by Lizzy Ford
That’s it, he thought, intrigued by the idea he’d feared using or hurting the Light so much so that he’d been unable to let it into him fully. He no longer had to ask it to come to him; it flowed unbidden through him, entangled with his earth magick. Fleeting joy sparked within him as he realized what it meant.
Whatever step he hadn’t known to take no longer mattered, because the Light was working with him for once.
His bubbling happiness popped when a flood of sparks exploded in front of his face. Any fear he had about the shield’s ability to tolerate an attack by the Dark eased as the Dark witchlings tested its strength.
“Hey,” he called to them. “Hey, jackasses! Back off!”
“Whatever, Beck,” one snapped.
“No weak Light witchling can stop us. You can’t hurt anyone, remember?” another mocked. “Can’t break the Laws.”
I’m not a normal witchling. It bothered him briefly to realize they didn’t take him seriously, that his approach of kindness and compassion was being mistaken as weakness compared to his brother’s preference for spilling blood. He, too, had believed the Light to be weak, something that needed protecting, rather than something he could wield, like the magick it was.
Earth magick soothed any ill feelings, and he drew a breath. He, along with the rest of the world, was about to see what a Master of Light could do for the first time in over twenty years. Beck shook out his arms, not at all certain what to expect from the power surging through him.
Two Dark witchlings were creeping closer to the barrier.
Resolve settled Beck’s thoughts, and with it, the heat of the earth and Light flowed from his feet to the tip of his head. Lightning crackled around him, and he concentrated the magick in his hands, reminded again of the night he faced Decker when his brother had almost crossed to the Dark.
“You have to the count of three before I show you exactly what the Master of Light can do,” he warned.
Several looked over, but no one left or stopped or otherwise indicated they thought him serious. With some satisfaction, he tested the magick flowing through him. It bent to his will easily, and he reviewed Sam’s parting words.
No part of him wanted to kill. No part of him liked the idea of hurting, either, but he wasn’t going to let anything happen to those he was charged with protecting. Ever. If that meant he got close to crossing those lines, he would.
His internal shift hardened the part of him that had been too concerned about how to be who he was supposed to be and he realized, becoming the Master of Light was not about guessing what his nonexistent mentor would tell him to do. The duty to protect was instinctual, ingrained into him by his earth magick at birth and branded into his soul when he became the Master of Light. He needed no other mentor than the Light itself, for no other teacher was going to show him the extent of what and who he was. Now that he was beginning to understand the Light better, he had everything he needed to lead, protect and defend his witchlings.
Like Decker, he also began to understand there were no boundaries to what he’d do to save those he loved and those he was honor bound to help. Being the Master meant making hard choices about the lives of others. It also meant never forgetting who and what he served and what was on the line if he failed in his duty.
If he gave warning, it was out of his sense of fairness and compassion, not because he was obligated to. The magick would obey him no matter what. The sense of freedom, of there being no ceiling to the amount of power he could wield, left him feeling a little scared of his own ability and a whole lot exhilarated by it, too.
“Last chance,” Beck said softly, his mind bolting from thought to thought as he began to feel the change within him, the change from viewing the Light as a victim to realizing it was a powerful tool.
No one paid him any heed.
“Let’s get this show started.” He lifted his hands and focused on the two witchlings checking out his shield.
Lighting leapt from his hands and smashed into them, driving them back twenty feet and slamming them to the ground. It surprised him as much as them. The magick came effortlessly when called and he didn’t feel the strain of using it the way he had before. It was instinctive to shape and direct it.
The others froze. Before anyone had a chance to react, Beck sent Light smashing into the others, until everyone was piled in the middle of the driveway. He stepped outside his shield and tested the Light, pleased to find it still responded to him.
The Dark witchlings scrambled to their feet, and the air buzzed with the sudden influx of magick. Earthquakes, waterfalls, wailing wind … Beck relished the energized air and fed more energy into the lightning in his hands.
A mini-tornado roared towards him. He lifted his hands and visualized a shield before him, and the funnel popped like a water balloon when it hit. He smashed another bolt of lightning into the witchling that sent it.
None of them moved.
“Get the point?” he asked without lowering his hands. “The Light can defend itself, and I will protect those who deserve it. Whatever you think is going on, whatever rumors Dawn is spreading, think again.”
“So you can pick us off one at a time,” one of them stepped forward. He was a water witchling with dark hair, one Beck recognized as being two or three years older than he was. “Everyone knows the Light is weak. You can’t take all of us.”
His words seemed to reassure the others, most of who looked ready to reconsider challenging him.
“Bring it,” Beck replied confidently and threw his arms out to either side of him. “I’ll even give you the first shot.” The magick coursing through him left him giddy and breathless and more reckless than usual.
After so many months of self-doubt, he finally had an answer, and it wasn’t what he expected. He was the answer, and all it was going to take was stepping up to the duty with no second thoughts. Decker had dived into the Dark, and Beck was doing the same into the Light.
The witchlings hurled everything they had, and Beck waved his hand in front of him, leaving a trail of glittering Light before him. The force of the attack colliding with his shield drove him back – but nothing got through.
He laughed in delight, amazed by the magick now that he wasn’t fighting it and it wasn’t resisting him anymore.
“What the hell is going on?” Decker sounded pissed even before he materialized from the churning black fog that appeared near Beck. The Master of Dark looked like he’d dressed in a hurry, and his hair was mussed.
“It’s not like you to be late to a party,” Beck teased.
The black fog cleared to reveal his twin. Decker and his Darkness shied away from the lightening surrounding Beck before his attention went to the Dark witchlings and the signs of a fight between them.
“Wait, are they …” he asked.
“Attacking the school while everyone is asleep?” Beck finished. “Why, yes, Master of Dark, they are.”
“Everyone okay?” Decker asked.
“Yep. I picked up a few tricks.” Beck passed lightning from one hand to the other. The bolt spun off into the night, and he watched it sheepishly. “Okay, I’m still learning. Sam helped me shield the school.”
Decker squinted at the brilliant light. “No offense to you and the Light, but they’re Dark and therefore mine to deal with.”
“They’re all yours,” Beck said diplomatically. “Nice chatting with you guys tonight,” he called to the witchlings.
“Later.” Decker whipped out two knives, and Beck didn’t have to ask what his brother intended to do. As Master of Dark, there were no limits to the violence Decker was permitted to commit in the name of curbing the Darkness to prevent it from expanding. If that meant less Dark witchlings to call forth the Darkness, then he made it happen.
“Wait, Decker. I need to send a message to Dawn and anyone else who thinks it’s a good idea to attack the Light,” Beck said to his twin, sensing Decker’s brittle mood this night. “The Light isn’t weak or defenseless anymore.
Everyone needs to know this.”
“Send everyone an email,” Decker grumbled.
“Decker!”
“Fine. I’ll leave someone alive enough to deliver it.” He strode towards the Dark witchlings.
Beck watched, a little uneasy with the level of violence he knew his brother was capable of committing. In fact, it made him feel ill. He would defend and protect, but in no way did he relish hurting others, or even the chance of causing harm, in the scope of any of his duties. Decker took things one step further and often killed where it wasn’t warranted. A triple element, fire-water-spirit, he was ruled by the least stable elements with Summer providing the earth-air stabilizing elements that kept him sane.
Yet when he was performing his official duties, Summer stayed home, and Decker unleashed everything he was upon those who broke the Dark Laws.
It was enough for Beck to almost pity the ten witchlings who thought to attack the school this night.
Black fog engulfed the Dark witchlings and their Master. Seconds later, it cleared, and all of them had vanished.
Beck lowered his hands and released his hold on the magick. It slid down his body and into the earth once more, though more remained within him than usual. He buzzed with energy.
The porch light of the log building behind him splashed on.
Beck turned to see Amber standing on the porch in a fuzzy robe squinting into the night. He trotted down the driveway towards her and paused at the foot of the stairs.
“Beck?” she asked. “What’s going on?” Her eyes were on the top of a smoldering tree struck by one of his lightning bolts.
He hesitated. There was a time he told her everything. She had been his teacher, and that of the other Light students, for most of his life, and he had shared many of his frustrations with her upon becoming a clueless Master of Light.
Gazing up at her, he began to see her differently. She was another Light witchling, someone he was sworn to protect. Their teacher-student relationship had ended when he turned eighteen and he became the Master of Life. It was the natural course of things, only he hadn’t really understood that before tonight. He was the Protector now, not the student, and she was another of the many witchlings he was meant to lead and defend. It wasn’t fair to burden her with his duty any longer, now that he was finally beginning to understand his relationship with the Light.
“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” he said with a smile. “I’ll be enforcing the ban on Dark witchlings being anywhere near the Light source. I’d like for you to keep the Light students on campus for the time being. I can let you know when the forest is … safe again.”
Amber studied him. For a moment, she looked ready to either object or question him. As if sensing the shift between them, she nodded slowly instead. “Okay, Beck. Will you let me know if you need anything?”
“Absolutely,” he replied. “Have a good night, Amber.” He turned away and headed to the tree that was on fire from lightning.
The porch light went off behind him, and the front screen door closed with a bang.
“Sorry little guy,” he whispered to the injured tree. Its spirit was sorrowful yet welcoming, and he pushed warm earth magick and Light into it. “Can’t fix your hair, but it’ll grow back.”
The tree sent him a picture in response, that of its birth when it pushed through the dirt, transforming from a seed into a tree.
Despite his distress over the attack, Beck smiled. The elements rarely spoke directly in words or scenes that didn’t require some sort of interpretation. Their language was very different, but he guessed the tree was assuring him it would grow anew.
After healing it quickly, he summoned his fog.
This time, he had it take him home, to his room where the fire burned and Grandpa Louis had left his dinner on a hot plate. It smelled of roast beef and mashed potatoes. His adrenaline began to wane, and Beck sat down near the fire before recalling he was soaked from his day in the rain.
He changed and sank into the chair once more to eat dinner and check his cell. He had several, short messages from Morgan. One telling him she was alive, another that she was heading back from her trip and a third asking if he was okay since he hadn’t responded all day.
I’m great, he texted back with a small smile. You?
Despite the time, she responded quickly. Don’t worry. I’m working on protecting you.
Beck chuckled, always touched by her insistence she had to take care of him. He was learning more about himself, his magick and what it really meant to be the Master of Light. She had to distance herself for the time being, but he would never give up his hope of finding a solution soon that would let them be together.
Somehow. Whenever he thought on it too long, he became concerned and distressed once more. Tonight he felt … different. Confident. Energized. Certain where he hadn’t been before. The circumstances hadn’t yet changed, but …
“I have,” he murmured and drummed his forefingers on the table. He didn’t quite know what it meant, though. The soul stone was every bit as dangerous as it had been, and Morgan’s duty to it was still an issue. He typed a response to her. I think it’s time for me to take care of you for once. He tapped send then took a huge bite of tender, flavorful roast beef.
Whatever, she responded.
Beck laughed, always intrigued by her combination of sweet and spicy. Morgan was a good person. It had to be enough for her to pass her trial and turn Light. His hope flickered whenever he remembered who and what stood between her and the Light. It wasn’t just Dawn but the odds of a fire witchling choosing Light.
“You can do it, Morgan,” he whispered. “You have to do it.”
Whatever it was. He had no way of knowing what her trial would turn out to be. He hated feeling helpless, that his own fate was tied to what she chose to do.
He stared at the screen of his phone, not wanting to release the connection to her yet not able to tell her what he wanted to. Finally, he typed what felt like the lamest text of his life and sent it.
I believe in you, Morgan. You won’t face the Dark alone. I swear it.
The words were meant to be said aloud while gazing into her eyes, not in a message.
“One day at a time,” he said, uttering the family motto. Soon, Morgan would be at his side, and he’d never have to worry about losing her again.
Chapter Fifteen
Morgan read the text in the darkness of the coach of the bus. She was scrunched up in her seat, her flames warming her while the bus’s air conditioning blasted. Her eyes misted over at Beck’s message. She wanted it to be true with all her heart, but as far as she knew, it wasn’t possible that she’d end up with Beck while carrying the soul stone.
Not that she would stop searching for the means to be with him and protect the Light. She was already wading into territory that left her scared of making yet another mistake to destroy the lives of those she cared about.
Her gaze went to the sleeping form of her mother in the seat beside her. Tandy McCloud had insisted on returning with her. At first reluctant, Morgan felt grateful for the company. She had rarely seen her mother since the divorce, which occurred long before she knew about the soul stone and its impact on the lives of those charged with guarding it. Her mother was taller than her with fiery hair two shades darker than Morgan’s. A Dark fire witchling, she was nonetheless a good person, one whose hidden struggles with the soul stone were revealed only when Morgan confronted her the day before.
The edges of the anger she felt after the divorce, the sense of abandonment and helplessness in the home of her disabled father and abusive uncle, had softened when she began to understand her own mother’s struggle with the stone. Her mother suffered bouts of depression and loneliness in a duty she couldn’t share with anyone. Morgan hadn’t learned what she needed to about possibly containing it, but she had learned more about the history of female fire witchlings tasked long ago with safeguarding the dangerous talisman.
Nothing her mother told he
r, though, gave her even the slightest bit of hope or insight into what she was supposed to do to help Beck. Every woman in her family for at least three generations before her had suffered in her role as the caretaker of the stone. The others were sources of bedtime tales where the truth of who they were was as fanciful as a Disney movie.
She read Beck’s message again, and her throat tightened. She wanted to respond, but none of the intense emotions confusing her would translate into anything she dared send him.
She locked the screen and gazed at the highway flying by outside the coach. The soul stone was sucking up her body heat, and she absently increased her magick to counter it. The stone was hungry, always hungry.
Maybe we could use the soul stone to capture Bartholomew. Decker’s idea had been swimming around Morgan’s thoughts, the most recent of her desperate ideas on how to be with Beck. Nothing Tandy had told her indicated this was possible, either.
Morgan let her head rest back against her seat and drifted into a light doze fed by the drone of the bus engines and road. Whenever she wasn’t actively redirecting her thoughts, they always returned to Beck, to the sense of belonging she couldn’t shake and the idea he felt it, too. She let herself experience the joy of possibly being with him, to fantasize about a more perfect, less dark world where she was allowed to be happy. The images in her head refreshed her from the exhausting reality she faced every second of every day.
Her mother awoke shortly after dawn, and Morgan shifted in the seat. She was stiff and sore from the bus traveling, and she yearned for a good, hot meal.
“Can I try again?” Tandy asked.
Morgan took the stone out of her pocket and passed it over, watching her mother’s face.
Fire leapt across Tandy’s skin the moment she touched it, along with the tightness of strain in her face. Morgan’s hope fell further.
“It’s not the same,” her mother admitted and passed it back. “When you turned seventeen, I knew I had to pass it off. I guess it’s the way the magick works.”
