The GnathMature

In a world obsessecd with magic, Damalh finds himself without any magical abilities to call his own and a Dad who will stop at nothing to help him gain his abilities. But in the small village of Marmon, not all is as it seems. With the help of a friend Damalh will find out the true price of those, magical abilities.

                “Try again.”

                “I can’t.”

                “You will.” Dad ordered.

                With a resigned, intake of breath I focused once again on the feather. I tried to imagine it lift from the table, just a little. But it was no use; the feather was going to stay on the table no matter how much I stared at it. 

                “It’s just a feather!” My dad roared.

                “And I can’t lift it.” I snapped back, unwilling to be shouted at.

                He leaned over the table and looked into my eyes as if the problem could be found there, “Can’t you make it vibrate, just a little?”


                Slamming his hand into the table the whole room shook with magic. He grabbed the feather and tried to throw it into the fireplace; instead the feather floated downwards only a foot away from him. Laughter had surfaced in the back of my throat but I thought better of it as my dad had set the feather aflame.

                “Get out, you ungrateful gnath.” The word gnath hurt more than the dismissal, the acceptance in him that I was non-magical was worse than accepting it myself.

                I stood, knocking over the stool and storming out of the hut. I wandered aimlessly through the village until I was pretty sure I’d covered every possible pathway. As the sun began to set beyond the rabbit hill, I crawled underneath an old cart, behind Mrs. Gerald’s house, for the second time in that week. I rested my head against the floor and tried to fall asleep, watching a spider re-spin its web over the entrance to underside of the cart.

                Regret surfaced underneath my anger as a cold wind crept underneath the cart. Hot tears gathered round my eyes but I dashed them away quickly. In a vain attempt I focused on the spider and imagined it moving to my will, but the spider remained unfazed. 

                 Eventually fatigue must have won over, because when I re-opened my eyes, it was daytime and I could hear the soft hum of chatter between the workers on their way to the fields.

                Leaving my sanctuary I disturbed the spider’s web for a second time, shaking the grass out of my dark hair.

                The vegetable patch outside the farm master’s house lay before me, my stomach grumbled impatiently, as I gazed at the rows of lettuces and tomatoes, especially the tomatoes. Dad had explained that tomatoes were relatively new to Avvenire, brought to the country by the late King Ahere in his mission to discover ancient lands and bring the riches back for his country.  He then laughed and added that I must be the only soul alive to appreciate the agricultural part of his mission. Not that I understood what agricultural meant.

                Hungry and without a home; I looked up at the back of Mrs. Gerald’s white washed house. It was only then that I realised that the house was designed to be a one-way house, with one entrance to the house at the front. The lack of a back door to the kitchen brought this to my attention.

               One-way houses, were built when Avvenire was at war with the Thystr, to prevent otherworldly creatures from entering someone’s home. On the other hand there are no records of any type of creature being able to enter a person’s home this way; houses like this were most likely built to calm rumours of Avvenire losing the war.  

                Part of me wanted to just take a tomato but as I took a step towards the rows of red spheres, I noticed wards set around the perimeter. Instead I wandered round to the front of the house and knocked on the door. While I waited I looked up the worn dirt track, at the small thatched hut, with its badly built stone walls, one shuttered window and average wooden door. Knowing that dad would be collapsed onto the bed, with half of the hut in ruins. That he would wake up, somewhere in the afternoon, fix all the broken items with less than a click of his fingers and continue in his mission, to unlock my own magical talents that don’t exist.

The End

0 comments about this story Feed