Untold Legends: The Moon Coven’s Yule

Chapter 1 - Deja Vu

I would still be asleep had it not been for the flapping of a raven’s wings just over my head. The bird had a deep black color to its feathers that had a purple glow to them against the morning sun. The ground was cold and firm, leaving a chill running down my back as I felt the moist dirt pressing into my naked skin. A light dusting of snow fell from the night sky, leaving a blanket of frost over my sheer, damp blanket. A shiver of coldness washed over me, grounding me in my internal dread of isolation. If only there were another person to cuddle up to for warmth through the harsh nights like I had before. I began to sit up, stretching my tight, lean muscles awake from yet another freezing night into the next morning. Since it has gotten colder in the later months of the year, I haven’t been able to sleep well.

Clipped in its mouth was a tarnished yellow letter written in unfamiliar handwriting. Given the strange contents of the letter, the purple glow of the bird seemed almost magical, as if someone had imbued their magic within it. The person who wrote it must have been of high status or, at the very least, well-educated. It was addressed to me, yet the contents hardly made any sense. The letter went on about a scout who had seen me use magic, which left me blinded with confusion and anger since I hadn’t used any magic. Then, at the bottom of the crumbled letter was an invitation to a coven, signed by the leader herself. I quickly decided, since I had vowed against using magic at a young age, that I wouldn’t pursue the Coven. With a stark reminder of my father’s misuse of magic, I got up and started with my daily routines.

The morning was beautiful, a blanket of untouched powdered snow covered the forest ground. Most of the animals were still sleeping the cold away, but occasionally, a small rabbit or wolf would reveal itself to my eye. The quiet nature of the place allowed the flow of the river to be heard from my campsite. There, deep turquoise-blue water flowed gently across the rocky surface. Leaving a beautiful yet harsh contrast between the snow and water, making the water look even clearer and filled with vibrant colors. After years of using this river bank with my father, he insisted on moving the large stones to make a nice sandy path straight into the water. He would bark orders at me and instruct me which stone to move and to where. Never paid much attention to my opinions, which left yet another sour taste in my mouth during my moments reminiscing about this new life with him. The river would continue to flow no matter how I felt, washing its icy water down from the nearby mountain range and over the same stones I moved as a teenager.

I hacked at the wood of nearby trees, with ice and snow breaking off the bark with each whack of my axe. A necessary distraction was needed to calm the never-ending destructive thoughts that consumed me daily, so backbreaking work became my go-to chore in the brisk mornings. The wood was extremely hard to chop down into smaller chunks due to the amount of liquid that was water-locked in its fibers. When I was done, I quickly set out to the nearby river and caught a fish. The water was cold and much more rapid than the day before, but the fish hooked to my line quicker than normal, so, to no avail, I was content trying for a second.

Fishing quickly became my getaway when we were first banished from Theropos. My dad hated the waiting game and would rather hunt rabbits or venison. In my opinion, he was a fool for many reasons. But in this instance, fishing was much more reliable than other means of sourcing food here, especially in winter when the land animals would retire to their dens to sleep the cold away in deep hibernation.

I found the small stone bowl we carved when I was younger and filled it with the freezing river water, my hand instantly turning numb when I dipped the bowl in. When it was filled, I slung the fish over my shoulder and carried my pole and bowl back with me to the campfire. I placed everything down on a nearby stone that was still covered in snow and walked over to the freshly chopped wood. The raven from before now sat, perched asleep on the highest peak of the wood.

Deciding that he was probably hungry from his journey, I took my knife and plucked the fish’s eyes out to feed it to my newfound friend. The one thing my father did manage to teach me was to always be kind to those who show me kindness. This raven, though I am choosing to decline the offer, flew all this way to at least deliver the offer. It was the least I could do. He eyed my offerings, making sure they were food, and gobbled them both up. As its beak popped each eye, a small explosion of its liquids squirted out of its beak. Overjoyed with its delicious treat, the raven squawked at me while happily jumping up and down. Then, in a quick dive, it hopped from the copped wood into the air and flew northeast over the trees.

Content with my encounter, I pulled the wood down and started the fire. It took a couple of times for me to get a spark with my stone and knife, but it eventually kindled the wood chunks aflame. Once I put my fish over the fire, I grabbed another stone bowl and returned to the river to retrieve some more water. The area was just as I left it, and the only tracks left in the snow were my footprints before. I returned to my fire quickly because any moment now; it would be time to rotate the fish to the other side. I placed both bowls of water over the fire so it could begin to boil so I would have warm, clean water to drink while I ate. A pattern I religiously followed since I had choked during a meal as a child. As soon as the water was boiling, the fish was ready to come off the fire, which seemed to take a bit longer than normal since it was colder today. I pulled everything away from the fire and enjoyed my hard work.

Now, realizing that it was becoming later in the day, I figured it was time to wash off the day’s work. I stripped my clothes near the river and dipped my toes in. Feeling the shock in temperature, my heart began to palpate in my ears as the coldness penetrated my bones. I quickly dived completely underwater, submerging myself in this coldness. As I fell in, I quickly panicked, as if I wouldn’t be able to get out of the river alone. Then, it dawned on me just how isolated I was, and the coldness of winter would continue to remind me of that fact. More than anything, I wish I had someone to share this place with; even my dad being here alive and guiding me would be better than no one at all. Trying to calm myself down, I began to clean myself off, making sure to rub my body free of any dirt that may be lingering on my skin.

When I got out of the water, my body began to convulse rapidly in a tight shiver, and I was sure I would pass out. Feeling vulnerable in the cold, I quickly stepped into my pants, grabbed my shirt, and ran to the burning fire. I placed my shirt on a stick that was hanging near the fire. Letting the flames evaporate, the freezing water droplets from my chest, and time for the shirt to warm up. The shivering grew more and more violent. I started to feel a surge of warmness spark from my hands, but I refused to look. I knew deep down what was about to happen if I remained conscious; my hands would ignite a flame, and it would immediately warm me up. To avoid my body’s inevitable betrayal to naturally use the magic within it, I grabbed my nearby blanket from the night before and passed out.

…

When I woke up later that night, I had a strange sense of deja vu and smelt the pungent odor of burning vegetation around me. Panic set in as I immediately thought my campfire had somehow spread to the nearby trees, and I sprang up to my feet in an instant. The night sky was filled with an array of stars and a beautiful white full moon. Flickering flames began to dance in an array of shadows that illuminated the dense forest. As I looked down to my fire pit, I realized the fire was out. Concerned to find no embers still burning within it, I began looking around the tree line, searching for the cause of the now searing heat I was feeling. Fear set in when I continued to feel the warmth resonate within my body. My throat tightened as the realization set in; I was using magic to keep myself warm.

I clenched my fist into a tight ball, making my fingernails pierce the skin of my palm, the heat of the anger residing in me forced me to abandon my resolve. Deciding to take a step towards the nearest tree, I heard a sizzling on the ground beneath me, with the smell of burning grass fuming through the icy air. In a panic, I looked down at my leg to see what caused the sound.

To my surprise, I found my entire leg set on fire. I began looking all over my body and realized I was a walking torch. My vision blurred with anger at myself for allowing the magic to fester inside with no outlet. I blinked rapidly and began rubbing my eyes, hoping my fickle vision would be restored. My panic settled when I reopened them, as I realized I was no longer on fire. There had been no indication of it either, not even a warmth from the magic left inside of me. The cinched grass underneath my feet was all the evidence that was left and all the proof that I needed to believe that I had used magic. An overwhelming sense of peace washed over me, knowing that it wasn’t a figment of my imagination.

I slowly recognized my magic was something I wasn’t able to control. Upset by what I just witnessed myself doing, I remembered the letter from this morning. The coven leader had a promise within it to teach me how to control my magic, something I clearly could no longer do, especially in the cold. I rushed back over to it so I could reread what it had said, but unfortunately, it was destroyed by my fire. I learned through my father’s actions that everything in the wake of fire magic is obliterated without remorse, and this realization is solidified even more now. The only thing left legible in the letter was the signature of the Coven Leader, Kathryn Moroi.

When I tried to remember if this had happened in the past, I remembered an instance a couple of months ago. I had woken up on the river bed with large clumps of glass from where I was lying. If the scouts had seen me do this before, it would make sense that I hadn’t had any idea until now, given I was unconscious when it happened. But I can’t ignore the fact that this was happening to me in my sleep. A strange feeling of power and warmth flowed through me now. I attempted to light a flame above my hand or turn my hand ablaze. Nothing happened, of course. After trying this for a while, I exhausted myself mentally and decided it was time to find some food instead.