Kingdom of Smoke and Ivory

Part One- The Witches

Look not towards the smoke,

Step not over the markings,

May no promises be broke.

Ask not for gold, wealth, or riches,

Turn from the incense,

Summon not the witches.

The sun turned red in the winter. Although, one would only notice if they knew where to look. It wasn't a drastic change, but it was one that happened overnight. A soft, red haze took the place of the white light in the sky.

The seers were always the first to notice. The eyes in their heads no longer worked, so the eyes on their palms did all the watching.

Winter was when the spirits could roam. It wasn't on Halloween, like most people would believe. No, it was during the cold, dead, season when the ghosts could rise.

Of course, this was also the time when magic was around. It was so tangible, a person could almost smell it. It wasn't the scent of pine, or the smell of Christmas, as some people call it, that lingered in the air. It was magic. A force so powerful and true that even those without the power to wield it knew it was around.

Witches had lived in the Faded Ash Wood for as long as any of the elders could remember. They'd been there for so long, in fact, that they assumed they were the only beings to exist anymore. Many years ago, there may have been humans who stumbled through the trees to their secret corner of the world, but now, the trees were too thick, the leaves too dense, and the forest too dark, for any of living to wander too close. The covens had been left alone for so long, that the younger witchlings didn't even know about any life beyond the trees.

One of the younger witches, Evanora, was inexperienced, and practicing her magic while she still could. Those who couldn't control magic by the time the season ended, would have to wait an entire year before they could practice again. Evanora was already a year behind the other witches her age.

Her elders would say this was so because she only ever practiced what interested her, which happened to be summoning the dead. Evanora would never say it, but she summoned ghosts because they were the only things that would talk to her without judging her for what she hadn't yet accomplished.

She was always the last to do anything. She struggled to do even the little things, and no one let her live it down.

It was late the evening after the sun turned red when the seers made everyone known of the changing sun, and the witches stayed awake that night to fully absorb the magic being gifted to them.

The moon was bright enough to light the clearing around Evanora as she gathered sticks and dead leaves. She placed herself inside the wooden circle, sitting with her legs crossed and shoulders squared, and drew out her dagger, the only thing left to her from her father.

She looked at it silently, before driving it into her palm. Her long, slender fingers spasmed in pain and she exhaled a deep breath into the cold night. She could see her breath leave her mouth, and she focused on following its path, rather than the itching pain in her hand.

Her blonde hair fell in front of her face. She pushed the strands back, coating the tips in her own blood without thinking. She squeezed her eyes shut in annoyance. She sat still and quietly for a moment, collecting herself. When she opened her deep blue, nearly violet eyes, she was filled with a renewed sense of purpose.

She began her chant softly, letting her blood drip over the black marking on the ground in front of herself. She murmured at first, thinking the magic was strong enough to not have to raise her voice. After three failed attempts, she chanted more powerfully, more confidently. Finally, she caught something.