Maybe it’s not the Mage Board she’s a spy for. It could be the rebels.
They’ve been more active lately. More bold with their attacks and standoff’s and energy. Something has shifted with their underworking’s and everyone is getting antsy about what they plan to do next.
In the beginning their goal had been to overthrow the Mage Board. There may be eight seats each with a different race, but favor tends to point towards the mages themselves despite not being a celestial. They have the closest relation to witches and while it isn’t common, mages do have the ability to adapt and learn how to wield other elements they weren’t born with.
Especially after the fall of witches, the mages were smart with conducting their power. They have only grown stronger in recent years as well.
The rebels wanted to disrupt that unbalance. They also believe that because there is not a seat for each subrace opinions are mute. Fliers and waterways are both shifters, but they have been enemies of each other since they were first created. The rebels do have a point in each race and subrace should have a seat, but the Mage Board does not want to change.
At least the mages don’t.
But it would be obvious if she was a rebel, and they wouldn’t send a fucking vampire.
My questions need to stop. I shake my head slightly at myself and right my thoughts. She is not my business, she is not my concern. She said she only wants to make it these five years and then leave. There was truth spoken when she said those words.
Finishing writing my lesson for today, I turn back towards the class. I consciously make sure I do not look towards her, and for good measure I don’t look at Callahan either. I’m about to open my mouth when a hand shoots up.
“Mr. Rothwhile.” I nod my head to the tiger shifter who looks like he’d be better suited to some sort of thin, long-legged creature. Normally he’s silent in class and turns every assignment in long before it’s due.
He shifts in his chair and for a millisecond glances at a certain bloodsucker. “Well. . . “ He swallows thickly and faces me but avoids eye contact. “I know today’s lesson is on thirteen goddesses, but. . . well, I wanted to ask if there was ever a record before of the spirits of the Willow of Lore changing their aura color?”
Several bodies sit forward at that and curiosity about the event that happened Monday night emerges in the air. I should have anticipated this question being asked. We’re not allowed to explicitly teach about the Willow of Lore unless directly asked, but most know all there is to know about it.
Stories being passed down through the generations of the first sign of life birthed after the destruction of the War of Gods. Where each race and subrace that were left after the war came together. A symbol of renewal, growth, friendship, family, and home after tragedy.
Each year the spirits of the willow waking and reminding us with their song and dance about the costs that were paid to ensure we all lived. A song with words that have not been sung since the blood witch who first created them did so. A lullaby that had been passed down from daughter to daughter from Syngenia the first Vampyr.
Not only did she know the words, but the spirits accompanied and harmonized with her. They changed their blue and fluttering purple aura – which is the only aura anyone is able to actually see because of the potency of their magic – to red. To a color that could only be meant for a bloodsucker.
Of course, they have questions.
The only problem is I have no idea about the answers. Not even the Dean knew what to make of it, and Edmond and Aslan had no words. The blood demon and devil chairholders of the Mage Board’s only comment had been that the force of the magic was felt all the way past this world and onto Earth. That Esmirra of Ebony confirmed she felt it – the only bone witch who resides on Earth and somehow is familiar with Edmond.
Which, a bone witch and a blood demon being familiar is unheard of and peculiar on a whole different level. Though it could explain Thorne’s progressive mental shields and control. Since he grew up with the witch.
But the power of the Willow of Lore passinguniversesis. . .
“There is not,” I finally answer. “However, the spirits of the Willow of Lore are a species unto themselves. They are as mystic as the gods and goddesses and have a will undefined by the fates. There are many things we do not know, and many things we will never know about them.”
He shoots his hand back up into the air and I nod for him to ask whatever question he will. The sooner I can get through this curiosity the sooner I can be done with it.
“But isn’t there a Prophecy of Old about a fortune teller and a red sun? It goes. . . when aura’s bright with blue wisteria light, roaming through under a glowing new moon, a fate with knot and lore of old, shall turn the burning sun into bloodred gold. A god forgotten, killer of all, fallen and bound by her blue flame and blue belladon, will rise with wrath and sanivin of roi, devouring this world in cursed blood moons and noise.”
A chill goes through the room that raises the temperature after he finishes reciting the prophecy. It happens every time someone mentions the damned thing.
“For the first time ever,” he continues, “not only did the Willow of Lore’s ceremony happen two and a half months ahead of its set time, but it happened on a new moon.”
I shake my head and the action catches pale pink eyes that are nearly red with a face devoid of color. I glance at Mavyn who has that glazed look over her eyes, but instead of them being dull they turned several shades darker. It almost looks like all the blood in her face moved to color her eyes.
I shake my head again and look back at Mr. Rothwhile. “That prophecy has been spoken long before the Willow of Lore was created and before even the War of Gods. Prophecies of Old have never transpired more than a millennium after being told. It’s what’s called a deadened prophecy. Spoken and holding power, but lacking in magic influenced by fate and destiny.”
It’s an old grandmother’s tale told to keep children’s minds open and seeking. A helping hand for expanding their mind andcreative play, while also serving as a threat when children are bad.
What is a cursed blood moon? Which sun burning now could be turned into gold? How can a fate be knotted?
Or, as a threat, parents would say eat your vegetables or the god forgotten will snatch you up at night and make you forgotten with him.
Either way. . . “It’s as powerful as any human fairytale is. And there has been records of the Willow of Lore ceremony happing in advance of the winter solstice, as well as even after it. As I said, the spirits are their own entities and perform their ceremonies as they like. Uninfluenced by our organized time system and fate.”
