Brendon drew a deep breath and turned to face the wizard and the warrior.
“It is time.” the wizard reached deep into his robes and threw the item without warning but Brendon caught it with ease.
A silver chain tangled about his fingers; piercingly cold to the touch. From it there hung a great white jewel.
“A pendant?” Brendon inspected the jewel as it reflected the light of the rising sun and sang back to him in a thousand colours. “A magic pendant?” He mused, feeling the weight of the necklace, turning it over in his sandy palms. On the back, upon the jewel’s casing, it was crudely inscribed with a rune he could not translate.
“It belonged to a great sorceress.” the warrior declared.
“Sorceress? Is it quite old?” Brendon’s eyes searched the wizard, then the warrior. “It feels old, and powerful! I can feel the echo of the magic. So powerful it could–“
“Douse the fire in a soul.” the warrior shook his head, cast a glance to the wizard, bowed and then departed.
“Have I offended Olan?” Brendon asked.
“No.” the wizard approached the boy. “There is no great age to the necklace, only great power. The sorceress that wore it was Lightborn.”
“Lightborn? Lightborns are a myth.”
“No, not a myth. They were as real as the air we breath and she,” he pointed to the jewel, “was the last of the Lightborns.”
“I am no longer a child Ivellios! I do not believe in fairy stories. Lightborns, star-borns; all myth! A tale to bedazzle children; to enchant mortal men and put fear into the hearts of fell magic users.”
“It belonged to your mother.” The wizard’s voice became a relentless echo in Brendon’s mind and, without realising he had let go, he watched his mother’s necklace fall upon the sand.
Writing/re-writing parts of ‘Last of the Lightborns’*