The Dawn Magus

1. THE END

          Yural was born right when the apple tree produced its first fruit. The tree had been a present to Bel and Hukr upon their engagement and they planted it proudly in the front courtyard. As soon as she knew she was pregnant, Bel had walked to the local sorcere and asked for them to quicken the growth of the tree. Whether she knew it or not at the time, Bel was asking for something else. She was asking for one, just one, thing in her life to be fruitful. It would be proof that sometimes life does proceed as planned, even if it did have a little help from Dal Zamir. She would always remember the freshly washed apples in the bowl on the bedside table and how they looked like they were sweating along with her as she pushed Yural into the world.

          Yural died on Hal-sunnar, five years later. Her little chest rose and her delicate eyelids fluttered one last time as the shouts of children rang in the neighborhood. While she lay motionless in her bed, parents across the neighborhood were rushing their own children to the threshold of their courtyards. There the children would yell as loudly as they could at a dark brown effigy of Illias the Conqueror. If Illias was properly frightened, he would retreat down the alley, dropping sweets from under his gown while his assistant asked the parents which of the next houses had children.

          Bel hated Hal-sunnar, but this was a rather recent development. She had loved being ushered to the front door by her parents as a child. She could still feel the anxiety that welled up within her as she and her sister stood on the steps and gazed up at the effigy. Clad in ribbons of faux blood and with swords bewitched to float around him, Illias was a sight to be seen. The release and pride she felt when they yelled at him every year was unmatched. Pint-sized guardians of the household, they never noticed their mother and father chuckling through the absurdity.

        Yet, as a mother herself now, Bel had a front row seat to a new type of absurdity. Every year she watched from her daughter's second floor room as the Illias effigy retreated from the neighbor's house. She watched from behind thin white curtains as the parents pointed down the alley, telling his servants which houses they should try next. Then there was that look as they laid eyes on her house. It was a look of pity, but tinged with pride and excitement. Pride in knowing a secret piece of gossip and excitement that they could share this with a stranger.

        You really shouldn't try that house, she knew they would whisper to the servant as they leaned in closer, they do have a child but... that child isn't capable of scaring a puppet. It's in the blood, you know. The mother covers her ears. They would motion then, as if wrapping their head with a hjrm. As if they knew anything about her family.

         There would be a slow, knowing nod from the servant as they gave the requisite amount of sympathy and continued on their way. Bel did not resent that her neighbors had healthy children with healthy bodies. She resented that her child was an unwilling participant in this act every year as an anecdote. She resented that the sympathy was never expressed to her, it was always expressed to the neighbor, as if it must have been hard for them to share such a sad piece of gossip.

          Despite how intrigued the neighbors seemed about her daughter's condition, not once did they visit to sit with Yural. They never saw her sleep open mouthed and without a care, as if she had fallen asleep in a meadow. They never saw how beautifully shaped her fingernails were or how the sun lit up the peach fuzz on her cheeks at the golden hour. Perhaps it was best, Bel thought, that Yural was born unconcerned with the world. At least this way she could never feel lonely, only loved.

          Bel listened to that final sigh and looked into Yural's half closed eyes. The Dal had long told her that there was no soul in this child, but that only served their own purposes. Bel knew that any child of hers, healthy or in Yural's condition, would be valuable to the Magus. Despite the Dal's insistence, Yural had asserted her existence. Bel had seen the glance many times, a flash that spoke gratitude and love. Once, and only once, she had flashed a wide grin, absent of pain, at the appearance of a cat on the ledge outside her window. But now, as Bel looked into those deep brown eyes, she saw that Yural had left this world as quietly as she had come into it.

          A sudden feeling of loneliness came over Bel, but it was more than that. Deep in her stomach, she felt a hole forming. Her daughter had been a part of her . Yet, unlike those other bodily pieces that had been shed over the years, Yural would not grow back.

         Where have you gone? Bel thought as she felt the tears welling up in her eyes. She leaned closer over her daughter, holding one of her small hands. Her nose pressed against Yural's forehead and she pulled in the scent of her freshly washed hair just as she had the day she was born. Are you scared?

         Yuyu...I am so sorry, tears overcame her eyelids and began tracing slowly down her cheek, Where have you gone? Have you taken my motherhood as comfort in that darkness?

          Despite the roar of pain that pushed upwards at the back of her throat, she tried to cry as quietly as possible. She knew that once it was clear what had happened, customs would be put into motion. Customs and questions.