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CHAPTER THREEConception

As you may have guessed upon reflection in quieter moments, the architects of creation were (and continue to be) imperfect.

Much was planned, and the result was order, logic, and beauty.

Sadly, because even the creators are subject to mistakes, that was not the whole story.

There were unexpected and unfortunate outcomes and consequences.

The laws that govern balance caused the automatic introduction of counterparts.

Order, logic, and beauty were balanced by chaos, disruption, hypocrisy, and ugliness.

All creatures are subject to universal law, which prioritizes equilibrium above all.

Self-sacrifice is countered by covetousness.

Charity is countered by avarice and theft. And so on and so on. Utopia is a lie.

According to the law of probability, magic kind are as vulnerable to habits that feed an unhealthy culture as any other sentient species. One might argue more so.

Take fae, for instance. They’re a contentious lot by nature. Though superior to humans in many ways, they, in their very long lives, failed to develop a guide for behavior that promotes peace and nurtures civilization.

In contrast, since the Hammurabi Code laid the foundation for law, humans have been struggling to control undesirable impulses by aspiring to a standard of conduct that is strict but attainable.

Admittedly, humanity often falls short of collective aspirations such as honor, fidelity, and altruism, but the majority grasps the concepts and goes so far as to accept them as “values”.

Restrictions imposed on base instincts have allowed humanity to flourish in population, arts, and technologies that make life more agreeable in spite of setbacks caused by war, pestilence, and tyranny.

I discovered early in my term as magistrate that fae are capable of better things. For example, I was privileged to witness the awakening of conscience in the person of a spoiled Italian princess who made a conversion from sadist to legal activist against injustices.

The origin of sephalia is recorded in the first magistrate’s journal. The following is a synopsis of his notes:

Seeing that the fae were headed for extinction as a result of their own behavior, at long last the Powers That Be decided to intervene.

Though displeased with the fae’s flawed choices, they weren’t ready to give up.

The idea was that an introduction of rules and accountability might reorganize both thought patterns and behavior.

For a millennium, the Powers argued over what was to be done. All the while, the numbers of fae dwindled. While magical creatures are hard to kill, by human standards, it can be done. Usually.

Eventually, the Powers agreed on a three-prong solution.

First, for convenience’s sake, the world would be divided into sections and supervised by the auspices of a bureau of oversight.

Each territory would be granted an executive officer.

Someone who gave every appearance of being fae, but was a ringer for the Powers.

That person would staff the agency as they came across worthy individuals whose understanding of right and wrong had been awakened.

Second, each year there would be eight courts in which grievances might be addressed in an orderly and impartial manner.

The debate over how this might be accomplished lasted for centuries, but eventually the panel of Powers arrived at consensus.

The only thing that made sense was a thing that, on first pass, made no sense: conscripting an extraordinarily smart and righteous human magistrate to preside.

This radical idea came to fruition in recognition of the one way in which some humans are superior to fae: collective acceptance of the principle that the Golden Rule is essential to peace and happiness.

Third and last, it didn’t require infinite wisdom for the Powers to anticipate that magic kind would resist the appointment of a human to decide disputes.

They knew the proposal was fraught with problems. After arguments that dragged on, as was their way, the Powers decided the court must be equipped with a special staff.

The plan required a court clerk who was not inherently racist toward humans and egalitarian towards all magic kind; someone who would put love of the law above other concerns.

Someone capable of guiding without imposing.

Someone who claimed allegiance to no clan and was, therefore, above charges of partiality.

Rare but not impossible because there was such a solicitor did exist in the person of Lochlan Jois.

In what might’ve been a first for the Powers, Lochlan was confirmed without debate.

His appointment was decided by unanimous vote and accompanied by smiles all around.

History would be challenged to recall the last time a vote resulted in either.

First, the Powers liked to argue until they were sure they couldn’t find a better proposition.

Second, the eternal burden of being one of the Powers That Be meant a lot of duty without respite, such as sleep, and with little joy.

When approached to play a significant role in the plan to bring magic kind to order and prevent the decimation of a proud and colorful, if unruly people, Lochlan gladly accepted the post. He’d made many friends over his long life, but being the last of his kind, sadly, he had no kin.

By the time I was made magistrate, at the end of a long line of other magistrates, he’d settled into the familial community of Hallow Hill and come to treasure relationships with neighbors.

When fate had brought Ivy into his sphere of experience, he treasured her even more.

With a few exceptions, he’d spent long centuries living alone most of the time.

Not to forget that he’d count his fraighounds as family.

When asked if he’d like to nominate a bailiff, Lochlan didn’t hesitate.

As an adolescent, he’d spent many seasons in the north with Hengest’s family.

He’d relished their lengthy and sometimes heated debates over abstract academic principles of interest to very few.

Hengest was not only well-suited to the position temperamentally, but his size presented a commanding presence.

As a bonus, he was in charge of a battalion that protected the border from the wild Scots.

In those days, the wild Scots were ambitious when it came to the desire for expansion.

He’d know which of his soldiers would make loyal guards and could be trusted with the selection.

Last, the plan required a court enforcer so fierce and formidable that their mere presence would keep court attendees in check.

Because that was such a tall order, the Powers decided to sanction a creation.

That was a rarity that rose to the category of unique, as there was no previous record of such an event.

The Powers determined that one of the two most powerful fae queens would be granted the honor.

Maeve and Serafina each received missives at the same hour of the same day, inviting them to submit a proposal should they wish to compete for selection.

The queens were equally gifted from the perspective of sheer power.

The choice would depend on their conception of what sort of creature would be best suited for the job and their perceived ability to follow through.

Maeve was on the way out to attend the christening of a new lake when the sea-green shutters of her dressing room flew open.

She wasn’t startled because being startled was beneath a queen of Irish fae.

But she was surprised, knowing that no one who valued their life or limb would dare use magic in her home without an express invitation to do so.

She turned just in time to see the windows disappear.

Anger spiked, but quickly quelled when a large dove flew in and landed on the arm of a velvet chaise lounge.

The bird was beautiful in an otherworldly way; transparent but brightly lit.

It carried a large scroll by the ribbon with which it was tied.

Maeve accepted the scroll, which was not parchment but some radiant material, the color of white sand.

Having fulfilled its mission, the dove took flight and left the way it had come.

Though Maeve could’ve easily done so herself, the Powers were considerate enough to leave the windows and shutters as they’d been found.

In short, except for the scroll in Maeve’s hand, there was no sign that anything out of the ordinary had occurred.

“Well. That was dramatic,” she said to no one.

Earlier, she’d scared away the staff with an overreaction to some perceived slight.

Maeve didn’t need a staff, of course, but she kept them around so that she didn’t get out of practice interacting with others.

And so that she’d be constantly reminded of her elevated station, always good for the ego.

The fact that she didn’t understand that dominating underlings isn’t interacting in the usual sense was irrelevant to the queen.

She assumed it was a privilege to experience her presence regardless of mood.

When she pulled the ribbon’s end to remove it manually, the ribbon disappeared, leaving just the scroll in her hand.

There are few things capable of impressing Maeve, and even the word “few” might be an exaggeration. The long and short of it was that a missive from the Powers That Be qualified. Of course, it was flattering. Even an honor.