Araspeth looked around her quarters, taking the space in. Even after all this time, the space felt surreal. Most of her youth was spent in the back room of a tannery, the rancid smells of decaying flesh, animal urine, and dung lingering in the air. Her father’s work was grueling, he made very little money, and the caustic chemicals used to prep the skins grew venom so deep in him that even the strongest of healing mages couldn’t have saved his life. Then her mother took to rebellion, and Araspeth herself, at the time too young to know better, followed suit.
But now? She had everything she ever wanted, right at her fingertips. Hot meals every day, thick curtains that kept out the cold drafts late at night, silken sheets, and thick woolen quilts. It was all luxury her urchin child self couldn’t have even fathomed. It wasn’t just the luxury, though, that set her mind straight. Despite everything her mother had tried to convince her of, her time rising the ranks to High Priestess taught her some harsh realities those in the rebellion refused to face.
The world is hard, sure. Many suffer through poverty or struggle with disease. That is just the natural order. The way things are meant to be. But the scientists, those who answer to Barnabas, are seeking things far more valuable than the costs. Magic is dying. It’s happening slowly, but with time, the total volume of ether seems to be dissipating. Every few years, the census makes it clear: there are fewer and fewer magic users. And if they are gone, everyone can be damn sure that disease will be truly rampant then. But if we can harness it… if we can bend magic to our will, or prevent it from dying…
So yes, mom. Araspeth thinks. I’ll happily sacrifice hundreds more if that can save the lives of generations. Seeing vile, mutinous cretins like Roman writhe against progress, and fail… well that was just a little bonus.
Winner: 4th Contest August
Winner: June Flash Fiction
