by C. E. Murphy
And the forest—the wild forest.
I squint into the distance and make out the curious shapes of several large white birds flying in from the wilds. They’re different from any birds I’ve ever seen before, with huge, fanning wings, so light they seem iridescent.
As I watch them, I’m overcome by a strange sense of foreboding, as if the earth is shifting beneath my feet.
I forget, for a moment, about the basket of pig slop I’m balancing on my hip, and some large vegetable remnants fall to the ground with a dull thud. I glance down and stoop to gather them back into the basket.
When I straighten again and look for the strange white birds, they’re gone.
CHAPTER 3: GOODBYES
That night I’m in my quiet bedroom, softly illuminated by the gentle glow of the lantern on my desk. As I pack, my hand passes through a shadow, and I pause to look at it.
Like all Gardnerians, my skin shimmers faintly in the dark. It’s the mark of the First Children, set down on us by the Ancient One above, marking us as the rightful owners of Erthia.
At least, that’s what our holy book, The Book of the Ancients, tells us.
The traveling trunk Aunt Vyvian has brought for me lies open on the bed. It hits me that I’ve never been away from my uncle for more than a day, not since my brothers and I came to live with him when I was three, after my parents were killed in the Realm War.
It was a bloody conflict that raged for thirteen long years and ended with my grandmother’s death in battle. But it was a necessary war, my beleaguered country relentlessly attacked and ransacked at the beginning of it. By the time it ended, Gardneria was allied with the Alfsigr Elves, ten times its original size, and the new, major power in the region.
All thanks to my grandmother, The Black Witch.
My father, Vale, was a highly ranked Gardnerian soldier, and my mother, Tessla, was visiting him when Keltic forces struck. They died together, and my uncle took us in soon after.
My little white cat, Isabel, jumps into my trunk and tries to pull a string from my old patchwork quilt. It’s the quilt my mother made while pregnant with me, and it’s linked to the only vivid memory I have of her. When I wrap myself in it, I can hear, faintly, the sound of my mother’s voice singing me a lullaby, and almost feel her arms cradling me. No matter how bad a day I’ve had, just wrapping myself in this quilt can soothe me like nothing else.
It’s as if she sewed her love right into the soft fabric.
Next to my trunk stands my apothecary kit, vials neatly stacked inside, tools secured, the medicines meticulously prepared. I’ve inherited this affinity for medicinal plants and herbs from my mother. She was a gifted apothecary, well-known for several creative tonics and elixirs that she developed.
Beside my apothecary supplies lies my violin, case open, its amber, lacquered wood reflecting the lantern light. I run my fingers along the violin’s smooth surface.
I made this instrument, and there’s no way I can part with it. I’m not supposed to know how to make violins, since women aren’t allowed in the music crafter’s Guilds. My uncle hesitated to teach me, but as time went on, he became increasingly aware of my natural talent and relented.
I love everything about violin-making. My hands have always been drawn to wood, soothed by it, and I can tell just by touching it what type it is, whether or not the tree was healthy, what kind of sound it will support. I can lose myself for hours on end carving, sanding, coaxing the raw wood into the graceful shapes of violin parts.
Sometimes we play together, my uncle and I, especially during the winter evenings by the light of the hearth.
A polite knock on the door frame breaks my reverie, and I turn to see my uncle standing in the open doorway.
“Am I disturbing you?” My uncle’s face is gentle and softer than usual in the dim, warm light. His words, however, have a troubling edge of concern to them.
“No,” I reply tentatively. “I’m just finishing packing.”
“Can I come in?” he asks, hesitating. I nod and take a seat on my bed, which looks forlorn and foreign without its quilt. My uncle sits down next to me.
“I imagine you’re feeling quite confused,” he says. “Your aunt sent word a few months ago that she might be paying us a visit at some point, to discuss your future. So I started to make arrangements with the University. Just in case. I knew it was possible that she’d come for you someday, but I was hoping it wouldn’t be for a few more years at least.”
“Why?” I ask. I’m incredibly curious about why Aunt Vyvian has taken such a sudden interest in me—and why Uncle Edwin is so rattled by it.
My uncle wrings his clasped hands. “Because I do not believe what your aunt wants for your future is necessarily the best thing for you.” He pauses and sighs deeply. “You know I love you and your brothers as much as if you were my own children.”
I lean over onto his shoulder. His wool vest is scratchy. He puts his arm around me, and some of the stray hairs from his scraggly beard tickle my cheek.
“I’ve tried to shelter you, and protect you,” he continues, “and I hope that your parents, if they were here, would understand why I’ve made the decisions that I have.”
“I love you, too,” I say, my voice cracking, my eyes filling with tears.
I’ve wanted to venture out for so long, but it’s suddenly hitting me—I won’t see my uncle or my loving home for a long time. Maybe not until spring.
“Well, now, what’s this?” he asks, rubbing my shoulder to comfort me.
“It’s just all so fast.” I sniff back the tears. “I want to go, but…I’ll miss you. And Isabel, too.” Isabel, perhaps sensing my need for comfort, jumps onto my lap, purring and kneading me.
And I don’t want you to be lonely with me gone.
“Oh, there now,” my uncle says, as he hugs me tighter. “Don’t cry. I’ll take good care of Isabel, and you’ll see her soon enough. You’ll be back before you know it, with tales of all sorts of grand adventures.”
I wipe at my tears and pull away to look up at him. I don’t understand the urgency. He’s always been so reluctant to let me go anywhere, always wanting to keep me here at home. Why has he made such a quick decision to finally let me go?
Perhaps seeing the questions in my eyes, my uncle lets out a deep sigh. “Your aunt can’t force the issue of wandfasting as long as Rafe and I are here, but she can force the issue of schooling—unless I choose first. So I’m choosing. I’ve some contacts in the University’s apothecary school, so it was no trouble finding you a spot there.”
“Why don’t you want me to apprentice at the High Mage Council with Aunt Vyvian?”
“It doesn’t suit you,” he explains with a shake of his head. “I want you to pursue something…” He hesitates a moment. “Something more peaceful.”
He looks at me meaningfully, like he’s trying to convey a secret hope and perhaps an unspoken danger, then he reaches down to pet Isabel, who pushes her head against him, purring contentedly.
I stare at him, confused by his odd emphasis.
“If they ask you,” he says, focused in on the cat, “I’ve already wandtested you, and you have no magic.”
“I know, but…I don’t remember.”
“It’s not surprising,” he says, absently, as he continues to stroke the cat. “You were very young, and it wasn’t very memorable, as you have no magic.”
Only Trystan has magic, unlike most Gardnerians, who have no magic, or weak magic at best. Trystan has lots of magic. And he’s trained in weapon magic, which is particularly dangerous. But since my uncle won’t allow wands or grimoires in the house, Trystan’s never been able to show me what he can do.
Uncle Edwin’s eyes meet mine, his expression darkening. “I want you to promise me, Elloren,” he says, his tone uncharacteristically urgent. “Promise me that you won’t leave school to apprentice with the Mage Council, no matter how much your aunt pressures you.”
I don’t understand why he’s bei
ng so grave about this. I want to be an apothecary like my mother was, not apprenticed with our ruling council. I nod my head in agreement.
“And if something happens to me, you’ll wait to wandfast to someone. You’ll finish your education first.”
“But nothing’s going to happen to you.”
“No, no, it’s not,” he says, reassuringly. “But promise me anyway.”
A familiar worry mushrooms inside me. We all know that my uncle has been struggling with ill health for some time, prone to fatigue and problems with his joints and lungs. My brothers and I are loath to speak of this. He’s been a parent to us for so long—the only parent we can really remember. The thought of losing him is too awful to think of.
“Okay,” I say. “I promise. I’ll wait.”
Hearing these words, some of the tension leaves my uncle’s face. He pats my shoulder approvingly and gets up, joints cracking as he stands. He pauses and puts his hand affectionately on my head. “Go to University,” he says. “Learn the apothecary trade. Then come back to Halfix and practice your trade here.”
Some of the creeping worry withdraws its cold hands.
That sounds just fine. And perhaps I’ll meet a young man. I do want to be fasted, someday. Maybe, after I’m fasted, my fastmate and I could settle here in Halfix.
“All right,” I agree, bolstered.
This is all sudden and unexpected, but it’s exactly what I’ve wished for. Everything will work out for the best.
“Get some sleep,” he tells me. “You’ve a long ride ahead of you tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night. Sleep well.”
I watch him leave, his shy, friendly smile the last thing I see before he gently shuts the door.
CHAPTER 4: THE WHITE WAND
I’m awakened by a sharp rapping at my window. I jerk up from my bed, look toward the window and am startled by the sight of an enormous white bird sitting on a branch outside, staring intently at me.
One of the birds I saw flying in from the mountains.
Its wings are so white against the blue light of predawn, they seem otherworldly.
I creep out of bed to see how close I can get to the bird before spooking it, but don’t get far. As soon as I lose contact with the bed, the bird silently spreads its massive wings and flies out of sight. I rush to the window, fascinated.
There, I can still see it, staring fixedly at me, as if beckoning me to follow.
It’s across the field, near the long fence that separates our property from the Gaffneys’ estate.
I haphazardly dress and run outside, instantly consumed by the strange blue light that covers everything, transforming the familiar landscape into something ethereal.
The bird is still staring at me.
I walk toward it, the odd-colored scene making me feel like I’m in a dream.
I get quite close to the creature when it flies away again, past the garden, where the fence to my left disappears briefly into some dense bushes and trees.
I follow, feeling a thrill course through me, like I’m a child playing hide-and-seek. I round the corner to a small clearing then jump with fright and almost bolt in the opposite direction when I see what’s there.
The white bird, along with two others, sits on a long tree branch. Directly below stands a spectral figure in a black cloak, its face hidden in the shadow of an overhanging hood.
“Elloren.” The voice is familiar, halting me before I start to run.
Realization of who this is crashes through me.
“Sage?” I’m amazed and confused at the same time, my heart racing from the jolt of fear.
She stands, just beyond the fence. Sage Gaffney, our neighbor’s eldest daughter.
Warily, I make my way toward her still figure, aware of the watchful birds above. As I get closer, I begin to make out her face in the blue light, her gaunt, terrified expression startling me. She was always a pleasant, healthy-looking girl, a University scholar and daughter of one of the wealthiest men in Gardneria. Her zealously religious family fasted her at thirteen to Tobias Vassilis, the son of a well-thought-of Gardnerian family. Sage had everything any Gardnerian girl could ever dream of.
But then she disappeared soon after starting University. Her family searched for her for over a year to no avail.
And yet here she is, as if risen from the dead.
“W-where have you been?” I stammer. “Your parents have been looking everywhere for you…”
“Keep your voice down, Elloren,” she commands, her eyes fearful and darting around restlessly. She seems poised and prepared for escape, a large travel sack hanging from her back. Something is moving beneath her cloak, something she’s carrying.
“What’s under your cloak?” I ask, bewildered.
“My son,” she says with a defiant lift of her chin.
“You and Tobias have a son?”
“No,” she corrects me, harshly, “he is not Tobias’s.” She says Tobias’s name with such pure loathing, I wince. And she keeps the child hidden.
“Do you need help, Sage?” I keep my voice low, not wanting to spook her any more than she already is.
“I need to give you something,” she whispers then reaches with a shaking hand for something hidden under her cloak. She pulls out a long, white wand that spirals up from an exquisitely carved handle, its tip so white it reminds me of the birds’ wings. But my eyes are quickly drawn away from the wand to her hand.
It’s covered with deep, bloody lash marks that continue up her wrist and disappear beneath the sleeve of her cloak.
I gasp in horror. “Holy Ancient One, what happened?”
Her eyes are briefly filled with despair before they harden again, a bitter smile forming on her mouth. “I did not honor my wandfasting,” she whispers acidly.
I’ve heard tales of the harsh consequences of fast-breaking, but to see it…
“Elloren,” she pleads, the look of terror returning. She pushes the wand out at me as if trying to will me to take it. “Please. There’s not a lot of time! I’m supposed to give it to you. It wants to go to you.”
“What do you mean, it wants to go to me?” I ask, confused. “Sage, where did you get this?”
“Just take it!” she insists. “It’s incredibly powerful. And you can’t let them get it!”
“Who’s them?”
“The Gardnerians!”
I force out a disbelieving breath. “Sage, we’re Gardnerians.”
“Please,” she begs. “Please take it.”
“Oh, Sage,” I say, shaking my head. “There’s no reason for me to have a wand. I’ve no magic…”
“It doesn’t matter! They want you to have it!” She gestures with the wand toward the tree above.
“The birds?”
“They’re not just birds! They’re Watchers. They appear during times of great darkness.”
None of this makes any sense. “Sage, come inside with me.” I try to sound as soothing as I can. “We’ll talk to my uncle…”
“No!” she snarls, recoiling. “I told you, it only wants you!” Her expression turns desperate. “It’s the White Wand, Elloren.”
Pity flashes through me. “Oh, Sage, that’s a children’s story.”
It’s a religious myth, told to every Gardnerian child. Good versus Evil—the White Wand pitted against the Dark Wand. The White Wand, a pure force for good, coming to the aid of the oppressed and used in ancient, primordial battles against demonic forces. Against the power of the Dark Wand.
“It’s not just a story,” Sage counters, teeth gritted, her eyes gone wild. “You have to believe me. This is the White Wand.” She lifts the wand again and thrusts it toward me.
She’s mad, completely mad. But she’s so agitated, and I want to calm her fears. Relenting, I reach out and take the wand.
The pale wood of the handle is smooth and cool to the touch, strangely devoid of any sense of its source tree. I slide i
t under my cloak and into a pocket.
Sage looks instantly relieved, like a heavy burden has been lifted.
Movement in the distance catches my eye, just inside where the wilds begin. Two dark figures on horseback are there and gone again so quickly, I wonder if it’s a trick of the light. There are so many strange, dark shadows this time in the morning. I glance up and look for the white birds, and I have to blink twice to make sure I’m not seeing things.
They’re gone. With no sound made in leaving. I spin around on my heels, searching for them. They’re nowhere in sight.
“They’re gone, Elloren,” Sage says, her eyes once again apprehensively scanning around as if sensing some impending doom. She grasps my arm hard, her nails biting into my skin.
“Keep it secret, Elloren! Promise me!”
“Okay,” I agree, wanting to reassure her. “I promise.”
Sage lets out a deep sigh and releases me. “Thank you.” She looks in the direction of my cottage. “I have to go.”
“Wait,” I beg of her. “Don’t go. Whatever’s going on…I want to help you.”
She regards me mournfully as if I’m dauntingly naive. “They want my baby, Elloren,” she says, her voice cracking, a tear spilling down her cheek.
Her baby? “Who wants your baby?”
Sage wipes her eyes with the back of her shaking, disfigured hand and casts a sidelong glance at my cottage. “They do!” She looks over her shoulder and gives her own home a pained look. “I wish…I wish I could explain to my family what’s really going on. To make them see. But they believe.” Her frown deepens, and she sets her gaze hard on me. “The Council’s coming for him, Elloren. They think he’s Evil. That’s why your aunt’s here.”
“No, Sage,” I insist. “She’s here to talk to me about wandfasting.”
She shakes her head vehemently. “No. They’re coming for my baby. And I have to leave before they get here.” She looks away for a moment as if desperately trying to compose herself. She hides her hand back under her cloak and cradles the small bundle inside. I wonder why she won’t let me see him.