Escape from Windenburg | 2

Now, we've come to the part of the story where I must tell you how one rogue spellcaster nearly obliterated the Magic Realm for good. This is a patchwork account, stitched together from many sources of varying reliability (perhaps including this writer's own imagination), and some liberties have been taken. My sister and I were never told the grisly details directly, for reasons that will soon become clear.

Late one night, an unknown man waltzed into Magical Headquarters with the swagger of someone who already owned the place. That is, he was unknown to most, but L. Faba, who had Sage of Mischief for as long as anyone could remember, recognized him instantly. What had his name been, she wondered. Michael? Michel? Oh, yes, Misael. A strange name for a strange young man. The last she'd heard of him was years back, when he unceremoniously banished himself from the Magic Realm after losing a duel he had no business requesting. Good riddance, she had thought then. Our world is better off without a hothead like him constantly flying off the handle.

Upon seeing him again, she made one fatal mistake: she didn't perceive him as a threat. Instead, she saw him as a once petulant child who had now returned with his tail between his legs, hopefully wiser and more mature. She waited for him to speak first, but he only stared, an intense smoldering expression shadowing his face. Finally, in an attempt to lighten the mood, she said whimsically, "Well, look who the cat finally dragged back in."

He responded with the most bone-chillingly heartless sneer she had ever seen in her long tenure as Sage and even longer life. Still, she was less truly fearful than annoyed. "I don't know what you think you're playing at, young man," she began in an irritable tone.

But those were the final words L. Faba would ever utter. Before she could prepare a defense, Misael's arms rose and he began chanting a familiar spell, though with a dark, gutteral undertone she didn't recognize. Suddenly, her veins coursed with electricity, wracking her body with agonizing jolts until her heart could no longer withstand it.

No one had ever killed a Sage before. Besides the fact that few would have had the strength and knowledge necessary, it was a rule among those who trained and studied in the Realm that magic was never, under any circumstances, to be used for murder. Of course, Misael had left the Realm long ago, and no one could say where - or with whom - he had passed the years since.

He didn't stop at L. Faba. Perhaps the Sages would have stood a chance if the attack hadn't arose so unexpectedly. As things stood, Simeon Silversweater, the good-natured Sage of Practical Magic, barely had time to rouse himself from sleep to investigate the commotion. He couldn't even make it to Faba's body before Misael was upon him, entrapping him in an impenetrable shell of solid ice. His demise was slower but just as certain.

That left Morgyn Ember, the Sage of Untamed Magic. Of all three Sages, Morgyn should have been the most intimately acquainted with the sort of spellwork Misael was manipulating to suit his nefarious purposes. Fire and ice usually bent to Morgyn's will more than anyone else's. But Misael's magic was beyond untamed. It was... feral, dirty, coarse. It had all the elegance of an unearthed and reanimated corpse. In other words, it wasn't pretty, but it was effective. Within seconds, Morgyn was engulfed in flames, and even the few spells they were able to frantically sputter did nothing to ease the suffering.

Word soon spread among those who occupied the Realm that the Magical Headquarters had been breached. No one knew if Misael would attempt escape or continue wreaking havoc. Help was needed, and quickly. A clarion call went out to all spellcasters living beyond the Realm.

Of course, Mom - brave, confident, and altruistic as she was - didn't think twice before taking off, and she was one of the first from outside to arrive. It was so late that we were fast asleep. We never even heard her leave. Spellcaster's Alley was nearly empty. A few brave souls were nervously patrolling the cobblestones and standing guard at the portals, but most everyone remained huddled behind locked doors casting silent protection spells.

She'd barely been able to believe the report she received from the Realm. Yes, Misael was a loose cannon but a killer? She couldn't make sense of it. But, suddenly, he was there in front of her, stalking in a blind rage toward the handful of spellcasters that remained out in the open.

Ignoring the alarmingly rapid palpitations of her heart, she stepped over to block his path. "Misael," she demanded, fighting to keep her voice steady, "what are you doing?"

He stopped, genuine surprise slipping through his mask for just a moment before the fury returned to his face. "You," he spit derisively. He looked her up and down, a deranged smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "You know, I might have let you rule alongside me if you hadn't rejected my ambitions. You had the power, but you were still too weak. You were under their thumb, just like everybody else. But that won't be a problem anymore. I found the knowledge I sought anyway. Your dear leaders are dead, and the Realm belongs to me."

"I'm so sorry," he continued without a single shred of remorse. "But I'm afraid I'll have to dispose of you now, too."

Then he hit her with a blast of magical charge so intense it was as though she were being hit by ten spellcasters at once. For a moment, it felt like time had been suspended. She hung with her feet dangling off the ground, her body bracing for impact, but she didn't fall. Instead, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and summoned forth the supernatural energy of her entire bloodline from somewhere deep within her core.

She had never brought forth so much power at once, had not even known herself capable of it, but it provided her with the strength she needed to hold off his assault if not completely put an end to it. It gave her another precious minute or two to think, to dredge up some half-buried spell she had once read somewhere from the darkest corners of her mind.

She thought she remembered seeing something about draining another spellcaster's magical charge. The only problem was that the charge would be transferred to her, but she thought maybe, just maybe, she could withstand it. Anyway, this was so much bigger than her. It was vital for her to incapacitate Misael, no matter the personal risk. Otherwise, the entire existence of magic as they knew it would be threatened. The words for the spell suddenly materialized in her mind, as if they had risen to the occasion of their own accord. Before she could second-guess herself, she began to cast. Misael was caught off-guard, and his charge slipped easily from his own control into my mother's palm.

She'd hoped to stop him without killing him, but he must have expended every last shred of life force he possessed between murdering the Sages and attempting to do the same to her. Without his charge providing the necessary buffer against damage, his body was simply too vulnerable to hold up a moment longer.

She'd finished the job, but like L. Faba, Mom made one fatal miscalculation: in her rush to get to the Magic Realm, she forgot to summon her familiar. Inkblot was still at home, snoozing peacefully, rather than at Mom's side, protecting her from the dangers of overcharge. It was a rookie mistake, but she'd had a lot on her mind. Her eyes swept the Alley desperately. There was no one left but her, nowhere for her to cast off the astronomical levels of magical charge buzzing through her body. It was already burning her up from the inside out.

Suddenly, the charge erupted outward. It could no longer be contained, going off like a small bomb with her at its center, rendered useless against its ground-shaking, bone-cracking roar.

When the dust finally settled, all that was left for her charred body to do was drop limply to the ground. There was nothing - and no one - left inside of it at all.

When it fell on Dad's shoulders to break the news to us of Mom's terrible fate, he was understandably vague. We were only kids, of course, but the truth of the situation was just as incomprehensible to him.  Sure, he'd voiced his concerns, but even in his wildest dreams he couldn't have imagined this.

Besides, there were still so many unknowns. Don't let my retelling of these events fool you. There were barely any witnesses. No one would ever truly know what the Sages were thinking or Mom or even Misael, though I drew plenty of my own assumptions over the years, replaying and embellishing upon the known facts so many times in my own head that I began to feel like I was actually there.

The funeral was somber and small. I think we were all too shell-shocked to loudly and shamelessly grieve, though many tears were still shed. Mom was buried beside her favorite patch of flowers, just a few feet away from the house.

We planted more flowers in her memory, hoping that one day an entire garden would grow up around her. She would've liked that, we thought. We all agreed that Grandma Malia should be given the honor of breaking first ground. While digging she spoke quietly, words I wasn't sure we were even supposed to hear, but they stayed with me long after. "The spirits told me everything," she whispered. "I didn't understand then, but they said I would in time. How could I have known that this is what they meant? You weren't even born yet!"

After Mom's death, it felt wrong for time to march on, but it did. Almost overnight, everything about Dad seemed to turn gray and sad, and it wasn't only age that changed him. I think he felt responsible somehow, like he should have pushed even harder on his misgivings about magic. At the same time, he also recognized her sacrifice, that she died in order to save an entire world. But it was hard to find much peace in that realization when the Magic Realm felt a million miles away. All we could focus on was the massive Mom-shaped hole in our hearts.

Of course, Dad became even less enthused about the concept of magic in general. He forbade us from returning to the Magic Realm or even practicing spellcasting at home. Before he could get it into his head to throw them away, I gathered up Mom's spare broomstick and wand and a pile of her magical tomes. I still didn't understand most of what was in them, since our education had only just begun, but as I grew older, I found comfort in their familiar heft and the faint traces of Mom's perfume wafting from their pages. I also grew more devoted every day to figuring out what they meant and how to use them. It was the only way I had left to maintain a connection with her. Nothing else mattered.

Meanwhile, Sabrina seemed to forget about magic altogether - or had at least shoved the memory of it into such a distant corner of her mind that she could pretend to forget about it. Gone were the days when she would saunter around proudly with her familiar flickering over her shoulder. Now, she was more or less a typical teenage girl who enjoyed typical teenage girl things, like makeup and gossip and boys. I could tell Dad was relieved to see her seemingly thriving. On the other hand, I had only grown more inward-facing; I didn't make friends, I barely tried at school, and I spent almost all my time at home scribbling in my journal behind our bedroom door.

Once, I tried to confront Sabrina. "How can you pretend everything's so normal?" I demanded in front of our lockers after the bell had rung and everyone else had scurried to class. "Mom is dead, and you're just acting like it didn't happen. You make it seem like she never even existed at all!"

"I know Mom is dead," Sabrina fired back, "and I could never forget her. But I also can't deal with being sad about it all the time like you and Dad are. It's time to move on. It's time to live. Don't you think that's what Mom would want?"

"But what about magic? How can you walk away so easily? If you really cared about honoring Mom's legacy-"

But Sabrina had already turned away. "Get a grip, Rowan," she said tightly. "This is the real world, not the Magic Realm. We aren't spellcasters, we're teenagers. You'd make things so much easier on yourself if you just accepted that."

But it wasn't that simple. The ordinary existence that Sabrina seemed to naturally slip into fit like a too-big sweater on me. Of course, she could accept this new mundane life. She was so good at it - just like she was good at everything she tried. She excelled in our classes with minimal effort, while I could only stare at a math book for five minutes before slamming it shut and cursing in frustration.

She struck up conversations easily and laughed and joked with her friends, while I sat alone in the corner of the cafeteria every day, exhausted by the mere thought of socializing with kids who couldn't possibly understand me.

She joined the soccer team, taking to athletics as easily as she had ever taken to anything. I no longer recognized my sister at all. We'd once fought over magic, sure, but it had also been something that bonded us together. Without it, we couldn't be more different.

At least I could always count on Sid to take my side. He was technically still my familiar, even if I was no longer allowed to practice magic. I could tell that he missed being my partner in spellcasting. Feeding on Mom's magical charge had made Inky basically immortal, but she had died soon after Mom without that constant energy source. I didn't want the same thing to happen to Sid.

I thought maybe if I sat down and explained to dad the reasoning behind why I wanted to keep practicing magic, he would understand. After all, it wasn't like I was proposing that I pack up and move to the Magic Realm, which I couldn't even be sure properly existed anymore. Maybe I would go there someday, but right now I only wanted to cast practical spells, simple, harmless commands that wouldn't put me or anyone else in danger. They might even prove helpful around the house! Honestly, there was nothing to fear.

But he didn't even pretend to consider it. His mind was already made up, and there was nothing I could do to change it. Well, my mind was made up, too. I would begin practicing magic again, with or without his approval. I could be sneaky if I had to. I was so used to keeping things bottled up inside myself already that I wasn't bothered by the idea of hiding my intentions from him or anyone else.

That night, I dreamt about Mom for the first time since her death. But it wasn't the version of Mom I had known. It was her ghost, drifting silently around the house, seeming lost and confused. She lingered in front of the family portrait, as if missing us, as if wishing she could return. Every few moments, lightning-quick flashes of light pulsed through her transparent body in a way that appeared painful - magical charge, still dripping from her like rain.

The dream felt so real that I had to get up and check every room, just to make sure she wasn't there. But I found no sign of her. Even though I knew rationally that the dream was just the manifestation of my lingering grief, my less rational side wondered if she might actually be trying to reach through in the only way she could - that is, if there were enough of her left to reach through. But if that were true, what in the world could she be trying to tell me?