The Shadows of Wren

CHAPTER 1

Tendrils of cool misted shadow moved over my arms and down my hands, twisting around my fingers. I sucked in a sharp breath, trying to hold their magic in place, concentrating enough to get them to envelop my bare skin.

Focus, Wren. Bergen said, standing at my back.

I’m… trying… I forced out, as my concentration faltered and the bands of shadow thinned.

I gritted my teeth and pushed harder at the ancient magic I held. The shadows responded eagerly. Too eagerly, in fact, and before I could pull back on my efforts, the shadows fully consumed me in a burst of magic. I let out a gasp before hearing a shout from Bergen.

I’m alright. Bergen said, as I turned to face him.

The staff he held protected him in a shield of air that kept back the magic that emanated from my misstep. The raw white crystal on its top glowed faintly and dimmed back into nothing as Bergen corrected his stance and stood straight again.

I’m sorry. I said, in a whispered panic.

I stared at the ground, looking at the familiar stone floors and dimly lit space of the basement we trained my shadow magic abilities in. It was a forgotten space under the library, old boxes of damaged books, and different furniture that no longer had use were stored along the walls. A threadbare rug sat in the middle of the floor where I was.

My attention was drawn back up when the door creaked as it opened.

Aye, is everything alright in here? Viggo asked in his all too familiar lilt, concern showed in his eye.

I pulled my auburn braid over my shoulder and picked at the ends to hide my embarrassment.

We are fine. Wren pushed a little too hard in that attempt. Bergen tugged at his long silver-gray beard, deep lines were etched into his face as he smiled at me, It’s a balance, this sort of ancient magic can fully consume you, and if you can’t control it, you might not be able to break its power from showing at times where it’ll bring you more harm than good.

Viggo nodded and looked back at me. He pressed his lips into a thin smile of support. His strawberry blond beard was full and manicured well. I don’t think I’d ever seen it looking out of place. A scar on his left eye from a battle long ago left it closed. He was a fierce warrior, fighter, and head of our Sentinels, but he was also my father.

I’m alright, Dad. Give me another few attempts. I’ll finish up work here at the library and see you tonight. I said, trying to shake out the residual feelings of unease.

Try to put as much effort into your combat training as that shadow magic next time we spar, alright? Viggo teased.

I haven’t trained with you in months, if at all this year. I scoffed.

Aye, happens when you get your tail beat by the best.

I rolled my eyes, but felt the heat in my cheeks cool at his jokes. My shadow magic always freaked him out a little. It was once feared and hunted down, being seen as something that would bring doom to the one they worshiped. The majority of those views now remained within the Red Kingdom to the north, but I could see the fear in him at times when he watched my training sessions with Bergen.

I sighed as Viggo shut the door behind him, heading back to his duties within Gaelfall. The Sentinels protected our town from threats of monsters, criminals and anything that would want to breach the walls on its outskirts. While that wasn’t common, most often they kept peace within the hustle and bustle.

At the center of Gaelfall, and with most towns to the south of the Red Kingdom, was the library. Ours was stunning. White quartz walls stretched to the sky with two tall towers on either side. The roof was crafted of slate that had a deep blue hue to it. Silver trimmed edging adorned the windows and rooftops.

Bergen cleared his throat, Let’s try this one more time, I want you to focus not necessarily on what you want your shadows to do, but feel the power as it moves within you. Feel how it responds to the Aura. Become familiar with that before we work on cloaking or shielding.

I nodded and got to work.

The cathedral arched ceilings with skylights allowed for natural light to illuminate the white quartz interior of the library. Rows of ebony wood bookcases lined either side of the great room, giving a stark contrast to the light, which made the books on display seem to jump out at you. Each town had its own library, and each one was uniquely beautiful. The library acted as a place for education, but also for our history and record keeping. Nearly every library in Caldumn had a Wizard assigned to it, and I worked closely with ours.

My shoes made a light tap against the checkered floor of gray-blue and white marble. The smell of wood, old books, and a hint of vanilla lingered in the air permanently. Near the end of the rows of bookcases sat a large wrap-around white quartz desk with Oona perched in the center. She looked tiny compared to the tall counter height desk.

Compliments of your second home, I said in a posh tone to Oona as she looked up above her glasses. I pulled a linen wrapped loaf of sourdough bread from my satchel that still smelled divine and handed it to her.

Ooo! I love Endora so much! She squealed as she took the bread, and set it to the side of the wide desktop. Her dark, almond eyes were shining as she tucked her chin length, jet-black hair behind her ears. Oona was our night watch and Wizard in training.

What are you studying? I asked as she moved her hand across the open book, finding her place once again.

I’m trying to expand my shielding, she sighed, but it’s proving to be… difficult.

I clicked my tongue in response. Wish I could help, friend, but I’m afraid you’re a bit farther along with that than I am.

She gave me a smile and looked back towards her reading before replying, Tell Endora thanks again for the bread. It will be some excellent fuel to get me through this exercise today.

I gave a gentle squeeze of her hand and walked to the back of the room. I never thought about focusing on my magic after I discovered I could use it. Not like how Oona seemed to delve into trying to understand it. Bergen has worked with me on controlling it in line with my emotional outbursts so I would avoid burning down the house or injuring someone.

While my Mage abilities are prominent, we discovered I have a deeper magic within me. Shadows had slipped around me as I slept one night at the orphanage, and Endora wasn’t sure what to make of it, asking for help from Bergen. Since that event, I had been on his list of being particularly noteworthy.

I was three when Endora found me hiding in the alleyway that my parents tucked me in while running away. When she brought me back to the orphanage, there was an initial attempt to find my parents. We learned they had been killed that night. The magic my father held had been of the hunted kind .

Endora was from Briaroak Village, the town of Witches, located to the north of our town. She came to work here in Gaelfall long ago, when a need for an orphanage matron came up. Her ability to use potions and elixirs to aid in healing or sickness was welcomed. The Witch’s magic, focusing on nature and life, made her a herbalist and a healer.

I lived with her at the orphanage until I was nine, and a particular event that set things into motion as to how I was adopted.

I remember the first time feeling the conjured fireball as it flew from my hand. My emotions burst through me in wild, unrestrained anger. The fire shot through the room, barely missing the children who had been relentless in their taunting and bullying.

Sweet child, what were you thinking? Endora chided gently.

I looked at the scene before us after the fire was quickly put out by Endora. Charred walls framed a hole the size of a kickball that let in the light from outside. How embarrassing.

I’m sorry, I said quietly, tugging at the loose strands of my hair, trying to mask my emotions once again.

Endora looked at the children who stayed huddled together at my outburst. She gave them a stern look while placing her hands on her hips.

Well, I don’t suppose we’re going to get an explanation? Who did what to Wren this time?

The biggest of their group spoke, feigning innocence. We were just playing. Wren always takes things so literally.

I looked down, not wanting to show the tears welling in my eyes. They were always awful. I endured the hitting and kicking, name calling and hair pulling, but they destroyed the only things I had considered my own. I looked over at the tattered pieces of my stuffed rabbit and the pillow I had since being here.

Endora followed my gaze and pressed her lips together tightly.

Come child, gather your things and we’ll try to fix them.

She gave another silent stare to the children as they hung their heads in a sorrow that was only in the moment. I knew it would never be genuine.

Viggo appeared not long after inquiring about the commotion, taking notice of me after hearing the story. It was directly after that incident that Viggo decided it would be better to have me come home with him. To adopt me and give me a chance at a better life. Endora became a caretaker for both Viggo and me, beyond her matron duties at the orphanage, making meals and taking care of our small cottage during the times Viggo was with the Sentinels. I finally felt like I had a home and a family in Viggo and Endora.

Beyond that showing of magic, I hadn’t tried to use it more until I made my way to the library one day to inquire about working there. The thought of an endless supply of books to read outweighed the need for a weekly salary greatly. My job at the library was to be Bergen’s assistant and library keeper, but mostly it turned into a way to work on my magic, honing my skills and helping me understand my Mage abilities as well as the shadow magic I held.

On either side of the great hall, there were additional hallways. The hall to the right had rooms for quiet studying as well as places to hold meetings and public hearings when needed. The hallway to the left was off-limits to the public. It was where the more important books, manuscripts, and ancient texts were kept, along with private offices. I made a left and walked a few doors down until I came to Bergen’s office.

A messenger cat was making its way out as I approached. The slender white calico looked up at me with glowing green eyes as it slinked through the opening. Seeing that its harness was empty told me that a message had been delivered. It wasn’t uncommon to get messages this way. Many messenger cats in town were large and well-fed, receiving treats as payment for delivery. It made it easy to tell apart the ones that came from neighboring towns, as they were thinner with longer distances to travel.

Bergen was bent over an old tome on his desk, pulling at his beard as he read. I wondered if he realized how often he did that when he was deep in thought or processing information. His blue eyes looked up at me briefly, nearly hidden by his bushy brows, before looking back down to finish the last bit of text.

Hello again, Wren, he said.

Hello again, Bergen. I copied him as I set my satchel down on the small mahogany secretary’s desk that was tucked into the corner.

I’ve got a couple things to go over with you today. Give me one moment, and we’ll begin.

I nodded and set the book I borrowed in a box of tomes to shelve later today, and looked through some of the work that had made its way to my desk. The number of old books piled up told me the choice of the white tunic and tan leggings I wore was a poor decision. I’d be scrubbing the dust marks out of them this evening.

Bergen’s office was a mess. He called it ‘chaotic organization’, but it really was simply messy. I looked over to what lay on his desk and decided on yet another attempt at helping him straighten things.

Let me organize these stacks of papers for you, I offered, grabbing at one of the many piles on his desk.

Bergen hurried toward them, laying his hand on top of the pile to keep it from leaving the desk. Thank you for the offer, but I know where everything is that I need in there.

Are you sure? It could be quicker if things were organized for you into genre? Alphabetical? Anything? I tried appealing.

His bushy brows furrowed to a pained expression as he shook his head.

It’s an organization of mine that allows me to find what I need. It’s kind of you, but I know where things are as it is.

I knew my attempt to re-shelve the piled books or, at the very least, offering to stack them neater would be met with another polite decline.

Beyond the mess, Bergen’s office was different from the stark white and ebony of the great room. Rich mahogany wood panels decorated the walls. Ornate wood carvings of ivy and other flora crept through the crown molding along the ceiling. Intricate rugs were layered on the floor in varied colors of reds, greens, and purple to give some warmth and sound dampening to the space. Built-in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with even more books and scrolls of every kind sat against the wall. The age of the texts varied from recent to ancient.

Bergen closed the large green leather-bound book. A puff of dust came from the pages, and he waved his hand to clear the air as his dusky blue robes with white trim swished. In the low light, I caught a glint of the robe’s silver embroidery forming small woodland creatures around the edges in an active game of fox and rabbit. He pulled his eyeglasses from the oversized cuff of his sleeve and looked at me, We’ve got a problem.

CHAPTER 2

Bergen had a way of keeping his expression cool and collected even when something was wearing on him. You could almost judge how bad something was by how still he’d make himself over it, and at this discussion, he stilled himself with one breath, appearing almost frozen with those dusky blue robes and silver thread creating a winter chill about him.

He began. I’ve just received word from Agatha that their library has been attacked.

I gaped for a moment then collected myself. What sort of attack? Are they alright?

Agatha was the Wizard who kept records at Briaroak Village. I hadn’t met her, but I knew she and Bergen regularly kept in touch more than any of the other Wizards within the other towns. The messenger cat came to my mind again. How those green eyes stared at me as it walked past. I wondered for a moment if it knew what message it carried.

It appears there was a group of bandits who bypassed their wards and quickly sought after a few of the ancient books stored there before… he paused, swallowing once and met my eyes, before they set fire to the building.

Each Wizard warded the library to alert them of any sort of entrance that wasn’t welcomed. A series of spells would fall into place to shield or hide anything within the library that needed to be protected. To bypass something like that was unheard of. I only knew of an occurrence like that happening once, and even then, it was a vague recollection.

We had something like that happen here, correct? Before my time? I asked.

Yes, once. A radical group from the Red Kingdom wanted to destroy any history of ancient magic. The same group that led to many deaths throughout Caldumn. If you remember back to the studies I put you through when first training with me, you’d recall that many of the ancient books we keep are written in a way to hide the history itself. Bergen spoke with a hint of reproach.

You’d also remember that those ancient texts were written in that way, only able to be translated by those who know what they are seeking. The play of words, the hidden meanings, all help those who are looking to find what they need from them.

I nodded, now remembering how utterly boring I had thought it was going through all the stacks of reading he wanted me to do when I first started training with him. A pang of regret hit me. The Red Kingdom looms as our ruling hierarchy. The south worked tirelessly to earn the trust of the King to be able to govern our towns without their soldiers and rule heavily placed on us, but their reign still weighs heavily on many of our towns.

The wards held then, hiding the texts from them, and they left empty-handed. What needs to be remembered is that history needs to be preserved and cared for at all costs.

So, this time was different, I concluded, looking down.

Bergen stood from his chair and brushed at the invisible specs of dirt on the front of his robes. The solid mahogany desk he used was much more substantial than mine and matched the same wood stain of his walls and shelving. He made his way around the wide desk and stopped at the head of the table, clasping his hands together in front of him.

I grew as still as Bergen continued. One of their overnight bookkeepers on watch was killed in the fire. The texts they lost are irreplaceable. We will need to find out how they knew where to find the books they were after.

Heat rose to my cheeks, burning at my face as my eyes stung with tears. I placed a hand on the small desk next to me to steady myself, and could hardly feel the cool hardwood as I thought about Endora. I wondered if she would have heard about this by the time I made it home. I hoped she didn’t know the bookkeeper who lost their life. I thought about all the lost history stored in that library about the Witches, and all the important books we had shared amongst each other for generations, but that now no longer existed. I looked out the window behind Bergen, which had a direct view into our Sentinel camp. It’s where the soldiers who protect our town trained, gathered, and lived. Much like our Sentinels, the witches have a Battalion that keeps watch in their town. There would have been a group of them stationed at the library.

What happened to the Battalion on duty? I asked Bergen. Did they see anything?

Agatha only said the two stationed near the doors were found dead outside of the town gates. Whether they were lured out there or dragged after being killed, we don’t know yet. I’ll be planning a visit to see what assistance we can offer in rebuilding their historical texts. I know Agatha had safeguards in place for some of the more important texts to the Witches’ history, and I’m hoping we can do something to restore them.

A ball of emotion worked its way into my throat, making it hard to swallow. My vision wavered for a moment, and I sunk into the soft leather chair next to my desk. My hands ran across the wood of the arms, which were worn down to smooth grooves. I focused on some breathing techniques I learned when I was bullied in the orphanage.

Breathe in, count to four… Hold… Breathe out, count to four… Hold… Repeat.

I took one more long breath and asked, Do we have anything here they would want? The ones that burned their library?

I believe we do, Bergen said, Which is why I gathered these texts. These are some of the most important pieces of history and records we have here, and they will certainly be after them. He turned back to his desk piled with a few metal-clad scroll cases, two small books, and the green leather-bound book he’d been reading. We’ve been the keepers of the history books of Aura, the uses of light and dark magic, and the history of those who could harness both. The scrolls are maps of the Ancient War and locations of concentrated Aura that we need to keep a track of. Bergen turned back to me after finishing.

I was once again open-mouthed at the depth of what was contained in those books and scrolls. My hands were sweaty and stuck slightly to the wooden arms of the chair.

As you know, with Aura being the lifeblood of magic sustained in our world, being one with our environment, as much as air, plants, animals, and people… Bergen began speaking as if he was about to give a beginners lesson in magic.

Right, it is consumed, used, and then expended and restored to the environment. The endless cycle of life. I interjected.

Indeed, the upcoming celestial events could be the reason for the attacks and robberies of our texts. Bergen said.

I had loved learning about the celestial events, especially because one of them falls on my birthday in late fall, the Aurarius Lights. Golden starlight rains down from the sky, and beyond it is a beautiful event to watch, the surrounding Aura becomes denser and more powerful. When I was younger, I’d wonder if being born that night had made me different. Special. As if the shadows that appeared when I was younger were part of the Aura.

Not everyone is gifted in magic casting, but it’s said that our lives are extended by the use of magic. Many of those who are gifted with it live hundreds of years, while others might have a full life at just over one hundred. The magic works with those that allow it through them.

The people in the southern lands of Caldum have followed the balance of Aura due to the teachings of the Originals who walked among us. Those who were of the same shadow magic you hold. Bergen said, continuing his lecture that I knew I’d heard a few times now. Especially the shadows part.

I casually tried to change the subject. And what about the map scrolls?

I had tucked them away some time ago on a high shelf in his office and recognized them.

Ah yes, the battlefield maps of the War of the Originals. Bergen couldn’t help himself as he went in on another history refresher. We are aware of the three Originals, those who were of pure shadow magic. From what we have gathered in the ancient texts, there was a disagreement between them. One that could have caused great harm to our people and our world if Marion and Jareth hadn’t stopped Ismael. He adjusted his glasses as he peered at the open field encircled by trees on the map. It’s said the battle between them left a concentration of Aura within that field that can be felt by even those who have the smallest showing of magic.

What happened to them? I asked, thinking about what it would be like to see them still in our lands. A chill went up my spine thinking how old, gaunt and withered they would be at living a thousand years.

We believe Ismael was destroyed. Marion and Jareth then left the world, and your family line has carried one of the shadow lineages since. However, the Red Kingdom seems to believe Ismael will return one day to regain his power. Fanatical religious sorts, but it’s a theory, nonetheless.

Has anyone tried to make it over the Great Northern Sierras to see what the Red Kingdom is like? I asked, pivoting from the shadows once again, but I knew he wouldn’t mind a teaching opportunity.

If anyone did, it would certainly be something for history records, however, in an official capacity, we haven’t had reason to.

I knew there were risks to the journey. Unpredictable and sudden weather changes, monsters, and the sheer face of the cliffs to climb. The ancient lifts that used to allow travelers between the lands had long since been destroyed.

The scroll map we looked at was old, and I took care as I lightly touched from the Red Kingdom, back down to the battlefield’s location to the west of Gaelfall, in the center of the Hidden Forest.

Traveling to the Ancient Battlefield is dangerous enough.

Hmm, very true. Many do get lost or end up food for the monsters and creatures, Bergen said.

I paused and looked at him. The tone in the way he responded made me wonder if he was aware of the dry humor he held in his words at times.

The stories about the battlefield are enough to keep me out of there. I said, focusing back on the scrolls.

Children loved to tell each other spooky stories about the battlefield, incorporating things like wailing ghosts who haunt its plains, wraiths who ate your soul, even down to Necromancers and Warlocks going there to use their dark magic for rituals or other demonic activities. I can’t say I hadn’t had a nightmare or two from hearing some of the tales.

I thought about everything Bergen said, trying to think if the texts contained the answers as to what the bandits were after. If they had always been hiding in the open, sitting on the shelves of our library open to the public. As I got closer to the books Bergen had set aside, I could feel a shift in the surrounding air. Not the familiar shielding spell or a ward placed on them, but the hum of deeper magic emanated from them.

I can feel these books without touching them, I said.

Mmm, yes. They do like to sing their own tunes. Bergen quipped. I’m going to shield these and that should quiet them enough, but most importantly it will hide them away, warded and protected, and I need to show you where I put them. If I’m not here before anything happens, I need you to retrieve them and get them out above all else.

I nodded and watched as he gathered them up. He turned to the bookcase nearest his desk and pulled on a vase that sat atop the shelf. The shelved books below the vase slid to the side, and a small alcove appeared behind the bookcase itself, carved into the quartz wall. There was just enough room to set them in and have it close smoothly.

"I’ll need to get your imprint for the vase, so you can open it as well. No