The bloated sun took its time falling behind the Western Range.  Sunset drenched the arid waste in blood, turning thin streaks of cloud into polished copper.  Elsewhere, the sky dimmed, a tarnished green shield.  Despite the sweep of evening, hours would pass before blessed coolness would come.  Melony faced the unrelenting wind that was so much warmer than those back in green, civilized lands.
        At least it’s a dry heat.
       The wooden wagon jolted her left and right as it struggled with the disreputable road.  Melony held the reins of the slogg, keeping the plodding lizard on track while the wagon’s owner stretched out in back, lost in a drunken stupor.  His raucous snore shredded her nerves, urging her toward murder.  This was her second trip into the waste with Hurmond and things weren’t getting better.
       Get a job, they said.  Be productive, they said.  See the world!  Feh.  Double feh!
       The family just wanted to be rid of the embarrassment of a null.  Like it was her fault she was born without magic.  She looked ahead to a lifetime of manual labor, scorning the designs of fate.
       Slavery, that’s what it is.  I do all the work, and the glass monger rakes in all the silvers.  Has he no pride, taking advantage of a sweet young girl like me? Tight-fisted old geezer.
       At least she didn’t have to put up with untoward advances.  In that one regard, he was quite respectful.
       She longed for a hot bath with rose petals floating on the water.  And clothes befitting her station in life.  She looked down at herself, mortified to be wearing her brother’s hand-me-down pants and shirt.  With her hair in a tight bun under the straw hat, she was far from her once-upon-a-time fetching self.  It had been explained to her that passing as a boy, she’d be much safer on the road.  Especially without magic.
        She hadn’t wanted to leave Mott, Allurea’s capital city, especially to traipse through the accursed wasteland.  Besides shriveling heat, frequent dust storms, and the occasional bandit, the area harbored the wyrd, lifeforms pulled by sorcery from other realities.  As surviving weapons of the Mage War, these dangerous creatures were trapped in the human world with no one left to send them home.  The dark magic that had brought them here was outlawed, forbidden under penalty of death, and its use lost in history.  No one wanted to go back to the days when horrific spells destroyed cities and armies with ease.
       The snoring in the back stopped.  Her master’s quivery voice arose, “Pull off the road.  We’ll make camp here.”
       “Here?” Melony asked.  As far as she knew, there were no ruins nearby, no old battle sites.
       “Here,” Hurmond said.  “I smell glass.”
       Well, she had to give the old fossil credit; he had a talent for finding old slag in the waste.  His nose could also tell if the deformed glass had any lingering magic attached.  Old slag was used to make new glass, the kind sold in Mott for huge profits.  If the attached magic wasn’t dangerous, it could be bonded to a new task in the new vessel.  Magical glassware!  Once she learned the skill of finding it, handling it, reforming it, she’d have all the money she wanted for the life she deserved.  The problem was, with an apprentice for labor, the old man was in no hurry to pass on his exalted skills.  She’d even said please.
       She guided the slogg off road, not that there was much difference.  The old road was half buried and had desert thornwood trying to root in the cracks of old pavement stones.  Thornwood was what she mostly used to feed the campfires.  At night, there was a little comfort in simmering stew, flame-orange light, and in the bitter-sweet scent of crackling, burning thorn. 
       The wagon stopped by a boulder that showed signs of once having a manmade shape.  It had been square before ages of dusty wind had eroded the edges.  She looked farther afield and saw jumbled stones in a patch of thornwood.  There had been a structure here once.  Hurmond’s nose hadn’t failed him.
       Melony jumped down and tended the slogg, freeing the beast of the wagon, letting it find a spot where it wanted to curl up for the night.  The enchanted collar it wore wouldn’t let it wander far.  Going to the side of the wagon so it blocked the prevailing wind, she set up camp, making a ring of stones, filling it with wood to cook the food.  The iron tripod went over the fire.  It supported the cookpot.  Some of their precious water went into the pot.  She added assorted scraps from the wagon’s stores to get dinner going, then carried a couple of pinkish-brown melons to the lizard.
       It perked up, tasting the air with a long, forked tongue.  The bashi fruit was its favorite, combining food with drink.  She lobbed the fruit and watched the beast snap the melons from the air, crunching through the outer shell.
       Returning to the cookpot, she saw the old prospector with his walking staff in hand, tottering toward the thornwood grove.  As usual, he was following his nose.  She watched his back, wondering what magic actually smelled like.  Would good magic smell like the air just before a thunderstorm hit?  Would bad magic smell like bad water, or rotted egg?  She sniffed the air, hoping for a clue.  Nothing.
       It was enough to make her cry.  When a child, she’d been amazed by the performers in the streets, the low-level conjurors using shadow and light to create living stories.  She’d once seen a new section of city wall when a war wizard blessed it, pouring cold blue light into the stone and mortar so it wouldn’t easily fail—not that they’d had anything close to a real war in a hundred years.  She’d wanted to go to the best private academy to study magic.  But she’d been tested.  She was a null.  That had been the death of all her hopes and dreams.  She wiped a lone tear from her cheek.
       How bitter, to love magic so much and have no ability in it at all? 
       She was cursed.  It was all a cruel and pointless joke.  It had been explained to her by her parents; she was expected to keep her head high, make the best of things, and not further shame her family.  They’d suggested she might want to marry soon to change her last name.
       She sat by the fire, stirring the pot occasionally, and waited for her master’s return.  As the light waned, she went to the wagon for the pole lanterns with their oil reservoirs.  Hurmond would need the extra light to examine any finds he’d bring back.  She laid out a blanket where he could place his finds, getting it there just in time as the old man came trudging back, an arm pressed across his body.
       He eased himself down and dropped his staff off to the side.  Bending forward, he spilled the objects he carried.  Chunks of smooth glass gleamed on the blanket, deep red, green, and clear pieces.  They had the look of things that had melted in fire and later cooled, forming puddled shapes.  He used one finger to stir the slag, flipping and turning the glass.  He peered intently at his finds.
       “Any magic on them?” Melony asked.
       His finger brushed the red pieces off to one side.  He smiled at them.  “Oh, yes.  Tomorrow, we’ll sift through the ruins and sift the soil.  Might find more than just glass.  Yes, indeed.”
       “Dinner’s ready,” she told him.  “Want to wash up a little first?”
       Hurmond stared at her like she’d lost all reason.  “Still hanging onto your fancy manners? You are stubborn, but that will take you far, child.  That will take you far.”
       A bestial scream stabbed the sky.
       They froze, shuddering, touched by fear.  “That’s close,” Melony whispered.
       The slogg lifted its head, eyes blinking, black tongue tasting the air.   It hissed in warning.
       “Too close, but after a march of days, we’re probably overdue some excitement,” Hurmond said.  “Put the spell-wards out, and pray, girl, they’re strong enough for the job.”
       She leaped up and ran to the rear of the wagon.  Many trips passed without incident but few dared make a living from the wasteland.  When trouble did approach, the very expensive ward stakes usually deflected the wyrd, but there were some very rare war-beasts that only a wizard could handle.  This was what all sand-rakers dreaded.
       She flung the canvas aside and checked her motion.  Designed to go on all four limbs, a creature squatted inside, caught with its paws sorting through various items.  The beast had skin like leather, contrasting with dark patches of green fur, and a tightly curled tail.  Its eyes were butter-amber, its lower face rounded, a wide-lipped snout.  It bared its fangs at the interruption, hissing a warning.
       Melony knew that the size of the beast—the same as many household pets—wasn’t an indication of power.  Though not a physical behemoth, it might still have a magical nature that could prove lethal.  And it was eyeing her now, almost like it wondered if she might be tasty.
       Hurmond called out to her, “What’s taking you so long, girl?”
       The lump in her throat stopped her from answering.  The lump in her cooking apron gave her hope.  She drew out a wedge of tollum, a rust colored, slightly acid vegetable used in cooking.  Slowly, she held it out, snatching her hand back and dropping the morsel as the beast rocked toward her, reaching out.  It caught the treat and stuffed it in its mouth.  Its distended lips looked funny, but she dared not laugh.  Anything could trigger an attack.
       Once again the savage howl sounded in the dunes.  Closer this time.  She looked at the poles inside the wagon with the ceramic bowls on their heads.  She looked back to the small threat right in front of her.  “Please,” she whispered, “I really need those.”
       Chewing, swallowing, the small creature scooped up the poles capped with ceramic bowls and fuses, offering them.  “X’on!”
       Melony took them, easing back with the ward staffs in her arms.  “Thank you.”
       She ran back to the camp with her warning.  “There’s a beast—”
       Hurmond waved off her words, snatching two of the poles from her grasp.  “Yes, yes, sent you for the wards didn’t I?  I’ll place these.  You do the others the way I taught you.”  He went past his blanket and the precious slag, and rammed the pointed end of a stick into the loose soil.  He paused long enough to make sure the pole wouldn’t fall over, paced off ten steps, and planted the next pole.
       Melony planted her first pole so that three corners of a square were formed.  She placed her last pole so they were all equally spaced.
       The roar exploded closer than ever, the vibration of it felt through her boots like the whole waste was shaking.   Their spell-chained lizard made a clicking sound, its eyes rolling independent of each other as it ran for cover against the far side of the wagon, only its vaned tail poking out.  Melony didn’t like leaving it exposed, but she knew the beast might stampede from a warded area if scared, and might accidently destroy their only protection.  With sticks from the fire, she and the old man lit fuses on the ceramic bowls.  The tightly twisted cloth burned.  The fire climbed.  In a moment, the fuses were gone and the bowls were smoking.  Like war banners, pale gray streamers wagged in the wind.
       The old man went to the cook pot and used a ladle to fill a tin cup.  He pulled out his personal spoon from a pocket and started eating.  He paused to point at the pot with the spoon.  There was no fear or disquiet in his voice.  “Eat.  If we have-tuh make a run for it, and lose the wagon, you’ll not likely see a meal again until we leave the waste.  The liquid will do you good, too.”
       Melony scooped some stew out into a tin cup of her own, pulling a spoon from her apron, but she didn’t eat.  She tried to remain calm, to tell herself that the wards would turn the monsters back and send them all away.
       Vile curses on all mage-beasts.  If only I had real magic to protect me.  Magic to depend upon.  Magic to cherish…
       The old man’s spoon scraped in his cup.  “Eat, girl.  If death comes, you don’t have to face it hungry.”
       She went to the blanket and sat, staring into her cup, stirring the contents.  Her gaze went to the slag beside her.  “Can’t we use the glass?  You said some magic lingered.”
       “There’s neither time nor tools to be working the slag.  Our little fire certainly isn’t hot enough.  Just wait.  Sometimes, that’s all that needs doing to survive.”
       Painfully loud, the roar burst from the ruins in the thornwood grove.  The monster would find them soon—or not.  It all depended on the smoke.  She looked at the smoke.  Was it thinning already?  The wards were supposed to burn through twelve nights.  Had the smoke merchant cheated them?
       She looked at the wagon.  Their hiding slogg-beast was shuddering from fear, shaking the whole thing.  “Can’t we just hitch up the slogg and make a run for it?”
       “How far do you think we’d get?  Even mage-beasts that aren’t hungry will chase down prey for the sport of it.  Let’s not be entertainment.  Hush, now.  No talking.”  He stood next to the fire, turning to see if the monster would approach any closer.
       Melony sighed, blinking back tears.  If only I had power!
       A light pattering of feet caught her attention.  She turned on the blanket, her back to the old man.  On the other side of the blanket, inside the wards, was the small thing from the back of the wagon.  It pointed a crooked finger at her cup.  “X’on!”
       Melony held out the cup.  She spoke very softly.  “Here you go, X’on.”
       The small beast ambled across the blanket, disregarding the slag completely.  X’on reached out and gently took the cup from her hand.  Pulling out the spoon, he dropped the utensil on the blanket.  X’on upended the cup, slurping with great enjoyment.
       “Damn it all,” Hurmond cursed.  “The mage-beast is coming on.  What is wrong with these wards?  I know I got them half-price, but still…”
       She saw the mage-beast now, pushing out of the thornwood, protected by a thick reptilian hide.  Its over-sized head looked to be all teeth, its small, green-lit eyes like pieces of slag warmed by magic.  It was sniffing carefully, trying to read the air.  It stood on large hind feet, walking like a man.  Its four tiny arms seemed delicate by comparison to the rest of it.  They were three-fingered and clawed.  A massive tail hung behind it, giving balance.   It was easily twice the height of the wagon, maybe bigger.  And its gaze somehow found the cook-fire.  It screamed, a rusty hinge sound that shivered her near to death.  It took a large step closer.  Then another.
       Melony closed her eyes.  We’re doomed!  Doomed!  Doomed!
      Passing by, something nudged her.  She opened her eyes.  X’on had placed himself between her and the threat.  His furry tail coiled her wrist and then let go.  “X’on!” he said.
       As the last of the ward smoke died, the huge mage-beast roared and broke into a run.  Its clawed feet slapped the powdery dirt.
       The old man moved so he’d be the first target.  He yelled, “Melony, run!”
       Cold dread slithered down her spine.  Melony shivered.  Reduced to immobility, she stared.
       X’on scampered past the old man.
       He froze, staring.  “What in the wasteland is that?”
       X’on didn’t answer, bearing down on the massive lizard that had so very many teeth.  The littler monster leaped.  And spun.  And slapped the lizard’s face with its fuzzy tail.  There was a thunderclap.  The tail’s brush shoved the lizard’s head viciously sideways.  Its roar cut off mid-shriek.  It staggered sideways, dancing a little to stay on its feet.  Blood dripped from its slavering maw.
       Blinking in confusion, its head came back to face X’on.
       X’on landed.  He didn’t move.  He didn’t growl.  He waited, staring up.
       The lizard backed slowly away, veered, and ran out across the deepening evening.
       X’on made a spitting sound and chattered a little, as if to say “Don’t come back!”  He turned and walked back to the wards.  While he’d been outside them, the smoke had strengthened, reigniting.  But as X’on crossed into the barrier zone once more, the smoke went out, suppressed by a stronger magic.
       The old man stared at X’on, taking care not to make a sudden move.
       X’on passed him, returning to Melony, climbing into her lap, hugging her.  She ruffled his fur, stroking his back.  “X’on’s a good little monster, isn’t he?”  She felt a deep surge of bubbling joy.  I finally have magic in my hands.