The Source

Damita woke.

With permanently open, unseeing eyes engraved on Damita’s rose-gold face, buried deep in a drawer, this change would go unnoticed by everyone except Anais, the teenaged girl spending a night dancing several krosas, or cow calls, away. Anais stumbled as from one step to another she seemed to grow lighter, her movements easier. Her skin tingled. The one cup of wine she was allowed must have kicked in, so she believed.

Her elbow bumped someone’s bare torso, as was the customary costume—or lack thereof—for the men of Epmahia to wear (or not). Anais had been finding the tradition increasingly distracting and, sure enough, the touch of smooth, warm skin sent a delightful shock up her arm and through the rest of her.

“Watch it— Anais!” The grumpy voice slid into smiling in an instant and Anais cringed, but still politely turned to face her victim.

“Zane.” She pinched the sides of her light robe and dipped into a curtsy to her cousin several times removed. Removed enough that he was Royalty while she was Worker. They kept no slaves in Epmahia, but being low-born was little different. Which begged the question: what was he doing here? ‘Here’ being a casual gathering of those aged from prepubescent to young adulthood, with wine and percussion-rich music to encourage the release of the day’s toils in dance. Up until that moment, Anais had been luxuriating in the opportunity to focus on nothing more than how her body felt as she matched the rhythm, shuffling her feet, swinging her hips, and shaping patterns in the air with her hands.
“I haven’t seen you in weeks.” Zane turned to face her, filling her small dancing space with his hulking presence.

“Of course not. I’m never invited to your fancy palace parties.” Anais rolled her shoulders as a shiver ran down her spine. Zane was a fine specimen, for certain. With defined muscles, a lavender kilt adorned with a broad belt playing host to a variety of purely ornamental weapons, including a silver stiletto that was meant to suggest he expected to win in a fight with a werewolf, and several strands of glass and carnelian around his neck she wasn’t quite certain a spine tingle was in order. For one thing, werewolves either no longer existed or never existed at all. Besides, she was tired, and annoyed her solitary dance had been interrupted.

“Oh, they’re not— Well, yes, they are rather fancy. But I’ve been coming here. You haven’t.”

“My little brother is sickly. Mummeh needs me at home.” Anais tamped down the spike of anxiety or excitement—she couldn’t tell which in the moment—that reared its head. Zane had noticed her absence from these gatherings? It was hard to believe and she didn’t know what to do with it if true. Best to ignore.

“Oh. That’s a shame. Especially at our age. You know.” He hooked a shoulder up, about as awkward a move as one could expect from totally-self-assured-life-will-always-work-out Zane. “Did you see Aaryn and Jazmeetha have hooked up? And Brem and Edwald.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “You should dance with someone. Me, for instance. I mean, you don’t have to, but I happen to be free at the moment, which, as you know is not a condition likely to continue for long, and I would accept your request.” He lifted his chin, rested a hand on a hip and let the other hang almost casually in a I-can-easily-deny-it, showing-off-my-wares splay. “If you happen to ask, that is.”

Zane had barely spoken a word to Anais the few times they’d crossed paths during schooling. Only the very basics of mathematics and social conformity were taught across all classes. She looked past him to the other dancers, all moving in groups of two, three, and even one foursome. A handsome lad holding the attention of three young women. Strangely, all four were new to Anais. Perhaps they had come from one of the other Epmahian cities.

Given his status, financial means, and undeniably good looks, Zane could have been the centre of any sized grouping he wished to establish, or should’ve had his pick of any individual. He glanced over his shoulder and Anais followed the look to a couple who had exchanged the dancing for passionate kisses in a shadowed nook. She recognised the flowing deep-red and white striped dress and swirling bronze armband as belonging to Jazmeetha and the man’s kilt bore the markings of the Mellakos tribe: Aaryn. Oh. Even a prince could have his heart broken.

“Don’t expect that from me. Those two have been friendly since we were kids,” she said.

“Uh!” Zane clasped his chest as if struck. “I never stood a chance then.” He grew quite serious and bowed. “I promise to be gentlemanly beyond reproach, m’lady.” He hooked up one eyebrow again, which suggested that while he was being honest, he wouldn’t mind if Anais invited him to brave reproach.

“All right.” Anais laughed under her breath and sighed inwardly while holding out a hand for him to rise from the bow.

Part of her reason for coming to these gatherings was losing herself in the crowd and having little to think of but how the music told her to move her body. Now she would have to pay attention to what Zane was doing as well. Not quite so relaxing. Still, he was right about their peers partnering up. Anais on her own would no longer disappear in a mingling crowd if the crowd was going to evolve into something else. She already missed it.

After months of largely running the household while her mother was fully occupied caring for her sickly brother, Anais relaxed as she realised Zane’s lead was expert. Perhaps he had spent his days learning to dance while she and her fellow working class had learnt winemaking, bookkeeping, and textiles. At least it made dancing with a partner bearable. Perhaps better than.

Zane also chose not to interrupt her thoughts with inane chatter, for which she was deeply grateful.

These days she was bogged down in the daily chores of the household, something she’d grown up knowing would most likely be her future, but that was it; it was supposed to be her future, not her now. Now she was supposed to be doing as her peers: discovering whether or not she was destined to be in a child-producing relationship with a man, or if she would prefer to partner with a woman, or not settle with either. And it was somewhere around now, in their late teens, when they would start to feel a deeper connection with certain roles and processes, indicating the seed of magic that could be honed to better help their people. Perhaps it would turn out she had a gift for raising crops—she had a couple of potted plants she’d kept alive since childhood—or perhaps she would have synergy with honey bees and be able to harvest their honey unmolested. Or perhaps, and at this moment it would be welcomed, she would discover an ability to keep her home dust free with little more than a finger wiggle and a want. Perhaps. Or, more than likely, she would find herself to be completely normal. Magic had been dwindling within Epmahia and across the world, with no Sorcerers born for generations.

Such things were not her concern tonight, and she returned her attention to the music and let it and Zane’s gentle guidance move her body while she switched her mind off for the evening.

Another full-bodied tingle washing over her brought Anais back to the present. Feeling neglectful, she glanced up to find Zane smiling down at her.

“What?”

“You looked blissful. It was contagious.” His grin broadened. “I feel very relaxed.” He rocked back, lifted her hand above her head and twisted it as he pressed his other hand against her hip to encourage her to spin under their loose clasp, pulling her in tight to bounce against him as she completed the turn before releasing her to resume a more casual dance.

“I’m glad I could improve your mood. The experience of dancing with you has been more than adequate.” Anais smirked at him, having some idea how he would interpret her words. He didn’t disappoint.

Once again he put palm to chest. “Adequate?”

“More than.” Anais smiled at him. “But—” She glanced up at the first quarter of the moon Cibec where it edged close to setting. “That is my queue to go.” She nodded at the horizon. “It has been a pleasure.” Stepping away from Zane she noted that many of their peers had already departed, likely in pairs or groups and she felt ever so slightly sorry to be abandoning him, but he was a big boy; he could look after himself.

“An adequate pleasure.” He smiled in good humour, not looking sour at all. Perhaps he, too, appreciated heading home to his bed for sleep.

“More than.” Anais grinned, gave him a polite wave and started the walk home alone, in the opposite direction to the palace.

Cibec had dipped below the horizon, the multitude of stars were clear and the smaller moon Zequi rose, waning past its last quarter when Anais reached the sandstone brick house she shared with her parents and baby brother, whose cry could be heard some fifty cubits from the house.

Anais wasn’t surprised to find her mother up trying to soothe Theas. Barely a baby anymore at eighteen months; poorly since birth, he demanded much of their mother’s time and energy. Herself ready to climb into bed, Anais’s heart ached to see her mother’s exhaustion etched deep in her eyes and gaunt cheeks. She’d struggled to keep her weight with the breastfeeding demands. Theas had yet to accept any food. Anais didn’t entirely blame him. Each crop grew more tasteless each year. At least he lived, which was more than could be said for any other of Anais’s younger siblings.

Anais raised her arms to accept her brother as she made her presence known and her mother gave a cry of despair and relief blended in equal measure, passed Theas to her and caught herself on the bench to breathe deeply. Theas continued to cry. With fresher muscles, Anais settled him on her hip, encouraged him to lay his head on her shoulder, and set about jiggling him, hoping she could soothe him before she fatigued.

“He has fed and fed and I am dry,” Anais’s mother sighed.

“I have him, Mummeh. Have some water and something to eat. I have him. Please.” Anais kept jiggling, bouncing from her legs to save her arm tiring too soon, and dismissed a rising anger at this child who had hurt her mother so.

Her mummeh smiled gratefully and headed for the water room where a continuously flowing channel brought clean drinking water in and carried mess out, thanks to their city’s infrastructure.

Theas thrashed in Anais’s arms and she took a firmer hold.

“Oh, hush, child. No one wants to hear you moan unless you’re going to tell us how to fix it. Can you do that?” Anais suspected she was imagining things when it felt like Theas rocked his head on her shoulder in a manner of a shake. He’d shown no signs of understanding or being able to communicate, verbally or otherwise.

“No,” she sighed. “Of course not. Still, please, Theas, if you’re crying for no good reason, please, please stop. We all need sleep, even you. Just hush.”

Theas ceased crying, leaving a very sudden semblance of silence. The constant trickle of water dominated. An owl hooted for “more pork”. A wolf howled in the distance. Anais shivered, both the distant howl and the immediate silence sending a tingle down her spine.

Anais craned her head back to see more of her brother and spread a hand across his back. Yes, he was breathing.

Her mother’s sandalled feet tapped down the stairs, pausing on the final step. Anais turned to face the wide eyes and open mouth.

“How did you—?”

Anais shrugged as best she could under Theas, whose head had grown heavier. “Is he asleep?” she whispered and turned so her mother could see his face.

“Yes!” Her mother also kept her voice to a whisper, but her surprise and joy were palpable. “Quick. Let’s get him to bed, and maybe we can all get some sleep.”

Anais carefully climbed the steps to the room her parents shared with Theas. Her father slept soundly. Her mother lifted the blankets on Theas’s small mattress beside her own bed and Anais placed him gently, working her hands out from under him before allowing his weight to settle fully. When she stood unburdened, she and her mother looked at each other for a long while, marvelling at the continued night-time noises in the absence of a baby’s cry, hardly daring hope it would continue.

“Well.” Anais broke the spell. “Goodnight, then.”

“Yes. I hope you did. Have a good night, I mean.” Anais’s mother rested a hand on her shoulder. “You should have nice nights away.”

Anais smiled—content enough, at this time, to watch her peers find their matches—and made her way back down the stairs to her own wool mattress where the night’s exhaustion pulled her straight into a sleep full of dreams of a healthy Theas, carefree dancing, and a happy and relaxed Mummeh, all tinted in rose gold and overlaid by a stylised image of a sun with eyes, which only went to prove how unbelievable her dreams were.

But, despite her late night and strange dreams, Anais found herself awake under the first rays of dawn before the sun itself appeared. Her skin tingled and she scratched at multiple itches, but all they did was shift somewhere else. She got up and made her way up to the water room where she dropped her robe and took up a cloth to wipe away the dirt that must have irritated her to waking, since she hadn’t washed before retiring to bed. The water felt particularly cold this early in the morning. The air, too was chilled, which was unusual. And her skin still tingled.

Slipping her robe back on, Anais found it was also cold to the touch after lying on the brick floor. She’d never known the bricks to cool so much overnight and she’d been up at all sorts of hours over the previous eighteen months. Itching and shivering, she went in search of something warmer to wear.

While she felt alert, Anais was finding it hard to grasp a full thought, likely due to the late night and early rising, and she soon found herself standing before a set of old heavy drawers she’d never had cause to search in before. In fact, for most of her life they’d simply been there, something she didn’t notice, though they had displayed some lovely vases over the years. It crossed her mind that perhaps the drawers may hold something her mother and/or father didn’t wish to share with her, but she felt such a strong compulsion to search for a woollen cloak inside she continued on to open the large lower drawer.

She paused to scratch an intense itch on her hand, barely diminishing it, before opening the drawer as far as it would go without falling from its runners. Several soft, woollen cloaks were bundled inside, unused in all Anais’s memory. She was drawn to a light brown one at the back of the drawer and shook it out. A loud crack of something falling into the drawer startled her and she stepped back, clutching the cloak to her, looking over her shoulder at the open doorway, listening for signs the noise had disturbed others. The rest of the house slept on. A wolf howled in the distance.

Anais turned back to the open drawer to see what she had dislodged. A textured circle of rose gold with black divots lay on the bare wood in the back of the drawer, a leather thong affixed through a metal loop, like a necklace.

Anais stared for a long moment. Her family owned nothing gold. Part of her wanted to believe it bronze, but there was no denying the pink. How had it come to be here, in this house, and tucked in the back of this drawer?

She reached down to lift it from the drawer and the instant she touched it her skin calmed and the room no longer felt chilled.

Ahhh.

An almost verbal sigh filled Anais’s head. She whisked her hand away and stumbled back, clutching the cloak as if it could protect her from demons. Her skin prickled with a feverish heat, making her shiver again. She wiped the back of a hand across her forehead and it came away coated with sweat.

“Dadda. Dadda. Dadda.”

Anais spun to face the door at what was undeniably Theas’s voice, except he’d never uttered anything resembling a word before.

“Oh, my good boy. Yes. Dadda, dadda.” Anais’s dad’s voice came through the door, his footsteps coming down the stairs.

“Dadda. Dadda.” Theas laughed. Laughed?

With chattering teeth, Anais looked back at the medallion. What would her parents say about her finding it? What would they have to say about it being here? She reached back into the drawer and picked it up again. And again her skin cooled, making the room feel warmer.
Her father was still making his way down the stairs, cooing and encouraging Theas to say his name again. Anais flipped the medallion over and nearly dropped it again. Staring back at her was the sun of her dreams.

Hi. Yes. That was me.

Anais’s grip became even more tenuous, just allowing the medallion to rest on her palm.

Her father and Theas had reached the bottom of the stairs, but they had gone through to the dining room and not seen her.

The sun will be up soon, and when that happens you’re not going to want to be without me. Go on, put me on.

The voice was in her head, but she was sure it was coming from the medallion.

Yes.

Or she was crazy.

Too early to tell. Put me on, wear me for a while and I’ll take a look, if you like.

Wearing it felt a step too far.

Whatever.

But it was time to stop waiting for her parents to discover her here, and to ask outright what the medallion had been doing in the drawer.

I’m here for you.

“La la la la la. I can’t hear you. You are not in my head.”

Yes, you can. Yes, I am.

Shut up, shut up, shut up. Anais thought in a singsong voice as if it would make her less crazy than projecting anger at the other voice.

Oh, have it your way. We can talk when you are ready. Just don’t put me down ever again.

No longer chilled, Anais shoved the cloak back into the drawer and closed it.

She paused in the doorway unsure which parent to ask, but she wouldn’t wake her mother.

“Is that you up, Anais?”

“Dadda. Dadda. Unnah.”

Anais glared at the medallion. Had it somehow fixed Theas? The voice remained silent.

“Yes, Daddeh.” She stepped across the vestibule and entered the dining room.

Her father looked across from where he was preparing a hot stone to toast flat bread. “Did you hear Theas? Look at him.”

Theas was sitting—sitting—on a fluffy sheep skin, playing with a necklace of chunky ceramic and glass beads.

“Is Mummeh sleeping?”

“Yes! It’s a miracle. The gods are smiling on us today. May it continue. We may need to stop by several temples, pay our tributes. Don’t want to risk offending the wrong one. Luckily the palace just bought a large order of honey. I wonder which it could be. Did you do anything on your travels last night that might have attracted the good fortune of one or several of the gods?” He hooked a brief smile at her—the question rhetorical—and returned his attentions to breakfast.

At a loss for preamble, Anais held up the medallion and said apologetically, “I found this.”

Pouring himself a drink from the carafe, her father took a few moments to look up. When he did, he froze with the cup nearly to his lips, paled, placed it on the bench with a clatter.

“Put it on,” he said. “Hadrea!” He bellowed, projecting his voice up the stairs, then back to Anais: “Put it on, now.”

“What?” Anais gathered the leather thong and mimicked putting it over her head. “Like—?”

“Yes! Exactly like.” Her father nodded, a tight action, agitated, and maybe eager. “Hadrea! Put it on.”

Anais opened up the loop of leather and slipped it over her head. The medallion came to rest over her heart.

About time.

It seemed to lock in place, so there was no weight borne by the back of her neck, and everything felt right.

“Niko?” Anais’s mother enquired from the top of the stairs.

“Sorry to wake you, love, but Anais has something to show you.”

“Anais?” Her mother’s sleepy voice moved closer. Anais turned and waited for her mother to see her. She soon did, bleary eyes fixating on the medallion. “It... called you?”

“I—” Called her? It talked to her. Perhaps it had.

“Come, come.” Anais’s father beckoned her mother. “She has fixed Theas. Come see him.”

Anais’s mother stepped into the dining room to see her son, who now held the necklace in his mouth, a chunky bead between his incisors. Hadrea whimpered and turned to Anais, holding back happy tears, arms spread for a hug. Anais stepped into it, happy to sink into the assuredness of her mother’s warmth.

“What does it mean?” Anais wanted to stay in that embrace, grounded, but Hadrea released her and stepped back to look her in the eye, still clasping her shoulders.

“You’re a Sorcerer, Anais. The first for...” Hadrea looked to Niko for a prompt, but he was kneeling before Theas, talking animatedly with the toddler. “...seven generations? Regardless, this changes everything! Magic has been leaching out of the world since the last Sorcerer filled the repositories. The crops fail more often than they succeed. People are hungry, children malnourished.” She glanced at Theas briefly. “This—” She put a finger to Anais’s skin alongside the medallion, as if she felt unworthy to touch it directly. “The power has awoken in you. You must never take it off. It has paired with you.”

It. It...

“She’s a she.” Anais shrugged. She felt hijacked. She felt a love, of sorts. Scared. Elated. Overwhelmed.

She knew of the legends of the Sorcerers, though it had all seemed a mere story, something to excuse the lack of food, the growing unrest. It wasn’t a failure of leadership, oh no, it was simply that the gods had not favoured the world with their magic for so long. Of course, no one would enquire further as to why the gods did not bless the people. Now Anais was wondering: why now, why her?

Now: because. You: because. This is your destiny.

Sorcerer. The Source.