Chapter 2
Seften – A Family of Magic
SEFTEN ME'AER - WIND ELEMENTAL
A young man with still a young mind.
Yet when his simpleton existence is consumed
into the depths of adventure,
a dynamic soul develops and is drawn out from within.
IT WAS A COOL summer-season on the Isles of Windpass. Far north lay a system of mountains; so far they barely peaked above the horizon, a dark gray color. Enshrouded in vast forests lay an open field, and within that field there was an old, small wooden farm -house, which boasted a several acre field of wheat and a large barn. A gentle ssyth, ssything sound of a swinging scythe mowing wheat could be heard amidst the gentle quietness of the placid summer's day.
A young man was reaping this field, had been since dawn. Two fresh, tall stacks of reaped hay lay in the field, from the morning's work. His name was Seften, born of the Me'Aer family, himself born under the Sign of the Element of Wind. He, to all appearances, had no high potential in his Element class, only potential up to beginner’s levels: sense of wind direction change, and vague weather prediction. His father stated this fact to him once, that he may not ever be truly powerful, and at this, Seften never heeded magic training or it’s scholastics. His father had trained him in the ways of a Mundainant, a person born not able to use magic, people of which there were more and more of in ratio to magic possessing people from generation to generation. Such teachings as culturing a farm, living off the land, trade, the use of a scythe, cooking, and use of tools. Abilities and teachings that were more common than ever.
Ssyth, he swung another clump of wheat down, and drew his scythe up to his side, leaning on it like an odd staff. He wiped his darkened blonde hair from his face, concentrated slightly, and closed his eyes...
The winds were changing path again, and dark clouds were drawing with these new winds in his direction. He did not sense this with his eyes, they were closed; he focused with his magical ability in the Wind Element; you will hear much of the Elements in this world.
The clouds: this meant it was going to rain. He concentrated slightly harder: yes, those clouds felt heavy and thick. It was definitely going to rain. He ceased his magic, for he did not want to exhaust himself. Magic was extremely taxing to the strength, at lower levels of ability and tolerance of it. But he did notice he could take more of it; throughout his young years of use of these abilities, though minor, did feel more trained and stronger, more definite.
He wiped sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his shirt, lowered the scythe and gripped its body with both hands, and again began to reap, in steady, level swipes, as his father had taught him long ago.
Hours had passed. He was heaping lain hay upon a stack, his wheat field emptier than what it had been the day before. He set down his pitchfork and once again for that day consulted the sky. Yes, he now saw a dark blanket of clouds creeping in from the north, just as he sensed earlier. It would be a couple more hours until it rained, he calculated, without consulting his magic sense.
Seften picked up both his scythe and pitchfork and proceeded to his small house, shelter from the impending rain. He grabbed a loaf of bread from a cupboard, and pulled out his knife to cut it. It was a knife from his father, a fighting knife. It was a double-edged blade, one and a half hand-width’s long, ending in a sharp point. He remembered how his father taught him how to fight with it, and basic defensive maneuvers. "Your magic isn't that strong, so your hand'll make up for it's lackin’", he remembered his father saying, before presenting him with the weapon. "Aim for the chest, always. It's the broadest target, along with the back. That's the key."
He was 14 years of age, then, and his father was teaching him how to fight. He was 16 years now.
He finished his light meal, and fetched some cheese and ate it too. Satisfied, he walked through a door that led into the barn. It was large and smelled of hay, which it stored. He crossed the hard packed dirt floor with his scythe, picking his scythe stone from his pocket, which he habitually carried around. Sitting down with the curved blade lying across his lap, he began rasping the scythe stone, a gray block, on its edge, sharpening it.
Thunder boomed, and the freshened smell of rain was in the air. Seften stood up and set the scythe hanging from the barn’s wall, it's place, the scythe stone he slid back into his pocket. The inside of the barn grew dark and looked like a cavern, as the storm had slowly come, darkening as well the sky’s light. The only light was a wavering glow flooding in from the open door of the small house, the light of a small, crackling fireplace. He walked from the dirt floor of the barn to the wooden floor of his kitchen, through that, to the small main room, and sat in a rickety wood chair in front of the small stone fireplace. He had pulled out the knife again, and was turning it over in his hands, in thought. He had not seen his father for several months. His father was off at his smithy, which was a half of a day's walk in a southwest direction. It was the Me'Aer family's main source of income; the farm was the second, less important source.
His father ran the smithy with the next eldest brother of his three elder brothers, Paetoric. He was full two years older, and classed Elemental as like Seften, only born under the Element of Water instead of Wind. "I want you to run the farm, so that I may run the smithy business," his father once told him. He had consented to this request, and his father had said, "I'll teach you the basics—the scythe, storing wheat so it doesn't go bad, thrashing the wheat, storing food, managing finances and so on—and then you'll be off on your own." Only he wasn't entirely off on his own; his father visited every couple days for the first month, for the next month was a day every week, then he only visited one day every other week, one day every month, then only one day every other month. It had now been three full months since his father's last visit. He could not leave to visit his father; he had to watch over the farm. His father could leave the smithy to his brother, Paetoric, and visit him, though. Nor had he heard from Paetoric since his father left him alone at the farm to work at the smithy. They both lived there now – only that Paetoric never left when Father had come to visit him. It had been a full year.
Rhoin, his next eldest brother, had mysteriously disappeared. But it was only mysterious to the rest of the family, for Seften knew the truth. He was witness to things the rest of the family did not know about. It was several years ago; Seften was a distance from the farm, walking along, when he saw Rhoin standing at the edge of the bordering wood, peering in. Seften silently approached, unnoticed. Still a distance off, Seften saw what Rhoin was looking at. Seften gasped, and sunk down amongst the tall grass, hidden. It was a young, slender of body and face, almond-skinned girl, standing in the shadow of a tree. Apparently conferring seriously with Rhoin. After a lasting moment of silence, she stepped forward and fell into an embrace with Rhoin, and her shining brown hair swept forward, parting to reveal pointed, elfish ears. A Nymph! She had slipped back into the shadows of the trees, and disappeared into the wood. And that day was the last he had seen of her. And the following day was the last he had seen of Rhoin. Seften never knew what Rhoin had done or where Rhoin had gone, but always thought it had something to do with that nymph on that day. Seften never told anyone of this incident. "Do not ask, and do not tell.” Rhoin had stated intently, after he had discovered Seften had been witness to his Nymphian visitor. And so Seften kept silent.
It troubled his other brothers when they discovered Rhoin's prolonged absence. They were afraid he was dead, to which Seften almost corrected aloud, but did not, remembering his last promise to Rhoin. Father had taken off on horseback with only a small pouch of copper pieces, in concerned search. He did not return for six days. On his return, after roaming fields, consulting one traveling wizard (whom had, through an unidentified Light Elemental spell, confirmed that Rhoin was still alive), exploring woods, entering pubs and communing with travelers as he passed them by, he concluded he was alive
, but gone. "Several things of his are missing from the house,” Father had remarked, looking haggard from his travels. "It seems he went off, on his own. It doesn't look like he will return again."
And so it was concluded that Rhoin, being the exuberant age of a young man, had ran away to live on his own, and on this supposition, life for the Me'Aer family had returned to normal.
That night, Seften dreamt of himself soaring through the dark thundercloud blanketed night skies above his home, which he soared in and out of, arms spread like wings. He flew above the clouds, pushing them away to the north with invisible strengths. The dream ended with clear skies and a cold sunrise, and he awoke with a strange feeling of peace.
He stepped outside and what he saw looked exactly like his dream—a cold rising dawn, and clear dark blue skies fading into red. He had this type of dream before, of predicting the sky; it was occurring occasionally, yet more often than before. He had asked his father once about these dreams, to which his father answered with learned certainty in his voice, "it’s the flying dream Wind Elementals can have – you’re havin’ it more and more is just that your Element is strengthening. In it, you think you’re pushing the sky around – you are just feeling the sky’s desires. But I’ve heard of some Wind Elementals gaining enough power to move the sky around by their own free will in these dreams.” Father had learned much about magic in his life, though he took no training. He was only classed Esperential—a person with general uncategorized magic capabilities, and he without showing signs of much capability at all, like Rhoin. Yet Father could identify with magic concerns. Seften and his brothers were accurately classified their magic signs at birth by him, by the traditional tests of magic passed down by generations to generations. The Wind test Seften, though of infancy at the time, clearly remembered: a sensitive flute was placed lengthwise upon the baby's back, and held there, and one breathed sharply upon the baby's chest. If the flute on the baby's back then sounds, that is a Sign of Wind. The traditional test of Water Sign was holding the baby's hand above a small, still pool of water, and if the water begins to ripple, that is the Sign. Paetoric was born under the Sign of Water. Rhoin passed no test—but did show magical qualities: communicating into Father’s mind at distances was the noted indicator. Father said that only within three days after birth could one accurately test, as that is when the type manifests most evident, the energies greatly provoked in the cycle of birth; and settles down as the baby settles down, and thus less obvious and less active. Torius, his eldest brother, bore none of the Signs, and not a trace of magic. Classed neither Elementual nor Esperential, he was classed a Mundainant—a non-magical. But what he did not have of magic, he made up for this lack with physical strength and a powerful will.
Torius was 8 years older than Seften; also was he broader, half a head taller, and red-haired like Father was in his younger days. At age 13 he became a Squire, and at a mere age 17, was an alleged Knight of The Guard: he bore weapon and armor and was his duty to police and defend general welfare. Being a Knight of The Guard, he lived in a barracks that was several days trek away.
Torius visited the winter of every year, with Seften, Father and Paetoric, and told Seften his tales of various deeds he merited: the seeking out of rogues and putting them to justice; dispelling a town of a curse, imposed by a warlock, by slaying him (he described the enchanted magic-absorbing chain mail he was issued for the task); even a defense of a small village from an attack by a pack of Biowolves—large, poison-fanged wolves, he, three other Guard knights and two wizards accomplished. Torius even boasted a promotion from Knight of The Guard to Knight of The Watch—a defender of a castle of a minor royalty, therefore issued an Enchanted dagger, which Torius called a "fire dagger", which he showed to Seften in the winter that just passed: a smooth, beautiful weighted blade, with a black grip on solid silver handle, and a single red jewel embedded in the pommel, enchanted with a powerful Fire spell which gives the blade a magically cutting edge and tip that can penetrate even protective metal armor. Torius would not make much higher knight rank than that, for higher ranks have magic training as a criterion, and Torius had not the magic capabilities. “Aye, but you’ve the courage to, brother!” Seften had then responded encouragingly.
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