farmers and tradesmen, much like Magnellum is today, but with a far simpler political system. We all used the Talent you Witch-Born possess, just in smaller portions. And we all paid homage to the Host tree . . . the place where Magic dwelt."
He didn't like where this story was going. Magic, according to Fayree, originally belonged in the Wild and the Wild wanted Magic back. There wasn't a Witch in Magnellum who would willingly give up their Talent, and even if there were, he doubted that would appease the Wild. Besides, Magic Himself had been stolen from them, too. They literally had nothing to give the Wild.
"A woman named Median devised a way to extract Magic from the tree," Fayree said. "The intention-or so she said-was to give us a chance to speak to Magic. To give Magic a voice. She took a young man named Brasen and tattooed him with wards in the finest gold."
Winslow could remember those wards. He'd seen Magic up close the day the Dellidus attacked. Even in the horror of the moment, the man-god had been beautiful, shimmering golden light as power was drained from him.
"When Brasen touched the Host tree, Magic poured into its new corporeal form. We were all of us amazed," she continued, as they resumed hiking. "We'd lived for centuries with Magic, but never had the opportunity to speak with it. In the months that followed, we all took our turn with Magic, learning how best to harness our Talent. But the longer Magic stayed in Brasen, the darker the Host tree became.
"Our Talent started to change. Instead of being able to work our craftsmanship, we began to . . . shift. At first we couldn't predict it. One moment we would be ourselves and the next . . ."
"An animal," Winslow said, realization hitting him. Fayree really was a great cat.
She nodded at him and smiled sadly.
"I've never seen you as an animal," Mirabella said suddenly.
Fayree brushed curly hair away from her daughter's face. "I've had a lot of practice learning how to control it."
Mirabella seemed to accept this answer and continued walking. He watched her for a moment, thinking of Fayree's description of the timeless world outside the Pillars. He wouldn't want to raise a child that couldn't grow. That would be heartbreaking to the extreme.
"Mirabella . . ." he started to say but Fayree must have anticipated his question.
"My daughter was born in Magnellum. She isn't like the rest of us."
"Ah," Winslow said. "So . . . what has time got to do with this?"
Fayree sighed and shook her head. "We demanded that Median put Magic back."
"And . . . she refused?"
"No, she tried." Fayree frowned, her whole face pinching in concern. "But when Brasen touched the Host tree again, something else happened. Some say Median was standing too close. Others say she misplaced a ward on Brasen. The theories vary, but whatever it was that went wrong, it cursed Median. And through her, we are cursed."
"I don't understand. What kind of curse?"
"Median is stuck. She is constantly pushed through Past, Present and Future. You know her as Fate."
Winslow stopped walking again, this time out of shock.
"Mother, Maiden and Crone," he said reflexively.
"Her body shifts because it cannot stop. She is constantly in flux, you see?" Fayree said.
"Let me get this straight," Winslow said. "Fate, the Deity that all of Magnellum worships, is really a cursed Tre`ow named Median who may or may not have intentionally stolen Magic from a tree in the Wild?"
"The Host tree is not merely a tree, sir. Please do not take it lightly," Fayree said stiffly. "For thousands of years it protected us and brought us prosperity. Without Magic it has continued to decay, slowly dying right in front of us. And believe me when I tell you that any Tre`ow would gladly give their life to heal it."
"Is that why you're here? To find Magic?"
Her expression suddenly closed. "No, Lord Agoston. I already told you. I am a fugitive from my own people."
A hollow hooting belched into the air and Winslow glanced
He didn't like where this story was going. Magic, according to Fayree, originally belonged in the Wild and the Wild wanted Magic back. There wasn't a Witch in Magnellum who would willingly give up their Talent, and even if there were, he doubted that would appease the Wild. Besides, Magic Himself had been stolen from them, too. They literally had nothing to give the Wild.
"A woman named Median devised a way to extract Magic from the tree," Fayree said. "The intention-or so she said-was to give us a chance to speak to Magic. To give Magic a voice. She took a young man named Brasen and tattooed him with wards in the finest gold."
Winslow could remember those wards. He'd seen Magic up close the day the Dellidus attacked. Even in the horror of the moment, the man-god had been beautiful, shimmering golden light as power was drained from him.
"When Brasen touched the Host tree, Magic poured into its new corporeal form. We were all of us amazed," she continued, as they resumed hiking. "We'd lived for centuries with Magic, but never had the opportunity to speak with it. In the months that followed, we all took our turn with Magic, learning how best to harness our Talent. But the longer Magic stayed in Brasen, the darker the Host tree became.
"Our Talent started to change. Instead of being able to work our craftsmanship, we began to . . . shift. At first we couldn't predict it. One moment we would be ourselves and the next . . ."
"An animal," Winslow said, realization hitting him. Fayree really was a great cat.
She nodded at him and smiled sadly.
"I've never seen you as an animal," Mirabella said suddenly.
Fayree brushed curly hair away from her daughter's face. "I've had a lot of practice learning how to control it."
Mirabella seemed to accept this answer and continued walking. He watched her for a moment, thinking of Fayree's description of the timeless world outside the Pillars. He wouldn't want to raise a child that couldn't grow. That would be heartbreaking to the extreme.
"Mirabella . . ." he started to say but Fayree must have anticipated his question.
"My daughter was born in Magnellum. She isn't like the rest of us."
"Ah," Winslow said. "So . . . what has time got to do with this?"
Fayree sighed and shook her head. "We demanded that Median put Magic back."
"And . . . she refused?"
"No, she tried." Fayree frowned, her whole face pinching in concern. "But when Brasen touched the Host tree again, something else happened. Some say Median was standing too close. Others say she misplaced a ward on Brasen. The theories vary, but whatever it was that went wrong, it cursed Median. And through her, we are cursed."
"I don't understand. What kind of curse?"
"Median is stuck. She is constantly pushed through Past, Present and Future. You know her as Fate."
Winslow stopped walking again, this time out of shock.
"Mother, Maiden and Crone," he said reflexively.
"Her body shifts because it cannot stop. She is constantly in flux, you see?" Fayree said.
"Let me get this straight," Winslow said. "Fate, the Deity that all of Magnellum worships, is really a cursed Tre`ow named Median who may or may not have intentionally stolen Magic from a tree in the Wild?"
"The Host tree is not merely a tree, sir. Please do not take it lightly," Fayree said stiffly. "For thousands of years it protected us and brought us prosperity. Without Magic it has continued to decay, slowly dying right in front of us. And believe me when I tell you that any Tre`ow would gladly give their life to heal it."
"Is that why you're here? To find Magic?"
Her expression suddenly closed. "No, Lord Agoston. I already told you. I am a fugitive from my own people."
A hollow hooting belched into the air and Winslow glanced
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