What Happens At the End? (chapter 1)

"Gods grant me the courage to see,"

"BURN THE WITCH!"

"Gods grant me the power to know,"

"Burn her! She's EVIL!"

"Gods grant me the will to be,"

"Shut her up! She's casting some voodoo on us all!"

Just as the gag reached her lips, her spell was done. She was no longer there, instead the gag was placed in the mouth of the Mayor's wife, but nobody noticed the change. Why would they notice two very similar women switching places in a split-second. She, a woman of stature and poise, looking at the burning corpse of an equally young woman of much lesser age.

Vanity Carnellas, age four-hundred-seventy-two years on this world, the most renowned witch in the central cities, was once more on the loose.

The time jumps sometimes startle her, but this time, she was ready for it. She took the yew staff from her wardrobe, whereupon her symbols and runes were always emblazoned and transformed herself into a male counterpart of her form that day, and before her mind was made on the where in the when, Vanity was gone.



She landed slumped over her staff, now a man's walking cane, as she made her way towards the castle before her, a royal flag claiming the precipice of the tower before her. With her masculine voice hailing the guards before her, the robes about her gently changing to match that of her personage: the feminine charge of the waist gave way to a thicker silken drawstring, the cut of the breast folded in upon itself to form more closely the figure of the strong youth within it, the cut of the midnight hair braiding into a traditional war braid from times past, her eyes however, stayed the brilliantly piercing lavender that so embodied her soul.

"Hail!" The guards called out above the moor, the souls of those who had died within this wasteland called out in unison to their protectors. "Who goes about Castle Greymoore this day?"

"A youth, just come from the College of Mages, Sire. Here to entertain the Lordship of these grounds." Vanity spoke through a male, yet her air of caring innocence was cast within those harsh tones. "It is a might bit weary a footpath, Sire. Might a mage at least call upon a host of sorts for nourishment? "

"Aye." The guard's bleary eyes turned to the gatesmen and called him to ring it up for the visitor. "Blessed be your journey, youth." His stance was slumped slightly, as he was under the spell already. What a fool to speak word to word with a witch.

"Blessed be your watch, good Sire." the witch cried back at him, the two men chanting graces back and forth. Vanity made her way through the large gate and into her soon-to-be prison. She felt safer within than without these walls that would soon be hers, but a slight surprise came within the doors.

The halls were decked merrily in festivity, bells and ivy draped gently across the pillars and servants were shining the floor stones to a sheen so strong, one could see their reflection perfectly in the dark marble. For the first time in many days, she saw her face.

"What cold eyes are these against so fair a face?" a voice broke the silence. A lady, no, a maidservant turned towards him as he looked her in the eyes and smiled, her aura was flared in silent warning. This girl, her eyes shone brighter than the stones beneath them. The face that smiled back at Vanity was her own, not that of her form. Her face, so youthful yet wise, small laugh lines fall from her mouth to meet her nose and from her eyes are the wrinkles of age starting to set in. Her eyes were vibrant though, against the likelihood that they would be dulled and broken by now, but she was strong and always remained so.

"If you do not mind my saying, Sire, you are a handsome mage. More so than the last who graced these halls." Her voice was young and innocent.

"Tell me, what about me makes me handsome? Describe what you see, won't you?" Vanity bushed up her lips with the last sentence, making it seem more of a plea than a demand.

"Well, Sire, I see a man about twenty with raven hair to his belt who's cheekbones seem to be perfectly sallow and high that they show your eyes, which burn lavender. Your face is gaunt and pale, but healthily so, if 'tis not too bold to be saying, Sire. You seem a man who ought to have a family someplace, but who's eyes say that family is far gone this plain."

"Tis not too bold, madam. You speak with much sincerity. Might I have the pleasure of knowing the name of such a beautiful young bird?" Her hand reached to bring the girl's chin up so she might see this young woman.

"Priedus, Sire." a bell chimed in a corridor and she rushed off after calling "I will see you soon, M'Lord."

Indeed you will, she thought as a tall man in formal dress came out of an opposing corridor and made his way over to where Vanity was standing in wait. She bowed to him in a courteous way after making brief eye contact. When she looked back up at him, his eyes were bleary and dulled, as though focused on something far off. He lead her without a word to the lord's hall, whereupon she became a guest to a feast already in session.

She was never much one for roast, but the pig was succulent and she found she could not put it down until she had eaten her fill and her wine was emptied many times. Her head was clear and she knew her faith was about to be tested.



The wine did little to sate her and as her mind became dulled with the sight of so many innocents, she stayed calm until called upon by the lord of the hold. When she came forward to present herself before him, she noticed an air of honesty in him that she took instant loathing to. Her job could have been so much easier had he been overconfident or imbecilic.

"Hail, Youth. What brings you to my home in such a desolate place of this plane?" His voice was deep and regal, but had hints to a tumultuous childhood.

"Hail, M'Lord," She bowed before him, showing what he would take to be a humbling gesture.  "I was cast away from my studies at the College of Mages for being of too high a class of skill, so I now seek refuge for a time as a court assistant, or anything that might help, Sire."

"Ah..." His face grew colder and he seemed to grow distant from the world. "You seek favor, yet you come to such a place as this? Such a place has been cut from the Central Kingdom's eye, cut from the fruits of such pleasantries as a King's word in passing."

"Yes, Sire. This beautiful hold can once more be held in esteem by any of Majesty, but you, M'Lord, must be strong, as I am told you are. You must be cunning, as I am told you are. You must be daring, as I am told you are." She stood tall before him and looked in his eyes, but his did not dull. Their piercing lavender stared back at her own, unnervingly still. "Sire, should you take in my skills, I can assure you, nae, promise you the fruits of being held by a ruler's gaze in equal standard to his own kin."

The entire hall had grown quiet to hear the statement by the strange youth in robes holding a yew staff. The Lord Greymoore stared long and hard at Vanity, and she stood with mind unmoved. The only sound within the great hall was the crackling of the fire until the Lord spoke once more.

"You... speak with such conviction... How can you be so sure of these things you promise? What is your name, Youth?" His voice started rising in fear and hunger, Vanity had to hold back a smile.

"I can promise you such things on my own life that they be true. I go by many callings, but my name is Carnellas. Mage Carnellas."

"That name... rings in my head but with unknown meaning... are you famed in any craft of magyk in particular?"

"Yes, M'Lord. I am higher skilled at elemental craft than at alchemy or the like. My family has history with strong elemental mages."

By the request of Lord Greymoore, they retreated to a private chamber with his advisers, three nobles he trusted and who had fiefs within his hold. They spoke well into the night, within which there was made an agreement that if  "Mage Carnellas" could provide what was promised, he would be made into a great lord with much to his name, as Lord Greymoore would become a higher noble lord than before. Such was agreed upon and cast down on parchment before Vanity was shown to her abode for the time being; a large room just off of the main corridor from the kitchen to the great hall.

She strode into the room and, once left to be alone, she tapped her staff upon the ground twice. The dingy room lit itself with unseen candles, the dust cleared from the shelves and floor, the stones shone themselves, a trunk set in the corner made its way to sit at the foot of a large bed that grew from a smaller mattress while a desk grew from a crate off the shelves. The room gleamed with magyk as she stood in a room thrice the size of its original; the shelves were filled with ingredients and potions, the trunk had filled itself with cloaks and hats the little differed from that which she wore then,

A Single Grain of Ash

You'd think at seventeen that life would be easy...

At seventeen, you see the world as yours and the only thing a girl with black tattoos around her neck and arms would have to worry about is school, right? She wouldn't have to worry about her abusive mother who spends all her money on booze instead of food for her three kids, or have to worry about the two jobs she works, not telling either boss about the other so she gets more hours in, right?
At seventeen, the world is open to any number of choices, right? Not blocked out like a colouring book that was owned by a four-year-old boy who only has a sharpie to colour in with and when his mother comes home from the bar at midnight or later, he's already asleep in his bed next to his favourite stuffed animal that his big sister gave him for his birthday. Not blindingly dull in the routine of "go to school; get home; cook dinner; go to work; get home; put siblings to bed; go to other work; go home; do homework; repeat." Not arguing with her mother every moment she is home.
At seventeen, you're graduating high school, going off without a care in the world, right? Not staying home on Senior ditch day to take care of the four-year-old, or constantly calling social services on her own mother.
At seventeen, you're free... right? Not for me.

I'm 5'7", black hair, blue eyes, and one hell of a temper. I live in a run-down apartment with my two siblings and the hellish woman from whom I spawned. I wear whatever I can find from places like Savers and Goodwill, more often than not, jeans and a band shirt. I'm not lucky, I'm not healthy, I'm not perfect....
but I am Rayvin.
Nice to meet you. Now buzz off.

Great. First day of the semester and I'm already behind. First hour was fine because it was creative writing with a teacher I've had for years, but after that was all down hill. I need credits, but the only thing I'm any good at is writing fiction. My sister got called out of class on reports that she was smoking in the bathroom, so that was my lunch period. As it turns out, she wasn't smoking at all, but she had pop rocks and she put them in a soda can. How does a nine-year-old girl get these ideas?!

"Kama, you can't do stuff like that at school!" we were walking home after classes had ended. "Where did you get the money for those things anyway? did you steal them?"

"NO! How could you think I would do that?"

"I don't know, but you have been getting in trouble a lot lately, and it's looking pretty suspicious."

"I'm not doing anything illegal, I swear!"