Page 1 of The Wand of Lore

Chapter One: Gwenneth

Gwenneth swirled her wand over the child’s thin body, assessing the depth of illness coursing through her. Leena had a pale face covered in red blotches, and her skin was warm to the touch. Gwenneth wasn’t sure she could save the child, but she had to try. Eyes closed, wand in hand, she felt the illness gathering like a dark cloud in the child’s veins.

“Good,” Gwenneth announced to her apprentice and sister, Nayla. “She can be saved. Feel how it’s still ethereal, nebulous, not yet a liquid surging through the bloodstream.”

Nayla nodded as she slowly moved her own wand over the child’s body. She stopped after a moment.

“I don’t know, Gwen. I don’t feel it.”

Gwenneth placed her hand over Nayla’s, and they moved together. The familiar buzz of magic thrummed through Gwenneth’s hand, and she gave a faint smile.

“I feel it!” exclaimed Nayla. “She is not so far gone!”

Gwenneth felt it too, and she was relieved. This Devil’s Plague had claimed many lives throughout the village and was especially cruel to the young and the elderly. It moved slowly but invisibly, infiltrating the body without a hint of its existence, often until it was too late. A patient would sweatprofusely before suddenly spiking a fever. They would lose all skin color except for the telltale red blotches and then fade from consciousness, often never to awaken. As best as Gwenneth could tell, some patients had the plague for weeks or even months before suddenly developing symptoms and dying only hours later. Leena had been just slightly warm to the touch only this morning, and her mother had wisely summoned the witches straightaway. She would survive.

“Very good,” said Gwenneth, and together the sisters waved their wands, summoning the healing magic from the goddesses. They whispered a spell together, and as magic flooded their bodies, the sickness dissipated.

Leena sat up and coughed. “Mommy?” she asked.

“I’ll get her,” said Nayla, beaming.

“What happened to me?” the child sobbed, and she reached her arms out to Gwenneth.

Gwenneth embraced Leena’s small body. “You were sick, sweetie. But you are better now.”

“Leena!” the girl’s mother said with a sob as she ran into the room. “You’re awake! I was so worried.” The woman gruffly pulled the child out of Gwenneth’s arms and clutched her to her breast.

“Mom, you’re squeezing me too tight,” protested the girl.

“Thank you, Witch—I mean Gwenneth. I wasn’t sure she was going to—well, just thank you.”

Gwenneth nodded. She quickly packed her bag of herbs and tinctures, rose to her feet, and headed for the door.

“We will leave you,” she said and beckoned for Nayla to join her.

“Wait! I don’t have much, but please, take this.” Leena’s mother pulled some coppers from a purse tied under the hem of her skirt. “And again, thank you.”

She met Gwenneth’s eyes for a moment, then dropped her gaze to her daughter.

The witch and her apprentice pulled cloaks over their dresses and walked out of the home without another word. Gwenneth fingered the coins she had dropped in her purse and hoped they would be enough to purchase milled wheat for bread. Perhaps she would even have a little left over to buy a cup of hot apple cider for Nayla. She shook her head; she couldn’t be so irresponsible with their money. The sisters were luckier than many; they had a vibrant garden, their crops flourished with attention from Gwenneth, and she was able to bring home a little extra income. They had inherited their mother’s cottage, enchanted to never fall into disrepair, and otherwise had everything they needed. Others in the village were growing poorer by the year as King Eger’s goblin army demanded more of their harvest and stole more of their sons in payment for his protection. The days had started getting shorter, and there was a chill in the air, which meant it was nearly tax time and the villagers were on edge.

The exhaustion from casting magic washed over Gwenneth as she walked, yet she considered returning to the village and assisting with some of the other gardens. The people were growing hungry and had little recourse but to summon the witch sisters. Gwenneth wasn’t as skilled as her mother had been, but she persevered, and in the meantime, she continued to train Nayla so that she might one day help to meet the magical needs of the community.

The village was named Loews Hollow after Jamie Loews, who, long ago, had fled a different king to make a home where there was access to fresh water from a gurgling stream and rich soil where he and his kin could plant seeds. For generations, the village had flourished and everybody had enough. That was before King Eger came to power and took as much of theirmodest wealth as his goblins and henchmen could carry away in a wagon.

The sisters walked past neighbors bustling about the general store with its rotting door and broken windows, past people standing in line at the apothecary with its peeling paint and overgrown weeds, and past a tired cottage leaning to one side. Though the village suffered under the dictates of the king, the people still assembled, traded goods, and swapped stories and well-wishes while golden leaves swirled around them.

As their sandaled feet hit the path that led out of the village and toward the grove they called home, Gwenneth exhaled and let her body slump. She had traded her own energy with the goddesses for access to the very powerful magic that had saved Leena. Beside her, she heard her sister echo her exhale.

“I’m so drained. Let’s get home before there’s any trouble,” Gwenneth said, peering around for the sight of angry villagers that had become all too familiar lately.

Nayla nodded, and Gwenneth caught the pallor on her sister’s face. Her usually pink cheeks were now so white the light passed right through to her blue veins. Alarmed, Gwenneth turned her sister toward her so she could take a closer look. Sure enough, beads of sweat lined her forehead, and her pupils were the only part of her face that had any color left at all.

“Nayla, you’re ill. You were fine just a minute ago,” she said, her voice wavering at the sudden onset of symptoms. Not sweet, innocent Nayla, who was only fourteen years old and a late bloomer, only just beginning to touch her magic! The girl smiled, but her lips crinkled like the dried skin of a toad out of water. Gwenneth peered at the girl’s face, checking her forehead for signs of how long the illness had been festering, biding its time. She ignored the fatigue thrumming at her own forehead and wrapped her arm around Nayla.

“Let’s get you home, sister, so I can take a proper look at you.”

“I’m okay, really,” Nayla muttered, but already her voice was weakening, and she let her body fall onto Gwenneth.

---