Chosen by Fire

by Harriet Locksley

  “I thought caraway seeds might help as well,” said Cailean, “that the three would work together well.”

  “You’ve taught him well,” said Kaetha as she ground the ingredients.

  “I don’t remember teaching him all that,” said Nannie. Colour rose to Cailean’s cheeks, making him look uneasy. “Cailean,” said Nannie, “go out to the stream in the woods and fill the buckets by the door for me, would you?”

  He looked around the room. “You don’t have enough water already?”

  “I wouldn’t have asked if I had.”

  Cailean looked puzzled as he left, a bucket in each hand.

  “Out with it then,” said Nannie.

  “Hm?”

  “There’s something you’re not telling me. That story about the woman from Kaernock . . .” she sighed, shaking her head. “Do I need to use a truth potion on you, lass?” Nannie waited for her to talk, silently stirring her pottage.

  “I’m going back to Roinmor,” Kaetha said eventually. She could trust Nannie not to tell anyone. “With any luck, it’ll be safer there for me now.”

  “But what if you’re recognised? What if they think you might know about Princess Rhona’s escape?”

  “I could disguise myself. Make a dye to darken my hair. I have to find out if my mother survived. My father might have been mistaken. If there’s a chance that she’s . . .” A lump rose in Kaetha’s throat. “Also, I want to find out who tried to kill Rhona – who attacked my mother – how many were involved – who was behind it. So I’m going to Ciadrath, to the citadel. And this potion will help me find out the truth.”

  “When I try to look ahead,” said Nannie, turning her face towards a bucket of water, “I sense there is a path set for you. You can choose to follow it and be led into danger and darkness or you can refuse and keep darkness at bay.”

  Kaetha shrugged, trying to shake off the effect of Nannie’s ominous words. “But how is this following some set path? This is my own choice. I intend to make my own fate and it starts with finding out the truth about my mother. I must go and soon. If I were to delay another month or two, winter would be setting in and the journey would be too risky.”

  “Well, you must do what you feel is right. But I advise you to talk to your father first. Imagine how he’d feel if you left.”

  “He’s with Mairi whenever he’s not working. I don’t think he’d miss me.”

  Nannie frowned. “You don’t really think that. And I’ve heard how he talks of you. I can tell how proud he is of you.”

  Kaetha was surprised at the tugging sadness she felt at the idea of leaving her father after three months living with him. She knew she’d miss Donnan too and Nannie and the Morays.

  “Cailean will be back soon,” she said. “Speaking of Cailean, I think he may have more than the normal skills of a healer. I think he might be gifted.”

  A half smile suggested that Nannie knew she was purposely changing the subject. “What makes you think so?”

  “In the woods, I noticed how he would brush his hand over several specimens of a plant before selecting which sprigs or leaves to gather, as if he could feel the properties they carried and their potency.”

  “Earth magic,” said Nannie, nodding. “That explains why a Moray of all people might prefer the woods to the sea. Someone I knew long ago had that same gift. It’s certainly a useful one for a healer, though, as with all branches of magic, it has various manifestations. But perhaps you know all this . . .” Nannie squinted at her, unnerving Kaetha as it seemed that she could see her. She still had not told Nannie of her personal experiences with magic though she’d been close to doing so several times.

  She suspected that hearing snatches of the Annisith’s thoughts, of her father’s and Donnan’s, was her channelling Air magic. Her mother must have had it too, or how else could she have befriended Gaoth in the first place?

  Her gaze drifted to the flames which writhed beneath the cooking pot and, in that moment, she was back in the field the night she and Aedan had escaped the guards, shielded by a great wall of fire. This magic was different. It was fierce, raw, and destructive. She shuddered at the idea of Nannie finding out what she had been capable of and was glad that she and Aedan had agreed never to speak of it to anyone.

  The door squeaked then and Finola MacFarland swept into the room. She was a young woman who lived nearby and sold weather charms to sailors. The wind had tossed her wispy white-blonde hair and worry tightened the features of her usually serene face.

  “What’s the matter, Finola?” Kaetha asked. Cailean came in as well then, placing the full buckets beside Nannie.

  “It’s Queenie,” Finola’s watery eyes were rimmed with pink. “Nannie please help me.” She knelt on the floor, clutching Nannie’s cloak.

  “Shh – calm yourself.” Nannie patted Finola’s hand. Then she nodded at Kaetha. “Close the shutter, lass.” Kaetha did so. “Very well then.” Nannie closed her eyes and Finola sniffed loudly, pressing her fists against her mouth. “A little quiet, my dear,” said Nannie. Kaetha put a hand on Finola’s shoulder and they all watched Nannie in anticipation. “Queenie,” she said, her voice clear and precise. She felt for the rim of the bucket and seemed to peer at the reflective surface of the water as if she could see the reflected firelight crackling across its surface. “I see a patch of dandelion clocks. A grey horse grazing. Ah, there she is, by an oak tree. The old one behind the monastery.”

  “What’s she doing there? Oh, thank you, Nannie!” Finola’s face beamed. She kissed Nannie’s hands and skipped to the door. She stared wistfully at the sky. “It’s going to turn out to be a lovely day,” she said.

  “You sure about that?” said Cailean, screwing up his face at the sight of the dark clouds.

  “They’ll blow over. The gulls seem to think so, anyway.” She clutched a weather charm on a string around her neck and grinned.

  Nannie sighed after Finola left. “Now for a day of unexpected glimpses of a certain cow called Queenie, cowpats and all. It’s almost enough to put me off my pottage. Though not quite. Ladle some into bowls, you two.”

  They sat around the fire as they ate.

  “People believed that Finola’s mother had power to influence the weather and she got paid a pretty pile of coin too for her charms and spells,” said Nannie.

  “And did she have that power?” asked Kaetha.

  “I certainly saw no evidence of it. But I don’t blame her, even if it was a pile of lies. Her husband left her to fend for herself and her children, taking all their savings and going off with some whore from Penntir. She needed to make a living somehow.”

  “I don’t think Finola has magic either,” said Cailean.

  “No,” said Nannie, “neither do I. But she’s as honest as her mother was false. I believe she’s convinced that she has the same gift she thought her mother had. Unlikely. Most I’ve known with magic are known to have Edonian ancestors, and the MacFarlands are Dalrathan through and through. But you Morays have some Edonian blood,” said Nannie. She casually slurped from her bowl, then quietened, waiting for Cailean’s response.

  “I know,” he said. “We’re related to the Onuists a few generations back.” He paused, glancing from Nannie to Kaetha. “I can guess what you’re thinking. I’ve known for a while now. Is it that obvious?”

  “Only to those who know what to look for, like Kaetha here. Though you must be careful to control you gift or it might betray you to those who see magic as dangerous.” She held out her hand. “Here, test your Earth magic. See if you can feel what element my magic belongs to.”

  “But I know—”

  “Just try it.”

  Cailean put his palm to hers and closed his eyes. “I can feel cold flowing through my hand. Definitely Water magic. It’s strange. The sensation is different when I feel the properties of plants.”

  Kaetha grinned. “Well done, Cailean.” She patted his arm. He flinched, looking at her in alarm, and she snatched her hand away. />
  “You have magic, too,” he whispered.

  She hadn’t even touched his skin, only his sleeve. How could he have known?

  “I think you’re becoming more open to your gift, lad,” said Nannie with a chuckle. “I wondered when you’d figure that out about her.”

  “You knew?” said Kaetha.

  “I guessed. So,” she turned back to Cailean, “what magic did you feel?”

  “Give me your hand,” said Cailean. Kaetha tried to stop it from shaking as he placed his palm on hers and closed his eyes. His brow creased.

  “What is it, Cailean,” she said, hoping that by naming him, her Air magic would reveal his thoughts to her. But she heard nothing.

  His eyes shot open. “Fire,” he said. “I felt Fire.”

  They were all silent for several moments.

  Solemnity stole over Nannie’s face. “Have you used Fire magic before, lass?”

  “No,” she lied.

  Nannie’s eyes glittered like polished black stones. “To be gifted at all is unusual but those with Fire magic are particularly rare. It is said that such people must be careful that they don’t become consumed by their gift.”

  “But it wasn’t just Fire,” continued Cailean, “there was something else. It was faint at first, not as deep-rooted as the Fire magic I think. But it came at me all at once like a gust of wind. Goosebumps rose on my wrist and up my arm. I think you have Air magic too.” He turned to Nannie. “Can people have magic of more than one kind?”

  Nannie didn’t turn from Kaetha. “I believe, as my old teacher Bess Hardy told me, that when magic chooses a person, it is only one element that claims them. The person may not know of it until they’re passing out of childhood, but it’s there, from before their birth, part of them. Part of their destiny.”

  “Then how can Kaetha have a second kind of magic?” asked Cailean eagerly.

  “I know someone whose magic did not choose them. It was magic that belonged to someone else once, someone who gave it to their chosen heir upon their death.”

  “You?” Kaetha suggested after a pause.

  “Me,” said Nannie. “Bess Hardy was a healer. This was once her cottage. I nursed her in her old age and she told me she would pass her gift on to me. She felt sure it would bind itself to me, though it might not have, for all she knew. Some lack whatever it is in body, mind or soul that allows magic to dwell in a human. Our capacities for magic are as varied as we are. I don’t expect there are many with the ability to hold two kinds of magic.”

  Kaetha’s face grew hot. “So,” she ventured, “so, when did you find that you did have Water magic?”

  “I felt the awakening of it in me when Bess died.”

  Kaetha felt as though ice was trailing across her skin. When she died.

  Stillness descended, pressing down on her as she sat there, forgetting to breath. “I need some air,” she muttered at last as she dashed outside. A churning gripped her stomach and she knelt beside a bush.

  “What’s wrong?” Cailean got to her first but she waved him away before throwing up.

  “Leave me. Please.” She retched again, then gentle hands felt for her shoulders and drew back her hair.

  “I’ll see she’s alright, Cailean. Probably time you went home.”

  Kaetha wiped her mouth on a cloth Nannie handed her and waited for Cailean to leave. “I’m sorry about—” her voice quavered.

  “Don’t think on it.”

  Her hands were shaking. “I didn’t want to believe it.”

  “Believe what?” asked Nannie.

  “I know what my Air magic means now. It means my mother really is dead.”

  ELEVEN

  Season of the Little Sun

  Snow swirled around the rocks at Cannasay. Kaetha shivered, holding the hood of her mother’s cloak in place against the wind. She stared at the higher rock which still made the back of her neck tingle. To her, it was a question, a solid question standing there against the buffeting wind. It drew, intrigued and frustrated her. She sensed a Fiadhain, yet nothing was there.

  “Aren’t you going to help?” said Donnan.

  She continued gathering mussels to add to their bucket. “I had the same dream again last night, about being buried alive,” she said with a shudder.

  White flakes began to cling to Donnan’s hair and eyelashes. “We’ll be buried in snow if we don’t get home soon.”

  Kaetha noticed that his face looked drawn and he wore his belt a couple of notches tighter than he had done in the summer. Their winter stores were depleting and there was little work for them over these bitter months. Foraging helped but they were still going to bed hungry each night and Kaetha wondered if Donnan had been depriving himself too much for the sake of herself and her father.

  “I don’t want us having another winter like this,” she said. “I’m going to think of how we can save more next year.” However, she neglected to mention that at some point the following year she would be leaving them. She had lost the urgency to go upon discovering the truth that her mother was dead and, now that winter had set in, there was no point in travelling. Yet she still needed to find out who was responsible for her death.

  Silence crept over her as the aching of her grief pressed down on her chest as it did from time to time.

  “Are you alright?” asked Donnan, looking up from the mussel bucket.

  Her throat was tight as she spoke. “Aye.”

  He set down the bucket and came to her side.

  “I was just thinking of my mother,” she said.

  They stood there, leaning against the rock and looking out to sea. His hand stole over hers. His touch was too gentle, conveying too much affection, feelings stronger than she could return. She offered him a smile and squeezed his hand before withdrawing her own.

  The silence was now thick with awkward uncertainty.

  Donnan picked up the bucket, acting as though nothing strange had happened between them, making Kaetha wonder if anything had.

  “We should have enough now,” he said.

  “Aye.”They set off back to the house. “I’m sorry, Donnan. Me dwelling so much on my own grief when you . . . ”

  A flicker of pain broke the composure of his features.

  “I understand what it’s like to lose someone,” she said.

  He became focussed on picking out bits of seaweed from the bucket. “Bloody freezing, isn’t it.” He smiled up at her, his expression settling into a mask that told her she wasn’t welcome to delve into his past. “You’d better walk faster unless you want to get frostbite.” He laughed. “Imagine, you of all people getting frostbite.”

  “Shh!” she said, punching his arm. “Donnan.” In speaking his name, she wanted him to think that she was warning him not to allude openly to her magic but, in fact, she was attempting to use it. Her Air magic stretched out, seeking his mind, but his thoughts were closed to her.

  He laughed again, an unconvincing, empty sound.

  Kaetha soaked in the heat of the hearth, though her feet still felt like a block of ice. Donnan handed her a bunch of wood sorrel and she picked off the dead leaves, dropping the good ones into a pot. As winter came through its bleakest time, the snow receeding, determined plants had resumed growing in the woods and at the riverbank. Donnan cut sea beets, sorting leaves into one basket and roots into another, Kintail asleep on his lap.

  “I used to help Ma do this,” he said, picking up another beet.

  Kaetha was about to grab another handful of sorrel but stopped, looking up at him. He’d never talked about his family without being prompted to.

  “It has something to do with the Macomrags, hasn’t it?” said Kaetha.

  “What?”

  “What happened to them. To your family.” She resisted the urge to try using Air magic. She would rather he shared his thoughts freely. Besides, she had little confidence that she could use this kind of magic on demand. “Why do you keep it to yourself?”

  “You keep things to
yourself,” Donnan’s accusing tone woke Kintail who leapt off his lap. He began cutting sea beets again with more force and less attention. “Damn.” He put his knuckle to his mouth. “No. I’m fine,” he said, turning from Kaetha when she touched his hand.

  There was silence between them. Donnan wrapped a strip of cloth around his finger and continued sorting leaves and roots. Kaetha dwelt upon his words. It was hardly fair that she expected him to confide in her when she was keeping much from him.

  She twisted a bunch of sorrel, staring at it as if deciding whether it was good or bad. “I’m . . . planning to leave.”

  “Leave?” Donnan stared at her.

  “I’m not saying it need be any time soon but, when the time is right, I will have to go.”

  “Go where?” he asked.

  “Home.”

  He shook his head. “This is your home.”

  “And I love it here, or I would if we had a little more to eat.” She smiled, hoping that she could get him to as well. He didn’t. “Of course it’s not about that. I should have told you sooner. There are answers I need to find there.”

  “Are there?” He threw a root into the basket. “You’re sure you need to? What about your life here? You don’t need that?”

  “Donnan, try to understand—”

  “Try to explain then,” he said, his eyebrows raised.

  “I told you my mother died of a fever. That was a lie. Don’t look at me like that. Pa and I had to keep the truth from coming out. She died protecting Princess Rhona from assassination. She was murdered.”

  “I . . . That’s awful. I’m so sorry.” The colour had drained from Donnan’s face. “Does Aedan know you’re planning to go back?”

  The door opened.

  “No,” whispered Kaetha.

  “He should,” he said in a low murmur.

  A slice of bright winter sunlight came in along with Aedan, his breath a plume of mist. He lowered a bundle of firewood to the hearthside and sat beside Kaetha with a sigh.

  “I picked these. Winter buttercups.” Aedan grinned as he placed a posy of flowers into Kaetha’s hand. “They’re the first flowers I’ve seen since the snow. I thought you’d like them.”