The Birth of Passing the Magician’s Baton

Prologue Ҩ The Birth of Passing the Magician’s Baton

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Large chains shackled the lands under the foot of a young girl curiously peering over the edge beyond the magical concrete fence. She calls herself Green. She stood at the edge of their family’s property, a good mile away from the edge of their house fence. Soil faintly disappears under the extending lush grass-covered ground that floated into vast cloudy nothingness.

Over, yonder high above the trees, Green’s tiny head illuminated with bright sunlight through the yellow leaves of a tree, its veil covered into a lovely hair for Fall.

‘Tis season of “Taglagas,” a point of the year the lands shift gradually. The rock is considered a source of light in their world, where chains bind from the ground to keep afloat, repositions to loosen its magical hold and slowly lower them away from its warmth.

This season is not the first time Green experienced Taglagas. She remembers how the season goes and comes. But she forgets how the world became, again, under the watchful eyes of the warmth-giving floating rock called Slitark*.

Sitting on the edge while trying to remember her storybook tales about Slitark, winds blew across the land and brushed her hair, cooling the sweat from her neck. Adjusting to keep her from the cold, she fixed her shawl that covered her shoulders ever tighter and wondered with patience if she should go back inside or stay for the rest of the day.

Night came, and her mother’s skirt swayed beside her, bringing Greens’ thoughts back to the world. She heard her mother tell her that it was time to rest as she felt carried in plump, warm arms. Green always loved being surrounded by the smell of her mother. There in her presence, she could dwell in comfort against the cold. Grass under her feet was a fresh welcome. The warmth from the rays feeds her heart, but nothing compares to how dreams become in her mother’s love.

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According to time immemorial, a lone rock used to house itself in the confines of the vast universe. Traversing the expanse without thought or form, knowing nothing but its existence with a fleeting emotion known only by emptiness, it reflected the space it stayed in like a mirror with an opaque reflection. Internalized ideologies profoundly swirled like water chrysalis, gently becoming strong and embodying the coat of the rock that it called itself Slitark.

The rock counted its time into decades passing, several of it, and it began to start aching from inside. The center of its core shaking, branded by an invisible push and pull, no guessing how these figures in the lesser life it floats without sunder. Still, the knowledge it gained as their inside grew painful but comforting; edged outside that slowly deformed the rock into the shape of nothing but spikes and course like an unpolished crystal.

These protrusions stormed and surged like a life intent on flying but never got too fleeting. Because Slitark could not sustain and oppress these rushing no longer, it let itself combust in extent without letting the feeling be but gently pushing them out like columns. From this, the first Spire was born. An entity came within, reaching outward like a container releasing its contents into the vast.

Several other Spires birthed, and from there, every succeeding element as land, clouds, greenery, the sky, and all body of water, came to be. It starts there. The lone rock became a family along with its children called Angwail. Because of this attachment, they flew around the rock and made bonds thick and strong, to remain together until time immemorial.

For the Angwail and Slitark to exist together, Slitark continued to provide sustenance until each Angwail grew to their potential. Like babes suckling from the mother whose womb they came from, they each cherished the reaching hand of their mother. Each Angwail took what Slitark can provide, a growing exchange spanning years and years.

Going by through the decades, the Angwails grew intimidating and vast, almost overpowering their bearer. Without a doubt, each Angwail felt overwhelmed, expanding far and wide. Because there was no point reaching beyond far from their mother, the Angwails let their surface bear a different kind of being. They gave birth to critters and creatures. Beginning from the limbs, climbing up to their outspoken orifice-laden head, from the hair of the soil stood the first residents of Angwail. “Life” was born. “Life” that only took but never gave. Yet, “Life” found ways to “give” that Angwail would never disappear. They may not act as an ideal equal, but they still became integral.

Timely “Life” became, behind their conception, Slitark slowed its Spires it fed to the Angwail that stopped becoming. Inching hunger and being deprived of nutrients, a different fill succumbed inside each Spire. These Spires did not provide anything to give, yet they “yearn” for something to “give.” In exchange for contributing, they take and take. Until nothing became of them. Instead, they grew to be “Dire.” Born from a yearning for the idea of bestowing, they culled.

These Dires that bridged to Slitarks children, that used to provide, became nothing but a vacuum void of kindness and giving. They only took it as a form of provision, corrupting the Slitark who knew how to give and take with equal amounts. Taking copious Angwail back into Slitark destroyed its insides and brought chaos with no end. The rock can only do so much to heal itself until it stops and becomes overwhelmed with unwanted.

Witnessing Slitark become which itself make sick, Angwail gave “Life” strength and blessings fit to serve a mighty purpose. Nurtured within Slitark are magic ever surpassing without limit and no need of source because they internally embroil and release it to be fed to the Angwails in portions fit for each. The Angwails could not do a similar action but yearn to parallel sustenance.

Because “Life” saw gratification in taking, they desire to give but fail to see how. The Angwails saw the opportunity finally reconvey to the Slitark, and it’s through the two grasps of “Life.” In their hands, from a gift buried deep within, they are blessed to take. And, take they did, but to who?

They took from Slitark. They took Dire’s from its rock skin, enabling Slitark to breathe again without feeling its nearing death.

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“‘Life’ made sure to only separate Dire’s from Slitark,” said a soft voice. Owned by a man whose face Green could not see but knew very well that it was from a man she calls “father.” Pushing a stray strand of hair off her forehead with his rough palm made Green close her eyes as she felt the warmth of his palm. “Since then, ‘Life’ or us humans of the Angwail’s made sure to visit the light bearer every two cycles. To assure that the Dire that sprouts from its bosom avoid becoming something that destroys.

“That became the reason for the existence of the Prime Magicians. They are residents of the Angwail’s that follows through ‘Life’s’ duty, the Ocular to the Slitark.” He pauses to look at the book he held in his other hand while he sat lazily beside Green over the blanket. Turning the page, he read the contents before looking back at her. “Are you sure mama stopped here?” He asked with a confused but lazy gait, his voice croaking and mild.

Green tried to look up and make the ‘puppy dog eye’ effect but failed due to her sleepiness. She only managed to open her eyes halfway while pouting, coupling it with an effort-heavy slow nod. Her father’s face still looked at her, his expression unclear.

“Alright, you do need to sleep soon. Mama won’t be pleased you stayed too long in the bath...” He finished the thought that made him pause for seconds, then made his way to three more pages before he realized Green was finally asleep. Her wonderfully long light brown eyelashes cover her cheeks with dew from her yawn.

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Strong gusts of wind, coming from the east of the barracks, going south brought the smell of magic into the air. There are several reasons why the wind’s direction is undesirable for most of the soldiers within the barracks. Because that is the location of the Dire crystals newly harvested, sought throughout Angwail after the Ocular.

The simplest “Barrier” spell can help protect this place, in the middle of a dense forest surrounded by a mountain range. Beheld every second year after the last Ocular, this place is often isolated, in between whenever it is not needed. Caretakers are only allowed a month before the Ocular, so any event before stocking Dire crystals would be a different issue. After the Ocular, when all possible Dire crystals have gone through treatment accordingly, it remains open for an entire month until all the crystals within are delivered. Many citizens from across the kingdom, private companies, and the public await their source of “light.”

It’s a few weeks after the Ocular where the Dire’s are just freshly cut. The events happening around this location are not a thing that commonly happens. Around the barracks became a chaos of forest lands filled with sentinels and soldiers, all battling for their life. Not from any natural danger but fighting each other in a battle wrought only by the inevitable pull of political struggle within the All Monarch.

Considering Angwail’s birth from the depths of Slitark, the lands abided by the prime head of families bearing responsibility for leading their fellow man. This collective became the standard for nobility and royalty, all divided into fair hands and soil that could flourish. They are called the All Monarch*, 18 focus families spread out across 21 floating lands within the kingdom.

Although they used to be mutually bound by service and prosperity for the entirety of Angwail, they are well divided in a cold war built into two ways of life from the foundation of goodwill towards fellow kinship. Hence this is relatively justified with the terminology of “liberal democracy,” Sagan*, and “republic nationalism,” Kabay*.

There were long debates and violence when they deemed necessary, but as the tides of time wave by, it became eminent that whatever method they did was not benefiting anyone. The due time they found the heart to implement a truce and joined all 18 heads of their families as members of a parliament became the origin of the All Monarchs government.

From each family, 18 heads sat at the center of administration. They continue discussions concerning Angwail that impact events. Including the head of All Monarch, the one they entrust the most responsibility in terms of jurisdiction. Not that it did not resolve one part of their civil dispute, but because of this one rule, each party was definite to surface a form of a fight for the resolve between hold of power. It includes the importance of the Prime Magician.

The power and reputation of a Prime Magician are equivalent of a leader and a physical symbol for hope, connected through the soul and essence of Slitark. Their role through time has not diminished. They hold power but of no other than to bring peace to the fear of the dying sun, nothing more, nothing less.

Like a cruel fate coated by sugar, being the Prime Magician is harder for those chosen to be one. Recognition; automatically handed as legacy, authority within the confines of Slitark, Angwail, and holder of high magic, yet bound only by the quest of servitude. All this is an overblown definition of a Martyr.

They are given higher regard amongst any but pulled by the shackles of honorable service to everyone, which defines their value in life most profound.

Such was Yphemu ng Saturni* is to the eyes of many, the current Prime Magician and Captain of her soldiers of the militia, people sing praises of her short bi-annual servitude during each Ocular. Under her flight of achievements in valor. She has become renowned for her strength and fortitude in battle. It also includes this moment of expected military respite regarding the “tip” of a Kabay soldier, stating a noble family has sent mercenaries to hinder Yhpemu’s return to the city.

“Someone” called for preparation, an all-out blood conflict from the opposing faction, all to replace her with their trusted and appointed Magician, to be a replacement Prime Magician. Yphemu held no ill will or part of any party if not for her affiliation to the Saturni, her adoptive family. Her adoptive family is Sagan, which made any Prime Magician a Sagan by association within the All Monarch government.

However, the Prime Magician must consider the moral implementation of the law. Upholding authority with just hands despite the temptation of greed and independence, they do not allow themselves leeway to abuse power.

“This confounding blight,” Sacr said, Yphemu’s right-hand first Lieutenant.

They stood in front of the window on the second floor in the Captain’s quarters. Down at the square training grounds ran several men of her platoon, going back and forth from all over, providing help to the walls of the barracks and at the front gate. Shouts of stress and anger filled their tired voices as they all were ready to go back home but had to encounter such luck to be held between forces of a cold war.

Decorated guns from simple passenger airships rattled towards the enemy outside, receiving back retaliation of the same kind. Magical shots are heard from afar, as several Magicians relinquished their win with a Dire filled with flames fit to melt anything it touches into ashes. The extent of each party’s damage could not be seen from where they are, but they are both sure that their side is not struggling.

“My feet recovered from their numbness. Perhaps it’s time I go to the frontlines, this battle has lasted more than half a day now. Everyone is excited to go home.” Yphemu said to Sacr, her face stoic and solemn.

Hands held her shoulders as they pushed her down back to her seat. “No, no. We can see Epiro and his skills for leading fine from here. You don’t have to go outside, not with your body still recovering from giving birth.”

Yphemu raised her head towards the old nan, Elder Lymanter, that held her firstborn. A smile graced her lips accompanied by a twinkle in her sleepy eyes. Experiencing pregnancy during the Ocular was not what she wanted, but she had no choice. None but her can do the Ocular since she has yet to acquire a direct apprentice, all she has is Verbasi, her master’s previous apprentice turned senior Magician for her troop.

Birthing after enduring the pain for hours the flight back to Angwail was a nightmare she thought she would never get over. Fortunately, she had her strength and the healing Light of Slitark to keep her from falling into depths of physical suffering, only the mental gymnastics of coming between her duty and the will to knock anyone out with her fists from sheer agony.

The Elder Lymantera approached her as the baby reacted a bit fuzzy from its blanket. “The little ladies hungry, ma’am.” Her wrinkled hands brought the softly swathed baby to Yphemu’s arms.

Gingerly holding the baby while rocking her fondly in her arms made Yphemu swell with warmth inside her chest. Feeling the beat of her child’s heart as she poised herself to breastfeed her felt natural, that she droned the sound of chaos outside. All but the thought of weaning her child filled her mind to the point she felt like she was a whole different person to the eyes of Sacr, who accepted her captain’s motherly visage like a breath of freshness. The baby gripped her one breast as Yphemu softly touched the baby’s one free arm that waved in the air. The babe eagerly suckled her to a point that it gurgled a light laugh that escaped its soft pink lips.

Pleasantly hugging her cuddly chubby child, Yphemu started humming.

“...sa aking pagtulog na labis ang himbing. Ang bantay ko’y tala, ang tanod ko’y bituin...”

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