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‘Mæj’ Is Enchantment: New Fantasy Fiction
A luminous and lilting debut novel
Sometimes, on the ley lines in the city of Sforre Yomn, you’ll see “mæjish phenomena” known as wisps. Follow one and see where it leads.
The imaginarium of the new novel Mæj:
An intricate, glowing landscape, crackling with reality-benders and powered by courageous rebellion.
The magic is called ‘mæj’
In this high-fantasy world by novelist Dale Stromberg, you might have a magical clock that updates the fragrance of your bedroom to let you know what time it is: “the faint odor of cassia…replaced with the scent of mimosa.” You might go out to a tea-house and be served a drink with the aroma of the tenqah berry, like “vanilla, caramel, magnolia, and cut grass.”
You’ll meet matriarchs who speak Ilasi, a minority language in the land of Hwoama that depends not only on ordinary pronunciation but also on something called lilt: “a subtly varying emanation of mæj from the body of the speaker, modulating like the light of a flickering match.” It overlays pronunciation like a harmony.
When you have magic, you can increase it to some extent. A young woman called Madenhere will teach even “finicky girls in gaol” how to make an algorism, but she’ll teach you “nothing Ulterior, nothing plasmatish, no riddlecraft, no antipossible acts…”
On the other hand, a baby who is born too powerful is instantly recognizable as an endrœda—pronounced close to “hundred,” a so-called “hundred-day child”—and will be snatched from the mother to be raised apart.
People to watch
My attention goes to Aunhma Cairnhand, a warrior who has slow sight: an ability to stop time to take a closer look.
Another woman has the skill of pacifying: the ability to make someone pleasantly feel “as if the sun, breaking through the clouds…
