by Aldrea Alien
“Trust me, that is not the part of my query which stumps me. You see, there is one definite in creating a spellster, they must share the bloodline of another spellster or their antithesis.”
Hamish scoffed. “There’s nae such a thing as an opposite of spellster powers.”
“There most certainly is. They go by many names, but my people call them Nulled Ones. Their bodies… ignore direct magic. Throw a fireball at them and they feel only a touch of heat, healing fails to mend the smallest of scratches, and magical barriers are nonexistent to them. I believe your brother is one.”
“Gordon?”
“Unless you have another brother I have yet to meet, then yes.”
Hamish stepped back. “You think me brother is some sort of… of…” What had Darshan called them? “Anti-spellster?”
“A Nulled One, yes.”
“You’re saying me brother could die with a spellster inches from him?” That couldn’t be possible. He had witnessed Gordon’s return from the cloister with his arm merely in a sling after a horse had thrown him. Neither of them could claim their years were in double digits at the time, but the way his brother had howled, he had certainly broken his arm. That wasn’t something a mere week of bed rest could fix. “All because nae magic will work on him?”
Darshan inclined his head. “Regrettably so.”
“Bollocks. Magic can fix anything.”
His lover laughed softly. “I dearly wish that were correct.” He perched himself on the remains of what looked to be a stone wall. “I told you my mother died giving birth to my sister and I, did I not?”
Hamish nodded. It hadn’t been him specifically, but he’d been within hearing range.
“My grandfather saw it as a needless death. She was a purist, you see, a spellster who believes magic should be used sparingly. They never use their god-given gifts except in the most extreme of cases. Where most of the court use their talents to heal themselves, she refused to even learn.”
“I thought magic could do everything.”
One side of Darshan’s mouth twitched into a melancholic smile. “It is true that magic can push the limits of… normal capabilities. But it is bound by far more rules than those without the power believe.”
Hamish arched a brow at the man. “Such as?”
“Take healing. An ordinary person sees us wave a hand and the wounded are mended, the sick are cured. That sort of skill takes years of study, just as much as a common doctor. Without it, a single stray thought could kill a patient or leave them in agony for years to come.”
“I…” He hadn’t ever given the ability much thought. Everyone knew spellsters could heal, no one before Darshan had mentioned anything about them needing to train that talent. “I thought it was instinctual.”
“To a point, but fire is generally considered as such first and foremost.”
“Because it’s the easiest of magics?” Hamish replied, mimicking the man’s words from a week back.
Darshan inclined his head, a small smile tweaking his moustache. He conjured a small flame in his hand and let it dance on his palm. “But then we are taught what heat is at a young age. We know fire burns and how hot it should be.”
Hamish thought back to his siblings teaching his nieces and nephews the dangers of fire. That’d been back when the children were barely able to walk.
Another thought bubbled up amongst the rest. The raging heat Caitlyn had brought to life when he had been overcome by the bandits that’d been out to kidnap or kill them. The heat had been immense. The air almost too hot to breathe. The screams of men dying…
He shook his head, scattering the memory back into the depths. It had been so long ago. They’d both been so young and him bordering on unconscious. The only one who knew the full truth was Caitlyn and she refused to speak of that day beyond vague mentions.
“But you know the most amusing part?” Darshan continued on, oblivious. “What you do with your arrows? That is some of the hardest magic. There are powerful spellsters out there right now who can command all sorts of wonders, but can barely lift a pebble an inch off the ground. And you manage far more without a thought.”
“I am nae a—” Hamish spluttered. A spellster? Him? When had Darshan come to that conclusion? “I cannae do magic.” What could possibly possess the man to think he could?
“Your arrows never miss,” Darshan whispered.
“That—” He could see where a person unskilled in a bow would think it some spell or trick, but… “That’s just skill through years of training. I focus on where I want the arrow to go and that’s where it hits.”
“Precisely!”
“That doesnae mean I can do magic.”
His lover scoffed. “Any spellster in Udynea is taught how to manipulate the forces around an item.” He scooped up a palm-sized stone and bounced it in his hand. “You see, everything wants to fall, just as the wind wants to buffet them around. Manipulating these constants is tricky.”
“How so?”
Darshan held out his hand and the stone floated above his palm. “Push too little and it falls.” True to his word, the stone dropped back into his grasp. “Too sudden and it grows uncontrollable.” The stone leapt into the air like a flea. “But try to counter these forces too much…”
The stone shattered into dust.
“And you do it all without a thought,” Darshan murmured. “Incredible.”
“I am nae a spellster,” Hamish growled. If he had been one, then his life would’ve taken a far different course a long time ago.
Darshan lifted his head, those hazel eyes glittering with confidence. “Prove it. I know you cannot be a Nulled One, but if your sister is fully related to you as you claim, then you must have magic in your blood.”
He spread his arms wide. “How can I prove I dinnae have an ability?”
His lover stood and after a bit of rummaging through the undergrowth, came up with a length of branch. A few quick swipes with the spellster’s magic were enough to cut a section from the piece. “Aim at this and we shall see.”
Easy enough. He unslung his bow and nocked an arrow, his fingers unconsciously settling into their customary places. “Nae when you’re standing there, though.” Whilst he’d never consciously aim at the man, there was a chance his arrow might stray. Not that it ever had done so. There was always a first time, though.
Darshan chuckled. He waved his hand and the section rose just below the branches. “Try it now.”
Hamish focused on the centre of the slice. It was quite small, now he looked at it, perhaps as big around as a single one of his mare’s hooves. He loosed his arrow.
The tip smacked into the piece with a hollow thunk.
He waited, shuffling from one foot to the other, whilst Darshan examined the slice of wood. “How is this supposed to prove I’ve nae magic in me?”
“Patience, mea lux.” Once again, the wood rose into the air, still carrying the arrow. “Now focus on the same spot and loose only on my command.”
Sighing, he nocked another arrow. The slice wobbled a little more now its weight was uneven, but his focus remained just as sharp. The same spot? He’d done that plenty of times. What did Darshan expect to see?
“Now!”
His fingers twitched. The arrow slipped from his grip, tension carrying it across the clearing towards its target. But the slice of wood moved as the fletching of his arrow past the bow’s belly. Feck. The wood sat no longer directly in front, but to his left. When had Darshan shifted his target? His arrow would completely—
Thunk!
The world slowed, his heart along with it. His breath was almost nonexistent. There was no possible way the arrow could’ve hit that target. He had aimed straight. The slice of wood was even turned sideways and still…
When Darshan returned the slice of wood to their side, the gap between the two arrowheads was negligible.
“That’s nae possible.” The only way that arrow could’ve struck was if it had defied gr
avity, defied inertia, defied all the bleeding laws of nature. If he had— If he was—
A spellster.
“Do it again,” Hamish whispered.
“I rather doubt I—”
“Chuck it in the air, then! Throw it behind any one of these bloody trees.” He spread his arms wide, indicating the clearing as a whole. “I’ll show you how much of a fluke that was.”
“And how many times will it take until you accept the truth?” Darshan let the slice of wood fall to the ground. “There is no shame in having magic, not even in your own culture. Being a spellster is not considered a sin like in Obuzan. I am not leading you down some shadowy path.”
Tears pricked his eyes. Nae shame? When spellsters all across Tirglas were shuffled off into distant cloisters or slain if they attempted to leave without permission? When his own mother refused to accept she had given birth to two daughters? “This is nae Udynea and you’re nae saying it’s just me.” His niece, his nephews, even Nora… they could all potentially have the same spark. They could already be using it unaware of the danger to others, to themselves. “You’re saying that I’m some weak spellster who—”
“Actually,” Darshan interjected. “Spellsters with minuscule magic such as yourself are referred to as specialists.”
“I dinnae care what they’re called!” he screeched. By the Goddess… He was going to burst. Every part of his being felt ready to rend itself from his bones. “You’re saying I deserve to be in there.” He jabbed a finger in the direction of the cloister.
“No,” his lover breathed. He clasped Hamish’s hands, turning them palm-side up. “I am aware that would have been your fate, had you more power, but I would never suggest you deserve to be there.”
“Where else would a Tirglasian spellster belong?”
If he hadn’t been so intent on Darshan’s face, he certainly would’ve missed the pity that welled in his lover’s eyes and tightened his features.
Darshan turned from him, one hand fastidiously smoothing down his moustache, although the hairs along his jaw were at least a half inch long. “Forgive me, I should not have brought this to your attention.” He bent to gather a small armful of the branches Hamish had collected and abandoned in his quest to prove Darshan wrong.
“Nae, you shouldnae have. But now I ken and you cannae take that away.” Even if it were possible, he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to forget.
Darshan paused in bundling up the rest of the branches. “We should get back to camp before the others think we’ve been beset upon by a bear and come to our rescue.”
“More like our burial.” He didn’t know if they had bears in Udynea, or how large they got, but the ones he had faced were big enough to bleed a man out with one bite.
“It is somewhat of a shame. I was hoping to see one that wasn’t stuffed and mounted.”
“You wouldnae be saying that if you’d ever seen any of the full-grown mountain brutes.” His brother certainly wouldn’t be thrilled to come across one on the way home. He shrugged. “But our journey’s nae over, maybe you’ll be fortunate to see one in passing.” His family always had the worst kind of luck. Why wouldn’t it hold back now?
His gaze slid to the segment of wood still holding two of his arrows. Luck. Just a few moments ago, he would’ve considered all his feats as a mixture of mere happenstance and skill.
Now?
Knowing the truth behind his records?
That he had…
Magic.
His mare stumbled, jolting Hamish from his musing. Snorting, she righted herself and carried on. Hamish glanced up to take in their surroundings. Nothing but trees and the castle looming through the leafy canopy.
His gaze dropped back to his hands. They held the reins a little tighter, but were no different than before.
The better part of a week had passed and he still couldn’t say with absolute certainty that his lover was wrong. Hamish couldn’t force the arrow to move in any fashion but how the Goddess had intended such projectiles should fly. He had tried shifting his focus to a completely different patch of undergrowth as he let go of his arrow. It had still hit his first focus point.
No matter how he tried, all of his attempts to replicate the trick he had witnessed in Darshan’s presence had failed. That had to mean something.
I cannae be a spellster.
Why did Darshan seem so certain? Did his lover attempt to deceive Hamish under the delusion that it would help Hamish leave Tirglas for good?
Would his mother believe it? Would he become another Caitlyn in her eyes, tainted and unworthy? And if being a spellster was all it took for her to forget all ties to her daughter, would she care if her son left for Udynea rather than the cloister?
He had expected Darshan to make several more attempts towards convincing him of his status as an extremely weak spellster—a specialist—but the man hadn’t spoken a word. Perhaps he waited for their return to Mullhind and the chance to test his theories on the rest of Hamish’s family.
Or perhaps his lover believed to have already made his point.
Maybe knowing also hindered the testing. How many rabbits, deer and wild pigs had he downed over the years? Always in the heart. Not even the most precise of hunters could make such a claim. How had he not seen it sooner? Why had no one else suspected more than pure skill on his part?
Where had the spark come from? That’d been the only question Darshan had asked since. Not his mother, that much was certain. His father’s side was the only other option but…
Were there any spellsters in his ancestry? Darshan’s words echoed through his thoughts. His father was an only child, raised in the midland sheep-fields. What little he knew of his grandparents on that side came only through stilted tales from his father.
What he did recall was a warning given the first time Hamish had turned his hand to shearing. His grandmother had cut herself and had fallen down dead. The other shearers had deemed it unfortunate, but not terribly uncommon amongst the impatient.
Except… The healers in the nearby cloister had claimed one of her veins had mysteriously collapsed and that had been the true cause of her death. Any enquiries by himself or his siblings had always led to his father shrugging and confessing she’d never fared well after the smallest of injuries.
Could it have been through her that they were doomed to bear this magic? From a woman who had died because she didn’t know her power?
Was that also their fates?
“Something’s nae right here,” Gordon rumbled.
Hamish glanced up from his hands. They were almost home, their chosen path taking them around the cliff rather than through the middle of Mullhind. Nothing about their immediate surroundings suggested anything was off.
His brother’s attention was focused on the castle where swathes of fabric and thick braids of spring foliage adorned the entrance. “That cannae be good.”
“Looks like preparation for spring festivities to me,” Darshan said.
Gordon shook his head, sweeping aside any coils of hair foolish enough to impede his vision. “They wouldnae start without us.” His brother glanced his way.
Instantly, Hamish’s stomach dropped. There’d been two other instances where the castle had been decorated outside of the usual festivals. Both times had involved the union contest and had culminated with his siblings getting married.
She promised. He had expressed his reluctance for women to go through such a competition for him multiple times. His mother had always insisted she wouldn’t dare send out the word until he had chosen a woman he found worthy. “Do you think she’s—?”
“I didnae see any sign of camps on the way in.” Uncertainty pinched his brother’s face. Just because they hadn’t witnessed the calling of the clans didn’t mean much. There were a number of reasons as to why, starting with the possibility that their mother hadn’t yet sent the call.
The guards at the castle gates offered only their customary salute. They were garbed no differently f
rom any other day. Surely if other clans were around, or expected, then the castle guards would be dressed in their finest armour. The courtyard also seemed to have the right amount of bustling about for mid-afternoon and there was a distinct lack of strange horses in the stables. Maybe it really was just early spring festivities.
“Finally,” Nora blurted from the castle entrance. She trotted across to them as they halted their horses in the middle of the courtyard. “You lot chose a bad time to wander off.”
“Why?” Gordon asked before Hamish could open his mouth. “Did something bad happen?” His brother dismounted faster than the rest of them. He grabbed their sister’s shoulders, almost lifting her off the ground. “Is Sorcha injured?”
“Your daughter’s fine. But you should’ve been here.” Nora turned to Hamish and grimaced. “You’re going to want to see Mum. She’ll be waiting in her study.”
Apprehension tingled along his skin. His gaze darted to his brother and was met with only a stony expression. He had considered that word of what had transpired at the guard outpost a fortnight ago might reach here before them, but he couldn’t see how. And his mother wouldn’t be asking for him. “What for?”
“Just go to her study,” Nora repeated.
“Tell me she hasnae done something foolish,” Gordon begged, as Hamish strode up the stairs.
Nora’s silence knotted Hamish’s stomach. It could only mean one thing. She has. Opening the door, he glanced over his shoulder at his siblings.
Gordon had tightened his hold on Nora’s shoulders, forcing her to face him. “Tell me what she’s done.” The command boomed across the courtyard.
If their sister replied, it was lost to Hamish as he entered the castle. Whatever their mother had done, he would find out from the source soon enough.
Thunk!
The arrow veered too far to the left of centre, joining its kin on the edge of the target.
Grumbling, Hamish nocked another arrow and took aim. Just a fluke, is all. He never missed. Not since that first day of training so long ago.