50th of Kalborae - 8th Isharil, 2019 BBI

  Today, I, Seretra Crowfoot, received this journal as a Darkened Veil present from my father, Jek Crowfoot in honor of the new year to come. I will be 13 this coming year and my father says that I am old enough now to think about expanding my education. Up until this point, both my parents have taken my home schooling very seriously and it helps that my mother, Lyzein, is a professional alchemist in the area.

  I have long since learned letters, reading, and figures from her. Most of my time is usually with my father, though, since we discovered that I inherited some of his magical aptitudes several years ago. This discovery was one of the unfortunate kinds before it was decided that I learn at home in our cabin outside the port city of Tranmere, instead of at the city’s school for reading, writing, and arithmetic. Well, I suppose it was because of the incident at the school and not so much before it.

  I didn’t do anything wrong, though! Nothing bad and Father believes me that it was an accident. I was just so excited to meet other people my age. People like me, excited to learn, and Tranmere is so much more busy and bustling than our little home by the woods. So when I was invited to skip rope with some of the other girls in my class, I was so eager to fit in with them, to make friends, that I might have gotten carried away.

  I only wanted to show them a light spell I had been figuring out on my own, but it just wasn’t quite ready yet. I had seen my father do it so many times, just an orb of light in your palm, nothing fancy or intricate. It’s just like a bitty yarn ball of strings made of light and light strings are everywhere in the day time, even on cloudy days. Even on rainy days! But not so much at night time. Except on full moons, which now that I think about it is fairly often when all three moons are in the sky.

  In any case, I could see them all clearly, milling about in pools of sunbeams, drifting through the sky light bright fuzzy eels, and called them to me like my father had taught me. I focus on the string I want and imagine a line, like a tether, to my finger and tell it to “follow” in my mind. It’s a simple trick but it took me a solid year to get good at it and this particular mishap happened before then. Well, instead of focusing on just one fuzzy strand, I thought it would go faster if I called lots of strands to me at once. So when I told them to follow, they all converged at once, colliding with one another in a jumbled mess.

  A huge flash of light burst into being, covering me and my new friends in glowing strands of light. They are harmless, of course. It’s only light. But the strands were all stuck to us all, making us glow like lamps. I found it quite funny, honestly, but the other girls were not so keen on the idea and a few of them cried, running to the Head Mistress. It was all downhill from there. I tried to unstick them, but it’s much more difficult to create the same kind of tether on a piece of mana that has already materialized. I did not know this at the time so, needless to say, I could not get any of them to budge off our clothes or skin or hair.

  I was taken out of class immediately by the Head Mistress, who was appalled to find her students all lit up. She took me to her office, but I was made to sit and wait outside while both my parents were sent for to pick me up. While I waited, she scolded me for daring to use magic in her school. She stressed that this was a place of learning, not flashy, dangerous parlor tricks, but I wasn’t listening too closely at this point. What kind of school didn’t teach magic?

  Magic is everywhere! Mana threads float in the skies, whether it be light or water or air and makes the rains come and clouds gather or blows them all away. It courses through the ground, helping things to grow in our gardens and in the woods. And of all places, the people of Tranmere should know that all ships in and out of the Thieves Coast baring food and goods and people rely heavily on the flow of mana within the waves and winds. What about magic was so detestable?

  When my parents finally did arrive, Father was furious. Not at me, but at the school and I think he is still mad at them since he grumbles under his breath whenever its brought up. He dispersed the static-y light strands on all the affected students, proving that the fuzzy light threads were, in fact, harmless, but the Head Mistress was insistent that they were not that kind of school. Whatever that meant.

  On the way home, I asked Father if what I did was really wrong. He told me it wasn’t wrong, but that I should not have practiced in front of my peers. Naturally, I wanted to know the difference as it sounded like he was telling me I actually was wrong. I was surprised to know, and this still surprises me, that not everyone can see mana before it is manifested. This still boggles my mind. How can anyone perform magic without seeing it?!

  So that was that. No more school and no more friends. Mother took up my studies with reading and writing in between my house work with her and my weaving practice. Weaving in a loom is just as important as weaving threads of mana, so my father always says, treating it like magic practice. Which it’s not. Sometimes it feels like more of a punishment; as I would much rather be outside, tending the garden with Father or foraging in the woods. Mother always needs fresh herbs that are sometimes not available in her modest herb garden for all the different kinds of potions she makes. So I always make sure to bring back plenty of things I know she will appreciate whenever I go on my own. Father still admonishes me for it but it’s not nearly the scolding I would get if I came back empty handed.

  Mother sells her concoctions to most every apothecary in Tranmere about once a month and Father insists that we all go together. On special days, like today, we all spend the night in town at an Inn on the waterfront called The Broken Tree. It’s one of the largest Inns in town and my parents are good friends with the owner, Misses Candy, who offers us a room whenever we are in town. Mother’s potions helped her husband, Mister Dreadflower, a few years back and they have been super grateful ever since.

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  She is really nice when we stay and always offers me a piece of whatever pastry is fresh out of the oven. Today it was a wintergreen berry tart, which I was skeptical of at first as the berries are usually a bit minty and sour, but she had made the berries into a jam which was only faintly sour; tart even, but pleasantly so. My reaction must have pleased her because she said I could have as many as I wanted during our stay!

  Unfortunately, not everyone in this port of sailors and merchants, mages and scientists are as welcoming or as kind as Mister and Misses Dreadflower. While helping Mother with her deliveries today, I watched as a gaggle of kids around my age laughed and chased each other around the square. A few of them I recognized, but most of them I didn’t. One of the boys stopped, lagging behind the rest, staring back at me. He waved. I waved back. And just as he started a gesture to include me in their fun, another girl stalked up from behind him, catching his hand and pulling it down roughly. She glared at me shaking her head and I recognized her then. Her name is Liddy and she was one of the girls I made glow all those years ago.

  I turned away from them, back into the Main Square Apothecary shop my parents were in. This was just how things were since that day. It doesn’t hurt as much as it used to, being excluded. I’ve gotten used to it now, but I used to weep and ball like a baby. Mother is always there in those instances with a warm comforting hug and Father generally helps me calm down by talking through it. I didn’t used to find his kind, yet candid words very reassuring until more recently. Like when Liddy and her group of friends called me and family cursed after making her glow.

  It’s not true, of course. I’m just clumsy. Like with the light spell, I feel like I know what to do, but when I try it, things just tend to go a bit wrong. The real answer seems so obvious, too, after the fact. Of course if I call all the light strands to me at once, they will all come at once! It’s so simple, but I didn’t think of that beforehand. These kinds of things happen to me all the time in the woods with Father. That is where we practice most of the time. I would say about half of the time, things tend to go sideways, but Father is always very patient with me. He always asks me what went wrong and I usually know it right away. Don’t be demanding with wind threads, water threads need to guided, earth strings need to be drawn out, and fire threads, well, I still have problems with fire threads.

  It’s the reason why when we are in town, I’m not allowed to start, stoke, admire, or think about the hearth, the fireplace, or the candles in the Inn or any of the shops. I tend to agree with Father that it is likely better this way, lest I accidentally burn down the lovely Broken Tree Inn. Tonight, though, there will be firework in the bay and I could not be more excited to see them burst to bring in the new year!

  I just know that next year will be better than the last! I can feel it, somehow. Maybe it is all just wishful thinking, but one day, I know I will find where I belong.

  1st of Sifdras - 1st Kaldros, 2020 BBI

  I wake in Mother’s arms, a cold sweat on my skin making it feel clammy to the touch. I realize that Mother is crying and I hug her to try and comfort her as she has done for me so many times. I see Father there just behind her and he places a hand on my head as he joins us on my bed in the Inn, smoothing my hair behind my ear.

  “What happened?” I ask, pulling away from her.

  “You had a nightmare, darling.” There is a small shake in her voice and the dread in her eyes has me shaken even though I feel more or less fine.

  “That’s strange,” I muse, “I don’t remember anything bad. Or good…” My thoughts trail off as I wipe my forehead and am surprised to find sweat there.

  “That is likely for the best then. You were wailing like a bansidhe.” Mother must see the alarm on my face as she lovingly brushes my hair back away from my face and neck.

  “Really? My throat isn’t rough or anything—“ She stops suddenly and I look up at her to see she has gone stark white, staring blankly at my neck.

  She touches it gently, the left side of my neck, just below my ear. “What is it?” I ask and wince as she touches a rather tender spot and I squeak out an “ouch!”. Did I thrash in my sleep and hit my head? But I feel fine. Actually, I feel better than I had when falling asleep after the fireworks. But this sentiment does not, in any way, match the horror on Mother’s face.

  In Mother’s hesitation to answer my question or say anything, Father went to the bedside table to retrieve my small hand mirror and hands it to me. I take it from him, a slight tremble in my hand. What could it be to have Mother so speechless, so fearful? I hold up the glass and turn my head to see what she had touched a moment ago. It takes me a moment to find the right angle, but even before I can see it clearly there is a dark spot there, like a bruise or a birthmark. I doubt the latter.

  It finally comes into focus as I find the correct angle of my head and the mirror. Two small, ink black, bird-shaped marks, no larger than an acorn in total, have simply appeared, on my neck just below my left ear. One of the birds is slightly larger than the other, but they are facing one another in flight, creating an almost circular pattern. The marks are too symmetrical, too perfect to be a bruise. In fact they are so detailed that I can see the blanks of the eyes on each one.

  My hand wanders up to them but my neck is still tender when I touch it. Even still, I rub as if trying to rub off dirt or soot, but the dark midnight birds remain intact. Picking up on my idea, Father wets a rag from the ewer and basin in our room and hands it to me. I accept it and scrub with the rag as roughly as I dare. I let out a growl of discomfort, but when my skin is red from the abuse, the birds are still jet black.

  Mother retrieves something from her bag, bringing back with her a small bar of lye soap. Trying not to panic in the silence of our room, I wash the mark with their help. The suds sting my irritated skin and I suck in my breath to keep from complaining too much, but once the suds have been wiped clean, the birds remain.

  I choke down tears of trepidation, my lip quivering with the effort and I cover it with a hand. What does this mean? These little birds appearing out of nowhere. Should I be scared or is this a blessing from a dream, or nightmare, that I cannot recall? A tear rolls down my cheek as I wonder what the future brings.

  Mother takes my other hand and Father gives me a reassuring smile, touching my cheek fondly to wipe the wayward tear away. He tells me that it will all be alright. Strangely, I agree with him. I didn’t before he said it, but something deep within me is saying that his words are true. That everything will turn out for the better, like I had hoped for the night before. I feel a comforting warmth radiating from the birds on my neck and in that moment, I don’t feel so alone.