From Blood to Born

I remember the last spring. It was eighteen years ago. Ever since then, the magical practices of blood have increased, at to which I am apart of. It may not be a respectable job, but it’s something. It’s anything to be able to get the parcels of chips that pay my rent and support me to save up and someday find my daughter. I must tell her that I love her and that I will do anything to support her current life. No matter what it takes.

When winter took over, that’s when they took my daughter. Barely two seconds old. Her father died trying to fight the soldiers taking her. I haven’t been with anyone else, in memory and respect of him.

Looking back at the last eighteen years, I was struggling through the stages of grief, whilst being homeless and jobless. Now, I’m so much better. I’ve accepted what’s happened, and even forgave the soldiers that took her. I then forgave the government for making the law that no magical couple can have children to try and get rid of our species.

That’s my resolution, is to get her back this year. It’s been my resolution for the last few years, but I’ve never been brave enough to actually do it. Leave my job and travel the world to find her. It’s the year I face my fears.

Today is the day I start, by quitting my job.

“Margarine, I’m done. I’m not coming back,” I told her, while holding out my mummer’s apron.

“But you can’t leave, you have so much work to be done. You’re the best we’ve got. Everyone else always dies at the third year. I’ll give you a raise, I’ll give you anything just please don’t leave us,” she begged, her eyes watering as if she was about to cry.

I doubted it honestly. She never cries, nor does she actually care about any of us. With that, I put the apron on the table and left the shop. With her cries and begging in the distance I began my ride to my first destination: Mirstone. It’s a town of dark seas and little land. But, in it contains a map somewhere. I don’t know where, but with my lucky wyrm I’m destined to find it.

Sailing the air is a freeing feeling, although a little scary with everything so small below me.

My wyrm squawked in certainty. We’re here. The water with its many ripples over all the little cuts of rocks in no particular pattern, and the air taking a certain navy color, I felt my courage rise.

We land on a particularly big rock, and I look around. No big island for miles and miles. Patting my wyrm as a signal to follow me, we head north. The center of any place here is always north. No one knows why. Some believe it’s the god’s will, others believe its fate and wear symbols of it everywhere. I believe it’s just happenstance. 

The wind’s direction changed. North-west, so we followed it. After another hour of walking and jumping between the rocks so as not to fall in the water, we reach the center. Sharp ivory barks pointed inwards, with the sea swirling around viciously. Climbing my wyrm, we fly into the swirling sea.

Using my powers, I form a bubble around us so we can breathe and see clearly. The depths are darker than I imagined, with black coral bits piled everywhere and broken wings of ancient beasts. Going deeper, and deeper into the depths, nothing changes except the scenery, getting darker and darker. The pressure begins to rise, and I increase my spells’ might threefold. At what seemed like three days passing, a small sparkle catches my eye. My wyrm sees it too, and swims towards it. The sparkle getting brighter and brighter, he begins to swim faster and faster. My heart ever beating so quickly I begin to try to slow my breathing so as not to get my hopes up.

We arrive at the destination, and the sparkle turns out to be an extremely large chest. So large, it could be mistaken for a shop. The lock, the center of the gleaming quality of the chest, screams magical properties.

Unbuckling quickly, I think through all the different possibilities the magical lock could be. Looking at the chest itself, it seemed from Symer. They are from the days of old, one of the original races to really develop magic to what it is today. My grandfather was Symer, and taught me their ways of being, as well as the spells and their practices of magic. That must be it, the practice of the nether.

The practice of the nether was the darkest, and most obscure practices of Symer. I first begin by breathing in, feeling the bones and letting my brain remember the lives of my ancestors.

Doing this, my body begins to rise ever so slightly.

Then, I bring my arms up to my chest and breathe out while pushing them away from me, ever so slowly. While doing this, I think of the different realms of possibilities that could have happened in each of their lives, dark and light.

My body rises slightly faster towards the lock.

Lastly, I bring my arms down, up to the side of my body, then push them down and out while rounding my arms as if I’m holding a small ball. Breathing in, I bring their thoughts, their experiences, their knowledge, and bound them together. With this being done, the lock begins to open revealing a circular hole. Seeing this, I push my creation into it, and breathe out.

I fall to the floor, passing out from the amount of magic I used.

I wake up, seemingly hours later. My wyrm sleeping next to me holding a long cylindrical piece of wood.

Getting up to go towards it, he wakes up and gestures his head towards it. I take it in my hands and open it. The map comes out by itself, emitting a small glow. The X, being smart, says, “You are here.” Dotted lines begin to appear, going east, to the land of Lunaris. It’s a land of bandits and pirates and the Forsaken, or as commoners call them, assassins.

Putting the map back in its case, I secure it in my bag, climb on my wyrm, and sail out of the depths of Mirstone.

Catching a fish in its mouth, my wyrm happily flies out of the sea and into the air.

I will find her. I will get my daughter back, if it’s the last thing I do.

I repeat these thoughts as I navigate my wyrm to Lunaris. Past the lands of old, and the mazes of the maize, to places I’ve even never been. Like the country of woodworms, and woodwyrm creations.

Some things really should have been left alone in the realm of creation for sorcerers.

My favorite of all that I have also never been to, Sanrath. It is an island and has only actually been referenced in legends. Glancing from above, I could see the first wheel, the first plane, and the first spell in its slightly rusted lock, gleaming blue and purple.  

I’ll have to take her here once we reunite and get our bearings.

It was a few more days before we reached the famed land of bandits. The seas surrounding the island were filled with pirate ships of different brigades and past them, a line of sharp and flat rocks. Knowing that they would have armed catapults specifically for beasts like mine, I settle him near one of the surrounding rocks. It’s just large enough for him to sleep, but far away enough for him to not get caught.

“You’ll be safe here. I will be back in three days’ time. If I’m not back by then, go back and find Maeve. She will help you save me,” I instructed my wyrm. I should probably name him, but then thought best not. Names are not my thing. They are a thing of the past, not something that should be held special.

Grabbing my bags, and hiding the map inside them, I conjure a small cargo ship. I set sail, glancing back while smiling knowing I’ll be back sooner than I told him.

This should be easy.

Twelve hours into the mission, and it was not easy. I had boarded my boat only to find that there were no more humans controlling the docks, only small automatons. Seeing as how I’m coming here with barely any money, I conjured up some small pieces of seven, and made my way. They caught me trying to steal some mangoes.

So now I’m in jail.

The door was made of steel, with a very small and tinted window to the outside. The keys were magic. Thankfully it was magic of the blood. All I needed was a sacrifice. Unfortunately, I’m in a cell by myself and some rats. Rats.

Shrugging my shoulders as if why not, I grabbed as many as I could and held them in a ball shape, whilst stating my chants.

In a matter of minutes, the door opened, and I was out. Navigating through the narrow hallways and in between the guards through way of magic, getting out was easy. It was staying out that was the hard part. I jumped the fence surrounding the prison, and into a commoner’s backyard. Seeing the clothes being hung I grabbed some and traded them for mine. Continuing my mission, I head to the center of town. The Pirates’ Cove. It’s their guild hall, as well as the magician’s guild hall that’s in the basement. I’m going for the latter. That’s where she should be.

Making my way through the guards, via a small disguise in pirate armor by magic, I make my way there fairly quickly.

The hard part is now I’m here.

I dispel the disguise and begin my chant.

 I breathe in and think of the grief that I’ve suffered. I breathe out and think of the anger I’ve been through. I breathe in and think of the bargaining I’ve done. I breathe out and think of the conditions I’ve suffered. I breathe in and think of the life she could have had. I breathe out and think of the life my husband could have given her. I breathe in and think of the person she could have become. I breathe out and think of the things she would have liked and disliked. I breathe in and think of all the other different realities that this could have been. I breathe out and begin to shift the realms between life and death.

My vision goes blurry, and bleak. I begin the see the souls of the past as a wall between this world and theirs. I walk through thinking of her, thinking of all that she should be.  I am here. I am where she should be.

Opening my eyes, I see the memory of the last time I saw her, but through her eyes. At the end, where my husband dies, and they take her away from me during my agony and suffering of seeing my true love die. She walks through, and so does he.

My eyes widened with shock; this wasn’t supposed to happen. She was the only one to come through. Why did he?

“Hey, mom,” she said casually. Her silhouette as white as a sheet, wearing a thin white dress. Her hair long, dark, and curly. Yet, he remained the same.

“Come back with me, please. Both of you,” I plead, practically beg. My eyes start tearing up looking from my daughter to my husband.

“Only she can go with you, you know that,” He says as he pushes both of us back through the portal.

We fly back through the portal, her on top of me. My eyes focused on my husband, tears falling from my face. I don’t realize, that we actually came back to the realm of the living. Shocked and relieved, I look at her, the dress no longer fitting, and she begins to cry as she is now back to the age she was when she was taken. A baby of now three seconds old.

Silencing her with white magic, I hide her in my magician’s robes, and begin the walk back to Zyldro, my wyrm.

No longer are the days of old, I will look at everything now as special. I am so grateful to have finally attained her and completed my resolution of the past few years. I will name her Alethea.