“Next, how to throw a powerball.”
“I threw a small bolt of your power when we fought those half-dragon demons last summer, so I remember a little of the process,” Lyra said.
“Yes, it will feel similar. Keep yours at rest while I demonstrate.” He rested his staff against his chest and reformed a glowing sphere. “Fix your mind on the intended destination. Then, gather another portion of energy from inside you, and send it directly behind that in your hand. I’ll go first. Hold my hand, so you can feel my mid-range effort.” The ball shot out and broke a dead branch from a tree about eighty yards away. He nodded to Lyra and took hold of his staff, poised to fire.
The tiger owl prepared for flight, wings loosened.
Again, a grimace disfigured her face. She fired. The orb zipped like a laser, misaimed at a sharp downward angle.
Cullen fired the sapphire staff, but not fast enough.
A cry pierced the forest. Kenzo awkwardly rolled onto one side, his right wing outstretched and limp, the end feathers singed.
Chapter Ten: Summoning Inner Fire
Cullen rushed to his assistant’s side, but Lyra beat him there.
She placed her hands lightly onto the wound.
Cullen bit his lip. “Allow me. I can ease his pain faster.” He pushed one of her hands away.
“Stop,” Lyra said with a sharp tone. “I’m almost done. It was my error, my responsibility.”
Kenzo lifted his head and clapped his beak. “I love all the attention, but don’t quarrel. She’s not as fast as an expert, but the wound was slight. Just a singe really.”
“How did this happen?” Cullen asked. “You’ve never been hit before in countless skirmishes.”
“That was more a bolt than a ball. I didn’t expect she could fire so fast yet. Wasn’t fully on guard.”
Lyra sat back. “How does that feel?”
The owl fluttered the tips of the affected feathers. “Fully functioning.”
“I’m so sorry.” She turned to Cullen. “I don’t know what happened. It felt to me like what you did.”
“You have a lot of energy under pressure. Tomorrow’s lesson with the Phoenix should be of benefit—how to manage inner fire. She’s an expert on that topic.”
Lyra nodded. “And there’s something I want to study from the Imperial Dragon’s reading list that might help.”
Cullen hoped the Guardian could solve this dilemma. It worried him. Although powerful as a high order mage and able to survive great physical injury, Lyra lack of experience left her still mortal. She needed to be able to defend herself if he wasn’t there.
Their love still baffled his use of magic to anticipate danger. He cursed how that rider guided his cimafa right over her without his knowledge.
***
Her eyes fluttered open to see the familiar surroundings of the cabin bedroom with Cullen asleep beside her. Last she remembered she was reading. How did she get there? Under the covers, she wore a black lace nightgown. Best not ask. Instead, she ran her fingers through strands of his soft brown hair, content to have a man care for her. She wondered if Cullen could accept her growing independence. Her intent was not to challenge or compete with him.
Cullen’s eyes opened. “Morning,” he said with a grin. “You certainly devoured that book on basic fascination. You fell asleep with it late. I carried you upstairs.”
“You carried me? No magic?” She rubbed her bare leg against his.
The corners of his mouth drew up into a devilish expression. “Touching you is always more desirable.”
She ran her hand over his chest and kissed his ear.
He caressed her hip and slid a hand over her butt. “We don’t have time. You have an early lesson with the Phoenix.”
Between licking his ear, Lyra murmured, “You know tonight’s Christmas Eve.”
“Do you want to do something to celebrate?”
“I want to spend the night in Jean’s cottage and take Noba and Kenzo along. Yasqu too, if he’s allowed.”
“He’s grown too large, and I’m sure Eburscon wouldn’t allow it. But, the others can travel. What do you have in mind?”
“Nothing much—listening to Christmas music and unwrapping presents in the morning. I just want to be home at Christmas. Home is with you, but also close to Aunt Jean.”
Cullen raised an eyebrow. “Presents? What should I get for you and them?”
She gave him a wink and got out of bed. “I’m sure you’ll think of something. I’ll give Yasqu his later.”
He gave a frustrated grunt and flopped the covers off.
Downstairs, Lyra prepared a dish of grain and invited Kenzo inside. “Guess what? You’re coming to visit my cottage for Christmas.”
“Christmas? What do you do at Christmas?” He pecked at some grain, and his big pointed ears pricked up so high, the earring in the left one tinkled. His head whipped around a full 180 degrees. “At your cottage? In the human world?”
“Yes. That’s right.”
“Do we leave soon?” He attempted to turn his neck forward and, at the same time, move his body toward her. Somehow, he got stuck in the process and choked a bit before he unwound.
Lyra laughed. “After my lesson.”
“Hootie-hoot-hoo!” He hopped around the tiny kitchen, running Cullen down as he emerged from the bathroom. “I get to go to the human world!”
“I know. We’ll be staying overnight, and Noba will be joining us.”
Lyra made a quick trip upstairs and fastened her cloak with the brooch.
On her way back down, she overheard the two of them whispering. Kenzo squeaked, “What kind of gift? What does she like?”
She tip-toed and strained to hear Cullen’s response, but his voice was muffled. She shook her head and smiled.
When she entered the kitchen, he immediately straightened from a crouch beside his owl.
She eyed one, then the other, but neither gave away any clues.
“His feathers seem completely healed. You did fine work,” Cullen stated as he waved a hand toward the hallway leading to the front door. “Shall we go?”
Outside, beyond the porch, Lyra stepped close to Cullen for transport.
Kenzo perched on a railing.
“Aren’t you coming?” she called.
“No, I need to find Noba and tell him about our trip. Have fun at your lesson. Meet you at Cranewort’s Crossroads.” In the next instant, he spread his silver-striped wings wide and sailed through the trees.
***
In the Meadow, the Lady of Peace waited for them, feeding a central bonfire with flames from her long, golden tail feathers. When each of her sparks hit, the entire blaze crackled and rose higher. Her wings shimmered with a vivid cobalt blue and her head, a rich periwinkle.
“My Lady may we enter your Meadow?” Cullen called out a formal greeting.
“Yes, Sire Drake and Scribe Lyra, please join me.”
Lyra picked her way past brown heads of wildflowers, glistening with ice decorations from the Solstice Festival. They tinkled together like miniature wind chimes in every breeze. Large, red berries, like giant holly fruits, hung from garlands strung on tree branches around the perimeter of the clearing. The berries joined the wildflower music with a deeper ring, like choral hand bells.
Low, formal bows were exchanged.
“Lyra, it brings me great pleasure to welcome you back to my Meadow. The theme of today’s lesson is calling forth and utilizing your inner fire. So I may determine where to commence, please inform me of your progress during Sire Drake’s teachings.”
“I’m afraid I didn’t do very well,” Lyra said. “I wasn’t able to control my throws.”
“I see,” remarked the Phoenix. “Sire Drake, would you describe the shape and composition of her spheres?”
“Large, misshapen, and loose—they allow tremendous quantities of power to surge out.”
Lyra looked at the ground and fidgeted.
Cullen cleared his throat. �
��Lady, it seems Lyra has difficulty using her power outside of her body. Not only in the send-off of a powerball, but also during a fight with a cimafa. The beast pulled much of her aura out of her and nearly won its capture.”
The Phoenix thrashed her wings. “A cimafa! Oh my. Dreadful beasts.”
Lyra trembled, unable to respond.
Abruptly, the Lady sailed directly through the flames.
Lyra gasped.
Once on the opposite side, the Guardian proclaimed, “I know how to proceed. Let us begin. First, Lyra, will you please raise a powerball for me—small to medium form.”
Lyra squinted her eyes and then relaxed her face, trying to at least appear calm. Her process was so slow that perspiration beaded on her forehead. Flustered, she settled for whatever she could gather and layered a wrapper of aura around it. After letting the ball seep into her closed fist, Lyra took a breath and watched intently as she spread her fingers back to reveal the form in her palm.
An irregular, way-too-large mass, the size of a softball or greater, pulsed wildly, like it might explode at any moment. She held it out to the Guardian, embarrassed by her effort.
“Hold it still.” The Phoenix flew overhead, took the orb into her feet, sailed again through the bonfire, and dropped Lyra’s powerball. The flames jumped in random gold and blue sparks. “My fire tells me much. Your power is so great within you, pushing to release, it confuses your attempt to select and fabricate a useful tool. That, indeed, would manifest as Sire Drake detailed.”
“I have one method that may be of aid. Please step very near my fire and pass your hands through the flames.”
Lyra stared at her. “You want me to burn my hands?”
Cullen nodded. “You’ll be all right.”
She gave up the notion of pretending to be calm. With face scrunched tight, eyes closed, breath suspended, she held out both hands and waved them fast through the flames. Loud crackling noises caused her to open her eyes.
The Phoenix hovered above the bonfire, her tail feathers occasionally dropping sparks. “Perfect. Hold them there until you feel my flame.”
Lyra’s skin glowed bright blue, her bones a darker hue. She screamed at the sight of her bones, but strong magic of the Lady prevented her from backing away. She felt the Phoenix flame move inside her. “It’s there. I feel it.’
“Now listen carefully, Lyra.” The voice of the Phoenix was smooth and steady. “I’ve now separated my flame into particles. Find and reassemble them, then bring them forth into your palm. Take your time. Accuracy is more important than speed.”
Lyra mentally chased the portions around, gathering them into a single mass. Many escaped while she sought others, but she persevered. When nearly all were collected, she was satisfied and sent the group out to one hand. She opened her eyes.
“Well done! A small, tight aggregation. This is how you must assemble your own powerballs. Sire Drake, please step in and offer assist. Lyra, you may now remove your hands from the fire.”
Lyra felt weak, but declined Cullen’s help. “Am I to try my own now?”
The Phoenix flew away from the fire. “Even if you are weak, practice after that lesson will help reinforce the new skills.”
Lyra followed the steps she just learned. Again, she formed a grossly oversized lump, which undulated and pulsated like it would explode at any time. No better than before. She sighed and hung her head.
The Lady flew beside her. “You have more power than your skill can manage. During the lesson, your process was visible and correct. Perfect, in fact. You must practice daily to become accustomed to your unique power. It differs from that of a mage, a high order wizard, or a Guardian—it is the inheritance of a master Scribe. Once adept, you will be indomitable. However, until then, you are extremely vulnerable since you are still mortal. Use caution at all times, Adalyra. Danger will seek you in this fragile state.”
Hearing the truth, Lyra trembled. “Couldn’t I use a wand or staff or ring like Cullen and Mimio? Last summer I fired our combined power through his staff at attackers, and my aim was accurate. Please?” she begged the Phoenix.
“I’m afraid not. You have not gained enough skill or paid enough service to the Alliance to be awarded that honor. Those who carry such tools served for at least a decade prior to being decorated or made huge sacrifices. I wish I could make exception, but cannot.”
Lyra ran a hand through her hair. She desperately needed to be better able to defend herself. Waiting a decade…her goals would be lost, or more likely she’d be killed. Her determination crashed against a wall of disappointment. She choked out a thank you to the Phoenix and headed for the path leading toward the Crossroads. All she wanted was to be close to Jean’s memories, in her cottage where she could still feel her love.
Chapter Eleven: Gifts of Christmas
At the Crossroads, a scene brought a slight smile to Lyra’s face.
Kenzo and Noba waited impatiently, torturing poor old Cranewort as they flew in and out of his branches. He managed to catch the tiny pseudodragon in the crook of one gnarled limb, but the owl proved too swift. The old tree gave up with a burst of laughter when he noticed Lyra and Cullen approaching. “Adalyra, my child. I hear you’re taking these two rapscallions back with you into the human world—brave.”
She nodded and quietly accepted Noba from the branch, keeping her hands away from his sharp spines and the poisonous barb on his tail.
Once freed, he hopped to his master for safety.
Cullen talked with his familiar and assistant, most likely to pass time until she was ready.
Lyra took hold of the craggy branch and wrapped her arms around it. She’d played many happy games with Cranewort as a girl. Remembering those times, his touch comforted her. She rested her cheek against his rough bark, enjoying the tickling sensation as he softened it for her.
“What’s troubling you, little one?” He twined twigs around her back in a gentle embrace.
“I can’t make a decent powerball. The Phoenix said my inherited power is so great it confuses my efforts. I wanted a staff or ring to make it easier…but that won’t happen. I’m defenseless and I need to—”
“Shh. Have patience with yourself. Don’t give up the path that is in your heart.”
His words were reassuring, but her spirit still ached. Her resolve was broken…it was time to go home. She didn’t feel like being a hostess for holiday celebrations like she planned. She pulled away. “Thanks, Cranewort.”
Grateful for his thoughtfulness, she hurried to the group. “Ready?”
“Not quite,” Cullen said with a slight smile. He twirled his staff and two packs appeared on his arm, one tightly closed and the other brimming with her books. “You might want these.”
“Maybe later, not now.” She couldn’t make her voice sound positive and cheery.
He motioned the three closer around him and conjured a wide blue cloud. Kenzo perched on Cullen’s leather wristlet while Noba jumped around their legs.
The Gatekeeper waved them off with a large, swaying branch.
They transported to the threshold of the portal. Lyra stepped into the bookstore with Noba hopping at her heels.
Cullen took more time to ease Kenzo across.
When the tip of one wing passed, the bird flinched, wings beating wildly. “What is that?” he cried.
“Just a tingling feeling as we move from one world to another. You’ll be fine. Settle yourself,” Cullen said and stepped fully through. His wool trousers, tunic, and cloak transformed into jeans, sweater, and parka.
The tiger owl shook from head to toe like a wet dog.
Despite her downcast mood, after seeing his reaction, a smile burst over Lyra’s face. She walked into the bookstore’s showroom, eager to see the world outside. Dusk allowed the large, fluffy snowflakes to catch the light of streetlamps. The snow blanketed the sidewalks with a fresh coating, although the road remained clear thanks to a layer of salt. She opened the door, stepped outside, and looked
up, letting the flakes kiss her face.
Cullen appeared at the doorway, carrying a towel-draped bundle she knew was Noba.
Kenzo clung to his wristlet, head turning in every direction, using his full 360-degree range. Although abnormally large, he did resemble a typical horned owl unless studied carefully, so he didn’t need a covering.
She took Noba from Cullen to lighten his load, and they walked toward his car. Inside the vehicle, the pseudodragon quickly settled onto his usual spot on Lyra’s lap. Kenzo required more help.
“Retract your claws and perch on the back of the seat,” Cullen suggested to him.
When they turned onto Walnut Street, Mrs. Kendall’s house sparkled with Christmas lights over the front bushes, and a tree stood in the front window. Two cars were parked in her drive and shadows of people moved inside. Lyra smiled, glad her elderly neighbor had company at the holiday. As a widow, she spent too many days alone.
Once parked in the cottage garage, Lyra turned to Cullen. “Can you get them inside and occupied for a little while? There’s something I need to do.”
He raised his brow and nodded.
She wasted no time and headed into the backyard. Four inches of fresh snow covered the grass. Lyra kneeled on the lawn beside the flower bed. She lay on her back in the soft, white blanket. Tears welled into her eyes as she stretched out her arms and legs. Moving them back and forth to make a snow angel, moisture streamed out the sides of her eyes.
She lay motionless, sobbing and remembering the last time she and Aunt Jean made snow angels. Her disappointment from today, along with anger, grief, and sadness, flowed out with those tears. The wet snowflakes fell heavy and hard, wetting her face and hair. Together with her tears, they washed her face clean of stress. Finally lifted from those burdens, she stood and looked at her angel, satisfied. Within her mind, she heard Jean say, Keep a clear head, but follow your heart.
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