Daughter of the Dread Forest

[Rowan]

Chapter 1: The Champion of Croatoa

Michael MacHanlon paused between the heavy double doors of the library and chuckled softly to himself at the sight of his daughter. She sat cross-legged in jeans and a t-shirt on a thick oriental rug, tendrils of auburn hair escaping from a long and carelessly plaited braid, intensely occupied with some video game involving overly showy magical combat. Ironically, she was surrounded by enough magical knowledge to make the character on her screen seem inept and foolish. The young girl and her game looked comically out of place surrounded by gilded antique tables and towering shelves of ornately-bound tomes, but he’d had the television and gaming console moved out of her own room and into this one after she’d been caught staying up all night playing games. He thought maybe the change of scenery would remind her of her responsibilities, but the part of him that remembered being a kid knew that the only thing keeping her away from the games after bedtime was that the library was extremely dark and creepy in the middle of the night.

He waited until she’d won her current battle- apparently an especially important or difficult one by the way she threw her arms up in the air and yelled, “Yeah! Take THAT!” at the screen- and called her name.

“Rowan.”

She craned her head around to look at him and replied, “Hey dad! Did you see that? SO cool!”

“I did see! But I need you turn that off for a bit. I want to show you something before tomorrow.”

“But - !” A slight raising of his eyebrows was all it took to stop her protest short, and instead she breathed an exaggerated sigh of annoyance. “Alriiiight, just let me save it first. I want to finish this game before I have to put it away for good. I just got the magic sword and I wanna see what it does.”

“Don’t worry,” he reassured her. “You’ll have time to play more tonight. This won’t take long. Plus, it’ll be worth it.”

Her interest piqued, she finished saving her game and scrambled up from the floor, quickly hitting the power button before running across the room to follow him down the hallway. Ah, the advantages of youth. He wouldn’t be scampering anywhere if he’d been sitting cross-legged on the floor for a couple hours.

After tomorrow, she’d be trading video games for training in real magic and combat. As his only child, the task of protecting this entire estate and its inhabitants would eventually fall to her and her alone. He’d begun his own training when he was six, but Rowan wouldn’t be beginning hers until after her twelfth birthday celebration, which was tomorrow. It was a battle he and her mother had waged on and off for years, and eventually her mother had won. Let her have a normal childhood, she’d begged tearfully, at least for a little while. Let her joyful memories, rather than her hate, be her armor and her strength. He understood her intentions, and that they were born of a mother’s love, but he worried that lost years of training would be her weakness, and thus a danger to them all. And so, he’d given her what knowledge he could without garnering stern talks from his beloved wife- weaving practical magical theory and understanding into bedtime stories, and teaching her combat skills in the guise of games. She’d already learned more than anyone realized. Not nearly enough yet to keep her safe should anything happen to him, but it was a start.

He turned a corner, stepped through a large, carved archway, and his footsteps echoed loudly on the polished marble tiles of the Gathering Room. Used only for celebrations or large formal gatherings, the Gathering Room boasted high ceilings dripping with glittering crystal chandeliers, pale buttercream-colored walls frosted with ornate plaster flowers and swags like giant empty picture frames, and a large assortment of plushly upholstered Victorian tables and chairs. Dust motes drifted slowly in the shafts of evening sunlight streaming through the row of tall, narrow windows lining the back wall, their tassled, dark-golden curtains prevented from fading by means of a simple magical charm woven into the fabric. Michael found the entire room horribly stuffy. Briefly sympathizing with his wife, he spent a moment wishing he could simply let Rowan invite some friends over and order a dozen pepperoni pizzas and some cake and ice cream like a normal father. Sitting squarely in the middle of the head table in front of them was an object that reminded him all too well why pizza delivery wasn’t an option here. Brought up for tomorrow’s celebration from its usual location in a safe room deep below ground, a large glowing crystal etched with hundreds upon hundreds of tiny magical symbols sat somewhat unceremoniously on a porcelain dinner plate while its traditional stand was being polished.

Michael, his family, a few other families, and a dozen or so refugees they’d added over the years, lived in Croatoa. Hidden from view by a spell that disguised the large estate as an abandoned farm on the outskirts of the city, the MacHanlon family, and those who had ended up sharing their home over the years, clung tenaciously to their home in the middle of warzone between Fir Bolg, Cabal, Red Caps, and Tuatha de Dannan. The crystal, created generations ago by three MacHanlon cousins, was a last-ditch effort to save them from having to abandon their home to the warring denizens of the forest. They lost their lives in the making, but they were at least successful; the crystal powered the illusion that kept them from normal view, and also leant strength and magical energy to the family’s Champions. Anyone with MacHanlon blood could be named a Champion and given access to the magic to protect them from the war that raged around them, but the hazards of the job had dwindled their numbers over the years. Michael had two siblings and a cousin when he was growing up, but now he was the only adult still alive with MacHanlon blood. His little sister had been slain by a Cabal Sorceress just last year, mere months after her wedding to one of his closest friends. After birthing Rowan, his own wife had not been able to have any more children, leaving Rowan as their only hope for another Champion to keep the estate secure for another generation.

Rowan’s eyes widened as she stared in awe at the glowing crystal. “Is that….?”

“Yep. The very one.”

“Why is it on a plate?”

Michael laughed, her question shaking him from his dark thoughts. “It’s usually on a little silver pedestal. Anna felt the need to polish it.”

Rowan grinned at the mention of the elderly housekeeper. Her grandfather had rescued Anna from some Red Caps before she was born. After that, Anna had refused to leave the estate, stubbornly making herself useful in any and every way she could.

“I’m surprised she didn’t try to polish the crystal, too!”

“She did. But I have my limits.”

Rowan reached out to touch the crystal, wondering if it would be warm or cool, and wanting to feel the symbols etched into its smooth surface.

“Don’t,” her father cautioned. “Not until tomorrow. Or everyone else will be rather upset that they didn’t get to see it.”

She pulled her hand back reluctantly. “It’ll make me a Champion just from touching it?”

“Since you’re my daughter, yes. Anyone with MacHanlon blood.”

“Oooh. So all I need to do tomorrow is walk up and touch it?”

“Yep. I’ll be up here, and the whole family and everyone will be sitting in those silly fancy chairs. You just walk up here and touch it when I say it’s time, and then we all have a big birthday party. Not so scary, right?”

“Nope!”

Michael broke into a bemused grin. “Well, then you’re braver than I was at your age! I was terrified.”

They shared a laugh, and Michael put his arm around his daughter’s shoulders, leading her back to the library so she could finish her video game.