Light Mage (The Black Witch Chronicles)

by Laurie Forest

  “Vyvian,” my uncle persists, “I’ve made up my mind about this. I’m not going to change it.”

  Silence.

  “Very well.” My aunt sighs with deep disapproval. “I can see you are quite decided at present, but at least let her spend the next week or so with me. It makes perfect sense, as Valgard is on the way from here to the University.”

  “All right,” he capitulates wearily.

  “Well,” she says, her tone brightening, “I’m glad that’s settled. Now, if my niece and nephews would kindly stop crouching under the window and come in and join us, it would be lovely to see everyone.”

  Gareth, Trystan and I give a small start.

  Rafe turns to me, raises his eyebrows and grins.

  Chapter 2: Aunt Vyvian

  The Gaffney twins buzz past as I make my way into the kitchen, which is now full of friendly, boisterous noise.

  My aunt stands with her back to me as she kisses Rafe on both cheeks in greeting. My uncle shakes hands with Gareth, and the twins are practically hanging from Trystan while holding up their toys for his inspection.

  My aunt releases Rafe, stops admiring how tall he’s become, and turns toward me in one fluid, graceful movement.

  Her gaze lights on me and she freezes, her eyes gone wide as if she’s come face-to-face with a ghost.

  The room grows silent as everyone else turns their attention toward us, curious as to what’s amiss. Only my uncle does not look confused—his expression grown oddly dark and worried.

  “Elloren,” Aunt Vyvian breathes, “you have grown into the absolute image of your grandmother.”

  It’s a huge compliment, and I want to believe it. My grandmother was not only one of my people’s most powerful Mages, she was also considered to be very beautiful.

  “Thank you,” I say shyly.

  Her eyes wander down toward my plain, homespun clothing.

  If ever there was anyone who looks out of place in our tiny kitchen, it’s my aunt. She stands there, studying me, amidst the battered wooden furniture, soup and stew pots simmering on our cookstove and bunches of drying herbs hanging from the ceiling.

  She’s like a fine painting hanging in a farmer’s market stall.

  I take in her stunning, black, form-fitting tunic that hangs over a long, dark skirt, the silk embroidered with delicate, curling vines. My aunt is the absolute epitome of what a Gardnerian woman is supposed to look like—waist-length black hair, deep green eyes and swirling black wandfasting lines marking her hands.

  I’m suddenly acutely aware of the sad state of my own appearance. At seventeen, I’m tall and slender with the same black hair and forest green eyes of my aunt, but any resemblance ends there. I’m dressed in a shapeless brown woolen tunic and skirt, no makeup (I don’t own any), my hair is tied into its usual messy bun and my face is all sharp, severe angles, not smooth, pretty lines like my aunt’s.

  My aunt sweeps forward and embraces me, obviously not as dismayed by my appearance as I am. She kisses both my cheeks and steps back, her hands still grasping my upper arms. “I just cannot believe how much you look like her,” she says with awed admiration. Her eyes grow wistful. “I wish you could have gotten to know her, Elloren.”

  “I do, too,” I tell her, warmed by my aunt’s approval.

  Aunt Vyvian’s eyes glisten with emotion. “She was a great Mage. The finest ever. It’s a heritage to be proud of.”

  My uncle begins scurrying around the kitchen, setting out teacups and plates, clunking them down on the table a little too loudly. He doesn’t look at me as he fusses, and I’m confused by his odd behavior. Gareth stands rooted by the woodstove, his muscular arms crossed, watching my aunt and me intently.

  “You must be tired after your trip,” I say to my aunt, feeling nervous and thrilled to be in her lofty presence. “Why don’t you sit down and rest? I’ll get some biscuits to go with the tea.”

  Aunt Vyvian joins Rafe and Trystan at the table while I fetch the food, and Uncle Edwin pours tea for everyone.

  “Elloren.” My aunt pauses to sip at her tea. “I know you overheard my conversation with your uncle, and I’m glad you did. What do you think about being fasted before you go to University?”

  “Now, Vyvian,” my uncle cuts in, almost dropping the teapot, “there’s no point in bringing this up. I told you my decision was final.”

  “Yes, yes, Edwin, but there’s no harm in getting the girl’s opinion, is there? What do you say, Elloren? You know that most of the young girls your age are already wandfasted, or about to be.”

  My cheeks grow warm. “I, um...we’ve never talked much about it.” I envy Trystan and Rafe as they sit playing with the twins and their toys. Why isn’t this conversation about Rafe? He’s nineteen!

  “Well—” my aunt shoots a disapproving look at my uncle “—it’s high time you did discuss it. As you overheard, I’m taking you with me when I leave tomorrow. We’ll spend the next few weeks together, and I’ll tell you all about wandfasting and what I know about the University. We’ll also get you a new wardrobe while we’re in Valgard, and your brothers can meet up with us for a day or two. What do you say to that?”

  Leaving tomorrow. For Valgard and the University! The thought of venturing out of isolated Halfix sends ripples of excitement through me. I glance at my uncle, who wears an uneasy look on his face, his lips tightly pursed.

  “I’d like that very much, Aunt Vyvian,” I answer politely, trying to keep my overwhelming excitement at bay.

  Gareth shoots me a look of warning, and I cock my head at him questioningly.

  My aunt narrows her eyes at Gareth. “Gareth,” she says pleasantly, “I had the privilege of working with your father before he retired from his position as head of the Maritime Guild.”

  “He didn’t retire,” Gareth corrects, stiff challenge in his tone. “He was forced to resign.”

  The kitchen quiets, even the twins sensing the sudden tension in the air. My uncle catches Gareth’s eye and slightly motions his head from side to side, as if in caution.

  “Well,” says my aunt, still smiling, “you certainly speak your mind very frankly. Perhaps talk of politics is best left to those of us who have finished our schooling.”

  “I have to be going,” Gareth announces, his tone clipped. He turns to me. “Ren, I’ll come by to see you when you’re in Valgard. Maybe I can take you sailing.”

  My aunt is studying me closely. I blush, realizing what conclusion she must be forming in her mind about the nature of my relationship with Gareth. I don’t want to respond too enthusiastically, to give the wrong impression. But I don’t want to hurt Gareth’s feelings, either.

  “All right, I’ll see you there,” I tell Gareth, “but I might not have time for sailing.”

  Gareth throws a parting, resentful look at my aunt. “That’s okay, Ren. Maybe I can bring you by to say hello to my family at least. I know my father would love to see you.”

  I glance over at my aunt. She’s calmly sipping her tea, but the corner of her lip twitches at the mention of Gareth’s father.

  “I’d like that,” I say cautiously. “I haven’t seen him in a long time.”

  “Well, then,” Gareth says, his face tense, “I’ll be off.”

  Rafe gets up to see him out, the legs of his chair squeaking against the wooden floor as he pushes it from the table.

  Trystan gets up, too, followed by my uncle and the twins, and all the males make their way out of the kitchen. I sit down, feeling self-conscious.

  My aunt and I are alone.

  She’s tranquilly sipping her tea and studying me with sharp, intelligent eyes. “Gareth seems to take quite the interest in you, my dear,” she muses.

  My face grows hot again. “Oh no...it’s not like that,” I stammer. “He’s just a friend.”

  My aunt leans forward and places h
er beautiful, alabaster hand on mine.

  “You aren’t a child anymore, Elloren. More and more, your future will be decided by the company you keep.” She looks at me meaningfully then sits back, her expression lightening. “I am so glad your uncle has finally come to his senses and is letting you spend some time with me. I have a number of young men I am very eager for you to meet.”

  * * *

  Later, after we have eaten supper, I make my way outside to bring the leftover scraps from dinner to the few pigs we keep. The days are getting shorter, the shadows longer, and a chill is steadily creeping in, the sun less and less able to fight it off.

  Before, in the light of day, the idea of attending University seemed like an exciting adventure, but as the tide of night slowly sweeps in, I begin to feel apprehension coming in with it.

  As eager as I am to see the wider world, there’s a part of me that likes my quiet life here with my uncle, tending the gardens and the animals, making simple medicines, crafting violins, reading, sewing.

  So quiet. So safe.

  I peer out into the distance, past the garden where the twins were playing, past the Gaffneys’ farmland and estate, past the sprawling wilderness, to the mountains beyond—mountains that loom in the distance and cast dark shadows over everything as the sun sets behind them.

  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 being 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.