#magic fantasy

Right, fuck it, I'm publishing this here... this is chapter one of the book I'm currently writing - please give me your honest opinions as you read, I'll post a couple chapters - NO IF Update today, it will be Tuesday or Wednesday, but I hope you enjoy this instead if you like~

If you see any author's notes-to-self, uh, no you didn't :)

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Shaw stared out at the lapping waves, barefoot on the docks. The old wood hard beneath his feet as the crisp wind pulled at his hair and clothes like a million invisible hands, tousling them, pulling him back, trying to get him to turn around and face the village, to stop staring out to the rest of the world, out at the waves, waiting. But Shaw was stubborn, green eyes searching for the shadow of a ship on the horizon and he would not be deterred. The world was quiet this early in the morning, the sky still dark blue, shaded with speckles of coal midnight clinging to it like soot. His eyes trailed the line where the sea joined the sky and back again, just in case he missed something. A flicker in the corner of his eye and his gaze darts to the left to see a gull had settled on the beach below him, its neck jutting out, staring at the waves like Shaw, waiting, beady eyes searching for breakfast.

          Shaw turned his attention back to the waves, letting out a breath of a sigh that got lost in the motion of the rushing water below. He walked to the end of the docks, wood creaking underfoot as he went. He sat down heavily, his feet hanging over the edge as he stared, transfixed. Wasting away the hours as the blackbirds woke and started singing their morning song. The sky gradually peeled back the black layers to reveal a cornflower blue sky that reflected against the waves and messed with Shaw’s eyes as he stared and stared, the ocean mixing with the sky all blending into one.

          He tipped his head back and glanced up, searching the new horizon for the silhouette of a ship, waiting to see familiar dyed crimson sails ripping through the clouds rushing home to him.

But Nothing.

A futile gesture, he knew, but still… every morning he couldn’t sleep until he saw, until he knew. He wanted to be here in case he came back early, greeting him with a wide smile as he disembarked the Rascal. Shaw almost forgot what the ship looked like, but he knew how it felt, how it made him feel. Jonah had told him it was an object, that it wasn’t alive, but Shaw shook his head with a knowing smile, a hand on the sanded wood. “You don’t understand,” he told him.

          The village of Hythe rose sleepily behind him, following the blackbird’s song. First it was Farmer Aiken and his sons, and the hooves of cows rumbling the earth through market square, heading towards the lush green pastures. Even from the docks Shaw could hear Father Aiken berating his oldest son Damian, Jonah’s friend, for being lazy. The man’s normal voice was like a shout, so when he shouted it was like the sky opened up and cracked thunder down during a storm.

          Then came the merchants. The opening of shops, the crinkling of bells over the thick, rounded wooden doors, like the doors at the Manor on top of Hythe Hill, but nobody really counted that as a shop. Jonah had told him once that the door made sense because the Elder was always selling himself to the people anyways. That stuck with Shaw. The way Jonah’s eyes glinted with intelligence and a certain glaze of cruelty that looked so wrong in his kind eyes, like he knew something the Elder didn’t. Something not even Shaw knew. He hadn’t seen it before, that look, and he hadn’t seen it since. So sometimes when Shaw’s mind wandered, he thought back to that moment and wondered if Jonah had actually said that or not. On good days, Shaw decided it was a slip of the tongue, hell, Shaw didn’t like Mrs Frey and told Jonah about her all the time, so maybe Jonah just disliked the Elder and was sharing it with him.

          On bad days – days when Jonah would run off with Damian without inviting Shaw along – Shaw would curse him, staring across the black waves and wonder if he knew his brother at all. Everyone loved Jonah. Everyone. Even the Elder, even Mrs Frey. He had a confidence to him that paired well with his kindness and charm. He talked Shaw and Damian out of trouble more than once with the offended party, smoothing everything over with his wide, boyish grin exposing his dimples, his chocolate brown eyes crinkling at the side like half-moons, beaming against his tanned skin. Even his stupid brown hair was perfect, which Shaw borderline hated him for. It seemed he got all the good looks in the family and left nothing for Shaw.

          Both of them had sallow skin from playing outside all the time and helping Farmer Aiken and his boys in the summer because they had nothing better to do. Shaw went out with Dad on the Rascal where the salty spray would splash on their faces in storms, and when they returned home Shaw would show his arm against Jonah’s, telling him he was more tanned and grinning from ear to ear.

          “You smell like a fish,” Jonah would tell him. Shaw would shove him, and they would start wrestling until Jonah would sit on Shaw, not letting him up until he admitted he smelled like a fish.

          But where Jonah inherited all the beautiful, dark features from their mother, Shaw looked more like Dad, rugged and unkempt. Their green eyes gleamed with the same mischievous glint, his mother told him once, the rascal in them. The brothers had brown hair, but Jonah’s was dark, where Shaw’s was a lighter brown, and would get lighter in the summer, almost burning with an amber hue. Hair of fire, one of the fishermen told him when he was working on the sails of the Rascal.

          Shaw hated how he looked. The way people saw him, like he was more myth than human being, or a trickster formorri god or something like that. Mischievous eyes and hair of fire, they’re the kind of compliments you get when you’re not good-looking like Jonah, who got told he’s handsome just about every second of every day. The same way everyone complimented their mother’s beauty. Shaw and Dad were the ugly half of the family, the half nobody liked, which meant they were built for the sea and hard labours, hiding their hideousness from the world. On a ship, all that matters was how strong you were, how competent, and Shaw was plenty strong from helping Farmer Aiken in the fields and helping transfer crates of merchandise from the docks to the shops.

          Shaw searched the horizon once more, his hands going behind him to support himself as he leaned back, before letting out a sigh. Not today. Dad said the next time he sets sail he’ll bring Shaw with him as one of his crew, away from Hythe, watching as the village grows smaller as they sailed. Dad had only taken Shaw out for small trips, but he promised the next long run Shaw would be on the decks, on the water away from everyone. It set something burning in his gut, a rabid desire he never knew he had, an aching longing had settled in his bones as he saw his father off, waiting for his return.

“I knew I’d find you here,” came a voice behind him. Shaw didn’t turn to face Jonah, his eyes glued to the hypnotising waves instead. Wood creaked as Jonah walked closer, his steps light and graceful like a cat. “How long have you been sitting here?”

Shaw glanced lazily at the sun then shrugged and said: “I don’t know, before the Sun came out.”

“Did you sleep?”

“Of course I slept,” Shaw replied. “We just have nothing to do today so I decided to waste it here.”

Jonah hummed behind him. He walked to the wooden post to Shaw’s right and leaned his back against it, crossing his arms over his chest and faced Shaw, his dark brown eyes smiling with amusement.

“You know waiting out here won’t make him come back any faster?”

He rolled his eyes. “You always say that.” Shaw replied blandly. Jonah had the tendency to act like a second parent when Dad was gone on his long trips, and it irked him to no end. He was only four years older than him after all.

“And I’m always right. If he’s on his way, he’s on his way. You waiting here won’t magically change his mind or turn the ship around.”

Shaw let out a huff of a breath and stared at the waves, hoping that a silhouette would rise over the waters and shut Jonah right up, but it didn’t, and Shaw was left staring. The sun was high in the sky, shining down on the waters, reflecting off the waves, almost midday.

Jonah nudged him with the tip of his shoe. “Come on.”

“What?”

“Come on. Mam wants us to do something for her.”

Shaw groaned but stood. “What?”

Jonah scoffed at Shaw’s bare feet. “What did I tell you about wearing shoes, Shaw? You’ll get splinters.”

“So? It doesn’t matter.”

“No?” Jonah asked, his voice light, but in that annoyingly knowing voice, the one he used when he wanted to appear smarter than everyone else. “What about when you’re a sailor, hmm? What if you need to fight pirates?”

“Obviously, I’ll wear shoes then.”

“Okay but what if you got into a fight, in… the next three seconds.”

Shaw shrugged. “I’d probably win,” he said, and it was true. Shaw and Jonah were strong, like Farmer Aiken’s boys, but Shaw always had more of a scrappy nature to him than Jonah. Something their Dad berated him for on multiple occasions, not least when Shaw punched the Elder’s son for making a snide comment about Shaw’s mother.

He remembers limping home after the Elder’s guards roughed him up for daring to lay a hand on nobility, the world only visible through one eye, the other swollen shut and throbbing against his face making breathing difficult. Blood stained his lips and chin from a broken nose, hand on his hip, trying to keep the blood inside from receiving the business end of a guard’s sword after Shaw had disarmed the first one.

“Why can’t you be more like your brother?” Father hissed as Mother prepared salves to clean his wounds. Jonah helped her, looking over his shoulder to catch Shaw’s one-eyed gaze, understanding blossoming between them. That what Shaw did was right, no matter the consequences. A begrudging respect in shone in those dark eyes, because they both knew Jonah wouldn’t have fought back with his fists. He would have used a deadlier weapon; his words. But sometimes words didn’t cut it. “They could have killed you Shaw.”

“They wouldn’t,” Shaw scoffed. “They got lucky. It’s only because there was more of them. One on one I could’ve –”

Father gripped Shaw’s shoulders tightly, his eyes so wide that Shaw could see the whites of them above and below his iris, shaking him slightly, trying to convey how terrified he was. It was working. Shaw felt his mouth go dry despite the blood, his busted bottom lip quivering slightly. He had never seen his Father so upset, so frightened, as if he was trying to tell Shaw one of the most important lessons of life.

“There are always going to be more of them, Shaw. You will always be outnumbered.”

“Finbar,” Mother said quietly into the house. A silence stretched between the walls until Father let out a sigh, his grip loosening from Shaw’s shoulders. Jonah walked over to them, kneeling beside Shaw’s chair and wordlessly started applying a mixture of herbs that smelled disgusting to Shaw’s wound on his hip. Shaw hissed and flinched away.

“Stop being such a baby,” Jonah told him.

“You get stabbed then, see how you like it.”

Jonah snorted. “I’m way too clever to get stabbed, Shaw. Why can’t you be more like me?”

Shaw glared at him, but it was Dad who slapped Jonah lightly upside the head. Jonah’s head turned as swift as a sickle during harvest. “Ow. What was that for?”

Father whistled, looking away from Jonah. Shaw laughed when he caught his eye, green meeting mischievous green and winking. “Stop being such a baby,” Shaw teased. Jonah’s attention was back on him again, smearing some of the remnants of the salve on Shaw’s cheek. Shaw shoved him away with a noise of disgust.

“Yeah, that’s what you get. Now hold still.”

In the back of the room Malise sighed, and Shaw knew she was staring at the idol of Manx. “One girl is all I ask. One girl.”

“You already have a girl,” Jonah said. Shaw smacked him on the arm. “I swear to the ancients, Shaw, if you move one more time, I will make you eat this.”

Shaw stuck out his tongue. It was a gentler hand that stopped Jonah’s advance, locking around his wrist as he went to put a dollop of the balm on Shaw’s tongue.

“That’s poisonous, Jonah.” Malise scolded.

“So is he,” Jonah argued good-naturedly.

Shaw’s smile dimmed a little before sliding off his face entirely. Jonah’s eyes widened the moment the words passed his lips, regret plain on his face. “Shaw. I didn’t–”

Shaw turned in his seat, giving Jonah a better angle to finish applying the salve to his wound and bit the inside of his cheek, trying his best not to cry. Later that night, when the two of them were in bed, the house quiet, the darkness thick around them, Jonah whispered: “Shaw?”

Shaw, who was awake and staring at the ceiling, considered not answering, but he could hear his brother’s heart break with the silence, so he whispered back, “yeah?”

“You know Mrs Frey is crazy right?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“And I didn’t mean–”

“It’s fine, Jonah.”

“No, it isn’t.” Jonah sat up in his bed, searching the darkness. “You’re not the monster, Shaw. I am. She’s got it all wrong. You’re perfectly normal. Perfect the way you are. I don’t want you to be like me. You’re better.”

Shaw should’ve asked Jonah about the monster comment, but emotion clogged his throat at the heartfelt confession whispered into the darkness. Shaw almost hissed as salty tears ran into his wounds on his face, cutting like glass, but he didn’t.

He whispered out a broken, “thank you” instead.

 “Right,” Jonah said, nudging Shaw’s shoulder with his elbow. Jonah was annoyingly a good head and shoulder taller than Shaw now, after his growth spurt in the Summer. He was taller, and somehow even more handsome, which Shaw hated hearing about and being known for. Oh yes, your Jonah Karlyle’s brother, aren’t you? “But say, oh I don’t know, someone was to do this?”

And before Shaw could ask what, Jonah slammed his foot on Shaw’s toes and Shaw howled like wolves on a full moon. His knee jerked up as Shaw hopped, grabbing the sole of his foot and cursing Jonah as he laughed and said, “this is why you should wear shoes.”

“You’re such a famar piece of–” Shaw cursed, cradling his foot as he inspected the damage. His three little toes were pulsing red from the attack, glaring angry up at him. He set his foot down with a gasp, and shoved Jonah when he laughed at him. “I hate you.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t say that. That’s not very nice,” Jonah replied lightly, a smile on his tan face. “You’ll be thinking about it constantly when you’re out on the ship, wind in your hair, salt in your lungs, and then, at night you’ll be in your hammock, and you’ll stare at the ceiling above and think–”

“I’m so glad Jonah isn’t here,” Shaw finished with a wistful sigh.

Jonah laughed. “Maybe, but not that night. That night you’ll miss me Shaw. You’ll miss your big brother,” Jonah said, hooking an arm around Shaw’s shoulders and pulling him into a hug while Shaw scrambled to get away, pushing at everything he could see. “You’ll be so sad, you may even cry, and you’ll be like, I should’ve never said I hated him that day. Wow Jonah was so right.”

“Get off of me!” Shaw laughed, but Jonah held him tighter, running a mock-soothing hand down Shaw’s hair. He cooed and shushed him like he was an unruly child.

“There, there, Shaw. I forgive you.”

Shaw turned in Jonah’s iron grip and bit his arm. Jonah pulled back with a hiss, shoving Shaw away. “What is wrong with you?”

“I told you to get off,” Shaw said with a casual shrug. “It’s not my fault you didn’t listen.”

The two of them continued joking and laughing as they walked up the hill to the East from the docks. The village was thrumming with energy, the fishermen’s stalls had strings of fish on hooks behind them, and the smith, Jakon, nodded at the pair as they walked past. Away from the market square, life was stiller, more peaceful as the brothers approached the Alphonsii temple of white stone where their mother would be. She was an Alphonsii priestess, the shepherd to their wayward flock, and probably the only reason so many people gave Shaw and their father a pass in the village. Nobody wanted to annoy Malise and face the gods’ divine retribution should they insult them.

Jonah, of course, got a free pass from the hatred, sharing his mother’s dark and strong features, all sharp angles and hollow space. Malise was speaking to a foreigner when they walked into the temple, not bothering to bow at the door. Jonah had a strange chip on his shoulder when it came to religion, Shaw noticed, and so when he could get away with it, he wouldn’t bow or show any respect. If he was with anyone other than Shaw, the other Jonah would be performing a show of faith like the puppet storytellers that toured the towns surrounding Hythe near harvest.

Malise stood in her dyed midnight gown that looked like flowing water when it rippled on her body, glossy and gleaming with all the holiness required of a priestess, a hood perched on the top of her head, pinned so as she nodded along it didn’t move or fall into her face, giving it a more magical quality like it was a part of her.

Her dark eyes found the two of them immediately, and the pair smiled as they walked down the tiered aisles carved from bone white stone towards the centre where the altar lay. Malise was standing tall, a crease between her brows and something heavy in her expression as the man gestured wildly at her in hushed voices.

“General Silver,” Malise said, cutting the man off before he could start another rant, her voice as smooth as bee’s honey and just as warm, “may I introduce my sons?”

Silver turned to face Shaw and Jonah, only realising that they were so close now. He straightened, clearing his throat and stood to his full height, which was taller than Jonah, Shaw noted with a twisted satisfaction in his chest.

“My, these aren’t your boys, are they Mal?” The general asked, his voice hard, like sharpening swords on whetstone. “Well, you certainly can’t deny them, can you? Especially you Jonah, my he’s the image of Mikhail, isn’t he?”

Malise smiled fondly. “Yes, he is.”

Jonah smiled as he walked towards them. Shaw noticed the subtle shift in his brother; the difference between his Jonah and the one everyone else got, the lie. “Good to see you again, general,” Jonah said politely, extending his hand to shake Silver’s.

“Mannerly too,” Silver guffawed, a deep rolling kind of chuckle that bounced off the walls. “Mikhail was never that sort, was he?”

Shaw walked up beside Jonah, eyes wide, as the cold stone below his feet injected him with an eerie, dead kind of cold. He wanted him to say Shaw looked like mother too, that he looked like uncle Mikhail and was connected to her in some way.

“And you must be Shaw,” the General said, his height probably double Shaw’s, and triple his width, towering over him like a giant. “You got your father’s good looks,” Silver said fondly. It struck something in Shaw, as if his chest was replaced with a lute and the general’s words just strummed a perfect chord, resonating a deep pride. Nobody had ever accused him of being good looking too. He beamed at the General.

Malise placed a gentle hand on Shaw’s head, smiling. “This one has Mikhail’s temperament,” she told Silver. The General laughed.

“Yes,” he said, eyes on the spot just below Shaw’s left eye where the guard’s had cut him, the pale, pearly scar stark against his tan skin. “I could’ve guessed.”

Silver straightened again, clearing his throat, his hand going to the hilt of his sword on his hip. “Lovely to see you again, Malise, but I think I should be carrying on with my business.”

“Of course, Silver. Jonah, would you and Shaw mind escorting the General to the Elder?” The boys’ mood soured immediately, sharing a look between them before Jonah smiled his convincing, charming smile and Shaw wondered how he did it. How he was able to put everyone at ease all the time, when he probably wanted to curse out just about everyone in the village. Was it not exhausting to think one thing and act out another?

“Of course,” Jonah said, turning his attention to the General. “It would be an honour, sir.”

“So polite,” General Silver said fondly, turning back to Malise. He put one arm behind his back and bowed lowly. “Priestess.”

“General.”

Shaw was already climbing the tiered steps of the temple, eager to have the sun back on his face. The temple was too cold. Too dead. Too reserved and quiet. Shaw couldn’t stand its lifelessness. The sun greeted him with a smile as he stepped out onto the small tree lined pavilion that led to the Temple, stretching his arms to try and shake away the lingering effects of the Alphonsii thick air.

***

First time going to Howarts ✨✨