The Red Soldier: Origins of the Red Soldier

PROLOGUE

(Y/N) sat patiently in his room, his mother had something to show him, something he'd been desperate to see again since the day he'd seen her levitate a water kettle from the sideboard to the stove. His heart thumped in his chest. Not only did he feel the butterflies in his stomach, but he felt the excitement in his hands; his fingers tingled with magic.

It was a Saturday, his father had gone down the mines, and his brother had gone to the hardware store, where he got pennies for the work he did. (Y/N) had homework. He'd been offered a place at one of the public schools in town, and his grandmother, a widow with a lot of money left to her by her late husband, had been more than happy to pay the tuition. He was usually excited to complete his homework, especially when it was science, but today he could only wonder about what it was his mother was going to show him.

'(Y/N),' Mabel (L/N) called up the stairs to the attic room the young boy shared with his older brother, '(Y/N)!'

(Y/N) (L/N) had already reached the bottom step by the time his mother had finished calling the second time.

'Yes Mam?' smiled (Y/N), eager to find out what it was his mother was about to show him.

'Come with me,' she said, a small, excited, smile forming on her pale face. He followed her quickly, careful not to step on her skirts. She led him to a door which led to the cellar. Mable (L/N) turned her head, her index finger touching her lips as she hushed. (Y/N) mimicked her gesture, something Mable couldn't help but smile at. She unlocked the large padlock, and then he followed her down the few steps into the cellar he had never been allowed in before.

Bookshelves covered the walls, in the middle a small circular table sat, cushions surrounding it. 'Watch this,' Mable (L/N) whispered once she had shut the door. She waved a hand and a flurry of blue light circled around the candles, resulting in them lighting themselves. (Y/N), too stunned to speak, watched on, as his mother strolled down the last few steps and then lowered herself onto one of the pillows surrounding the table. 'Sit with me.'

(Y/N) sat opposite her, shaking somewhat. He'd thought he'd been imagining his mother doing such things. His eyes narrowed in her direction. 'Don't be afraid,' she told him, reaching an outstretched hand across the table towards him, which he took cautiously. It was warm, as a mother's should be.

'You've got the gift my son,' she spoke proudly, 'your grandmother and I thought it may only be the first borns but...'

'Gift of what?'

'Magic,' Mable smiled, waving a hand; a turquoise light began to shuffle a deck of playing cards mid-air. (Y/N) watched on in astonishment. 'I can feel it coursing through your blood, an energy I never felt with your brother.'

(Y/N), slightly afraid, but curious, questioned his mother. 'How can you be sure? I-I don't think... I don't think...'

'You're afraid,' Mable frowned, 'you've been reading too many fairy tales.' She hated the way they depicted witches, yet she gave her sons the tales anyway. The 'Wicked Witch of the West', the 'Evil Queen', 'Maleficent', their illustrations haunted her. Witchcraft was not something to be villainised, it was something to be utilised. Her own mother had taught her how to make the most common of plants into the most potent of medicines, how to manifest good fortunes for those who had served them well.

'Close your eyes sweetheart,' Mable instructed her son, and he did what she said. 'Now imagine you're shuffling a deck of cards.' In his small, six-year-old brain, (Y/N) imagined cards shuffling. 'Now simply wave your hand over the deck.'

(Y/N), blindly, swished his hand over the stack of cards, and immediately they began to intermingle mid-air, an influx of blue light illuminating the dimly lit room. 'Now open your eyes,' Mable told him, and he did what she said.

He saw it. He saw the magic in front of him; the magic he'd put into the world. Everything in his science lessons told him it was impossible, and yet here it was.

'I don't like it Mam,' he cried, his hands burying themselves into their pockets. He sobbed, and his mother rushed to his side, holding him against her.

'But now we know,' she whispered into his ear, 'you're magical, (Y/N).'