A Song of Smoke & Magic

Chapter One

The forest is peaceful in the soft light of morning, shining dimly through the thick leaves overhead. Tall oak trees reach high into the clear blue sky, their limbs spreading wide to shelter the earth beneath. The trees have been here longer than any man, and they bare the scars of time proudly. A small parting in the trees, a meadow, holds a cottage built of thick dark wood. It is two stories, though each floor is meager, and a chimney bellows thin, fragrant smoke. In the space before the house a garden has been tended, a couple of rows each of crisp green lettuce, spring peas, fat tomatoes weighing down vines twined around thin posts, sweet potatoes buried in the earth with their beautiful visible foliage, and fragrant herbs. The garden thrives and the harvests are plentiful. Bees and other insects buzz about, enjoying this oasis in the forest. Another, larger garden is behind the house where there are fruit trees of apples, pears, and figs, and dozens of other vegetable plants. Four hens cluck and peck at the grass, the rooster perching on the fence post to a docile mare's pen to watch over his flock. It is a humble place of bustling life and soul-deep peace.

The girl who lives in the small house in the tiny meadow is hanging her laundry on the line, bed sheets and bathing towels fluttering in the breeze that softly whistles through the trees. After she has secured each piece, she grabs her hand woven basket and steps off the porch, heading toward her garden to check each plant's progress. Her bare toes curl in the soft grass as her entire body buzzes with the energies of the plants around her. The leaves shiver and lean toward her as she approaches and she smiles as she trails her fingers across them affectionately. None of them are quite ready to be harvested but they will be soon. She knows she can accelerate their growth with a simple, gentle touch, but she sometimes prefers things the old fashioned way. The chickens scurry about at her feet, clucking for their evening meal though it is too early to feed them. She stoops for a moment and runs the fingers of her free hand across the white feathers of one hen's back.

After checking on her garden and the animals, the girl goes back inside the small house where she sets the empty basket on the rough wooden table in the kitchen. It is a large table that her father had made from a proud oak he had cut down himself and carved with his own hands, etching the painstaking details of a design into the surface. It depicts a forest with all types of animals, trees, plants, and a small hill in the distance where a tall, burly man's silhouette holds two, much smaller silhouettes of young girls by their hands, swinging them around in circles. She smiles each time she sees the etching, and she takes a moment to run her fingers delicately across it, remembering her father's laughter and she and her sister's squeals of joy.

The front door to the house is pulled open and bangs shut, the hinges too weak to hold it open for more than a second, interrupting her reminiscing. "Artemisia! Are you here?" calls a female voice nearly more familiar to her than her own. She looks toward the doorway and smiles warmly at her sister as she prances into the room, holding a basket nearly overflowing with goods from her weekly trip to the market.

The girls embrace tightly and when they pull back, Artemisia tugs at one of her little sister's thin, honey colored curls with a playful smile. "You've changed your hair again, what have I told you about using your magick so freely?" she chastises light heartedly. Loreli rolls her eyes and shakes her curls about her head in defiance.

"It looks lovely though, doesn't it?" she says with a slightly hopeful lilt to her voice. Artemisia agrees as she takes the heavy basket from her and sets it on the table. "You would be able to enjoy the freedom of using your magick whenever you like if you move to the city," Loreli baits as she moves to begin pulling items out of her basket and Artemisia moves to the other side of the table, leaning on her elbows across from her to see what she has brought her while actively avoiding her mention of relocation. Her sister pulls jars of spices, bundles of exotic herbs, a thick hunk of goat cheese wrapped in a soft linen cloth, strips of dried meat bundled together and tied with twine, and more from the depths of her basket. As she pulls the items out and sets them on the table, Artemisia notices Loreli's ring again, the one on her left hand that has been a bitter sweet blessing.