Miradey

Benediction

Twenty-Five Years Later

Benedict Orion opened his eyes smiling like he did most mornings. He stretched and threw back the covers. He opened his curtains. On the street below his bedroom, the growing town of Assata de Mura was alive with the comings and goings on of its citizens. Glowing in sunshine, its streets lined in trees boasting big salmon pink, yellow, lavender, and soft orange leaves.

Ben patted around under his pillows but spotted his wand on the bed stand. After a quick bath, he stood in front of the mirror and trimmed his beard. Then he made breakfast and dressed in shirtsleeves, waistcoat, pleated slacks, and boots. Swinging on deep red robes lined in kente cloth, he clenched a piece of buttered galleon toast between his teeth and left through the front door for work.

An average wizard barely making the rank of mage, Ben led a simple life. He was fortunate enough to be born free in Assata de Mura whereas his ancestors were not too long ago brought to this land as slaves. In places like Assata, established in secret from the European founding fathers and families of Shire Nyte Village that had enslaved them, they had reclaimed themselves and hoped to build on everything they had fought, died, and suffered for.

In Nyte Village, the village forcibly created by the wights where many of his people remained, Ben would likely still be fighting for freedom. Forget basic rights! He certainly wouldn't own a house and clothes, know how to read and write, earn a regular wage of gold, or be permitted to work in a bank as he did.

And he most certainly would not be permitted to use magic.

Shuddering with a lick of fury, Ben turned his attention to what was in front of him.

Endless ripples of concentric cobblestone paved, Assata's warm wheat-colored streets. As he reached the halfway mark to work, he saw two squabbling children poking each other with sticks.

"Shut up, Marley! Before I hex you," said the girl.

"No you won't!" Marley retorted. He tried to jab her with his stick but she dipped out of the way.

"I will. You know my hexes are better than yours."

"We've not even learned hexes yet, Hilda!"

Laughing amiably, Ben gently broke the skirmish up by pulling Hilda and Marley away from each other. They huffed and sniped at him for interrupting them.

"It doesn't matter whether or not you win. What matters is fighting with honor and spirit!" Ben told them.

"Yea, Marley. Hope you've got enough spirit to pick up the broken pieces of your pride after I best you!"

"Careful with those wends. No one needs to lose an eye." Ben shook his head, smiling wryly. He was certain their parents wouldn't be pleased. Patting their shoulders, he announced, "I'll leave you two to sort it out, shall I." He looked around the street, which was growing increasingly nosy and busy, and said, "Have you two seen the paper boy?"

Marley and Hilda flagged him down without trouble and pointed whilst jumping up and down.

"There he is, there he is!" they chanted.

Saying his thanks and smiling again, he left them. Flipping the paper boy a peb (a small bit of gold used as currency, not unlike a little pebble), he took a newspaper handed to him, wiping a buttery smudge from his delicious toast on it as he opened it. He read the first bit his eyes landed on as he continued down the street.

We understand the urgency of Assata's citizens to free all of our people from oppression. My only point as a trusted voice in our community is this: A mass exodus of enslaved and formerly enslaved witches from Nyte Village will invite more conflict. Leaving en masse from the founding village will draw attention to the new and growing villages that Black witches work so hard to build outside of the notice of those who would wish to stop us.

Everyone still under the rule of white wizards is in danger, it is true. But the Dragon on The Hill is, wisely, only secretly relocating those who face extreme persecution and imminent threat of death or grotesque violence.

It is important that we continue to hold ground in Nyte Village. It is a place our people both built and died for, for generations.

To be blunt, as he looked up from the newspaper article, Ben was very happy that he was not born in the founding village like so many others. He did hope that someday all his race would be free. Sighing to himself, thoughts of the ongoing debate from the paper pinging around in his head, he turned right into the shiny gold and glass doors of the bank, tipping his head at a passing wizard.