It was a time of legends. It was a time when wizards walked among the people. At first, the people were awed by the majestic figures in white, but as the years passed, each village adopted its own wizard and the lot of men became easier because of the magic of the wise ones. The crops increased and the rains came even during the dry winter. Soon the people forgot what life had been before the coming of the wizards. The wizards just were, and that was enough. They lived in their remote dwellings and were a part of the village, yet apart from it. There was no mixing between the two groups. Wizards were respected but they were still alien and not true people.
Ott settled into his cold home on the remote outskirts of the village of Zia. His old bones ached with the cold and damp. He often thought that he must be the most miserable wizard alive. The Ziats were a short, dark people whose tongue caused Ott considerable distress. He didn't like to twist his mouth to speak it nor did it flow easily on his ear. Often during the meditation councils, he would ask the head wizard Wasos to relocate him. Wasos always refused, and recently Ott had begun to detect a small amount of amusement from Wasos at his misfortune. Zia was balanced almost on the edge of the known world. No wizard in his right mind would ever choose to live there.
The years flowed by as they often do to one of great years. Ott could hardly remember a time when he had not been cold and damp. He was cooking some hot cereal over his fire late one evening when a great banging started at his door. He had very good hearing indeed and the banging was much louder than it need be. Ott was an explosion of white robes and anger as he ordered the door to open itself. (Actually he could have opened the door with his own hand easier. He just wanted to make an effect. Perhaps the crazy Ziat who found himself at the home of the wizard in the middle of the night would be frightened and run back to the village and leave Ott in peace.)
"Wizard!" the old crone yelled between toothless gums, "A youngin' is being a' born!" Ott blinked his weary gray eyes at the creature.
"So? It has nothing to do with me." he went to close the door but the old battle ax blocked the movement of the wood with a large foot.
"It be yourn." she hissed.
"My dear woman..." Ott began patiently.
"The birth is a hard'n. Mother mayn't live." the old crone wheezed as if that explained everything.
"I still do not see..." Ott began again.
"It be a hard birth, Wizard. The people not to carry wizard seed." Ott had just about had it with this old woman. The wind was cutting through his robes. His fine bones could not tolerate the cold like the muscular frames of the people. The old woman didn't seem to feel the cold at all. He found that he resented her immunity to the cold. Here he was, the all-powerful sorcerer, and this old hag was fairing better than he.
"Madam, I do not assist in birthings." Ott glared at her.
"Ain't no ordinary birth'n. Be a wizard birth'n. Needs a wizard." the old woman glared up at him. She wasn't the least intimidated by his power or his superior size.
"Wizards don't give birth." Ott told her, looking down his nose.
"People do though." the old woman answered.
Ott shook his head. The woman was obviously stark raving mad. He cast about in his mind for a good sleeping spell. Tomorrow he would contact the council and demand to be relocated. He had always heard that Telia was a nice town.
"The woman be birth'n now, old man!" the old crone grabbed his robes and tugged at him.
"Woman, please!" Ott was outraged. No one laid a hand on a wizard!
"She be havin' your get, old man!" the old lady screamed at him over the wind.
"Why, I never!" Ott was shocked. What was she accusing him of?
"Then it be your brother, but it do be wizard get. I been birthin' for fifty years and I know what ain't right." She drew herself up proudly. She was a woman with a mission, and she was in her right.
Ott frowned as he followed her into the night. It was impossible, of course, wizards did not mingle with the people. It couldn't happen. He was almost sure that it was impossible. Yet there was a small doubt in his mind that would not let him return to the comparable warmth of his fire.
The house was poor. It was more of a hut than a house. He had to stoop to get his seven foot frame through the door. On a straw mat under some filthy blankets was a small form. She had large dark eyes and seemed to be terrified of him. It was obvious that the birth was not going well. Ott could see the fine lines of color around the young woman dim and ebb. Soon she would be dead. There was nothing to be done.
He moved forward and opened his mind to see if he could see the color of the infant's aura. A blast of power hit him so hard that he was knocked against the wall. Shaken, he pulled himself back up and went to the bed.
"You will die but the child will prosper." he told the young female. She was dark and tiny, terribly mortal compared to the wizard, yet she didn't even flinch when she heard her death sentence.
"Nafon" she whispered with her last breath then let go. The colors grew dark and seeped away.
Ott used his considerable power and drew the small form from the body of the young woman. It was tiny and powerfully built like the people but the hair was long and solid white. The small eyes opened and Ott found himself looking into the oldest eyes that he'd ever seen.
The tiny mouth opened and Ott waited, knowing not for what. The a small cry started up. The old mid-wife picked up the infant and cleaned it. Then she wrapped it in a piece of the old wizard's white robe.
"Your seed, Wizard." she hissed then spit on the floor in rejection of such an unseemly thing. Ott could do nothing but agree with the sentiment.
Ott found himself on the path outside headed for home, his arms full of a tiny, squirming body. He would indeed be contacting the council in the morning. He swallowed at the thought. Wasos would be shocked, shocked and furious. If the wizards didn't vow to preserve all life, he knew that this child would have been put to death. He shuddered. What wizard had done this thing? If only the mother had lived!
He opened the door and went into the house. He slammed the door and went straight to the fire. Heat, he needed to have heat. The baby cried softly. Ott opened the white robe that served the child as a blanket. The old eyes looked up at him.
"Nafon" Ott said softly. The small head nodded as if the infant was acknowledging its name. Wizards were born to their names. Perhaps the girl had known that. Ott looked at the tiny form in his hands. This was the stuff of legends, or nightmares...
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