Fate of Magics
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The blood lay upon my hands; I prayed to my goddess that it was a dream, a nightmare, but it wasn’t... I wanted to throw up. I did the magic. I preformed dark magic. I never… I never had done black magic. I never have done anything, but the lighter magics. I was a Sun Warlock. I was a healer. A teacher. Not this. But I panicked. I need my magic; it is a part of my very being. I would die without it. So, I picked up the only dark book that my family had ever owned. It had one ritual in it. One. This one. Rumors are there are three different rituals. Each family guarding one. This was my family’s burden. And I betrayed my ancestors. I performed the forbidden.
When the seer went to the Magical President and Congress and told of the prophecy. When the Majority Leader, Senator Cham, got on the news and told us all about the end of magic the devastation was clear. Many people had screamed, cried, killed themselves. But I knew of the ritual. I knew that I had to keep my magic. I had to, or I would die in the mundane world without it. I had carved out my life, my existence, based upon magic. I was a healer! A doctor! I used my magic to destroy things that still effected the mundane world! Without magic we would never come up with mundane means of curing things that no longer exist in our world. Our people would die as young as the mundane and not leave hundreds of years as we did now. We wouldn’t have time to expand out knowledge. A mortal life span of an average of forty years was not something that would be taken well. From hundreds of years to just a few short years. Most of the magical children would die. If one lived to be thirty they had a chance at maybe hitting sixty. To many illnesses to fight without magic. Our people would die. Not to mention the witch hunts. The mundane people were killing their own people because they dared be different. We worshiped the gods and goddesses. We worshiped nature. We thanked nature. We used nature to heal. To hurt. To live. To die. Our people wouldn’t be able to hide it forever and from here in London to the colonies, our people would die, murdered for being themselves. Murdered for not being Christian. I shuddered in that thought. I would have to hide myself, and the only way I knew how was to use my magic to hide my life style, to hide my beliefs, to hide my long life, to hide everything. So, I pulled the three-page book from the hidden vault of my family. I would do what was needed to keep my magic.
Over the next year the Senators went to their people, they started preparing them to live in the mundane world, spells were woven, rituals preformed, and offerings given. People had to start over, the currencies were different, the society was different. Less advanced. I took ‘medical’ classes in the mundane world, trying to figure out where they were, it was boring. Their ‘advancements’ were jokes. We had found these same advancements hundreds of years ago. So, now I would have to watch people die. Magic would be gone from the land. I would have mine, but mine would not be enough to save our people. Most of our healing magics took the magic of the person being healed. Mundane humans don’t have enough magic in their bodies to be able to use the cures. It will take centuries of work for me to figure out how to save magicless people the same way I do now. I will be in for a lot of failure. But at least I will have the chance to discover it. At least that was my view until I lay here with the blood upon my hands.
The blood lay upon my hands; I prayed to my goddess that it was a dream, a nightmare, but it wasn’t... I wanted to throw up. I did the magic. I preformed dark magic. I took seven Sun Magic users, seven innocents, and I cut out their hearts and while I used their magic to keep them alive, I drained their life blood from their hearts, I drained it into a black gold goblet with the symbol of Death upon it, the upside down Ankh and the Scarab Beetle mocked me the whole time. Death Magic was the ultimate darkness. But I drained their life blood into the goblet. I dropped their drained hearts back into their chest. When I drained their life blood their magic was in there as well. I then slit my wrist and allowed a half of pint of my blood to mix with theirs. My hands were blood stained as I called upon death offering their deaths as my sacrifice to keep my magic. I felt Death. Death was there with me. I closed my eyes and drained the goblet, drinking their blood and my own. With that the innocents died and I felt Death’s acceptance as I fell to my knees staring at my hands, the empty goblet now lying beside me. What had I done?