The fire snaps softly, filling the air with its light and the spicy scent of pinesap and smoke. Within the liquid confines of its illumination are gathered Sylvans -- men, women, and children of every age and stature, huddled close to the fire to hide from the night, or perhaps just to listen.

On a fallen log dragged close to the crackling blaze sits a simple woman, her body lithe and willowy. She is clad in pristine white leather fringed at every opportunity. The hem and collar are covered with elaborate beadwork of brilliant reds, oranges, blues and blacks in geometric shapes that catch the eye and hold it firmly in its angular twists and turns. In her lap is a child not more than six years of age, staring up into the woman's youthful face with an expression of pure adoration. Hazel eyes stare back down at the child with warmth and humor, the depths of that look laden with ages of knowledge not entirely in keeping with the young appearance of her body.

The child's fluting voice pipes, "Tell us again, Grandmother. Tell us about the magic. Tell us about how things use t'be." Little Grasshopper peers up into Grandmother's eyes with emerald orbs wide and dewy, demanding in their innocence.

A rich chuckle rides over the sound of the flames for a moment, and over the strained not-sound of every other Sylvan gathered there as they collectively hold their breaths, waiting. "All right." The tone of the reply is deep and throaty, redolent with heavy undertones of laughter and filled with the hiss of a score of breaths suddenly released. "About the way things used to be..." The young-seeming woman, Grandmother, gently sets the child aside, sending her back to her mother's waiting arms with a pat and turns her hazel gaze into the fire. Colors ripple there brightly, leaping in red, gold and orange. Flame-blue flickers higher and higher, dancing in her eyes and in the flames until all of a sudden, a picture resolves in the bonfire's heart, limned in a golden aura of flickering heat it spins in dark precision: a hole of ebony in the light.

"In the beginning, there was only one magic." At her words, a spark of light ignites in the darkness, pulsing slowly. It sends tendrils off in every direction, branching into a web that fades into obscurity in the distance, but goes on and on into infinity. "One magic and one people, and the magic resided in all bodies equally. The One People could dance in the air and swim in the oceans. They could walk amongst the fires of the earth and dance in the trees."

And from her words a glowing picture grows, showing figures of shining proportions, their exact features blotted out by a beautiful illumination from within. "All was peaceful and the One People lived together in harmony."

From the far side of the fire, Grasshopper pipes abruptly, "Then what happened, Grandmother? Tell us what happened then!" She bounds in her mother's lap, entranced by the vision and completely undaunted by her mother's scandalized hushing.

"In time, child. In my own time." She smiles beatifically and then continues, "The people were happy. They debated many things. The nature of the universe and its creation. The way the world should be. Many began to try new forms, fitting themselves to their favorite element. Some grew wings to fly in the skies, and some fins and gills to live beneath the waves in the oceans. Some took on dark and strong shapes to live within the fire and stone of the earth. And some took the spirit of the forest into their souls so they could walk with it in peace and harmony, dancing with the ways of the land."

"S'me!" pipes Grasshopper. She squirms out of her mother's lap and begins to dance about the fire as if wading through thick underbrush. "Dancin' wi' th' forest! Dancin' wi' th' forest! I'm a Magic People!" Her happy cries and flitting steps are stifled suddenly as her mother sweeps her back into her lap, hand over the tiny girl's mouth. She grins at Grandmother sheepishly and shrugs. Grasshopper squirms and wiggles violently, finally subsiding into a sullen sulk.

The woman smiles in return, her eyes kindly on the child and reassuring, "That you are. That you are." Grasshopper's sulk evaporates like dew under the morning sun. She sits up straighter and pushes her mother's hand away, quiet once again to listen.

Grandmother straightens and takes up the tale once more, the globe of visions shuddering into motion again, spinning out images closely akin to what one might see throughout Aether: Empyreans darting through the air, Atlanteans coursing through deep waters, Varati striving deep in the earth and Sylvans slinking through the woody ways. "Their magic, too, they began to hone. Still did each of the people have all magic in their bodies, but those that desired began to delve deep into parts of it to the exclusion of others. They began to twist things against themselves, making the winds, waters, fires and earth perform for them like some sort of broken beast. Few kept the old ways and their shining bodies, withdrawing to watch the others from afar."

"The People began to forget that they were once all one, in harmony. In balance. Their debates of the world began to become contests, each striving to prove that their way was superior." The rich tones of the woman's voice throb with sorrow. "They forgot that they were one."

Sorrow is consumed in the ringing tones of judgment and horror. "And then the day came: so far into the magic had they delved that they learned how to turn the Great Web back upon itself. Two worlds that were one were ripped apart, drifting slowly. They stretched the Web of All so far it shattered into a thousand pieces, breaking the magic apart with it. No longer could the One People return to their shining selves; they were trapped for all time in the guises they had chosen. Those few that still followed the way of the One People, those that could touch all of the magic, spanned the distance with great Bridges, links between this world and the next, trying to repair the rent in the web." The vision pulses, shattering like a pottery vase dropped onto stone, leaving only the flickering of flames behind in its wake, each splinter of ebony consumed in the rippling light.

Sadness returns tenfold, dripping from every word, every phrase, and Grandmother's head drops slightly, her eyes closing in remembrance. "But it was too late. Those that were still Shining Ones were not enough. The others found they were truly no longer one people. Like their appearances, the magic had splintered among them. No longer could one touch all facets of it, any strand of the web to twist it to their will. Instead, there were many pieces and strands frayed and shattered, and many people lacked parts of the magic completely."

"More, to take one of another kind as mate gave the couple children that could not live in either land of their parents' and magic that raged in their blood out of control. Each faction blamed the other. It was their fault. They stretched the natural magic too far. They made this happen, destroyed the way the world should be. And then... they warred."

Like doom, the woman's voice knells into the night, "Forever and a day, the Great War raged on, tearing the fabric of the world even further and rocking it from end to end. The seas rose and the lands sank, great mountains spewed forth their hot blood and forests screamed in agony at its touch. Those that did not heed the warning of the magic bred between people again and again, producing the vast numbers of halfbreeds that then joined together again and again, multiplying with every generation to create the mongrels we see today. Born without magic, they fled across the bridges between the worlds, trying to find safety. The worlds drifted further apart with every act of perverted magic so that the bridges trembled and could no longer hold. They began to break and disappear one by one."

The knell of doom fades into a whisper, Grandmother's voice barely audible above the crackling of the flames. "There were a few, a very few that had not given themselves to the fighting. Those that were still Shining Ones and were still tenuously a part of each other. The drift was tearing them, too, pulling them apart so closely were they connected to the great web of the world. So they gathered together one last time and chose to take on forms like that of their siblings, to cast off the shining skein and don the guise of earth, water, fire and air to save themselves from being destroyed. Each one reached far within the web of themselves and gathered all the threads of magic that were similar and they bound those threads within with great magic. And then they broke free."

"With that breaking, the splintering was complete. Magic heaved and twisted and changed, becoming a mere shadow of what it had been. The strength of it ebbed out of the One People, touching them with only a faint reflection of their former glory. Only those few that still remembered the old way held it in its depths. They were the magic. And their sacrifice had changed them. Only they could touch it as strongly as it had been channeled in the past. Never again would any one person touch all magic, but these were Avatars, the living vessels of the new magic."

Grandmother breathes deeply, her sudden smile breaking the oppressive silence that has fallen over the clearing. Never before has she told the story in quite this way. Never before have they heard of the few Shining Ones that gave so much to save the world. Only a very few regard the woman with a growing awe, understanding what has been revealed. "Now, we have our people, and the firewalkers, rainmakers and waterdancers. We are all Magic People, tracing back through the ages to the time of Harmony. And if we strive for peace and understanding with all, perhaps one day we can Shine once more, as we did so long ago."

In the silence, the woman stands slowly. She turns from the fire and moves easily towards the edge of the puddle of light cast by the blaze. Her pristine clothing gleams for a moment even as she steps beyond that circle. Slowly, that white glow fades into the night, leaving only the afterimage of her behind.

The next morning, for all the searching, there is no sign to be found of Grandmother.

FIN  

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