by Amy Cissell
She unclenched her fingers from the steering wheel and the air gradually warmed up again. Note to self: Don’t piss off the witch until I figure out how to use my fire magic to heat myself up.
“I’m sorry. I know better than to use the ‘W’ word. I do it in jest, but obviously it has become a bad habit. I’ll take care to guard my tongue so it doesn’t happen again.”
“You may want to guard your thoughts, too, child,” she said. “You will not say what you do not think.”
I eyed her suspiciously. Was this yet one more person who could read my mind? Dammit! Where were my cool, psychic powers? My tattoo shifted against my skin. Oh, right.
“So,” Florence prompted. “You have a one-sided story from two Fae, and you know that most other supernatural folk are against it.”
“Yes, the mages and the vampires are not a fan of this quest. The Fae are, as far as I know, wholly on board. The shifters are withholding judgment.”
“That many people against it, and yet you proceed whole-heartedly?”
“That’s the only way I can proceed. I do not vacillate. I do not half-ass things. I either commit or I don’t. I have to commit, because I’ll die if I don’t. Maybe I should’ve made a different choice before opening the first gate, but the magic was already leaking. The pressure was building up so much that my house plants were dead-heading themselves every time I lost my temper. Opening the first gate opened a dam that was cracking under the pressure.
“If after two weeks, you tell me the only way is to stop, then I’ll stop. My life isn’t worth the lives of thousands of humans.”
“Interesting that you already think of yourself as more than human.”
“Not human doesn’t mean more than, Florence. We’re both different. We both have abilities that aren’t typical. I can no longer pretend I’m human, no matter how I was raised. I’m with Spiderman and the great power/great responsibility thing. The ability to do something doesn’t mean I have the right to do it. I’m not killing hundreds of innocent people because the Fae think I should or because it’d be fatal to stop. That isn’t leadership, and I will lead.”
“You’ll do, Eleanor Morgan.” She pulled off the road and started following what can only generously be referred to as a dirt track. I held my arms across my boobs to minimize the jostling and finally whined, “How many more miles?”
Florence laughed. “We’re almost there. I don’t want anyone to accidentally stumble across us. We have a lot of work to do that’s unfit for the eyes of the normals.”
Twenty minutes later, the washboard road from hell ended. We pulled out our packs and set up two tents. The mid-afternoon sun beat down on us, heating the barren ground beneath us until I could’ve sworn my shoes were melting. The small stand of scrubby conifers a few yards away gave me hope that there was a spring nearby. The alien hellscape of the Badlands stood in the distance.
I shoved my sleeping bag and backpack into my tent and settled cross-legged on the ground. “What’s next?”
Someone shoved me—hard. I tipped over and stared at Florence. “What the hell?” She was still standing about twenty feet away and hadn’t moved. “You did that mentally?”
“Yes. I shouldn’t be able to move you, much less knock you down. Your shields are abysmal.”
I hastily rebuilt my shields, grounding my power into the earth. “Try me now,” I challenged.
I braced myself, but nothing happened. I waited, tense, while she did something inexplicable with the contents of her pack. Then she turned and threw something right at my face. I dodged and held up my hand. The projectile burst into flames and disintegrated into ashes in seconds.
“What was that?”
“Pinecone.”
“Why are you throwing pinecones at me?”
The next shove was mental again and, although I wasn’t as well braced as I’d been a few moments ago, I kept my feet. The next twenty minutes were more of the same. She alternated magical, mental, and physical attacks. I was exhausted and shaking when she threw a rock at my head. The rock didn’t burn and I hadn’t dodged fast enough to avoid it.
“Gods damn it!” I yelled. “That hurt!” When a second rock came hurtling my way, I didn’t hesitate. I shook a knife into my hand and threw it at her. She caught it before it struck her, then walked over and handed it back to me.
“Good. There is no reason to use a magical defense when a physical one will suffice. Most people can defend against either magical or weapon attack, but seldom both at the same time.”
My mouth was hanging open. “Are you some kind of crazy ninja witch?” I whispered. Then I realized what I’d called her. “Dammit! I am so sorry. Please don’t freeze me, although a little cooling off wouldn’t be rejected at this point. What I meant was that was super impressive, and I’m sorry I threw a knife at you.”
“Witch doesn’t bother me, but you would do well keep it to yourself around any others. Drink some water. I promise not to throw anything at you for the rest of the day.” She sank cross-legged to the ground. “How long have you been training?”
“About two months, although most of my abilities didn’t manifest until after the first gate opened. I’ve been working on the shielding for under a month, and the fire showed up this week after my tattoo was finished.”
“May I see?”
I stripped off my shirt and turned around. Florence ran her fingers lightly over the lines of my dragon. “She is beautiful. I recognize Mr. Dennehy’s work. He is Fae?”
“He is.”
“I’d wondered.”
“Now what?” I asked.
“Must you always have a plan?”
“Pretty much. Spontaneity gives me hives.”
“Now, we meditate. Then, we eat. Later, we talk. Tomorrow will be the same. Magic practice. Combat practice. Meditation, eating, talking. For a week, this will be our plan.
“After the first week, we will shift gears. We will take what we know of your powers and mine and create a containment shield—a weir—that will ensure the magic from the second gate opening won’t come out in a burst, but rather a trickle. Do you know how far the initial reach was for the magical burst in Portland?”
“Finn said that all the aircraft affected were within a fifty-mile radius of the gate. That unfortunately affected Portland International Airport.”
“We can logically assume the same radius, but to be safe, we’ll plan for a larger one.”
“There were other issues outside that radius, but nothing as catastrophic. People as far away as Seattle reported electrical outages, and that’s about 200 miles away.”
“I have a contact that can shut down air traffic in and out of the Rapid City airport on the equinox as long as we give him a specific time window.”
“How will we know if it works?”
“I’ll have him monitor the airspace and let us know if they experience any electromagnetic pulses. If they don’t, the weir worked.
“Do you think it will work?”
“Absolutely.”
Friday passed as Florence had said it would. We spent the morning training, and by the time lunch rolled around, I was ready for a sixteen-hour nap. I’d thought training with Finn had been demanding, but he had nothing on this woman. She was unrelenting and unpredictable. By the time she called a halt, she was only knocking me over about every third time—a definite improvement.
After lunch, she pulled out a sword, and we sparred. It was weird since my rapier fencing style was different than her hybrid katana and dagger style, but it worked, and I held my own.
“Good,” she grunted when she called a halt. We cleaned our weapons, and a target appeared. I was more proficient at that, so by the time we finished, my right arm ached, but my pride was undamaged. Then Florence had me switch to my left hand. “You never know when your right hand may be incapacitated.”
She was correct, but that didn’t make it enjoyable for anyone but the target. Not a single knife came anywhere near it. I spent fi
ve minutes searching for one of my knives that had missed the target by such a wide margin that it was hiding in the scrub.
At last, we finished the physical training. After a quick drink and a small snack, we sat, cross-legged, to meditate.
I hate meditation. I’ve always wanted to like it and be good at it and reach a great connection with myself and the world. But the truth is, I’m a doer. Sitting and doing nothing is my idea of hell. Florence said we’d start with thirty minutes, and I groaned quietly to myself.
She had me close my eyes and started talking. She talked about breathing, and soon, I was so focused on her words and my own breath that I could actually feel myself relax. As soon as I realized that I was thinking about it, I opened my eyes, realized I’d stopped focusing, and silently swore at myself. I closed my eyes and started again. My mind wandered. I hope we find a way to open this gate without damaging the world further. Dammit. Meditate. Calm. Isaac makes me feel calm. Well, not always. Shit…I don’t want to deal with falling in love. Especially since falling in love with him means that I’m going to lose Finn as a friend. Finn has been acting so weird lately. Dammit! Eleanor! Meditate!
When Florence announced that our time was up, I was surprised. It didn’t feel like a half-hour had passed. “I’m sorry. I have a lot of trouble focusing without a specific goal in mind.”
“There is nothing to apologize for. Like all disciplines, it takes practice to keep your mind focused on your breath. You did well.”
“Are we moving on to the talking part of the day?” I asked.
“Yes we are. Although I have nothing in particular to discuss. Tell me about you—your life, your interests. I want to get to know you.”
I started talking. I shared more with Florence than I’d ever shared with anyone before in one sitting. I talked about gardening and reading and work, how I reacted to finding out I was Fae, my growing feelings for Isaac, and my exasperation with Finn. I talked about my worries about the gates.
Finally, she interrupted me. “Eleanor, you have shared much, and I know you much better now. One question remains for me. You have not talked at all of your childhood and your adoptive parents. Most people at least touch on that in their life story.”
She was right. I hadn’t even thought about them in so long. They’d died the summer between high school and college and the year that followed had been the hardest of my life. Why weren’t they in my life story now?
“That’s a good question. I’m not sure why they weren’t part of my life story. They were pretty awesome. I never knew I was adopted, which is weird in this day and age. I guess since I was a Harry Potter baby…” At Florence’s blank look, I hurried to clarify, “I was left on their doorstep with a note.”
“Got it.”
“Since there was no paperwork or anything, they probably wanted to keep it under wraps. Undocumented adoptions are probably frowned upon.”
“Maybe in some places,” Florence said.
“What?”
“Nothing. Go on—your parents?”
“They were great. Strict, but not militant. Fun, but they never tried to be friends with me. I had everything that I needed and a lot of stuff that I wanted. They were never the ‘cool’ parents, but they got along well with all my friends. They were so excited when I got into the University of Oregon. Everything about my childhood was ridiculously normal. Except, maybe, for how normal it was. The other thing that is odd only now, in retrospect, is that we had no extended family. Both of my parents were only children whose parents had died young. After they died, though, I was broken for a while. It was a car accident right before I left for college. I went to their funeral and left for university the next day. I never went back. Our neighbor—Mr. Pearlman—handled the estate. He took care of everything. I tucked them into the back of my mind and left them there. At first, it was because when I’d think of them, I’d cry, and I hate crying. Later, it was because I didn’t want the sympathy you get when people find out your parents have died. Now, it’s because that’s where they live. I’ve not had the kind of friends that I unpack my life for.”
“Why not?”
“Too much work. I’d rather be alone, most of the time.” I shrugged, eager to change the subject. “I’m tired of talking for now. Can we move on?”
“Get up Eleanor,” Florence called.
“Sorry, no can do. I’m dead.” I hurt in more places that I thought possible. If this is how I feel with accelerated healing, I’d be dead without it.
“I have coffee!”
Dammit! Someone had given away my weakness. I sat up and moaned as various aches and pains shot through my body. I moved slowly and stiffly but managed to dress myself and leave the tent. Florence was womanning an old-school percolator. She handed me a cup of coffee and a warm piece of fry bread that had been rolled in cinnamon and sugar.
Heaven in my mouth.
After breakfast, we repeated the previous day’s activities. After I warmed up a bit, the muscle aches started to fade, but I was not as skilled today. I ended the day falling face-first into my sleeping bag.
I woke up earlier and less sore the next morning and even earlier the next day. The days passed quickly and the evenings when we talked were enjoyable. Florence asked questions, and I answered. By the time the first week was over, she knew as much about the last couple months as I did. She shared a little of her life history—how she ended up owning a video lottery store, the tragicomedy that was her last breakup, and her growing conviction that people actually are as stupid as they act. A week into our trip, I finally asked a question.
“Why are you helping?” I asked. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m appreciative. Magical boot camp has been amazing, but the other mages I’ve encountered have been more threatening than supportive.”
She looked into the fire and took a long sip of her water.
“If I am going to accompany you, I suppose you should know my story.”
“It’d be nice. No one is ever fully honest with me, and I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to break some new ground in that area.”
She sighed. “It is a long story and one that is painful to tell. Tomorrow, we’ll mediate, and then I’ll share my tale. You should know why I want you to open the gates.”
After our morning meditation, Florence began talking.
“I was born in 1947 on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, not too far from where we are now.”
I looked at her in surprise; she didn’t look like she was pushing seventy. I opened my mouth to compliment her youthful visage, and she held up her hand.
“This story is hard for me. I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t interrupt, not even to say nice things.”
My mouth closed.
“I was a twin, born seven minutes after my sister, Annette. It is hard for non-twins to comprehend the bond between twins, but we were close. We were identical—two halves of one whole.
“Even from the beginning, Annie was powerful. She was charismatic and empathic. I don’t know how much of this is the softening of memories that comes with the decades, but she was magnificent. Everyone loved her, and she had the power to influence people’s thoughts and emotions. When we were six years old, we went to bed in our room that we shared with our older siblings as we did every night. We were the youngest, so our bedtime was the earliest.” Florence looked down at her hands.
“We shared a bed, and often fell asleep holding hands. My memories of that evening are hazy. I woke when her hand was ripped from mine, and I opened my eyes in time to see an impossibly tall, oddly colored man-shaped creature gather her in his arms and jump with her out the window. I screamed and screamed for my family, and it seemed to take forever for them to come in. When they did, I was hysterical.
“We called the police, of course, but nothing was ever done. The rumors on the rez were that my mom had accidentally killed her, or that I’d killed her, or that she’d left to escape some kind of abuse. We weren’t exactly shunned after that, but the rumors
are still out there. It was only years later that I figured out the truth. That tall man was Fae. She is one of the many witch-born children that were kidnapped by the Fae to be raised as a breeding vessel. Humans are so much more fecund than the Fae, and the mage-born among us are good potentials for breeding and passing down any powers that might exist within the Fae.” Florence looked at me for the first time since she started talking. Her eyes flashed, and the weight of her hatred for the Fae crashed over me. Tightness seized my chest, and my respiration grew shallow. A sudden chill came over me and I shivered.
Florence breathed deep, and her expression lightened. She closed her eyes, and I watched as she calmed herself. “She’s been gone almost sixty years now. Since time passes differently in the Fae plane, she could be old, withered and dead by now, or she could still be a frightened child. I need to go there and find out which, and if she did have any offspring, I want to bring them back.”
I didn’t know what to say. The more Fae I met and the more I learned about them, the less thrilled I was to be a representative of my race here on Earth.
“I am so sorry,” I started.
Florence held up a hand. “Did you kidnap my sister?”
“Well, no, but...”
“Have you ever kidnapped anyone?”
“No, but...”
“Don’t apologize to me for things you have not done and things you had no knowledge of. If you were the reigning queen now and knew this practice was going on, even if you had no human slaves and had not participated in a kidnapping, I would have a different message, but don’t take the blame for things that are not yet your fault.
“But when you do take the Dark Throne, you must put an end to this abominable practice, or I will find a way to end you.”
“When—if—I take the Dark Throne, that will be at the top of my agenda.”
“Good. Now go to bed.”