The Five-Petal Knot (The Witching World Book 2)

by Lucia Ashta

  “Yes, yes, a very serious issue,” his brother repeated. “And you’re somehow a part of it, child. Both of you children are.”

  Marcelo’s head jerked toward Mordecai. “Me? How am I a part of this all?”

  “I don’t know, my child. Somehow you both are, though. The runes were clear on that.”

  There was a brief period while we all reflected on different aspects of the runes’ predictions.

  “What will dark magic do to us?”

  Mordecai laughed at my question, until Albacus joined in with a chuckle, and then Mordecai stopped.

  “The hope is that dark magic will do nothing to any of us.” Mordecai’s face fell grave. “But if dark magic were to capture any one of us…” Mordecai shuddered.

  Albacus finished his sentence for him. “Killing us would be the least of our worries.”

  It was my turn to shudder.

  Chapter 14

  Breakfast that morning was a somber affair that only brightened once Marcelo, who knew the brothers well, turned them to the discussion of magic itself. It was then that I saw for the first time the passion and regard the brothers held for magic, and I began to enjoy my toast, cheese, and jam much more.

  Albacus’ elbows rested on the thick slab of walnut as he leaned in my direction. “Magic,” he said, “contains everything within it. There’s nothing—”

  “Nothing at all,” interjected Mordecai.

  “—that magic can’t do if the magician’s knowledgeable and holds deep magic within. They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul. If that’s so, then magic is the window to the universe. With magic, there are no limits; there are only things the magician hasn’t yet learned.”

  “That’s why, at our advanced age, we’re still students of the magical arts,” Mordecai said cheerily. “There’s always more to learn and more to discover.”

  “Besides, we still haven’t figured out how to get the castle to obey us,” Albacus said. “If only our predecessors hadn’t been such genius magicians, you might not have gotten lost to the merpeople, children. We’ve been attempting to eliminate the castle’s dangers for over a hundred years without success.”

  Over a hundred years? How old were the brothers? I didn’t know if it would be impolite to ask, but I prepared myself to anyway, when Mordecai spoke first.

  “I have a new theory about the merpeople, Albacus. I’d like us to try it today. Perhaps today we can finally banish them.”

  “Very well, brother.” Both brothers seemed delighted at the prospect of the upcoming spell or adventure or whatever it was they did to try to subdue the merpeople and their attacks on unsuspecting humans.

  “That reminds me,” Albacus said. “Clara, please be certain to stay with one of us at all times while you learn the ways of the castle. Our great-great-grandfather in particular set some very nasty traps against any magical invaders.”

  Marcelo glared at him, angry that his warning was three years too late. But Mordecai laughed. “Albacus, do you remember that time you followed that porcupine and got lost in the mushroom field in the bathroom? It took you two weeks to return. And only then to fall into the cloak room with the dancing dog for another week.”

  “And the time you disappeared into the forest in the turret and returned thinking you were a centaur for several days until I convinced you otherwise? Mother kept giving you cough syrup for the bleating.”

  The brothers laughed. Their eyes twinkled, amazing me that they enjoyed what sounded frightful.

  “Mordecai. Albacus,” Marcelo interrupted the nostalgic moment before it went on. “How will you go about teaching Clara? Will you do as you did with me?”

  “Oh heavens no,” Albacus said. “You’ll teach Clara.”

  “But I can’t,” Marcelo protested. “I have nowhere near the amount of experience that you both do.”

  “That’s true, my child,” Mordecai said. “But then, you haven’t lived as many lives as we have. Still, you have what it takes, of that we’re certain.” He paused. “Besides, I’m curious as to what will come of this strong bond that you share. It will make you both stronger magicians. I just don’t understand how yet.”

  “My brother and I will teach you some advanced lessons once you’re ready for them, Clara,” Albacus clarified, “but we think it best if Marcelo takes responsibility for your general teaching. My brother and I need to prepare to combat the dark magic that’s coming. We haven’t faced a strong dark magician in a very long time.”

  The brothers looked equally delighted at embarking on an adventure and somber at the seriousness of the threat. The result was a comically imbalanced facial expression.

  “I’m certain that you’ll discover Marcelo to be a very fit teacher,” Albacus said.

  I slid my eyes toward Marcelo, wondering what it would be like to be in prolonged close proximity to someone I felt so drawn to. What had Mordecai meant when he said the bond we shared would make us both stronger magicians?

  Chapter 15

  The sky was alight with a fiery salmon outside the turret window. I was certain I’d never seen something quite so beautiful, although I’d probably thought the same thing many times before gazing out at a sunset.

  “Clara, we should stop for the night. You’ve been working hard for days.”

  I turned from the window to look at Marcelo. He was the one who looked like he’d been working hard for days. His black hair was messy, his beard unshaven, and his clothes crumpled. He was probably worried he wasn’t teaching me the right things fast enough to prepare me for whatever threat was coming. I was unlike the ordinary pupil of magic, and he had to find unusual ways to teach me, different from the ways the brothers had used with him. He was concerned he was pushing me too hard after the ordeal I’d emerged from only days before.

  “You yourself told me how important it is to master this material, plus a lot more that I still need to learn. And I’ve barely begun to understand the basics,” I said.

  “But you can’t push yourself so hard that you make yourself ill.”

  Marcelo and I both knew that I wouldn’t heed his warning. Magic—real magic—consumed me. There was so much I’d eventually be able to do, once I learned how, that I didn’t want to stop.

  I’d push through almost anything to be able to continue. I’d discovered that magic was a part of me; it probably always had been even though I didn’t suspect it before meeting Marcelo.

  “Just a little longer. I think I’m close to figuring this out. Bring that candle closer.” Darkness saturated the castle the moment the sun went down.

  “I don’t understand what it says here.” I pointed to a line of text in the old book I’d been studying off and on for hours. “‘Drinketh of thy water before ye spille it. Release and it will flowe.’”

  “It all comes back to how you work with the element of water,” Marcelo said. “Just like every other spell, at its basis, it’s about how you relate to the particular element. ‘Drinketh of thy water’ refers to being filled with the water, with its essence. Before you ask the water to do anything for you, you must be fully connected to it. ‘Before ye spille it.’ Before you work with it, before you direct it. ‘Release and it will flowe’ speaks further to this one primary and most important step. Once you’ve connected with the element of water, once you’re filled with it, then it will work with you. You’ll be able to direct it, though you’ll never control it. Each element is too powerful to control, like I told you before when you were reading The Elementes of Magyke at Lake Creston.”

  My memories of our time together at Lake Creston while I recovered from the fever were hazy. It had been so long ago, and so much had happened since then. But I nodded anyway, encouraging him to continue.

  Even after a week of study, Marcelo was still a reluctant teacher, insisting that he didn’t know enough to teach me properly. But once he delved into a discussion of magic, it was hard to get him to stop. He seemed as passionate as the brothers about it.

  �
�You must always respect and honor the element. Be aware of its great power. If not, the element can turn on you in any moment.

  “Once you start combining the elements to perform more advanced magic—which you won’t do until you’ve mastered the individual elements first,” Marcelo said as he glared at me in his best attempt at a menacing look, “then you must be even more careful. You must respect not only each individual element within the group, but also identify them as a whole.

  “You can’t progress too quickly and put yourself in danger. You shouldn’t do advanced magic until you understand how to protect yourself from its effects. You’ve already suffered enough from doing magic before you were ready for it.”

  I worked hard not to roll my eyes. Marcelo had mentioned the same concern at least once a day since we began our studies together. I understood his point—I remembered my magical injuries quite vividly without his reminders—but wasn’t I learning magic now because we were already in grave danger?

  “Back to the water,” I said, trying to curb his warning before he dragged it out any longer, “is it as simple as just feeling the water then?”

  “Essentially, yes. You’ve shown remarkable skill in connecting to the elements in a way no novice magician I’ve seen before has. Perhaps it’s just that simple for you. Connect with the element. Feel it. Know it. Be a part of it. And then it’ll respond to you. If it’s that easy for you, you may consider it a great gift. It was much harder for me.”

  “How was it for you when you were learning magic?”

  “Harder,” came his abrupt response. I’d been trying to learn about Marcelo’s time of study with Albacus and Mordecai, but Marcelo held back every time. His teachers didn’t, however, always content to indulge in reminiscence. I hoped I’d be able to get them to tell me about it in one of their nostalgic dinnertime moods.

  “So, let’s see you try it then. If this part’s easy for you, we needn’t waste the limited time we have studying books. Let’s turn to the experimental portion of your training.”

  He made it sound as if we were preparing for lethal battle, the outcome of which would be life or death.

  I stood. I had much to do, and I wouldn’t abandon the books. I loved books, especially these books. They were old and musty, filled with little holes, the telltale signs of bookworms. But around the bits of pages that the worms had eaten danced mysterious and intriguing spells that infused my imagination with a world of possibilities. The spell I was looking at now was for boiling water without the heat of flame.

  “Which water should I use?”

  Marcelo slid the pitcher of water across the wooden table toward me. It slid gracefully, its contents sloshing, until I picked it up and took it over to the alcove under the window and set it on the seat.

  “Is it okay if I try to boil it?” I’d already made water in a pitcher bubble when we were at Lake Creston years ago. It would be a comfortable place to begin.

  “Yes. It’s a basic spell appropriate for you to begin with.”

  “And should I use the spell I just read?”

  “Do you remember it well enough? You must be careful to use a spell exactly as it’s written. If not, unpredictable things may happen, some of them terrible.”

  “Yes. My memory’s very good.”

  “It must be. You only read the spell once.” He paused. “Yes, use it. Let’s see what happens when you do.”

  So I did. I sat on the window seat and held the pitcher of water in my hands. As Marcelo taught me, I connected to the water, stilling myself until I could feel it. Then I repeated the words of the spell, mindful to enunciate each word.

  “Water, water, I speak to you as your daughter. I come to you with blood in my veins. The blood pulses forth in honor of you as you boil for me, predictably as the rising of moon.”

  So slowly that I didn’t know if it would happen at first, the water began to bubble. It took several minutes before the water reached a full boil, a fraction of the time it took when it boiled over an open flame.

  I smiled. I did it. It was my first time performing a spell, and it had worked. It hadn’t been fast or fancy, but what I’d asked for happened.

  “Should I try it without a spell now?” I asked Marcelo over my shoulder. He’d come over to monitor my results.

  “All right. Try it,” he said, while he moved over to his seat at the table.

  I nodded and turned to look at the water. Immediately, I was lost in it, my eyes drawn beneath its surface like magnets to metal.

  In a swift moment, the water came to a violent boil, drastically heating the glass vessel. I stared into the water, unaware, until the glass burned my hands. I startled and dropped the pitcher, which crashed at my feet, covering my elf shoes in water and shattered glass.

  I lost the connection I’d held with the water and looked over to Marcelo, regretful that I’d broken something.

  He was grinning. “Mordecai was right. Your magic’s different.”

  He held out his hands, motioning the pieces together and mending the pitcher just as I’d seen Albacus do with the candlesticks. Then Marcelo scooped in the air, and the water responded, flowing back into the pitcher.

  “Come,” he told me, extending his hand. “Enough for one night.” And I followed him through winding passages across a mysterious and unforgiving castle.

  Chapter 16

  Although Marcelo had returned the water from the floor to the pitcher, the shoes he’d fashioned me were still wet, and their leather squeaked as I followed him. The twisting hallways were stone silent and all we heard was the quek, quek, quek of my footsteps. I didn’t allow that to distract me, however. I stayed close to Marcelo, dismayed at the unfamiliar path he led me down tonight.

  Since my arrival in Irele, Marcelo hadn’t taken the same route once, and I couldn’t help but notice that he kept his attention rapt when traversing the castle, even after years of living in it. I tried to discover what he looked for, but it seemed that every time it was different. My hopes of ever being able to walk the castle alone were fading quickly.

  “Watch your step here,” he said to me then, and just in time too. He gave a little jump that I imitated precisely. I sailed across a short gap in the pathway, but one that had no apparent end to its cavernous depths. If someone landed in it just right, he’d fall to his death.

  I’d had enough of the castle’s unnecessary dangers by the time we reached the dining room. It seemed there were sufficient threats without having to worry about plunging to your death in a misstep.

  I crumpled into my seat at the table, relieved at the semblance of safety in the sturdy wood. “Where are Albacus and Mordecai?” I asked Marcelo.

  We were late for dinner, and the brothers were always right on time.

  “I don’t know. It’s most unusual for them,” Marcelo said as he stuck his head back out to look for their approach down the great hall.

  I slumped further into my seat in unladylike fashion. Marcelo was right. I’d been pushing myself hard.

  I leaned fully back, crossed my hands in my lap, and studied the two paintings that hung on the opposite wall. I couldn’t decide if they were part of the castle’s dark art collection or not. They were portraits. It was common for family homes to display images of ancestors, but could these be the brothers’ forebears?

  A man who wore his hair twisted up into a bun glared at me from the canvas. A nasty snarl distorted his mouth and distracted from lifeless eyes. Otherwise, the painting was unremarkable, and I wondered why anyone would bother to preserve such an image at all.

  The second painting across from me was of a matronly woman. Her brown hair was wild and loose. Did she keep it that way so the bird on her shoulder could peck at it, or maybe even use it as its nest?

  “Are the brothers coming yet?” I asked Marcelo, who remained staring down the hall. Now that we’d ceased our studies for the night, my stomach was announcing its hunger with regular rumbles. I wanted to hurry up and eat.

  “No
t that I can see.” He sounded concerned.

  Gertrude and I had enjoyed bird watching in the gardens at Norland, especially in springtime when the birds seemed overjoyed for the sunshine to warm their feathers. She and I had studied bird books in the evenings by the fireside, but I couldn’t identify the one in the painting. Perhaps it was an exotic breed. Most things in the castle were out of the ordinary, why should the bird in the painting be any different?

  I picked up a candlestick and walked over to the painting. “What kind of bird are you?” I mumbled to myself, moving the candle back and forth across the woman’s shoulder to admire his plumage.

  There was a small squawk.

  I almost dropped another candlestick. It rattled in my hand noisily before I managed to steady it and my nerves.

  Was it the bird in the painting? I didn’t see it move, and I’d been looking straight at it. But my short stay in the castle had already taught me not to dismiss the unlikely as an alternative.

  I turned back toward Marcelo. He continued looking for the brothers.

  I leaned in toward the painting again. “Was that you?” I whispered to the bird.

  “Of course it was,” quipped a small, squeaky, well-mannered Irish voice. “Who else would it be?”

  In this castle, it could be lots of things. But I didn’t tell the bird that. I found that I didn’t know what to tell the bird at all. I had to say something, however. “I was wondering, what kind of bird are you?”

  “Why, I’m a pygmy owl, of course.”

  I studied the owl closely while it stood still for me, and I found all the signs of an owl now that I was looking for them: wide, round eyes; narrow, down-pointing beak; and talons. “I can see that now, thank you. I’ve never seen a pygmy owl before.”

  The bird began preening, obviously not thinking my comment demanded a response. He was very tiny and looked quite endearing as he pecked at his feathers. “Where are you from?”

  The owl looked at me again. “My mother’s from Ireland. She thinks my father was Scottish, but she can’t be sure. He disappeared before I was born. Where are you from?” the owl asked me in turn, taking a page from Mother’s rules of politeness.