Kamare Nakirka's Arc

Chapter 1 of 3

Kamare wanted magic so badly her hands shook, and that was the problem. She stood in a clearing at dusk, a stolen spellbook open on a stump. She wanted power. She wanted to shape fire and light like the mages in the old tales. But no one had ever taught her the first rule of any of it. So she guessed. She read the words aloud from the page. They felt wrong in her mouth, heavy and strange. A spark bloomed between her palms. Then it swelled, hissed, and burst. The blast threw her onto her back. Her sleeve smoked. A red welt rose along her wrist, and her ears rang. Kamare sat up, gasping. The spellbook lay singed at the edges. She realized the plain truth. Books alone could not teach her. Without a teacher, the next spell might take her hand, or her eyes. She could not keep guessing. She gathered the book and walked deeper into the woods, hunting for anyone who had once known these arts. Past a stand of pale, glowing flowers on a trailing vine, she found it. A little hut leaned in a hollow, swallowed by moss and creeping green. Vines gripped its weathered walls like fingers. The door hung crooked. No smoke rose from the chimney. Whoever lived here had left long ago. Kamare pushed the door open. Dust drifted in the last light. Inside stood shelves crowded with spellbooks and alchemy texts. Loose pages spilled over the edges. Dead plants sat shriveled in clay pots between the rows. A hermit mage had lived here, and died here, and left everything behind. She ran her fingers along the cracked spines. These books might hold real teaching. But the same danger waited in every one. She had no one to check her, no one to stop her before a spell tore her apart. Then a light stirred in the corner. Kamare froze. A tiny figure rose from a nest of pages, no taller than her hand. Golden skin, dragon wings, a long tail curling behind her. The creature hovered, studying Kamare with sharp, ancient eyes. "You read like a child playing with knives," the fairy said. Her voice was small and clear. "I heard your little explosion from here. The master kept me to guard his work. He is gone. You are the first fool to walk in and not run." Kamare's heart pounded. "Can you teach me?" The fairy circled her once, slow. "I can. The master taught me his rules before the fever took him." She landed on the shelf and folded her wings. "But I don't teach the reckless. You will do exactly as I say, from the first word. Break my rules, and I let the magic burn you." Kamare looked at her smoking sleeve, then at the golden fairy. She had come to find a teacher. She had found one with sharp terms. "Teach me," Kamare said. "I'll follow your rules." The fairy smiled, and it was not a kind smile. "Then we begin tonight."