The Death of Magic: A Novel of Rootworld

The smell of decay caught Kristen's attention. She leaned forward on the log, scanning the ground beneath. A flash of orange between the rotting bark and moss drew her eye. Carefully, she pulled back the damp vegetation to reveal a small newt, no longer than her thumb. Its belly was a brilliant shade of orange that seemed to pulse in the filtered light.

"Well, hello there," she whispered, reaching for her specimen tube. The creature made no attempt to flee as she gently scooped it up. Its skin was oddly warm to the touch, almost feverish. It had a sweaty film on its skin.

She deposited it in the tube, and wiped her hands, but couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment. Yes, it might be an undocumented species – the coloring was unlike anything she'd seen before – but it wasn't exactly the kind of discovery that would make for an impressive taxidermy display. The tiny head would look absurd mounted on the guild wall.

She slung the tube on her back and stood, brushing pine needles from her knees. Seren's tracks continued deeper into the grove, and something about their purposeful direction suggested the other hunter knew exactly where she was going. Kristen checked the white hole's radiance through the canopy. The light seemed dimmer now, though it was hard to tell through the evergreen branches.

The forest grew quieter as she walked, the darkness thickening between the trees. A whisper caught her attention, and she froze mid-step. Had that been... words? She rotated the tube on its thong to her front, untwisted the top and peered in. The newt stared back with unblinking eyes.

"Please tell me you're not talking," she muttered. The last thing she needed was a chatty amphibian.

Another whisper drifted through the trees, and this time she spotted a warm glow ahead, flickering between the trunks. While she watched the salamander-like creature scampered up the tube and onto her shoulder. It peered out into the woods ahead.

Following its gaze and hazarding a few more paces, she came upon a massive oak, its trunk wider than any of the surrounding pines. A rope ladder hung from somewhere above, and light spilled from what appeared to be windows set into the tree's crown.

Kristen pressed herself against a nearby pine, listening. Two voices carried down from above – one hollow and familiar, the other precise and measured, like a professor giving a lecture.

"The variables suggest a minor convergence will begin within the next solar cycle," the academic voice was saying. "Though I admit, the margin for error is larger than I'd prefer."

"Time isn't particularly concerned with our preferences," came the response, and Kristen's suspicion was confirmed. She knew that hollow tone.

She debated slipping away quietly. Death wasn't technically supposed to interfere with the living, though he seemed to bend that rule when it suited him. Before she could decide, his voice called down:

"You might as well join us, Kristen. We have time for a few stories before the next solar full."

Hesitantly, she emerged from behind the tree. Death's skull appeared over the edge of what she could now see was an elaborate treehouse platform. This may have surprised her if she hadn't spent an evening with the grim reaper five summers earlier.

"Your newt is rather unique," Death said. She looked over at the small thing and reached to capture it again. It dodged her attempt and ran across her shoulder to the opposite side. She looked at it on her right shoulder. It stared back innocently. "Though there's more to discover tonight than new species," Death added.

The rope ladder swayed as a second figure leaned out – a man with wild grey hair and wire-rimmed glasses that caught the light. Something about his analytical gaze reminded her of someone, though she couldn't quite place who.

"Fascinating specimen," he said, adjusting his glasses as he peered down at her. She still held the expanded tube in her hand. "Salamandra solaris, if I'm not mistaken. Rather rare since the convergence. Do come up – I have several theories about its bioluminescent properties that I'd love to discuss."

Death rolled his head slightly, managing to convey the equivalent of an eye roll. "This is Science," he said to Kristen. "He's new here, and rather enthusiastic about everything."

"That's because everything is worth being enthusiastic about," Science replied. "Now, come up before the light fails completely. I've just put the kettle on."

Kristen reached a hand up cautiously toward the newt but saw it preparing to dodge again. She paused, and it relaxed, though it kept darting those protruding eyes at her suspiciously. She sighed, then collapsed the tube saying, "Have it your way." She grabbed the rope ladder, glancing once more at the darkening forest before beginning her climb. As she came above the deck, she could see the treehouse was more elaborate than she'd initially thought – a proper living space with what appeared to be a kitchenette and comfortable furnishings. Most intriguingly, she spotted the gleam of golden dragon statuettes flanking what could only be a magiscope. She'd seen one at Maurice's house but had never seen one turned on before.

As she pulled herself onto the platform, Science was already bustling about with teacups, launching into an explanation about the proper water temperature for different tea varieties. Death settled into an overstuffed armchair that seemed at odds with his skeletal form. She looked at his scythe standing in the corner.

"Don't mind him," Death said as Science continued his monologue about tea. "He's still learning the art of casual conversation. Rather like your friend Maurice with social cues."

Kristen's eyebrows rose. "You know about Maurice?"

"I make it my business to know about all potential... clients." Death paused. "Though in Maurice's case, I suspect I won't be needed for quite some time, assuming he keeps wearing orange while hunting."

Science brought over two teacups and set them on the coffee table.

"I told him he would scare off the game wearing that thing," Kristen said.

"That," Science said, returning with the teapot, "Is not actually true. Most game animals, like deer, have dichromatic vision, meaning they only see two primary colors, and they lack the ability to see the red and orange spectrum that humans can. As a result, bright orange appears to them as a shade of gray or brown, blending in more with their natural surroundings."

Kristen looked from Science to Death who just stared. The tea was poured.