This is Part 5 of an on-going serial I’m writing called, “Lyr the Enchanter”. To read the story from the beginning, you can find the story index, here. In this instalment we learn a little more about what it means to be an enchanter…
I was dreaming. Of a time before. Of a time of after. I couldn’t yet tell…
The world was shiny, like the metallic gloss of a bird’s feather. Shimmering. Glimmering. Glistening.
Dreams were magic. They held power. As an Enchanter, I knew that. Knew how to read them, manipulate them. Weave magic into and out of them, through them and around them. The dream held the spell, the spell held my will, and the world changed, transformed by my intention.
No wonder so many people feared Enchanters. The innate power they – we – possessed was terrifying.
But this didn’t feel like one of my dreams. Who did it belong to? It was the wrong question. “What” always came before “Who”.
Metal…lots of metal…a workshop, maybe? Magic was worked in the forge: iron was bent, remoulded, reshaped, to the metalsmith’s will.
Then I understood. I was the iron. I was being used. Someone was trying to influence me; bend me to their will. But why? And for what purpose?
Written for Crimson’s Creative Challenge #5 – I’ve gone a little over the 150 word limit this week. Oops!