Micah or the end of Magic. Chapter 1.

 

Chapter 1.

 

The People of Sowton Bred Pigs.

 

The village of Sowton lay on the edge of the Dark Forest, and its people bred pigs. Their animals spent as much time as possible rooting about in the forest clearings. Once a year, the pigs were rounded up and driven to the city market, except for the boar and the breeding sows.

One year, the villagers made the mistake of not inviting a witch named Magrib to their annual barbecue. Offended, she put a spell on them, turning every man, woman, and child into a pig. They would have stayed that way until the next annual round‑up.

However, Magrib wanted to become the next Witch of the Dark Forest, and in her pride she boasted of her wicked deed to a very good man called Eddo. He found a way to break the spell.

At the exact moment the enchantment ended, Verity Small reverted to human form and gave birth to a son. They named him Micah.

Micah grew up hearing how fortunate the villagers had been to escape Magrib’s curse. Fascinated by the idea of magic, he spent as much time as he could trying to cast spells of his own.

Life in Sowton continued much as before. The villagers bred pigs, and like every other child, Micah spent long hours watching over them as they foraged among the trees. He grew to hate pigs.

When he was old enough, he left the village to search for a way to do magic. He kept himself alive by taking work as a casual farm labourer.

Wandering into the hills one day, Micah found a ruined castle. In a tumbledown tower he discovered a strange leather box, two hands long, one hand wide, and half a hand deep. The leather looked as though it had been made from something like a snake, with scales.

Whatever had once been inside had long since turned to dust. Micah emptied it out and tucked the box into his pack. It was perfect for keeping his few treasured possessions: his razor, a pair of scissors, and the small coins he earned from work.

A little later he came upon the village of Othermoor. Skirting its edge, he found a clearing where a great bonfire had once burned. It struck him as odd. The fire had happened long ago, yet the forest had not begun to reclaim the ground. No grass, no saplings, nothing. The fire must have been very hot indeed.

Micah kicked at the ashes and uncovered a gold chain with a large jewel.

The jewel was a deep red, glowing faintly in the dim light. He had never seen anything like it. As he held it, a strange sensation washed over him, almost as if the jewel were pulsing with life.

Uneasy, he opened his pack and placed the jewel inside. The sensation vanished at once.

He searched the ashes a little longer but found nothing more. Shouldering his pack, he continued along the forest’s edge.

The next village was only a few miles away. There he was offered work by Dulcie Wokeham, who brewed ale for the villagers. Ale had to be made every few days, for it soured quickly if left undrunk.

Dulcie had injured her back and needed someone to lift her heavy pots. Micah was glad of the work, especially as she offered him a place to sleep.

Not used to hot pans, Micah soon scalded his fingers. Dulcie examined them and shook her head.

“Not too badly damaged,” she said. “I have an ointment that will help.” She dabbed it gently onto his hand.

“You’re lucky,” she added. “I make the lotions, potions, and ointments the village needs as well as the ale.”

While they were talking, a villager knocked on the door. He showed Dulcie a large wart on his palm.

“Can you do something about this? I keep catching it and making it bleed.”

Dulcie sat him at the table, plucked a leaf from a pot of herbs, laid it over the wart, and muttered some strange‑sounding words. Then she tossed the leaf into the fire. To Micah’s astonishment, the wart had vanished. The man thanked her and left a coin on the table.

“What kind of herb is that?” Micah blurted out.

Dulcie laughed. “Just a dandelion leaf. It does nothing. It’s only to hide the wart disappearing.”

“Then you used magic,” Micah said.

Dulcie nodded. “A very simple little spell.”

“Then you must be a witch,” Micah said accusingly.

“No, no, no!” Dulcie exclaimed, glancing around nervously. “There is only one witch, Calizone, the Witch of the Dark Forest. She gets very angry if anyone else claims to be a witch.”

“But you used magic,” Micah insisted.

“Calizone doesn’t mind small spells like that,” Dulcie said. “It saves her from being bothered by people wanting warts removed.”

Micah nodded slowly. “Are there many people like you?”

“Most villages have someone,” Dulcie said. “Didn’t yours?”

Micah shook his head. “Only me, and I can’t seem to do magic at all.”

Dulcie looked at him kindly. “There are two kinds of magic: small and great. Great magic is what the witches of the Dark Forest do. You have to be very powerful to practise it.”

“What do you mean by great magic?” Micah asked.

“Big spells,” Dulcie said. “Putting a princess to sleep for a hundred years, or turning a whole village into pigs. Those spells take a lot of power. They also only last for a set time, like a year and a day, or a hundred years, and they must have a way of being broken. The princess woke when the prince kissed her.”

“The spell on my village was broken when all the pigs’ food turned to stone,” Micah said eagerly. “So what about small magic?”

“That’s what people like me do. Tiny spells that work straight away.”

“If you’re not witches, what are you?” Micah asked. “And what were those words you muttered?”

“Some call us hedge witches, but I prefer charmers,” Dulcie said. “And the words? Just nonsense to help me concentrate.”

Micah looked disappointed. “Are there any men who can do small magic?”

“There could be,” Dulcie said slowly. “But I’ve never met one.”

Micah sighed. “So, you use your magic to help people. But if you wanted to… could you do nasty things with it?”

Dulcie frowned. “I suppose I could put the wart on someone else, or turn the ale sour. But why would I? These people are my friends and neighbours. And if I misused magic, the Witch of the Dark Forest would hear about it.”

“I just wondered,” Micah said, blowing on his sore fingers.

“Now,” said Dulcie, “there is enough ointment to last you a few days. I’ll wrap some in leaves for you. Put it in your pack. Oh, and here is your payment for the work you’ve done.”

Micah tried to open his pack, but his fingers were too sore to manage the straps. Dulcie undid them for him.

“There’s a box in there,” Micah said. “If you open it, you can put the money and the ointment inside for safety.”

Dulcie reached into the pack and touched the box.

She gave a sharp squeal and snatched her hand away, stumbling back onto a nearby stool.

“What’s the matter?” Micah asked.

Dulcie clenched her fists. “The box,” she said through her teeth. “It’s like plunging my hand into a patch of really strong nettles. I can’t touch it.”

Micah frowned. “I don’t understand. I have no trouble touching it.”

Dulcie thought for a moment. “I remember old stories,” she said slowly. “There are some things that people who do magic cannot touch. The box must be made of something like that.”

“Well, I can’t do magic, so it doesn’t bother me,” Micah said. “Good to know, though. Anyone who can’t touch the box must be a magic‑user.”

“I’ll see if I can make your hand heal quicker,” Dulcie said. “Then you can deal with your pack yourself.”

Micah held out his hands. Dulcie took them gently and muttered some strange‑sounding words. They both stared at his reddened fingers.

Nothing happened.

She tried again. Still nothing. Micah’s fingers remained stubbornly red.

“How odd,” Dulcie murmured. “That spell has always worked before. I hope that box hasn’t taken my magic away.”

She let go of Micah’s hands and crossed the room to a lamp. She muttered a lighting spell. The lamp stayed dark. She tried again. Still nothing. She frowned, concentrated hard, and muttered the word fiercely.

The lamp flared into life.

“I’ve never had to work that hard for that spell,” she said, shaken. “Your box seems to have drained some of my power. You’d better pack your things and leave before you do any more harm.”

Despite the pain, Micah slipped the money into the box. He didn’t notice that, as he opened it, the jewel inside glowed faintly red. The strange sensation brushed against him again, so brief he barely registered it.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to harm you.”

“Well,” said Dulcie, “either your box or you have done something to my power, so please… just go.”