A Midnight Summons

The summons had been both brief and urgent. Despite waking from a deep sleep, Melinda slipped on her robe and dashed down the stone-cold and darkened halls toward Anya’s quarters. Whatever she wanted had to be serious for her to pull Melinda away at this hour. Had Anya’s illness flared up again? Time had taken a significant toll in the last year, so now Anya looked every bit of her 78 years. Melinda’s heart raced with her footfalls.

As she reached Anya’s quarters, the door stood ajar, and light spilled into the hall. With trepidation, Melinda pushed the door open and stepped inside. Silhouetted by candlelight, Anya sat behind her desk, her face lined and weary but her eyes still keen and bright.

“Thank you for coming, my dear,” Anya said in low tones. “Please close the door.”

Melinda turned to do so and froze. In the shadows cast by the open door, next to the wall, stood a large, hooded figure, still as a statue. The looming presence weighed upon her, drawing a chill from her bones.

“It is quite all right,” Anya soothed.

Melinda finished pushing the door shut, then stepped back until she stood before Anya’s desk. Without looking away from the stranger, she asked, “Who is this, Head Mistress?”

“A visitor,” Anya replied, “and the reason I called you here.”

A shiver coursed down her back. “What does this have to do with me?”

Anya leaned back in her seat. “I want you to hear what he has to say.” She nodded toward the figure and said in her commanding voice, “Come now, speak.”

The figure lunged forward—Melinda gasped and stumbled back into the desk. He stopped and then eased into the light. The candlelight fell upon his dark robes, weathered and worn, frayed at the edges, stained with small white circles of sea salt. He loomed over them both by at least a foot. In his arms lay a small bundle wrapped in a green blanket.

“I mean you no harm,” a rough voice said. “I need a favor.”

Try as she might, Melinda still could not make out the man’s face. “I do not talk to ghosts – show your face.”

An arm detached from the bundle reached up and pulled back the hood. As he did so, the robe sleeve slipped away from his wrists, revealing tattoos of a red dragon, a sword in its arms, and a flaming pentagram in the claws of his hind legs.

Melinda suppressed a scream. The tattoos marked him as Shatain—a shadow warrior of the High King. But the High King had been dead for centuries, and Shatain was merely a whisper of the past. Dark tales told around fireplaces to wayward children. Yet here he stood before her.

The bundle in his arms moved, and a soft cry came from it. Melinda’s eyes snapped to the bundle, and a small pink hand rose from it, groping at the air. The Shatain reached over with a large, knuckled hand and let the baby’s fingers close on his index finger.

Melinda looked at Anya. “What is happening here?”

“A challenge and an opportunity, perhaps,” Anya replied. She commanded the man once again, “Explain yourself.”

With his face rigid, he fixed his cold grey eyes on the women. “I am Gall, and I have come to ask for sanctuary for this child.”

Anya asked, “Why do you wish us to take in the foundling? There must be others who can do that.”

The large man hesitated. “There is no one.”

Melinda shook her head. “Our rules are clear. We don’t take in children younger than ten years of age. We are neither a nursery nor an orphanage.”

Another higher-pitched, more demanding cry rose from the child. Melinda winced as a dull ache coursed through her. Gall glanced at the infant and bounced it a few times, but the child let out another needy cry.

“I cannot take care of her,” he said. “She will need to be guided or may fall into darkness – and be a danger to herself and everyone around her.”

“How do you know this?” Melinda asked.

Gall’s eyes flicked to Anya, but she only smiled thinly. “See for yourself.” He extended a hand over the child’s head and whispered, “Revela te.” A brilliant aura of green and blue flared over the child’s features—strong magical abilities, notable but not out of the ordinary. But then a deep red flared around the infant’s form, a wispy aura that resembled flames.

A chill ran down Melinda’s spine. Only dark magic gave off that effect. “How does an infant have such capabilities?”

Again, Gall gave a furtive glance at Anya. “That she does is all I can say.”

“The child must have parents. What of them?”

“They are unwilling or unable to raise the child.”

“And if we don’t take her?”

“Then she will die,” Gall said, his face impassive. The child cried again, louder.

Melinda’s fists clenched. To bring such a child into Avalir was dangerous. Should the dark magic manifest itself fully, the child could potentially turn on them. But with Druidic discipline, perhaps she could control it.

She turned to Anya. “What should we do?”

Anya looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “If the mother doesn’t want her, why should we take her in? Perhaps it’s not meant to live. We’d be going against nature.”

Another plaintive wail echoed in the room. Melinda closed her eyes until the pain of the cry passed. “I disagree. It’s not unknown for animals to raise young that aren’t their own. We can’t brush aside life. I say we take the child.” She pointed at Gall, “Because if one thing is clear, she won’t survive in his care.”

Gall frowned. Anya stood up. “Then we’ll take her in, and you, Melinda, will raise her.”

Melinda whipped around, eyes wide. “But I don’t know about raising babies. I have duties with the Acolytes.”

“Are you saying you can’t do it?”

“Well, no,” Melinda muttered. As the oldest of seven children, she knew something of child-rearing. “I just haven’t cared for infants before.”

Anya smiled. “Then you’ll learn – as nature intended.” She waved at Gall, “Bring the child.” He stepped forward and held forth the bundle. A pink arm popped out, fingers wandering to its small round face, topped with a shock of black hair and brown eyes. With a smile, Melinda took the bundle.

“Leave the way you came,” Anya commanded. Gall nodded. He slipped back into the shadows, pulled the door open, and paused momentarily, glancing back towards Melinda. She looked up. Candlelight reflected a glint in his eyes before he disappeared.

Melinda stroked the child’s cheek, and it turned to mouth her fingertip. “What should we call her?”

Anya shrugged, “He said her name was ‘Larah,’ but I suppose you can call her whatever you like.”

“Larah,” Melinda said with a musical lilt. “I like that name.”

“Would you have let her die?” Melinda asked, looking up.

The older woman gave the child a long look. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

“You said she was an opportunity. What did you mean?”

“We have a good chance to shape the child to represent Avalir and its ideals.” Melinda nodded. “Go take her back to your quarters. Have some Acolytes bring goat’s milk for that empty tummy.”

Wrinkling her nose at a new smell, Melinda asked, “Care to help?”

Anya waved the question away. “No, I’m quite too old for that. Enjoy the sleepless nights.”

“Good night, Mistress,” Melinda said with a smile. She turned and slipped through the doorway, then stopped. “Why would a Shatain bring an infant to us? What could motivate such a creature to do that?”

“A question for another day. Good night.”

---

After Melinda left with the infant, Anya sank into her chair, her chest tight with regret. Should she have told Melinda about the child’s mother? Better the child be raised without the burden of being judged by her parentage.

As she gazed out the window at the Gulf of Aruna, a sharp pain in her chest reminded her of her mortality. Had she made the right decision, calling Melinda down, knowing this child would become her successor’s burden?

The pain gripped her chest like a vise, and she couldn’t breathe. “Oh no…”

---

Three Years Later

“Larah, come back here!” Melinda called, chasing the giggling toddler through the garden. The child’s dark curls bounced as she darted between flowering bushes.

Catching her at last, Melinda scooped her up, feeling a rush of love that still surprised her after three years. Sometimes, she could hardly remember life before this small whirlwind entered it.

Word of Anya’s passing that first night had brought grief but also responsibility. Melinda had become Head Mistress sooner than expected, with an infant to raise alongside her duties.

Yet watching Larah grow brought daily joy. The child showed remarkable aptitude already—flowers bloomed brighter in her presence, and small objects sometimes moved when she laughed.

The red aura hadn’t reappeared since that first night. Sometimes Melinda wondered if she’d imagined it, but other times, in moments of Larah’s frustration, the air around her seemed to shimmer with unusual heat.

“Time for your lessons,” Melinda said, carrying the squirming child indoors.

“No lessons!” Larah protested, though her eyes sparkled with curiosity.

“Just a short one today,” Melinda promised. “About respecting all living things.”

---

Seven Years Later

Shrieks followed ten-year-old Rhianna as she barged into the study, causing Melinda to drop the materials she studied. “What’s wrong?” she asked, struggling to corral scattered scrolls.

Bouncing on her toes, Rhianna pointed at her head. “Look what she did!”

Melinda looked up and covered her mouth to hide a smile. “How did your hair turn pink?”

Rhianna scowled and jabbed her finger toward the doorway. Melinda followed the gesture just in time to see a black-haired mass of curls disappear from view. “Ask Larah.”

A few minutes later, with Rhianna in tow, Melinda found Larah in the Ogamah grove, perched in a tree. “Explain yourself, young lady.”

Larah sat silent for a moment. “Rhianna said I couldn’t turn her hair pink, and I said I could. She dared me to, so I did.”

Melinda looked at Rhianna. “Is this true?”

Rhianna nodded. “Yeah.”

Melinda frowned and turned back to Larah. “What’s the first rule of The Principles?”

Larah sighed. “Never use magic on someone unless you’re in danger. But I didn’t hurt her.”

“Come with me, both of you,” Melinda said, motioning for the girls to follow. Larah climbed down while Rhianna trailed behind. They walked to where new tree saplings sat in pots.

Melinda lifted one pot and set it on a low stone wall. “What color should I turn this plant?”

Rhianna blinked but then exclaimed, “Red!”

“Rubum,” Melinda said, then snapped her fingers. The plant instantly turned red. Rhianna squealed while Larah smiled. “Flavum.” Snap. Yellow. “Purpura.” Snap. Purple. “Albineus.” Snap. White.

The girls glanced at each other as their smiles dimmed. Melinda repeated the color changes, faster now. The plant began to droop. A leaf fell off. The colors became less vibrant. Another round and the plant started to lean. The tips of the leaves darkened.

Larah leaned forward. “Can we stop?” But Melinda continued until the plant blackened and collapsed.

The girls stared in silence.

“Magic can kill. Even when we don’t want it to,” Melinda explained gently. “Using magic on someone just because you can doesn’t mean you should. Do you understand?”

They both nodded.

“Change Rhianna’s hair back,” Melinda instructed. Larah nodded, looked at Rhianna, and muttered the undoing spell with a snap of her fingers. Rhianna’s hair returned to gold.

“Now, Rhianna, apologize to Larah.”

The girl looked stunned. “But why? She turned my hair pink!”

“You dared her to do it, which showed poor judgment.”

The girl pouted.

Melinda took her chin gently. “We can’t control what others do, but we can control what we do ourselves. When you dared Larah, you set this whole thing in motion. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Rhianna said. She turned to Larah. “I’m sorry I dared you. That wasn’t right.”

Larah blushed. “I forgive you. I’m sorry I didn’t resist using magic.”

Rhianna hugged her. “You’re forgiven.”

After Rhianna left, Melinda rubbed Larah’s shoulders. “Remember, your gift for magic is powerful. Be careful when using it – magic has unpredictable effects, and you can hurt someone if you’re not careful.”

Larah nodded, but Melinda noticed the girl’s eyes following the other child, longing for friendship in a life otherwise filled with lessons and responsibility.

---

Two Years Later

Larah looped through the Ogamah grove, running her fingertips across the smooth, silvery bark. “Hello, Lilibeth,” she murmured to her favorite tree. She rounded Lilibeth’s trunk and paused to watch the sun rise over the Gulf waters.

A squawk and chirp caught her attention. Above her in the outstretched boughs, she spotted a nest with fuzzy-headed Thrush chicks.

Each morning after that, she came to sit under Lilibeth, watching the mother bird feed her brood. She witnessed the chicks fledge and leave the nest one by one.

One morning, Larah arrived to hear flapping and squawking from the base of a nearby tree. A Thrush chick stood on the ground, panting and flipping itself, trying to get airborne.

The sharp cry of a hawk cut through the air. Larah looked up to see the large form circling the grove. It must have spotted the struggling Thrush. She hesitated, remembering the lessons about not interfering with nature. But nothing said she couldn’t return an animal to its home.

She scooped up the bird. Its wing wouldn’t move—broken, she concluded. A simple mend spell would heal it, but that wasn’t allowed. Instead, she tucked the bird into her pocket, climbed Lilibeth, and placed it back in the nest.

Later, she found Melinda in her study. “What are you reading?” Larah asked.

“Applicants to join the order,” Melinda answered.

“How do you decide who to accept?”

“Those who would enhance our community and benefit from what we offer.”

“But it’s their choice to join.”

Melinda cocked her head. “Yes. Though sometimes parents try to dump unwanted children on us, we always give the children the option to join. We don’t force it.”

“Except in my case,” Larah said quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“I was a baby. I didn’t get to choose.”

“That’s true,” Melinda acknowledged. “Are you unhappy here?”

Larah shook her head. “No, not at all. I just wonder why I was different.”

“You were a baby who needed help. Turning you away would have gone against our mission.”

“That could be true of any abandoned child.”

“Children with magical abilities must be trained by those who understand magical power and consequences. Without training, you’d endanger yourself and others.”

“So if I hadn’t any magical ability, I would have been sent away?”

Melinda leaned forward and cupped Larah’s face. “I chose to take you in and raise you despite what that entailed. I don’t regret that decision. You’re my daughter, no matter who your parents are or what events brought you to Avalir.”

Larah wrapped her arms around Melinda. “And you’re my mother.”

The next morning, Larah returned to the grove. A large turkey vulture perched on nearby eaves. A high-pitched peep drew her attention to the ground—the Thrush chick had fallen again.

Larah picked up the bird and retreated under Lilibeth. With a sigh, she caressed its head and fed it seeds. The bird looked up gratefully. What to do? The poor thing was helpless yet healing it would violate her oaths. Left alone, it would die.

She agonized over the decision until evening, then, with misgivings, placed it back in the nest.

The storm that raged the next day kept her indoors, anxiety gnawing at her. When she finally returned to the grove, her heart sank seeing the feathered form lying motionless on the ground.

With care, she scooped it up and buried the remains beneath Lilibeth’s roots, tears streaming down her face as she worked. She could have saved it but had followed the rules instead.

“I’m sorry, little one,” she whispered, patting the small mound of earth.

That night, her dreams were troubled by images of falling and being unable to fly.

---

Five Years Later

Sobs drifted from Melinda’s study. Larah put down her book and found the Head Mistress looking out the window, cradling Passion, their 18-year-old cat.

“Is something wrong?” Larah asked gently.

Melinda turned tear tracks on her face. “It’s Passion. She’s dying.”

Larah had noticed the cat getting slower lately and losing weight. Still, the words made her chest tighten. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. She’s too weak to move; nothing more can be done.” Melinda laid the golden-haired feline on the windowsill. “I’ll let her look at the sunset one last time.” Leaning over, she kissed Passion’s head. “Goodbye, my dear. You’ll always have a place in my heart.” With that, she walked out.

Larah approached, stroked Passion’s soft fur, and felt weak but noticeable purring. Memories flooded back—Passion curled in Melinda’s lap during evening readings, following them through the gardens, sleeping at the foot of Larah’s bed during thunderstorms.

The memory of the Thrush chick surfaced as she watched the sunset. She couldn’t save the bird, but maybe…

Later that night, she raced into the study and knelt beside Passion. A pulse still beat within the cat’s feeble body. Larah closed her eyes, placed both hands on the cat, and muttered the mending spell.

A blue glow surrounded her hands. Her fingertips grew cold. Then, heat raced through her bones. A scream tore from her lungs before darkness claimed her.

---

Wringing her hands, Melinda stared down at Larah’s unconscious form. The infirmary was quiet except for the girl’s shallow breathing.

“Will she survive?” Melinda asked the nurse.

“If she wakes up, yes,” the nurse said. “But she should be dead.”

“Why do you say that?”

The nurse looked around and then lowered her voice. “Passion’s life thread snapped the moment Larah attempted to heal her. But somehow, Larah tied the cat’s life thread to her own, bringing the animal back.”

“That’s impossible,” Melinda whispered, chilled. Such abilities belonged only to immortals and necromancers—practitioners of the darkest magic.

“The only reason she survived was because she passed out when the cat’s life thread failed again. Otherwise, she likely would have died too.”

A groan rose from the bed. Melinda turned and leaned close to Larah.

The girl opened her eyes. “What happened?”

Melinda blinked back tears. “You tried to save Passion.”

“Did it work?” Larah asked weakly.

“No, dear. But you nearly died in the attempt.”

Larah’s eyes filled with tears. “I just wanted to help.”

“I know,” Melinda said, stroking her hair. “But there are boundaries even magic can’t—and shouldn’t—cross.”

Later, when Larah had fallen asleep again, Melinda stood at the window. The red aura Gall had revealed long ago had manifested in this powerful, dangerous ability. How could she teach Larah to respect the boundaries between life and death when something in her very nature rebelled against them?

---

A Month Later

“I have a project for you,” Melinda said. She led Larah to another greenhouse room and pointed to a ceramic pot, an urn of soil, and a tiny red seed. “This is a Capatalia flower seed. You must care for it until it flowers and produces a seed.”

“Are there any special instructions?” Larah asked, studying the seed.

“No. It should germinate in two weeks, flower in two more, and produce a seed in another two.”

After Melinda left, Larah potted the seed, watered it, and set it to catch the morning sunlight. Every day, she visited the plant, watching it sprout, grow, and fill with large five-pointed leaves. A sizeable green bulb appeared at the top, blooming into a beautiful red flower with many petals.

Melinda appeared one morning as Larah watered the plant. “I see it’s thriving.”

“It should seed next week,” Larah replied.

Melinda nodded with a small smile. “That will be very interesting.”

The next day, however, the plant lost vigor. Some petals had fallen, and the leaves looked limp and spotted. Larah checked the soil and pot—everything seemed right. When she returned the following day, however, more petals had fallen, and a leaf had turned brown.

Concerned, she replanted it, hoping it would recover. Yet it looked even worse afterward. Instead of seeding, the plant was dying.

Remembering Passion, Larah hesitated. But this was just a plant, not an animal. What harm could it cause? She touched the plant and whispered the mend spell. Her hands glowed briefly, and the flower regained some color.

By the following day, the plant had slumped, leaves and flowers gone. Horrified, Larah touched it and cast the mend spell more intensely this time. Sweat broke out on her brow, and her stomach knotted as she worked. Finally, it stood upright and green again, with new buds and a bulb at the tip.

Returning later, she found only a blackened stem drooping onto the soil. What had happened? A hand touched her shoulder as she knelt and prepared to try again.

“Larah,” Melinda said gently. “Please stop. It won’t help.”

Larah looked up, disappointment evident. “I tried everything. Nothing worked.”

Melinda smiled sadly. “Bring the plant and follow me.” Together, they walked to the Ogamah grove and stood by Lilibeth. “Plant the flower at the base.”

“But it’s dead,” Larah protested.

“Do as I ask, please,” Melinda insisted.

After Larah finished, Melinda took her hand and walked away together.

---

The next day, Larah gasped when she entered the grove. Silver-white flowers covered every branch of Lilibeth. “What is this?” she wondered.

“Those are Ogamah flowers,” Melinda explained, appearing beside her. “They’ll produce seeds in two days.”

As predicted, tiny red seeds covered the ground when they returned. Larah picked one up. “This is a Capatalia seed! I didn’t know Ogamah trees produced these.”

“The Capatalia plant produces seeds for the Ogamah tree,” Melinda explained.

Larah stood silent. “But I couldn’t get my plant to seed. What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing. The Capatalia only produces seed when planted at the base of a dead Ogamah tree.”

“Then there was no way I could have succeeded?”

“That’s correct,” Melinda confirmed.

Larah frowned. “What was the point?”

“You needed to understand the cycle of life. By preventing death, we interfere with nature’s balance. The Ogamah renews itself through the Capatalia, and the Capatalia through the Ogamah. One cannot live without the other dying, and nothing we do can change that.”

Melinda wrapped her in a hug. “You are my Capatalia flower. Beautiful, sweet, and needed. You and your fellow Acolytes will renew life at Avalir, even when us old Ogamah trees are gone.”

Larah closed her eyes and hugged Melinda tightly. “I love you.”

“Always and forever,” Melinda replied.

As they walked back to the main building, Larah asked, “Do you think I’ll ever know where I came from? Who were my parents?”

Melinda hesitated. “Would knowing change who you are now?”

“No,” Larah said after a moment. “But it might help me understand my magic better.”

“I wish I knew,” Melinda said. “But Anya did not share the information before she died.”

That night, Larah dreamed of a blonde woman with green eyes, a red aura enveloping her, as she groped in the darkness.