About five years ago I had an idea. It started out small, but it wormed it’s way inside my brain and stayed there. It grew into a web of characters, plot ideas, and a world. I continued to think about it and began writing the first chapter. In the beginning I did not write regularly and the first iterations of my story were rough and difficult to read. It was not until 2019 that I started writing consistently and pushed to develop the story into something more than a place to daydream. I’ve fondly nicknamed it ‘Fireborn’ for now until it’s true name shows itself, and I am excited to say that I am noodling around with some preliminary titles.

Fireborn is developing a little more each week, and my plan is to have something publishable in 2022. My elevator pitch requires a significant amount of work, however as this blog deals in writing and the writing process, here is my first attempt: Fireborn is a ‘find-yourself’-type fantasy where the protagonists are pitted against both internal and external obstacles. I am toying with the display of mental stressors and how they affect relationships. There is a made-up religion, magic, drama, and love. Romantic? I haven’t decided yet. Platonic? All over the place.

If this sounds like the worst elevator pitch you’ve ever heard, don’t worry, I’ll get better.

Until then, I’ve decided to share the prologue of  Fireborn with you. 

I just want to thank all of the people who have helped me reach this point. You know who you are – but if you do not, not to worry. I’ll be writing about that shortly too. I am proud to take this step and share this with you. I cannot wait to hear your thoughts.

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Prologue – Fireborn

By C. E. Wagg

“I am sure you have heard the story of the Affinities. If not, I suggest that you listen closely…

The four greatest of the gods gathered one day and argued over who was the most beloved and most important to the humans. 

Heiest, wielder of the Great War Hammer, boasted of his unmatched skill in fury, battle and metal-working. He brought the humans fire and glory. Surely, he was unmatched among the gods. 

Rahamu, attendant to the stars, argued that access to safe passage, fertility, and wisdom were far more important to the humans;therefore, she was the most beloved.

 Heren, lady of plenty, stood, rising tall above both of them. Shaking her head of grass braids, she said, ‘But surely, you both are mistaken. For I give them the harvest. I teach them hospitality. And in the end, I bring them death. What would they do without me?’. 

Amabal, maker of mischief, listened to the arguments from afar, flicking a gold coin high in the air and caught it in her hand. Consulting the coin, Amabal stepped forward and raised a hand to quell the arguments. “What about a friendly competition? Each god may bestow a gift on the humans, and the humans may choose who is most important and beloved.” 

Zela paused to take a sip of water.

“Then the three agreed, and announced their gifts. 

Heiest roared, bringing down his Great War Hammer into the coals, scattering ashes everywhere, and said ‘To the lucky few humans, may Fire run through your veins, and with it, you will be powerful.’ 

Rahamu raised her tattooed arms, offering a tear to the sky, and said, ‘To the worthy humans, may my tear inform your choices and water guide your journeys.’ 

Heren plucked a strand of hair and crushed it, saying ‘To know life and death is to know the way of the universe. I give you access to the essence of earth, and wish you luck.’ 

And then, the story goes that Amabal waited until the gods left, flicked her coin high in the air again, letting the wind catch it, and said, ‘For those who prefer something more … fun, I give you the gift of manipulating air. We shall see who is the best.’ 

From that day forward, our children were born with the gifts of harnessing fire, water, air, and earth – but for many these are not seen as gifts.”

She slid quietly into a chair at the back of the small, under-furnished teaching room in Camjun’s House of Mekat. There were only 3 people at the tables, all watching a stocky, tanned, middle-aged man moving his hands expressively as he spoke. His face was passionate. He paused as she entered, but she shook her head and motioned for him to continue. 

It was her fault, she’d arrived over an hour late. Her informants were the best, but their sense of time was unfortunately quite poor. She glanced down at the note crumpled in her hand. Her gut churned at the contents, 

‘Fendon was conscripted into the army. They took him three days ago. We need to meet. 

Zela. ’ 

Samara took a deep breath and focused on the presenter. Zela Darven is the best in his field–  he has focused his life on the study of Affinities and how to live with them. More importantly, he works to keep casters alive while they are at their most vulnerable … youth. 

“Today, we lose about half of the children born with Affinities, if they are born at all. And in those cases, it’s very possible we lose mom too.” He paused. 

Samara could tell he was surveying his dismal crowd. There was one very pregnant mother with hollow eyes and sickly-pale skin. Across from her were two gaunt, harried looking men. One had a small patch of blackened skin on his right wrist. The other, a small bundle on his lap. It moved every now and then, tiny fists peeping out from the swath of blankets. 

“And if they make it past infancy, we lose many more during childhood. You see,” Zela opened his palm face up where silvery white tendrils twisted around his hand, “while casters innately have the ability to conduct an element, we are not born with the ability to control the added energy that pulses through us. It actually comes to us looking like this.” 

Zela closed his fist and reopened it, the silvery white tendrils turning into loose clouds of bubbles. The bubbles seemed thick and plentiful, some floating around him, some sticking to his body, some frothing and foaming as you would expect to see in a bath. 

“In this form, it is very difficult to manage.” He made a show of trying to push a cloud of bubbles off of his skin, but instead they attached to another layer of bubbles around his hand, forming a large clump. He then tried to scrape the bubbles away from his right hand into the palm of his left hand and the mass shifted to the other side of his right hand, moving up his arm. “In this state, accidents are more likely. This form is unwieldy. It is why I feel that it is so important to teach children at a young age to Weave. Alas, these forms are not visible to the naked eye, which makes progress hard to follow, but everything can be taught.” 

He closed his fist again, sending the bubbles into long, solid looking tendrils of silver-white. He plucked a single thread and held it up, “In this form, it is much easier for us to handle and manipulate. Even for a child, they can learn to discard strands that are overwhelming them. That is what our classes are for. We have classes multiple times a day, for any age.” He looked around the room again with a sympathetic look. “I know that this is challenging, but having an Affinity can truly be a gift. Mages have the ability to live such a full, wonderful life; we just need to make sure that we give them the tools to survive.”

Samara fidgeted with a button in her hand, staring down at her own scarred arms. Pink and white scars riddled her limbs, many looking closer to melted skin. Some Affinities are easier to survive, she thought to herself. She felt a little warm as it was and hoped beyond hope that it wasn’t the start of another fever. Zela stepped between the parents in the room and produced two tiny amulets and one large one. She leaned forward to listen, even though she knew what he was going to say. 

“It is important to teach your children how to channel their Affinity safely, but while you are waiting for them to grow to a stage where they can understand their gift, use these. The amulets regulate how much energy is flowing into their systems. It doesn’t mean that they cannot cast, but at least they cannot draw extra energy. And for you, mom, this will stop the child from draining you. Help you build your strength back. Will you be coming to us when it is time to deliver?”

The tired woman nodded her head with a resolute look on her face and shook his hand. Zela clasped her hands in his and said, “Come to us in the first pangs of labour. We have minding mages around the clock and will do all we can to ease the birth.”

The woman’s eyes watered as she pulled him into a hug. Zela held her gently, his deep voice compassionate. Eventually he squeezed her shoulder and stepped away. 

Samara leaned back and watched the group for another fifteen minutes as Zela made his rounds, answering questions and providing support. The man with the black spot on his arm was dealing with a six month old imbued with the gift of Heren and it had pulled the life out of that patch of skin.The infant’s mother had not survived the birth. Zela frowned and switched the amulet. He indicated that this one would stop the child from casting, but stressed that the father must check in every three months. The House of Mekat requires that casters be allowed to harness their capabilities. It is considered cruel to forcibly suppress the magic. Therefore, all amulets were on loan. She picked at her fingernails as the meager gathering filtered out of the room. As the last person exited, Samara stood and flicked her long braid over her shoulder. She knew she was very late to her next meeting. “Zela.” she greeted, placing her hand over her heart and tilting her head. “I do apologize for my tardiness.”

He looked wearily at her and smiled. “I know you are busy, my Lady. I see you received my message.” he nodded at the crumpled missive in her hands.

Samara nodded. “What happened?”

Zela sighed, “Fendon was frightened. You know him. He ignored the summons and hid at home. He didn’t tell me about the conscription notice until it was too late …” he paused. “The inlanders pushed in the door one night and grabbed him. Frogmarched him to Zerendar.” Zela shook his head, “You know he doesn’t handle Heiest’s gifts as well as you do. I fear for him.”

Samara bit her lip, “It is not a good day when I am the model for the fire Affinity.” She hesitated, looking at Zela thoughtfully, “I won’t be able to get Fendon out right away. But I can send help to him. Will you go?”

“A scholar? In a war zone?”

“He trusts no one more.”

“Strapping me into a suit of armour is foolish.” he looked at his hands, clenching and unclenching, “I am not a fighter.”

“No, you are not.” She paused, “But you have helped the Tsariks. You have taught them coping mechanisms to manage their Affinities. It was Zela Darven who taught the Tsariks how to better distribute our magic in battle. You could offer the same to General van Layton. She has her mages’ best interests at heart, she’d welcome you with open arms. Even push for you to have an apprentice of your choosing, if you felt strongly about it.”

Zela raised an eyebrow and frowned, “Will she have the ability to pull Fendon from the ranks?”

Samara nodded grimly, “Based on my latest reports the mages are the only unit holding off the Cambrions. She could ask for blood sacrifice, if she wanted.”

Zela let out an uncomfortable laugh, noting Samara’s sarcasm. Releasing a long breath, he crossed his arms and shook his head, “This is madness. The boy is leading me to madness.”

“If all goes to plan, Zela, I shouldn’t be more than a few weeks behind you, with the whole Coalition army in tow. With you there, Fendon has a chance. I’ll do my best to send you back home once I get there.”

Zela clicked his tongue and then shook her hand, “Then I’ll go. The boy needs someone. I’ll settle up here tonight and portal to Zerendar tomorrow.”

She mustered a small smile, “Thank you, Zela. Fendon will be pleased to see you. I’ll pen a missive for you to take. Now,” she got up, donning her cloak and heading to the door. “I’m late for my next meeting.” And the Coastal Coalition Council does not take kindly when their Commander arrives late, especially with their royal guests, she thought to herself.

Samara heard Zela chuckle as she left the room, “You are always late My Lady!” 

She laughed despite herself, “That I am. See you soon, Zela!”

As she opened the small door leading outside of House of Mekat into the Market Square, she cringed. A fat droplet of rain had just splashed onto her face. Great.

~ The End ~