Journey to the magical world of Erthia in this exciting prequel to The Black Witch by critically acclaimed author Laurie Forest.
Before Elloren Gardner came to possess the White Wand of myth, the Wand was drawn to another bearer: Sagellyn Gaffney.
Sage’s affinity for light magery, a rare skill among Gardnerians, makes her the perfect protector for the one tool that can combat the shadows spreading across Erthia. But in order to keep the Wand safe from the dark forces hunting for it, Sage must abandon everything she once knew and forge a new path for herself...a dangerous course that could lead to either triumph or utter ruin.
LIGHT MAGE
Laurie Forest
Dedication
To Walter—for everything.
Dear Reader,
There is a scene of sexual assault in Light Mage that is based on something that happened to me on a blind date when I was seventeen. The means I’m using to speak about my experience now may be within the pages of a fantasy novel, but the emotions here echo my own at that time, and so does the violence involved in the scene.
The assault occurs at the end of Chapter Three in Part Two of this story. If reading something like this would prove painful for you, please skip that section and simply know that an assault occurred. There is also a traumatic discussion of the assault at the beginning of the following chapter (Part Two, Chapter Four) where the main character is not believed or supported. The event is not referenced in any detail for the rest of the narrative and is only generally discussed, so if you need to skip over these two scenes, it is my belief that you can still understand and hopefully enjoy the narrative.
I had never discussed this incident of assault that happened in my own life until I sat down to plot out this story about two years ago. If you’re wondering why I never talked about it, perhaps Sage’s story will help you to understand how futile the idea of speaking out can feel to someone raised in a very strict environment where the culture does not support the empowerment of young women.
It is my wish that every last one of you has the power to speak out and be heard—and also, if needed, to walk away from oppression.
And, in time, fight back.
Laurie
Contents
Prologue
Part One
Chapter 1: Wandfasting
Chapter 2: Valgard
Chapter 3: Tobias
Chapter 4: The White Wand
Chapter 5: Wand Lore
Chapter 6: Council Envoys
Chapter 7: Escape
Chapter 8: The Wand
Part Two
Chapter 1: University
Chapter 2: Rivyr’el Talonir
Chapter 3: Fastmate
Chapter 4: Abyss
Chapter 5: Search Spell
Chapter 6: Za’ya
Chapter 7: Smaragdalfar
Chapter 8: Zalyn’or
Chapter 9: Rune-Blade
Chapter 10: Secrets
Chapter 11: Forest Lair
Chapter 12: Alfsigr
Chapter 13: Light Mage
Chapter 14: Wards
Chapter 15: Unwarded
Chapter 16: Ra’Ven
Chapter 17: Lines
Chapter 18: Fire
Chapter 19: Vu Trin
Chapter 20: Prophecy
Chapter 21: Freedom
Chapter 22: The Watchers
Chapter 23: Escape
Chapter 24: Elloren Gardner
Acknowledgments
Excerpt from The Black Witch by Laurie Forest
Excerpt from The Iron Flower by Laurie Forest
Prologue
They’re scared to let me see him. My demon child.
The elderly Vu Trin healer, Sang Loi, quickly wraps him in a dark blanket, hiding his wings from sight. She hugs him close to her chest, eyeing me with apprehension. Three black-garbed Vu Trin sorceresses flank her, watching me closely, their hands loose on curved swords.
Waiting to see what a Gardnerian will do to an Icaral child.
An Icaral demon. One of the Evil Ones.
And not just any Icaral—this child may be the Icaral of Prophecy. Destined to battle the Gardnerian Black Witch. The Seers of every race are clear on one thing—somewhere out there, the Black Witch is rising, and deep in the world’s shadows, an Icaral is about to rise as well. A male Icaral, who will someday come into his power and fight against her.
His victory would be death to Gardneria. My country.
And this Icaral may very well be my son.
“Give him to me,” I demand, my voice shaky. I’m propped up on my elbows, the sweat of a hard labor cloaking my back, my hair plastered to my head in wet tendrils, the pain of birth still reverberating through my body. “I want to hold him.”
Sang and the row of Vu Trin sorceresses look to Chi Nam, their powerful rune-sorceress.
My gaze shifts to her as well. “He’s just a baby,” I rasp out to white-haired Chi Nam. “Not a weapon. And he’s my child. Not yours.”
Chi Nam leans heavily on her rune-marked staff and gives me a grave, considering look, then motions to Sang with a quick nod. The healer folds the blanket back and places the small, warm bundle into my arms.
My son’s eyes glow like fire. Black wings, paper-thin, struggle to fan out from his back. His tiny hand wraps around my finger, the world circles around me at a dizzying speed, the enormity of it all pressing down, pushing the air from my lungs. Stripping away the last shred of everything I once believed.
I’ve become a pawn in a war that could be the unmaking of us all. And so has my child.
The White Wand sits on the table beside me, innocent as a branch, but I can feel it grasping for me. Drawing me near. A constellation of prismatic, shimmering light bursts into view and whorls around the Wand as the vision of a starlit tree pulses in the back of my mind.
The Wand has called to me ceaselessly for months now. Murmuring under my thoughts like a whispered song. Something that teases at my mind yet remains elusive.
I look into the eyes of my baby as realization crashes through me with the force of a gale storm. And I finally understand, with staggering clarity, what the Wand has been trying to tell me all this time.
Part One
Six years ago...
Chapter 1: Wandfasting
I’m not supposed to touch Father’s books. Especially not his Mage Council books.
But as I linger in the deserted sitting room, temptation swells inside me, my heart racing in my chest. Father’s Mage Council tome is splayed out facedown on the arm of his favorite chair, practically begging me to take a peek at its pages.
Golden lumenstone lamplight flickers over the gilded Mage Council seal on the book’s cover. The warm, glimmering color dances in my vision, and the light affinity lines deep inside me pull taut, my wand hand tingling with want.
Thunder rumbles somewhere outside in the storm-darkened night.
Don’t be drawn in by the gold, I chastise myself. Gold is a Fae color. A bright lure of the Evil Ones.
I clench my wand hand and close my eyes in an effort to tamp down the pull of the forbidden color. The gold wash in my vision gradually clears, and I glance toward the sitting room’s open Ironwood door, out into the shadowed hallway, making sure I’m still alone.
Emboldened by a desperate curiosity and acting hastily before I can lose my nerve, I take Father’s book in hand and turn it over, breathlessly flipping through the pages until I find what I’m searching for.
Gardnerian Guard
Ledger of High
-Level Elemental Forces (Levels Four and Five)
Fire Magery: 603 Mages
Air Magery: 78 Mages
Water Magery: 321 Mages
Earth Magery: 1,290 Mages
Light Magery: 1 Mage with rune-sorcery abilities
The last line stands out in bold relief in my mind.
Only one Light Mage.
I look down at my wand hand, the effects of the gold lingering in the metallic yellow hue that now suffuses my fingertips. Faint, violet veins of lightning flash through the gold, just beneath my skin, the lightning thin as fine thread.
I flex my fingers, anxious to clear the color from them.
My artistic hobbies used to be enough to contain my burgeoning light magery—painting, weaving and drawing in the permitted designs and colors. Black for our oppression; dark green for our subjugation of the Fae wilds; red for the blood of our ancestors; and blue, but only to depict the sacred Ironflowers. It says in our holy book that all other colors have been corrupted by the Evil Ones, and my family follows The Book of the Ancients to the letter.
But lately my light magery has been straining at the edges of me, like a prismatic waterfall threatening to burst as startling new abilities spring to life. I’ve recently discovered that I’m now able to magnify faraway images if I tighten the affinity lines around my eyes, and I can even see in the dark if I really concentrate, though everything seems to be lit by a reddish glow when I do.
An uneasy frustration flares inside me, a feeling that’s been mounting for months now.
Why is it getting so hard to control my light affinity? And what could I do if I was a boy? If I was allowed a wand and access to light spells?
I know it’s wrong to think these thoughts. I know it’s not what the Ancient One has intended for me, or else He’d have made me a boy. The Book says that female Mages are supposed to pass on magic to our sons, not wield it ourselves. Only the prophetess Galliana and the Black Witch were granted the holy charge to wield magic and save Gardneria from the Evil Ones. Even so, I can’t seem to stop myself from wondering what I could do with a wand.
Footsteps sound in the hall.
My head snaps up, fright rushing through me. I hastily set the thick volume facedown on the chair, the way I found it, then spring up, fleet as a deer, and make for the door. I peer into the hallway, my pulse thudding.
No one.
Slipping out of the sitting room, I freeze at the sound of shuffling in the library. Blending in with the shadows, I creep forward and glimpse movement through the slit in the library’s door. Level Four Mage stripes gleam on the edges of Father’s Mage Council uniform, the silver embroidery catching the flickering light from the fireplace with a lustrous metallic gleam. His wand is sheathed at his side.
A rush of longing catches inside me at the sight of the Blackthorn wand’s smoothly carved handle. The rich colors of the room suddenly brighten, then fragment into an iridescent mosaic that encircles the wand like a spiraling flower of light.
I close my eyes and take a long, shuddering breath, flexing my wand hand into a tight fist to shake off the wand’s pull. Rattled, I open my eyes, the colors blessedly back where they should be, albeit heightened and pulsing with decadent vibrancy. I keep my eyes carefully averted from Father’s wand and listen intently.
Mother Eliss, my stepmother, is gazing up at Father, her brow knit tighter than usual, her expression solemn. I frown and wonder if they’re about to have the usual, troubled conversation about my increasingly uncontrollable light affinity.
“Sage needs to be wandfasted, and soon.” Father’s tone is stern, his voice low and implacable.
Wandfasted!
The word sears through me and my breath catches in my lungs as I’m thrown into disorienting confusion. No. Not yet. I’m not even thirteen!
A shamed flush pricks at my cheeks as I realize what’s likely prompted this conversation. It’s not my light magery—this is all because Mother Eliss found me alone with Rafe Gardner out in the woods yesterday.
There’s no need for wandfasting, I inwardly rail, a raw, hot embarrassment twisting up inside me. Rafe and I didn’t do anything impure. We were just up on the property line talking—in full view of everyone! Filled with secret guilt, I shy away from thoughts of Rafe’s stunning emerald eyes. His warm smile. And my new, furtive curiosity about what it would be like to hold his hand or touch my lips to his, light as a feather.
My face burns with humiliation. When she found us together, it was as if Mother Eliss could look straight into my mind and read my deeply private feelings for Rafe. She practically dragged me away from him as I stumbled to keep up with her.
Thunder booms outside, and I flinch along with Mother Eliss. Rain begins to pound against the roof, sheeting down the library’s arching windows as my thoughts storm in a tangle of emotion.
“She’s so young for wandfasting.” A shadow of bleak worry passes over Mother Eliss’s face and she wrings her fastmarked hands.
“She has the figure of a much older girl,” Father insists, as if I’ve committed some trespass. “It’s time, Eliss.”
I shrink back and look down self-consciously at the curves that are now so pronounced, even my modest clothing can’t hide them.
“I’ve found a fastmate for her,” Father announces with finality.
A fastmate? Panic trills inside me. I’m nowhere near ready to leave my home or my beloved sisters, Retta and Clover.
“Who is it?” Mother Eliss gives Father a questioning look.
“Tobias Vasillis,” Father announces with slow precision, as if he’s secured a prize. “Clover and Retta are to be bindingly promised to Tobias’s young brothers as well, and fasted to them when they turn thirteen.”
Mother Eliss gives a sharp intake of breath. “Oh, well done, Warren.”
Well done? How can she say such a thing? Retta is only seven years old, and Clover just turned six. Why are our parents so eager to send us away?
Father deflects Mother Eliss’s praise with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Sage was bound to attract a good match with her light affinity—she’s sure to have high-level Mage sons. And she’s a good girl, our Sage. She deserves to be well fasted.”
I calm down a fraction, bolstered by Father’s unexpected praise and Mother Eliss’s unspoken agreement.
Our Sage. Not an outsider in the nest, but belonging just as much as my sisters. As much as my twin brothers. Even though Mother Eliss isn’t my birth mother, or my older brother Shane’s. Momma died of the Red Grippe when I was just five years old, and Father fasted to Mother Eliss not long after.
I desperately want to please both of them. I’m afraid of being sent away like Shane, who was always arguing with Father and disobeying Mother Eliss.
I want to be their good girl.
Mother Eliss is quiet for a long moment, but then she sighs and nods, her tense expression softening.
“Eliss,” Father says, his tone warmer, “I know how fond you are of Sage. She’ll be fasted, and then we’ll bring her home. But with her future secured.”
It won’t be so bad, I console myself. Mother Eliss seems happy with Father’s choice for me, and after the fasting, I get to come right back home again. With Retta and Clover.
Thunder crashes again, and my head jerks back from the shock of the earsplitting sound. The frantic pitter-patter of small feet sounds around the curving hallway, and suddenly Retta and Clover are clinging to my skirts, a beseeching look on each of their faces.
Scared to be caught eavesdropping, I bring a finger to my lips and motion urgently toward the library to hush them. They remain carefully quiet, none of us wanting to invoke our parents’ fury. I gently but hastily guide whimpering, wild-haired Clover and round-eyed, timid Retta back to their room and under their bedcovers. I snuggle in between them, hugging them close as the storm crashes and booms and p
ounds our estate. Retta’s eyes are tightly closed, her hands pressed hard against her ears, and Clover clutches at me, chewing nervously on her ever-present quilted blanket.
“I don’t want you to go away,” Clover says, a stark plea in her tone, and I realize they were listening with ears pressed to the wall again.
“Don’t get fasted,” Retta chimes in, her whole body curled into a ball and pressed up against my side. “Why do you have to get fasted?”
I hug them close and tamp down my lingering apprehension. “I’m not going anywhere, you silly ones. Not ’til I’m a lot older. And when I join my fast-family, you’ll come, too.”
Retta stares at me, wide-eyed. “We will?”
“Of course,” I reassure her, still warmed from the glow of Father’s and Mother Eliss’s praise. “We’ll always be together.”
“Okay,” Retta says in a small voice, seeming mollified. Clover’s expression remains that of a soldier under siege. She grasps my arm even tighter, as if preparing to resist if someone tries to snatch me away. I playfully poke at her until she cracks a smile, and soon her grip on me loosens.
I sing them their favorite song, a counting song about baby animals, and stare up at the white bird mobile I’ve sewn for them, the design a reminder of the Ancient One’s holy birds, who watch over us all and protect us from harm. The flock of cheery birds sways in the slight draft the storm has kicked up. My eyes slide down to a nearby shelf housing the cloth dolls I’ve made for my sisters. Smaller dolls fashioned from clothespins sit on the larger dolls’ laps, all of them dressed in Gardnerian black. Beside that shelf is another, holding rows and rows of religious children’s books.
Mother Eliss only allows religious books and religious songs and religious art in our house—and the art can only be in the permitted colors. She’s always been strict with me and my sisters, and now she’s often absent and wrapped up in the care of my twin half-brothers. But she often rewards us in little ways when we try to mind the rules—gifts of picture books left on our pillows, and a flower-press on the dining room table just last week with a note that read, “For My Good Girls.” She doesn’t like to play or sing songs, but I know she’s been through terrible things, having lived through the Realm War.
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