A Wicca's Tale Book One: Beautiful Magic

Cold Moon

Chapter One: Cold Moon

As I was running to the village square, the moon was as full as the day that I was born.

Every sixteen years, a moon like this appears. In my land, Aurium, such an occasion is known as “Wiccam”, it means the birth of a witch. For this special moon my parents named me Luna, and, because of this rare full moon, I was born a witch.

In my village, no such child had been born like this in two hundred years. Being the first witch in over two centuries, I was viewed as a sacred object. Like all witches before me, or so I was told, I was born with blue-purple eyes and dark hair, slender and tall.

As I grew up, I was accustomed to the looks of awe in people’s eyes whenever I walked through the town. I didn’t mind it. I was taught by my parents that I was special, different, better than everyone else. I learned that I was special, in my own way.

Because witches had been born before me, their knowledge was in the village’s archive hall, in carefully handwritten books. Instead of attending school like all the other children in the village, I spent my days mixing herbs to cure infections and casting spells to find lost objects. Since I did not go to school and I spent most of my time at home, my only other interaction with people my age was when they came to me for medicine.

Magic was simple, as natural as breathing to me. Recently, I’d been experimenting with talking to plants and animals. It was astonishing how silent creatures could know so much. Trees that had been around since the birth of the witch before me were especially fascinating to talk to.

The villagers would come to me whenever they had an ailment, so I could cure it. They paid handsomely, especially the rich townsfolk, and because of this, my small family had become prosperous. I grew up with all the luxuries of the wealthy townsfolk’s children. I always had nice clothes and plenty of food to eat.

Recently though, the citizens of the town had slowly stopped coming to visit me, and whenever I walked through the streets, people shut their doors and averted my eyes. When I asked my mother about it, she denied my claims, saying I was imagining things.

Imagination or not, I had a purpose tonight. I was running through the town to the village square to fill a canteen of water. I was going on a journey to the Wicca Tree. It was a tree that all the witches before me had visited, they had meditated and learned magic there and I intended to do the same.

It would only take a short run to get to the tree and I’d planned to stay for three days to practice magic and engrave my name on the bark like witches before me. I’d already packed for the journey, and all I needed was the canteen of water.

As I arrived in the village square, looking for the water pump, I glanced around, searching for signs of life. Finding no one, I proceeded to the pump to fill my canteen.

When it was full, I turned around and stifled a small shriek. About four men had appeared behind me. All were dressed in gray robes save for the one in the front who was dressed in white. It was hard to tell how old they were, they could have been fifty or they could have been twenty; there was an aura of agelessness about them. I’d never seen them before, but I had been taught to be friendly to everyone, so I smiled and said,” Good evening.”

At first no one responded, but then the man in white stepped forward and said, “Good evening to you as well miss. What brings you to the town square so late in the day?”

Deciding the man seemed friendly enough, I replied, “I’m about to go on a pilgrimage sir.”

The man raised his eyebrows, “Really?” he said, “All by yourself? Pray tell the Fraters de Fax where you are traveling to.”