The Exile

Okay, this is a draft and needs more work but my focus was on the description, rather than the plot. I would actually need to stop at this point and start a plot in order for it to make sense. This is all the pantsing I have in me!

The Exile

Evralia woke with a start to the feeble rays of dawn peeking through the window. She pulled the nearby curtain aside and watched the sun’s slow ascent into the sky. Across the room, her sister Myresa sat up, rubbing her eyes.

“What is it Eve?” Myresa grumbled as she threw back the covers.

Evralia shook her raven-haired head and turned away from the window. “Nothing. Just a bad feeling, I guess.” Evralia rubbed the nightmare-driven goose bumps on her bare arms until they disappeared.

Myresa stretched and smoothed her tousled, short red hair away from her face. “I’m starving. You coming?”

Evralia nodded and followed her younger sister as she raced down the steps and into the kitchen. Both their parents sat at the oaken table, drinking coffee and talking. They stopped in mid-conversation as the girls came into the room.

Myresa skipped across the room to kiss her father. “Mornin’ Daddy.” She repeated this for their mother who smiled. Evralia went into the kitchen and filled a bowl full of fresh grapes and cheese before returning to the table. She sat at the farthest end away from her parents.

As she sat, a loud knock sounded at the door.

“I’ll get it,” Myresa prepared to lunge up from the table.

“No,” their father said and stood, looking at Evralia. “I’ll get it.”

Evralia felt an odd feeling of déjà vu. Her head swam with the images from this morning’s nightmare, which mirrored the current events. She looked down at her grapes then up at her mother, her face a mask of guilt and pain. Elexa’s eyes glinted with unshed tears as she stared at her oldest daughter and Evralia felt an anxious, invisible hand take hold of her heart.

Her father reappeared, followed by a tall, lanky man. A pitch-black cloak flowed from his shoulders to his ankles, obscuring parts of his dark clothing. The ominous tread of his boots on the hard wood floors resonated through the room. Immediate loathing surged through Evralia.

Elexa cleared her throat and attempted to speak. “Evralia, we need to discuss something with you.”

Evralia’s father held up his hand. “I’ll handle this.” He turned to face Evralia. “The Council has decided that you do not belong in the town any longer. They have demanded you be exiled.”

Evralia froze and stared at her father. “Exiled for what?”

Her father cleared his throat and looked away. The man standing next to him spoke.

“For your magic usage. The council believes you’ve been using dark magic.”

Evralia crossed her arms. “Did anyone bother to ask me?”

“There was no need. Indisputable proof was presented. Now you need to come with me.”

Evralia shook her head. This had been coming for some time but even so, she hadn’t expected the plot to succeed.

“Are all of you going to stand by and allow this?” Evralia looked from her father to her mother to her sister. They each looked at her, glassy fear mirrored in their eyes. The man pulled his cloak aside and drew forth an exquisite, hand-crafted wand. Long, thin, and tapered to a point from which a small circular design dangled from the end.

Evralia gasped. “You’re a Sethula.”

Myresa looked at the man with curious eyes. “What’s a Sethula?”

“They’re responsible for arresting and stripping magic from those who are deemed to be a threat. Anyone who gains too much magical power or who might use it for purposes the council feels to be inappropriate. Most of these people are never seen or heard from again.” Evralia stood, jostling her chair to the floor. The clatter echoed.