The War of The Magi : Book One

Chapter Eight

A man knelt in the center of a room, dark robes fanned behind him. His smooth, pale head was bent down, almost as if he were in prayer. Two women in the same style black robes, their hoods drawn so that their faces were hidden, stood behind him as still as they could be. With a slight nod, he raised his head and his vibrant brown eyes that showed they have seen their fair share of struggle, stared at blackness, at nothingness, at a literal void. In a second, that same nothingness disappeared and the room filled with more light. He stood up and began adjusting and straightening his robes as he turned, walking with dignified grace.

He spoke no words to the two women, but they moved as he did and followed him. Walking out of the room, his steps fierce and his destination clear. they continued following him, each step in sync with his. It wasn't long that they walked a stone hall way with candles barely lit on the wall, that he gestured his hand towards a room. The two women made their way there without a word and he was left alone.

Down a set of stairs, his footsteps echoed through the quiet tower until he reached a heavy wooden door. He stopped moving and made to tap his knuckles against it. His fingers never contacted the wood, but sharp knocks pierced the quiet air three times. It opened slow and creaked, the sound dancing off the walls, until the door was opened enough for him to walk through, and followed by a howl of wind.

He stepped into the room, smiling at a petite woman with hair so black it was almost the same as the void that the man had seen prior. She looked at the man, her half lidded eyes stared at him and narrowed them, her lips not forming a frown, but not forming a smile. "Yes, Prophet?" she asked, her voice calm and smooth as silk.

"Ylva, my dear, dear Ylva," he started as he walked closer to her. "I have a...mission for you." He placed his hand just under her chin, rubbing her jaw with his thumb. "A Draithe has just informed me that Magnar Snowthorne is on the move."

Ylva quirked a brow as her lips formed a sneer. "What should I care about that vile man being on the move?" Her voice, once like silk, was now dripping with poison and anger.

The Prophet nodded, his eyes never leaving her. "You should care. You are to follow him, see what he is up to." Her lips formed a deadly smile. "But do not hurt him."

"Why?" she questioned with her brow furrowed. The Prophet turned away from her, lifting the drawn curtains, filling the room with sunlight.

"This," he responded, his free hand motioning to the light that streamed in, "is why. I haven't seen this much sunlight in so long. Magnar is up to something and he is moving freely throughout the land. Away from Orriel. Away from safety and protection. I want to know why he is. And I want to know immediately."

Ylva frowned and walked over to her door. "By the time I reach him, he'll more than likely be safe at home in Orriel, or wherever it is his destination will be."

"So you'll go to the places he's already been. I thought you knew how to be a spy, Ylva?" The tone in his voice was deadly now, his figure nearly growing as he closed in on her form. "And you will keep in contact with me, every day. If he does go to Orriel, then you shall follow as close as you can. What is the problem? I thought you wanted a mission?"

Ylva bit back a response. She knew that what the Prophet said was final. He had that power, that control over every single one of them. A flick of his hand and they would thrash on the ground like a dying fish. "Of course, Prophet," she said, her voice returning to silk.

The Prophet proceeded to leave her room, feeling her energy building as she focused herself to shut the door with the magic of air. He smiled and his pride swelled up, nodding once to her before the door had shut completely.

Ylva, as the door slammed and heard him walk down the hall, let loose her breath, leaning on the door and sinking to the ground to her knees. The feeling of weight in her lungs passed as quickly as it came, easy breaths to replace the air.

She hated how the Prophet would erupt at anyone who wouldn't use magic for everyday things, even something as simple as opening and closing the door. The discipline was fierce and often people died from it. Of course, it didn't matter if people died. There was always another, a stronger magi to replace that one. One who wouldn't blink at being told what to do.

She moved to pack a few essentials and set out on the mission that was given to her from the Prophet.

Ylva Cany was one of the ones who would literally kill the person above her just to survive another day. Just to make her life last that much longer. Just to make sure she was in smiling graces of the Prophet. If it meant survival, if it mean continuing, she swore to herself long ago that she would accomplish it.