I was 13 years old when I left home for the first time, in 1975.
It sounds like a big deal, I know, but growing up in Druid-controlled Éire with precisely no talent for natural magic would be difficult for anybody. Doing it as the blond-haired, golden-eyed, slimly-built daughter of a classical Irish beauty (you know the type…red hair, green eyes, tall and strong) who was also a member of the Council of Druids was…uncomfortable, at best.
If I’d had to listen to one more person ask “How could Deirdre Kinnear allow herself to be seduced by an outsider,” or say something like, “Honestly, that Alys Kinnear is clearly no natural child. Did you see her pointed ears?” I might have screamed.
Anyway, when my aptitude tests in school showed that I had a natural - and very strong - talent for Hermetic Magic, I jumped at the first opportunity to get out of my dinky little home town near Killarney and away from all of the people who’d made my childhood what it had been. It was distressing to leave my mother, of course, but I felt certain things would be easier for her without me around to constantly remind her colleagues…and neighbors…and, well, everybody…of her “youthful indiscretion.”
Gods, I really hate that term.
So when the test proctor - Wizard Jonathan Tremane - gladly (and with some relief at having found a suitable candidate) offered to take me on as his apprentice…yeah, I thanked him with the profound gratitude that only a quietly hurting teenager can generate, begged my mother to let me go, and left with him.
Home. It’s such a strange word, really. It has so many different connotations, all of them supposedly positive. And yet to me, home - until I became an apprentice - was a place where I had never been accepted by anyone but my mother. In fact, my mother’s house aside, ‘home’ was a place I actively hated, though I never consciously admitted it to myself - or her - until I had left.
For the next ten years, home was Master Tremane’s townhouse in Dublin. It was the first place I had affectionately called home and meant it.
I completed my basic Hermetic apprenticeship - earning the title ‘Journeyman’ - in 1980. But since that doesn’t qualify you to do much of anything professionally with magic, and I had no particular interest in going to university for a mundane education, I continued on as his apprentice and began working on my Mage’s license.
By then, magic had long-since stopped being something I was jealous of other people having, and had become a passion. I lived, slept, and breathed Hermetic magic in all of its myriad forms, and gloried in the flexibility, depth, and breadth of skill and learning that the Druids I’d grown up surrounded by would never know.
There were, certainly, things they could do that I would never be able to, but the educational and intellectual mysteries of Hermetic magic spoke to me in a way that the natural mysteries of Druidic magic never had.
I was 23 years old when I left home for the second time, in 1985.
To me, this was a much, much bigger deal than the first time. With my Mage’s license (and title) under my belt, it was time for me to stop being an apprentice and venture out into the world. I could stay on with Master Tremane and continue as his employee…but his gentle prompting and a growing itch to stretch my legs and prove myself made the idea of finding employment with another Wizard, somewhere other than Dublin, very appealing.
I had left my nameless little suburb of Killarney a timid, shy little waif, and returned - just to visit my mother before leaving the country altogether - a self-confident (perhaps over-confident) young woman with a somewhat cynical opinion of people in general.
I can’t blame that entirely on Master Tremane, though his intolerance for stupidity and general ignorance had certainly rubbed off on me. And it definitely was no influence of my mother’s, for she was an endlessly forgiving and tolerant woman.
No…I blame the townsfolk who had been singularly intolerant of me as a child. Simply because I looked different, and wasn’t a Druid.
So, I wasn’t surprised when my return to the place of my birth was…unpleasant. Even my mother, bless her tolerant heart, was offended on my behalf.
“I cannot believe that they treated you that way!” She said as she slammed the door closed behind us.
I smiled at her. “It’s all right, Mom. It was hardly the first time. I expected it.” I hesitated, then added, “Okay, maybe not Druid Fianna’s ranting about me being related to some prophecy about the Council of Druids breaking, that was new. But I really only came to say goodbye before heading to London, it’s not like I’m staying.”
Mom sighed and shook her head, then pulled me into her arms and held me tight. “If you say one word about not wanting to make things harder for me…it’s not right that you should have to pay for my…” she grunted and shook her head against mine. “No, I will not call it a mistake. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
I returned her hug and laughed softly. We’d discussed the matter several times without making any real headway. “Thank you, Mom. I love you too.”
She took a step back, her hands resting on my shoulders as she looked at me. And I sighed, not for the first time, over the fact that she and I could not have looked any less alike if we’d tried. Full-grown, I was still half a head shorter than her, still slim compared to her natural curves and muscle, and I looked pale beside her outdoor tan. Not even my facial features resembled hers. I could not see her in me…and that had always bothered me.
“Anyway,” I said quickly, not wanting the moment to get sappy, “if what Master Tremane thinks is true, you probably didn’t have any choice in the matter anyway.”
“And he could be right,” Mom admitted. “Your father might have been one of the Sidhe. It would certainly explain your talent for Hermetic magic.” She shook her head a little, her eyes going distant and unfocused. “All I really remember about him was that he was quite a spectacular lover…”
“Mom!” I gave her a little shake. Not only did I not need to hear about that, the way she always seemed to drift off when thinking about my mysterious father made me very uneasy.
She refocused on me and laughed, then patted my cheek gently. “You’re such a good girl, and I’m very proud of you.” Then she shook her head. “London. Why London?”
“Master Tremane has given me a letter of introduction to an old friend of his from the College of Hermetic Wizardry, who he thinks might be willing to give me a job and help me study for my Wizard’s license.”
Mom sighed again. “London.” She kissed my forehead. “Promise me you’ll be careful. The things I’ve heard about that city…”
My mother disliked cities as a matter of principle. I was very much looking forward to seeing one more modern than the Druid-influenced Dublin. “I will be, I promise.” As careful as I could be, anyway, though I didn’t say that. “But what was Druid Fianna ranting about? What prophecy?”
Mom shook her head. “I have no idea, Alys. I’ve never heard anything about a prophecy about the Council of Druids or about you.” She sighed. “But then, it wouldn’t be the first time they kept things from me. I’m the lowest-ranking member of the Council, after all.”
“And one of the most popular,” I pointed out. “I bet that grinds old bristle-face’s gears.”
She smiled. “I know you don’t like him, but please be at least nominally polite about the High Druid. Fergus Leamhnach is the wisest and eldest of us.”
“One of those is true,” I agreed, finally setting down my duffel bag and leaning my staff against the wall by the door.
Mom laughed. “Fine, I agree, but do be circumspect at least. The last thing anyone needs is you calling him ‘old bristle-face’ to his face by accident.” She looked me up and down, then sighed. “Well, at least you don’t grow like a weed between visits anymore. I’ll see what I can dig out of the other Council members and let you know if I find out anything. Keep your eyes open for a Sending from me.”
At least until a treaty was hammered out with the Merfolk to allow the laying of underwater telephone lines, Sendings were the fastest way to communicate overseas. As my history studies had shown, the Merfolk were both more widespread than most Humans believed, and were understandably not happy about the idea of potentially toxic metals and other materials being run through their undersea cities.
Negotiations had been ongoing since the 1890s and would probably continue on well into the 21st Century.
Anyway, Mom’s Sendings always took the form of a large owl. I favored large felines. “I’ll keep my eyes open, as always.”
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
A Sending is a magical form of communication, whereby the caster creates a temporary magical construct in the form of an animal (usually) and sendsa it to deliver a message. It was a popular spell, common to every magical tradition, both because it took very little energy to cast, and because the message reached its recipient within just a few minutes, as opposed to the weeks a letter could take.
Mom looked me over again and shook her head. “When did you grow up?”
I laughed. “While I was in Dublin, Mom. Ten years, remember? And it’s not like I didn’t get to come home for Yule after my first year. This shouldn’t be a surprise to you.”
She hugged me again, holding me tight. “It’s not, honey, not at all. But I missed so much of you growing up, and it’ll probably be a while before we see each other again…”
I held onto her just as tightly. Jonathan Tremane had done a fine - if unintentional - job of filling the hole in my life that my missing father had left, but nobody ever, ever replaces Mom. “Maybe. But who knows?”
After a long minute she let go of me again and smiled sadly. “I know it’s for the best, and I know you’re going to be amazing, but I still wish you could stay a while. You’ll at least stay for supper, won’t you?”
“Are you sure the High Druid and his cronies won’t pitch a fit?” I asked, not really caring either way, and not expecting my mother to either.
“They undoubtedly will. Let them. Most of them have never had any children…they’ll just have to deal with me seeing off my daughter in proper style.” She smiled. “Anyway, I have a gift for you, and it means that you’ll need to repack your clothes and gear. Grab your bag and follow me.”
She led me back to my old bedroom, which - thank goodness - was not exactly the way I’d left it at the age of 13. Gone were the pinks and purples, ponies, unicorns, brightly colored pixies, and every last embarrassing poster, though a few of the stuffed animals - again, mostly large cats - were still peeking out from shelves and corners.
Instead, though the bed was still there for my annual visits, the room had been converted into a crafts room. My mother, in addition to her endless gardening, liked to wile away the evenings with a variety of small crafts. At the moment, she appeared to be in the middle of assembling several bird houses, and was evidently knitting a scarf for a giant. I swear, the thing had to be at least twenty feet long already, in bands of random earth tones. Maybe she was using up leftover yarn or something.
There was a well-worn leather satchel sitting on one of the craft tables too. “This,” she said, gesturing to it, “is for you.”
It looked…a bit battered, really. A large flap covered in pockets and pouches protected the front of the main bag, which was covered in more pockets, most of which were closed with smaller flaps. There was a large main section, currently zipped shut, and more pockets on the back. It certainly had plenty of places to store little things.
I could also sense the faint aura of magic on it. It was enchanted to do something.
“What is it?” I asked.
She sighed a little. “Something my mother made for me a long time ago, when I was just starting my apprenticeship as a Druid. It’s a Bottomless Bag.”
I blinked in surprise and whistled softly. “Really?” I looked at it with more respect now. “Well, that will be useful. They’re usually pretty expensive, though!”
She smiled. “Usually. But this one was entirely home-made, so it’s not quite as bottomless as a professional model. But it’s more than large enough to carry all of your clothes and other gear, and quite a bit more convenient. You can even put your staff in one of the outside pouches, so you can get to it quickly without having to carry it around all the time.”
“Mom…this is…” I didn’t know what to say. A bag like this would make my life so much easier, especially if I ended up traveling a lot. A decent quality one bought from a store would’ve cost me a couple of years’ wages, assuming I ended up earning something close to what Master Tremane had paid me during the second half of my apprenticeship to teach me to manage my own finances.
She rested a hand on my shoulder gently. “I don’t really have any use for it anymore, and you’ll probably put it to better use than I ever did.” She squeezed my shoulder gently. “It’s yours now, honey. My going-away present to you.” She sighed a little. “There’s not much else I can give you, except healing salves and other first aid supplies.”
“Which I will gladly take,” I said, picking up the bag. “Thanks, Mom. It means a lot to me.”
As we repacked my belongings from the military-style duffel bag I’d arrived with into my new bottomless bag, Mom grilled me about my plans for the future.
“Beyond getting to London,” I said, “I don’t really have a clear plan of action. Airship to the city, then find Master Tremane’s old friend, Wizard Hollis Ellister, and hope he’s amenable to hiring me. If not…I’ll find work.”
“What kind?” She passed me another pair of folded leather trousers. Durable, practical, and resistant to most things that might splash in a Wizard’s lab.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, sliding the trousers into the large - and very dark - interior of the bag. “A lot of young Mages find work guarding private citizens, or doing security for businesses. The money and experience is good, and I might get to travel. I’d love to see the world. But really, I hope Master Tremane’s friend is in the market for an assistant.”
Mom nodded, her expression a little wistful. “I always wanted to get away and travel, but I never could.” She smiled. “You’ll tell me all about what you’re doing in your Sendings, of course.”
I laughed. “I’ll bore you to tears with the details.”
“Good,” she nodded firmly and handed me several shirts. “Are you going to get yourself a familiar?”
“I’d like to,” I said, sliding them into the bag and admiring how it never got any bigger as I put things in. “But I don’t know what yet.”
She smiled. “Knowing you, probably a large cat of some sort. Will you have it Elevated?”
Most magical traditions have familiars, in one form or another…animal companions that are bound to the practitioner. The magic that’s performed to prepare them for the binding raises them to near-human intelligence, so they can be extremely useful companions, and it means that you’re never alone. Elevating a familiar - yet another magical ritual - takes that bond a step further, transfiguring the animal into a humanoid form. Which, obviously, has advantages as both companions and assistants.
“I don’t know,” I said with a shrug. Either way, I couldn’t afford one yet. “Maybe, maybe not. Time will tell.”
She smiled. “I keep meaning to find a nice owl to keep me company. Maybe now I will.”
“You should. I hate the idea of you being here all alone.”
“I’m hardly alone,” Mom said dryly. “Not with the other members of the Council watching me and waiting for me to slip up and make another ‘mistake.’”
I wasn’t interested in tackling that particular frustration again right now. Anyway, if Master Tremane was right, and my absentee father was one of the Sidhe…well, Mom probably hadn’t had any choice in the matter.
The Sidhe. I shivered a little at the thought that I might not…heck, probably wasn’t…completely human. The Sidhe - pronounced ‘Shee’, and don’t ever do it wrong in their presence - might look mostly human, but aren’t. At all.
Where humans can use magic, the Sidhe are creatures of magic. They access the energy of magic the same way humans breathe…effortlessly and without conscious thought. It sustains them, allowing them to go without eating and breathing (they usually do both anyway, one for fun the other out of convenience), and keeps them from aging, making them effectively immortal. They live primarily - these days - in what humans call the Spirit World, a dimension that sits alongside ours and connects to it at many points.
And they look…an awful lot like me, actually. The High Sidhe - their royalty - are often golden-haired and pale-skinned, with oddly colored eyes and pointed ears. They tend to be a bit shorter and slimmer than humans, though some do grow taller…it seems to have something to do with their standing and importance in their community.
But they don’t like humans very much, except as a source of entertainment. They call us messy and noisy, and claim to be uninterested in getting involved in mortal affairs…but make deals with humans at every opportunity. Nothing seems to bring them more joy than putting one over on ‘some stupid mortal.’
They can also reproduce with humans. Their offspring are known as halflings or changelings, and if they survive long enough to grow up tend to display the best traits of both parents. Which is to say, at least from my perspective, the open-mindedness and flexibility of humans, and the innate power and long life of the Sidhe.
But I try not to think about it very much. As I said, it disturbs me to think that I might not be entirely human. I am, as the bad joke goes, knee deep in De Nile.
Ugh. I was making bad jokes to myself. Time to change the subject before Mom asked questions I didn’t want to - or couldn’t - answer. “Have you ever thought about leaving the Council and moving away? You could move somewhere in England…there’s plenty of communities there that would love to have a Druid…”
I trailed off at the look on her face, which was one part longing and one part…trapped.
She paused in folding my heavy fur-lined winter cloak, set it down, and rose to look out the window. After a moment, she sighed. “I won’t lie to you, I’ve thought about doing both. But I have nowhere to go, and nobody to help me get my feet under me if I left. Druid communities don’t have much use for money, so I don’t have much…but I do have everything here that I need.” She turned and smiled at me, a little sad, a little rueful. “My place is here, I suppose, keeping the home fires burning for you.”
That brought up emotions that neither of us were in the mood to tackle, so we finished my re-packing in silence, and talked about nothing of any consequence through dinner.
Having put off my departure as long as I felt safe doing…if I was going to catch the last train back to Dublin, I had to go…Mom led me to the door and handed me my new bag. I slung it cross-wise onto my shoulder and picked up my staff from where it leaned beside the door.
Mom spent a moment fussing over the lapels of my calf-length leather coat, then sighed. “Stay in touch, honey.”
“I will, Mom.” I hugged her tightly.
She returned the hug with equal fervor, holding onto me until I finally eased up and released her. With a slightly mischievous smile, she pressed a pouch into my free hand.
“What’s this?”
“My last present to you. I’ve been saving since you became a Hermetic apprentice for this…that’s enough money to buy yourself a familiar. Get a really fantastic one.”
My vision blurred and I wiped the tears from my eyes before they could fall. “Mom, I -”
She closed my fingers around the pouch. “You can, and you will. Bring it home to meet me someday.”
“I will,” I said fervently. “I promise.”
We embraced again and held onto one another for a couple of minutes, then she kissed my forehead and turned me to face the night. “Walk confidently into the future, Alys Kinnear. I am very proud of you, and I love you.”
“I love you too, Mom.”
She gave me a gentle push out the door, and I strode away from her down the flagstone path. I stopped at the gate in the low stone wall that bordered her property and turned back. For a moment, I thought about saying something, but couldn’t find the right words. So I just lifted my free hand in farewell, and she returned my wave before stepping back and closing the door.
I turned and started walking again, my staff striking the ground with every second or third step. The train station was only a mile, a short walk, and I had a train to catch to Dublin. From there, I would find a berth on an airship going to London.
I had been wrong. I knew where home was.
Whatever else came in the future, whatever home I made for myself, home would also always be wherever my mother was.