The Pen Thief and the Division of Destiny

By Tasha Madison

Gifted with Magic.

Tempted by Power.

United by Destiny.

 

A king with an appetite for absolute power. A magician with abilities he doesn't fully understan

• Language: English
• Publisher: Author Academy Elite
• Release date: Jun 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9798885831550

Tasha Madison

Tasha Madison shares an ancient paternal lineage with Ramesses III. She wrote this novel to honor her distant ancestor and to explore how various historical actors might have bolstered his dramatic demise. Tasha is a graduate of the Edward R. Murrow School of Communication at Washington State University and Seattle University's School of Law. She is the author of Fabric of a Generation, a YA historical fantasy that follows the family saga of a teen whose world is turned upside down after finding a mystical object in the attic. When she's not writing, you can catch her in the middle of an epicurean battle with family members (or scrapbooking). To learn more about Tasha's latest adventures, visit her website at: tashamadison.com.

Book preview

prologue

Child of the Prophecy

Twigs crackled beneath Devona’s feet as her swift walk morphed into a brisk run. Her newborn son cooed when her pace quickened, his face edging above the fabric cradle she tied around her neck and torso. She shushed him into sleepy surrender with a gentle but fleeting hum, covering his tiny visage with a fragment of the textile. The familiar tune her mother had sung to her in her youth comforted both of them as she navigated the unknown terrain of the forbidden woodland.

Bursts of air torpedoed around her, ostensibly coming from all four cardinal directions. Keep going. Don’t stop! Be patient. You’re almost there!

Had the wind just spoken to her? She laughed at the thought.

A huge gale gnashed against her skin as she continued her search for the hidden doorway to the rumored world of magic. Her paroxysm of laughter halted. She knew, better than anyone, that magic no longer remained a childhood fable. Her face wrenched with worry. She recalled seeing her six-month-old son do strange and astounding things with his tiny little fingers that she couldn’t explain or completely understand.

Word spread quickly of the child’s unique abilities, causing the young mother to go into hiding to protect him from the prurient hands of neighbors she once hailed as friends. Villagers called her son a child of the prophecy—a foretelling nearly forgotten by time. But, the tittle-tattle of commoners proved too dangerous to ignore, especially from the likes of the king—a man unwilling to share his sovereignty with anyone, not even his own heirs.

The king became obsessed with purging the magic trapped within the body of Devona’s baby boy. Although he dismissed all magic as mere trickery, he began to wonder if the prophecy might prove true. The king passed an edict, banishing all magic to guarantee the precipitous extermination of any potential threat to his throne. He awarded hefty monetary sums to those willing to reveal the latest whereabouts of the newborn destined to become the last of the Great Magicians.

A breezy gust snaked around Devona and tried to coax her into the present, but she swatted the invisible lure away. Tears spattered across her face. She remembered the pain of witnessing brothers turn against their sisters and fathers betray their sons in a quest to further the king’s vow to rule from a seat of command untainted by the dangers and unpredictability of magic. Neighbors reported friends and family members they suspected of using magic or showing sympathies toward magical kin.

Devona didn’t know what to do or where to go. She only had a few trusted acquaintances left, and they told her to head for the forest—a place they knew the spineless king wouldn’t dare tread. They convinced her that she would not have to find magic. The magic of the forest would find her.

Fear of discovery compelled her to flee into the Forest of Whispers to escape the wrath of the tyrant king. Devona’s sprint slowed into a cautious stride as the forest became animated with nocturnal ambiguities. A blinding kaleidoscope of light inveigled her to her knees. She lowered her head and narrowed her gaze into a nervous squint, but for several minutes something—or someone—obscured her sight with faceted glimmers of color.

The Forest of Whispers lived up to its name by assaulting her with a tornado of hushed, enigmatic utterances. The incomprehensible words enveloped her in an ocean of murmurs. She cuddled her baby closer to her body even though he looked unaffected. When the brilliance of the display faded away, Devona lifted her face and found herself surrounded by twelve strangers. Eleven wore long, hooded, green cloaks that shimmered in the moonlight like abalone shells. The twelfth one donned himself in white.

Devona’s eyes widened. I seek refuge! she blurted out, hoping she had not stumbled into any of the king’s followers.

What right do you have to seek refuge from us? the man in white asked, his voice steeped in anger. The fabric of his cloak glistened like snow when he moved.

Devona’s newborn began to cry upon hearing the man’s entreaty. She anxiously lifted a flap of fabric covering his face and gently rubbed his cheeks. When the baby saw his mother in distress, he wiggled his fingers. Sparks of light shot into the ether. It felt as though lightning ran up and down their spines. The strangers immediately bent their backs with long-awaited veneration.

The child of the prophecy! a woman in a green cloak announced, prostrating herself onto the ground. The others did the same. Devona observed them curiously. They remained perfectly still for several awkward moments until she meekly permitted them to stand.

Forgive us for not receiving you properly, the man in white said, rising. He bent at the waist in reverence. The eleven others listened with deferential attention. The king’s actions have put us on guard. We have anticipated your arrival—and that of this child—for some time.

Devona raised an eyebrow. You have been waiting for us?

Yes! And, for longer than you can imagine, one of the eleven confirmed. He stood to greet Devona with a fraternal kiss on the cheek and introduced each of them in turn.

Come! the man in white said, gently tugging Devona and her newborn toward their hideaway. We have much to do. He led them into an underground cavern hidden by the landscape of the forest. He pointed to a large round slab in the middle of the cave that glittered like a giant diamond. Welcome to the Circle of Enchantment!

The man in white instructed Devona to place her child on the slab. Without asking, a woman in a green cloak began to unfasten her fabric cradle. Devona reluctantly lowered her baby onto the unusual stone. When she did, the entire slab glowed a brilliant blue. Her face blanched as she considered a future without her son, but her countenance quickly regained its original hue when she saw her baby giggling with delight.

Do you really think that one child can stand against the world? Devona asked through gummy eyelids.

The magician in white smiled. One is all it takes, dear one.

Her eyes cast doubt on his words, but Devona slowly nodded, deferring to the wisdom of his eldership. The man in white politely asked her to step back and to refrain from speaking or doing anything until anything until they completed their invocation of protection. She obeyed him and watched the twelve oracles take their place around the sparkling, round stone.

The man in white muttered something to the person on his right until the instructions reached the last person in the circle. They all bobbed their heads in agreement.

When the sun rises, the prophecy will dawn! the man in white said, waving his fingers through the air over the newborn.

The eleven repeated the phrase in succession, coordinating their fingers and intentions. Devona gasped when her baby boy glowed with dazzling beams of sunlight. She ran around the circle to comfort her child, but the man in white shook his head.

Devona grudgingly froze in place. She wanted to scream. Her legs wobbled beneath her. She covered her mouth with her hands to resist the urge. She watched in awe as swirls of magic danced around the Circle of Enchantment.

When the words ceased, the child of the prophecy abruptly stopped glowing. The twelve magicians lowered their hands and bowed reverently to the newborn. They had completed the prodigious invocation of protection!

Devona poked her head into the circle so her baby boy could see her. He tugged at his feet and giggled when she appeared. Her lips branched into a smile weakened by exhaustion.

The magician in the white cloak waved the young mother closer. Dear one, do you know what you must do?

Devona ineptly attempted to wipe away the stream of tears coursing down her face. Yes, she said so softly that the man in white almost didn’t hear.

From this moment forward, your son will be our son. The Circle of Enchantment will raise him as its own. Devona nodded, but she couldn’t hide the pain of her acquiescence. We, twelve of the Great Magicians, vow to protect the child of the prophecy—with our own lives if we must—so that he can fulfill his destiny, the man in white said, bowing respectfully. The other eleven magicians mirrored him.

Devona scooped up her beautiful baby boy. She hugged him to herself and sang her mother’s song to her sweet child one last time. He cooed at her words until she lulled him to sleep. She kissed him on the forehead and gently lowered him onto the sparkly stone slab. Then, she bolted out of the cavern before she lost the courage to abandon her child to the care of twelve strangers.

Her heart thrashed within her chest like the thundering hooves of a wild animal, drowning out the flora and fauna of the forbidden woodland. The wind, rather than the strength of her own legs, seemed to push her forward.

For several minutes, she heard the singular sound of the booming rumble of her heart. She thought the persistent echo would stop from the sheer pain of her loss, but it didn’t. It kept hammering inside her chest, only more calmly and quietly now.

She found sanctuary in the throbbing drumbeat beneath her ribcage. Despite the ache of separation, the shadow of the joy she once carried within her urged her to keep going so that, one day, her child could give hope to them all. But, as Devona exited the forest, four of the king’s men greeted her.

Where have you hidden the child? the first man asked, looking down upon her from his thoroughbred with a menacing grimace.

Devona’s forehead wrinkled mischievously. What child?

Don’t get cute with us! the second man said as the third raised a crossbow from a leather loop on his belt.

Devona bit the inside of her cheek. He was taken.

By whom? the fourth man asked.

I do not know, she admitted, her eyes nervously bouncing between the quaternary formation of the king’s retinue. She struggled to find the right words. The third man shook his crossbow in the air for additional encouragement. I ran into the forest for help, but I haven’t the slightest hope of my son’s return. He is lost to me forever, she said as fresh tears stained her face.

The four men eyed one another curiously. They assumed some harm must have come to the child. The first man’s scrutiny softened into heartfelt shame. We believe you, he said. However, I do not have the luxury of doubt, he added. He tilted his head toward his comrade. Seconds later, the third man released the arrow he had preloaded in his crossbow.

Devona heard a high-pitched squeal gliding through the small pocket of air between them. She looked down, her torso flinching from the impact. Her eyes blinked rapidly as she tried to focus her gaze on the object now lodged in her chest. Oddly, she didn’t feel a thing. Her legs started to weaken. She involuntarily tumbled to the ground. Devona could hear the hurried drum of her heart until it quickly ebbed into oblivion.

The four men nudged their horses with their heels and returned to the castle at top speed. The king was right. Entering the forbidden woodland proved unnecessary.

chapter 1

The Man in the Forest

Osric slowed his breath and tried to focus on the people in the square below him. The town buzzed with frenetic energy. He always enjoyed his morning walks, but today felt different. Humiliating.

He marveled at the dynamic efficiency of the early risers. Osric’s mouth branched out into a strained grin. He watched the villagers as they scurried about from here to there.

He anxiously scanned the muddle of people. There were too many to count, but he noticed nothing out of the common way. Then, he realized the source of his agitation. They’re watching me.

Osric rotated his wrist into a regal wave. Shopkeepers cheered. Passersby smiled. Did that merchant frown? Several peddlers fastened their gaze to the cobbled path ahead of them. They’re judging me! His eyes searched their faces suspiciously. A few brave souls returned his gaze with a sad, slackened expression of their own.

Run.

Osric quickened his pace, but only slightly. He didn’t want his presence to attract any additional unwanted attention.

His muscles tensed. He completed his final lap and returned to his bedchamber. He chastised his footstool with unbridled anger and sent it sailing across the room. They know!

Osric flung open his door. Raedan, come here! His loud trill seemed to make the stone walls quiver.

Within moments, Raedan entered. Yes, my king, he said with a half bow and a dramatic flourish of the hand.

You serve as the royal advisor, do you not? Osric yelled, pacing his bedchamber impatiently.

Raedan fumbled with his attire, frantically attempting to confirm that he had rid himself of all wayward threads. I do.

Well, then, what are you standing about for, like an idiot? Osric asked, slumping onto an overstuffed bench at the foot of his bed. Advise! Raedan tugged at his collar. Osric’s eyes momentarily flicked to the ornate ceiling. The delicate matter … you know the one … that we must resolve.

Raedan nervously dragged his fingers through his dark tresses, slightly disturbing his perfectly coifed mane. He knew the delicate matter of which the king spoke. Only a week ago, the king induced a promise from his royal advisor never to mention the topic in his presence again. In fact, the king made Raedan solemnly vow never to discuss it with anyone.

Must I spell it out for you, man? Osric asked, rising so that he stood eyeball to eyeball with his advisor.

Raedon’s thick swallow betrayed his veneer of confidence. He looked on quietly. A wry smile emerged on the king’s face. Osric knew Raedan dared not speak of it.

The king resumed desperately pacing his bedchamber. What should we do? My wife still has not given me an heir. She has exposed me to ridicule and shame. And, what about those who will try to use this information to overthrow my kingdom? What of that?

Without a male heir, your brother will accede to the throne. Have you considered my previous counsel of—

Absolutely not! Osric railed. My brother and I have not spoken since my marriage to Udele. He still accuses me of robbing him of his one true love.

Raedan’s curiosity got the best of him. Did you?

Of course not!

Raedan felt sick. He regretted his impudence.

Is it my fault Udele selected me over him? Is it? Is it? Osric’s voice escalated with every word. My brother chose to live a life absent of family duty and obligation. He chose a quiet, country existence, free of consequence or import. He chose this … this … ridiculous path of solitude and seclusion. I will not reward him for his selfish ambitions. I will not!

Raedan sighed. He considered their options. Then, he leaned in so aggressively that the king hunched back awkwardly.

We have one more possibility, Raedan said, smirking from ear to ear as he admired his own cleverness.

Osric lifted an eyebrow. Oh? He backtracked to the luxurious bench at the end of his bed, this time more calmly.

Raedan joined him. He looked around the bedchamber as if someone might have concealed themselves behind the curtains and lowered his voice to a throaty whisper. I once heard a tale of a baby prophesied to one day possess a magic so supreme that no one in the realm could match it.

Osric lowered his voice, too, although he didn’t know why. Nonsense! My grandfather disbanded the Circle of Enchantment many years ago. He killed the mother and her son … this supposed child of the prophecy, as the villagers call him.

Raedan’s voice decrescendoed further. Some say the child survived.

Osric’s eyes widened in disbelief. His grandfather was a cruel man who taught him cruel lessons. He couldn’t imagine a man like him failing. I doubt that, Osric said flatly. But, even if he lives, why should I care?

If we can find the last of the Great Magicians, surely, he would have the power to solve your … your … dilemma, Raedan advised. According to village chatter, he has hidden himself away in the Forest of Whispers.

Osric stood hastily. He instantly shuddered at the mention of the notorious woodland. His family prohibited entrance there longer than he could remember. It is forbidden!

Tell me, what other choice do we have? Besides, you are king now. Surely, you can decide what is forbidden.

Osric’s mind raced with worry. If he couldn’t produce an heir soon, the possibility of a siege from outsiders might prove too difficult to overcome, especially without the backing of his wayward brother and his crude but fierce band of sympathizers.

Osric muttered self-invectives under his breath. He turned his torso and regarded the daggers of light pirouetting around the diamond panels of glass in his oriel window.

Your Majesty?

Very well. You have my permission to find this magician. Determine if he can help us.

Raedan stood. His feet snapped to attention as he saluted the king. I will assemble a unit at once, sire. He bowed and turned to leave.

Osric nodded absently and then spun on his heels toward Raedan. Take Bashshar with you.

Bashshar? Why would I take that nuisance of a child with me? He will slow us down.

Bashshar! Osric called.

A young, male, royal attendant arrived within moments. He sprinted to the king’s side and cheerily embraced him as if they were kin.

Raedan grimaced. How many times must I tell you, you’re nothing more than a servant boy. Know your place! Raedan scoffed.

The attendant violently shirked back. He dropped to the king’s feet and flattened his body into a straight line. Osric gently lifted the boy’s chin with his thumb and index finger and silently extinguished his anxiety with a playful wink. The attendant gingerly elevated himself. Osric smiled until the boy had gawkily composed himself.

Osric turned to his royal advisor. And, know yours! he quipped.

Raedan bowed reverently with a dramatic flourish of the hand. His gaze sank to the floor. I do believe you spoil this child, Your Majesty. It is not good for him, he said as calmly as he could muster, although his eyes remained fastened on the stone tiles beneath his feet.

Osric shrugged. Perhaps, but, like you, he serves the royal court. So, he is mine to spoil, is he not? Who better than the king to determine who deserves the king’s favor?

Raedan’s back started to tremble beneath his elegant attire. He hoped no one noticed. As always, my liege, you know best.

Never forget that, Raedan. Osric clapped his advisor heartily on the back and watched him judiciously rise to his full stature. Now, go. I await your success!

Osric snapped his fingers, and his chamberlain emerged with a selection of edible enticements. Raedan eyed Bashshar with silent indignation. The advisor shoved the young boy out of the king’s bedchamber and down the hall.

Raedan’s eyes tightened into angry slits. Do not dare to disappoint the king, he advised. Or me! he added.