Sacrifice

Of my country and of my family I have little to say. They are so wholly removed from this tale beyond being the cause of its beginning that I prefer to dwell on them as little as is possible in the telling. We lived in Ariadne, which was a quiet little town mostly undisturbed by magic. The few mages who lived there never much developed their power, and when a source of great power appeared near the town’s borders none knew what to make of it besides that left alone it would cause no harm. But our Mayor thought differently, and having no magic hoped to gain great power from being it’s guardian. Unfortunately for him, he did: but it was a curse upon the town, and did not have the effect he would have wished.

And so, I was sent to meet my witch. I know I seem a strange choice: I am hardly the heroic type to be sent on a grand adventure. But we were told by a powerful mage who was drawn to our town by the release of the curse that only he who had the least to gain may reverse the curse. I had been finally about to leave that wretched place to seek my fortune away from a family I strongly disliked, so the burden fell to me. Chased all the way to the home of the witch by cursed men from the town, I walked down the path through the woods petrified of every shadow. I crept along slowly, checking both for pursuers and the witch’s protection on her home, when a sudden voice spoke out in my mind that I knew was not my own.

“There is no-one behind, and no traps ahead.”

I am not ashamed to say I jumped quite high before I covered my ears, as I would call this any man’s natural reaction to being spoken to by a disembodied voice. A moment passed and it rang out again.

“There is no need to be so frightened. It is merely I, the Witch of Power that you seek. Unless you have evil intent you can be assured I will not use this power against you.”

I shook my head as though it would clear the voice and looked ahead to the cottage at the end of the trail. I saw a small figure watching from the window and felt that this was the voice and it must be speaking the truth. I do not know what made me so certain my witch was trustworthy when we met like this, but I will forever be grateful to whatever power stopped me from doubting her intent. I stepped a little quicker down the path, still checking for pursuers, until I reached her garden gate. As I checked behind me again, the same voice spoke aloud.

“I promise you, to the best of my sight, that there is no-one near enough behind you to form any danger.”

I jumped again and cursed myself for being so paranoid. I turned and almost could not speak, for I was startled to see a beautiful young woman instead of the old crone I had been told to expect. I had no doubt she was the witch, her voice was the same as that I had heard, and was matched perfectly to the rest of her beauty. She looked near my own age (for at this time I was not yet twenty-five) with her kind face framed by dark flowing hair extending down to near her waist. She held herself with an unmistakable air of power, the kind that comes only from a person who knows they have no need to speak harshly to be intimidating.

“M-my apologies, oh Powerful one,” I managed to stammer out. “I am afraid I have been tracked my whole journey, and it has left me jumping at shadows.”

She allowed me to enter the garden and asked my name and business. Introducing myself as Renfred Claramond, I told her I had come to beg her assistance and we proceeded inside for tea and biscuits, of all the mundane things. She used magic to move everything, more precise and controlled than I’d seen all my life. I knocked my head on a beam and, noticing my height, she almost casually set down the tea things and made the room bigger. I gaped like a fool at everything she did, and I know not how she kept her composure to ask me about my errand.

Berating myself for neglecting the importance of my task I told her why I had been sent, adding that the mage had said to mention that only a mortal who performed our Mayor’s actions in reverse could remove the town’s curse. I saw her face grow serious, and I knew she was aware of what he had meant when he had drawn me aside to warn me I must make a great sacrifice for little personal gain. I asked that she tell me what it was, nothing that I possessed would be worth the lives of a town. She was silent for a moment, and then answered.

“It is something that you do not yet possess. The action of your Mayor was to attempt to steal powerful magic for his own gain. To perform this in reverse is to sacrifice powerful magic and cause yourself loss. The price I must ask of you… is your first-born child.”

As I sat stunned, she handed me a glass of fine whiskey and told me that she would not ask that I make the decision in a moment, and that she would gladly give me hospitality while I considered. I gratefully accepted, and in the end stayed for two days before my pursuers caught up with me. In that time I was an annoying houseguest, as I went through much inner turmoil and asked her far too many questions about what such a contract would entail. My witch was patient and kind as she always is, and answered each in turn, ensuring me that my child would be in safe hands. The night my pursuers caught up to me and almost caused her great personal loss I realised the selfishness of my hesitation. The town was suffering still and it was on me to act.

“I will trade you my first-born child to save my town. My desire to raise them myself is not worth the consequences of that action - they’re already starting now.”

“Okay,” she said quietly.

“I have one condition for doing this. I would like to know you before I have a firstborn, I would like to be certain they will be raised well, by someone I trust. And I want to meet him, one day, when I can.”

My witch agreed, and I signed the contract for my firstborn the next morning. I could see him once a year from when he was 10 years of age. I chose the town nearby to seek my fortune, and grew to be a well-respected pillar in that community by my association with their favoured witch. I grew to be close friends with Ella, for that was her name, and I now dreaded the day where I would have a child and no longer be a part of her life. Making the most of the time we had together, we grew closer still. And this was what brought the unexpected.

One day when I came to visit, Ella greeted me with the strangest expression, seeming bemused, surprised and distressed all at once. I asked her what was wrong and she told me it was but a few months until my firstborn arrived and we could no longer see each other. It did not sink in to me how this could be until I had already began to object.

“How is this possible? I have only been with you!”

She raised an eyebrow at me, placing her hand over where our child was growing. I took in the reality and suddenly began to laugh. This is not what I had been expecting when I promised my child! She began to laugh with me, both of us lost for words. Eventually, we calmed and stopped, and spoke about the realities of what was to come. She was to raise our child, and I could not be there to see it. I began preparations to move further so she might bring the child to the village without him seeing me, my friends and neighbours mourning to see me go. With many goodbyes and tears from us both, I left the week before our child was born.

I received a letter 5 days later telling me that I had a good strong son, who she had named Clay. In the next 10 years we both married, and she adopted a second child through promise, a daughter. Ten years later, per our contract, I was allowed to meet my son.

I walked up to that familiar gate much more quickly than the first time. Ella stood waiting, next to a small dark-haired boy with my eyes, and an even smaller blonde-haired girl.

“Hello Clay.”

“Hi….Father.” He said the word hesitantly, as though it felt unfamiliar on his tongue.

I gave him his birthday gift of the wooden train set I had spent much of my free time carving and painting over the last few years. This was enough of an olive branch for a 10 year old boy, especially one who possessed the magic to make the trains move, and from then on I was accepted. He and his adopted sister became fast friends with my other children, he was happy to see his “other family” every year on his birthday. They quickly became to my wife and I as a niece and nephew who you look forward to seeing at the family Christmas every year. When Clay came of age and the contract was up, I could see him as much as I pleased, and my wife suggested we move back to the town nearby. I was glad in my choice of life partner. Over time she had grown almost as fond of him as I was and considered Ella a good friend. We moved as soon as we were able, and many of my old friends were glad to have me back.

It had been a privilege, watching Clay grow up from afar. He had become an excellent man and an even better mage, his skill near unparalleled but by his adopted sister. To me he seemed invincible.

Then came the day of Emelia’s wedding. We sat in the church, awaiting the arrival of the groom, and of Clay as the best man. Emelia arrived on cue, and yet they still did not show. The atmosphere became anxious, neither boy was the type to run out on a wedding, and it was clear something terrible had happened. Ella left to search and didn’t arrive back for quite some time. When she did, she looked so shaken and pale that I immediately knew the truth.

My son was gone. The world shook as Emelia lost control of her magic in her grief, before her fiancée appeared and held her tight. Ella looked lost. She stammered something to me about an accident, a crash. Time seemed to stop and move too fast all at once, and before I knew it I was here, standing at his funeral.

Here I stand, watching a wooden box be lowered into the ground. Apparently he’s in it. I don’t know why I can’t seem to believe it. Ella is on one side of me, my wife on the other. We all know he shouldn’t be gone. Surely the box must be empty.

“It doesn’t feel real,” I whisper aloud.

Ella nods. So does my wife.

And yet we stand and we watch that wooden box, undeniably too heavy to truly be empty, slowly going down.