The Circle

Find Chapter One here! https://vocal.media/fiction/the-circle-kcopu0dtl

Chapter Two

Ten Years Before

The seaside city of Otera was primarily fishermen, sailors and merchants, all except the family for which it was named. Lord Muran Oterak was a nobleman from a long line of noblemen, who had many years earlier bucked the arranged marriage that would have united the House of Oterak with that of Benvik and ended a generations old feud between their very similar peoples. Instead, he had fallen in love with and married a pretty thaumaturge named Yora. She was a sorceress, but had not used her powers on the young lordling. After all, hers was the magic of the green. All magic was devoted to a color, of course, just as each person is aligned to either the dark or the light, and green was creation, a versatile and powerful talent that had been passed down from parent to child since the beginnings of the magical in the days before the coming of the Oracle. Creation of love might have been possible but this was not how Yora did things.

Yora loved Muran as much as he loved her and they did, as they were meant to. They built their home, they played their part, and when Muran’s father died, they took their place at the head of Otera. It was an old house and a noble one and the young Lord and Lady worked tirelessly to bring prosperity and peace to the thriving city on the edge of the Cerulean Sea, despite the constant threat from the Benvik who did not take the breaking of the arranged marriage lightly.

Despite this, Yora brought two beautiful children into the Oterak line, twins, a sign of luck, but tragically, it was not good fortune, not at all. The Benvik had their revenge and soon, long before he would ever have expected it, Muran found himself a widower.

Perhaps it was because of that tragedy that Muran’s twin children, Moraynne and Murtagh, had never known hard work, protected and doted upon by their father as they were. They had never had to lift a finger to help themselves, nor had they had to stretch their arms out to catch their dreams. They were a pair of spoiled and selfish brats who squandered their wealth and their talents… well, what talents they possessed, what gifts their mother had left them, it was only Murtagh who knew how to use the green…

… but it was to the detriment of all other things until there were no other things.

Not even their father.

Lord Muran had died seven years ago, and in that time, his only son, the younger of his two twins by fourteen minutes, had done little but read his books, study his magics, and spend his money on whatever item of enchantment he heard of. Potions, crystals, books, scrolls, gems… some of them came from near, some from far, some… it was best not to ask. Murtagh spoke only to the couriers, and to his sister. No one else mattered… nothing else mattered.

Moraynne, however, had far greater ambitions. She had not been granted the powers of her family lineage. Why was a thing she kept to herself and only her brother knew the reason. But it didn’t matter, because Moraynne had no interest in the study and work required to be a sorcerer, not at all, and she certainly cared little for the city that her family had founded in the olden, less civilized days. She found it too small, too old fashioned, and she simply detested the smell of the ocean. Being a Lady of a mere fishing village was beneath her.

No, Moraynne Oterak wished to be a queen.

*****

Murtagh was in his study in the large house that his father had left them, reading a scroll that he had purchased from a Denabi ‘dealer of antiquities’ which, of course meant it was stolen. It hadn’t bothered the young sorcerer. It only meant it cost more.

Like all of his line, Murtagh was a small man, bright ginger curls, deep green eyes, and a pale skin that tended to freckle in the sun. Not that he ever went out into it. His father, grandfather, great grandfather, and so on and so on, had walked along the shore, had seen the people, and in turn had been seen by them. Not so his only son. Murtagh was a great mystery who when he did venture into the outdoors wrapped himself in thick black in that particular shade that dissuades all conversation.

He was quite content with his spells, his studies and his wine, particularly that last, which he was far more fond of than he admitted.

Sprinkling some golden dust obtained from a rare stone that could only be found in the depths of the Hollars into an amber colored liquid that required thirteen months of steeping rainwater in the eye socket of a living Packerelle, Murtagh watched the potion fizz and bubble. He sipped his wine and muttered, “Well, that was disappointing.”

“What nonsense are you wasting your time with, Brother?” came a voice at the door. Moraynne, arms folded, her beautiful face made ugly by discontent, watched him work.”I thought I gave you a task.”

“You did,” Murtagh said, “But it is a stupid task, and I shan’t waste my time with it.”

Moraynne stalked over to him and swept the potion off the table, “You dare?”

Flinching from the shatter of the clay cup, Murtagh rose, making certain to put the table between himself and his twin, “Sister, how in the name of the Great Oracle, do you expect me to make you a queen? We’re Lordlings, not Royalty. There’s nothing I can do for you.”

“You can help me to marry a King,” Moraynne said, “and then I will be a queen. Surely you have some sort of potion or charm…”

“Love charms are a dinar a dozen, my sister,” Murtagh said, “I will give you a handful and you can do whatever you like.”

“Leaving you to get lost in your dusty tomes and your wines,” Moraynne scoffed, “You’ll be dead by spring.”

“Or happy,” the wizard muttered.

“Won’t it make you happy to make your dear sister happy?”

Murtagh lowered his head, “Whatever you wish, Moraynne.”

Moraynne’s hand came up to the chain around her neck and she fished the locket at the end of it from where it rested in her bodice, between her breasts. She held the locket in her hand and said, “What I wish, Murtagh, should be what you wish.”

At the sight of the locket, the wizard’s pale face took on a grey sheen, “Moraynne…”

She popped open the tiny clasp on the locket, letting the expected soft green glow spill out of it. “I feel as if you don’t want me to be happy.”

“I do want you to be happy,” Murtagh said, “It is all I have ever wanted.”

Moraynne looked up at her brother, meeting his eyes, and a sweet smile crossed her ruby lips… as she plunged her sharply pointed nail into the green glow.

Pain burst through the wizard’s entire body, as his sister stabbed vindictively at the mortal heart of his powers. His knees gave out and he had to clutch at the table to keep himself from falling. “Moraynne… please… please, I will do as you say… I will… “

She bent down to look at him, a pitying look on her face, even as she twisted her nail into the green glow, that strange tangible link to her brother’s magical powers, “Are you certain, my dearest? I only want your help if you truly want me to be happy.”

“I do!” Murtagh pleaded, “It’s all I want…”

Moraynne snapped the locket closed, and as the pain left her brother’s frail form, she poured him some wine. Sliding the cup to Murtagh, she smiled, “Good, because I have found a king, and he is in need of a queen.”