The Names Our Children Will Know

Prologue - Draft One

Shouts tore through the night, shattering the tranquil silence. Jemma Terracin made the mistake of glancing at the wooden-framed window while torches flared to life outside, illuminating the faces of an angry mob. Men holding weapons, women clutching handfuls of small stones, even a few frightened-looking children stood in front of the house she and several others were hiding in. Everyone, those inside and out of the house, were watching the door, poised to jump at any sign of movement.

"They can't find us here!" A shrill voice whispered. It was almost a prayer that came from a young human woman with short, choppy red hair that stuck up in places. Jemma knew her friend was trying to reassure her, but the strained and pale woman repeating the words again was even more frightened than Jemma was, and Jemma knew they had already been found anyway.

"We're safe from them for now," her friend said, but Jemma wasn't so sure. The frightened faces around her proved that most of the wizards around her felt the same way that Jemma did..

There were people of all three races present here, tall and heavy set flyants with pointed ears as well as willowy werians with blond wispy hair. Humans and flyants were more prevalent than the werians, but Jemma knew that wasn't a fair cross-section of the country of Bolifecalis itself. Werians were the most populous of the three races--

Jemma's mentor, a thin, wiry weiran man whose thick spectacles had slid down to the end of his nose, directed the wizards, "Go out through the back way. I'll meet you there in a moment."

Several tense voices answered him with questions and worried affirmatives, but he pushed Jemma and the others farther into the house. "Go!"

Jemma ran, clutching her few belongings, just as a roar swelled out front. The nineteen other wizards of Bolifecalis followed closely after her, leaving Jemma's mentor behind.

As they fled through the house, Jemma could hear a man's voice rise above the shouts of the crowd. "This house holds the last of the wizards! They're running like rats. How superior can they truly be, I ask you? We have our chance to eradicate our land of these pests. Our country will become pure and free of their taint once more!" There was a pause. Outside, the people must have been standing, waiting, holding their breaths. "Well?" The voice came again. "What are you waiting for?"

Jemma looked back. Her mentor had one hand pressed flat to the door, murmuring as quickly as he could without stumbling over the words. A pale yellow shimmer appeared around his hand, reinforcing the door. Even with the magical bulwark, the door splintered down the middle after only a few strokes of what could only have been a battering ram.

Jemma ran without looking back, following after the rest of the group. Her mentor never rejoined them.

The wizards ran. They had no choice. Jemma was certain there was no way she could keep up, but even so she ran through the night and the next day and the next night, stopping only briefly so that the few children left in the group had a chance to catch their breath.

Time seemed to fly so quickly that the sun made a track across the sky and the two moons seemed to spin in place around the world. The plains and young forests the wizards were running through were green and growing for much of their travels, but in some places the soil was being taken over by sand and soft gravel.

No plants or animals lived in those patches of earth, and Jemma would have loved to stop and explore, but each day, their wards and magical barriers were broken into by people hunting the wizards. These bounty hunters couldn't break through a fully trained wizard's barrier, but the only wizards left in Bolifecalis now were young and untrained.

The nights were long and harrowing. The wizards ran as far as they could on what little sleep they were getting. They stole what they needed from outlying towns and tiny villages that had been torn apart or burned to the ground, effects of the nine-year war that had ravaged the country.

Through forests and across rivers the men and women ran. Through what was slowly becoming a desert they ran. Through nights and days and nights and days they ran. They ran until they reached Howling Castle, an abandoned stronghold near the ocean. Once there, a plan was formed to prevent another Wizard's War from ever breaking out.

Dear Reader. I hope that I am not reaching out to you from the far distant past. I am far too young for that; it makes me feel old.

But my feelings are not what this letter is for. This letter is for instruction and warning; instruction on what we are about to do and what you must do with it, and warning about the danger that goes with it...

Jemma wrote furiously, ink stains covering her arms. She had to finish this letter before the others needed her help. Now that her mentor was gone... Jemma shook her head to clear the memories from the last few months.

A cult that was deeply prejudiced against wizards had risen back to life after several decades of peace. They were calling themselves "The Pure," referring to their supposedly pure, non magical blood.

Nine years ago, war had broken out against the few wizards left in Bolifecalis. Men were lead to murderous fury by The Pure.

Just six months before, Jemma had been yanked out of bed by her mentor, told to pack her belongings, and led to a horse to ride away with several other wizards-in-training. Behind them, as they galloped away, the northern Wizard's Tower burned as a mob surrounded it, trapping four elderly wizards inside that had refused to leave.

Three months ago, young wizards were slaughtered where they slept by the purist cult. Not long after that, fighting broke out in the Queen's City in the East, newly named Sorvani. Wizards there had been driven out, sent to roam the harsh, mountainous land.

And now... Jemma blinked back tears. Ten days ago, there had been twenty wizards left in the known world. Now there were nineteen. The cult that had pinned them in that ramshackle hut had killed Jemma's mentor, and Jemma wanted desperately to help make things right. This letter, along with the handmade notebooks piled next to it, would help with that.

The castle was small, little more than a fortified outpost, and made of yellow sandstone. It had been filled with rotted provisions and looked like it had been abandoned a long time ago, at least a few decades, Jemma thought. They got to the castle and many of the younger wizards collapsed even before the barriers were set up. Many of them slept for almost a full day straight, but Jemma couldn't sleep. She wouldn't let herself sleep. Jemma needed to help with their new plan.

The room Jemma was in now was built of the same stone and brightened by torches that would stay lit no matter what happened. No matter how wrong their spell went, the torches would stay lit.

Somewhere above her, a voice called Jemma's name. The wizards were building a magic stone slide that started in several different rooms to bring a traveler to a safe room before the hypothetical adventurer discovered Jemma's room, and to build that, they needed Jemma's help.

Jemma's talent lay in supplying energy to a spell and cajoling magic into doing what she wanted. She held enough power in her body to shape stone and move castles, her mentor had said not so long ago. Now, she was doing just that.

Jemma signed her name, rolled up the piece of parchment, and set it on top of the little blue notebook she had made before running upstairs. She was sure that someone would be grateful for her advice someday.

"The future of magic is in your hands," the twelve-year-old girl murmured to herself as she looked ahead to the future. "Use it the way we never could."

Only hours later, a burst of golden light and energy swept through the castle, enveloping it and sweeping across the land, devouring everything in its path. Plants burned to a crisp in the wind, animals fell dead at the impact of the light, and Howling Beach became a desert, devoid of life.

The last of the wizards were gone.