Chapter 1
This was a bad omen.
Magda counted the newborns again.
Eight.
How could there be eight, on the night of Seven Born?
What was the High One telling her?
Other than the fact she was accursed.
Who else would have been given eight, when there should only be seven?
And none of them marked.
No crooked spines, clubbed feet, blindness, nor deafness. No hooves, fur, or claws to be seen. Not a single one selected for greatness.
Touched by the High One.
What was she to do with a batch of worthless babes?
“They are all – average,” Magda said. She threw up her hands, pacing as fast as her bowed legs allowed. “Tell me what I am to do with mediocrity?”
“Return them to their mothers?” Zeek said. One of her tails flicked over to a fussy baby. The fluffy blue end sprinkled dust upon the child. It cooed and quickly settled.
The Seven Born only happened once every few centuries. Magda had already waited two. Surely, she was not expected to wait a third.
It was Magda’s duty to raise and train the one marked as the next augur.
But none had been blessed!
What trickery was this?
Why was Magda being tested?
Hadn’t being born in a form that appeared as old as she currently was, enough? Never to have someone love her – not even a willing lover. Nary a friend. Only to spend her lifetime – which far exceeded those around her – foretelling the truth in people’s hearts.
Magda should not belabor her place among the Niche. Other villages killed the extraordinary at birth, believing them to be a hindrance to the community as a whole. The rest of the world, they were as narrow minded as their queen.
In Ickwell, Magda was safe.
Revered.
And, yes, Magda was feared. But that helped to ensure her safety. And Zeek’s.
“Normally, you would keep the infant chosen by the High One,” Zeek said. “And return the others.”
“Thank you for stating what is already known to me,” Magda said, shaking her head.
Zeek smiled kindly. “You are most welcome.”
Ah, Zeek. The poor girl was as sweet as the pinion fruit she was always eating, and her head just as hollow.
Magda needed finite answers. Preferably before the Chieftan arrived.
Magda looked out of the open window. The moon was directly overhead. Full and bright. She had until morning, before her time ran out.
“The children are quieted now. Bring me wood so that I may build the fire.” Magda said. She began clearing out the ash in the hearth and arranging the wood still fit for burning. When she was done, Zeek had returned.
“High One, strike me where I stand,” Magda groaned. She rubbed her aching temples with thin, gnarled fingers. “Think you not child, that we might need more than one log?”
“Seek patience and you will be granted the thing that tests it beyond measure,” Magda said under her breath. “Bring at least four more,” she said, not unkindly – for Magda.
Zeek looked stricken, nonetheless. “I’m sorry, Magda. I will return quickly with the rest.”
Zeek was a rarity. Birthed not during the Seven Born, when most special children were. She had been left on Magda’s doorstep, only a few days old. Whether that had been a blessing, or a curse, Magda had still yet to decide, some twenty years later. Though, it was difficult for Magda to hold onto her irritation, when Zeek was so sweet-natured.
Magda sent up a silent appeal.
Spirits above let the next ward share the same disposition, but not the same mental capacity, as our fair Zeek. Please, oh powerful One, let it be within your mercy.
When Zeek returned with four more pieces of wood, Magda placed two in the fireplace and set the others aside. Then she called to her magic to light the tinder.
If only Magda’s magic could collect the firewood as well, she’d have no need for Zeek.
Fire sparked.
It was only a heartbeat before the flames began to flicker and dance.
Zeek took a seat in between the row of cradles. Her long tails were ready, if any of the little ones should begin to fret.
Magda focused on the fire. Everything else became muddy.
She saw it then, the totem.
Totems were what Seer’s used when their magic was new. Magda had not used totems in hundreds of years. But she listened as the crackling lumber whispered softly to her.
Magda now knew what was expected of her.
She pulled the totem from the fire. It was skull shaped. And it smiled in death, a few of its teeth missing.
Magda gazed into its empty black sockets.
“I am to raise them all,” she said. There was no delight in her tone. “The Chosen will be revealed the sixteenth year after their birth.”
Zeek marred her beautiful cat-like features with a frown. “That is not how it is done.”
“I told you how it is to be done,” Magda sternly reminded her. “Now I am the one to tell you that the established ways –,” she paused, looking for the right words. “Have been altered.”
“By you?” Zeek asked, greenish-yellow eyes, widening.
“Of course not!" Magda huffed. "As if I would dare.”
Zeek looked confused. “Then who?”
Magda bit her tongue – literally. She cast her eyes up to the thatched roof, shaking her head, she took deep, steadying breaths.
Zeek. This one simple creature could test the fortitude of the Highest Priestess.
And the Fates wanted Magda to raise seven more?
Nay!
Not seven.
EIGHT!
Magda turned back to the fire. She went quiet. And still.
After an undetermined amount of time, Zeek commented, “You are looking into the flames even more strangely than usual.”
Zeek suddenly sneezed.
Seven newborns began to wail.
Why had Magda been staring so oddly – more strangely than usual – into the fire? Because she had been contemplating throwing herself upon it.
And wishing – for once – that she could catch fire.
And burn!
Instead, Magda said. “Pass me that spumy brew, child.”
Getting up from her post, Zeek poured Magda a glass of the rotted pinion juice. She seemed to consider Magda’s countenance for a moment. And then she topped off the wooden mug.
Magda would deal with the Chieftan in the morning.
If she drank enough, and The One on High was suddenly feeling gracious, maybe Magda wouldn’t wake up at all.
