I, Magus: Memoirs of a Prophet Prologue

By Dawn Wilkins

I, Magus of Zeal Kingdom, do hereby declare this the formal memoirs of my history. Furthermore, I have entitled, by my hand, the bearer of this manuscript to exhibit it, at liberty, under the condition that it is narrated to its entirety. There is to be no fabrications or alterations. I shall, henceforth, deliver onto you the cold hard truth. The truth of a prophet...Thus, my history commences…
       Prince Janus Zeal
       (Lord Magus)


Myriad colors of a darker spectrum flashed before her eyes. Biting winds slashed against her body and cold seeped into her but the aspiring prophetess permitted only the incantation to seize her attention. “Nuega, ziena, zieber, zom…Now the chosen time has come…exchange my soul for the life of the lost prophet…Black winds, I beseech you…!” As fierce as a sword thrust the dark breeze was upon her, slamming her to the emulated pentagram.

She was swirling, the familiarity of the black vision embracing her. A filter of vision is visiting me! The young wizardess’ heart began to race. Is it the great prophet? Oh, beloved oracle bless me with your foresight. Truly, we were meant to restore the glory of zeal.


Meredith ignored the bothersome voice. Another of the prophetic visions she had experienced as a child came to her. The aspiring prophetess focused her concentration on the sight as light and dark merged to form shapes. Her name was recited again but she turned a deaf ear. Perhaps now she would understand it all. Perhaps now the image would be clear. Perhaps now the ominous oracle would return to living. Perhaps now really was now.

A fragmented figure raced in what seemed desperation, the back to Meredith’s vision. The prophet! Meredith cried in exultation. An expansive violet cloak flailed like rippling lightning and strands of azure hair floated like liquid sky. He ran with impossible speed, hands stretched to him, imploring him to halt. But he did not. Come back! What are you trying to tell me? Meredith could have ripped her lavender hair out from frustration.

Now the long-dead prophet was falling. The fall seemed to take forever to complete a descent into nothingness and finally a crash. And not a pleasant crash, you can bet your bottom copper on that. Though Meredith couldn’t see his lips nor hear the cry she was certain his scream could shatter glass and sanity alike. Her stomach churned in grief to see the prophet’s agony as he severed the waters. A spray; that’s the only constellation the wizardess received.

What’s this all mean? Where did he go? Is this the way the story ends? Meredith’s questions were not left unanswered. Like a liberated dove, hailing blue and purple (colors of royalty, if one listened to the elder), he erupted from the imprisoning liquid. Now he floated above, majesty in one word. Walking on water, actually. Triumphant was he. And her heart soared with joy.

Then it was all over. The vision faded to the images of the material world.


Blue light blazed from her flames periodically on the carpeted floor, set not only in a pattern that encircled the pentagram she lay on but also lead up to the cavern’s entrance. That was indication that someone had intruded. A youthful male of about sixteen years had gingerly pushed back her beaded blanket. Glancing this way and that he entered. Normally she would have screamed him out (not for the first time, either) but his genuine interest in the cave gave her pause. Maybe it was time she let another in on her secret. Ian wasn’t particularly bright but at least he was attentive. Most of the inhabitants of the Terra Continent would have snickered at her efforts to resurrect the prophet.

“Enter. The prophetess of the great Magus greets you.”

The words, coupled with emotion and demeanor she invested in them, appeared to excite Ian. She straightened, smoothing the purple velvet that clothed her. The youth slowly walked forward. Meredith beckoned him to come closer and when he did she wrapped one arm around his neck and the other around an immaculately black tome. His fervent smile reflected deeply in his coffee eyes. She flashed a brilliant smile back.

“Meredith, what are you doing? I’ve been looking all over for you. Don’t you want to hang out with me?” Ian asked. Dirty-blond strands tickled his brow as he looked at her.

Though the two were the same age the young prophetess knew her bearing made her seem the elder. Imagine the prophet as he prepared to bring glory to Zeal¼And what if he could be returned to the land of the living? He and I would restore the magical kingdom. Prophet and prophetess, side by side, immortals that persevered through the darkness of disbelief and rendered light to their kingdom. Oh, wondrous and eminent Magus please come to me!

“Oh, no, not again! Meredith!”

“Yes, Ian?”

“Where did you go just then?”

A thousand smiles gleamed in her sky-blue eyes. “To my destiny.” Meredith drew him close. Shine your glorious light on me, great oracle. Let your divine voice steal my words as you own and give them strength. “Just a short moment ago I was receiving a sight prophecy. My attempts were to revive the great prophet known as Magus.”

Ian fell silent.

She continued. “Unfortunately, I have failed. Only a prophecy of sight came to me. But I will not be denied my destiny. I will restore the prophet and united we will raise the magical Kingdom of Zeal from the ocean and rule together.”

Ian remained silent.

“Don’t worry. If you help me there will be a place for you, too,” she cooed. The blond teen smiled and immediately announced he was ‘at her service’. “All right, then. I need to find the pendant that he left in here to open his personal journal. Undoubtedly, it’ll give me some clue as to finding a way to resurrect the great Magus.”

Ian leapt from her arms and cried, “Yes, prophetess. I’ll find Magus’ pendant.”

“The great Magus!”

His cheeks crimsoned. “Right. One pendant from the…ah…great Magus coming up.”

So they searched. The cavern wasn’t necessarily colossal but it contained an amazing array of books and scrolls and statues crammed in a diminutive amount of space. The prophet is definitely a lover of literature and art. Just like me. Meredith waved her hands and the scones on the rock face sprang to life. Unfortunately the darkness was averse to release its reign on the cavern and only grudgingly retreated. United, they poured through the various drawers and chests. Ian wanted to give up when they wasted the day away but she told him if he left now he was gone for good. Oddly enough he stayed. And with a chipped shout he raised an azure amulet.

Meredith embraced Ian, dirty as he was, and snatched the pendant. Though covered with grime and dust and fractured from obvious wear and tear it glimmered like a moonbeam. A tiny dragon, an ancient symbol of power, was engraved in the platinum. The young wizardess engraved the image into her heart hoping the prophet would feel her bliss beyond the grave. I live only to serve you, exalted prophet. Guide me now.

Hiking up the robe she had tailored to imitate the oracle’s she reverently stepped about the blue flames and entered the pentagram. She gestured to Ian for the book. Darting up nervously, confusion but eagerness evident, Ian retrieved the manuscript and handed it to Meredith. He smiled at her in the way a shy admirer does. Ian wasn’t a repulsive boy but the prophetess was only interested in her god. The illustrious Magus.

Sucking in a sharp breath the aspiring prophetess, worshipper of Magus, began. She took a siting position, cross-legged, and lowered the black memoir to the center of the pentagram. Cupped in her hands, the amulet’s dull sheen became a riot of light. It exploded in every direction. Ian was forced to shield his eyes with an arm. Meredith didn’t; the light seemed native to her pupils, reflecting and refracting. Come, oracle of the golden age, bestow me your words from this book. Enlighten me. Restore me. Nourish me.

Meredith gazed up at Ian, the light of the flames and the pendant clashing with the shadows they created. They crawled on her face making her eyes seem larger. More prominent. “Ian,” she whispered. He bent closer. “Help me. Touch each of the five star vertices in turn and say, in order, fire, earth, water, wind, and lastly shadow. Start here.” Her fingers caressed the right most point of the star.

Almost in a trance, the youth obeyed. In turn each vertex was touched by Ian’s fingers and blessed with the word. Once finished he stepped back. Now came the tough part, summoning the esteemed prophet’s power. Carefully, as one might descend into scalding waters, she focused inward and the light and shadows merged again. She kept delving into the rind of her soul determined to reach the source and bond with the deceased prophet. She could see his face…Then it all shattered. Meredith collapsed to the carpet, exhausted. Her lungs were inflamed and her bones screamed for rest. Softly, she murmured, “I failed¼”

Read, my dear one.

What? Was that him?

Read and you shall be…ah…enlightened.

The blue-haired wizardess knew she heard the words not with her ears but with her mind. She strained to hear more but he spoke not again. Ian hovered anxiously. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she drew herself to a sitting position again and glanced at the book. It was him. The prophet. Oh, thank you, prophet. I shall serve as I am commanded. The book was opened to the first page, bold lines of neat handwriting blazing at her.

“What…did you…um…see?”

Without removing her eyes from the perfectly white page she breathed, “His face. Oh, his beautiful face and marvelous eyes. His hair was like wave atop a sea. He was beauty and power personified. Liquid power and alluring looks. His was a god.”

She set her fingers to the lines of text, mumbling the words beneath her breath like a chant. In her mind’s eye she saw Magus murmuring with her, his fire-and-lilac eyes flashing. One might be mistaken for believing he was here, right now, watching her. His beyond-the-grave presence stirred her.

If Meredith had turned her head she would have seen Ian shake his head in wonder, awe and not a little jealousy. She thought Magus as an immortal sent from heaven to save this damned world. Damned this world was, immortal Magus was not, he believed. But there was no use in trying to convince her of that. She was utterly bewitched.

“Oh, listen, Ian. He’s telling me to narrate his life.” Her eyes were on the page. “He’s even a prince! He says the person who has the book has the right to tell his story!”

“Then do it.”

And so she did.


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