Talven sat at his parents’ dinner table, holding the parchment at arm’s length. Had it really been ten years? It seemed like only yesterday that his older brother received the same letter, advising him that the traditional sojourn into the city had been scheduled for the following weekend. It was something that was expected of everyone in the hamlet; experience the technology of the city, and learn firsthand why living in the bountiful fields of the country was the superior choice.
He didn’t remember much of his brother. Talven had only been six at the time, after all. But he remembered how excited Decken had been to return, telling anyone who would listen about the way “elektrisety” was able to power all sorts of devices that did work for you, instead of doing work the natural way. He’d brought Talven home a gift of some wax quills and some paper– real, smooth paper, not the parchment that was made as a byproduct of the lumberyard. Talven could barely imagine a place where no one used mana to cast spells, but he spent the entire day drawing pictures on the dining room table, delighted at the way the was quills shrunk as they were used, as if they might disappear entirely if they were used for too long.
He didn’t remember much of the argument. His parents kept trying to explain to Decken why the city was a barren landscape, devoid of mana, with only stone buildings and false hopes to sustain life, but his brother refused to listen. He kept talking back– flashbacks of his father’s red face and flying spittle came to mind– until eventually the small hut devolved into a full-on shouting match. Decken went over to his side of the room, packed his things into an odd canvas backpack, and left. Talven never saw him again. (more…)