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

by Lucia Ashta

  We all watched the firedrake until she faded from immediate view, and it was only then that I noticed that Sir Lancelot also watched with more than a passing curiosity. I looked at him, his eyes only a nose length’s away from mine. He fidgeted on my shoulder, nervous that his request might be denied.

  In the slightest voice I’d heard from him, Sir Lancelot asked, “May I join them too?” The pygmy owl looked to the brothers. Despite the fact that the owl had spent most of his time since his release from the painting with Marcelo and me, he knew who the masters of the castle were.

  “Why not?” Albacus boomed, in a more jovial voice than I would have expected. There was joy in seeing creatures freed and alighted. Who was he to hold this owl back from the same sense of liberation?

  “Just be careful, Sir Lancelot,” Mordecai added. “Don’t exchange your intellect for your brawn.”

  I didn’t think there was any chance of that, and Sir Lancelot seemed to find a compliment in Mordecai’s convoluted words. The little owl broke free from my shoulder and was gone.

  “It will be easier to work in here now,” Albacus said. “Fewer distractions.” While that was true, it also felt rather empty.

  “Well, no time to waste. Get to it,” Albacus told Marcelo and me, and, though we had no more of an idea what we should do than we had before, we obediently walked to the other side of the room.

  Chapter 25

  “Are you certain that’s what you want me to do?” I asked Marcelo.

  “Yes. We have to.”

  “But wouldn’t it be better if we went outside to do this?”

  “We can’t. We need to stay close to Mordecai and Albacus.” Marcelo and I looked at the brothers. They were consumed with their project. They looked as delighted by the challenge as the gargoyles and Sir Lancelot had been to take off in flight. They sat on the rug amongst mismatched scrap parts, piecing them together with a logic I didn’t comprehend. It didn’t look as if the pieces were coming together to form anything.

  I was worried that what happened in our study would repeat itself, destroying centuries’ worth of magical material the brothers had amassed.

  Marcelo took my hand. “They brought us here, remember? They told us to do advanced magic without your mastering the beginning steps first. They know better than we do what could happen.” He looked in my eyes. “It’s all right.”

  I nodded. “So what do I try to do now?”

  “First of all, you don’t try, you do.” He smiled with blue twinkling eyes. “And the second part is up to you. Do you feel that your exploration of fire creation is complete for now?”

  No, I didn’t. I felt incredibly fortunate that I’d been able to rein it in at all. But I didn’t dare go there again today. I didn’t think I had the strength. So I nodded.

  “Which element would you like to explore next? We should continue to take on only one at a time. Even though the brothers have directed us to study advanced magic, it’s extremely dangerous to combine several elements at once before you master each one individually. You must be absolutely certain that the element responds to you as you want before you consider working with two or more at once.”

  I understood. Even before Marcelo’s warning, I was in no hurry to race through my studies. I felt like a newborn fawn attempting its first steps on wobbly feet. I knew I could walk. I knew I could run with speed and grace. But I was in no hurry to get there.

  “Clara, if you can’t choose, I’ll choose for you. But we have to focus. We have no idea how much time we have.”

  “Then you choose.”

  “Air.” It was the first thing that tumbled out of his mouth. “We’ll skip to the creation of air, just as you did with fire. Well, try for less destruction if possible.” He smiled at me encouragingly.

  This time it didn’t take me as long to find my nerve.

  I closed my eyes. I already knew where to find the air. As with the fire, it was within me. I located it more easily than I did the fire because I’d learned what to look for. I understood how to identify its edges, where it could become a separate entity, distinct from me.

  I urged the air to feel itself apart from me, to feel its own unique nature when it was free. Like the gargoyles, the firedrake, and the owl, once I offered it the alternative, it discovered that it yearned to be free—at least for a while.

  Readily, the air stepped outside of me, excited at the true opportunities ahead. It understood that the limits that existed were human placed.

  I was about to let the air indulge in its reasonable desires after it had been so patient, settling quietly within me for twenty years.

  But I recalled images of a fire blazing out of control just in time, and I made it clear to the air that it still had to yield to me. I didn’t use empty threats. That would have been ridiculous before the power of air.

  It wouldn’t always be confined, but today it was wiser for it to be restrained, to limit its destructive nature.

  Now, however, the air would fly within the confines of a room. It would get its exercise, but no more. It would simply flex its muscles for another time.

  So I let the air out, and it did as I wished. It circled the room, ruffling the brothers’ long hair as it swirled. An accompaniment of swaying beads sang the air’s tune like wind chimes.

  The brothers looked up from their experiment, realizing what the fresh breeze that crisped the weathered skin of their faces meant. The air was sweet, flushing their cheeks pink with only the slightest of chills. My favorite breezes were those of spring and summer, slightly fresh but never cold. Honoring my preference, the air blew temperate.

  But its energy was still great. It, like me, was curious of its power. The difference between us was that the air didn’t doubt itself. It was confident it could do anything and everything it wanted to. It would take me time to learn of my capabilities.

  The air circled the large room, quickly gathering strength and speed. I let it do that.

  I heard papers rustling and windowpanes rattling and flapping in their open frames until Albacus snapped his fingers and drew them shut with a bang. The skirts of my new dress twisted tightly against my legs. My long hair whipped around my face, occasionally lashing out. But my eyes were closed.

  The air flew faster. I let it. I leaned my body into the wind to keep it from pushing me back. The wizards would have to do the same, because the wind wasn’t finished yet. It would be cruel to rein it back in so soon.

  So it could play, I suggested it change direction. As I thought it, the air halted. There was only the slightest pause, fleeting because of its brevity, but intense because of its opposition to the gales that had torn across the study moments before. Then the air set its course in the direction of the window.

  My skirts flew the opposite way. My hair whipped, lashing the other side of my face. The brothers’ beads sang a slightly different tune, the tones striking other chords and fancy.

  Once more, I let the air do what it wanted—no, needed—to do. It flew. It stretched. It grew.

  Yet it was enough for now. It had to be. Darkness approached.

  Darkness traveled heavily on the wind like the cloying scent of death. The air whispered of it.

  It understood, therefore, why it was time to come home. Without protest, it found its place within me and took up its watchful perch just as Sylvia did in the alcove. Like the firedrake, the air was alert, feeling every emotion that coursed through my body.

  It would be time for it to defend me soon. In the meantime, we’d prepare for what was coming, for the inevitable.

  When I opened my eyes, the brothers sat amidst a mess. The parts they’d arranged so meticulously had rearranged themselves as the air saw fit. Albacus’ gray hair, loose and free of braids unlike Mordecai’s, stuck out in all directions, as if the wind still played with it.

  Marcelo stood, rooted to the spot where he was when I began. Watchful, he didn’t miss a thing. His raven hair stuck up like the crown feathers of a quail. A nest of pap
ers and books adorned the floor next to Marcelo’s feet.

  But I didn’t worry.

  All three wizards shared one thing: They all wore smiles. They were excited. They witnessed what I’d unleashed and realized its potential better than I did. They understood what it took to bring something that forceful back in.

  Yet I had.

  It was my turn to smile.

  Chapter 26

  “That was wonderful, Clara,” Marcelo exclaimed, as he finally drew me near. He embraced me in a jubilant hug that I didn’t return. It was unexpected, and Mother’s teachings of appropriate interactions between a maiden and a bachelor ran deeper in me than I realized. I composed myself enough to banish thoughts of impropriety, but not in time to return Marcelo’s embrace. He was already pulling away, dejected.

  The brothers acted as if they hadn’t noticed my rigidity before Marcelo’s affection, although both had. They stood from the floor, uncrossing legs slowly, mindful of joints and articulations. Once they stood, they stayed stiff until their bodies readjusted.

  The magicians encircled me.

  “The dark magic is on its way to Irele,” I said, with the doom-and-gloom voice of a disembodied oracle.

  Three wizards and a novice witch would have to defend against a baleful magic that approached all too rapidly.

  The wizards talked over themselves.

  “Goodness, child. Is that so?” Mordecai said.

  “Are you certain?” Albacus said.

  And Marcelo asked, “How do you know?”

  “The air felt the dark magic. It sensed it was coming,” I said. The answer was simple yet undeniable.

  Mordecai let out a rush of air. On it rode fears, hopes, and an unidentified emotion. “How much time do we have?”

  “I don’t know exactly. A day or two. Three at most. There’s very little time, of that I’m certain.” I amazed myself that I spoke of it so calmly. But then, my life had changed so radically that it was virtually impossible to associate my present self with who I was before. A new version of myself was emerging.

  Marcelo’s voice came calm, but it resonated just the same in the quiet that had settled in the aftermath of the air’s jaunt. “Did you discover who’s after us?” I’d already begun to shake my head. “Or why?”

  I shook my head again. I didn’t know why the dark magic pursued us, and from the looks on the brothers’ faces, neither did they. However, they had more information than either Marcelo or me. And they were certain the threats were real.

  The only important question that remained was whether any one of us would survive it.

  But none of us asked. In the end, it didn’t matter. The dark magic was on its way to us no matter what we did.

  Albacus and Mordecai were of like mind. They’d lived long enough to realize doubt and apprehension were a waste of valuable energy and time. Mordecai began a slow, pensive walk toward the window, while Albacus moved to the middle of the room.

  Without warning, every paper, book, and odd end that the wind scattered loose rose into the air. The articles enclosed the magician with the braided beard in a tornado of his own making. Then, the whipping slowed, and each thing dropped into its proper place.

  The books that had been piled on the floor returned to their haphazard stacks. The components of the brothers’ project reassembled themselves for further study.

  Mordecai opened the window by hand and stuck his head out of it. He whistled a low whistle that was as common as any whistle was. Then he pulled his head back in and stepped to the side.

  Several minutes passed. The gargoyles were far away, exploring their wide perimeter with the abandon Mordecai had granted them. First, Sylvia rocketed through the window with almost as much power as the air I’d unleashed. She settled into the alcove, where she brought her eyelids down to half-mast, revealing only a glimpse of red eyes that deceived with their relaxed appearance. But I understood now that she didn’t miss a thing.

  Soon after, sixteen gargoyles came in, their coordination vastly improved. They made it through the window frame without issue. They decreased their speed and located their places on the rug, where they touched down. They pulled their wings back into their bodies, making them all but disappear against hunched backs.

  I watched stone return to the form an artisan had given it almost a thousand years ago. The gruesome looks intended to frighten away thieves and ne’er-do-wells drooped back into place.

  Only then did Sir Lancelot make his arrival. Of all the creatures, his entry was the least graceful, but it wasn’t because he didn’t know how to fly or because he hadn’t used his wings to their full potential in so long. The reason was evident.

  He flew straight toward me and crash-landed on my shoulder. He gripped my flesh with his talons to stop himself from sliding off me. I winced at the unexpected pain. The owl tore dress and flesh.

  He tried to apologize to me, embarrassed, but had to give up on his sense of manners and cordiality. His breath was labored and heavy and, uncharacteristically, he spoke not a single word before exhaustion claimed him.

  His eyes closed, honoring the owl’s innate cycle of daytime sleep. In moments, he was making owl-sleeping sounds, whirring and whistling softly, and I dared not disturb him to examine the scratch.

  Albacus snapped his fingers, and the window shut. “Robert, we need you,” he said to no one in particular. In a minute, Robert materialized out of the air, shattering any doubts I might have had of his magical abilities.

  “Robert, summon every magical creature within the castle grounds that’s capable of defending us.”

  The butler’s expression was already somber and sour; it was how he looked when I met him three years ago. Nothing had changed in that time. Now, his eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch in curiosity. The brothers had never before issued a command like this.

  “And where should I take the creatures, Milord?” he asked.

  “Hmm. I haven’t thought of that part, Robert. That may be tricky. The dwarves and the elves don’t get along, and the rabbits may eat the wolves,” Albacus said.

  It was my turn to raise my eyebrows. Dwarves and elves? And since when did rabbits eat wolves? It was the other way around.

  “Take three of the unused rooms on the third floor and separate the creatures as needed so they can get along for the next few days. That’ll be enough time.”

  “Yes, Milord,” Robert said, although it was clear that he had many questions. “Is that all, Milord?” he asked.

  “Yes, thank you. And Robert?”

  “Yes, Milord?”

  “Hurry.”

  “Yes, Milord.” Then Robert was gone.

  Chapter 27

  The brothers and Marcelo finally agreed that it would be better for me to continue my exploration of elemental magic outdoors. We compromised, and I resolved to do my best to remain directly under the window of their study so they’d be able to monitor my progress and intervene if necessary. In fact, it was little compromise on my part. I felt safer knowing the brothers would contain any disaster—or at least try to.

  Even though I hadn’t washed up since I woke in an armchair in Marcelo’s study, and the breakfast of toast Marcelo and I had seemed like a distant memory, we dutifully made our way down winding passages and stairwells. Sir Lancelot joined us. He didn’t want to pass up such a rare opportunity to be outdoors.

  I hadn’t stepped foot outside in more than three years. I became painfully aware of this when Marcelo pulled open the heavy front door, and I went out onto the paved walkway. From there, it was only a few more steps to dark, rich dirt and sprigs of grass that shot up valiantly, in optimistic hope of the approaching spring.

  The cold radiated up the earth and into my homemade shoes that were nothing more than a sheath of leather. It crawled up my shins and calves, but the sunshine promptly warmed me.

  Even the little owl on my shoulder beamed into the sunshine. He did his contented purring thing, and I smiled even bigger. On top of the highes
t peak of Irele, the sun felt close, and it was easy to forget the warnings of Mordecai’s runes. It seemed as if nothing could break through the massive stone walls and towering wooden gate that enclosed the courtyard.

  It was tempting to abandon our plans of magical study and enjoy the warm sunshine, the smell of awakening earth, and the crisp air on our faces instead. I even imagined I could hear the rushing sound of the nearest waterfall.

  Marcelo placed a hand on the small of my back. “I know what you’re thinking, but we can’t stop.” He sighed with heavy regret. Our relationship was limited to magician and patient or, more recently, magician and apprentice. We hadn’t had the opportunity to explore the possibilities as man and woman, independent of labels and responsibilities. We wouldn’t have it now either. “We must continue on,” Marcelo said. “There’s too much to do and we are out of time.”

  I turned to look at Marcelo. The sunlight highlighted streaks of deep, rich blue in his hair. “Time? We never had time. We’ve been out of time since we first met.”

  Marcelo sighed heavily. “I know.” He ran a strong hand through hair that had grown increasingly disheveled with each passing day. “It seems that time’s never been on my side.”

  Repeatedly, time had cheated him. There hadn’t been enough time to save his sister. He was only eight when she left home to marry; it took him years to learn enough magic to save her. By then, the sister he loved was dead along with her unborn child.

  Once Marcelo matured and became a skilled magician, he could have avenged her death, but by then the sadness had become too deep. He was left with no reason to exact revenge. Punishing the man responsible for his sister’s death would do nothing to bring his sister back to life or to repair the anguish in his heart.

  Meanwhile, his sister’s husband, a man far older than her and of immense power, lived his life without regrets. Even when Clarissa still drew breath, he gave her no consideration. She was a pawn in a game of power between their father and her husband.