The Well of Youth

4. Fooar

Cursed beyond measure was Beira's fate as her child did unspeakable deeds like befouling itself several times a day or demanding food. She started to regret her decision to raise it and hags quickly offered to take the burden off her hands. Their constant desire to eat her child was the only reason why she kept it and not dropped it off at some human establishment. If they wanted it, for some reason, she wanted it too.

Beira settled to name the boy Fooar—the same name she had given to her giant sons back in the days of power. As she saw nothing special about this child either, she did not believe it required a unique name.

Fooar was two-winters old already and had picked a nasty habit of holding onto her legs while she went about her business when she noticed magic for the first time. She was digging in her trunk, looking for her favorite green veil when she found the crystal Dagda had used against her. She held it in her hand and remembered the brilliant glow it held when her powers were within it.

"Mine," Fooar asked for it, stretching his plump hand toward the crystal.

Beira ignored the rude demand. If he couldn't ask her respectfully, then he didn't deserve for his request to even be considered. She continued searching, leaving the crystal on top of a table, out of his reach while Fooar begged for it. Blissful silence filled the room as her son came to his senses, and she finally found her veil. She reached to the table for the crystal only to find it empty. It was in Fooar's hands.

He sat on the stone floor, his bare legs peeking out of his gown, and turned it around in his fat fingers while his face made peculiar expressions. She wrenched it away from him. His face contorted into an ugly frown, his eyebrows bunched up together. Beira braced herself to hear a bout of insufferable wailing, but instead, he stretched out his hands toward her again.

"Mine!" he yelled.

She was about to yell back at him when she felt the crystal leave her hands. She watched with shock as it floated through the air to the boy.

Beira glared at her child. He had magic! If Fooar ever exhibited any abilities, she thought it would be a water-affinity after his father, but this ability used to belong to her. How unjust was it that while she remained mortal and powerless, her children were still able to inherit her magic? Her child was a godling when she was no longer a goddess!

Furious, she tried to prey the crystal out of his grasp, but he held on to it stubbornly.

"This magic does not belong to you," she roared at him. "It is mine!"

They both held onto the crystal while she could feel her despair claw itself into her, take hold of her heart, obscure all thought. She stopped trying to wrench it away but held on to it, wishing for it to contain once again what she had lost. The feeling of a cold tear sliding down her cheek woke her up. She was Beira, not a common being. A goddess does not despair. A goddess acts.

"Fooar, son of Beira, let your power seep into this vessel," she said the words while they held the crystal together.

A slight glow appeared in the crystal. Disappointingly, it was nothing compared to the brilliant brightness when it held her divinity in it, but the fact that it worked was enough to lift her spirits. Beira ripped the crystal from the boy's hands, ignoring his protests, and put it against her chest.

"Beira, mother of Fooar, this power is now yours. Let it claim you, seep into you, so you may become the most you can be."

She felt a warmth spread from the crystal through her hands and into her body. She cried out with joy. She had magic! The crystal was empty again and she dropped it to the ground. Fooar stretched his chubby hands to it and stared at it, trying to make it fly, but it did not budge. He cried.

Beira smiled, standing over him. "At least something useful came out of you."

She held out her hand to the crystal but it didn't fly into her hands either. This perplexed her because she was sure that she had taken back Fooar's magic, she could feel it within her.

To test if she wasn't imagining it, she rummaged in her trunk for a rectangular box, which she handled with care. She slowly opened the lid and stared at her most prized possession.

At the dawn of time, she had imbued a small hammer with her creation magic to shape the land to her liking. While Bryde may have stolen her powers, she couldn't take what Beira had infused into this tool, but it was useless in the hands of a nonmagical mortal.

She held it in her trembling hand and without further hesitation, she struck the floor with it. The floor trembled and a crack appeared where she had hit the stone, made by magic, not the impact.

One question was answered—she had magic, but it was too feeble to accomplish anything.

"You were too weak, Fooar," she complained to her son who was playing with the crystal again.

Beira held the hammer in her hand and started planning. Ever since she had been robbed of her powers, she had tried everything to get them back, but her efforts were fruitless. Fooar's magic, as inadequate as it was, was the first step to regaining what she had lost.

One day she'd be powerful again and could shove that crystal at Bryde's chest and take back what was rightfully hers.

What she needed now was more powerful children.