The Witches of Galdanon: The Galdanon Chronicles, #1

By J.D. Siegel

The land of Galdanon has died a hundred times. Battered and war-torn since the day of its birth, the fractured kingdom is stained with the blood of its own kings and queens. Some say the magic that's ripped the land apart has seeded a curse deep in its roots, bleeding misfortune and despair into its people. Battles, betrayals, slaughters, and now, a wretched plague, threaten to obliterate Galdanon, leaving it a husk of its former self.

In this land drenched with magic and fear, can a group of young Witches bring peace and order to the Kingdom of Galdanon?

The Witches of Galdanon, first in an upcoming series, is a 400-page epic novel of adventure, betrayal, friendship, and personal growth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: JD Siegel
• Release date: Jun 11, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227907363

J.D. Siegel

J.D. Siegel was born and raised in St. Louis, Missouri, and attended Loyola University in New Orleans, where he studied music, of all things. He's also an avid fan of medieval fantasy and sci-fi, and a highly-successful Dungeon Master with over six-thousand hours of story-driven tabletop gaming experience. On multiple occasions, he has brought his players to tears. Just ask his friends! Since J.D. was young, he's had a small collection of fantasy and historical knight figurines, including two dragons. Sometimes, just for fun, he likes to write about himself in the third person.

Book preview

The Land of Galdanon

in the Third Era:

The Time of the Plague

Chapter 1

Fear

I don’t want to do this anymore, Miria thought, the searing pain over the side of her face burning more every time her cheek made the slightest movement. I hate this.

Tears rolled continually down Miria’s cheeks, but each one for a different reason. The burning sensation around her eye stung more every time a salty bead of water dripped over it, but the pain was outweighed by the pervasive feelings of failure and dread. As she pulled the oars of her small boat through the gently churning waves, she whimpered at the thought of what Ealga might do to her.

So many times, River told us something like this would happen, she thought, grimacing. Why doesn’t Ealga listen?

When she pulled the oars up, a bit of seawater splashed onto her face and she gasped, covering her burned skin with one of her hands. An oar nearly slid out of its hook and fell into the sea, but Miria caught it, letting go of her face and clenching her teeth in pain and misery.

Ah! she shrieked, the saltwater digging into the tender spots on her skin.

As the sun rose, Miria lifted the oars into the boat and sat still for a moment, covering her face with her hands and crying as her tiny vessel bobbed up and down. The channel separating the mainland of Galdanon from the outlying island of Hemwyth wasn’t very wide, and she’d made the journey many times, but it had never seemed so difficult.

Not only had she failed to steal any food to bring back to the others on Hemwyth, but she’d been caught and punished. The mark on her face served as a reminder of her missteps, and she was sure Ealga would be furious. As she sat in her boat, trying to work up the strength to keep rowing, she remembered the hunters pointing their serrated blades at her in the center of town, and their words rang over and over in her head.

I say we just take her back to Nirothye and hang her, like all the others. Let the old man ask his questions, and get rid of her, the young man suggested.

No, no, Gill, the older man replied. If she doesn’t go back, the others will know she was caught, and they’ll flee the island. We want her to help us.

Miria trembled as she leaned against the well in the center of town, three steel swords drawn and pointed at her.

And you trust her to actually help? the young man asked.

She knows what’ll happen if she doesn’t, the older one replied. Besides, even if this one betrays us and they all run off, we can still hunt them down. Right, Eliot?

Miria looked at the third hunter. He was dressed in black, his eyes dull and lifeless. When the old man asked him the question, he said nothing in response.

He’s always so talkative, the young man said sarcastically.

The old hunter looked at Miria, staring directly into her eyes. You understand, right? he growled. You’ll be costing us a lot of time if you warn your friends and run, and when we find you, we won’t be in a kind mood. But if you help us, you live.

For a while, the young man added.

Miria nodded nervously.

Good. We’ll be on Hemwyth in five days, after we get a ship from Halisport. We’ll need one big enough to transport seven Witches all the way to Forest Harbor. If you’re gone when we arrive, start praying to Vath, because we will find you, and you’ll see no mercy from us.

Miria had never had much self-confidence, but when she made up her mind to obey the hunters’ instructions, she felt a small flower of determination bloom in her mind. Actually, she had begun to think that betraying the others might be for the best.

They weren’t all bad, and the three girls already living on Hemwyth just happened to get mixed up in the unsavory business. But Ealga forced them all down a path of madness and slaughter, and none seemed willing to do anything about it.

I should’ve stood up to her a long time ago, She thought as she rowed faster. I should’ve tried harder.

But every time Ealga commanded her to row to the mainland for food, Miria froze with fear. If she’d been capable of defying Ealga on her own, she would have done so already rather than stay with her for so long in quiet compliance.

I want to go home, Miria whimpered to herself. Why can’t I just go home? She tugged furiously at her hair, maddened by the cage she felt trapped in.

Of course, she wasn’t really trapped. With the spell Ealga had taught her, the hunters couldn’t track her as easily as they said. If she had the mind for it, she could run. She wanted out. She wanted to be away from all the death and horror Ealga forced on her, away from the fevered cries and desperate pleas of the innocent that haunted her dreams. She was sick of being forced into it merely because of the powers bestowed on her by birth.

Miria clenched her hand into a fist as she gripped the oar tighter, feeling a sliver of conviction in her head. She could run, she knew that. But she wouldn’t. As she continued rowing, she resolved to help the hunters, not because she had no choice, but because she wanted to.

No more, she whispered. I won’t do this anymore.

Hey!

Miria yelped in fright, most of her confidence draining away as she heard Veronica’s terse voice behind her. She looked back, so lost in thought she hadn’t noticed she was almost at Hemwyth’s dock. At the end of the small boardwalk, Veronica and Holly stood waiting for her.

We didn’t think you’d be back until tomorrow, Veronica said.

I... I’m sorry, Miria stammered as she rowed closer.

Veronica’s eyes narrowed as the rowboat approached the dock. What happened? she asked.

Are you all right? Holly asked, concerned and with hands clasped.

I’m... fine, Miria muttered softly as she got out and started tying up the boat, trying not to let the others see her face.

You don’t have any food? Veronica asked in a low voice.

N-no. Something happened.

Ealga’s going to kill you.

I’m sure she wouldn’t do that, Holly said.

She would, Veronica countered.

Miria’s hands trembled as she struggled with the knot.

Over one failed trip? Holly asked. I don’t think—

What’s wrong with you?! Veronica snapped at Miria. You’re shaking so much.

Miria nearly dropped the rope into the water as she turned to face the others, tears cascading from eyes wide with terror. When she did, Veronica and Holly both saw the mark on her cheek.

Holly gasped, but Veronica pursed her lips and glared knowingly.

They caught you.

Chapter 2

Worry

Sylvia scrunched her eyes together. She blinked, her face half-buried in her pillow, as the day’s first light cascaded through her window and drenched her bed with its warmth. She rolled over, but quickly regretted it as her eyes were assaulted by the delightful sunshine.

Ugh... too early, she griped.

Grumpily, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up, letting her blankets fall onto the splintered, wooden floor.

Damn... she mumbled to herself as she rubbed her eyes and stood, the boards creaking beneath her feet.

As she walked across the cramped house which had once belonged to her mother, her eyes began adjusting to the light. She could see strands of her long, blonde hair hanging in front of her face, and she brushed them back, tying them into a ponytail. She couldn’t stand to have her hair messy.

Sylvia walked into the kitchen, running her hand along the cold stone walls of the house. Even after years alone, she still found it strange to be living here. With a yawn, she bent down, reached into the small barrel in a corner of the room, and pulled out the jug of oats she’d let soak in milk overnight.

It wasn’t going to be much of a breakfast, but oats and milk were all that were left in her pantry. She wasn’t worried though, since Miria would be returning from the mainland tomorrow with more things to eat.

As she blinked the morning itch out of her eyes, Sylvia lit the fireplace and poured the makeshift porridge into the iron pot that hung above. Her stomach rumbled as she sat down, and she wished that she could once again taste her father’s buttered rolls. He loved to cook, and eating from his myriad secret recipes were some of Sylvia’s fondest memories.

That was before the accident. Afterward, it was too difficult for him, and all the cooking was done by her aunt, whose culinary talents weren’t nearly as refined. As she watched the fireplace crackle, Sylvia let her thoughts slip into memory.

It was a snowy winter in the northern countryside of Umber. Earlier in the day, Sylvia overheard her aunt talking about the blizzards that were ravaging Galdanon to the north, and how the snowstorms were keeping many of the trade ships from returning.

But Sylvia didn’t care about that. With this much snow on the ground, she was happy. She had always been able to use ice magic, and at the young age of nine, she could wrap up little balls of snow without touching them, to hurl gleefully at her father.

I got you! I got you!

No you didn't!

Sylvia huffed, I did too! I see the water on your coat!

Her father laughed and ran toward her with a snowball in his hand. You'll have to hit me harder than that if you want to knock me down!

Before she knew it, her father scooped her up into his arms and danced around, holding her high in the air.

Rawr, the snow monster's got you! Ha ha ha! Now I’ll take you to my snow cave and gobble you up!

Sylvia laughed, You can't gobble me up! I'm a Snow Warrior!

Her father gasped, A Snow Warrior? Oh no! That's my weakness!

He set her down in the snow and ran away, pretending he was frightened beyond belief. Sylvia jumped to her feet, held out her mittens, and began pulling snow and ice out of the ground. It floated in front of her, and she formed it into a ball.

She stuck out her tongue and closed one eye, taking aim as she watched her father run away from her. This snowball would knock him down for sure, she thought.

Sylvia inhaled sharply, trying to put her mind to work and think happier thoughts. That day wasn’t something she wanted to think about, but when she found herself alone with nothing to do, the memory often came like a fly buzzing near her ear. If she swatted it away, it would simply return after a few moments and continue pestering her.

Holding back tears, Sylvia set to work grinding a few cloves and began wondering how many research subjects Miria would be bringing back with her. Since everyone’s stores were running low, Miria would bring back mostly food this time around, but Ealga would want her to bring back at least one person for research.

Research was what the others called it, but in reality, what Ealga and Veronica did to those people was little short of murder. Sylvia didn’t know what they hoped to achieve with their work, nor if they even had a specific goal.

She never asked, because on this little island, she felt trapped. She would never dare to confront Ealga for fear of furious punishment, but the bodies of the dead, covered in rashes, lesions, and bruises, littered the floor of that cave.

The others never volunteered to share details of their research with Sylvia either, so she remained in fear and unsettled ignorance. When they first began, Sylvia waltzed curiously into the cave to see what they were doing, and the sight and smell caused her to retch. A few tortured people moaned and reached out, having lost any semblance of dignity, and pleaded for death.

Now, every time Miria returned from the mainland with a couple more people bound and gagged, Sylvia couldn’t bear to look at them. If they were conscious, the fear in their eyes weakened Sylvia’s heart, and she longed to help them. But she shuddered to think what Ealga and Veronica would do to her if she set them free.

Hemwyth had changed quickly after the others arrived, and Sylvia had long given up hope of restoring things to normal. Usually, she tried not to think about the way the island used to be, or the villagers she once knew as neighbors.

She would block out those thoughts by reading, cooking, or learning to translate Old Galdanic. She glanced over at the old book next to her bed. Though she hadn’t made much progress in the years since River had given it to her, Sylvia was determined to develop at least a basic understanding of the cryptic language. Every aspect of it was difficult, and she struggled to comprehend how River had learned it from books alone.

Suddenly, a log from the fireplace popped loudly and fell from its precarious balance atop another. Sylvia twitched in fright and surprise as the noise bounced around the walls of her house; she dropped her pestle, letting it clatter to the floor.

The ball of snow and ice sailed through the air with a faint whistling sound. It was going very fast, and it struck the lower part of her father’s back with a cracking noise that echoed through the trees. A direct hit! Sylvia jumped victoriously as her father fell into the snow.

He shouted loudly.

I knocked you down, Papa! Sylvia laughed.

He kept roaring in pain, trying to pull himself forward.

Papa?

As her father tried to push himself up, he found that he couldn’t. He was muffling his screams through gritted teeth now, his muted cries of pain interrupted by short, fevered breaths. She ran through the snow toward him, her scarf falling to the ground, and started to realize her father might actually be hurt.

You can stop pretending now, Papa! she shouted, hoping he would stand back up.

His moans subsided as she knelt beside him. He tried to push himself up again, but fell into the snow, gasping for air. The sound of each breath was like metal scraping against rock.

Papa!

As she looked down at her father with no idea what to do, she heard her aunt come rushing out of the house.

Marcus? Marcus!

Sylvia watched as her aunt’s face paled. The blood had left her face and her eyes were unable to close.

Marcus, what's wrong?!

He sputtered, barely able to speak.

I... I c-can't... move... my l-legs...

Papa, Sylvia whispered as the memory faded into the present. She clenched her teeth,  a few tears escaping her eyes, as she bent down to pick up her pestle.

Resolved to keep herself distracted, she sprinkled the pungent cloves over the softly bubbling porridge. She glanced at the log that had fallen, and as the dancing tongues of fire caught her eye, her thoughts shifted to River.

When Sylvia first arrived on Hemwyth, she worked on River’s family farm for a short time. River was just twelve then, but controlling and ill-tempered all the same.

Sylvia didn’t stay there long before moving into town, but she gathered that River had some issues with her family. The fiery adolescent never appeared fully pleased, and even when she was walking about with her best friend Callie, River always looked slightly troubled.

When River’s house burned down, Sylvia had been worried about her well-being. She offered to take care of her, but River adamantly refused, and Sylvia didn’t talk to her again until Ealga and the others arrived on the island.

She sighed and sat down in her chair, waiting for the porridge to finish cooking. Just as she picked up the Old Galdanic book to continue her study, she heard a commotion outside. As she stood, she looked through the window and saw the others gathered in the plaza, helping Miria collect herself. Sylvia wondered why she’d returned a day early.

Chapter 3

Dread

What are you doing? Callie asked, excitedly jumping up to see what was on her brother’s desk.

It’s boring Alchemy studies, he replied. It wouldn’t interest you. In fact, this chapter barely interests me.

But your book has pictures, and I want to see!

Girard laughed. It’s just a picture of a plant. Look. He picked up the book and lowered it so she could see.

The painting on the page was wonderful. Elegant leaves and vines of different colors twisted around each other into beautiful helixes, each one different.

Wow! What kind of plant is that? Callie asked.

Girard laughed again. It’s not a real plant, he said. It just a drawing so you can see all sorts of different Alchemy ingredients right next to each other.

Why?

Well, so you can distinguish them.

Callie looked up at her brother. What does dis-ting-gish mean? she asked, fumbling over the word.

Girard smiled and opened his mouth to answer his sister when suddenly the door opened, and their father walked into the room.

Caliah, what are you doing in here? he asked in a commanding voice. Let your brother study.

Callie furled her brow. She hated being called by her full name.

Oh, it’s all right, Father, Girard said. She was just curious, and—

We’ve been over this, Girard. Caliah doesn’t have a magical mind. You shouldn’t waste your time trying to teach her. Focus on your own studies.

But Father—

And you, he continued, turning to Callie. Leave your brother alone when he’s studying. I don’t want to tell you again.

Her face turned red and she stared at her feet.

Caliah, look at me.

The girl hesitantly looked up at her father. His face was always warm and inviting, but his words were cold. She never really understood what he meant when he said she didn’t have a magical mind, but she knew it was mean, and that upset her.

You’re to leave your brother alone while he studies. Do you understand?

Callie nodded.

Use your words, Caliah.

Yes, Papa.

Sorry, Callie, Girard said quietly.

Their father smiled. Good, he said. Now come into the living room. Your mother and I picked you out some new toys from the wood carver.

Callie blinked and groaned, the morning sunlight shining through her home’s windows, a light breeze creeping between the shutters. She picked her head up off of the table, noticing a pain on the left side of her neck, and rubbed her eyes. The candles she’d lit to keep herself awake had burned out, and she’d knocked over a bowl of ground Moonroot in her sleep.

She yawned, stretching and cracking the tension out of her muscles and bones after having fallen asleep in a wooden chair, and wiped some flecks of Bladethorn off her hands. Her Alchemy setup was always messy, and whenever she dozed off while working, she woke up covered in plants.

Oh, no... she muttered, her memory coming back to her.

Callie quickly went to her cauldron and slumped over, groaning in disappointment. She’d let the Callouswart and Jester’s Dirt steep far too long in the Lilybloom Decoction, and now her potion was dark brown, far too thick, and altogether ruined.

Taking the cauldron outside and dumping the mixture into the grass, she thought about the toys her father mentioned in her dream. She still had them, but now they were so old they were falling apart. Even so, she kept them on a shelf in her bedroom, where they collected dust along with all the other things she never used.

The wood carver who made the toys had died not long after she got them, but not before he made toys for River as well. Callie remembered one day bringing her toys to River’s house, where they played with them together. They’d made a board game out of their little figurines, but the rules were lenient and often changed so River would win.

The old carver was one of the folks who used to live in town, near the northern coast of the island. Callie remembered many of the people who used to live in town, but they were all gone now. Sylvia, who Callie didn’t talk with very much, maintained that when Ealga and the others arrived, they killed the townsfolk as part of their experiments.

Even River said it was true, but Callie never wanted to believe it. It seemed far too cruel, even for Ealga, to do something like that. She preferred not to think about it, and instead focused on her Alchemy studies.

She was on the verge of developing a new potion, one that could extinguish even the largest flame. She planned to have River help her test it, but now she would have to start over. She went inside to check on the Flame’s Bane potion she’d made the night before. It was untouched and still potent, and Callie breathed a sigh of relief.

Since she wouldn’t have to mix another Flame’s Bane, trying the experiment again would be quick. But as she started wiping out her cauldron, she looked at her store of ingredients and sighed in exasperation. She was completely out of Diamongren.

Diamongren was a common Alchemy ingredient used in the base mixture for many potions and elixirs. Luckily, it wasn’t difficult to find. Near the village, several patches grew, and Callie and Miria kept them from growing too high.

Callie turned over her cauldron to let it dry out, slung her hooded cloak over her shoulders, and headed for the door, her footsteps raising small clouds of dust from the floorboards as she walked.

She was a bit worried that River might be expecting her to visit soon. After all, Callie had said she would come by in the morning to test the potion, but she’d also assumed it would have been ready by then.

Callie walked hastily down the gravel road that led to town. It ran along the edge of the small wood that separated her house from River’s family farm. Her shoes made a pleasant crunch with every step, and the brisk morning air kept her awake.

As she neared the town, she strayed off the path and found a patch of familiar brown weeds lined with diamond-shaped leaves. She opened a drawstring bag and started picking the Diamongren, making sure to completely separate the leaves from the stems.

What happened? Why is she back so soon?

Callie looked over upon hearing raised voices from the dock a ways off.

Just help her! Can’t you see her face?

It was the others. Ealga, Veronica, and Holly were helping Miria back from the dock. But Miria wasn’t due to return from the mainland until tomorrow. As Callie watched, she saw Sylvia scurry out of her house and join the other four.

Callie walked over to them. Sylvia looked confused at first, but then her eyes widened and she brought her hand to her mouth in shock. Ealga, Veronica, and Holly had gathered around Miria, who sat on the ground.

It’s all right, it’s all right, Holly said, gently brushing the dirt off Miria’s clothes.

As Callie walked toward them, her shoes began to crunch again in the gravel of the town plaza.

Did you get any provisions for us? Ealga asked Miria coldly as Callie approached the group.

N-no. I couldn’t get anything, Miria replied.

Ealga gritted her teeth in annoyance. What are we supposed to eat, then? Should we go and ask the farm brat to share her stocks with us?

Leave her be, Ealga! Holly snapped.

Yeah, Veronica agreed. Just be quiet. Can’t you see what’s happened? Don’t you understand what this means?

Callie was hesitant to say anything. As the youngest person on the island, she always felt like her opinions and contributions were brushed aside.

What did the hunters say to you? Veronica asked Miria, a low, hateful tone in her voice. Why’d they send you back?

She wasn’t captured by hunters, Ealga growled. They would’ve killed her. She’s lying.

I’m not lying! Miria pleaded.

What if they follow her back here? Veronica pressed, turning to Ealga. If that happens, we’re finished.

She’s lying! Ealga snapped. You know how hunters operate better than I do. They would’ve questioned her and killed her.

I’m not... Miria stammered.

Veronica pursed her lips, turning things over in her head. She wasn’t sure what to think, but right now she didn’t have the energy to challenge Ealga’s leadership.

Callie swallowed nervously, looking back and forth between them with no idea what they were arguing about. Then Holly noticed her.

Come help me with her hair, Holly called out. It’s all matted with blood.

Callie walked a bit closer. What happened to her?

She was careless, Ealga replied, crossing her arms.

Miria looked up, tears streaming from her eyes. When she did, Callie saw the horrid burn on her face, and stepped back. It looked like a mark in some old language. Callie looked away.

Wh-what is that? What does it mean? Who did that to her?

Ealga turned to Callie, annoyed. I don’t care what it means, and I don’t care who did it to her. She’s going again tomorrow to get us some damned food. Not that it matters to you.

Wh-who are the hunters? Callie asked.

You don’t want to know, Veronica muttered.

Miria trembled as she sat on the ground and covered her face with her hands. Sylvia looked disdainfully at Ealga, and Callie started to back away, overcome with dread.

I... I’m going to get River, she stammered. She can tell us what it means, I’m sure of it.

Callie turned and began running down the path toward River’s farm.

She doesn’t need to know about this! Ealga said forcefully. She won’t care, anyway!

But Callie was already running to get River, her mind swirling with terrifying questions.

Chapter 4

Doubt

Can a person ever escape their own past?

River splashed cold water on her face from the barrel behind the shed while a thought drifted across her mind like so many times before. The barrel was cracked and splintered, and from the few small holes that made it all the way through the aged wood, water trickled slowly.

The barrel’s steady stream turned the ground beneath wet and muddy, making true cleanliness a goal that River had long given up. As her thoughts wandered between regret and confidence, she resigned to having mud on her feet no matter how much she scrubbed.

If I do what’s right, but for the wrong reasons, am I a good person?

She was able to keep the barrel full by making a block of ice and melting it with fire. As long as she had enough food to give her energy to cast the spells, she would never be thirsty.

How do I know what’s right? Nothing has felt right for years.

While questions without clear answers floated through her mind, she washed the dirt and soot from her cheeks, pleased with the small luxury she was able to retain even in less-than-ideal circumstances.

When she scooped the water over her arms, legs, chest, and back, she shivered, her teeth chattering as the frigid droplets rolled brazenly down her skin. She’d always hated the cold. When she was born, her parents used to say, the tongues of flame that danced in her eyes were hot enough to melt winter snow.

Does anyone know?

As long as she could remember, River had a clear affinity for Sorcery. Her mother had once told her during a lesson that it was common for children to be naturally inclined toward one school of magic or another, but that River’s natural talent with fire rivaled some of the greatest Spellcasters in Galdanon’s history.

At least, that’s what her mother said.

Painstakingly, River washed her hair. The soot from the house always got caught in her ferocious curls, and only by carefully dragging her fingers through each tuft could she get it out without turning the top of her head into more of a tangled mess than it already was. She grumbled as she stared at the piece of broken glass she used as a mirror, annoyed by her hair’s unwillingness to cooperate.

How can anyone know? It’s impossible.

When she was finally finished, she breathed a sigh of relief. As she turned to walk around to the front of the shed, she paused and looked over at the remains of her family’s house. It had once been a beautiful half-timber home, built near the rocky coast of Hemwyth, on ten acres of good farmland. But after the fire, its frame weakly clung to its foundation, and the inside was teeming with rubble and ash. She tore away her gaze, shuffled to the front of the shed, and jerked open the door.

Once inside, she picked out the least-torn blouse and long skirt from her small pile of clothes, and hastily put them on. Years ago, River’s mother would finish getting her dressed by adorning her neck with a chain sporting a green stone, but it had long since been lost. No doubt the jewelry was hidden, or perhaps melted, beneath debris in the house. She’d always found it irritating to wear, anyway.

There’s barely any point in wondering.

But she wasn’t without any of the accessories of ladyship. From a small box next to her pillow, she pulled a finely crafted silver bracelet and slipped it around her wrist. Then she tried to fix her hair. Putting it in a bun or ponytail was always excessively uncomfortable, so she used a comb to fight with it until the chaotic curls were acceptably subdued. Though she didn’t care much about acting like a lady, she at least tried to look presentable.

After she was dressed, River grabbed her father’s old fishing rod and walked back outside. The ocean breeze rippled her skirt and blew her hair back as she marched hungrily toward the coast, which wasn’t far from the shed. In fact, the entire farm was close enough to the water that seagulls could occasionally be seen overhead.

People live and die the same, regardless of how much good anyone does.

She sat down near the sea and dug through the dirt for a few bloodworms. The rocky coast reached high enough to keep the farmland safe from the sea’s minor tides, but it was still low enough to fish from. After she found suitable bait, she prepared the hook and cast her line with high hopes.

Yesterday’s catch had been meager and disappointing, and though it was enough to keep her energized through her day of research and experimentation, she’d found herself distracted more than once by her stomach’s incessant longing. What a chore, she thought, to have to sit and wait for food every day.

It’s all so futile.

Her father had once told her that fishing was more about patience than skill. She didn’t know how true those words were, but there certainly was a lot of waiting involved.

She imagined that if one were fishing for leisure, as her father had, the wait might be relaxing, and the tenuous moment when the fish finally grabs the bait and fights to escape would be all the more exciting for it. But when fishing is the only means of food, each passing second only makes the hunger more palpable.

As River waited to feel a tug on her line, she grumbled, wishing that her father’s grain stores hadn’t run out so quickly after the fire. Just after it happened, the villagers had all wanted to help her, of course. But River refused. She could manage on her own, and she didn’t want them thinking she was some weak, frail child.

Two hours passed before River was satisfied with her catch. She smiled, pleased with the results of her patience, as she walked back to the shed with four fish and placed them on a large rock. As she cleaned them, she wondered when Callie was going to show up. They saw each other almost every day, sometimes to go over research, sometimes just to talk, but always to avoid the others.

Good... evil... how can a person really tell the difference?

After she scraped off the scales, pulled out the entrails, and removed the meat from the bones, River positioned the fish on a flat  stone and held her open hand above the filleted fish. Heat surged through her body as a flame appeared in her palm and cascaded over the meat, searing it. Making flames had always been natural for River, almost like breathing, but controlling them was different. That took concentration.

After the fish was cooked and cooled, she took it into the shed and began nibbling at it as she attempted to rearrange her hair after the wind had mussed it. She knew it was a useless effort, but she tried anyway. When she turned to her makeshift bookshelf, letting go of her hair, it fell back to its natural position. She swallowed her bite of fish and breathed a defeated sigh, secretly wishing she could trade her obnoxious curls for Sylvia’s silky, soft waves.

What River used as a bookshelf was really just a wooden ledge that had once held her father’s farming tools. With no particular use for them, she had piled the tools on the floor and filled the shelf with the few books that had survived the fire.

She reached for a text by Willem Archimelle, a renowned magical scholar from generations past, that she had been using for her research. As she pulled it off the shelf, another book fell into its place. The spine had no title, but River recognized it as her father’s old journal.

For a brief moment, she reminisced about the days before the fire. All she had now were fleeting memories of magic lessons, lectures, and nights spent dancing with her mother out by the fields.

River! Come inside! It's getting late!

She heard her father calling to her from the house as she ran around by the fields, using her fingers to make ribbons of fire swirl above her. The flames surged through the moonlit sky, and the fireflies danced with her as she ran next to the stalks of wheat.

River, be careful! Don't set the wheat on fire!

As her father walked out to her, River stopped dancing. The flames in her hands subsided and she turned to face him.

Sorry, Papa, she muttered. I forget sometimes.

He picked her up and held her above his head, and she grinned, holding her arms out like she was flying. That’s all right, Firefly. Come on, it’s time for bed.

Where’s Mama? She usually comes out to dance with me.

I know, River, but Mama’s not feeling too well right now. She may not be able to dance with you for a while.

He lowered her to her feet and whispered in her ear. Don’t tell her I told you this, but you’re going to have a little brother or sister soon. She wanted to keep it a surprise, but I just couldn’t wait to tell you!

River’s eyes widened; then she furrowed her brow in disgust.

A little brother? she shouted. No, I don’t want a little brother! She wrested away from her father’s grip and ran into the house.

A tear started to form in River’s eye, but before she fell too deep into the pit of days past, she opened the Archimelle book, Can Opposites Attract? The Possibilities of Combining Magical Elements. Like all of his works, this one held an obnoxiously mundane title, and was gratuitously longer than it needed to be.

When she opened the book, she grumbled in annoyance at how many pages the introduction spanned. It sported a series of lengthy paragraphs detailing the contents of his other books, the many inspirations he had while writing, and his years studying under Halis. River skipped past them, but as she flipped through the haughty and self-serving pages, one passage caught her eye.

Of course, Halis knew that dividing magic into schools was entirely necessary. At the center of magic’s heart lies an eternal mystery, and a question: What is magic truly capable of? Could Sorcery, Wizardry, Alchemy, and all the other schools of Halis’s magical study be understood as one, without separation? It may be possible, but not, I think, in our lifetime. It is more likely that the schools will become increasingly complex in and of themselves, but remain divided. Perhaps magic, in its entirety, can never be fully understood, and Halis’s schools of study will always be necessary.

River ruminated on this idea. As a Witch, her capacity for magic was far greater than that of the average person. At least, that’s what Ealga said. Archimelle’s question stuck in her mind: What was magic truly capable of? What was she truly capable of?

Could I become a good person?

You have to come see! a voice called out.

River looked up from the book and stared at Callie, who stood, breathing heavily, at the open door of the shed. Her black hair hung down her sides in a knotted mess, some of it tangled with the chain of the blue, slightly charred pendant she wore around her neck.

Though Callie was her closest friend, River always struggled to feel close to the worry-ridden girl. She was glad to have a friend at all, but often found Callie’s little annoyances and constant doubts difficult to ignore.

I was wondering when you’d arrive. River tossed the fish bones onto the floor. Did you run here?

Yes, Callie huffed. It’s awful.

River shrugged. It’s not that far to run, she said, turning her gaze back to her book.

Callie frowned. No, it’s Miria. She’s back early, and they did something terrible to her!

Who did? Ealga? I wouldn’t be surprised.

River! Callie cried. Take this more seriously! The people on Galdanon did something to Miria.

I’m sure it’s not that bad, River grumbled.

Callie rambled on. What they did, it’s horrible! It’s just—

"Calm down!" River suddenly shouted.

Callie jumped back in surprise and closed her mouth. She was a quiet girl with a quiet life, and the mortified look in her eyes suggested she had seen something no one so sheltered should have to see.

Please don’t yell at me, she muttered. I know you get mad easily, but... I don’t like it.

River sighed. I’m sorry, she said insincerely, wishing Callie would stop stammering.  Is Miria going to be okay?

Y-yes, I think so. She didn’t seem badly injured, but it’s her face! You have to come see it. Callie grabbed River’s arm and began pulling her out the door.

"Wait!" River barked.

Callie let go of River’s arm and lifted her hands to her face as if to shield herself.

Calm down, River snapped. For Vath’s sake, get a hold of yourself. If she’s not seriously hurt, there’s no rush. Give me a minute.

Callie watched as River grabbed her leather bag off the floor and put some books into it. She breathed deeply. Why would they do that to her? she wondered quietly.

What did they do? River asked.

They burned something into her face, Callie replied. A symbol.

River paused as she packed her bag, new questions prodding her brain. Well... because she’s kidnapping people, she answered, trying to remain confident. Maybe they were too scared to do anything when she was just stealing food, but stealing people is different. I don’t know what Ealga’s thinking.

River turned back to the bookshelf, where she found an old tome about Healing techniques, one she’d been meaning to give to Sylvia. She shoved it into her bag.

Hurry up! Callie snapped.

All right, all right. Let’s go.

The two girls walked on the path around the fields and to the main road, which led to the village on the northwestern coast. Callie kicked up dirt with every fevered footstep, which only added to River’s compounding irritation.

River tried to remember how they’d become friends in the first place, but as they approached the village, her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Miria crying and some of the others consoling her. As River and Callie drew closer, the other girls turned one by one to look, each falling silent until the only sound was Miria’s soft weeping.

Holly’s wide eyes betrayed her anxiety; Sylvia’s brow was furrowed in worry; Veronica stared straight ahead with dark eyes; and Ealga grimaced in annoyance. But none of them said anything. River’s eyes met Sylvia’s, then she pulled out the Healing book and tossed it to her. Sylvia didn’t catch it, and it fell into the dust and gravel with a thud.

Look through that, River said. See if there’s something in there that can help.

A solitary gust of wind further disheveled River’s unrelenting curls as she got down on one knee in front of Miria. Let me see it, she muttered.

Miria slowly took her hands away from her face and looked up, her lips quivering with fear as she revealed the brand on her face. A circle of burnt flesh covered