by Alex Linwood
“What exactly happened?”
Portia sighed. “A girl with an incredibly long name nearly killed me with ice. Magic ice. I didn’t even know you could do things like that.”
“Ay, she probably goes to that school of magic. They learn all kinds of tricks,” Elyas said, dipping a towel into the hot water over the stove then bringing it over to Portia and motioning for her to give him her injured hand. She held it out tentatively. It throbbed in pain. She doubted the hot, wet rag would feel much better. “How did you get away?” Elyas asked as he gingerly unwrapped the blood-encrusted linen from around her hand.
Portia winced, sucking in her breath, as Elyas worked. “I have some magic too,” Portia said.
Elyas looked at her face, raising his eyebrows at that. “Oh?”
Portia’s face turned red. Why did she feel like she had done something wrong by not telling him sooner?
“What sort of magic?” he asked, once again turning his attention to her hand.
“Lights. I don’t know what they call that. Some things with plants and fibers too.” She shrugged. Somehow, she didn’t have the words to describe what she could do. When he looked up at her, she formed a light mote on one of her cheeks to show him.
“I see. How did you learn to do that?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I watch others.”
He nodded. “So, you’ve never trained with anybody?”
Portia shook her head.
“This is deep. You’re lucky you can still use your hand,” Elyas said, looking up at Portia. “It’ll take a while to heal.” Elyas poured some liquid over her wounded hand from a small jar he had placed on the table earlier. It burned like crazy. Portia gasped then bit her lip to keep from crying out. “Sorry, lass, it has to be done.”
Elyas finished cleaning the wound and re-bandaging it. Portia had drunk the rest of her mead while she watched. Her head bobbed in exhaustion as the adrenaline wore off. Elyas carried her to her bedroom, laying her on top of the bed with all her clothes on, and left the room, gently shutting the door. Portia was asleep as soon as her eyes closed.
The next weeks passed in a blur. Portia tried healing her hand at night, using her magic, but it wasn’t enough on its own. The deep hand wound was trickier business than healing bruises. So Elyas had Portia exercising her hand as the wound healed the old-fashioned way. The exercises were necessary to keep the scar tissue from shrinking up, which would have reduced the use of her hand for the rest of her life. He had her stretching it, kneading dough and other household chores that pushed the use of her hand, even doing weights with her fingers.
He also had her practice her magic. Under his direction, she worked on it daily to strengthen her skills and to build up her endurance. He insisted that she push her abilities to their limits. He had told her most limits in life, as in magic, were not real, but rather were the brain’s way of being lazy. It was easier to say it was not possible than to suffer the discomfort of exercising a new skill. He told her she did not have to settle for that. When she had shown him the light motes she had learned from Mark, she had only created them on her own skin or between her and whoever she was using them against. She had not realized the distance she could place them. He had her practice by moving a light mote towards him, gradually getting farther and farther away. Eventually, she could create them on demand and surround him with them while he sat in the next room over. She didn’t even have to see inside the room itself. Portia didn’t understand how the light motes knew exactly where to go, how to not manifest inside a chair, or a table, or a person. But somehow, they did. They never went where they should not be.
The more she practiced, the more confident she became in her abilities.
She also learned the difference between a magic pool and magic abilities. Apparently, her magic pool was not that strong. That was why it took so much of her energy to do magic. There were others, she learned, that could do the same magic, but it took much less effort from them. To some, it was the equivalent to blinking. It was not welcome news to learn that others could innately be so much more powerful. But it motivated her to practice even more. If her magic was not strong, then it was even more important that she be skilled and accurate.
Magic abilities referred to the types of magic she could do. She said nothing to Elyas about a Jack of Magic. And he did not think it was unusual she could work with light and create duplicates like Peter. His understanding of magic had been limited to what his daughter, Chenna, had taught him. His daughter had the ability to work with fire, which made for an exciting household before she had learned to control her childhood impulses. When Chenna was older, she had liked to show off in the kitchen with it while cooking. Elyas would not tell Portia why his daughter had not gone to the Academy. But still, she had picked up enough knowledge just from being in the same city as the Academy to improve herself. And she had shared her knowledge with her father. Portia was grateful to his daughter for the knowledge she was now getting.
No matter how Portia struggled with any skill she worked on, Elyas was always encouraging. He also would not tolerate when she said she couldn’t do it. He always said she could, perhaps not that day, but that she could—and would—do it, eventually. She took this to heart.
Portia wanted to go back to work at the shop, but Elyas wouldn’t let her at first. “If they know the thief’s hand was injured, then you can’t go anywhere until it is completely healed. You might have gotten away, or they might be biding their time, or they might be out looking for you,” he said to her one evening as she was kneading a loaf of bread, stretching her palms out with each down push, feeling the scar pull in protest. “Once your wounds are healed, you’ll have a much better chance of blending into the crowd.”
“Do you really think they would care that much about a lowly linen thief?” Portia asked.
“You don’t understand. That house is so feared that no one in the city would have dreamt of doing what you had done. It’s more the insult than the injury that will infuriate them. I know that girl did a lot of harm to you, but believe me, she was being kind. At least kind by their standards.” Elyas said, drinking a glass of mead, his feet stretched out before him. He enjoyed having someone else cook.
“I hope to never meet the rest,” Portia said as she shoved the dough into a large bowl to rise, covering it with linen.
“I hope that for you as well.”
“Did you find your mended tunic?” Portia asked. She sat down across from Elyas. The sun was just setting, leaving the windows to darken into blue and then black as night fell. The smell of warm yeast filled the kitchen, along with the smell of the potato and meat soup that would be their dinner.
“I did, lass, and you’re not to do mending for me while that hand is still healing. I can take care of my clothes myself.” Elyas gave her a wink. She appreciated his fierce independence. They were alike in that way. They worked together as a team, each one contributing and no one feeling like a burden. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been this happy. It felt like home—a word she would not use out loud, and barely dared whisper in her own mind. But that was what it was to her.
Soon she would go back to the shop to earn more coins. Her hand was healed, nearly fully so, and the herbs that Elyas had pressed into the wound, along with rich oils, had discouraged scarring. Someone would have to look closely at her hand to find any evidence of her injury. She was determined to not give anyone that chance.
The only dark spot in her life was the recurring nightmares. She had woken Elyas more than once with her thrashing and moaning in her sleep. Even in the next room over, he could hear her distress. He had comforted her as best he could, but they puzzled him as much as they puzzled her. Neither one of them could imagine the meaning of a crack in the sky and the velvet darkness behind it. She thought maybe it had to do with guilt for leaving Mark.
She had shared her fears with Elyas about leaving Mark and her thought of going back and retrieving him. Elyas worried
at this plan, but Portia knew she should do so, and sooner rather than later. He had made her promise she wouldn’t go back until she had enough for a carriage ride to Valencia. Elyas even offered to go with her, but Portia didn’t want him to have to endure the trip. Besides, it would mean having to save twice as much money. She dreaded to think what had become of Mark without her protection against Deyelna. But her heart beat in fear at the thought of going back. And then she felt ashamed for being a coward.
Portia resumed working at the shop. The shopkeeper was disappointed when she didn’t bring in another batch of Riddlepit linen, but he never pressed her to do so. His business had picked up in her absence, and he was more than grateful for any products that she could get to restock the shelves. She knew some customers came back repeatedly, hoping to get more of the exceedingly fine linen she had obtained from Magisend Lucy’s bedroom, but she steeled herself against the guilt of not doing it again. She dare not risk it. It helped that the shopkeeper never asked.
One day she had an especially good haul from a woman who had been rude to her in the marketplace a few months earlier. Some days she felt guilty about taking from other citizens, but not today. She had even stopped off at a bakery and purchased Elyas’s favorite nut pastry as a treat for them to celebrate her successful day. When she got home, she laid the wrapped paper from the bakery on the table in the kitchen. Elyas was at the fire, stirring that night’s dinner.
“I have a surprise for you,” she said, grinning from ear to ear. Watching Elyas’s outsized delight in all bakery products was one of her favorite things. She wished any food item made her that happy.
He turned to look at her, quickly seeing the wrapped treat on the table. His eyes lit up as she had expected, giving her a warm glow in her heart for making him happy. “Wonderful! You treat me too well, lass,” he said, as he hurried to the table and opened the package to see its contents. “We shall have a wonderful dessert tonight, thanks to you.”
“You’re sharing?” Portia said with a tease in her voice.
“Of course I’m sharing! When don’t I share?” he asked, his hand over his heart with an expression of fake hurt.
Portia didn’t bother to answer. She knew his game. It made her smile anyway.
“I have something for you as well,” he said, pushing a folded parchment towards her on the kitchen table.
She looked at it in surprise. “What’s that?”
“Open it and find out.”
She took the parchment. It had a red official stamp on it, with fancy curling script she could not read. Opening the letter, she recognized the blue buildings on the engraved letterhead. It was from the Magic Academy. It had her name on it. She could not read the rest of the fancy writing since only her name was written in print block letters. She was embarrassed that she didn’t understand what it said. Heat rose from her cheeks.
Elyas saw her blushing, and grinned, not understanding the reason for her embarrassment. “Overwhelmed you, didn’t I?” he asked.
“Yes,” Portia said, trying to recover. “This is…”
“Your invitation to try out for the Academy. I got you on the rolls when you were out working. Your magic ability has come so far, I think you have a real chance to get in.” Elyas put down bowls on the table for dinner. “The trials start in two days.”
Portia’s embarrassment turned to elation. And surprise. Somehow, she had been living here for six months. Six months!
And then, just as quickly, her elation turned to unease. She was comfortable here. Did she really want to go to the Magic Academy? But she saw the excited look on Elyas’s face and knew she couldn’t disappoint him. She gave him her best smile, willing her heart to be happy. She went to him and hugged him. “Thank you, thank you. I had forgotten all about it.”
He hugged her back then released her quickly. She thought she saw his eyes water as he turned to the fire to grab a ladle for their dinner. She realized she was not the only one who had mixed feelings. It made her appreciate him even more. He would do what was best for her, no matter what the cost to him personally.
“You need some new clothes. I want you walking on that field looking like you’re already a member of the Academy,” he said, pulling the jar of coins off the shelf. He poured out a handful of silver and copper. She realized that he had not spent any of the money she had given him. “You have time to get some new clothes tomorrow, some nice ones.”
“No. I can’t take this. This was for you, and for food and for the house,” Portia said, protesting the coins Elyas was trying to push into her hands.
“I can take care of myself. I thought of it as just keeping the money for you, for when you needed it. You need it now. You must look good when you go to the Magic Academy, like you belong. It’ll keep your confidence strong. There would be plenty of those from the five houses who will try to intimidate you because you are not rich like they are—or at least try.” Elyas winked at Portia. “I’d say being poor is not a good reason to fail the tests,” Elyas said, placing the silver on the table in front of where Portia normally sat when she refused to open her hand for him. “But first we celebrate—sit,” he gestured to her seat, “it’s time to eat.”
The next day, Portia went to the clothier that Elyas had recommended. It was outside of the Warrens, but he said it was worth the trip because that was the clothier that most Academy applicants went to for their trial apparel. It was a tradition for the children of the five great houses of the city. He wanted nothing less for Portia, so she agreed to go.
When she got to the shop, it was the largest she had ever seen. It looked like it took up most of the block it was on. Portia’s neck tingled as she got closer to its doors, but she couldn’t place why immediately. Then she saw them—several men dressed in all black. They were across the street, seated at the outdoor tables of a tavern. Their waiter, a thin young man, dropped off their drinks and walked off as quickly as he could. The men looked menacing. And they were staring at the people entering the clothier shop. Portia swallowed. She did not want to be the subject of their attention. They reminded her too much of the man in black from Valencia.
She pulled up the hood of her jacket then joined a group of parents and children walking into the shop, keeping the parents between her and the watching men. A few of the parents gave her irritated looks at her proximity, but Portia ignored the glares and pushed her way to the front to enter first.
Inside, parents and children filled the shop, keeping the numerous clerks busy and squabbling over colors and styles. The parents had strong ideas about what their children should wear based on what they had worn for their own trials when they themselves were children .
Portia felt out of place being there by herself. She wondered if she should have brought Elyas and then shook herself. No, he had encouraged her to be independent. She could do this. And if she couldn’t even buy clothing, how would she survive at the Academy on her own?
“Can I help you?” a young clerk asked her, giving her a gentle smile. “Are your parents picking out something for you?” The clerk looked around for anyone that might be with Portia.
“No. I mean yes, but I’m here alone,” Portia said. “I would like help though, please.”
“Alone?” the clerk said, looking surprised and hesitant. “I’m not sure—”
Portia held out her hand filled with silver. The clerk came closer to peer at the silver then changed her attitude to one of extreme helpfulness. “I see. Well, of course I would love to help you. Let me show you all the finest items we have, including the new styles just this year for the trials,” the clerk said, putting her arm in Portia’s arm and drawing her deeper into the shop.
The selection was overwhelming. But Portia found a beautiful outfit, in the newest style, constructed in her favorite colors of red and black. She almost didn’t recognize herself in the mirror after trying them on. The months of eating well with Elyas, along with finally getting enough sleep in the safety of their home, had changed her m
arkedly. The black circles under her eyes were gone. Her skin was no longer pale but rather flush with color. Her eyes were bright. She did not look like the girl who had lived with the Black Cats. Now, she looked just like all the other children in the shop—healthy. Her eyes watered with happiness.
She gladly paid the silver the clerk asked for, happy that there were still some coins left in her hand when she was done. She packed her old clothes in her leather bag. The clothier was an hour’s journey from home, and she wanted to get back before dark.
Checking outside, she saw that the men across the street were gone. It was getting late, so perhaps they had simply finished their meal. Or they had grown bored of glaring at those preparing for the Academy tryouts. In any case, Portia was simply glad. She did not want to deal with a chase—not on such a happy day.
She exited the shop. Looking around, it did indeed look like the men were gone. Citizens on the street were rushing along to go home for the evening. Portia joined the crowd.
Portia had just entered the Warrens again when she saw a little girl crying in the street. She couldn’t have been over two or three. Tears ran down her face and onto her dress. Her clothing was old but clean and patched. This little girl was well cared for except for the lack of a guardian at the moment. Portia looked around but couldn’t see anyone. Everyone else in the street was ignoring the little girl. Portia walked closer to talk to her.
“What’s wrong?” Portia asked as she crouched low to get to the little girl’s eye level. The little girl was crying so hard she was shaking and hiccupping. Portia gave her a gentle squeeze on both shoulders to calm her. “What’s wrong? Where’re your parents?”