Story Magic Read online

  Story Magic

  An Age of Azuria Novella

  Beth Ball

  Contents

  The Green Law

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  The story of how it all began…

  The Adventure Continues

  About the Author

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Beth Ball

  Map of Azuria

  The Green Law

  By order of His Excellence, Senator Antonus Ignatius, with the support and approval of the Council of Andel-ce Hevra and the Priests of Haven, it is hereby decreed that any practice of magic outside that sanctioned and sanctified by the Pantheon Supreme is forbidden across the City of Andel-ce Hevra, the Holy Settlement of Haven, and their Empire.

  * * *

  The punishments for practitioners of such unholy magics are as follows:

  For those practicing witchcraft and other magics of the spirit: a life sentence of service and subjugation to the priests of the Holy Settlement of Haven, and the ongoing sanctification that the servitors of the Pantheon Supreme see fit.

  For those aiding and abetting witches: following a guilty verdict by the Council of Andel-ce Hevra, life imprisonment and servitude to either Andel-ce Hevra, Haven, or an outpost of their Empire. Alternatively, such persons seeking penance and forgiveness may submit themselves to the mercy of the Council in pursuit of inclusion and initiation into the ranks of the City Watch.

  For those practicing the unholy druidic magic of the Vanquished Empress or any magic that seeks to overthrow the power of the Council for that of the earth: execution, the manner and timing of which remains at the discretion of the Council of Andel-ce Hevra and the needs of the City.

  For those aiding and abetting enemies of the Empire who revive the unholy magic of the druids and the Vanquished Empress: banishment from the City of Andel-ce Hevra and Holy Settlement of Haven, and a lifetime’s servitude to an outpost of their Empire or, given pardon on behalf of the Council, inclusion and initiation into the ranks of the City Watch, as outlined above.

  * * *

  Loyal citizens of the City, the Holy Settlement, and outposts across their Empire should immediately report any suspicious magical practice to the City Watch or Council.

  The City of Andel-ce Hevra, the Holy Settlement of Haven, and their Empire remain under the protection of and in service to the Pantheon Supreme. We remember the blessings of our gods and honor them and them alone.

  Chapter 1

  “Persephonie, it’s time.” Felix leaned down from the seat of their wagon to pull her up beside him.

  She hesitated, staring after Marcon and Iellieth as they returned to the frenzied activity of the druid camp preparing to flee. The werewolves would be upon them all soon. Gathered at full force, the pack was too large for the saudad or the druids to withstand.

  “Persephonie,” her older brother called again.

  Across the camp, friends embraced, families gathered. They had no way of knowing if they would all survive the fast-approaching onslaught. Persephonie shoved away thoughts of who would remain behind to protect those who fled.

  “Felix, we cannot leave them.” A rising flood of tears threatened to drown her words. “What if something terrible happens?” Persephonie hugged her arms around her waist.

  “We cannot worry about that now.” Felix shook his head, his eyebrows knitted together as he searched their muster. “They have a little time to prepare. But Datha is right. This is not our fight any longer. We cannot ask our people to linger.”

  Their father stood near the front of the line of wagons, muttering with the seers who would guide their path to the Brightlands. It was customary for Datha, as the head of the muster, to consult with the seers about the path across the threads of fate and, together, to select which thread they would travel.

  “But—”

  Velkan appeared from behind their wagon, his hands seizing her waist. “Up you go.” With a gentle push, he placed her within Felix’s reach, and her brother pulled her up beside him. For a moment, her former partner’s eyes burned as he stared at her. “I’ll find Stefan.” Velkan nodded to the two of them and strode away to tug their younger brother from whatever curiosity had absorbed him.

  “Can we not take Mara with us?” Persephonie leaned to peer past her brother, searching for the druid amid the chaos. Her teacher, her friend—she could not leave Mara to the werewolves. “She could—”

  “Persephonie, no.” Felix set his jaw. “You know that Mara will not consent to leave her conclave behind.”

  “But what if . . .” She could not bring herself to say the words. What if Mara fell to the werewolves and she never saw her again?

  Her grandmother’s voice drifted back to her from when they had buried Papu a few years earlier. “What does Fortune’s wheel tell us, child?”

  Her tear-filled eyes had transformed Babu into a wrinkly blur with black-and-silver hair. She sniffled. “That Cassandra spins our fates forward, and no single event—good or ill—is a finality. She . . . she assures us that, one day, we will find our loved ones again. Perhaps in this life, perhaps the next.”

  Babu had squeezed her hand. “He was so proud of you, little Sephie. Your Papu will find you again.”

  Her teacher would too.

  Seeing her stricken face, Felix scooted across the seat and wrapped his arm around her. “It will be alright,” he whispered. “It will. Datha will see to it.”

  She nodded into her brother’s shoulder as Velkan and Stefan came back around the side of the wagon. Datha’s approach prevented Stefan’s questions about why she was upset.

  “Are we all loaded and ready?” Datha looked at Felix. This was only the second time her older brother had been fully in charge of packing their wagon and preparing for travel.

  Felix nodded. “Yes, Datha.”

  “Very good.” Datha’s eyes flitted over to Persephonie, his brow furrowed in concern. “Hop in, Stefan. Velkan, you too.”

  At the boss’s direction, they both climbed in through the half-door behind Persephonie.

  Datha walked around the horses and came to stand by her side. “You understand, cher’a, why we have to leave?” Her father placed a hand on her knee. “You know that we would stay if we had any other option?”

  “I do, Datha. I just wish . . .” She lowered her head.

  Her father caught her chin under his finger, drawing her eyes up to meet his. “So do I, Sephie. So do I.”

  “Boss Cassian,” one of the drivers called back from the wagon ahead, “we are ready.”

  Datha raised his hand in farewell to the druid conclave. On the opposite side of the clearing, one of the elders raised their hand in return. “Pick me up in a moment, eh?” He grinned at Felix and returned to the head of the muster.

  Their father stood with his arms crossed as the seers stepped forward into the twilight, murmuring their prayers to Cassandra. Felix clicked his tongue to the horses, and they pulled the wagon after those in front.

  After the first few rows of trees, the forest shimmered and shifted. Shadows grew. The inky outlines of pine, oak, and yew faded to pure black as the air around th
em glowed the deep amethyst of Cassandra’s eyes. Animals, birds, and wind faded away, replaced by the music of the stars.

  A wide onyx path unfurled before the saudad, rippling out in advance of the seers’ prayers. The strand of fate wove between the realms, guiding the saudad from the forests of Caldara to the wonders of the Brightlands.

  They and they alone, Cassandra’s chosen people, could travel in this way.

  Across the purple sky, the constellations appeared, winking and guiding the way. To Persephonie’s left, Lilith danced away from the grinning tigers who sought to imprison her. The ancient heroine’s hair trailed long behind her, erasing her tracks from the hunting tricksters.

  High above her head, Llewelyn and Pandora clasped hands for the last time. The moment the two sisters released their grasp, the worlds would be split in two, a process of separation, of parting and division, that would eventually lead to the realms of life, Verdigris’s sacrifice, the elemental planes.

  Datha paused on the trail through the stars, waiting for his children and wagon to catch up with him. He swung up easily into the seat beside Persephonie. “How about a story, Sephie? To honor the road?”

  She squeezed his hand. “Of course, Datha.” To their right, the glittering stars showed the first of the naiada emerging from the surface of the sea. Persephonie glanced over her shoulder. Velkan watched her closely, and Stefan smiled. “As Cassandra’s chosen people,” she began, “we alone possess the ability to travel across the threads of fate. It is our greatest blessing and deepest regret, for the one place we can never go again is our home.”

  A flash of lilac darted past, adding its glimmer to her tale. Persephonie tossed her fingers into the sky after it, and violet fireflies burst into being around her, settling onto her hair and the shoulders of her family.

  The obsidian road continued its winding path through stars and stories. The sky glowed from deepest midnight to pale lavender and back. On either side of their thread, trees grew and shriveled, their seeds becoming forests all around them, the cycles of life, of fate, unspooling over and over again.

  Her father’s dark brown eyes gleamed as her tale continued. With a second wave of her fingers, Persephonie transformed the sparks into tiny flowers that dotted their hair and clothes. “After Orison’s fall, our goddess heard our cries. ‘Be not dismayed, my children of fate,’ she said. ‘To you, I appoint a special destiny. You shall make the stories themselves your home.’

  “And so from that day forward, the saudad took up the gift, the mission of their goddess, and they became the bearers of the stories through the ages. These stories are ours to tell, just as the new stories are ours to create. This is an ancient magic bound to our people. And when the stories pass through our lips, the world that once was, our long-lost home, it becomes real, alive, once more.”

  Persephonie waved her hand slowly past her shoulder and head, lifting the magical sparks in a rippling line, mimicking the surface of the starry sea. She took a deep breath and began to weave the goddess’s tale.

  Chapter 2

  “DAUGHTERS OF FATE AND MEMORY”

  As Cassandra taught us, in the first days, the branches of the world tree grew close. They had not yet been drawn apart by the turning of the ages and the winds of time. Before Verdigris divided herself into three—separating Brightlands from Shadow, with their meeting place between—Ravenna, the goddess of memory, and her sister Cassandra, the goddess of fate, walked arm-in-arm across the plane of nature.

  They passed through dales and over mountains. Cassandra whispered glimpses of the future to the trees. Ravenna embedded memories in the earth.

  But bonded as they were, the sisters longed for a place where their powers might unite, where memory and fate could blend as one.

  The ocean called them to her shores, below a waterfall. The crystal water, carried by mountain streams, churned against the siren sea. Gulls cried high overhead.

  This, the sisters knew, was where their gifts would be wed.

  Ravenna gazed upon the waters with her sister by her side. A spark blossomed where their hands touched, and there, they both foresaw what would one day be, the separations wrought by the waters of the world. In a breath, the forest vanished. Beneath the waters, cities fell. “This cannot be,” Ravenna said. “Is there no way to prevent it?”

  Division and her minions—the storyteller must here add—did not yet freely roam across the planes.

  Cassandra closed her eyes, her arms extended over the rolling waves. Their energy rippled up toward her fingertips, the tendrils teaching her their liquid heart-song. “Prevent it, we cannot, but an untrodden path yet remains.”

  The goddess of memory smiled at her sister’s intertwined phrase. After all, it was unbecoming for a goddess of fate to speak plainly. To do so gave others the impression their destiny was carved in stone and not waiting on the edge of the breeze, to be chased after and caught for themselves.

  “Will you take that first step with me?” Ravenna reached out to clasp her sister’s hands, but a spray of water dashed up between them. The goddess of memory whirled around to face the tides. “How dare you interfere!”

  The ocean burbled back. It ebbed slowly away, face downturned, ashamed. We meant only to play.

  “Wait,” Ravenna called to the tides. Her sister’s eyes sparkled, twin reflections of the water. Even now, the sea played out that which Cassandra had foreseen. The waves danced over one another, spilling and splashing to arrive at her side. “We have seen death and darkness in your future.”

  The water whispered to itself. The goddess’s pronouncement made no sense to young waters brimming with light and life.

  “I have a gift for you,” Ravenna said, “to help you find your path.”

  With a swirl, the waters dove around the goddess of memory. “What will you give us?” they asked. “We have little to offer in return.”

  “You believe that now.” The water somersaulted at her grin. “But that will not forever be true. You will see in time.” Ravenna’s lips pursed as she reached out for the waves. She parted the water, as it would one day part lands, and sculpted a beautiful feminine form from its depths.

  Cassandra stretched out her hand to form the eyes, curved and open wide much like her own. “So you might see the way ahead.”

  Danuae, goddess of the winds, rippled by, high above. She smiled at her sisters’ crafting song and dipped down, her gentle breeze forming a mouth so that the figure might breathe and speak. The lips were full, with wisdom waiting behind them. “So your song might reach those who will listen.” Her gift bestowed, Danuae drifted away upon the winds.

  The flowing hair, Ravenna swirled to resemble the waves. “Remain true to yourself, no matter the tide.”

  High above, the sister moons shone down. Their luminescence trickled into the dancing waves and blessed the waters with a light all their own.

  The aquarian woman before Ravenna opened her eyes. She blinked and extended her palm. “And what shall I receive from you, kind goddess?” the woman whispered in reply.

  “One gift more I have to offer, the gift I freely offer all.” Ravenna cupped her hands around the water-nymph’s face. The waters stilled, breath held. Ravenna planted a kiss on the wet, cerulean crown. “Remember this, Naiada”—droplets clung to her lips—“your nature changes with the tides. One moment, a storm, the next, gentle waves on the breeze.”

  Cobalt eyes blinked. The words ebbed, swirled deep.

  “I grant you the gift of memory, bottomless and wide. Through it, you shall contain all that you inspire: hearts broken and hearts mended, fortunes made and fortunes lost. By sea, fate will be spoken, by river, fate will be tossed.”

  Clouds of change thundered on the horizon. The tide trembled in reply.

  “Be not frightened of your future.” She took Naiada’s hand. Her sister held the other. Their energy trickled through the water-nymph. It darted out into the great tides. Others sprang to life along the water’s surface, bursting fort
h with liquid arms and shining eyes. The goddesses chanted together: “Sisters, all, to fall, to rise.”

  The wind picked up once more. It danced through seaweed tendrils, tossed sunlight through their hair. “All shall look to you”—the thunder boomed—“when they remember no more. But you”—Ravenna raised her voice above the growing squall—“will hold the remembrance here within. Come each new age . . . to rise or fall.”

  Chapter 3

  Persephonie found it difficult to tell how much time passed on the thread of fate but, after what felt like several hours, the amethyst sky grew lighter, dashed through with rose and the shades of the sunset. The constellations gleamed, their brightest points motes of emerald, sapphire, or garnet. The travelers were approaching the Brightlands.

  Datha led the final chorus of one of the saudad traveling songs, his warm baritone carrying the melody across the muster. With a laugh, he clapped Felix on the shoulder and turned to Persephonie before he swung down from the wagon. “Try to set the worries aside, cher’a. The road we look for is the one that finds us.”

  She smiled in reply and watched as her datha strode to the front of the line of wagons to consult with the seers as to where they would make camp in the Brightlands.

  “I hope they pick the summer court this time,” Felix said, his eyes staring off into the brilliant ether.

  Stefan leaned forward and poked his older brother. “You’re just hoping that the alseid you met last time is still there.” He and Velkan laughed.