Hooked on Imprisoned in Stone, Name #MFRWHooks
To set the scene, Maerva has a special task from her mistress, Tralin. And the work comes with an unexpected surprise.
Excerpt:
Maerva leaned back against the logs and let the book fall into her lap. The cottage wall released the last of the day’s heat and provided warmth against the chill of the late autumn afternoon. Despite the isolation of the high mountain valley she now called home, the three years since she left her family had been the happiest of her life. She closed her eyes and repeated the incantation from the open page. The white mist that heralded a contact thickened and an image appeared within the depths. Although she had never before spoken to Fiodh, Tralin’s description, especially of the northern mage’s sparkling blue eyes, made it easy for Maerva to recognize the visitor. After giving her name, she described the purpose of the call. “We’ve received word from the villages along the southern pass about a sickness working its way through the Brynton Mountains. Tralin is having me contact the local healers to warn them and offer assistance if needed.”Fiodh’s voice, strong with a hint of the dialect common to the high-peaks, came into Maerva’s mind. “A pleasure to finally meet you, Maerva. Tralin has spoken highly and often of you.” His smile conveyed a welcome beyond that of his words. It flickered and his expression sobered. “I am familiar with the wasting sickness. The usual herbs had no effect. Donnelle, a skilled potioner from the Cothrom Desert, sent several remedies created from rare plants.” Even before he gave the results, Maerva felt the pain the other mage failed to hide. “Nothing I tried, including my magic, halted the disease. Three children and two elderlies succumbed.”
A second mind joined in. His face shimmered next to Fiodh’s in a ghostly duet. Similar features between Fiodh and the newcomer hinted at a family resemblance. “I hope you don’t mind, Maerva, but I invited my brother, Gareth, to join us,” Fiodh said. He laughed in a private joke. “I had to drag him into our link. My younger brother has only minor powers.”
“Greetings, Maerva.” Gareth’s soft tone and shy smile answered a loneliness Maerva had long fought to control. For several moments, she bathed in the special connection. A vow to visit Gareth—to meet him in person—formed.
Gareth’s expression darkened to match his brother’s. “I took healing potions to several of the stricken villages and checked each of the huts where someone died. There existed a hint of magic, like the aftermath of a spell without a proper dispersal.” His pause conveyed his own depth of emotion. “My skills may lie more as a weaponsmith than a mage, but I can tell you the sickness is not natural. It strikes those families who have a history of powers, even if their magic has not been active for generations.”
When Gareth spoke again, Maerva heard a warrior’s orders. “Tell Tralin to strengthen the protective spells around those who might be a target. And Maerva, be especially careful. You are the youngest of us.” Despite the sense of danger carried by the words, Maerva warmed. She looked forward to meeting Gareth in person. Preferably without his brother along.
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