Year 29: Michael was facing his thirtieth birthday soon. The foremost thoughts on his mind concerned the four children he'd managed to sire in seemingly record time. All four mothers were eager for his attention and his brother was on the verge of another mental breakdown. Luckily, Morgan had steadied, so it just might subside with some care. Nationally, the financial boon of late seem ready to collapse under its own excessiveness and the family's business was in jeopardy of the aftershocks of a stock bust. The commodities end of their business was jumpy and he'd been banking excess money in preparation for a crash. Time alone was getting to be a precious.
The swimming pool was good place to relax. He listened to music while exercising alone. Nobody followed him down there. Granted, the women didn't know there was a pool down here and Morgan avoided it since he nearly drowned in it after slipping and hitting his head. As time wore on, it becaming a quiet oasis for his mind.
This evening found him like so many recently floating on his back after doing laps. He let his mind absorb the soothing ley energy of the softly lapping water. His head rested on an entry step, anchoring the rest of him. He thought he heard the soft padding of a foot. A part of him selfishly wanted it to go away. He wasn't fully relaxed yet. He sat up and turned to see who was there. His twelve-year-old daughter looked at him with the eyes of a frightened doe.
“Krystie? Do you need something, love?”
“Daddy? Why did you not want us to learn arcana?” The question was spoken more quietly and mouselike than usual.
“Arcana?” Michael asked, suddenly worried. “Where did you learn that word?”
“A lady taught me. She said she was our grandmum.”
“Taught you? Taught you what?” Michael quickly got out and knelt next to her.
“She said she could teach us what you wouldn't. Nicole said no, so she made her shut up and then asked me.”
Michael put a hand over his mouth, trying not to convey the utter horror that was creeping in his veins. “And you said?”
“I wanted to learn. I wanted to make my own decisions.”
He gripped her arm, shaking her inadvertently. “And? What did she teach you.”
“She made me work with a bowl of water. Said I'd be a natural. I'm sorry, Dad. You were right, it's awful and I can't stop seeing it now.”
Michael couldn't find words to express the sick feeling he felt inside. She tasted magic and it was corrupting on her very first go. 'No,' he rationalized, 'It doesn't work that way. She was just spooked. It was the same my first time.'
He hugged her. “I forgive you, dear, but don't learn any more. The Arcanum Principia is not for the fey-touched and a beginner shouldn't be learning it at all.”
“I saw you, but it wasn't you. I saw you pouring death and destruction and suffering from a scrying bowl. There was blood raining, and Uncle Morgan was chasing lambs down and hacking them to pieces on a burning horse. There was a lady dancing in flames and a man sewing pox in the river. So much blood was flowing that...” her voice cracked, so strained she could neither talk nor cry.
“That's absurd,” Michael reassured her. “Uncle Morgan would never do that, and neither would I. Consider it like a bad nightmare, shocking and revolting, but not real.”
It took a little longer before her crying subsided, but Michael was left indignant that his mother would undermine him. Did she have nothing better to do than scry on him constantly? Michael sympathetically walked his daughter upstairs and assured her that she hadn't done anything bad. In his mind, he was already planning another visit to Scafir'ii with dragons. And, he thought shuddering, he should also check with a prophet.
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