The Spirit Charmers. Each member had a near-legendary reputation on their own, and it was said that when they came together, they were able to defeat any enemy, no matter how fierce. From ending conflicts that lasted for generations to saving the world multiple times over, the tales of the six spellcasters blur the line between real and imaginary.
But even such a group had its beginnings somewhere. They too, hard as it may be to believe, used to be young, taking their first steps with magic, squabbling with each other for petty reasons, laughing and crying as they faced this world not as the fabled magicians they would be, but as innocent children, as we all have been.
This is their tale. A tale not of heroic feats, of huge stakes and epic fights, of enemies and victories that defy imagination, but of six children and their magic teacher.
"Would this suffice, Miss Gentle?"
The writer bit his lip. The old woman may have been named Gentle, but her temper was famously short, and her anger fierce enough to scare off even fighting men. Everyone in the town knew the old anecdote about the two robbers who tried sneaking into her house and had run away with faces white as snow, after all.
"I believe you can do better," she started, "but it will suffice. For now."
He let out the breath he'd been holding. Damn, but the woman was scary. He put down the inky pen and wiped the sweat off his brow.
He didn't know why she had chosen him, out of every writer in the city, to pen her story. He was proud of his works, of course, but he had neither the fame nor the talent of some of his peers. Perhaps it was his lineage? It was no secret that his great-great-great grandmother had been Aussa, the legendary Charmer who had also been a writer of many great volumes, and elders in particular seemed to care a lot about that. He didn't like bragging about it, though. His father had always told him to judge a person by their qualities, not by whose family they belong to.
He took another glance at the old woman. Her hair was pure white, and her face full of wrinkles, more than he had ever seen on even the oldest people he knew. Her blue eyes caught his, and he looked down.
I don't know about her qualities… He thought.
Not for the first time, he wondered who she really was. She had apparently moved to this town when his dad was a child and was already old then. There were wild rumors she was a powerful spellcaster, or an exiled princess living a secret life, but no one dared to pry too deeply, and not just because of her attitude. Miss Gentle's medicines had saved more than a few lives, and she'd clean your clothes cheaper and better than any of the public laundries in the capital, or so the women said. Still, that was another mystery. Why would someone like her want to write a novel? She didn't strike him as someone with a passion for books, and with two successful businesses, it was certainly not for a lack of money. And why this strange topic?
"If I may ask," he saw the strange expression on her face and cursed himself for even starting the sentence. No choice but to continue now, though. "Why the Charmers? There's been a thousand tales written about them already. I mean no disrespect, of course, and I'll follow your lead, but… why?"
The man had to admit writing about the Spirit Charmers' origin was certainly a novel idea, but there was a reason for that. Why prose about their childhood, when they'd done so much as adults? Some others had tried it before, but their works had flopped, not the least because no one actually knew anything about where they'd come from. A half-true story with a few fabrications mixed in to spice it up was a perfect formula the public ate up no matter how generic the actual content was. Why bother with an entirely made-up tale?
"Well," she croaked, reclining in her chair, "someone should tell that story, don't you think? And it isn't going to be Aussa, I can tell you that. She was always too embarrassed to write about her past."
The writer pushed his glasses up. He was a bit annoyed at the woman talking like she'd met his ancestor. Sure, she might be old, but the Charmers had retired over a hundred years ago by now. At most, she'd have met their descendents.
He wondered if accepting her offer had been a mistake. Miss Gentle had paid well, well enough that he felt like he had no choice, but he didn't feel like wracking his brains trying to turn senile meaningless rambles into a cohesive story.
"You really do remind me of her." She spoke, suddenly.
"Huh?"
"Nothing, just talking to myself. Now let's get to it." She snapped her fingers. 'I'm not getting any younger."
"At your service…" he mumbled and pushed back his brown hair from his face. His hopes weren't too high, especially with this odd choice of a theme, but a job was a job, he supposed. If he was going to write Miss Gentle's story into existence, then he might as well do it as best as he could.
