Requiem for the Magic’s Bind

By Greywick Harper

Edwyn has issues. His father, Leader Raedwulf the Bold, heads their village with a brusque attitude towards almost everything and everyone—including him. His mother, Dionisia, is skilled in the art of divination and can see more about him than a young magic-weaver would want. Oracle, his mentor and teacher, is demanding and can show up at the most unexpected moments. Edwyn still cannot decide which branch of magic to make his life’s work. Worst of all, the one time he tries to cast a major spell on his own—to take a crow familiar—he bungles it and realizes that the bird was no ordinary crow. He discovers he has created a magical bind between himself and a potential enemy, a male member of the Korvo Clan. Now, in order to save the villagers from a dreadful future, Edwyn must take a step in a direction that he never thought possible—marriage!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jun 13, 2018
• ISBN: 9781387879700

Book preview

Requiem for the Magic’s Bind

Requiem for the Magic’s Bind

Copyright

Copyright Year: 2018

Copyright Notice: by Greywick Harper.

All rights reserved. Please support the author’s rights.

The above information forms this copyright notice: © 2018 by Greywick Harper. All rights reserved.

First Printing: 2018

Second Printing:  2019

ISBN 978-1-387-87970-0

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

On a bare branch a crow is perched—autumn evening.

Basho Matsuo

Chapter 1

Yellow orbs of light floated along lazily, some high and some low.  The soft chiming of bells accompanied them. 

It was the edge of nightfall and the long procession of figures on horseback, rickety wagons, and citizens on foot continued.  Their journey progressed at an even pace through the dense forest.  The Hālig-mōnath Moon, or Holy Month Moon, was peeking between the curtain of pine and hardwood trees.

Elias, who had been a village night officer in his youth, had volunteered to act as a guide on this particular journey.  Leading the way, he could be spotted quite easily due to his all too familiar square homespun cloak with well-worn tunic and trousers.  Like the guides on the previous travels, he carried a staff and lantern—the rays of light shining on him and the lantern swinging merrily in his withered hand. 

A metallic glint in the fading light.  It came from the ornate scabbard housing a double edged long sword belonging to Leader Raedwulf the Bold.  He was dressed in a rectangular cloak with a fine tunic shirt, wide leather belt, and trousers.  The man rode his steed with a regal air and with a serious expression.  He was accompanied by his two closest advisors on their horses. 

At the moment, the trio happened to be deep in conversation—speaking in low tones and trying to act casually as their horses walked along. Keeping a discrete distance from behind, Raedwulf’s heavily armored Commander of the Swords accompanied them with his eyes ever on the watch for something unpleasant.

As tradition dictated, their small group came first followed by the train of lower level advisors, magic-weavers, and citizens from The Pine Cliff Village. 

Soon, the trail would take them very close to Green Thicket, the densest area. At dusk, this part of their forest trek could become perilous to say the least given the size of their group, the pace they were forced to plod, and the need to keep everyone together. Add to the fact, with it growing darker, they were too close to their destination to stop now and camp for the night.  And even if they did, it would be a waste of time, water, and other supplies which would be better spent on the long day’s journey back home again.

But, there was another worry as well.

Leader Raedwulf pulled back on the reins and then turned, allowing time for the others, both young and old, to catch up with them on their horses, donkeys, and modest wagons.  Those travelling on foot would also need some time. By this point, they were the fatigued stragglers at the rear toting young children on their backs.

As they would be more vulnerable to thieves, fugitives, or wild animals—such as boar—should they tarry for long, Master Talon Arkil, Head of the Warrior Class, approached Leader.  Master Talon gave a deep and respectful bow to his superior and a second, though not quite so low bow, to Oracle before leaving with his party.

The nerve, Isolda murmured, her palm extended out to her side with a small globe of light hovering above it. She gave her gentle horse a pat with her free hand.  A slight chuckle met her ears.  She continued with, Mark my words.  It is more respectful to bow equally low to Oracle as well as to Leader.

Another slight chuckle softening to almost a girlish one this time and Isolda’s eyebrows narrowed at that.  She gave a pout to her childhood friend.  You know that I’m only protective of you because you do not stand up for yourself enough.

I pick my battles carefully, Oracle replied with a whimsical note in her voice.  Just like Isolda, one palm was extended with a ball of light hovering atop.  However, her golden sphere had white lights dancing within.

She pushed back her beaded cowl a little to see her friend better in the bright moonlight. 

Oracle was a woman in her late forties with long chestnut hair turning silver at the temples, fair skin, and a compassionate smile.  As tradition dictated, she had runes tattooed along the length of her arms, spine, and legs which, combined, were the first few lines of a spell, Honor through generosity, give of thyself. Oracle wore a perfume which had a hint of cinnamon to it which was not only unique but unmistakable.  It was her essence, in a way, and was the last lingering feature of herself when she left a room.  Ebony was the only color she could wear because it was regarded by the village as a color of concealment and protection.  Oracle, in her own mind, simply took it as a comforting color as well as a symbol of her high office. The black hooded cloaks, held in place by brooches shaped like the phases of the moon, which were worn with dresses with long trains, jet-beaded belts, and matching leather shoes only added to her station’s image.

The two women could hear whispers on the wind.  Their palfreys walked side by side until coming to a halt—leaving a respectful distance between themselves and three more of Leader Raedwulf’s low level administrators, patient gray-haired old men with potbellies protruding outward.  As everyone knew, their attendance was purely ceremonial.

In general, avoiding that trio was a good idea.  The women found them frightfully dull even on the best of days. They also carried that old man smell which was even more revolting than usual to Isolda.  Being pregnant, all scents were especially pungent.

Oof…! Isolda, lost her focus as well as her globe of light, having it dissipate in a flurry of sparks.  She put a hand to her growing belly.  The child within the womb kicked again against her ribs.  Hurriedly, Isolda tried to close her cloak around herself before catching a chill.

I told you that you would have a fourth child, Oracle murmured almost smugly.  It was followed by a chuckle.

I know, but I thought that when I turned forty my body would forget about such things.

Another amused chuckle and, Then, you should have had your husband nap in the barn…alone.

A scandalous look in Oracle’s direction and then the two women started laughing behind their hands.

A harsh rattling of bells drew Isolda’s attention and she looked over her shoulder at the group of girls skipping and dancing merrily in a circle, keeping themselves busy with a game when they should have been in the large wagon assigned to them. Honestly, the woman said with a growing frown.  They’re making such noise…especially my oldest.  She craned her neck to see if Leader or anyone else up ahead of them had taken notice.  It would be a problem if someone did.

Oracle followed her gaze. This meeting among the leaders, headmen, and elders each year has become necessary for political reasons.  Thinking upon it, Oracle pushed back her cowl a little more, running her fingers along the jet seed beads as she did so.  Keeping the peace is a constant struggle. Even in my occupation, I deal with the same problems but from behind the scenes.  She ended that confession with a sigh. Then, she looked at her long-time friend and forced a small smile. But, for our kind, there is a bright side.  After all, it falls during the time of the Holy Moon. Just think, very soon, magic-weavers from near and far will be enjoying those healing springs…not to mention the holy shrines and the shopping… while the others talk boring politics. 

The woman in black watched the girls again, nostalgically this time—remembering her early days as a neophyte with Isolda.  And they really were good days, too.

A harsh jingling of bells—tinny sounds disturbing the night.

Besides, the girls are up way past their bedtimes, Oracle reminded her. 

They are but…but…  More jingle-jangling and Isolda’s eyes narrowed.  "Julia, Isolda hissed lowly and wagged a finger at her daughter, making her stop almost instantly.  On second thought, come here."  She motioned to a spot near her horse.

The child walked forward, ready to be scolded.  It wasn’t the first time in her life, either. She had too much of her father in her to escape her mother’s constant complaints.

Ahh….yes?  A sheepish grin and a bell bracelet tied with a bow jingled awkwardly, hands behind the young girl’s back now.

B-e-h-a-v-e, her mother said lowly.  I’m watching you.

Actually, we both are.  Oracle turned slowly and added a bit of drama by lifting her head, the cowl revealing her face gradually.  The freckled child with the long, red braid looked up—her eyes widening by the second.  Your mother is right.  The magic-weaving neophytes with bells and rainbow ribbons should set an example.

There was a rigid stare from the girl with her mouth hanging open slightly. It was a common reaction among newly initiated neophytes.

Oracle eyed the child for a second longer and decided to try again.  Am I right?

Uhhh…

Well?  Her voice dropped in pitch.

Yes, Oracle.

Oracle sighed openly.  This was followed by a sweeping You are dismissed gesture.

The child shook her head yes dumbly, bowed awkwardly, tripped over her own shoes, and then slowly tiptoed back to her little group.  The questions started almost immediately with Oracle spoke to you?!  and What did she want? Was it a prediction? and What did she say?!  What did she say?!

Hearing this, Oracle smirked to herself while Isolda gave her daughter, and the rest of the children, another frown to quiet them.  She didn’t expect it to work for long, though, but it was better than nothing.

I’m sorry about my daughter, Isolda told Oracle as she leaned closer and with almost at a whispered tone.  You know what it’s like.

Oracle pulled her cowl back to hear her better.  I don’t mind. Truth be told, I actually found it quite amusing.

You were always like that…even when we were children.

Yes, she agreed easily, and I never would have guessed that The Previous would have chosen me as the next ‘oracle.’  He never gave me a single hint that it would be that way.

A hum of agreement.  I remember.  I suppose, he let you live your life carefree for as long as possible, her friend said almost wistfully.

A nudge from somewhere.  It always started with a kind of prod or push.  Hmmm…now, that is interesting… Oracle murmured and then turned towards a boy standing several paces behind them.  He was nine and had dark blond hair almost down to his shoulders.  Now, that one is a remarkable lad.  He doesn’t want to hold his mother’s hand.  So, instead, he tugs at her sleeve and points out things he’s interested in.

Isolda followed her gaze.  Oh, Averey.

Loyal…A hard worker and, from what I can see, a child interested in the stars.

Oracle’s face took on a dreamy expression in the dark.  Briefly, a light blue eyeshine met it as moonlight caressed her face.  Isolda watched in wonder as she always did. 

Averey…yes…  He may become a fine Star-Mapper…and good with mathematics, too.  Not to mention our builders can certainly use one more who is wise in the ways of numbers.

Really?

And a good provider for someone special.  Oracle’s face tilted slightly downward just as Isolda’s child chose to kick again. 

You mean?

A small shrug.  Of course, the choice is yours and your husband’s.  Free will always trumps the fate cards.  Oracle was referring to her collection of allegorical Life Cards which she used for meditation as well as divination.  Sometimes, she used a nice fire with a warm cup of tea to peek around corners—to see what was to come.  However, for the most part, the cards always felt right in her hands.

Isolda scratched her cheek with a finger thoughtfully.  Well, he seems a bright boy, but since the day you said it would be a girl…we had been thinking of…  She made a small gesture to a colicky infant being jostled in his mother’s arms to keep from crying.  Their fine horse-drawn, four wheeled wagon was not too far off.

Briefly, a blue eyeshine lit up in the woman’s pupils, flashing with each movement of her eyes.  A temper…  That one will have a temper, Oracle said vaguely as two boys, playing race, sped to the right of them and then back to where they’d come from.  Playing tag in moonshadow was fun until they were caught by their older sister and returned to the middle of the long line.

Ummm…Really? Isolda murmured, pushing a thin braid back under her white linen cap.  She tried not to fret.

And, going back to Averey…  There is talk of Averey’s parents being offered an arranged marriage with either Bega or Elvina.

What?  The falconer’s daughters?  Isolda folded her arms as she thought to herself aloud.  Their father hunts with Leader regularly.  There was status there to be sure.

Again, it’s just talk.   But, as we know, both girls are very, very pretty and come from the same family.  So, it is understandable, Oracle continued, once more amused by their conversation.  Then again, not prettier than yours will be.

A serious nod.  Then, the pregnant woman craned her neck, trying to catch her husband’s eye this time.  No luck.  In the dark, I can barely see Petrus.  Once we’re at the meeting place, I’ll have a talk with him.

It is difficult being married to the Commander of the Swords.  He is always needed.

It is, Isolda agreed.  Then again, you are married to a high adviser.  Her eyes flicked to a man with prematurely salt-and-peppered hair sitting atop a horse on Leader’s right side.  That cannot be any easier.

"Aidan?  Yes... Everyone assumes that we whisper sweet nothings…sweet political nothings…in the middle of the night."  She grinned at that one.  In the night?  Total lunacy, that was.  After all, what wife didn’t hear about her husband’s day one hundred times while having the evening meal?  It was always best to nod and then offer a second helping of turnips.  Though, she had to admit, with the political winds changing somewhat, it wasn’t her husband so much as her children that came to mind.  In fact, Oracle was pleased that all three of her sons were grown, wed, and off living their own lives in other villages.  That only left her to manage: Leader Raedwulf ‘s temper, the Magic-Weavers Council meetings, the selection of each year’s neophytes, and…

Another race between the same two boys and Isolda was gritting her teeth at it.  We’re about to start moving again and they’re wasting energy.  Why can’t people watch their children better?

It’s understandable.  They are boys.  I’ve raised three.  She turned a sharp glance over her shoulder. And speaking of boys, I wonder…   Where has he gone off to again…hmmm?  Now, it was Oracle’s turn to frown.

Isolda turned and saw a sea of faces in the moonlight.  Who, exactly?

The corner of Oracle’s mouth twitched a grimace followed by Edwyn in a grave tone.

A deep sigh coming from her companion.  Oh, Leader’s son.  Not exactly a boy anymore, is he?  What, dare I ask, has he done this time?

Oracle looked around herself.  Her black cloak caught by the wind briefly. I don’t know and I don’t see him.  And that’s what worries me.  A quiet Edwyn is a troublesome one.  The woman turned to her left, sensing the stealthy movements of their warriors, guarding them a few feet off of the animal trail.  Nothing felt like a warrior—the soul and the aura were distinctive.

Getting off of her horse, she complained, As his teacher, I should have ordered that he attend us.  That way, I could have kept an eye on him.

Quick footsteps from behind and Oracle didn’t need to look to see who it was.  She knew.

Oracle, is there something I may assist you with?

No, she replied easily.  But thank you anyway, Lucas.  You’re the best assistant I’ve ever had.

He bowed to her, a hand over his heart.  I could cast a light for you if you have lost something?  Or you are in need of something, maybe?

She gave a strained smile.

Well, yes.  Lucas had his moments when he could be too helpful.  Worse yet, when it came to constructive criticism by her, she noticed that his ego had the thickness of an egg shell.  It could be easily crushed.  Kind and thoughtful were good qualities.  He needed to work on the rest, though—like learning to accept no on the first try and getting along with Edwyn.

Especially the Edwyn part.

Oracle politely ignored Lucas, making a small gesture for him to wait.  She glanced up at the moon and the blue eyeshine returned to her eyes—sparkling with each movement that her eyes made.  This time, she knelt and touched the ground with an open palm, sending out waves—each spreading out wider and wider, ringing out and ringing back.

Moving. 

Widening.

Searching.

Oracle cocked her head to one side as though listening for something.  Those who were standing close by looked on, mesmerized.  Those further off were curious.  Many pointed.  To Lucas, she was a master at work.

Found him.  She gave a nod to herself at that and straightened up, dusting her hands off absentmindedly.  Our Edwyn…  He’s at the back of the line…probably pouting because I thought it best that he attend this trip.

Is that all?  Isolda rested a hand against her aching lower back.  In a soft voice, she mumbled to herself, I should think that it would be an honor to go.  The majority of our people had to remain behind in the village.  She looked left and right and joked quietly, And I only came because of the springs.

Oracle took Lucas’ offered hand, allowing him to guide her back to her horse—not that she needed it, really. But the short promenade looked good in front of her speculative audience and it would, in all actuality, keep them calm.  Oh, you know what he’s like. 

A disapproving shake of the head from Isolda.  Yes, I do.

Chapter 2

Their long line was moving again along the trail.  There was the dusty clomping of animal hooves, the groaning of wooden wagons, the mumbling of people.

A deep sigh as Edwyn trudged along behind the Tabart family.  The young father, Ivo, was his own age, twenty-three.  The affable man had taken over from his father last year and now made the best quality furniture in the village.  Usually, he traveled in the company of his guild.  This time, however, he was accompanied by his wife and their twin boys.  Like the other travelers not holding a political ranking or magic, they were chosen in a lottery among the commoner candidates for the honor of visiting the holy shrines just southeast of the Village by the Lakes.  The village was a large commercial district in Lakelands territory known for blustery days, beautiful vistas, and shopping near three sparkling pools of water.  Long ago, anyone who had the funds and free time from harvest duties could come on this particular pilgrimage.  But, as it slowly turned into a political event and more and more of the warriors were needed for protection against bandits and tricksters of all sorts—especially those prowling around the Green Thicket—limits had to be placed for the safety of all.

Adjusting his travelling bag higher up on his shoulder, Edwyn looked up at the darkening firmament with the twinkling stars seemingly embedded into it.  The moon was a beauty, too, growing larger before his eyes.  Still, it did very little to cheer him up.    He was here and didn’t want to be.  He could blame Oracle and her supporters in the Magic-Weavers Council for deciding on that one.  According to them, it would be an experience.  He sneered at the memory.  Yes, yes…  ‘Maturing’ would be a better word, I should think, the historian and chief scribe proclaimed to the room.  He jotted down some notes for good measure.  Definitely, it would be good for him, an old crone confirmed to his mother following a sip of spiced wine.  

Yes, good for me…like eating my vegetables, he complained lowly.

He knew that his mother wouldn’t disagree with the council.  That was for certain.  She was their darling and he suspected that she enjoyed it a tad too much.

But, what of Oracle?  Did she say anything to the contrary?  Did she stand up for him?  No. She just gave him another one of her irritating smiles which said, I know more than you do.  And, often, he wondered if she actually did.  Still, the most annoying part of the whole situation was that Oracle was not only his mentor but his private teacher as well. Because of that, he had wanted her to agree with everything that he saw was necessary—like reading more old tomes, practicing spells, making magic talismans, and, above all, deciding exactly which branch of magic would be his lifetime’s work. 

Yes, all of that was what was needed.  Especially that last one on the list, he thought.

He kicked the dirt a little in frustration and got Ivo’s attention.

Oh, uhhh….  Sorry, just tripped.  He smiled uncomfortably, placed his palm out and conjured an orb of light without really thinking about it.

A polite bow in return from Ivo and, then, the young man turned his attentions back to his growing family. 

Embarrassed now, Edwyn plodded on glumly.  Could this evening get any worse? 

He remembered handing his things over to their new servant, Whitby, before setting out for this journey.  Instead of taking a bulky trunk, Edwyn had packed a brown bag for his first night in the village.  The rest of his things, mostly small leather books and a journal which had proven useful this year, would be in another bag for his research in the archives later on.  Two bags.  That was all he needed.  The blond thought everything was done, and he was a little proud of himself at that, only to be called to his mother’s suite of rooms by a servant named Ella. 

Edwyn always hated saying goodbye to his mother.

Turning a corner, he steeled himself.  And, predictably, the attractive lady was ready and waiting.  She had a third bag filled up for him with extra clothes, honey oat and dried apple cakes, a vessel of water, a small bag of coins, wood ash soap, and hyssop essential oil.  He assumed the oil was for bug repellant. Then again, he never really studied much on oils because he had no interest in them.

She pointed out each item she had packed, as though he couldn’t see for himself.  Then, she asked her handmaiden, Ella, to knot the bag closed. 

Edwyn tried not to slouch when his mother drew him in and gave him a farewell hug.  Well, to be honest with himself, he had entertained the thought of reminding her that he was no longer a little boy except he could hear his father’s deep, rumbling voice in the background, by the door, and one of the lower level advisers saying in a polite drawl, Leader Raedwulf, I believe the time is approaching for us to depart.  If I may leave now to see that all is ready? 

They weren’t alone and he flinched at it. 

Watching over his mother’s shoulder, Edwyn could see the portly adviser disappearing from the doorway, leaving the three of them now in the room. 

Being hugged in front of the adviser bordered on humiliating.  On instinct, he could feel his magic wanting to spark.  He needed to say something, do something—explode at his mother and at what she had put him through. 

But, no.

Most definitely, making a scene in front of his father would have been a really bad move.  His father’s fiery temper was notorious.  (At home, only his mother could talk him down from a height, so it seemed.)  Accepting his fate, Edwyn put up with his mother’s lengthy smothering hug and her parting words, Enjoy yourself followed by a suggestive wink.

He sighed impatiently. Mother, I will be having an absolutely awful time, he reminded her.

Of course you will, my darling. However, her tone spoke just the opposite.

I’m telling the truth.

A sparkle in her eyes.  Oh, absolutely. Her lips turned up into a smile.

Nothing interesting will happen, either, Edwyn insisted, straightening his bag over his shoulder.

I see… She tilted her head prettily to one side with a happier grin.

Right… he said impatiently.  Once we get there, I will probably meet travelers from other villages, shady dealers, vagrants, pickpockets, street performers, and prostitutes among the throng.  And, I very seriously doubt that I can tell from sight the difference between a street performer and a prostitute. 

He hoped to shock that smile off of her face.

It didn’t work.

He turned on his heel, irritated.  Father?

Leader Raedwulf looked over at his son while straightening his fine, rune-stitched cloak across his shoulders with a few rough tugs. A problem? as if he didn’t hear.

Edwyn picked his words carefully. Even after twenty-five years of marriage, both Raedwulf and his wife, Dionisia, were still deeply in love.  Everyone knew it.  I’m just curious.  Exactly why did you marry someone from the Magic-Weavers Council, again?

He thumbed at his mother.

A bored, fatherly look in return.  Edwyn always asked that same question and he always got the same answer.  Because she proposed when she was eight.  Then, Leader Raedwulf gave his wife a look—that look—and folded his arms against his chest.  She, in turn, answered his question without words, as was her habit. 

A smile from both of them aimed in Edwyn’s direction at the same time.

They were maddening.

Edwyn slouched out the door with Old Totus—a tall servant with curly hair, thick brown eyebrows, a silvery beard, and thoughtful green eyes.  Even though Edwyn had made an effort to snatch up the bag, the servant beat him to it just as he had done when Edwyn was a lad.  Now, trying to appear modest at his small victory, the man was carrying more for the family wagon under one arm.

Edwyn could hear his mother saying in the background, A kiss before you go, Dearest?  Fulfill your husbandly duty.  Her tone was slightly teasing, beguiling.  Tinkling laughter followed.

Edwyn made a face.  Gross. The blond young man muttered, I will never understand my parents.  Never.  And I don’t want to be like them, either.

A few more steps and he would be free.  At least, that was his plan.  If he couldn’t stay home, then the very least the Fates could do for him would be to grant an easy departure on the second attempt.  

Edwyn met up with his scrawny eighteen year old brother and baby sisters along the way out.  They threw a volley of complaints at the sight of him. 

At first, the young magic-weaver tried to ignore his siblings.  They were saying things that were inconsequential anyway.  They got louder and more obnoxious while getting in his way and slowing his leave-taking.  The blond could hear: Why does he get to go? Huh? Huh? and Is it ‘cause Edwyn’s the only one born with magic? and How unfair!  From the tone and the few words that could be made out when someone bothered to take a breath, the remainder of the argument had something to do with Big Brother getting to go out on an adventure while they were left home to do absolutely nothing fun.  Edwyn would have gladly traded places, but it wasn’t as though they’d listen.

He gave them each a brotherly ruffle on top of the head—totally messing their hair up up—as he went.  The girls fussed at it, but, deep down, loved the attention while the teen brother flinched with a pruned-up red face. 

Then, the blond magic-weaver went out the front door.

A gentle breeze picked up, making his face cool.  Edwyn pulled his hunter green cloak around his shoulders a little tighter and then flopped the attached hood over his head.  The cloak had the rune ehwaz or M --which stood, symbolically, for connections— stitched in silk thread repeatedly down both sides in glossy, deep ivory. 

Every village had their own version of a Green as it was called.  In each community, a green cloak, robe, or short demi cape meant that this person was at a point where he or she was learning about forms of magic and the ways in which magic interconnected with others in The Land. 

Edwyn was well aware that most students knew what form of magic they wanted before they even became a Green.  But, he had a hard time with commitments and knew that once he took a step on a certain road, there would be no turning back. Both body and soul would be forever chained to that form of magic.

Yes, fixed…the unchangeable.

Permanence was a problem for a variety of reasons and he wanted to live a life without more regrets.

As far as the basics went, rising above the station of neophyte was fairly effortless.  By the age of three, with his mother’s help, Edwyn could create a ball of light to guide his way to the privy at night.  When he was older, making things levitate could be great fun, but it got him into trouble as well—especially that time he made Lucas’ first familiar, a grumpy and unmistakably plumpish grey cat named Ghyest, orbit the dining hall while everyone looked on during the Harvest Supper.  Fed up with it, the cat turned into a fur-ball tornado with claws before he finished with him.  And, then there was the time Edwyn lost his temper with his father for ordering him to go to bed early.  He stomped his little feet and then set all of the tapestries in the Oratory, or private chapel, ablaze.  Even now, he could still remember the spanking he got from his father while his pregnant mother wagged an angry finger at him.

Now that he was at the point of deciding his path in life, officially recorded as a Third within the Magic-Weavers Council records, he had much more control and a great deal of basic knowledge without delving into one area of magic entirely.  It wasn’t satisfying—that expectation for him to decide, the thought that he should just jump in and Pick something already, will you?! as Lucas once challenged him when they were alone.  Then again, doing nothing—taking not a single step forward—wasn’t fulfilling, either.

Being talented and clever certainly had disadvantages.

Edwyn walked along with the moon as his companion. 

It was true.  Unlike his siblings, he had the gift.  He was a Third, a Green.

As Edwyn walked, he sighed to himself.  He couldn’t deny who he was—what he was. Giving up his magic would be like deciding not to breathe—impossible. It was part of his body and his connection to The Land.  It was an art which demanded much of his time in study.  He could release his energy and create wonder. It could be engaging, thrilling.  But it did have its boring moments, too.

Just like now.

Stay home? he sneered to himself.  Nah…  Not doable, he mouthed the rest of the words to himself and, then, a break in the line of trees caught his interest. 

The full moon revealed a large clearing of grass, knee high, waving to him.  An invitation.  That was what it was.  He could go explore it for a few moments to break the monotony and then catch up with the others.  Their path would be very easy to follow in the moonlight.  He would be able to make out the balls of light bobbing about in the distance and there would be traces of aura left behind to act as guides.

Simple.

A slow and somewhat crafty grin came to him. 

Johannes, a leather-faced old plowman who had been driving a small rickety cart, paused to relieve himself against a tree.  It took the old man forever to get started, it seemed.  Then, there was the sound of splashing against the dirt instead of the base of the tree.  Edwyn forced himself to continue his trek with the others, but at a snail’s pace.  The magic-weaver pruned his face, not liking the wait.  His patience was rewarded when he heard the sound of groaning wheels and the little cart was set in motion again.

He let Johannes pass him and extinguished his ball of light.  Then, he looked around, peering in the night. 

Checking to make certain that he was alone, he focused his magic and brought a blue eyeshine to his pupils.  He could see the mass of auras belonging to those ahead of him.  Luckily, no one had lingered.  No one was looking back.

With a self-satisfied smirk, Edwyn slowly veered off the trail and then made tracks for the clearing.  Yes, having a bit of fun was just what he needed.  He’d have a grand time.

Chapter 3

The moonlight graced his features—sky blue eyes, shoulder length blond hair the color of wheat.  He was slightly shorter than the average young man in the village, a fact that bothered him more than he cared to admit.  Exactly why he had not inherited his father’s imposing, well-built frame and red hair was the speculation of the village.  He had, instead, inherited his mother’s softer features as well as her magic.

Leaving the path he was on, the magic-weaver could feel the soil shifting under one foot.  He had stepped unexpectedly into a shallow hole and almost, comically, toppled over.  Luckily, he was able to put his arms out to stay balanced and upright.  The bag on his shoulder bounced again, nearly falling off. 

Grateful he was alone, Edwyn lifted the leather strap across his head and wore the bag crossbody—the strap diagonally across his chest.  Almost there.  I won’t be clumsy again, he promised himself, moving along to the outer edge of the clearing.

The grass wasn’t too deep.  Most of it was barely knee high, as he had seen from the path, but there were thigh high patches of scraggly weeds at the outer edges of the clearing which were impeding his steps.  He would have to make it through that.

A large, more cautious step and, then, another.

Yes, that was it.

He made it.

A blue eyeshine lit his pupils.  Edwyn raised his arms and turned in tight circles—savoring the feel of the breeze against him now as he drew from the power within.  He became one with it and practiced a small wind-wielding magic spell