Birth of The City

The wind whipped and whistled, howling around him. The shards of ice in the air cutting his lungs, the tendrils of this breath snatched away by the gale. Soft leather boots crunched in the deep snow. Not far from him, his brother stumbled, and fell. Mieszko trudged over to Casimir, the six or seven steps an agonizing distance. He helped his brother up and the two of them heaved, their lungs struggling to keep up with their need for air. Their eyes locked for a long moment, concern etched on Mieszko’s ever-stoic face. Casimir knew that expression. Looking down at his brother’s bare hands, Casimir saw his fingers were blue to the knuckles. Miezsko sighed. No words had passed between them, but they both knew; Something had to be done. Something had to be done, or they would all die here.

Out of the 128 people they had started with only 36 remained. Bedraggled, underdressed and half frozen, it was now or never.

Miezsko turned his gaze toward Sokoly. Guilt and sadness sank over him. As if everything they had been through hadn’t already been enough… he knew what he needed ask of her. She would bear the scars of his request for the rest of her life.

Strands of her sandy blonde hair had escaped her hood, whipping in all directions. Her brown eyes were tired as Miezsko approached. She offered a weak smile from cracked lips. Under the weight of his guilt, he could not bring himself to return the gesture.

“Its time,” he said softly. The fear spread over her face like cloth taking up a dye.

“We can make it a little further… If we can just get through this storm-“

“Sokoly, we aren’t getting through this storm. We are getting weak… And if we don’t do it now, there won’t be anyone left.” He told her softly. She hesitated, then nodded, her eyes glassy.

“Jarix! Round up the…” he caught himself; a lifetime of calling them lessers made it a knee jerk reaction. “Non-mages. They need to stay warm for a few hours.”

Jarix’s eyes widened slightly, knowing what it meant for Mieszko to be giving that instruction. He hesitated for the briefest moment then did as he was told. Gathering the remaining non-mages together, he told them he was going to do magic to warm them. They didn’t know that wasn’t something he could do. Touching each of their heads with his thumb, whispering they, one by one, began to breath slower and slower, lids falling over their eyes, until all of them lay together, unconscious. Jarix took a deep breath and returned to the other mages, fear of what was to come pulsing through him.

Casimir was exhausted. No, it was more than that. There wasn’t a word for what he was. He’d closed his eyes when Jarix was ushering everyone together, which is likely why he had not been cast to sleep. His eyes fluttered open just in time to see the mages gathering into a circle a little distance away. In the center of the circle stood Sokoly and Casimir’s heart jumped to his throat. He knew little about mage-casting, but if the spirit mage was the one at the center of a focus it could only mean one thing. The other five mages clasped hands. Pushing through the storm he saw the beginnings of the cast light. The blues and purples and greens of the waterlike light grew more vibrant.

Then from the center, a beam of white light, so bright that it hurt to look. Casimir shut his eyes as tightly as he could. That was something everyone knew about mage-casting without exception. It could kill you.