by Lucia Ashta
Air element, I thank ye,
for ye have cometh to my aid.
I need ye no more.
Ye have my gratitude and respect,
undying,
until I call on ye another day.
Mordecai whispered the enchantment that lowered his horse to the ground, where the animal stood confusedly for several moments, unmoving. Finally, Mordecai nudged the animal. “Go on, you big beast. It’s time for you to move on your own.”
Their parents discouraged them from using magic on other living creatures, and this was why. It overpowered the creatures’ free will and confused them. Albacus and Mordecai’s horses tossed their heads in complaint at being urged forward again, but neither brother regretted what they’d done. They’d spend additional time settling the horses once they returned to Irele Castle.
Now they needed to ride. Oliana had already dipped beneath the slope to the inlet and beyond their sight.
“She can’t still be using magic,” Albacus said, his disbelief easily heard above the slower pace of their steeds.
“But it looks like she is.” Mordecai’s concern went beyond the danger of exposing who and what they were, even though their parents had been warning them of the risks that came with revealing their way of life since they were infants. Magic inspired awe in some, but fear in far more. Oliana’s actions imperiled their entire family.
But Mordecai wasn’t thinking beyond what these next moments would bring, once they descended the slope. And he couldn’t figure out what about Oliana’s actions had him so alarmed. She was a sixteen year old girl, mourning the sudden death of her first love. Her dramatic assertions that she’d never love again, her life effectively over, weren’t, on their own, unusually alarming. Even though she couldn’t imagine ever loving again, she would—in time—even if Lord Willard wasn’t the one to claim her affections. Everything would take time, but she would heal. Her life would go on, however much she denied it now.
Yet he couldn’t get his heartbeat to slow down or his stomach to settle. It wasn’t the wild ride that had his last meal in his throat. It was something else, something nefarious that had him close to weeping or screaming without logical reason.
“I don’t feel good about this,” he said unnecessarily, for Albacus had finally begun to feel it too.
“Maybe one of us should go get our parents, while the other watches over Oliana.”
“Perhaps we should.” Their parents would be better able to deal with whatever was coming.
“But then we don’t really know if we’re exaggerating. We might be feeling this way because we’re having to watch our little sister as she thinks she’s breaking. Oliana might be just fine, and if we go get our parents, then we’ll all pay the price for this excursion.”
“And the price will be high,” Mordecai added.
“Let’s wait and see. We can handle Oliana mourning. We can help her through this.”
“When have we ever ‘handled’ Oliana? She’s been handling us since she learned how to bat her eyelashes and smile that charming smile of hers.”
Oliana had bloomed into a woman, but to them she’d always be the baby sister who needed their protection and affection. Father and mother relegated the care of their children to governesses and servants while they honed their skills as the finest witch and wizard in the region. Their dedication to their children was fervent, but only where their magical learning was concerned. They were intent on raising formidable magicians, not children.
Albacus and Mordecai had been parents to Oliana as much as they’d been her older siblings. They’d spoiled her as their parents hadn’t.
Mordecai suddenly said, “I think we should go get them.” For the first time, he allowed his mounting panic to color his voice.
Albacus flicked frightened eyes toward him. “It’s that bad? What you feel?”
“It is. We’re beyond worrying about what father or mother will do to us if they’ve discovered we’ve snuck out and skipped our assigned reading of the morning.”
“I see her. She’s there, by that group of people, Damien’s family, surely. We can’t leave her now. If the need to get our parents arises, one of us can go then. But right now we need to contain the situation as much as possible.”
They began to descend the hill, Albacus plastering the expression of a mild-mannered nobleman across his face, his posture erect and refined. “Mordecai?”
“I don’t know.”
Albacus nailed him with a look as their bodies shimmied back and forth in the saddle, the hill was steep enough for their horses to take it slow, with careful footing. “Then go. If you feel this way, go now. I’ll help Oliana as I can until you return.”
Albacus was past the point of teasing Mordecai about the abstract nature of the runes or his unmentioned intuition. Mordecai wasn’t always right, but he was right more times than he was willing to gamble their sister’s life on.
“Mordecai, go.”
“But maybe you’re right. There’s no reason to feel the way I do. Waiting is reasonable. If I go get our parents, they’ll arrive in a frenzy, and then they’ll have to deal with all these people seeing something they shouldn’t. Because you know them, if they think one of us is in danger, they’ll move mountains to arrive in time.” Mordecai wasn’t actually sure they could move mountains, but if any sorcerer could, it’d be their parents.
“So then stay. Either way, you need to make up your mind right now.”
How could he?
But then fate stepped in—or perhaps it was nothing more than the random unfolding of ordinary events. They’d never conclusively decide, even though they’d agree that nothing about what happened that day was ordinary.
Chapter 4
There were only a handful of people in the inlet, forming a rough circle of grief around the body of a boy, laid out on a roughly woven cloth. Even as Mordecai and Albacus approached, it was clear the boy was dead and that what they were looking at was a corpse, a shell of a former life. The dead were unmoving in a different way than the still or sleeping, and one didn’t grow up in this area and not have seen enough dead bodies to spot the difference.
Even largely isolated as they were in the castle, the brothers hadn’t been spared the reality of life at its end—and neither had Oliana, although her brothers had tried to shield her from it. But there was no way to shield someone from death when it eventually arrives for us all.
Oliana could see her lover was dead and that not even Mordecai, with his aptitude for the healing arts, could help Damien return to his body.
What looked like Damien’s parents and siblings took a step back to make room for Oliana’s grief, large enough to encompass that entire inlet. When her attempts at control broke, Damien’s younger brother led their sister away by the hand. Mordecai watched their slow retreat up the hill, a boy leading a girl still unsteady on her feet, away from a reality they seemed too young to accept.
But they exhibited none of the shattering grief that Oliana did as she fell to her knees at her lover’s side. Her shoulders shook in restraint before she couldn’t hold onto artifice any longer and let it all loose. Like a dam that exploded into a million stony pieces from the force suddenly flooding through it, Oliana’s face crumbled, inhuman sounds slipping from her mouth.
Then she let loose a cry of anguish so terrifying, so full of all the suffering a sixteen year old girl who faced the loss of everything she considered her future could inject into one sound, that Albacus dismounted his horse while the animal was still walking. He stumbled on his robes, but righted himself quickly, and didn’t even bother to lead the horse out of the path.
Albacus ran. The hair tied at the back of his neck jumped with each of his strides, and his robes, intended for study and contemplation, bounced bulkily. He slid into place on his knees next to Oliana and adjusted his robes to allow him to settle in.
Mordecai drew next to his brother’s horse and grabbed the animal’s reins. He led both steeds off to the
side and dismounted. Unlike his brother, his actions were slower than usual. He wasn’t used to experiencing warning sensations he didn’t understand, and even though the sound of his sister wrenched at his heart, his mind pulled harder.
If only he could put his finger on whatever it was that was bothering him.
When he turned back to where Damien’s body was, the blacksmith’s stare was locked onto Oliana. Mordecai took a breath that lamented what he had to do and walked to the man’s side.
Oliana was rejecting Albacus’ comfort. Her shoulders drooped, her chest caved in, and her breath hitched and hiccupped in irregular patters. She was beyond comfort.
“I’m terribly sorry for your loss,” Mordecai said to the man, who looked like a replica of the dead boy on the ground. “I’m Lord Mordecai, from—”
“I know who you are,” the boy’s father interrupted.
“I see. Were you aware of my sister’s affections for your son?”
“I was. He’s my son.” The man stared straight ahead with eyes that didn’t appreciate the solace the water that lapped gently at the shore offered. “He didn’t tell me, but I knew. He changed when he met her.”
Mordecai wondered how he and his brother hadn’t noticed the changes in Oliana. Certainly there’d been signs they would have noticed had they been paying closer attention, had they not been spending so much time perfecting spells and trying to impress their parents. They’d lost sight of the thing far more important than any advanced spell and the thrill of magic.
The man continued, in a voice that rivaled Oliana’s in sadness. “I knew who she was, that it’d never work out between them, that they’d never be allowed to marry.”
“They intended to sneak away and marry during the harvest celebration.”
The father’s eyes registered a flash of surprise, and Mordecai experienced a rush of shame that he allowed it to sound as if he had.
The man said, “Because your parents wouldn’t allow it.” It wasn’t a question, it was fact. Maidens from the nobility didn’t marry tradesmen.
Mordecai didn’t say anything, even though he had to push away the sudden urge to apologize for ways of life that spanned eons before them and would likely extend into the future, largely unchanged.
“She was good for him, I think.” A significant statement from a man who realized his son had borrowed trouble by loving Oliana.
“He was good for her too.” Mordecai didn’t know if what he said was true, when his sister was a violent mess of despair, but it felt like the right thing to say.
The man gave a curt nod of his head. He was obviously a man unused to showing his emotions. “We’ll give her some time with him, but then we have to take him with us. We need to bury—” His voice hitched. “Our son before sundown.”
“Thank you. I’m sure it will be important to her.” Nothing about the man welcomed touch, but Mordecai reached a hand to his shoulder anyway.
The man stiffened, nodded again, put a hand to the small of his wife’s back, and led her away.
Only Damien’s sister remained. This must be Henrietta, Mordecai thought as he studied her discreetly. But Henrietta wasn’t interested in him. She moved to sit next to Oliana, on the blanket next to her brother’s rigid body. Even in a sister’s grief, her movements were graceful yet strong, those of a young woman who was already finding her way in the world and making peace with her place in it.
Henrietta touched her brother’s leg, his shoulder, his chest, and finally she pressed a kiss to his stone-still forehead. She pushed lips against cold skin until a tear ran across the bridge of her nose and landed on his brow. She pulled back and stared, as if she couldn’t decide whether she should wipe her tear from her brother’s skin or not.
She left it there and did something more useful. She sat back and pulled Oliana into her arms. Oliana resisted at first, as she had all of Albacus’ attempts, but Henrietta wasn’t asking. She pulled Oliana, who might’ve been older than Henrietta, nearly into her lap and started rocking her as one did a baby.
Oliana’s stiff resistance dissolved. Her body seemed to melt into the other girl’s, and they shared a world of grief while Henrietta rocked.
Henrietta whispered, but the brothers heard, “He loved you. I don’t know if he ever told you that, but he told me.”
A fresh stream of tears swept across flushed cheeks, and they’d never learn whether Damien had told Oliana or not. Regardless, she’d known, and every sigh she released spoke of this tender love that had existed while it could.
Eventually Henrietta moved Oliana from her lap, kissed her cheek, looked at her brother one last time, and rose to her feet. “I’ll give you some time alone with him, but Father won’t wait long. He’ll want to take him soon.”
Oliana smiled a smile of thanks that seemed fashioned to break her brothers’ hearts and the other girl walked away.
“Will you give me some time alone with him too?” she asked Mordecai and Albacus. She looked to Albacus for an answer first. Meanwhile Mordecai shook his head frantically to him behind her turned back. When Albacus turned weak eyes on him, Oliana spun to look at Mordecai.
“Mordecai, please. It’s the last time I’ll see him.”
For the first time since she told them of Damien’s death, her voice sounded at peace—as if she’d come to accept that he was dead and her heart broken. But the rest of her didn’t align with her words.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Mordecai said exactly what he was thinking. Nothing about this was a good idea. “We should stay with you.”
She did that thing with her eyes that made Mordecai think of a pleading puppy, batted wet eyelashes, and turned her lips to their begging setting.
“All right, fine. But we’ll only go over there to water the horses, no farther.”
“Thank you. I’ll take whatever you’ll give me.”
But Oliana wasn’t the type of girl who was satisfied with the lot life dealt her. She reached for what she wanted, and if it was too far away to reach, then she leapt for it.
Mordecai and Albacus should’ve realized this. Their sister had never once accepted defeat without a fight.
And now she had more to fight for than ever before. She’d hold onto her first love and all its passion and fire kicking and screaming.
Only she wasn’t an ordinary girl. She was a witch. She could do better than kick and scream. She could do magic, the most dangerous kind there was.
Chapter 5
The moment her brothers’ backs were turned to her, Oliana flicked her gaze to Damien’s family, saw no one was watching her, and pulled a book from the folds of her skirt. Another glance to her brothers to confirm her actions were still secret, and she positioned her body so it’d hide the book from her brothers when they reached their horses. She’d already marked her page, and she whipped the book open to it, tucking the corners of the pages under her skirts so a stray breeze wouldn’t turn them.
Her brothers were walking toward her horse to bring the mare over with theirs. Good. She’d just gained a few extra moments, because she knew her brothers would watch her once they led the horses to the river.
She folded her knees and clutched her arms around them—a perfect pose for despondent mourning—and rested her cheek against her knees. She’d have to read the spell from the corner of her eyes, but her ruse was convincing. It would work.
Now she had to hope the spell would work too. She’d never tried this one before. It wasn’t the kind magicians were supposed to try—ever. It wasn’t the kind she’d ever thought she’d consider.
But things had changed today. Everything had changed. And she couldn’t live with any of it.
She wouldn’t.
After all, she was a witch, and what was the point of devoting herself to her magical studies every blasted day if she couldn’t use magic when she most needed it?
She wasn’t supposed to know about the book she pressed beneath her skirts. Her parents wouldn’t shut up once they got
talking about magic; they droned on and on, endlessly fascinated by every minute aspect of the magical arts. But not once, not ever, had they mentioned this book.
But she’d known it must exist.
They used spells—elegant and precise ones, as well as clumsy but still powerful ones—to perform their magic. One could—carefully—modify an existing spell, but it was risky to create new ones. A lot could go wrong in the experimental phase, and not many were willing to undertake the risks when there was already a wealth of spells to draw from.
The basis of all spells was the four elements—earth, air, fire, and water—and each of these elements was terrifically powerful on its own. When combined, unpredictable effects could leave the experimenting magicians dead or worse, with their bodies rearranged in unmanageable ways.
While their parents hadn’t told her of the book she looked at now, trying to gather her nerve to read the spell she’d selected while her brothers waited for her, pacing in the courtyard below, they’d told her many stories of warning. Magicians, especially young and inexperienced ones, were never to experiment with untested spells. There were enchantments for nearly every thing a witch might want to do, and if there wasn’t, well then there was good reason for it, and they should be grateful that they weren’t the ones to have to discover why the spell didn’t exist.
Their parents knew of a wizard who’d tried to create a firedrake companion. He’d crafted a spell that called on the fire element to birth a firedrake chick from a fire’s ashes. He’d ended up with a leg that burst into flame at the slightest provocation, and still no firedrake. He’d lived his life out in misery, until he sneezed in the middle of the night, his leg flared, and he burned his house down with him in it.
Even if Oliana’s parents hadn’t tried to satiate her curiosity about dark magicians with their occasional stories laced with admonitions, rumored whispers of dark and fearsome feats traveled from one magical family to the next, across continents even. Dark magicians were men and women, but the things they did were monstrous. And Oliana realized a book of their spells must exist somewhere, for all magic was based in spells, and even dark magic had to be recorded somewhere.