Ithia: Book One of the Magian Series

by Jen Valena

  Four women broke away from the circle and created intricate rhythms on their drums. Each drum had a unique pitch. Ithia saw energy patterns within the music. Shapes played and twirled in her mind. With the rhythms, colors frolicked and pulsated across the landscape.

  Jemma danced first. Her movements were exact and compelling. Dance was obviously this woman’s calling. Jemma told a story with her body. Her onyx-black, sleek hair whipped about her face as she defied average human physiology. Each motion was a line in a poem reciting the story of life: love, loss, birth, death, and hope. Unexpectedly, tears dropped from Ithia’s eyes.

  Jemma took Samara’s hand, inviting her to join. Then with a gesture she summoned the other women to dance.

  Ithia was soon among them, allowing herself a break from her melancholy. She couldn’t remember the last time she had danced. In her early teens, she had often danced in her room, music blaring. It had been years since she even had the urge to dance. She had let go of those moments of feeling free long ago. As Urica had said, her feet were mallets playing the drum of the world, creating the music of life.

  As the night’s celebrations wound down, Mother Urica whispered in Ithia’s ear, “I wish to speak to you one last time before you embark on your adventure.”

  Ithia followed Urica to her dwelling, and they sat in their usual seats.

  Urica grinned in a moment of pride. “You begin to understand the complexity of your innate gifts, now that you had a chance to compare them to those of the formidable women here.”

  “But I’m afraid of developing my gifts. When a skill comes easily to me, I don’t fully understand it, and I might not be able to control the ability. What if I abuse them, or I accidentally hurt someone?”

  “You believe you will abuse your power?”

  “I don’t think I will, but I might get caught up with my ego. What if I hurt somebody because of my ignorance?”

  “For one that thinks she does not know, you managed to grasp your lessons.”

  “I’ve been lucky.”

  “You may call it luck, I call it Remembering. If you worry about abusing your powers, then that is wise. However, it also means you are unlikely to do so.” Urica shrugged and tilted her head. “Also, your heart does not bend that way.”

  “But still, I might go bad. I might end up being rotten. I’ve already been pretty selfish.” Ithia remembered tempting Tyrsten.

  “Yes. Power is difficult to resist. Fortunately, women are usually more resistant to that corruption, since we possess the power of creation within our bodies.” Urica rubbed her belly as if missing a phantom baby.

  Urica shook herself out of reverie. “You have innate talents beyond what we are accustomed to seeing. Many will wish to control that power. Most who seek power do not understand how that power controls them. This magic we possess, for lack of a better word, will eventually fail when it is used to manipulate others, instead of serving the greater good. Our gifts reign supreme when strengthening oneself inside. When one learns what the self is and what it is not—when one is empowered in the knowledge of self—one does not need to change the world. The world is changed for that person.”

  “I think I understand.”

  “You are smarter than you think! Perhaps you should stop thinking so much.”

  “What if I am tricked into using this magic—and hurt someone?”

  “It is not magic, not in the sense you mean. People have the ability to expand their minds, the ability to tap the Great Source and create their realities—to see and sense beyond the physical senses. The people of Ma’thea have been tricked into underestimating their potential. And you underestimate your guidance. We once knew many secrets which have been long forgotten.”

  “So everyone can do what I can?”

  “Some are naturally inclined. Some souls have had more experience, but just as most people learn to read, most people could learn to read the nuances of the subtle energies beyond our eyes and ears.” Urica giggled as she tapped her temple to remind Ithia of her physical blindness that did not stop her from sight. “And yes, you have quite an inherent ability for tapping into the Source.”

  Urica immediately turned serious. “Do not worry so much. Simply be aware of those wishing to use you. Your powers are true—your personal power. Everyone has a journey—a quest—a challenge. Some affect the world around them in recognizable ways, but all triumphs of an individual, whether they appear great or small, contribute to a greater good. It is unimportant if you are the one in Quanen’s vision. Whatever that vision may hold, whatever you decide, focus on the path that you find yourself taking. Do not punish yourself for what appears to be a mistake, but learn from those choices. All that you choose will matter, so use discernment in your choices. In this way, you will begin to heal and understand yourself, then you can offer authentic service to others.”

  Urica stood up and embraced Ithia.

  Urica’s blind eyes drilled through all of Ithia’s emotional walls, as if Urica was the only one that truly understood.

  The old woman smiled and nodded in response to Ithia’s thought. “I wish that I could make your path an easier one to travel. I would like to reveal many mysteries to you. However, it is for you to discover on your own. Just like the river that brought you to my door—do not fight the currents of life that take you. The forces of nature and our callings are too strong to resist. If you do resist, they will break you. The strongest of spirits crack under the weight of their own stubbornness.” Urica touched Ithia’s cheek. “May the stars guide you.”

  ✹ ✹ ✹

  The next morning Samara and Jemma traveled with Ithia as they crossed over the circle’s boundary that had kept them safe for the last month.

  Ithia laughed as they crossed over the invisible line. “I’m officially back on the endangered species list.”

  “I am uncomfortable with this.” Samara reached out to Ithia. “I would rather we accompany you than leave you to proceed alone.”

  “Urica said it would be best for me to travel by myself.”

  Samara tightened her grip on Ithia’s hand. “Be alert.”

  After saying goodbye, Ithia asked Fate if she would ever come to this circle again. These women were like sisters. She had found a community. There was a confidence in Ithia’s stride. She was empowered, not by magic, but by understanding herself a little better. Her steps drummed the ground in rhythm to the Great Mother’s heart.

  Left alone, she was allowed to think again on whether or not Tyrsten had survived his capture. She feared the answer. Urica gave her the impression that no one searched for her anymore. If he was alive, he probably thought her dead.

  Ithia studied the rudimentary map that Samara had provided of the surrounding lands. She was alone and had no idea where she should travel. This time however, she chose that.

  Her eye caught the glint of the green gem in the ring that Tyrsten had given her. Ithia reached for the chain he had gifted her. Her heart pleaded to hold on to the hope he was still alive.

  Now, without the protective boundaries of the circle, she mentally reached out to search for his spirit. She stopped when his spirit did not immediately come up on her psychic radar—she didn’t want to know if he had indeed died.

  Whether it was beyond her ability to sense him or not, she had to continue on her own. She was determined to do just that. It pained her to think this way, but she wasn’t good for him. She undermined his beliefs. If he was alive, he was probably secretly relieved to be rid of her—his distraction. And she was not the woman to fix the problems of this world anyway.

  Slipping the ring from her finger and unclasping the chain, she wrapped the ring, chain and pendant carefully in her leather bundle and packed them safely inside her bag.

  She lifted her head high, checking the sky for weather. The wind whisked against her skin. She marched with the breeze, stowing the map away. She would go with the current, however foolish that may be.

  ✹ ✹ ✹

 
Days passed without signs of civilization. A raw thrill mixed with nervousness filled her path. She suspected an obstacle waited for her. Soon.

  On the third night, she gazed at the twinkling sky. Regretting the decision to shed Tyrsten’s gifts, she whispered, “See you in the stars.”

  She dreamt of Tyrsten in a vision so strong she swore it was really him. He apologized for failing her. She tried to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, but as she was going to say something else, her consciousness was pulled back to her body. She awoke abruptly and couldn’t remember what she was saying.

  Someone approached.

  Ithia used her Magian vision to search the tree line encompassing her camp. She saw the glow of the shrubbery and trees, but did not see signs of man or creature nearby. Nevertheless, someone was there. It unnerved her that she couldn’t see her uninvited visitor.

  Three things she sensed to be true: First, that it was a man. Second, he was very close. Third, that his presence was familiar.

  She waited for a sign of his intentions. She listened for a noise, revealing his position, but he was still.

  “Show yourself!” she commanded.

  A voice answered in a mock whisper, “I think not.”

  “What do you want?”

  “You do not know?”

  “Should I?”

  “You sensed me, even in your sleep. Impressive for someone with so little training. But the question is who am I?”

  He spoke in a hushed manner as if he had damaged his larynx. The strange voice was close, yet she couldn’t pinpoint its source.

  “Why are you playing games with me?”

  “Guessing games are entertaining.”

  “Not in the mood.” She was rattled that this man found it fun to test her in such a manner. Clearly, he had the upper hand. He knew more about her than she did about him.

  “I want to see if it is true.”

  “If what’s true?”

  “Your talents.” He huffed. “Do not disappoint.”

  “Are you a mad man?”

  “I very well may be.”

  Something in his last words sent shivers through her. Desperate, she asked, “Who are you?”

  “That is for you to answer, Ithia.”

  A black figure charged up behind her. Ice gripped her shoulders and pulled her backwards. The stars overhead shuddered. The fall seemed unending.

  Her body ripped in two.

  ✹ ✹ ✹

  Huldo unpacked his satchel preparing for a much needed rest after a long, fruitless day. “Tyrsten, I was the first to agree we should search for Ithia’s body, but it has been a moon-cycle. We should consider that we are not meant to see her fate.”

  “You are grief stricken, but what are we to do?” Feron said, “We are not even certain she died in the river.”

  Tyrsten tensed and glared at his friend and brother, daring them to challenge his vision. He scratched at his thick beard of neglect. “I saw her body.” The memory was etched in his mind.

  At first, Tyrsten had wanted to make sure that the soldiers didn’t find Ithia’s remains. When the soldiers had given up, he worried about the animals taking her. Now, he was obsessed.

  Huldo wrapped his arm around his brother’s shoulder. “This is unhealthy.”

  Tyrsten gripped his brother’s arm. “Should I inspect the night’s sky for a new star and find her there?” Tyrsten’s eyes settled on the constellation Orion, and its star-birthing nebula.

  For the first time in his life, Tyrsten had no purpose, no motivation. He slumped against a large tree and waited—for what, he didn’t know.

  Tyrsten sat motionless against the tree for the next entire day. His limbs appeared to entangle with the roots of the tree. His meditation continued while Huldo and Feron spoke of their concerns at a safe distance.

  “He is losing his mind.”

  “No, losing his heart.” Huldo observed Tyrsten’s collapsed form. “His body is practically merging with the ground.”

  “Is this why Magians are not permitted to fall in love?”

  Huldo grumbled. “I never liked our culture’s philosophy dictating our personal choices.”

  “If Magians are this fragile with love, then I do not blame the law.”

  “No. Traditions,” Huldo argued. “She was more than that, she was his hope for a Magian future as well.”

  “He let himself fall in love.” Feron pressed his lips into a scowl. “That is his ruin.”

  “Harsh words.”

  “Regardless. We cannot let him rot out here forever. If we leave him in that position much longer, we may not be able to move him.”

  “Yes, he roots himself into the ground.” Huldo rubbed his temples.

  “We are out in the open and vulnerable with a catatonic Sidari. Let us take him back to the Vihar. He can grow all the damned roots he wants there.”

  “In the morning. Perhaps he will weed himself by then.”

  A magnificent Goddess stood before him—as he had seen Ithia when he was poisoned. She glowed brilliantly and smiled at Tyrsten. Her spirit must be saying goodbye since he had given up hope of seeing her again. This was his bittersweet reward and punishment for conceding to her death. He basked in her illumination and cried. “I failed you.”

  Her luminous hand rose up calling for his attention.

  “Kladmunt.”

  “You want me to go to Kladmunt?”

  Ithia had come to give him instructions. Perhaps her destiny was to operate from the spirit realm. Tyrsten rationalized he had been so blinded by searching for her body that he had been ignoring her spirit. She had finally broken through to his stubborn mind.

  Feron and Huldo were kicked awake by an alert, wide-eyed and fully extricated Tyrsten.

  “Get up!”

  “What?” Huldo rubbed his eyes. “You are telling us to get up?”

  “We are to go to Kladmunt!” Tyrsten turned to extinguish the campfire.

  Feron gave Huldo a sideways glance behind Tyrsten’s back. “We should go back to the Vihar to collect ourselves.”

  Tyrsten rushed about, packing up the camp in an oddly controlled frenzy. “No! Kladmunt.”

  Huldo prudently removed his possessions from Tyrsten’s busied hands as a parent would do with a toddler. “Why are we going there?”

  “Ithia told me to go to Kladmunt.”

  Huldo said softly to be delicate, “You are upset.”

  “No. Kladmunt. Her spirit visited me. She gave me a message. Kladmunt. We will discover the reason when we arrive in Kladmunt.”

  Kladmunt had turned into some form of mantra.

  Tyrsten whirled and picked up their things. Feron moved his finger in a chaotic manner over his head indicating to Huldo that Tyrsten had lost his mind.

  Huldo sighed. “No offense, dear brother, but you might be experiencing this thing called wishful thinking.”

  Tyrsten scowled at his companions. “Either come with me or not. I am going to Kladmunt.”

  “Yeah, we got that,” Huldo said dryly.

  Tyrsten collected the horses.

  Huldo shrugged his shoulders and said under his breath, “Kladmunt. Kladmunt. Kladmunt.”

  12 ✹ Soul Awareness

  An angel, he called me once. A shooting star, may be all I was.

  — Ithia Sydran

  The village of Kladmunt was inhabited by many members of the resistance to Garrick’s reign. Consequently, the villagers kept a low profile.

  Most of the buildings hugged the side of a small mountain. Stilts and wooden braces kept the homes and businesses from sliding off into the valley below. In more ways than one, Kladmunt was a precarious place in which to reside.

  Feron whispered to Huldo, “This is a stronghold of our sympathizers, but I am concerned how people will react to a half-crazed Magian.” Feron contemplatively rubbed the ginger stubble on his chin. “Tyrsten is better, though I cannot say I am fond of this version either.”

  Huldo studied the night sky as if
hoping for an auspicious omen. “Tyrsten believes an answer from Ithia awaits him here. Who are we to judge? Their bond was deep—maybe stronger than death.”

  “What if this notion of Tyrsten’s was planted by someone else? His mind is weakened. Our enemy may have set a trap.”

  “That is possible.” Huldo’s voice faltered. “Eyes wide for signs of trouble.”

  Tyrsten led them to the R&R Inn that sat at the very edge of town. The inn’s owners were the village’s unofficial gate keepers, keeping tabs on unfamiliar visitors.

  The sentries welcomed them outside. Both in their early forties with brown hair, broad smiles and taupe-colored eyes, Revin and Rhema appeared more like siblings than spouses. Rhema greeted them, “Many blessings to have you among us.”

  After exchanging hellos, Feron helped Revin lead the horses to the stable. Rhema showed Tyrsten and Huldo into her home and made them comfortable in the Inn’s great room. She brewed peppermint tea in the adjoining kitchen and reheated a winter vegetable pie.

  “What has brought you here? Not that I am displeased to see my favorite nephews.”

  “You are our favorite as well, although our only aunt.” Huldo patted over his heart. “Nevertheless, it still holds true.”

  Rhema and Revin’s twelve-year-old daughter, Iris, barreled into the room. She hugged Huldo and threw herself in Tyrsten’s lap. “I am so happy to see you. Have you come to teach me?”

  “Not this time, Iris,” Tyrsten said with a heaviness in his voice.

  “Are you all right?”

  He turned his face away from her.

  Rhema now verified to herself that Tyrsten had not smiled since his arrival. He normally rejoiced in seeing family. Today, Tyrsten sat in the chair farthest from Huldo and Rhema, and stared out the large window. In lieu of his usual impeccable appearance, were disheveled hair, bearded face and drooped shoulders.