Namesake

by Kate Stradling

  The path at my feet, so familiar, seems short. I crest upon a hill and view my high school and the magic academy adjacent to it. At some point, I’ll probably have to sit for a test to earn my diploma. Today my footsteps orient toward the second building, though.

  The Dean of Magic waits for me at the entrance. He eyes the side of my face. Renado has provided me with a dramatic undercut to showcase my damaged flesh when I wear my hair up, like I do today.

  “Jen, it’s so nice to see you again,” he says, as if we weren’t archenemies for twelve long years.

  I nod and gesture to Demetrios. “This is my husband, Dima.”

  The dean mumbles some awkward pleasantry, proof that rumors of Demetrios’s origins have circulated despite my father’s best efforts to keep them under wraps. Demetrios, still working on the modern dialect, only nods in response. Hands in my pockets, I proceed into the building.

  It’s smaller than I remember. The students at their tables pause in their lessons; their tutors regard me with open curiosity—Miss Corlan among them.

  I focus on the dean. “I know you’re busy, so I won’t keep you long.”

  He spreads his hands in an artless gesture. “An audience with the enigmatic Anjeni Sigourna is a rarity these days. You have as much of my time as you desire.”

  I take this as proof that rumors of my magic abilities have circulated as well. But that suits me fine under the circumstances. It saves me the hassle of revealing them myself.

  “I came to say thank you.”

  Surprise flickers across his face.

  I continue. “It was difficult, all those years of coming here with nothing to show for my efforts. I’m sure it was more difficult for you to put up with me. I know my parents fought to keep me here and that you would have rather expelled me from ever entering your doors, but thank you. The knowledge I received—little though I appreciated it at the time—saved my life and countless others.”

  Again he eyes the scars that twist up my right side. “You will not, I suppose, indulge me with a demonstration?” He shifts his attention to the nearest table, where one of his dreaded candles presides.

  “I’m not a riverbed.”

  My hands remain in my pockets, but a spark jumps from one of the other tables to the waiting wick.

  The dean hisses an appreciative breath as the room goes completely still.

  “You’ve had others like me in the past,” I say, “students who tested positive but never manifested a spark. If you encounter any in the future, and if they truly want to learn, you can send them to me.”

  He acknowledges this offer but chooses to address a different point. “What do you mean, you’re not a riverbed?”

  “I mean that your first fundamental of magic is completely useless to me. But I won’t complain about it, because it’s my own fault that everyone learns it that way.”

  The goddess Anjeni restored the principles of magic to the people of Helenia. Much to my consternation, I began the very traditions I despised throughout my youth. The only explanation that assuages my feelings is that those traditions—and I, and Demetrios, and all the people in this world—belong to a greater whole than I can comprehend.

  Everything and nothing converged.

  My errand complete, I take my leave as the shell-shocked Dean of Magic digests my final remark. Demetrios and I fall in line with our waiting security detail outside.

  The city stretches before me, teeming with millions of people on their daily errands. They have their lives and goals and ambitions. I have mine.

  The universe doesn’t make mistakes.

  Had I been crafted any different, I would have failed in my purpose. Armed with such knowledge, I can nurture others in similar straits.

  And, if the universe allows it, I surely will.

  Acknowledgments

  I didn’t intend for this book to be so long. But then, I never intended to write it at all. When I pulled it from my stockpile of ideas, it was solely for tinkering purposes, so that I could look like I was being productive without actually investing myself into the process.

  It was supposed to be a novella, if I ever finished it. Ha.

  My critique partners, Jill Burgoyne and Rachel Collett, saw more potential in the story than I did and demanded that I develop my plot and my characters properly. Without the candid analyses of these two friends, Anjeni would have been a mere shadow of what she is today.

  So, Jill and Rachel, thank you. You were right, on many, many occasions. You have that in print now, so treasure it.

  I’m grateful also to my mom, Edith, who hates first person narration but loves this story anyway, and to my sister, Kristen, who felt like it was her bygone teenaged angst I was channeling instead of my own. Their faithful encouragement throughout this project has been invaluable.

  Lastly, I give thanks to my Heavenly Father, who told me I could quit writing if I wanted to and then provided all the support I could possibly need to continue. This book in particular has been a huge learning opportunity. I’m so blessed to have had the difficult, slogging experience of writing it.

  Hard work is the best work.

  (Much as I sometimes wish otherwise.)

  K.S.

  July 2017

  About the Author

  Kate Stradling is the author of seven fantasy novels, including Goldmayne: A Fairy Tale, Kingdom of Ruses, Tournament of Ruses, and The Legendary Inge. She received her BA in English from Brigham Young University and her MA in English from Arizona State. She blogs about linguistics, language use, and literary tropes at katestradling.com. She currently lives in Mesa, Arizona.

  www.katestradling.com

  Also by Kate Stradling

  The Legendary Inge

  Kingdom of Ruses

  Tournament of Ruses

  Goldmayne: A Fairy Tale

  A Boy Called Hawk

  A Rumor of Real Irish Tea