The Living Day
Chapter 1.

Staring at the body, I checked his pulse for signs of life. A futile movement on my part considering I had just stabbed him directly in the heart. Sighing, I picked up the body, my fingers pressing into his sweat filled armpits that wreaked of death, and waited for Amaia to hoist up him up by the feet. It was a terrible business, killing. Unfortunately it was something I excelled at. Much to my utter devastation.

Looking up at the constellations to help guide myself, and my younger sister home, I sighed again. The forest was thin where we were, and the night frost was dreadfully annoying, freezing my ungloved hands. Perhaps that was why Amaia’s own knife missed its target? Gloved hands were not the most suitable when one was out murdering someone. The knife could easily slip.

Sighing, again, I studied our victim. At this rate, my whole breathing trajectory consisted of sighs.

“He had it coming to him, Maël. You don’t steal from the provincial coffers without consequences. I gave him a clean death. Which is more than he deserved, all things considered.” She said, readying herself at the foot of the corpse to lift it up.

Except, Amaia didn’t give him a clean death. Her knife would’ve given him an excruciating and painful death… She missed his heart entirely. I had to cover his mouth so his screams didn’t alert the provincial guards where we lived, that we were in the forest, murdering someone. The people of our province know that what we are tasked with hunting down criminals, but they didn’t exactly like to hear how we were doing it. There would be no end to the dressing down I would receive from the Eweti Scholars, who sent us the kill requests, if someone were to complain about murdery noises coming from the forests in the deep depths of the eve. We are always asked to do it because normally we are very quiet about it. Or should I say, I am always tasked with it. Lately, Amaia has insisted on joining me on my midnight murder jaunts, much to my detriment. It must have something to do with the two of us heading off to university soon. An event I am not looking forward to.

“I just wonder if there is another way to exact punishments on the wicked. You know, like a trial,” I replied, bending down to grasp the corpse under its arms.

I’d read about the historical practice of trials in one of the forbidden books passed onto me from my elder brother, Timo. Highly illegal of course, but it made for a surprisingly interesting read. Imagine that! Criminals innocent until proven guilty, and made to stand in front of something called a judge. Not to mention a strange concept called a jury, containing twelve people who helped to decide the criminals fate. The system would be ripe for corruption, when all is said and done. But in the very least, the criminals if found to be guilty, in theory, would either hang, be put to work in the mines on the Xalan border, or sent to rehabilitation camps. Along with the those who suffered psychological problems, who would be sent to the Lost Isle Sanatorium for treatment. Not that anybody ever left the Lost Isle, but the option would be there all the same.

Hoisting up the corpses feet, Amaia stumbled as we began the long trek to the town square. While our names echoed the opulence of Wordsworth, the Capital of the nation where we lived, our parents had settled in the middle of nowhere, as far away from civilisation as they could get.

“You’ve been reading too many illegal texts again. Courts and trials are for the weak. If we didn’t kill them, we’d be living in a lawless land, like in Xala.” She replied, her long black skirts sloshing in the late Spring time mud.

Biting my tongue, I walked through the forest, holding the corpse under its arms, berating myself for not shutting his sightless eyes before we picked him up.

“Who’d have thought a Botanical would turn into a thief?” said Amaia, stumbling under the weight of the corpse.

I begged to differ on my sister’s misplaced words. Not a day goes by without our nearest neighbours, the Charleston’s, pilfering something from my family’s farm. Quite strange for Botanical’s when I thought about it. They were normally quite civil, sticklers for rules and on the religious side. Why, there were cults filled with Botanicals near the border of Southern Danelov.

Changing the subject, I asked Amaia if she had seen the Malcomist Botanical visiting the Charlestons, the day before. He had arrived at a dreadful hour in the morning, when the skies were still dark, in his flowing green cloak, starched white, high-collared shirt and matching green vest. It was the long beard and the knee-high brown boots that gave him away for a Malcomist. But more to the point was that he had a young woman with him, that had my young blood flowing to my peripheries. She looked to be around the same age as me. I didn’t tell Amaia that latter fact, or that I had strolled over to the fence and introduced myself with a wave.

The young woman had blinked and gave me a stilted wave in reply. Before I could get her name, the elder Malcomist had held up a crudely made circular disc with a cross in the middle of it connected to a chain around his neck and cried out, “Away with you demon spawn! By all that is great and good.”

Louis, the eldest son of our neighbours and Amaia’s not so secret crush, had poked his head out of the door, a look of horror crashing over his face.

“Not now, Maël!” He attempted to hide whatever he was up to with a scowl, and quickly tried to usher the elder Malcomist and young lady into his cottage.

“You collude with the murderous denizens of the Shadow affliction?” said the Malcomist, still holding his crude pendant up in the air in my direction. What he thought the pendant would do is anybodies guess. Religious symbols did little to stave off my Shadow’s when they become unruly.

“He seems quite pleasant.” The young lady smiled at me, which made my insides flutter. By the Godless, I needed to meet more eligible young ladies, if a Botanical had this effect on me.

“Elisabeth! If you’re to attend this university, you are not to collude with the other magical inclinations. It is forbidden,” said the elder man, disappearing through the Charlestons door.

Forbidden? In what world is it forbidden? Did the Malcomist not know how universities worked?

Louis held his arm out and ushered Elisabeth in behind the elder Malcomist. With pursed lips, Louis told me he would speak with me later and slammed the door shut.

What the Charleston’s were doing with a Malcomist, I had no idea. They were a cult of fanatics, who relegated women to positions of subordination, which was in itself a ridiculous notion. But even stranger was that she would be attending a university, if the words from the Malcomist were anything to go by.

Stumbling in her steps, Amaia almost dropped the corpse. Again.

“A Malcomist? What was a Malcomist doing in our province?” She asked, her wide eyes waiting with bated breath for my answer.

Averting my eyes, I told her what was said during my interactions with them and Louis.

It didn’t take her long to put two and two together. The only way that Louis would ever be considered entry to a magical university was if he had a strong Botanical connection. And the Malcomist’s were indeed that. Branches of Botanicals had split off from the Malcomist’s over the centuries, but most of them stemmed from the cult’s bloodlines. If a Malcomist gave you a recommendation, it was worth its weight in gold. But I would hedge my bets that the Malcomist, and Elisabeth, would take one look at the Charleston’s and run in the other direction.

“Do you think they will give Louis a recommendation?” Amaia had albeit dropped the corpse now and was standing in the forest with her fists clenched.

“I think you know the answer to that. Not even a Malcomist could help Louis with his poor academic record. Even the Eweti Scholars suggested he apply for a field position, planting seeds in lower Danelov,” It was the lowest position for a Botanical, in the grander scheme of things.

“Let’s say he did gain a position, that would be good, to have a familiar face with us.” Amaia perked up at my words, which was the opposite effect I was going for.

“You are in line for the Shadow Royal High Mage position. There is no way in hell that you’ll be betrothed to anyone but a Shadow. Think about that.”

My words seem to light a fire in her belly. Glaring at me she rabbited on about how times are changing and it isn’t so unusual for the magical inclinations to mix. But she did heft up her end of the corpse, so there was that.

“You only need to look at our parents. mother married a foreigner, whose Shadow magic is weak. If the former heir to the Royal Shadow High Mage position can marry someone of lower standing, I don’t see why I can’t marry someone who isn’t a Shadow.”

I didn’t remind her that our mother is now the former Royal Shadow High Mage, due to marrying our father. Sometimes I wonder if Amaia forgets herself when it comes to Louis.

“You know there have been cases of madness when a Shadow weds outside of their magical circles.” The words slipped past my tongue before I could reel them back in. Children born of the unions were often hunted down and executed. I thanked the Godless I hadn’t been sent on one of those kill missions. It was bad enough murdering adults, but children? I drew the line there. Besides, surely there was hope that the children of the untoward unions could be given a chance to prove their sanity, or otherwise?

After a while, I tuned out Amaia’s racing monologue about the many examples of blended unions, in combination with the Shadows role in the realm. There was only so much a man could take, listening to his sister rave about how us Shadows were the judge and executioners of the realm, keeping order and stability as decreed by our King. Our magicless King. Who married a Shadow, but I guess King’s are outside of the laws? The Crown Prince seemed relatively sane, but he took after his father in so much as the Danelovan King was sane. Mother said the entire realm had sighed in relief when it was found not a drop of magic—Shadow or otherwise—flowed through the Prince’s blood.

Her comments on blended unions hit a nerve when I knew full well that my sister is pegged as the next Royal Shadow High Mage, even when her magic had yet to surface. On the bright side, if I could even say there is a bright side, I am definitely not in line for the Royal Shadow High Mage position. My magic is too volatile at best, and weak where I need it most. Pushing the wayward thoughts down, along with my disgusting world domination thoughts, I tuned back into what Amaia was saying.

“This murder was me helping to protect Danelov.” Finishing her tirade, Amaia stumbled again as we walked.

Her murder. Once when I had explained what it felt like to take a life to Amaia, her shoulders had slumped. She had told me in no uncertain terms that she never felt any of that. The fact of the matter was, Amaia did not have the Shadows to guide her. Urging her on to murder. Her bloodlust was entirely inherited by being a member of the Pointier family, rulers of the Royal Shadow High Mages since time immemorial. Brainwashing at its finest, if I ever saw any.

It would remain that way until her magic finally appeared. Then she would know what it felt like. The constant barrage of murderous thoughts, swelling with world domination plans. On occasion, I bathed naked in the ice pools on our farm, the shock of the ice seemed to do the trick of dissuading my murderous thoughts.

If the truth be known, every single one of Amaia’s kills, was mine. She always just missed the artery, organ, or didn’t slice her knife deep enough across her victims throat. Sometimes, I stepped in discreetly pushing the knife a little sideways. Other times, I killed them properly when her back was turned.

Sighing, I recalled how I often had to do the same to my father’s kills. He always seemed to leave them alive, without life threatening injuries.

By the godless, I hated killing.

Shuffling more of the weight of our murdered Botanical onto my arms, another sigh slipped past my lips. Amaia glared at me, but did not utter one word of complaint. Not an hour later, we stood in the town square, a Eweti Scholar waiting for us. He was perched on the side of the square’s stone water feature. In the square, that was, in fact, more circular. His stature, while only reaching my thigh, was not to be trifled with. The Eweti Scholars had magic of their own.

“Took you long enough, Chevrolet-Guardson’s. Let’s get this body up before the merchants open, or we’ll be fighting for room,” said the Eweti, giving me a sour look. Contrary to me, he gave Amaia the biggest smile I’d ever seen.

“You forgot the Pointier part of our name,” I said, stretching out my back and arms.

Glaring at me, the Eweti Scholar wrote something down on his parchment. Probably another terse note that would be sent to my parents, and the King’s Scholars, stating how bothersome I am. My father had a draw filled with them. The countless lectures I had to endure from those notes was not my most favoured time spent.

“Praise be the Blessed,” whispered Amaia, inclining her head.

The Eweti loved Amaia. Being a Blessed fanatic, I understood why. The Blessed were of the old religion, that was brought over to Danelov from Zer missionaries. Long before our people annexed the lands from the Xalan’s, who were pushed back past the Eweti mountains in the west.

Lifting up the corpse, who would be the star attraction when the market opened, hung and nailed to the upright beam in the middle of the water feature, I listened as Amaia whispered to the Eweti. She praised the Blessed, all seven of them. The Eweti grinned as he laid dried flowers after each Blessed prayer, beside the water feature. We were lucky we lived in Southern Danelov, where the laws were more lax about Blessed worship.

The majority of Danelov worshipped the Chain. Both religions were similar in that they had far too many rules and regulations. And both were plagued with corruption. People in power tended to bend the rules regardless of which gods they worshipped. Eweties were given a special dispensation concerning Blessed worship, so long as they kept it to themselves. It was not the case for the rest of the population. Our father had grown up in Zer, the birthplace of the Blessed and there was none more fervent, except perhaps Amaia, when it came to Blessed worship. Even if Zer was more renowned for being a blood den of violence and lawless to the point of anarchy.

“What will we do about all the criminals when the two of you go off to The University of Aranon? All Hallow’s Eve just won’t be the same,” grumbled the Eweti, adjusting the trousers on the dead body hanging on the fountain’s centrepiece.

“We haven’t yet been accepted into university. On the morrow we should receive news,” I said, staring into the dead man’s wide open eyes.

Scowling at me, the Eweti ignored my words. Turning to Amaia his scowl turned into something more familiar. A steady gaze of pride.

“I’m surprised you’re not going to continue your studies at the local Research College,” said the Eweti Scholar, blowing warm air into his cupped hands. I was slightly jealous they were gloved.

Smiling down at him, Amaia explained how we’d gone over this before.

“Yes, yes, your brother’s suggested the University of Aranon. But I see a bright future for you here in our province,” said the Eweti, his eyes pinned to Amaia’s.

I didn’t fail to recognise he pointedly ignored me with his gestures.

“There will be other Shadow’s who will be able to hunt down the criminals after we depart. mother is still here as well,” I said.

“Two-bit rejects who aren’t fit to further serve in the military after their two years of service is finished. Maybe your brother will return here once they realise his inadequacies. A Shadow who can’t even store magic? Ridiculous. Not you, Amaia. I can see bright things in your future,” said the Eweti.

With slumping shoulders, I bid the Eweti Scholar good day. Even the Eweti knew I was not what was to be expected from a Shadow. I did wonder if the Eweti liked any Shadow’s, the way they carried on.

My Shadow cat familiar slunk out of the darkness from underneath the merchant stalls eaves. Her tail swishing as she watched us.

“That was a boring kill.” Her purring voice comforted me.

Asking me what Quince, my familiar had said, Amaia rolled her eyes, and told Quince just what she thought about that. They were still bickering, with me relaying what Quince said, when we reached our home on the outskirts of town.

Unlike myself, who could hear, and understand most familiars I ran into, Amaia did not inherit that trait. It was a trait that came in handy and one I kept to myself. Familiars didn’t hold back when speaking with their person. One can learn much from listening in on their conversations. I don’t consider it prying as such, with my actions only matching those of whoever’s conversations I had been listening to. Eavesdropping on one such conversation in Wordsworth was how I found out about my parent’s story.

My grandmother believed my father only eloped with my mother, who, at that time, was the heir to the Royal Shadow Mages, because his magic was non-existent, even if he said otherwise.

I found that hard to believe considering he had agreed to leave Wordsworth with my mother. After she had declared that she was adopting my elder Nephilim twin brothers, and taking them to Southern Danelov with her.

Lamenting the absence of my brothers, who were stationed on the Western border, I sighed when I heard the bleat of a sheep that should not have been running around in the paddocks when we arrived home.

“Those Charleston’s! They must’ve waited until we left on our kill mission to raid the sheep,” said Amaia, her face darkening.

“Did you tell Louis about our mission?” I asked, staring at the sheep.

Making excuses, Amaia started climbing over the fence. She had an unhealthy obsession with Louis. An obsession that was more often than not, ignored by him.

“Why don’t we just kill the Charleston’s.” Hissed my familiar, slinking along beside us, weaving in and out of the shadows. Her feline tail swishing almost violently as she prowled.

Stopping halfway over the fence, Amaia baulked at Quince’s words when I told her what was said.

“We can’t go around killing our neighbours.” Amaia said, rolling her eyes at me.

Father had told us that Botanicals are a vital cog in the security of Danelov, when I’d first relayed Quince’s suggestion of removing the Charleston’s from the equation. He would go on to lecture me about how even though Shadows are the protectors of the realms, it wasn’t seen as humble in the eyes of the Blessed, to think ourselves better than anybody else. I failed to see how the Charlestons were any different from the criminals I hunted down, seen as though they were thieves in every sense of the word.

Herding the sheep back into their night time stables, Amaia clenched her fists and stormed over to the Charleston’s fence, bordering our property. I don’t know what she was planning to do, glaring as she was into the darkness. There was not a Charleston in sight, although I did see a figure peering out into the darkness from a curtained window. All Amaia would be able to do, if they did appear is beat them black and blue and yell like a wild banshee at them. While I stood in the Shadow’s ready to clean up her mess.

Not even her familiar had surfaced yet, which was strange indeed. I only hoped her eighteenth birthday that was coming up would bear fruit and gift her with Shadow magic, and a familiar, or I wouldn’t hear the end of it.

Seen as though I abhorred killing and hated the fact my Shadow’s were darker than a midnight storm, it was decided that it would be Amaia that the family’s Shadow Royal High Mage heir lineage would be passed down to. It made sense when her leadership abilities were so strong. Why, she could get the Eweti to do whatever she liked!

Our grandmother had made our mother promise to put Amaia forward as a contester for the Shadow Royal High Mage position when she finished her studies and mandatory military conscription. Which was quite fine with me. At least she wouldn’t be sent on kill missions, if she was safe and tucked away in Wordsworth.

“We should investigate if anything untoward has been done while we were absent. It looks like one of the lambs is missing. We can fetch it later on from the Charleston’s. I need to sleep for a bit before I begin the rest of my chores,” I said, sighing.

Grumbling to herself and giving the Charleston’s house one last glare, Amaia stormed off towards our Northern boundary. For somebody pegged to be the next Shadow Royal High Mage, my little sister had a terrible temper.