Fire Heart (Magic and Mage Series Book 2)

by Angharad Thompson Rees

  “You are wrong, witch Emrysa,” Morganne called. “For we are not one. We are sisters of three in heart and blood, and grounded to the world’s heart.”

  Angelfire pounded a hoof at the turf. Come! He commanded his kin. And from the shadows of the spell-war, Shadowind and Moonglow stormed to join the circle.

  I bind you to the power of the moon, called Moonglow. The magic surged through her as she entered the magic circle. Fae smiled at her white horse.

  And I bind you to the power of night and shadows, Shadowind promised, nodding a head to Amara opposite him.

  Emrysa, like a panicked wild beast, frothed at the mouth. Spittle formed at the corner of her lips. Her mouth opened impossibly wide, and she howled—a coarse sound of a raven’s caw and an eagle’s attacking scream bursting forth

  Through the circle created by sisters and horses, magic surged. A barrier. A safe place. A connection more powerful than the most dangerous witch in history. Morganne called the spell from an ancient place within. Knowing it from her foremothers, feeling it from the earth.

  “I unbind the curse that holds us true

  To break the shackles tied to you

  By blood and lung I call my heart

  To leave your body as you depart.”

  The world around them inhaled. A still, eerie silence quieting the chaos. Wind dropped to a whisper, the horses’ manes resting to their necks in a tangled mess. The sisters cast glances at one another. Emrysa snarled in the stillness.

  Heartbeats paused.

  Blood stopped.

  The Universe turned away for one, brief moment.

  And the circle broke, the magic of the world lost in a wilderness of faraway faerie roads. The sisters dropped their hands, shoulders hunched in anticipation. And then it came—a surge from the center of the Earth itself.

  Emrysa’s amber eyes widened, her beady, black pupils flickering from one sister to the next. Slowly, she lifted her arms, and the sisters crouched into a defensive stance—hands poised for attack, anticipating the witch’s onslaught in the sinister silence and power surging through the air. Emrysa stepped forward and roared, shaking the very ground beneath their feet. But with the instinct of sisters of blood and bone, Morganne, Amara, and Fae roared louder. They threw their hands toward the witch, the entire magic of the universe surging from the center of the earth through their feet, anchoring them to the roots of the world’s trees. Anchoring them to the universe as the world spun faster and faster, a blur of colors and chaos.

  A raven cawed.

  Horses shrieked, and Morganne found all the fire in her heart to command the spell on her lips, and her magic surged from her toward Emrysa.

  The witch screamed, howling at the rising moon, as red and black smoke caused a whirlwind around her—blood and darkness as one. It surged upward and outward, taking with it black feathers and deathly screams.

  “You’ll never take me!” Emrysa screamed, yet her voice weakened and croaked on the dying wind.

  An explosion of color and sound erupted.

  Horses scattered.

  Sisters fell.

  Thunder diminished.

  And Emrysa was gone.

  27

  A New View

  Angelfire pawed the ground where the dark witch had stood, but nothing was left of Emrysa other than her midnight gowns and a flurry of raven’s feathers.

  “You did it!” Fae sang in a joyful tune of disbelief. She ran to Morganne, who stared at her own hands, mesmerized by the power pulsing at her fingertips. She laughed as Fae wrapped her in an embrace and caught eyes with Amara from over her younger sister’s shoulder.

  Amara nodded, serious as thunder, and started to speak. Morganne shook her head to silence her. There was no need for apologies from her middle sister, for Amara had been right all along. The chaos that had been caused belonged to Morganne, all apologies were hers.

  Morganne untangled herself from Fae’s embrace, and with timid steps, made her way to Bedivere. She clasped her chest and, holding her breath, knelt beside the boy. Her hand hovered before touching him, fearing his cold skin against her fingers.

  “Bedivere?” she whispered. Silence, except for her thudding half-heart beating against her chest. Had she not been so concerned about the knight, she may have noticed that strange single beat was still incomplete.

  “He will be okay,” croaked a weak voice behind her. “It seems the witch had some heart after all and only used a Dazing Spell for the boy.”

  “Mother!” Morganne cried, torn between a need to embrace her, and a fear from her mother’s wrath.

  After all I have put them through.

  Mother trembled, her face aged decades in the few days the blue flame held her. A rare smile broke across her face, her hard eyes softened, glistening with tears. She grabbed Morganne, pulling her to her feet and hugging her with the fierceness only produced by maternal love.

  “I am so proud of you, my girl,” Mother whispered into Morganne’s ear through her mass of thick red curls.

  Morganne suppressed her urge to cry. “I’m sorry I started all of this, Mother,” Morganne said, voice aquiver.

  “Shh,” Mother said. “You were always destined for great things, it was foretold.”

  Morganne pulled away. “Foretold? But I thought you didn’t believe in me? I thought I was a disappointment because I could not wield magic like my sisters.”

  Mother tightened her lips and turned away, lest her daughter see her tears. “I was never disappointed with you, Fireheart. If anything, I feared you. I feared the magic I knew you were capable of wielding—”

  “Fireheart?” Morganne questioned, stepping back. “How did you know Emrysa’s name for me?”

  “Mother?” Amara asked as she stepped toward them. “What are you hiding from us?”

  Fae, quiet as always, said not a word, but her intense ice-blue eyes bore into her mother’s mind, trying to decipher her thoughts.

  Mother fumbled with her fingers, sniffed, then pushed her shoulders back. “There is a lot you do not know, but so much has been foretold.” She turned to Morganne. “It was written in the wind that my first born would bring forth and battle the Dark One. That was why I panicked and struck out at you when you found the book. I feared you would bring her back into the world before you were strong enough to fight her. I feared I would lose you—”

  “Then why keep that knowledge from me! It was my knowledge, that information belonged to me!” Morganne spat.

  Amara sucked air between her clenched teeth. Fae stared in disbelief.

  Mother shook her head. “No, daughter, it was my burden to bear. It will not do to foretell your own fate—destiny is a path you must walk alone. And I have a great deal more burdens chewing at my soul and hardening my heart. But they are mine to bear. Yet, your power has surprised me, and for that, the future suddenly holds more hope.”

  Morganne fought her older-sister instinct to reprimand, and wondered if she was suddenly grasping the edges of her mother’s harshness, her constant urgency and seriousness. Her mother was not bitter, but pained, and this knowledge softened Morganne’s half-beat-heart. She reached for her mother’s hand, and Mother took it with a tender squeeze.

  They smiled, and somehow it bonded them more than any binding spell could achieve.

  “Morganne?” A soft slur of a voice said from her feet. “I can see right up your skirts.”

  Morganne gasped, blushed, and stepped away from Bedivere lying on the ground beneath her. With a curious mixture of outrage and relief, Morganne stared at her sisters and Mother in turn, then down at Bedivere whose lazy smile lit up the darkening evening. And in half a heartbeat, each and every one of them burst out laughing. A tinkle that danced on the evening breeze with the soft, contented sound of relaxed horses grazing under the moon.

  Epilogue

  3 Days Later…

  “There is not a single finding spell under the moon that has worked,” Mother said. “For all intended purposes, Emrysa
is no longer here.”

  Amara rolled her eyes. “Well, we know she is not here.” She slapped her hands on the wooden table.

  “Yes, but I mean here…in this world.”

  “You do not believe her to be dead?” Morganne asked, and mother shook her head.

  “She is neither dead, my child,” Mother continued. “For no summoning spirit spell has worked either.”

  “Which means?” Morganne pressed, tired of incantations, tired of spells. Tired of not finding out what really happened to Emrysa when she disappeared.

  “It means I must leave.” Mother looked at her hands, then a jug half empty of water, then the fingernail of her thumb. Anything not to catch eyes. Anything but tell the truth.

  “Mother?” Fae pressed.

  A heavy sigh.

  “I need to reform the old coven, I need to find the bloodlines of the original witches who helped defeat witch Emrysa in the beginning,” Mother said. Shadow, the black cat purred, and wrapped his body around her legs.

  “And we can’t come with you,” Fae filled in the gaps from her mother's grave tone.

  Amara rose from her chair, flattening down her gown. “You can’t expect us to sit around here and wait for you.”

  “No,” Mother said, she straightened her back and puffed out her chest, bracing herself. “We cannot stay here. This home is her touchstone—” she glanced at Morganne who cast her eyes downward. “I have arranged for your father to collect you. He will be here upon the hour.”

  “Father?!” Both Amara and Morganne spat together. Even Fae’s soft feature’s crumpled into confusion that bordered on curiosity.

  “We haven’t seen that man since I can even remember, since before we could talk!” Amara shouted. “What right does he have to come back into our lives now?”

  Mother pressed her hands forward blocking Amara’s bitter words. “It wasn’t a decision I took lightly, Amara. But for all his irreparable traits, the man is a world-renowned alchemist, and you are sure to learn from him in my absence—”

  “Pfft, learn from him?” Amara said. “What? Learn how to desert family? Learn how to not give a horse’s arse about anyone else but ourselves?”

  “Amara!” Mother chastised. “This is not up for debate. This is what’s happening. Now, pack your clothes.”

  Without a whisper, Fae followed her mother's orders and her curiosity, which far outweighed her anger or frustration. Besides, who knew what she could learn about the ancient art form of alchemy.

  “I’m not going,” Amara said, defiant, and turned to Morganne, widening her eyes. “Tell her,” Amara whispered.

  A rap on the door, and Morganne spun, knowing who to expect.

  Bedivere slid in, grimacing with the tension hovering in the air. Morganne smiled. Amara bristled at his presence.

  “So, I’m, er, I’m ready. I must make haste back to Camelot.” He turned to Morganne, holding out his hand. Amara watched their fingers entwine. “Thank you, Witch Cheval for aiding me in my recovery. But it’s time Morganne and I leave.”

  “You're leaving? With him?” Mother asked, incredulous.

  “I am no longer a child, Mother,” Morganne said.

  Mother nodded with a knowing smirk. Her daughter would always be her child in her eyes.

  “There is much we can gather from Camelot, Witch Cheval,” Bedivere said to Mother. “Kay was affected by the witch, he may have insights. And the king has other means to gather intelligence.”

  “Yes, I have heard,” Mother said, thoughtful, staring into the distance. “The king has a magician, Merlin, is that right?”

  “One and the same,” Bedivere said with a lopsided grin that matched Mother’s.

  She giggled like a schoolchild with a secret causing all daughters to stare. Amara took the opportunity and stepped forward.

  “Well, I’ll go too, to Camelot. If Fae is happy to learn from the man who calls himself our father, I’ll be happy learning from this king’s magician, Manning, or whatever you said his name was.”

  Bedivere hesitated, repressing a smirk that would not go away. He covered his mouth with his hand then rubbed his cheeks. Failing to hide his amusement, he looked away.

  “What?” Amara hissed. “Mother is off to reform her jolly old coven, Fae can go and learn how to turn coal into obsidian with that stupid man, and I shall learn from the king’s great magician.”

  Bedivere shook his head, and Amara scowled at his humor, the way his perfect lips curled up at the sides. She watched those lips intently as he spoke. “Merlin, is, well—”

  “—Unusual,” Mother finished for Bedivere.

  “That’s one word for him,” Bedivere chuckled and Mother continued.

  “—Cantankerous, arrogant, shameless, and brilliant would be more.”

  “You already seem to share traits, Amara, although the only brilliance I can vouch for is your brilliant mood swings,” Bedivere joked, and all sisters scowled at him. Even Morganne dug him in the ribs.

  “What?!” he laughed, then very abruptly, stopped.

  “I consent,” Mother said, softening to Bedivere. “Morganne and Amara, you’ll go to Camelot to see if Merlin can help locate Emrysa—”

  “I didn’t need permission,” Amara said under her breath, which Mother ignored.

  “And Fae… where did that girl get to? Fae?” Mother called.

  Like a summer breeze, Fae walked from her bedroom, a small cloth bag packed with her belongings in her hand. She defused the air from tension with her smile.

  “Father is here,” Fae said.

  Outside, a grand ornate carriage arrived, pulled by six glamorous dapple-gray horses with large feather plumes at their head. The horses came to a stand-still and a lithe man jumped out, full of spring and mischief.

  “Drat it,” Mother cursed as she watched her estranged husband skip up the garden path. She cocked her head to better see him from the window and without missing a beat clicked her fingers, transforming into the young woman she used to be.

  “Witch Cheval,” Bedivere said with a long slow whistle. “I can see where your daughters get their stunningly good looks from.”

  It was Amara who smiled the most at this, her eyes dashing away when they caught Bedivere’s. Morganne was too busy watching her father outside the window to notice.

  The cottage door burst open. And just like that, the gray-haired man seemed to fill the room with his presence.

  “Ah! There you are,” the man said glancing at Morganne, Amara, and Fae in turn. He twiddled his immaculately-groomed mustache that curled up at the ends. “Look at that, the three S’s. Sullen. Serious. And—” he eyed Fae, “Oh! And Secretive, it would seem.”

  Fae looked to her feet.

  The man noticed the bag in her hand, made an equation, and knew the truth of it.

  “So it looks like it’s just you and me. Come on, Offspring,” he called over his shoulder to Fae as he walked out. He hesitated with the dramatic flair of an amateur theater performer. Then turned to Mother with a charming smile. “You look divine, my little trinket, as always. Remember, my offer still stands.”

  Mother blushed.

  “Come on, Offspring. Chippy chop. It’s now or never.” And he waltzed from the door to his carriage.

  “I…” Fae hesitated, feeling the heaviness of goodbyes in her heart.

  In a flurry of tears and embraces, Fae climbed aboard the gold-gilded carriage—her slender fingers tracing the intricate shapes within the gold that looked like wings. She stared out as her home shrank in the distance, pressing her hand to the window as she passed the paddocks and meadows where her horse Moonglow grazed.

  I had no time to say goodbye, she called out to her mind. And Moonglow raised her head as the carriage passed.

  Fear not, for we shall meet again, Moonglow said with a toss of her elegant mane.

  “Oh! Don’t be so sullen child!” her father said with, somehow, not a hint of chiding. “Look here…” he pulled out a small silver hand mirror
. “You just whisper what you want to see and it will appear in the mirror. A jolly good bit of alchemy that, simple as it is. Anyway, it’ll keep that little ice-heart of yours from freezing over when we’re at Castell Draig.”

  “Castell Draig?” Fae asked, taking the pretty mirror to her palm and opening the lid. “Home,” she whispered, already feeling her heart ache with the absence of her sisters.

  “Yes, Celtic for Dragon Castle—your new home. It is said it was built on the legends of dragons. Or built on the bones of dragons. I can never remember which.” Father chortled lightly.

  But Fae wasn’t listening because home did indeed shimmer into life in the mirror. And in that mirror, she saw Morganne staring into her own reflection in the river, her forehead creased with concern.

  “Closer,” Fae whispered, holding the magic contraption to her face and watched in horror as she understood her sister’s worry. Upon Morganne’s collarbone was a mark, not yet fully formed, but its eerie glow was there all the same, and it looked just like two crescent moons back to back.

  The sign of the necromancers.

  Emrysa may have gone, but she left her mark.

  Fae spun to face her father. “Father, what do you know of black magic?” Fae asked, her words tumbling from her mouth like lava.

  He turned to her with confusion written across his aged, yet handsome face. “Dark magic?” he asked with the look of alarm, before his face broke into a delightful, charming smile. “Everything, dear Offspring. Everything.”

  Fae found herself smiling along with him.

  Good, she thought with a nod, then turned her attention to the rolling countryside toward the dragon castle awaiting her.

  End of Episode 2

  Follow Fae as she discovers there are darker things than secrets, but can she handle the truth? Find out in Episode 3, Dragon Heart, coming soon.