Wielders of Magic, Book 1: A Spell Binding Tale

(Thanks for reading, even years after it was created. I appreciate all of you! First Chapter has been Edited. Enjoy!)

His hands were nimble with long, skilled fingers that guided a raven’s quill with grace, nothing short of dancing across the white papyrus before him. He did this every night, copying documents and poems, papers and stories etc. Jackson was not paid very well, but the money was enough to keep him fed and housed. “I am grateful for your . . .” He said softly to himself, his hand writing with speed along the paper as his glinting eyes read the document.

It was given to him by the treasurer of the town, a long standing man of the Republic by the name of Craiglile Fist; he was always suspicious of his talents. This, however, did not stop him from doing business with Mr. “Splendor”. He had many important things to do and did not have time to copy his papers out himself. Paying someone took away the stress and he was the only one in town who would do it within a timely fashion.

Warlock or not, Jackson was the best person for the job. None of the words held within Mr. Fists documents had never been uttered outside of his intentions, to the best of his knowledge he had found someone the treasurer could even call a friend.

The irony of this weakened the bones of Jackson quite frequently. The discretion he held for his life was not entirely his choice but was necessary none the less. Being a witch, warlock or any kind of magic user labeled you as someone who dared cheat fate. The world had grown tired of the whimsical talents of its esoteric cousins, soured at the thought of gifts from a giver they could speak to. They had abandoned them for tales of an all knowing, all powerful being that guided their fates far before their birth took place. To deny this existence with the use of magic was considered nothing short of heresy.

It even brought the penalty of death, if it were to be disobeyed.

Jackson’s speed started to increase as he neared the end of his work, excited at the thought of resting in his bed with a plate full of warm bread and toasted fish. His writing was starting to become sloppy, but that did not stop him. At this pace, one had to be very concentrated.

“Mr. Splendor!” A voice shouted, fists wrapping against his door loudly. Jackson’s hand flew across the page and smeared everything, knocking over his bottle of ink. It soiled his desk and dripped onto his lap, pouring down into the seat of his chair. He sat and stared at it, silently cursing.

“Mr. Splendor!”

“What in the name of the Abyss do you want!?” He got up, kicking his chair across the floor and storming to the door, yanking it open. Three armored men stood in its wake, each bearing a weapon that could kill him in an instant.

He gulped. “Oh uh, hello?”

“The mayor has sent us to search your home.” The one in the middle stated, his hand going to his sword hilt. “Strange sightings of magic have been seen in the city, and we are investigating before more people are hurt.”

Jackson’s mind jumped back to three days ago, analyzing his movements and activities, searching for a slip of the hand, a wrong word said, something that would have caused a burst of unintended magic; but he found none.

“Can we come in?”

“Oh, yes of course!” He chuckled nervously and moved out of the way, letting the three enter his relatively small home. “I hope you find whoever - . . . what was hurt?”

“Eight people and two children. Five dead,” He turned his eyes on him. “One of them . . . a child.”

Jackson gulped again. Where did he mess up? He searched his thoughts, baffled at the amount of people who had died. It had to be him, only he could do something so terrible so quickly and still get away. But if it was not, it had to be another magic wielder in the town.

His heart skipped a beat at the thought.

“What’s this?” One of the men, dressed in copper armor, pulled out a large book. He blew the dust off of it and read the title. “. . . Incantations, and Tricks of the Hand . . . the Arts of-” He sucked in his breath, dropping it to the floor. “Magic!” The book suddenly disappeared, making them all gasp in horror.

The witch hunters whipped around, weapons drawn, only to find Jackson gone, and the room cleared of all its belongings. One note lay on the table, written in black ink upon yellowed paper. The leader of the group, Merivilous, picked it up and after glancing over the text he crushed it in his hand. He shouted angrily and slammed his fist on the table, cracking it down the middle. “We are fools! Come on, let’s go and alert the mayor! You got his face right?” He turned and looked at the third in their group.

“Sure did. Every time.” Lilith took a paper from her clip board and held it in front of him; a flawless drawing of Jackson Splendor. “I’ll have it copied and spread throughout the town along with it’s neighbors.”

“Good, do that.” He nodded and looked over to his brother. “Tiranous, you come with me. Lilith, you know what to do.” The two brothers walked out of the place, mounting their horses and riding off into the street, going to tell the mayor of what they had seen.

Lilith picked up the note, unfolding it and grinning as she read “You people think you can catch a Warlock, but once you find one you never know what to do with yourselves.”

“Oh, you just wait Mr. Splendor; we were caught off guard for a moment.” She crumpled it up again, setting it ablaze with her hand and throwing it to the floor. “We will find you, and we will kill you.”

A dark witch with impeccable masking magic would look no further than the ones seeking to destroy her tribe. She had been working with the witch hunters for well over five years and yet not once had they asked her a single question about her personal life. They did not notice the small tricks guiding them closer to their prey, nor did they notice when she made things go missing. It was easier for her really, benefiting from both sides of the conflict. As far as they knew, she was just a very talented witch tracker, not a creature that could smell their very essence days after they had crossed their path. Watching as the flames devoured the floor and took the curtains, her eyes glimmered with delight before she left the building.

The house went up in flames, and Lilith did not turn back to see her work. She had done it many times before, and was all too familiar with the sight.

(Two days ago . . .)

“Hello miss, what can I get you today? Your name?”

“Oh no, just a loaf. Wheat if you don’t mind.” Drusilla stood at the counter of Bearton’s Breads, a heavy black robe draped over her emaciated form, hiding her beautiful white wings and shadowing her strange colored eyes. She did not want to attract any attention to herself in this town, especially when posters of her face littered the streets, crying out to everyone to find the “Red Witch”. She had had some unpleasant experiences with the neighboring towns, ones that left some people either hurt or dead. She did not want to think of it now, not while she was trying to hide everything about herself.

“Here you are Miss, one loaf of wheat bread.” Bearton handed over the goods in a paper bag, eyeing her, trying to spot a crack in her shell of protection. “Why are you so . . . silent, my lady?”

She nodded in thankfulness, handing him his money and exiting the place. With her hood down low she walked the streets, trying not to draw eyes to her. She wanted everyone to just leave her alone, not to stare at her as if she was some sort of monster.

Well, a murderer would be more accurate.

She knew it too. Before when she thought of what her power would come to be, she never imagined it would turn her light, bubbly view of herself and the world into something so abhorrent. She could not tame it, she did not know how. Sometimes, her anger would just slip out of her grasp, flying off into the sky until she could not reach it. The Abyss was the only word she had to describe the feeling.

“Hey, who is this?” A man with a cane appeared beside her as she walked through a dark ally, poking her left thigh as two large men exited the buildings surrounding her.

Drusilla sucked in her breath, clutching her bread tightly.

“Oh,” The short man put his cane up to her face, pushing her low cowl off of her head and letting her strawberry hair flow down around her shoulders. “Oh! Well, aren’t you a beauty? A little underfed perhaps, but I’m sure everything still works just fine.”

The Red Witch started to walk hurriedly, trying to walk past them. “Please, let me go, you don’t know what you’re getting into-”

One of the large men wrapped his hand around her mouth, almost crushing her. She tried to cry out, only he squeezed with more force. The other came up behind her and took a firm hold on her black robes, ripping them from her.

Drusilla shrieked, a shock wave irrupting from within her and slamming into the three men, throwing them into the walls of the buildings on either side of the ally. They all slid down to the ground with a groan, the houses shaking and large cracks spidering up their frames. The Red Witch gasped, watching in horror as they slowly started to topple over into the ally. She screamed and flapped her giant wings, flying out of the tight space as bricks fell down behind her, burying the three men before they could escape.

Drusilla fell out into the street, her feet being hit by falling pieces of stone. Her wings slammed hard on the dirt as well as her face, dust flying up around her, as she lay in shock.

With a collective gasp, the townspeople froze in place. “Witch!” Someone cried, others joining in and scattering the place as the authorities began to take notice.

“Get up!” A man shouted, pointing a spear at her back. Slowly Drusilla got up, beaten and battered by the falling bricks and burned by sliding through the street. Her white dress had been torn in multiple places, but at least still covered the bloodstains that had been there from her last encounter in the town before.

This time, she feared, would be no different.

“Please, stay away!” She cried, wiping the blood from her eyes that had trickled down her forehead. “You will be killed!”

“Put your hands up, Witch, before I cut them off!” Another man started to advance towards her along with three others, all wielding spears.

“Please, I cannot control it!” Drusilla sobbed, tears making streams down her dirt covered face. One of the men stabbed at her with his weapon, making her jump back only to be speared by another behind her. She screamed and another wave shook the ground around her, crushing the nearest men, women and children’s internal organs before they fell onto the roadway.

The Red Witch stared in horror at her deeds, covering her mouth in unbelievable agony. She had to flee before others came to try and destroy her . . . before they came to die!

Drusilla took to the sky, her wings heavy but determined. If only she knew what wonderful magic she possessed that was continually covered up by devastation.

She would one day, she just had to meet someone first, someone like herself. What she did not know was that she was closer to meeting that person than ever before. Not too far away was a man crawling steadily through a sewer grate, releasing himself into the wild as his ancestors before him once did. Neither of them were aware that solutions would fall right into their lap, that their time alone would be a distant memory, and good days would finally come forward.

Well, good days for a while anyway . . .