*Thunder*

The boy was seven years old at the time. In the cellar, near the main fireplace, he could be seen standing next to his twelve-year-old brother.

The older boy was motioning with his hands rapidly, as if urging the other on. "Come on," he whined, "you’ve done spells harder than this before."

"Not with the capital fire, though." The small child, despite his size, was not one to be trifled with, not with his skills. In fact, the only ones who could order him around were his mother, father, and brother. "This has witchmints, spells, things I’ve never even read about."

This was something, even to his brother, as the seven-year-old had read most of the books in the palace. The information did not vex him, though.

"Well, what’s it going to do, then, blow up? Come on. Just take some up to me room, there’s a good boy. The fire’s hotter here than in the upstairs grates."

"That’s the problem- if I take the fire in me hands, they’ll be burnt to a crisp, shields or no. And I’m not a good boy," he added as an afterthought. "I’m a horrible little boy, who never does nothin’ anyone asks me to."

"Obviously."

The little boy would not oblige. "I won’t do it, you know. I won’t scorch my hands. I won’t..."

"In Her name, BURN YOUR DAMNED HANDS, THEN!! I’ll be freezin’ upstairs, and if you don’t do what I say..."

"You wouldn’t dare."

"What?" Utterly confused, the twelve-year-old stopped short his ranting long enough to stare at his little brother.

"I said, you wouldn’t dare say Her name." The child had no plan whatsoever, he just needed time. For the fireplace would indeed blow up, and even if the boy could have gotten away, the force of the explosion would have destroyed the castle and the surrounding countryside. But his brother musn’t know that. He knew his brother’s plans.

"Oh, I’ll do more than just say her name, little brother." The older brother was growing a look of glee on his face that looked eerie by the light of the fire. "I wonder, do you pay attention in our lessons?" Slowly, he advanced upon the sevener, backing the child to the edge of the open fire, and at the same time, drawing his dagger. It was a beautiful knife, given to the future heir of the castle by an old Grandmother of the town. The hilt was made of elements that were released when in the presence of that element. So now, by the fire of the Castle Morgaux, the crystal blade was engulfed in fire, not touching the twelver’s hands, and the older boy held up the dagger, and, in the firelight, there cast a red glow under the flames of the knife- the color of blood. "Slain by fire, Killed by foe, Lady of the Great Crown, let his death build a bridge to my land, and by the Order of the Kings, I bid you, Lady, COME TO ME!

A growing panic was rising in the youngster’s chest. He had to do something, but what? He didn’t have the power, or the skill... but he must do something... Throwing all his magic into shields protecting himself, the boy drew his own blade, knowing it would break as soon as it touched the enchanted one. Enraged at his weakness, he reached with his magic into his brother’s and searched for a weak link. There was none. There was nothing he could do but be killed by fire, either in the hands of his brother or not. And so, helpless, he let the final words of his brother’s incantation ring in his ears: "Machasen, I command you!" And so all went black.

        Buggy, age 13, contact: buggirl717@hicom.net

                            copyright 2003 Buggy