In-Universe Tale 2 – Novel World Building

The following tale is a bit of world-building for the novel I am currently working on. If you are interested, a description of which can be found on my Instagram page. When I am further along, an updated description of the novel will also be posted here, on the main page of my website.

In the novel, the kingdom is divided into two groups with distinct cultures thanks to a massive dividing river separating the east from the west. And with this tale and various others like it, I was hoping to further develop each people group. This particular tale comes from the eastern group, who call themselves Serein.

There is no guarantee these tales will make it into the final manuscript. And, if they do, they may take on different forms in the final product. But for now, these are the first peaks into my current novel with the working title, Long Live the Kings.

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Serein Tale of the Immortal Dietlinde:

SJ Shoemaker
Word Count: 1,414
12/24/2022

Among the distant past, where many of our histories are lost, was a sorceress by the name of Dietlinde. She came forth from Silirich as did all great speakers of magic. And though her exploits were not history-making like Brishan the Brave nor as spectacular as Gudtlieb’s exploits, she was as skilled as any in her use of magic. And it was this fact that drove many to despise her.

Dietlinde was as ordinary as a commonplace fox. Her fur as dull of a red as the rest of her family. Her home, a hole in the ground near the edge of town. She was nothing and came from less than nothing. And she would have died nothing had she not caught the eye of a fox with fur of platinum. He came from a long line of magicians and sorcerers and trained at the best schools available to Silirich. By all means, this story ought to have been his. But he settled for mere adequacy. Opened a small elixir shop near the city’s edge. Held no sway with the Ealdorman, or renown even with the locals. And then, a few short years later, he died of the ancient sickness. The incurable plague. So devastating neither magic nor medicine could halt its progress. The same that ravages the southern Wastelands to this day. 

With his death, it was expected of Dietlinde to shutter her shop and return to her family in utter obscurity. But she was a clever fox. She continued to run the shop in her husband’s absence as if nothing had changed. She kept on the same clients and met all of her delivery commitments without fail. The townspeople wondered how she could manage this since she was so ordinary a woman. But they reasoned among themselves that her husband–who was so inconsequential that even his name has been lost to time–must have kept their supplies well-stocked. And, given time, she would exhaust his magical elixirs. But time pressed on, and she continued to meet all her commitments, never once failing to deliver. Curiosity getting the better of them, the townspeople began questioning Dietlinde.

“From where do you purchase your supplies?” They would ask. “Who is it that restocks your elixirs?”

And she happily answered each of them, explaining that she crafted them herself. During their short marriage, Dietlinde and her husband would practice magic together. Anything which he knew, he taught her freely. Never withholding even the most difficult of lessons. But the people could not believe this. She was a common fox. Her fur bore no silver, she had no connection to magic. There was simply no way she could learn the mystic arts. She must have been lying. Stealing someone else’s work and claiming it as her own. So the people returned home and did not buy from her any longer. For who would do business with a liar?

Dietlinde spoke nothing but the truth. She learned every magic spell she claimed and more besides. But the damage to her reputation was already done. Her work dried up, and her business became a great source of debt. To which the people nodded approvingly.

“She is getting what she deserves,” they would say “for lying and stealing credit for another’s work.”

So, with anger in her heart, so moved on. She traveled to every magical school in Rheicona and begged them to train her further. But the schools who knew of her reputation turned her away immediately. And the ones that didn’t, turned her away only after testing her skills. And even though she passed every test put to her, they always concluded the same. What fox could be more than the hue of their coat? She must have cheated or otherwise had help.

And when she had tried every last school in Rheicona, she became enraged. She vowed that she would open her own school of magic that would put all others to shame. Only peasants and commoners would be permitted to attend, she declared out of spite. Housewives and maids and workers of the fields without any magical lineage. For she knew something that the arrogant magicians of the land would never admit–not even to themselves in their most private moments. The accident of their birth–where and when and to whom they were born–had nothing to do with magical ability. It was a skill to be learned and cultivated, just like any other. Any who had a mind to think and tongue to speak could cast a spell. Anyone capable of learning to string a loom or ride a horse, to thresh wheat or bake bread could just as easily learn to control magic. No silver fur was required.

So she set out, traveling from city to city, and sought out the lower class. Everywhere she went, she was greeted by masses full of tremendous excitement and interest. Housewives and maids and workers of the fields. An offer of newfound power; a chance to become more than just the hue of their coats. Who wouldn’t listen? But on the day of her school’s opening, no one arrived. It was a great tale, but no one acted based on a fairy story. With people so desperate to escape their misery, she wondered, why did no one work to improve it?

And though she would never admit it, she learned her answer from the schools that were successful where hers was not. They taught the upper, not the lower, class. For a duke could do with his time as he pleased, while a field hand struggled each day to complete his daily tasks. They taught the wealthy, not the poor. For a lord had money in excess to spend as he wished, but a housemaid dared not miss a day’s wages for fear of going hungry.  Only those rich enough to miss a day of work, and only those arrogant enough to believe they are deserving of more could attend a school of magic. So Dietlinde closed her school. To which the people nodded approvingly.

“She is getting what she deserves,” they would again say.

But Dietlinde did not give up. Instead, she set forth a new plan, seeking out a new spell never before performed by anyone. She would be the first and last. A necessary spell to deliver magic to those most in need of it. And so, for many years, she wandered the lands, far beyond the borders of Rheicona. She would seek ingredients for an exotic elixir. Pursuing rumors of mythical plants and hunting creatures only found in books. And when she became hungry, she would enter the nearest city and sit on the side of the busy streets begging for help.

And the few who recognized her said their same refrain, “She is getting what she deserves.”

But, she would pay them no mind. And when her belly was full thanks to the charity of housewives and field workers, she would continue her journey. To the top of unclimbable mountains or through unnavigable forests. Until one day she had all the ingredients needed to craft her master elixir.

Immortality.

Finally, with all of time on her side, she could teach the helpless lower class the art of magic from where they were. They did not have to give up their role. She would come to them. Teaching them as they worked in the field or washed clothes by the river. One at a time, she would stay as long as needed to teach what she knew before moving on to the next person in need.

And this is what she has done for these some thousand years. Never ceasing because there are always more common foxes in need of her knowledge. So if you see a strange woman appear without explanation one day, especially if she soon thereafter disappears again. You may have caught a glimpse of the Immortal Dietlinde. When this happens, it is best to steer clear of her and any she speaks to. They may all know magic which they will use to curse any who cause them offense.

And now that the age of magic has long since passed, she is the one who can finally laugh. She remains to help others while the arrogant men of magic from her time have all died, and their names have faded from our history books. Now it is her turn to say

“They got what they deserved.”