish with ease. Spike grabbed the metal pan with his bare claws and carried it to the table, putting it atop three thick cloths. There was no point for Spike to wear oven mitts, as dragons could withstand most high heats. It was especially useful when handling boiling oil, as it was only warm sludge to Spike.
The moment Spike set the roasted fowl on the table; his uncle came lumbering in, taking his place at the head of the table. His uncle was not a healthy centaur by any means. Both sets of Tirek’s ribs were visible and each step, though precise, was unnaturally slow for a centaur. His two metal wristbands clung poorly to his wrists, and even his horns were much too small for a centaur his age, which was 72 to be exact, though most would say he looked to be almost 153. His arms seemed to lack any muscles, and his four legs did not look any better.
As Spike worried about his uncle’s physique, Tirek eyed each bit of the meal. It was pleasing for the most part. The rolls were steaming, the vegetables seemed fresh, the fowl had been baked perfectly, and best of all, the gravy seemed to be perfectly brewed. There was only one thing missing. “Where’s the wine?” Tirek asked, scowling at the steaming pot of tea.
“I-In the cellar,” Spike responded, taking a roll from the basket. He nibbled on the bread, hoping his uncle would leave it at that.
Tirek gripped the edge of the table, digging the tips of his nails deep into the wood. “So, you make dinner, and by your own volition, you leave out my wine?”
Spike put the roll down on his plate as he struggled to think of a response. “Well, I just thought yo-you’d like some tea instead.” He swallowed a forming lump in his throat before continuing. “I could get some cake from the cellar to go with it if you want.”
Tirek’s stare flattened. “Of course you would get me some cake. It’s certainly one way that you can ease the sting when you deprive me of one of the few joys in my life.” Tirek snorted as he lifted the pot and poured some tea into a small cup. “Part of me wonders what keeps you glued to that seat of yours. How arrogant must you be to sit there as you dictate to me, your uncle, what I am allowed to drink?”
“I-I’m the one who cooks, why can’t I decide what we drink?” Spike said, mumbling the last part.
The moment Spike’s words reached him, something snapped within Tirek. With his face twisting, the old centaur leaned in towards Spike. “Nephew, need I remind you who heads this household?” Spike tensed just the smallest bit as Tirek’s fingers contorted. “It seems that you forget who pays for the food you cook. Did you also forget whose home you cook the food in?” Tirek asked, reaching out and tearing a leg off the roasted bird. “Care to remind me whose roof shelters you from the elements, and keeps you warm at night?”
Biting the inner part of his cheek, Spike let out a small sigh as his head tilted downwards. “I’m sorry Uncle Tirek, but I don’t think wine is something that you need to have.”
“Don’t you dare talk back to me!” Tirek shouted, slamming his fist on the table.
Instantly Spike shrunk down in his seat, his eyes clenched shut.
His uncle glared at him as he reached for the gravy, pouring a bit of it on his drumstick. “What does a boy like you know about needs? Your needs are taken care of daily! And is it not I who takes care of them?”
“Yes, Uncle.”
Tirek spat out a sigh. “Your mother told me that dragons were a selfish lot, but ungrateful is certainly new. What is it that I give you? Lessons in all subjects, food, clothes, and a warm bed so you may rest your head. How do you repay me?” He asked, taking a bite out of his food. Swallowing, he answered, “By asking your poor uncle to deprive himself of a drink that allows him to relax after he works so hard to provide for you, a boy whose mother wanders the world for his father. Tell me, how is this justified?”
Spike remained silent as he stared at the table.
“Answer me, child.”
“I-it’s not.” Spike finally answered
Satisfied with the answer, Tirek let out a humph as he continued eating. “This comes from your father, no doubt. That blasted gargoyle, Mother and Father should have beaten the insolence out of Scorpan. If they’d done that, perhaps you would be more appreciative. But no, whenever your father was mentioned, only praises were sung. They called him charismatic, wise, understanding of the commoners!” Tirek lifted his cup and tipped it back, taking a much-needed sip of tea. “At least you are not like your siblings.”
Spike could see his uncle’s anger reigniting when he mentioned his siblings. His teeth began to grind as his horse legs tensed.
“Horrid, self-entitled wretches are what they are!” Taking half of the fish, Tirek began to munch loudly. “There’s no doubt in my mind that the only reason your mother left you with me was to keep you from ending up like those brats!”
“They’re not all like that,” Spike said, with much more force than he meant to. His uncle raised a single brow in response. Spike let out a sigh as he stared a hole into the floor. “Uncle, I think I’ve lost my appetite,” He finally said, pushing himself away from the table. “I’m going to go upstairs. Just call me when you’re finished.” He hopped down to the floor and started to leave, only to freeze when his uncle slammed his fist on the table.
“You are not going anywhere. Sit down and eat,” Tirek demanded, stacking the bones of his fish on his plate. Using his magic, he pushed the fowl towards Spike’s end of the table.
“It’s okay, Uncle, I’m just-”
“I’m not giving you a choice,” Tirek said in a hushed voice, taking a handful of rolls from the basket. “The last thing I need when your mother returns is you telling her how I starved you some nights. She wanted you taken care of, and I will not have you make a liar of me.”
Knowing that it was futile to argue, Spike returned to his seat and tore off a wing. He munched slowly as his thoughts fell on his siblings. Of his family, excluding his mother, Spike was the only dragon. His brothers and sisters, of which there were nine, were either gargoyles or centaurs. His older siblings, especially his eldest brother, saw him as a lesser. Those that were around his age tended to shy away from him, save for the youngest of all Scorpan’s children, whom thought him to be the greatest thing in the world. Spike looked at his own claw as a thought crept into the forefront of his mind.
“Uncle Tirek, why don’t I look anything like my dad or Grandpa?”
Swallowing his food and refilling his cup with tea, Tirek answered, “You can thank your mother for that. You were born to a dragon, therefore a dragon you are.” Igniting a small ball of fire between his two horns, Tirek traced a boney finger along the back of the turkey. The roasted bird fell in half, with Tirek taking the half with a missing leg. “There are races, like ponies, that can mix and become something new. Gargoyles and centaurs are a race that cannot. They can breed with one another, but the resulting child is either one or the other. When a male has a child with a dragon, this is our downfall. Dragons hatch, and only a dragon may survive in their egg. You are just what you should be. And in a way, you are part gargoyle, just as am I. In your veins flows the blood of Scorpan, the blood of a gargoyle, just as Haydon’s blood flows through my veins.”
“But then-”
“If you wonder how I know you are my nephew, how your father knows that you are his son-” Tirek lifted his half of the turkey to his mouth and bit into its flesh, ripping off its moist white meat and crisp, flavorful skin. “-I used alchemy,” He said as he chewed. “It may as well be the most worthless subject there is, but it has its uses. Now eat, I don’t need you complaining about an empty stomach later tonight.”
Spike began to carve his half of the bird, and slowly ate his fill.
There was nothing left of the meal by the time they were finished. Spike began to collect the dishes. “So, how was it?” Spike asked as he hopped on top of a stool and placed the dishes and silverware into a tub of water. Taking a brush, he began to scrub the bits and pieces of food off the plates.
“It would have been better had your work not soured my mood,” Tirek grunted, stretching his arms. “I expect you to do better tomorrow.”
“I’ll try.”
“If you’re only going to try then you’ve already failed,” Tirek sneered. “Trying is non-existent, there is either success or failure. So make sure you succeed.” He stood up and cracked his neck. “Clean up, and get to bed as soon as you’re done, I want you up early tomorrow. Perhaps if I keep an eye on you, you’ll actually do well in your studies.”
Tirek retreated to the basement, leaving Spike alone with his chores. As he worked, Spike periodically glanced towards the basement door. There were several clanks as his uncles loud grunts and annoyed growls seeped softly into the kitchen. After he finished cleaning the dishes in the sink, perhaps he could collect the dishes from his uncle’s room. At least then, Tirek could work without worrying about plates falling over.
Spike quickened his pace as his eyelids began to grow heavy. His grandmother’s turkey recepe always did seem to tire the poor boy out quickly. Fighting the urge to scurry up to his bed and sleep, Spike finished scrubbing and placed the dishes on a rack to dry.
Stepping away from the sink, Spike went to the basement entrance. He gently gripped the doorknob and slowly opened the door, careful not to make a sound. The only light that leaked into the darkness of the stairwell was the light that came from the countless lanterns that hung about their home. Taking a deep breath, Spike began his descent.
The steps creaked loudly with every step that he took, no doubt alerting Tirek of his presence. With each creek, he could hear his uncle’s voice grow more and more frustrated. Upon entering the room, Spike noticed that the only light was a dim candle on his uncle’s desk. “Uncle Tirek?” Spike called as he stood behind his uncle.
“Is this your room?” Tirek asked.
“No, but-”
“Spike, what did I tell you to do when you finished washing the dishes?”
“I was to go straight to bed, but Uncle, I-”
“Then there had better be a good reason that you are in my workspace, and not brushing your teeth and getting ready for bed,” Tirek growled, rolling up a scroll.
“I heard a few dishes clatter and I just thought that maybe you’d like me to collect them, Uncle,” Spike said.
Tirek murmured to himself before unraveling a new scroll. “So gallant," He said, "cleaning a room you have no business being in. Anything if it allows you to stay up. I suppose that you’ll want to stay in bed just a few minutes longer tomorrow because of how hard you worked tonight?”
“No Uncle. I promise that I’ll get up early.”
“What a meaningless sentiment,” Tirek grumbled. “Very well.” An orb ignited between his horns. All around plates and cups began to gather, stacked in a single neat tower. Tirek turned away from his desk and made his way up to the main floor, with Spike quickly following.
“Uncle, I can-” Tirek turned his head and raised a single brow. “Nevermind,” Spike mumbled.
Tirek placed the stack next to the sink. “After you finish cleaning these, get to bed. No excuses. Are we clear?”
“Yes sir,” Spike nodded.
“Good.”
Spike put his clothes into a bin that rested at the foot of his bed, replacing his eveningwear with a single nightshirt that stretched down to his ankles. It had taken him half an hour to clean the second set of dishes, but he was happy to do it.
Spike walked slowly as he made his way through the room; the only light that illuminated his path was a small candle that stood at the side of his bed and the moonlight that came through the room’s skylight. Spike climbed into his bed, and fell face first into his pillow. Wrapping himself in his covers, he turned to look at his desk.
“Night mom,” he said, stealing a glance of his picture. “I love you.” He blew out the candle and let the sound of silence carry him off into sleep.
He had a dream he was with his mother and father.