The Waking Magic (Winter's Blight Book 3)

by M. C. Aquila

  Approaching the stone, the boy had pulled the sword free like it was nothing—like other men of more strength and standing had not fruitlessly tried until they were red in the face and breathless.

  “I’ve got it!” the boy shouted, panting, as he ran up to his brother—a knight clad in full silver armor, the crest of Wales proudly worn on his tabard—in the encampment. “Sir Cai, I’ve got your sword as you asked!”

  It’s him. He’s the swordsman who killed the Red Cap. He’s a knight.

  When Cai took the sword from him, perhaps he was trying to spare the boy from all the responsibility and power it entailed, thinking that he would not be able to bear it—after all, Cai was stronger, more experienced, and a hard worker. Or maybe he had succumbed to arrogance, one weak-willed moment he wished he could take back.

  Either way, when the knight claimed to have pulled the sword himself, it did not take long for him to recant his statement.

  “Arthur pulled the sword from the stone,” Cai admitted to those present, his head low and humbled. “He is the true ruler of England, not I.”

  Then he knelt on the ground in front of his brother, the king, as an example to the rest of the crowd present. They knelt as well, and the boy’s simple life was altered forever. But the amulet stayed with him through it all, until the end.

  There was more—ages and ages of what the amulet had seen. As Iain came back to himself, he saw a bloody battlefield from long ago, glimpses of lush green forests, the gray stone and cold water of a forgotten well, and the dark, dank cave where the dwarf had kept his hoard.

  All of a sudden, Iain was back at the castle ruins, though he’d never really left. He took in air like he had been holding his breath underwater.

  He wasted no time.

  “James—” He shook his brother’s shoulder, grinning. His chest felt like it would burst if he didn’t tell someone what he’d seen. “James, wake up!”

  His brother swatted at his arm weakly before rolling over away from him. “Shut—go away,” James grumbled.

  “It’s the amulet. It showed me things. Cai—the swordsman—he’s a knight. A real knight!” When James started to fall back asleep, Iain forcefully shook him by his shoulders. “Magic, James! And I saw Merlin! Merlin. Your favorite!”

  Swearing, James opened his eyes just enough to glare at him. “You are so full of it, Iain.”

  “But I’m not—”

  “I’m not falling for it. Not like”—James stopped to yawn noisily—“last time.”

  “Last time?”

  “With the leprechaun.”

  Before Iain could ask any further questions about this mysterious leprechaun, James was already asleep again. Giving up on waking his brother but not satisfied to keep his excitement to himself, Iain went to wake someone who was always ready for an adventure.

  “Deirdre.” Iain gently nudged her shoulder. “Deirdre, I’ve got to tell you something.”

  As she stirred, her face hidden behind her ginger curls, Iain became self-aware. He recoiled, taking his hand from her shoulder.

  What on earth am I doing? How will I be able to explain to her what happened? I’m rubbish at that! And I know we’re on good terms now, but will she even want to talk to me?

  “Iain?” Deirdre sat up, pulling a strand of hair out of her mouth. She glanced around, her violet eyes brightening as she woke up. “Is it time for my shift then?”

  In response, Iain held out the amulet to her, took a deep breath, and said, “I saw something. The amulet—it showed something to me. Like visions, yeah?”

  “Really?” She took it from his hands, running her fingers over the surface as he had. “What did you see?”

  They went to sit by the doorway to the outside to talk where they wouldn’t wake the others. As they sat cross-legged in front of each other, Iain told her the snippets he could remember from the visions. Deirdre was just as excited as he had been.

  “Oh my gosh!” She beamed. “You really saw King Arthur?”

  Iain couldn’t help but laugh as he agreed, hardly able to believe it himself. He nodded to the amulet and said, “Maybe it will show you too, if you… ask it.”

  “I’ll try it.” She sat up straighter and closed her eyes, the trinket clasped in her hands. She was only like that for a moment before her eyes fluttered open again and she smiled.

  “Did you see—?”

  “Yes!”

  “And you saw the sword in the stone?”

  “I did see it!”

  She recounted everything she had seen and felt—it was slightly different from Iain’s account, but Iain guessed that was because they focused on different things. She made no mention of sensing that the boys were brothers or of seeing them running in the field.

  Instead, Deirdre told him, “It showed me where it came from originally.”

  “Merlin said—” Iain was unable to hold back another stupid smile as he realized what he had just said. “Merlin said that it belonged to Arthur’s mother.”

  Deirdre nodded. “Yes, but it was made for her with Water Magic from a spirit or nymph or something. I could hear the Water Magic creating it.” She tilted her head. “I wonder if I could connect to Water Magic like that?”

  “I guess we’ll find out when we get to the Summer Court.”

  She held out the amulet to Iain, who took it gingerly from her hands by the chain.

  They sat in silence for a minute, just listening to the rain outside, before Iain whispered, his eyes flitting to the floor, “Is that what it’s like—when you connect to your magic? Does it feel like what I just described?”

  Deirdre leaned back on her elbows, tilting her head and humming as she thought about it. “For me so far,” she said, “magic is like getting to know a new friend—a very confusing and strange friend, but definitely a friend!”

  “Yeah?”

  Is she talking about me? Does that mean I’m confusing and strange? But wait… we’re friends, so that’s good. Yeah. We’re friends.

  Grinning, she continued, “But this amulet, I guess, it’s like getting to know an interesting but reserved teacher you know you’ll never be friends with.”

  Definitely not talking about me.

  “Yeah, see, for me, it kind of felt like being punched in the gut.” When Deirdre raised her eyebrows, Iain clarified, “But in a good way! Like being punched in the gut, but instead of a fist, it’s with images and stuff.”

  She giggled at his analogy. Iain couldn’t help but follow suit, realizing how ridiculous he sounded.

  Somehow, though they should have been far enough away to not wake her, Alvey began to stir and grumble as if sensing a disturbance.

  They went quiet, but Iain’s mind was already buzzing with possibilities and plans of how Cai could help them once he knew what was going on. Cai was a knight. He would respond to a call to action like this, and he would know what to do, how to help prevent this war with the Winter and Summer Courts.

  As they headed back to the hearth, Iain told Deirdre in earnest, “I don’t really know if I believe in fate or anything, but him being here, finding us… I think it’s for a reason.”

  Deirdre glanced at the man across the room and chewed on her lip. “Uh, maybe.”

  “I mean, if anyone can warn the Summer Court and stop what’s happening, it’s him. He’s a living legend, a hero. People will listen to someone like him.”

  “If he isn’t drunk like Alvey said.”

  “But he’s not,” Iain clarified patiently. “See, Alvey only smelled gin so strongly because of her heightened senses. He might have had a little drink, but he wasn’t drunk, so…”

  “Well, if you trust this guy right away, then he must be all right.” She smiled at him, her eyes full of confidence.

  “Yeah.” Iain’s throat tightened. “Er, night, Deirdre.”

  “Night!”

  She’s right. It isn’t like me to just trust someone without thinking about it. I didn’t even trust her when I first found out
she was a faery. But I was wrong. If my instincts are telling me to trust this man, like they were screaming at me to trust Deirdre, then I should listen this time.

  I’ve got to try to reason with him, and then maybe we can get his help. But I’ve got to be smart about it. Cautious. I can’t make another mistake with whom I trust or don’t trust.

  As Iain settled down, the amulet safe in his pack, he was resolved that Cai was exactly whom they needed.

  Chapter Four

  The Master was a liar.

  Alan had learned this well when he first met the creature decades ago, yet he had still been caught off guard when James contacted him on the radio. He had been sitting at the table in his flat, facing the window that overlooked Neo-London, when the boy’s voice, defiant as ever, had burst through the static.

  James had discovered that something was after him—something owned him. The boy wanted answers; he would have them soon enough. The Master was coming to claim him, and James would play his unwilling part for the benefit of humanity.

  Alan hadn’t counted on the boy being clever enough to realize what had been done to him—not even when he had found the Unseelie book hidden in his room and not when he had torn the pages free and tossed them out. In truth, Alan hadn’t given the boy much thought at all.

  Still, one question James asked had shaken him in ways he did not know were still possible: “Did you know that Mum’s taken my place?”

  Alan had grabbed the radio from the table, gripping it until his knuckles whitened; he pressed the Talk button for a moment, a breath, before releasing again. He was too stunned to speak, and before he could recover, the signal went dead.

  What the boy said wasn’t possible. The Master’s arrangement was very clear. The boy was to be traded. Not her. Never her.

  But as long as our contract holds, there is no reason to fret. I can break the barrier as long as we find the Noble faery. Deirdre.

  Before he knew he was throwing it, the radio struck the wall with a snap that radiated through his bones like it came from within, like something inside him had broken. An empty ache was in his chest, an inescapable sensation that something was wrong, missing.

  Is she with the Master now? Has she been there all this time? Is that why she left?

  If the Master lied to me about this for six years, then what else has he lied about? What if—?

  He had stood and strode to the kitchen to make tea, trying to force the troubled thoughts from his mind, to focus on the coming war and all the steps he needed to take to ensure its success. He reached for the shrieking kettle on the stove to silence it without thinking, barely looking; he grabbed the kettle where it had been exposed to flame. He only touched the hot metal for a second but long enough to blister the skin.

  He pulled back and examined the injury. The flesh was reddening, shiny. A tremor shook his hand; he was more startled by his own negligence than the pain.

  “Careless…,” he scoffed.

  After running his injury under the cold faucet for a minute, he decided that he needed to make certain their plans were close to fruition. He would soon have Deirdre’s magic, and he needed to focus on finding her. That would clear his head.

  That night, Alan contacted Raisa through a mirror as he had when they had last spoken. This time he would not ask to meet with the Winter King. Raisa would suffice, and he could still smell the acrid smoke in the city air through the open window. The fire started by the Winter King’s magic had been snuffed out, but the air still tasted foul.

  Alan sat on the sofa. A cheap mirror was set against the wall across from him. Beyond his own reflection, Raisa’s pale face appeared.

  “Is everything in order?” Alan asked. “I expect your Unseelie monster army to be waiting at the barrier and awaiting orders when we arrive.”

  Raisa’s piercing eyes were like black ice. “It is the same as when we last spoke, not so long ago. This is not the reason you’re speaking to me. Why have you called?”

  Alan decided not to bother with tedious pleasantries anymore. “You think you’re clever.”

  “Clever enough,” Raisa said. “What troubles you?”

  Alan glanced down at his bandaged hand, at the angry red burns that peeked through the wrappings, mulling over her words.

  There should be nothing troubling me now. There wasn’t until the boy called. This is the Master’s doing.

  Her pale mouth twitching at a smile, the Winter Queen eyed his burn. “What have you done to yourself, Alan? You oughtn’t do that. Now is not the time for carelessness.”

  He hated her voice, her tone, the way she said his name, like it belonged to her. She spoke with the softness of a lover, a wife. But there was no compassion or anything human in her wild Fae features.

  “There is something troubling, involving your king’s foppish emissary.” Alan hesitated before demanding, his voice hard, “Tell the Master I need to speak with him. It has to be in person.”

  The Winter Queen absently threaded her slender fingers through her ghost-white hair, where a night-blooming flower was placed. “I suppose I shall. But it would displease me to make the Master happy, and he’ll be very eager to see you in such a state.”

  “And what state would that be?”

  Raisa tapped the surface of the mirror with one of her long nails. With an icy flinch, the mirror cracked in the middle. The line snaked down the center, splitting the glass in two. His reflection was halved. “You’re fracturing. If I can see all your little breaks, the Master certainly will. And he will not be so kind.”

  Standing, Alan stepped closer to the mirror and ground out, “There are fractures visible to me from my side as well. Perhaps most wouldn’t notice the cracks in your armor.”

  She stopped brushing her fingers through her hair and placed her delicately trembling hands in her lap.

  “How long do flowers like that one in your hair last in the Winter Court, Raisa?” Alan asked her, biting as the frost clinging to her skin. She understood the meaning, but he added, “As long as the Winter King’s favor toward you lasts?”

  “Flowers are brought here already dead.” Raisa’s smile was thin. “Much like you.”

  Raisa then sent for one of the Winter Court’s familiars to get the message to the Master. They arranged a meeting place that was on Alan’s way to the barrier, near where Boyd was recovering and awaiting orders at an encampment on the outskirts of the Peak District, not too far from the younger soldier’s failure at the Forest Caves a few days ago.

  “The Master is away from his estate and already planning to be in the area,” Raisa said.

  “Tell the Master that I will be there.”

  Alan drove through Neo-London’s streets; vehicle traffic was not an issue now that civilians were mostly staying indoors. However, the streets were lined with faeries, Seelie and Unseelie accused of being loyal to either Court, who were being evicted and herded out of the gates, on foot and by truck; Iron Wardens armed with batons and iron cuffs led them out. Though the Fae were varied in shape, size, and coloring, they all wore the same downtrodden mask on their sly, lying faces.

  In the middle of the road, there was a memorial to King Eadred where the attack had happened, where he had died. It was littered with flowers and stuffed toys and Union flags. Around it, there was a stream of Fae being led out of Ferrier’s Town, which was a few blocks down.

  As he drove, something colorful and bright caught his eye in the sea of faces and the gray of the buildings to his left. A woman bobbed through the crowd. There was a vibrant floral headscarf tied around her head, which flashed like a beacon as she darted in and out of sight.

  The brakes of his vehicle protested as Alan slammed his foot down. He jolted and stared wildly out the window. He reached for the door handle to open it before stopping.

  Kallista… It couldn’t be her. She left.

  But when the faery drifted by his window, the truth of her nature could not be denied, and all resemblance faded besides the colorful s
carf. The creature, with a greenish tinge to her skin and eyes with pupils like a cat’s, looked nothing like Kallista from this vantage point.

  Alan kept driving, and as he went toward his next destination, he gripped the steering wheel until his burned skin throbbed and his pulse slowed.

  Once I speak to the Master, I’ll have clarity. Once this is finished, peace will come. It has to.

  An Iron Infantry battalion was heading to the entrance of the Summer Court in Cumbria at that moment. The infantry had trucks carrying weapons and ammunition, and most importantly, a specialized vehicle that housed the device that would weaken the barrier. Meanwhile, General Windsor was staying in Neo-London to oversee things there; the army was split between them.

  Alan would meet up with his battalion later. First he had a few more crucial steps in his strategy to set in motion. And there were a few final loose ends to tie together. He needed to visit the orphanage where Deirdre, like a cuckoo bird planted in a nest, had fed off the resources he had provided for the human children.

  He had visited the orphanage nearly two weeks ago; however, this time he brought soldiers and equipment with him. Mother Superior was not pleased when they came unannounced, and Alan half expected the nuns to take up arms against them. But the little orphanage was the first of many places to be taken over; squadrons would be sent all over the country to various buildings that would serve as military strongholds.

  As the soldiers began to usher the girls out and into military vehicles, Mother Cunigunde stood still in the hallway, her face hard. “Where are you taking our girls, General?” she asked as he approached. “There is no place safer for them than this building.”

  “They will be given all the care that they need in city shelters and homes, Mother,” Alan told her. “You should be grateful. Soon this part of the countryside will no longer be safe, at least outside this building. And this old place will serve a greater purpose.”