Magic was a curse. Everyone knew it. Anyone that was born with it was merely a magnet for trouble. Greater powers in the Eternal War sensed the birth of a magickling or greenwich and would come to fetch it. Those powers would ask for the child. Those powers would recruit the child. Those powers would buy the child. Those powers would kidnap the child. Those powers would kill the whole village and take the child. Depending on who got there first.
The glen was deeply embedded in a lush valley. Wildlife skittered in the underbrush and leapt from branch to branch. The soil was black. Damp, rich loam and the cycle of biological rainforest made this place absolutely reek of life.
I’d gotten here first. Before the others. Just lucky I picked up her scent on the wind.
Most magical humans carry the dormant gene but it only wakes up in a few. Usually during puberty but it’s not limited to that. Some are born with the curse but they don’t survive long. One tantrum with flaring purple glowing eyes or telekinesis that hurts a parent is all it takes before they put the child down for their own good.
Of course, some parents can’t bear to do such a thing and are only too happy to pass the child along to the powers that come looking, hoping against hope that they get a benevolent offer instead of a threat.
My horse Chucky stumbled on the path a little, whickering. I leaned forward and patted her neck. I’d been in the saddle for the better part of two days now, spiraling closer to this treetop village.
This magic user had awakened with menopause instead of puberty. Not unheard of. But the way she was using it and the frequency with which she was casting primitive urgespells was like a fireworks show to anyone for a few miles around. My only hope was that this place was too remote to become a decent target.
If a nascent magickling was too weak or unruly to be used offensively, they were often sedated and used as batteries for the Great Engines. Different factions used defective magic users in different ways. If they were lucky, they were killed.
The battle had raged for the lifespan of this universe and would rage in the next. Call is good versus evil if that makes it easier but it’s much more complex than that. Too complex for mortal comprehension. There are many factions. Five Great Ones dominate these days.
The Pentacorns, the Soothblinders, the Immortals, the Harkenfears, and the Wedge.
I harkened from the Wedge. We were a school that trained the ones we found, at least enough to defend themselves, and prided ourselves on giving them an impartial rundown on what to expect and the plusses and minuses of each faction. A history on what had gone on before. The means to defend themselves. A classification of power. We shaped and sharpened.
Then we threw them to the wolves, let them feed in the frenzy and choose a side. Either way, they rarely saw their parents again. It was hard to come back once one glimpsed behind the veil.
I came close to the village and looked up. I could see their huts in the trees. A plume of smoke came from one of them but it was just a cooking fire if my nose didn’t deceive me. I had arrived to a placid scene of domesticity and not a smoking hole in the ground.
I was relieved.
Now to search out Lewgwen, the one I’d sensed in my visions.
I found her hovering above her garden, fingers splayed out, willing the plants to grow faster. Not one single protection spell or hiding aura anywhere near her. Magic wise, it was like walking up to a bonfire. The few people around her weren’t affected but I was nearly blinded.
The ones watching her didn’t seem panicked. They must truly be isolated not to have fear in her eyes. Not from Lewgwen but from the future. From knowing what was to come.
I cleared my throat to speak.
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