Burned: The Series

Burned

1492: Spring

Chapter One:

I am an old man. I was been born old, and as time passed I grew even older still. My eyes watched wars tear apart my country and turn it into a communist country run by cruel councilmen. There was blood shed for these changes, mostly the blood of my friends and my family.

And the blood of my people, the wizards. We had always been few, for in the past our kind were hunted and burned, but now our numbers have diminished to such that few now know we exist. As the new government tries to firmly establish itself inside the kingdom of Medris, the wizards are prosecuted and thrown into prisons in some desolate desert to never leave.

It is said that there, in these prisons, our powers are abused and used in unnatural ways to make the land prosper under the new reign, cheating the people into believing that the government will improve their lives. It is said that our children are taken from us and raised to believe that their parents were monstrous beasts, selfish for hoarding their gifts to themselves. Rumors even claim that a wizard killed the Last King Gannon.

Such was the fate of wizards, to be hated and picked on. They were the unwilling outcasts of society. Born an outcast, dying an outcast, living the life of an outcast.

There is nothing unluckier, I thought to myself one windy spring day as I watered my herbs growing outside my window. There is nothing unluckier than a wizard. Look at me, alone and heartbroken, living in fear! My life has proved such, a thousand times over!

Grumbling to myself, I stomped back into the house, leaving the watering can to water the remainder of the garden by itself.

My faithful dog and friend Orchard leapt up and followed me inside. She gave me an annoyed look before lying back down by the hearth. In the shadows of my small farmers cottage, her white fur gleamed as the unicorn Asa did in the legends.

As I shuffled towards my dingy fireplace to boil water for dinner, the floors creaked beneath my feet. Worried, I glanced down to see long spidery cracks running along the ancient wood boards that made my floors. After years of a leaky room and poorly insulated walls, the wild weather of my hometown of Aeglisan had finally broken my floors down to such a poor state that I realized I had to fix.

“Watch your step,” I growled at the dog, before turning around and disappearing down the ladder to my basement.

While above ground, my home was of average size for an unmarried elderly man. With one bedroom and a main room, the house was small. Since I had chosen not to be assigned a job from the government I was responsible for the upkeep of my farm and home. While all the food I grew except what I was rationed was given to society, the buildings on my land were mine alone.

To a younger man, this small form of freedom would have been a gift much loved and treasured. To a man of my age, however, this meant that many more leaks and holes went untended, many times forgotten. This meant that the barn that used to be a few meters from my door was no longer standing, let alone usable.

Below the ground my home was not of average size. A large cavernous basement occupied the space, hidden by the protection and privacy spells of ancient wizards long ago. Inside the room was my life, my spell books and artifacts, everything magical on this side of the Leone Mountains. As one of the last free wizards, it was my job to keep these treasures hidden from any Wardens of governmental brainwashed trash.

Small floating balls of blue flame lit the underground world, floating around the room. As usual, the closest flame began following me in my quest to uncover a spell that I could use to fix my floors. Walls of parchment and faded text made the maze of my library. Many of the books were written in languages forgotten long ago, languages many historians didn’t understand.