The Birth of a Mage

Zenthria Darkwing came from a long line of Dark Mages. In fact, her family was so powerful that if the Dark Lord were ever to fall, may the Goddess of Death prevent that, her father was the first in line to assume the Death Throne. She knew her father, Isac, longed for the Dark Lord to fall and for him to take the Way of the Skulls to the Throne. Zenthria thought the idea was so ridiculous it would have been hilarious if it were not for her father’s constant scheming. She knew the Dark Lord would never fall. Even after the Colored Mages had managed to push him back into Uman Gol and trap him at the End of the World, he had more power in his pinkie finger than her father had in his entire body.

         Of course, her father refused to believe this and so his schemes continued. Image in Uman Gol society went hand-in-hand with his scheming. This fact had brought Zenthria to her tiny attic bedroom. The same bedroom which she had not left for five years, she often grew restless, but there was nothing to be done for it. When she had been younger she had kicked and screamed for hours on end willing someone outside their house to hear here. No one did, as was made obvious by the fact she was still stuck in the bedroom. She had not dare touched the door knob since the time she had burned almost all of the skin on her right hand off trying to open it. The window did open however, but it was kept under constant surveillance.

         Zenthria paced nervously back and forth across the room. It was exactly five years to the day that she had been sentenced to solitude in the attic. The problem was that Zenthria did not possess one Dark Gift, not one! Every person in Uman Gol was required, by law, to have at least one Dark Gift. If not, the family name was put to shame and the individual was forced to walk the Path of Death to the sacrificial pit called The Harrow. It was a large pit in the ground with a yawning mouth. If one were to look down inside of it, one would see rows upon rows of razor sharp teeth lining the sides as far as the eye could see. As soon as the gift-less person, or Lifeless as they were known in Uman Gol, was pushed inside the pit would close itself and begin to digest its pray. Once digested, it was sent to the Dark Lord so he could consume the life force of his people and continue to live and gain power.

         The idea of The Harrow sent shivers down Zenthria’s spine. She had no wish to walk that path. She always had a chance, but she instantly dismissed the thought. Zenthria knew she had not developed any sort of Gift in her exile, she was due to meet her father sometime soon for an evaluation, but she was positive the outcome would end in death for her.

She threw herself down on the small window seat in the bedroom and stared at the sight in front of her. It was not as if the scene ever changed. Her family lived far from the cities of Uman Gol. Since they were the highest ranking nobles in Uman Gol, they were removed from any attempts of assassination or betrayal by living on the border. So instead of seeing at least a city full of people, Zenthria saw fog. The fog was so thick that she could barely see more than ten feet outside the window on a given day. On a good day she could make out the gray, cracked ground and a blackened tree near the barn which held her families horses. Tha land was never green and had not been for many centuries. When the Dark Lord had been confined at the edge of this kingdom, the land began to die and fog rolled in to cover everything in sight. Zenthria had never even seen the sky or a blade of grass. She use to read about them, before she had been forced into confinment.

Zenthria jumped as three loud knocks echoed in the empty bedroom. The bedroom was too small for anything more than a bed and a chest. She got up slowly, smoothing her dark clothing and went to the door.

“Yes?” She questioned coldly. It would not have done for her to become meek and kind in her exile, it would have only made her a weaker individual if she had developed a Gift. She supposed it did not really matter anymore, but habits were hard to break.

“Test time,” came the low voice of one of the many servants. The door swung open slowly and Zenthria stepped outside, wishing nothing more to go back into the room she use to fight to get out of.

Zenthria followed the rather ambiguous looking servant down the servant’s stair case into the formal dining room. At the head of the table sat her father, his face set in a grim mask of disapproval. Her mother sat to the left of her father in a demure black dress, her long black hair twisted into a knot in the back of her head. Zenthria’s mother, Asa, always looked severe but seemed more so today. Her features were hard and cold with no hint of love or compassion within them.

The formal dining room had not changed a bit in Zenthria’s absences. The walls were white washed and the blacking dining set was set on top of an even darker carpet. There were not decorations or pictures. Her family did not hold pride in such things. They like to live simply. The servant helped Zenthria to a seat on the opposite end of the table than her father and promptly left. She watched the servant go, still not sure it had been a man or a woman. She kept her thoughts to herself and faced her father, positive her features were just as grim as his.

“Zenthria Darkwing, you have now been exiled a total of five winters. We judged this to be plenty of time for you to reflect and make your powers established to us. Have you found said powers?” Her father’s voice reminded her much of the thunderstorms she could sometimes make out on the other side of the border. It had a booming, echoing quality to it with softer undertones of malicious rain.

“No Sir Father. The Goddess of Darkness has not deemed me worthy enough to bare her Dark Gifts.” Zenthria’s eyes did not waiver from her father’s even as she heard her mother making a sound very similar to that of a snake or a feral cat.

“How dare you be brazen enough to even mention Her title. Worthless wench, you have forgotten your place in your many years of exile.” Her mother spit out the sentence, but Zenthria did not even grant her a glance. There was no love loss between herself and her mother.

“Asa enough,” her father said slowly. “ Zenthria, you know what lies before you. I hasten you to finish whatever you must before you walk the Path of Death. You will be awaked as soon as the sun rises to leave for the Path. You are no longer part of this family. I strip you of our family title and name. When you go to your death you will announce your name as Z or say you have forgotten it. I care not, just make sure it is not our name less you dishonor us further.”

Zenthria still knew a dismissal when she heard one. She got up quickly and headed back to her attic without a second glance at anything. It was not her house, it never really had been. She fought tears as she pushed opened her bedroom door, still not daring to touch the handle, the scars on her hand were enough for her. As soon as she entered her room she stopped dead, dread filling her heart. It was exactly what she had not wanted to see.

“Sister,” the tall boy in the middle of her room smiled maliciously at her.

“Malachi,” Zenthria nodded to her brother. She was oldest in her family with Malachi coming next. She had four siblings each with extraordinary Dark Gifts. The Goddess had forgotten her, Zenthria hoped She had planned more for her life than to walk the Path.

“I hear that you are to be sent to walk the Path tomorrow. You aren’t…shall we say…planning anything, are you Zenny?” Zenthria fought not to gag at the nickname her brother gave her as she began to fold the clothing on her bed. She recognized the honeyed voice her brother was using on her. It was his Dark Gift of Manipulation. He could manipulate anyone’s mind to say whatever information he wanted from them. Anyone’s mind with the exception of Zenthria’s, that is.

“No Malachi, how many times must I tell you that?” She continued to fold her clothes, making sure not to look Malachi in the eyes. He was very observant and could usually tell when a person was lying.

“Well, what a pity.” Zenthria felt a gloved hand stroke her long, black hair slowly making its way to graze her cheek. “You are quite a beautiful girl even with your eyes. You could have made a fine bride to another noble man.”

Unconsciously Zenthria touched the corner or her eye. Her eyes, for whatever reason, were not the normal piercing black of the Darklen, but were bright blue. Zenthria almost laughed at the word Darklen, it was considered to be disrespectful in Uman Gol, but it was the rest of the world’s slang for the people there. She had never really understood why it had not caught on, since everything they wore had to be dark and their hair and eyes were always dark, Zenthria thought it was most appropriate. Zentrhai continued to fold and refold the clothes in front of her, not wanting to meet Malachi's eyes. He put a hand on zenthria's shoulder and forced her to turn and look at him.

“Ah, Zenny, you always were hard to presuede. How is my Gift does not work on you?.” Malachi shook his head, a cold smile beginning to cross his face. Zenthria shrugged her shoulders. She honestly had never thought about why Malachi's powers never worked on her. She figured she was just lucky, the only thing in her life in which she was lucky.

“Oh sister, sister, sister, are you sure you are not planning anything?” This time his vocie was normal, although his eyes searched her's carefully.

“What would you have me do, Malachi? Fake a calling and gone to serve the Dark Lord? He would have seen through my lie in an instant. Escape into Narci? You know how they treat us Darklens.” Zenthria said carefully, not wanting to even give the slightest hint she did, indeed, have a plan.

“Don’t you dare call us that! You may be a Lifeless, but you are still kin.” Malachi closed the distance between them quickly, pulling off one of his gloved hands. “I could kill you in an instant. Any death I pleased, anyway I pleased.”

“To what end, Malachi? All you have done then is deprived The Harrow of a meal and the Dark Lord of more life. I am young and would add several years to his lifespan.” Zenthria tried not to panic. Malachi had threatened her before, but this time he looked as if he actually meant it. She fought to keep her eyes cool and her breath under control. She did not want to let on how scared she actually was.

“This is true, it will be so much more satisfying to watch you walk to your death. Oh and trust me, I will be there, every single step of the way.” Malachi slowly lowered his hand, he started toward the door before he looked back at her. "Oh and Zenthria? I look forward to this."

With that, Malachi left the room, letting the door swing shut behing him. Zenthria made sure she heard the door click shut before she slowly got off of the bed. She went carefully to her chest and opened up. It had been searched on numerous occasions for any sort of evidence of an attempted escape, but they never found any. Zenthria always made sure of that. The lid creaked open and she lifted out a neat pile of black clothing and an old pair of riding leathers. For five years, she had been in this bedroom praying she would develop a Gift. For five years, she had been frighting, beat, and verbally abused.

Tonight, however, tonight was going to be different. She was not going to walk the Path, she refused to. Zenthria may be many things but she was not a coward. She always believed there was a way out and one day many months ago, she had found one. She had been pacing around her bedroom, at a lost for what to do when she kept hearing the same hollow clunking sound. She finally found a loose floorboard with a small, leather bound book inside of it. She had quickly opened and read the contents, amazed to discover she was not the first Darkwing to be kept in the attic.



The day is 24, month 6 of the Second Age. I have been banished to the attic room for only a couple days, but I know they plan my death. Everything has been coldly calculated and laid out. I will walk the Path and be given as a sacrifice to Kuhai. I will not go, I will NOT give my Light Powers to the Dark One. With them, he would be more powerful than the dawn, destroying everything and anyone in his path. I have to escape. I know little of the way Uman Gol is run, but I do know that its protector, the terrible creature that is half-man and half-bird called the Garuda, crosses into the darker half of this land at the stroke of midnight and does not cross back over until the stroke of three. I will leave at midnight to ensure that I have enough time to reach Narci. I shall leave this small book behind to help whatever poor soul has managed to find this hiding spot. I bid you good luck,

                                          Etos Darkwing



Zenthria had never been as relieved as to find that she was not alone and that someone had known more than her. The journal had also contained drawings of Uman Gol’s winged protector, what supplies to take, and how to get out of the house unseen. She had quickly hid the journal back in its hiding spot and began to prepare. For months now she had been saving up bits of dried meat and gold coin. While she was banished to her room, she received coin every month for what her parents called necessities. She had begun saving the coin as soon as she found the book and now had at least a small sack full. She had prepared and planned everything down to the very minute. She would leave a little before midnight out her window for that was when the guards below changed their post. The previous guard always left before the new one got there, so she knew that was her only chance.

Then she would sneak across the roof and drop down where the roof was the lowest to the ground which was near the front of the house. Once she dropped to the ground she would run to the stables, get her horse, Cannorth, and run all the way to the Narcian border. She desperately hoped this plan worked. Once she was across the border, this was all wishful thinking on her part, she would ride to the capital city of Narci, Terrion and try to find Etos. He was the only person who would understand her plight. She knew how Narci looked upon the Children of the Night, she would not be welcome anywhere but the capital where Darklens were just a myth. Hopefully he would be willing to take her in, everything in her plan was based in hope and that did not exactly instill confidence in her.

She lay down on her bed, letting a few tears drip onto the wool blanket. Then rough material scratched at her face, but it was the only comfort she had in the room. She let her eyes drift shut and tried to relax before her attempted escape.

Zenthria sat bolt upright in her bed, her stomach dropping as she took in her surrounds. It was pitch black her little room and she blinked several times so her eyes could get use to the darkness. She quickly got up and looked out of her window. She could barely see the top of the guard’s helmet, but there was no mistaking his hulking form. He was the first guard, Zenthria breathed a sigh of relief. She grabbed her pack off her bed and slipped into her riding leathers, she was not sure what time it was, but she needed to be ready.

She crept back over to the window, making sure not to make a sound. Many years in her room had allowed her to sneak pass the creaks in the old floor. She peered down to the guard to see him moving from one foot to the other. He looked over his shoulder and up at the window. Zenthria sunk back into the shadows slowly, not wanting to draw the guard’s attention to her room. He paced in a small circle for a few more minutes before checking Zenthria’s window once more. Once he was assured there was no movement, he walked off into the fog. It wasn’t long until Zenthria heard horse hooves on the hard ground.

She quickly threw open the window and climbed out. There was a thing ledge which she balanced on long enough to close her window and then she moved quickly along the edge to the gently sloping lower roof of her house. This was the tricky part. The roof was tiled, so one wrong move could send a tile tumbling across the roof and onto the ground, waking everyone in the house. She took a deep breath, looking at the menacing trek before her. It was only eight or nine feet to the front of the house, but it seemed to stretch on for miles. Zenthria blinked several times and slowly began her decent to the edge of the roof.

All she had to do was make it to the part of the roof above the front door and drop down. Unfortunately, her parent’s window overlooked the front of the house. If the roof were to crack, Zenthria had no problem believing her entire family would be up and ready to kill her within ten minutes. She continued to slowly put on foot in front of the other, willing herself not to break the tile. She breathed a sigh of relief when she made it to the roof’s edge. She lowered herself down slowly and that is when she heard it. The dreadful sound of tile breaking, it cracked through the silent night like a whip. Zenthria silently cursed herself and dropped down onto all fours, quickly rolling off the roof onto the ground. She heard her father roar out something unintelligible before she was sprinting to the barn. 

She threw open the black barn doors and quickly searched for her saddle, hoping against hope her parents didn’t throw it away. After searching for a few lengthy seconds she found the old black saddle and went to the back of the barn. The rest of the horses in the barn fidgeted nervously, afraid of the unusually timing of her arrival. Her horse, however, stood still. His eyes roamed the scene in front of him, seeming to take in everything and understand the severity of the situation. Canorth whickered softly at her as she put the saddle onto his back. He had been her favorite thing before her parents had locked her away and she had been afraid he would forget her. He was midnight black with a white star in the middle of his forehead. He seemed more intelligent than her family’s horses and sometimes she felt her actually understood her.

He moved his feet nervously as Zenthria tightened the girth strap and threw her pack behind the saddle, tying it deftly in the dark. Once she was certain everything was on tight, she mounted Canorth and kicked him into a dead run. He bolted out the door, his hooves making a loud clacking sound against the hard ground. The fog rushed past her, feeling damp on her face. She felt the hard knot, which had formed in her stomach, tighten as dark blurs appeared in the fog. She knew it had to be her family.

They were lined side-by-side, stretched in a line, barring her way. She began to panic, not sure what to do. She had seven people in her family, not including herself. Her parents, then Oryn, Tavon, Matelyn and Fatelyn, all of them with very powerful Dark Gifts and all of them ready to use them against her. She felt Canorth slow down, confused by her indecision. Zenthria’s eyes darted between each member of her family, wondering who would make the first move. She saw her mother’s face twitch and then she moved rapidly, shooting a column of fire from her hand. Zenthria leaned sideways in the saddle, feeling the fire graze her arm. Her mother shrieked wildly and soon she was faced with Tavon’s Fire Gift as well. Zenthria dodged right and left as jets of fire flew at her from two sides.

The Fire Gift required a lot of space to move around in, so her other family members had backed away from Tavon and their mother. She saw her chance and quickly kicked Canorth into a run, speeding past Tavon as he moved his hand in various different patterns to conjure up the Fire. She kicked out at him as she rode past him, knocking him off balance and stopping his Fire Power. She saw Fatelyn and Matelyn connect hands, she knew they were going to try and use their Powers of Manipulation.

Usually when a person had the power of Manipulation, they could Manipulate what people thought or Manipulated them to tell them only the truth. However, Matelyn and Fatelyn could Manipulate what people saw. They could make people see whatever they wanted. They focused their attention at Zenthria as soon as she went past, thankfully nothing happened to Zenthria. She had always been able to not be swayed by Dark Gifts. She rode swiftly into the fog, thinking that something was odd.

Then she realized that someone had been missing. She looked swiftly among her family and then understood what it was. It was Malachi, he was hiding somewhere in the mists in front of her. She heard an unearthly howl and quickly glanced over her shoulder. Her father and both of her brothers were holding back her mother who was practically seething to go after Zenthria. A cold chill ran down Zenthria’s back as she turned forward. They were not her family, they never really had been.

Her eyes flickered every way, looking desperately to see Malachi before he saw her. Fog rushed past her, damping her hair and chilling her through her riding leathers, but there was no sign of him in the deep fog. All of the sudden a dark shadow ran across the fog to her right side. She could barely make out Malachi’s figure. She saw him slip his glove off her hand and she felt he heart speed up to twice its normal speed. She knew he meant to kill her in the worst possible way. Her brain scrambled for a plan, she could only grasp at a flicker of a plan, but she had to take a chance.

She turned Canorth slightly so that she would run up next to Malachi. She saw Malachi’s eyes widen, but then harden as he became determined to kill her. She swung her leg out and kicked as hard as she could at his face, his hands barely missing her leg. She heard her foot make contact and a sicken snap cracked through the air. She didn’t look back to see what she had done, she kicked Canorth and he bolted away from her former household. She prayed to whatever God would listen to her that she was going in the right direction to get to Narci.

She had been riding for what seemed like hour, but time was lost in the fog. She could now barely make out the night sky and a star shining through which gave her hope. She slowed Canorth down to a walk, hoping she had not exhausted him. The night’s silence seemed to press down upon her ears, making her uncomfortable. Canorth’s hooves seemed too loud against the quiet. She could hear her heart in her ears slowing to a normal pace after the flight from her parents. She sighed and thought that the fog seemed to be lessening, hopefully she would be within Narci soon.

Then she heard it. The sound she had been praying not to hear. It was a high pitch screeching which rang throughout the night. Zenthria fought the urge to cover her ears and keep Canorth from running. She knew her parents had called the Garuda, Uman Gol’s winged guardian. Zenthria feared it almost as much as the sacrificial pit. The Garuda had once been a beautiful man who could fly, but the Dark One’s taint had warped him, just as it had all the other creatures of the land. His skin had become pale and gaunt and his body became thin. He once had beautiful eyes, now in their place, he had deep holes. His wings, which had once been covered in brilliantly covered feathers, were now similar to that of a bat’s, black and taut.

The Garuda screamed again and she stilled Canorth. Since he did not have eyes, he used sounds and reverberations to find his pray. Canorth running on the dry, packed ground would make too much noise. She could feel Canorth vibrating with fear beneath her as she steered him in a slow walk toward what she hoped was the border. She heard the scream again, this time much closer than it had been before. She looked up at the sky and startled as she saw the claws of the huge bird-man lurking above her. Canorth need no urging, as soon as Zenthria had loosed the reins, he bolted toward what Zenthria hoped was the border.

The Garuda screamed as his claws grasped only hard earth. Canorth was now running so fast that streams of water were now coming out of Zenthria’s eyes, but she did not dare rein him back. They needed to get into Narci and they needed to get there before the Garuda came in for a second swoop. Her heart felt like it would pound out of her chest. She lowered her body and grasped onto Canorth’s mane, trusting his instincts to get them to safety. She heard the scream again and looked up to the night sky. The Garuda was coming in for a final fell swoop. She knew there was no way he would miss this time. Zenthria closed her eyes and waited for the cold talons to circle her body and carry her away to the Dark One himself.

But the moment never came. She never felt the steely talons enclosing her body. She opened her eyes and almost fell off Canorth’s back. A large moon hung low in the western sky, bathing everything in a white light. Zenthria saw trees, trees with leaves stretching up toward the sky. The earth below her was tall grass which came up to Canorth’s underbelly. She slowed him to a walk then completely stopped him. She got off slowly, barely able to feel her legs after years of not riding.

As her feet touched the ground, she fell to her knees and breathed in her new world. It smelled nothing like Uman Gol, it smelled of grass, wet earth, and some sort of sweet smell which she could only guess was the strange purple plant by her side. She recalled, vaguely, that there were something called flowers in Narci which smelled sweet. Her eyes could not believe the colors around her, purples, greens, yellows, and a hint of red in the eastern sky. Even the sky itself was a beautiful expanse of color, she never dreamed it could be so beautiful.

She felt something bubbling up inside her, trying to escape. She opened her mouth and a small laugh came out. It sounded foreign, but she couldn’t stop it. Soon she was laughing so hard the tears were streaming down her face. She was free! She never had to see Uman Gol again, she never had to go back to her attic prison. She was free.

She turned to face Uman Gol, whipping the last of her laughter tears from her face. Fog rolled up to a certain spot and then just stopped. It looked like a large wall of smoke. She could barely see the cracked ground and she was not sad to be rid of the place. She went over to Canorth who had begun grazing in the tall grass. She patted his neck and he brought his neck up and turned to look at her. He had large, intelligent eyes and he blinked at her.

“What do you say Canorth, how about we go a little further and then rest for the night? I don’t want to be anywhere near that wall of fog when I sleep.” She patted the horses head and he bobbed his head as if he were agreeing with her. With Canorth’s consent she got up on his back and steered him to a small, hard packed road and away from Uman Gol forever.





In a mansion on the border of Narci and scream rang through the house. A maid had just walked into a room to find its patron dead on the floor. Candles instantly were lit throughout the house and the lord of the house himself was called to the chamber. He looked sadly at the scene in front of him, knowing nothing could be done. He called for a courier and instantly one was by his side. The boy was small and lithe, the perfect build for a fast courier. Of course, they all had to be fast on the border. He ordered the lad to ride fast and hard to the capital city and tell King Roland that Madalida, the last Purple Mages, had died.