Darkmist

Part 3

"The faerie was greedy, gluttonous and would not be satisfied with mere gold. No, it wanted the child and so, a message was sent to the castle."

Blearily, Y/N opens her eyes and squints across the fire. The storyteller sits on the other side, completely oblivious to her sudden appearance. Y/N feels both present and not, hollow and whole. Vaguely, she is aware she is dreaming but it is more than just that – this is also a memory.

Flames leap above the fire, disappearing into darkness with bright sparks of light.

Y/N is seated on a log, feet swinging quietly beneath her, unable to touch the ground. She cannot be older than five. Smoke drifts under her nostrils, notes of caramelized sugar beneath. There are treats to be had here tonight, but not until the story is over.

Nuzzling into her father, Y/N's eyes flutter shut. It is always here she feels safest – here in this dreamworld, with both parents by her side. This place is not real, though. Were Y/N to travel here, she would find nothing but burnt bones and darkness. The village of Crymych no longer exists.

Once upon a time it did, though.

Once upon a time, Crymych was a haven for magic-users. For witches and warlocks, and all manner of beings who lived at peace with one another. In Crymych, no one worried about fairy tales, or told their children not to believe – everyone knew they were real.

On the other side of her father, Y/N can see the blurred outline of her mother.

On the night of the memory, she stared into the fire, absent-mindedly twisting the shadows with her fingers. Y/N watched this eagerly, hoping one day to have that much control.

Magic was hereditary in all families. Whether this came from the mother or father was a flip of the coin – Y/N's power came from her mother. Her father was not like the two of them; he was a life-giver, a designated healer in the town. His power was the most mysterious of all, since under the right conditions, he could knit breath and bone back together.

At other times, he could not. This was largely why life-givers were despised by humans. Actually –this was largely why magic-users were despised by humans. Nothing at all was consistent about power.

The humans at their fireside that night did not seem to hate them. They all sat across the circle from Y/N, listening to the storyteller and laughing in all the right places. While Y/N watched, one of them smiled and spoke eagerly to Crymych's leader, Emrys.

Emrys was a light-bearer – a highly prized power, even in a magical community like theirs. Shadow-singers and light-bearers were amongst the rarest of magic and Crymych was lucky to have both.

While Y/N watched, Emrys accepted a cup of wine from the human. The two smiled and talked, looking nothing at all like the enemies they are supposed to be. This particular band of humans claimed to be different. The called themselves the Travelers and wanted to help witches and warlocks reintegrate with society – or, this is what they said.

The Travelers all dressed in a similar fashion, wearing all-black from head to toe. They even wore gloves on their hands; something Y/N found to be strange. In their community, gloves only got in the way of a hard day's work.

The Travelers were the first non-magical guests in Crymych in Y/N's young memory. Usually, humans chose to give them a wide berth. Magic was notoriously fickle – not to mention frustrating.

"It is not their fault," her father murmured to her mother. "Not really."

Her mother's hand curled into a fist, effectively stopping the shadows. "No?" she exhaled, brow furrowed.