III - The Adventures of Myraela Kalgan

[Metamancy 1759]

Myraela shot up in bed. 

"Your house?" The girl asked the old, wrinkled woman sitting next to her in an ornate wooden chair. She tried to recall what had occurred before she had blacked out. "Wait, so - that house - you live here?"

"Yes," said the woman irritably. "My name is Marie, but you may call me Grandmother from now on."

Myraela tilted her head.

"Grandmother? But you're not my Grandma."

"Too many questions," quipped Grandmother. "You will refer to me as Grandmother or you will face the snow."

Myraela nodded slowly, recent memories of the icy tundra that was Ailmere spinning in her mind. That felt like forever ago. 

Memories of the snow. Of Little Miss.

Tears welled in her eyes.

"Well," said Grandmother, seeing Myraela's tears. "You should be all warm now. Come, there is work to do."

Myraela wiped her eyes.

"W-what?"

"Yes, work. Chores. What other word do you use for it? You didn't think you were staying here for free, did you?"

Myraela had never had to work a day in her life until this moment.

"Come, girl! Don't tell me you've never washed dishes in your life!"

"Haelun did it for me!" Myraela choked out through a stream of tears. A plate shattered against the hard wooden floor, slicing open Myraela's finger. She burst out sobbing.

Grandmother tutted loudly. 

"Silly girl. Come here." The older woman knelt down and took Myraela's sliced finger in her wrinkled hands. She pressed down on the cut, causing Myraela to yelp. Blood began to peek from the surface. Myraela shut her eyes tight. "Hmm."

The woman took a light blue vine from her pocket and held it in her hands.

"Stay still," she commanded. Myraela nodded, peeking at the cut with barely one eye open. And suddenly, as Grandmother pressed the Frostvine onto her finger, the stinging pain was gone. Myraela opened her eyes and looked on in fascination.

In a whirlwind of more salves and a bandage, in less than a minute, the cut had been fully treated. It was the first time Myraela had seen Grandmother smile. It was a surprisingly warm and inviting smile; and, for a minute, Myraela could almost believe she was actually her Grandmother. 

"Thank you," Myraela said after a moment of silence. 

"Back to dishes," was all Grandmother said. She made a wide gesture with her hands, and a gust of wind blew the shattered pieces of the plate away. Myraela gasped. 

"You're a mage." 

"Where else would I get the water for the dishes? We are in the heart of Ailmere; there is no warm water here," Grandmother scoffed. "Quickly, now. Washing dishes is not the only chore on our list."

Often, Grandmother would leave the house, leaving Myraela alone to do chores. Myraela was never told where Grandmother was going, and was never permitted to go with her. It only made Myraela even more curious. 

 

Myraela had gotten quite good at doing chores. It had been three months since Grandmother had found her lying half-dead in the snow. 

One day, Myraela was sweeping the floor of the house, watching the snow fall in the darkness out the window, until there was a loud bang at the door.

Myraela quickly rushed to the door to see what was going on. She opened the door, not daring to take a step into the cold, until she was stopped by the sight of a large boulder in front of the door. It had left a dent in the door, as if it had been thrusted by some giant. Myraela looked beyond it, confused; then her mouth dropped in horror.

The boulder dissolved, returning to the void that it had been summoned from. She realized that the boulder had been summoned, not thrown... as a final cry for help. Myraela ran towards the limp, scarred, burned and freezing body that lay at the bottom of the stairs. 

"Grandmother!" She cried. What happened?