Storytelling Time: from Coven at Callington – Prologue Part II
Genre: a Regency fantasy romance (c) Shereen Vedam
What would you do if your world was dying?
Would you go in search of a new home…
Prologue – Part II
Switzerland, Summer Equinox, June 1454
“Dytel!” His mother’s voice sounded an alarm.
Eight-year-old Dytel snapped his eyes open expecting to find they were trapped in a dark void or still on their own world, waiting for a new chance at life. Instead, before him was a different place. He glanced up at his mother in wonder. “My spell worked!”
They were encompassed by greenery. Ancient trees, vibrant bushes, and grasses sprinkled with wild flowers carpeted the ground. Trembling with excitement, he reached out to a nearby tree and traced the bark of its giant trunk. It was real, and stretched high up as if to touch the blue sky. Even the air seemed different, not thick and murky. He breathed deeply, expanding his lungs, relishing the fresh clean scent. There were animals, too! He’d only ever seen such creatures in statues and drawings. Here, they were alive!
What’s your name? he asked the one that was long and furry, with a pointed face that quivered. The little animal screamed in his mind and raced away. Dytel laughed. It could hear him and speak back, in a fashion.
“Dytel, stay with me!” His mother’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him close, tight. She was afraid of this place. Why?
“Mother, we’re here. Really here.”
All of his life, he’d heard stories of a place like this. A world that looked the way their Wyhcan world once had, in the days before their sun began to die.
Dytel, ever dreaming of visiting such a legendary land, had come up with an extraordinary idea. One that made coming here plausible. He had convinced his father the spell could succeed. Then his father had talked the Grand Coven Council into believing his boy’s idea was workable.
With their world on the brink of destruction, desperate measures were needed. Having tried and failed to save themselves, listening to a far-fetched idea from a warlock child became not only feasible, but also paramount.
His father organized the casting using the strongest warlocks and witches left alive on their world. Despite all his pleading, Dytel was not one of those picked to cast the daring spell.
“Where’s father?” Dytel leaned around his mother to gaze eagerly down the line of warlocks and witches stepping away from their transport stones. Strange. Some of the stones had no people before them.
“Where’s father?” he asked again, a sliver of doubt gliding down his back. “Why isn’t he here? Mother, where are all the spell casters?”
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