Tales of the Magic Book:

Apathy and the Evil Sorceress

There once was a spirit. She wasn't a great spirit, or that of much power, but a spirit she was. Her name was Apathy.

Apathy was revered in quite a few quaint, mortal villages. Other towns had noticed her lack of…well, lack of duty. Pray day and night they would, but did Apathy listen? People would pay her homage, leaving precious heirlooms, favorite trinkets, or their best goat at her altar. Did Apathy give anything in return? Did she even visit her altar to see what she had been offered? No; loved or loathed, it was all the same to Apathy. She would lie beneath her fig tree, lazily stuffing the fruit into her mouth.

Apathy cared for no one, not even her devoted servant, Worry. Worry was also her advisor, but it was not often that she would partake of his wisdom.

"Those poor humans, they're starving. That whole country is famished. Couldn't you spare a few figs?"

Apathy would bite into one of the said fruit in mock consideration and reply in an aloof manner, "They're a resilient bunch. I'm sure some of them will survive."

"Oh dear," the little dwarf, Worry, would tug on his beard anxiously, his plump cheeks flushed. "The Powers aren't going to like this one bit…"

Apathy would simply pop the last bite of fig into her mouth, indifferent to Worry's concerns.

One idle summer afternoon, Apathy was lounging atop her lush hill, consuming fig after fig, cloaked in the tree's ample shade.

Suddenly, the sky darkened and thunder rumbled angrily. Apathy gave a start, dropping the fig she was holding. It tumbled to the ground and rolled down the hill. She shrugged, plucked another from her tree and proceeded to devour it.

Worry was pacing back and forth in a huff. He babbled incessantly, gesturing wildly with his stubby hands.

"Worry, why don't you go see whatever it is that's going on," prompted Apathy.

Worry scampered down the hill, ever carrying out his orders with alacrity.

Within seconds, he was high-tailing it back up the hill, his face contorted in terror.

"M-m-mistress! T-they…I…you…HERE!" he was doubled over, stumbling through an incoherent explanation, hardly able to breathe as it was.

"Oh, spit it out. I've got better things to do than listen to you blather," she replied listlessly, tossing the fig stem aside.

"THE—POWERS—ARE—HERE."

Apathy nodded as if she expected as much, but wasn't too concerned about it.

"Apathy," said The Powers, their voices resounding with authority. The Powers were a multitude of elder spirits cooperating as one entity. They took the form of a sphere of light, as their true form would cause mortals to disintegrate, and lesser spirits, such as Apathy, to go mad.

"Fig?" Apathy replied, holding out a half eaten fruit.

"No thank you," they replied disdainfully.

"What an impudent clot," the voices grumbled amongst themselves. "She probably couldn't tell a fig from anything else that she puts in that gaping maw of hers."

"Ahem. We have noticed a certain…slacking on your part."

Worry looked frantically back and forth between Apathy and the luminous floating orb that was radiating contempt.

"Oh dear," he covered his face with his meaty hands. "This is bad, bad, bad…"

"Yeah?" retorted Apathy.

"Yes, and as we cannot force you to abnegate your position as a spirit, no matter how pathetic a spirit you may be…we must determine some other form of punishment."

"P-p-punishment? Oh, Apathy, I told you they'd be mad. I warned you…"squeaked Worry.

The Powers paid Worry no mind. They bobbed about Apathy's head, their voices fierce.

"Apathy, do you even realize the full extent of the repercussions of your indifference? Your whole irresponsible, lethargic, can't-be bothered-with-obligations attitude? The ramifications are huge. You are supposed to watch over the people that pay you homage. And what has happened to them? Dilapidated towns. Failed crops. Unhealthy live-stock. Emaciated children. Infertile women. Epidemics. What's worse, the humans are losing faith in spirits. One negligent spirit, and we all get a bad reputation. One bad apple spoils the bunch. Without their faith, we would just about cease to exist. As spirits, we have much power. But as all rulers, our power comes from our people. Loafing around and stuffing your face will get you nowhere. But that's obviously a concept that you fail to comprehend."

"What I don't comprehend is why you waste your breath spewing your holier-than-thou condescension when you could be enjoying a succulent fig with me," rejoined Apathy, oblivious to the fact that the Powers were a ball of light and could not, in fact, share a fig with her.

"Imbecile! We have had quite enough of your irreverent behavior. As punishment, you will serve mortals for the rest of eternity. You must become the essence of the Magic Book, a volume of spells we had made for the humans. Any human that should open you and pour over your pages shall be entitled to the granting of any of the aforementioned spells. You will be at their mercy. Some of the tasks you might have to complete will be strenuous. Something you aren't yet acquainted with, yes?" The Powers smirked.

"W-w-what about m-me?" whimpered Worry.

"What about you?" The Powers boomed.

"If Apathy is a b-b-book, then where am I to g-go?"

"Obviously you'll be the bookkeeper. Keep her from being roughed up too much, since you seem to like her for whatever reason." They sneered.

"So I'm going to be a book forever?" said Apathy.

"Not so nonchalant now, are we? If you can convince someone to take your place, then you will be freed. Have someone eat a fig from your tree. The very humans you neglect shall be your only salvation."

"So melodramatic."

"Farewell, Apathy."

Apathy came to realize that being the spirit of a book isn't all it's cracked up to be. First, she was essentially tied to the book. If she ventured any more than twenty paces away from the book in any direction, she would dissipate and reappear right where she started. Dissipating wasn't a pleasant sensation; it was like having pieces of you picked off until you are nothing.

Second, she was basically nonexistent to mortals. She could not interact with them. And because figs are mortal, she couldn't eat any of her beloved fruit; her hand simply passed through them. Mortals could not see, hear, or feel her.

"They have set me up to fail, Worry. How can I convince a mortal to eat a fig if they cannot even hear me?" Apathy brooded.

Worry patted her on the back reassuringly and said, "I'm sure you will find a way."

Then, to himself he muttered, "Oh, dear…"

Third, it was terribly boring. Not many humans came to her hill as The Powers had implied they would. She had seen only a few, and it seemed that they were only passing. Sure, she was glad that she wasn't performing silly spells for them all day, but she needed something to take her mind off of her grumbling stomach.

One evening, while Apathy was pacing around The Magic Book, and Worry was mumbling to himself, a mischievous little faerie flittered toward them. She had a shock of orange hair, like a flame on a candle. She was about a hands-length high, and her iridescent wings cast a mystical glow on the grass below her. Her skin was bare, but faerie folk had no need of clothes. They believed covering yourself up with garments was akin to hiding your true self, and was an unnatural thing to do.

"Hello Apathy, how are you managing?" The faerie tittered in her deceptively, infuriatingly innocent laugh.

"Well if it isn't Rumor. Should've known you'd come by sooner or later," replied Apathy.

Rumor's seemingly effervescent demeanor contradicted the doubt-inducing words she planted in your mind, always hinting at subterfuge, and ever implying that you've been betrayed by those close to you.

"Whatever do you mean? I was just wondering if my old friend was getting along okay."

"So you can whisper my failure in the ears of those who wish to see me prevail, and talk of my sure triumph to those that want nothing more than for me to be chained to this wretched book forever? I know your ways, Rumor. Listening to the gossip, twisting the truth to accommodate your agenda, stirring the pot. Usually it's quite amusing, but right now, I'm just not in the mood for your games."

"Touchy, touchy," Rumor teased, waggling her minuscule finger. "Whatever happened to the carefree Apathy? The spirit who did as she pleased, and was unmovable? Never bothered by such trivial things as a silly magic book? Perhaps The Powers have conquered Apathy the Unflappable…" Rumor suggested.

"That's rubbish!"

"Oh is it? Word is, you're all washed up. The Powers have already won. Not only have they ensured that you'll never escape, but it seems that they've whipped you into shape as well. All the spirits have been saying that you've been bound, gagged, and put on display. And I've got to hand it to them; The Powers really were clever this time. Seems I'm not the only one "twisting the truth" and "stirring the pot" these days."

"What are you saying?" Apathy asked, narrowing her eyes at the little mischief-maker.

"Nothing. I'm just speculating that your dilemma with no one coming by your tree might have something to do with The Powers spreading gossip in the human towns."Rumor replied slyly.

"Just come out with it, you little parasite. What did they tell the humans?" Apathy persisted, growing impatient.

"That there was a legend of a fig tree atop a tall, opulently verdant hill. They said there was a book, a magic book that would tempt you to eat one of the figs. They cautioned that it was a trap, and the figs were poisonous, and would surely kill the consumer. And the humans, being the impressionable creatures that they are, believed this. But…"

"But what?"

"But humans, being the impressionable creatures that they are, will believe that while the figs will kill those weak at heart, those with true power and greatness will not be killed, but granted immortality."

"And you're going to tell them that?"

"Who else?" Rumor rolled her eyes, the irises pinpoints of green with dark, minuscule centers.

"So what's the catch?"Apathy inquired suspiciously.

"No catch, silly." The faerie grinned winningly.

"Seriously. Why are you helping me? What's in it for you?"

"Your escape is the spoon with which I "stir the pot", as you like to say."

Reluctantly, Apathy consented to take Rumor's help, despite the vehement warnings from Worry that Rumor was not to be trusted. And with that, Rumor flew away swiftly, eager to instigate.

Agatha Feckleshodden was a crotchety old crone. At eighty-two, she was much older than anyone in her town, not that anyone considered her part of the town, as she lived in a ramshackle cabin at the edge of civilization. She was on her last legs (she had only been given two), and they were wearing out as it was. But Agatha was not ready for death. Not she, the notorious sorceress and manipulator of magic.

Oh, she knew what the townsfolk said about her unholy sorcery. She was aware that they whispered that the reason her child was born dead was because she had promised her firstborn to a demon in return for her own demonic powers. She heard them talk of how she had allegedly widowed herself by poisoning her husband and how every full moon she drank chicken's blood from the source. Agatha knew the stories. It was a load of hogwash, and those foolish ingrates would get theirs, if Agatha had any say about it.

Sorcery had run in Agatha's family, and it was tradition for each generation to one-up the generation before them. Her lineage went a long way back, so Agatha had a lot to live up to. Quite a feat seeing as she was getting close to death. She had to do something great, and soon.

Once every month, the cantankerous old woman would venture into the heart of town to barter for the essential goods that she couldn't obtain by herself. On one of those loathsome days, she happened to overhear two young men talking fervently.

"Did you hear about the fig tree on Heaven's Hill?"

"No, what of it?"

"They say that the figs are poison and will kill you, yeah? But actually, they will grant somebody immortality if you possess true power and greatness."

"Like you would stand a chance!"

Agatha was ecstatic. This was just the type of thing that would set her name in stone. She would be the last of her line, since she bore no surviving children, and the greatest. She would show those ignorant fools what for. She deserved immortality, nothing less.

Apathy was lying flat on her back in the grass, as bored as ever.

Suddenly, worry was shouting in her face excitedly, his face a deep red, and making its way to violet.

Apathy shoved him off and said tersely, "What are you yelling about?"

"A h-human is h-h-here!"

"WHAT?"Apathy bellowed, sitting upright.

Just as Worry said, a human was making her way up the hill.

She was old, decrepit looking, and hyperventilating with the effort of making her way to the top. Not at all the kind of human Apathy had imagined would come in search of the fig tree.

The old hag finally made it to the fig tree and she stood before it, her arms spread wide as if to embrace immortality. She opened her usually taut mouth wide, her yellow, crooked teeth gleaming in the moonlight.

"O Great Fig Tree. I come to thee, asking for thy blessing as I eat one of thy fruit," she began, using the olden way of speaking. "I may not look like much, but I am one of great power. Bestow upon me now the gift of immortality as I sink my teeth into thy fig's succulent flesh."

Agatha picked a fig from the tree and bit into it with relish. In the next instant, Apathy and Worry were released, and Agatha was chained to the cursed book as a spirit for the rest of eternity.

"What is this trickery?!" Agatha demanded.

"No trickery. You get to stay like this forever. You are immortal." Apathy replied coolly. "Fig?" she held one out to Agatha before taking a bite. "Oh, I've waited so long for that," she moaned with pleasure at the taste of her favorite fruit.

"Come on Worry, we've got better things to do than listen to this hag gripe and blather."

Apathy took Worry's stubby little hand and together they walked away to find another fig tree.