Stavi ducked down to enter the low doorway to the goat-skin tent, standing up once he was through. It was dark inside, the only light coming from a few dying coals in the fire-ring. The air was thick with smoke, the scent of spices, and incense. He bowed slightly to the withered old crone huddled on the far side of the tent, which caused her to chuckle.

“Hurry up, and close the flap boy! You’ll let the cold in!” Her voice rasped like two pieces of stone being scraped against each other, but there was a reedy strength to it.

Stavi pulled the flap into place firmly, fastening it with a little wooden toggle, before unceremoniously sitting down across from the old woman. They sat there for a moment, staring at each other, before a look of comprehension came over Stavi’s features, and he opened the bag he was carrying and pulled out an egg.

He tried to hand it over to the witch but she gestured for him to keep holding it.

“You said bring an egg, and now you don’t want it?” Stavi sounded more confused than angry.

This lady is crazy…

The old woman pointed a long, skeletal finger at Stavi. “No, the egg is for you. It’s time we turn words, into deeds. Are you ready?”

It should have been a solemn moment, the point of change for him, when his life started over and he was reborn as a creature of power. It should have been, but then a stray bit of incense landed in Stavi’s nostril, and he involuntarily drew in a massive breath and then…

“HA-CHEW!” The sound was accompanied by a spray of liquid from his mouth, Stavi could feel. He opened his eyes just in time to see the crone wiping a wrinkled hand over her face. “Sorry…”

“Why him? Why not that nice girl from the village? Right, she died on the trek. It’s him or nobody? Maybe nobody would be better. Let the dead die and remain in their graves, their ways forgotten. No, I can’t do that, otherwise how will I make them pay?” The old woman was muttering to herself, and it wasn’t exactly praises.

Yeah, I’m sorry, maybe if you cleaned your tent once in a while this wouldn’t have happened. The air in here is halfway to solid!

“…”

“Right, yes I am ready teacher.” Stavi replied in the tongue of his mother, a woman he didn’t care to see again and whose indifferent instruction had led to this opportunity.

There was a sigh from across the fire as the witch heard the words, and more specifically the language, and then there was the sound of a throat clearing.

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“You know how the Magi draw in energy through their channels, circulate it through those same channels, and deposit it in their sarovara, their lake? It’s quite common to hear of it in the tales…”

Stavi nodded at the words, it was indeed common knowledge.

“They use that energy to perform their spells, strengthen their bodies, and some of them can even fly. Of course, you know all that already…”

Stavi didn’t even bother to nod at this, he wished she would get to the interesting bits a little quicker.

“None of that is for you, you are totally untalented…”

A frown crossed the young man’s face, but he didn’t object. He had tried to get accepted to three different Mage Scholae but they had all told him the same thing, ‘You don’t have the Gift…’.

And they always call it that, the ‘Gift’, as if those of us born without magic are lesser. Not good enough to be given a gift. A gift from who?

“We both know this, yes? The time for tears is over, at least your own. You sought me out because I know the secrets of the old ways. I may be the only one left who does, since the Magi came to our world we have dwindled.”

It’s a story as old as time, people come into a land from another and conquer it, and to make the people conform they crush their beliefs, religions, and traditions. If he was being honest, Stavi knew that his mother’s people had done the same thing a number of times. That was the reason the crone was as pale as clotted cream, and he was a sun-kissed bronze, but still considered each other a member of their People.

“That is true, teacher. You said that if I brought an egg you would start training me in the old ways.”

There was a wry chuckle from across the tent as the old lady leaned forward.

“Let’s be honest with each other, youngling. You do not have the patience, respect, or aptitude to learn the old ways, but…I can teach you enough to allow you to make your way in a world of Magi. You said you are ready to begin, so we begin.”

Stavi could feel the buzz running up and down his spine as he realized his greatest ambition in life was about to be accomplished, or at least begun. The desire to do something different, unique, and unlike the mundane existences of his mother and stepfather filled him with a strong feeling. His eyes were focused on the old crone, whose age could not be fathomed, and as they locked gazes a smile came across both of their faces.

“Will is your weapon, and you must wield it as one. Focus your intent on the egg in your hand, feel its potential. If you left it under the hen it would have formed a life within, and indeed all the pieces required for that are already there. With all of your Will draw the vitality from the egg out, do not try to draw it into yourself…”

Stavi focused his mind on the task of drawing, of demanding, the vitality in the egg to come forth. It felt like he was trying to move a mountain with his mind, and for a moment he worried the old woman was going to start laughing at him and reveal it was all a jest. Just when it was starting to feel hopeless, a tiny wisp of reddish mist exited the egg, and the shock was so great that he stopped trying.

A quick look revealed the egg was somehow deflated, but still intact, and Stavi’s eyebrows started trying to clambor up his forehead. He was about to start questioning the witch when she lifted a knobby finger to command him to remain silent.

She leaned forward, her old face taking on a slightly red hue from the coals in her fire, and her aged lips split to allow a word with such substance that it could be felt to roll out. The voice was unlike her own, and had a weight that could not be described.

“Jyotis.”

Light blossomed in the dark tent, turning it as bright as midday outside.