Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

brOKEN MIRROR

“ M agic, well… She is a fickle thing,” Dane explained with wrists clasped behind his back as we meandered through the canvas camp toward the forest. Roughly my height, Dane had dark skin, a broad mouth, and wore his hair shaved close to his scalp. Most uniquely, faded swirling tattoos snaked up his neck, growing towards his face like flames. The Witch had not been present at my cleansing, but he seemed to be one of the closest to Jana, and he intended to teach me the ways of my element.

The absurd thought of magic generated by my own hands made my eyes roll, but I quickly remembered dirt exploding from my palm in defense.

I swallowed, my heart racing, refocusing on Dane’s lesson.

“Some call upon Her with words. We call these spells, of course. It’s the most reliable act for us Witchfolk. They allow specificity and control. We achieve simple tasks with cantrips: a single word or short string, usually the same backwards as forwards, a palindrome if you will. These take little energy, but some repetition to master. Here, let me show you.”

He paused and extended his hand. “Navid divan,” he said, and an apple appeared in his palm. He held it between his fingers, rotating it to prove its realness. My expression softened at the trick. So small, yet another confirmation that the reality I had always known was changing rapidly.

“There is always a balance that must be restored, or maintained, when it comes to magic. This apple did not appear from nowhere, you see. It is not to say I snatched it out of some poor sap’s hand to present it to you. But, somewhere, there is an apple tree not yet in full bloom. It will grow one less apple because of my little cantrip. What is the harm in that, you might ask? To which I would reply, none that I perceive. Now, what if I dumped a thousand apples at your feet? Well, maybe that tree would die. Again, it seems like a small consequence. It is, after all, only one tree out of millions. But I assure you, there are times when the consequence is more than the death of one tree.”

“And… everyone has magic?” The unsaid question hung between us: I have magic?

Dane shook his head, hands still clasped behind his low back as we walked. “I would say about half of Witchfolk can tap into Source—that fabric of life that weaves between us—with only a small subset able to wield an element. Some Fae have powers, but theirs are single manifestations of Source. Like a knife or a sword—their powers are a tool with a purpose. These powers can be quite vast but are limited to that utility. This is why they cannot portal, unless they specifically possess traveling magic. Witch magic is more… flexible. Like a multi-purpose tool. We can spell—we have mastery of all Source. We typically are more limited in power, and I suppose that is nature’s check and balance, but the variety of what we can do with that power is far more vast.”

“Portal…” My mind drifted to his instant appearance in Jana’s tent the day before, Ezren in tow.

“Yes, folding oneself through space to hop from one place to another instantly. Quite convenient, quite taxing.”

I chewed my lip, not sure I ever wanted to experience folding oneself.

“As I was saying, spelling only requires mastery of Source. What is less common, say maybe one in several thousand magic-blessed Witches, is the ability to call upon the elements. Water, Air, or Fire. For Element Witches it is not terribly difficult to ignite this call, as the elements are extensions of themselves. However, control does not come easily. I’ve seen entire villages lit aflame by the hand of a green Fire Witch attempting a simple task, such as roasting a suckling or warming a bedroom. So, while your training will consist of some cantrips and a few practical spells, control of your Earth power requires immediate attention.”

I let out a breath. I’d agreed to train with Dane and Ezren, given Jana seemed to believe it was highly dangerous for my magic, now unbound, to roam free inside me. Still, I was wary.

“How do you know for certain that I have Earth magic?” I could feel the vibration and purr of the Earth more clearly since the cleansing, but nothing else. Shouldn’t I innately feel such a power? “And if I do, how would you know how to train me? Jana said the last Earth Witch lived a millennium ago.”

“Certain things are unmistakable to the schooled eye. I suspect Jana is not wrong about your power, and I can feel a tangible amount of it coming off of you. But soon enough, our suspicions will be validated or denied. As for the training, I am a Fire Witch. Earth is living, and in a way, so is Fire. It will be different but not impossible for me to train you. I have half a century of experience in the art of control.”

I gaped. Half a century? He looked a mere few years older than me. I would have guessed not a day over twenty-five. “Dane, how old are you?”

“Seventy-one,” he said, amusement flickering over his expression. “We Witches don’t live as long as the Fae, but certainly age as well.” His coy expression was almost endearing.

I stopped in my tracks then. “And how long will you live?”

“I am in my mid-life, or nearing it,” Dane explained. “Witches have a fixed lifespan, though we didn’t always. Unless we’re killed or die of some incurable ailment, we live for one hundred and fifty years, only aging visibly like a human would in the last two decades. Fae live far longer. The oldest Fae is more than thrice that age.”

I remained still, the camp bustling around us, Witch and Fae alike moving in preparation. “How long will I live?” The question came from my lips of its own accord.

“That, I cannot say. You are part Fae and part Witch, making your lifespan somewhat mysterious. I have known mixed breeds to live as long as Fae, but I have known some to pass at the one-hundred-and-fifty-year mark. The scholars have postured the idea that it’s related to which bloodline is stronger,” Dane said, attempting to begin our walk again.

I placed my hand on his arm, drawing his eyes to mine. “How old am I, then?” In the past week, everything in my world had turned upside down, so it would be fitting to learn my age was a lie.

Dane’s gaze softened. “You are nineteen, just as you have been told. Faeries and Witchlings mature similarly to humans. First bleed for females is typically between the twelfth and fourteenth year. But once fully matured in all the human woman-like ways you might think of, the aging will slow. You will appear as you do now, save maybe a bit more angle in your face, for a great many years.”

I relaxed, allowing him to continue our journey towards the forest. At least I didn’t find out I was forty-five. I fell silent, and he droned on about the characteristics of Fae versus Witch, something about the history of the distinct point of Fae ears. And, even though my ears were human-like and rounded now, it wasn’t fully indicative of how I would appear for the rest of my life. My mind wandered, a million questions percolating. How old were Ezren and Jana? Soft creases lined the Witch’s face, gray streaked her hair. She must be in the last few decades of her life.

“And of course a Witch would never shift,” Dane said. “For that is a very specified manifestation of magic, again—why Fae have specific shifts. It’s said that some Witches, back in the old ages, mastered universal shifting. You can imagine the implications of that . They were hunted, their children were hunted, and their children hunted. It became highly frowned upon for Witches to shift, though I suspect some have maintained this practice in secret. Unnatural, in my opinion. No Witch, even half Witch, should degrade themselves like that, flying around in bat-like form or something else… dreadful.” He shuddered.

I pulled my eyes away from the nearing trees. The woods always drew my gaze when I found myself lost in thought. Gia fondly called this directional shift entering Terra’s world. I looked at Dane sidelong. “What do you mean, shift ?”

He sighed, clearly exacerbated. “Terra, I will not have my efforts to train you wasted. If you don’t deign to listen, I won’t explain again. You’re mistaken if you think there are no other demands on my time.”

I did my best to look apologetic. “I’m sorry Dane, it won’t happen again.”

This earned me an eye roll. “Now Terra, lying isn’t becoming on you.”

We went deep into the forest, allowing the wood to grow thick and guarded. Dane thought it would be best for me to make my first attempt at calling the Earth somewhere remote. We came upon a small clearing with moss-covered rocks, tall grass, and a few lone oleander shrubs. Large oaks surrounded the meadow and tangled roots framed the area, which was littered with wildflowers; delicate daisies and lilac colored chicory, coneflowers and milkweed.

Dane beckoned me forward and knelt in the center. I followed, letting my knees sink into the dirt beneath the grassy surface, facing my teacher.

“Terra, listen now, for this first lesson will be the most important. The Earth calls to you—I see that plainly. And it has for many years. And for many years, though not intentionally, you have denied your nature. When you finally call back, the power will be like releasing a dam. As Element Witches prepare for battle, we spend months hoarding our power, allowing it to build up within us. When we finally call to it again, attempting to command that power is akin to curbing a large swell of the ocean. In a word, difficult.

“You will feel an immense rush. You will have no control at first. It will try to claim you, using your body as a channel. You cannot let it. I will guide you in gaining control, but you must open your mind to me. You must trust me. Can you do that?”

Despite the warmth of the spring day, a shiver shot down my spine. I wanted to shake my head at his caution. Dirt had leaped off my hands, yes. Not the most incredible power . Beyond the memories that returned to me in a trickle, I knew in my bones that my connection to the Earth was different. I could discover the way home through dense canopies when others could not. My hands blindly found their way over branches and tree-knots, letting me out-climb Mav every time we raced to the top of an old maple. And I could coax a bloom from a dried seed better than anyone else. Somehow, I’d always known my relationship to the Earth, to living, breathing things, was special.

“Could I hurt you?” I chewed the inside of my cheek.

“I know how to protect myself from novice error,” he said with a cheerful grin. “Anyway, someone has to guide you through it. Can you trust me?”

“Yes.” And to my surprise, I meant it.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed. “Open your palms. Feel the energy calling to you. Envision every root and tree and blade of grass as you. You live in them, and they live in you. They are your spirit, your lifeblood. And you are their commander.”

I did as he said. I felt out to them, as if the roots of the nearby oaks were extensions of my fingertips. I reached out slowly, gentle and exploring in my touch. A small current, no more than a spark, formed in my mind’s eye. I extended my forefinger to it, intending to give it a small brush.

Within an instant, the power flowed into me like a massive wave, dousing me from head to toe. But the wave didn’t just coat my skin, nor did it brush me with a gentle buzz. It penetrated my being. I couldn’t tell if it flowed into me or out of me—it might have been both. And it felt good, so intoxicatingly good. The vulnerability and grief and despair that had been lurking beneath the surface, threatening to bury me with every breath, were gone—evaporated, as if they’d never etched cruel markings into the shape of my soul.

I had the Earth, or rather it had me, but I didn’t care. Dane’s words floated past me, barely registering: ‘resist,’ ‘control,’ and then my name, over and over again. I didn’t feel his hands on my shoulders, shaking me back and forth, trying to wake me from a trance. I didn’t hear Dane screaming in horror at what unfolded around him. I didn’t see the Earth erupt in reaction to my touch—flinging rock and soil into the air in an uncontrollable tornado. I didn’t smell the burning of huge oak tree limbs, incinerated by Dane as the debris flew towards him.

I felt only the current of power, unwavering and completing. Healing.

Whole, whole, whole.

I knew I was submitting to the power. I knew it could kill me, as Dane had warned. But I didn’t care. The hole in my chest, ripped open when my family was murdered, no longer gaped. It no longer threatened to swallow me with every breath I took. I was burning. Everything was burning. And I was whole.

A fresh wave of magical ecstasy reverberated through my veins, igniting my every nerve. And then a loud boom! sounded, vibrating across the land. I didn’t feel the ground shift beneath me, severing—opening up as if an angry god had just split the world in two, mirroring the feeling in my chest. I just knew I was falling through a crack in the land.

Power thrummed through me as I fell, weightless, deeper and deeper into the crevice. I didn’t flail through the air—I only wondered how deep I would fall before I met certain death. Some distant, numb part of me stretched wide, opening its arms, welcoming the end. The euphoria from the surge of power had subsided and I just… didn’t want to go on. I didn’t want to wake every day, tortured by the descending grief and adjustment that followed remembering .

But then, out of nowhere, a tight grip squeezed at my midsection and I was snatched from the free fall, my descent reversed. I looked down to see claws, no—talons—clutching my stomach. Up and up we went, the crevice beginning to close behind us.

Perhaps my magic can split the Earth, but not hold it open for long.

It was a race, it seemed, and the huge flying creature carrying me was determined not to lose. I couldn’t see above me, for a large scaled body blocked my view, but below us the Earth folded in on itself at an accelerating speed. I knew we wouldn’t win. I stared at the dirt as it enveloped us, swallowing our bodies whole.

I should have died—I figured the rubble would crush us instantly. But it held us, a pocket of air lining my body. The beast struggled against it and I sensed my rescuer had no special sheath. I was resigned to staying there, allowing whatever air I had to run out. Tears escaped down my cheeks as I thought of Mama’s face. My father’s warm touch. Javis’s devious smile and Danson’s hearty laugh. Close. I was so close to seeing them again, in whatever form the gods had in store for us. In that moment, I felt them. I felt their presence, so close to the edge of death, beckoning me forward.

After a few moments of peace, a pain stabbed in my chest. As if my heart was being ripped from my body. I shrieked in surprise, the scream echoing in my small bubble, ringing in my ears.

The sound—or maybe the pain—woke me from my trance, and terror swelled. I could no longer sense my family reaching out for me across the edge of life. I searched, desperate for that sense of warmth. But I could not feel it. I pictured my mother’s face, eyes alight. Survive, daughter. The Terra I know does not give up.

Her words echoed, and I blinked, unsure if her voice was in my head or somehow spoken out loud. But I was alone in the dark bubble—and I knew what she told me. She told me to try .

I closed my eyes again, reaching out to the power. But this time when I saw the pulse of the Earth in my mind’s eye, I did not touch it lightly. I grabbed it, holding fast in my grip. “Release,” I whispered.

Light pierced the darkness and the ground opened up once more, revealing a yawning depth below us. And then we were falling again, and I realized the beast had lost consciousness. Somehow, its talons remained locked around me and I hit them wherever I could get purchase, desperately trying to wake my would-be rescuer. I screamed until my voice went raw. We plummeted toward what appeared to be the bottom of the crevice, and I could do nothing to stop the impact. Hysteria bubbled up my throat, the realization I didn’t actually want to die sending a bolt of panic through my spine.

I’d commanded the Earth to release us, hoping to save myself and my rescuer. Ironic, that it would lead to our ends.

“Gods save us,” I whispered, bracing for the looming collision.

But it wasn’t the gods who saved us. A moment later, we took flight.

The beast shot out of the ground as if catapulted into the sky. My eyes darted around for Dane, but we were moving too fast for me to pick anything out of the smoking debris that littered the previously flowered meadow.

I hung limp in the creature’s talons as we soared up and up, away from camp and past the edge of the forest. I hadn’t asked where we were, and I didn’t recognize this land. Far enough from Argention, then. We passed treetops and mountains capped with creamy white glaciers that turned into rolling green hills. The sun’s bright light reflected off the snow, and not a cloud dotted the blue sky.

Mere minutes later, an endless body of water came into focus, and the creature began its descent. The flying beast dropped me, none too gently, on the sheer cliffs bordering the coastline, covered in lush foliage and with no forest in sight. Only a field of boulders to my right and the steep drop-off to my left were visible. For a terrible moment, I thought it would fly away and leave me there, stranded.

But the creature just circled around, adjusting its approach for landing, which let me see its full form. The animal had a scaled body with imposing webbed wings that spread out longer than four of my cottages combined.

Dragon .

The rear talons that had held me collided with the ground, the impact reverberating through the plain, nearly throwing me off balance. The towering beast lowered its head, which was dotted with menacing spikes that ran down its spine in two lines. When my gaze met its face, I went ice cold.

Emerald green eyes, blazing on fire.