Touch of Magic

by Carin Rafferty

  “I’m sorry, Shana,” Oran said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I thought you had seen me.”

  “I know you didn’t mean to frighten me,” she replied. “And it’s my fault. I should have been paying attention to my surroundings.”

  “It’s understandable that you’re preoccupied right now. You have many important thoughts to sort through.”

  “You can say that again,” she said with a sigh. “Where’s Kendra?”

  “At the nightly ritual. As I said, I was expecting you, and I left early. I felt it best if we spoke alone.”

  He turned and headed down the narrow path. Shana followed him, uneasy with his comment. Why would it be best if they spoke alone? She wanted to ask, but she knew that now was not the time.

  When the trees gave way to the clearing surrounding his house, he walked toward a rough-hewn bench sitting close to the front stoop. At the sight of the bench, memories from Shana’s childhood surfaced. Fondly, she recalled the many times that her school class had sat on the ground around it, while Oran told them about the past. He had such a gift for words that his recitations had created vivid images for her. While listening to him, she had always felt transported back in time.

  When they reached the bench, he sat down slowly. Shana saw the flash of pain that crossed his face and she knew his arthritis must be bothering him. She waited until he was safely settled before she sat on the ground in front of him.

  Gazing up at him, she said, “Thank you for giving Ryan the witch stone, Oran. I know that by doing so, you were taking a risk.”

  He smiled ruefully, “At my age, getting out of bed is a risk, Shana, and you don’t need to thank me. I was being rather selfish when I gave the stone to the mortal.”

  “Selfish?” she repeated dubiously. She’d never known a kinder person than Oran, and she doubted he had a selfish bone in his body. “How could giving him the stone be selfish?”

  “Being a narrator is an honored position within our society, but it also has its drawbacks,” he replied. “I’ve spent my life observing the lives of the others, but I have never been able to actively participate in any of the excitement. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wished I could have been a part of events. Or, for that matter, how many times I’ve wanted to impart my knowledge to stop what I considered a needless tragedy.”

  Shana took a moment to absorb his confession before asking, “Is that why you gave Ryan the witch stone? Because you feel that what is happening with him is a needless tragedy?”

  “I gave him the stone because he was astute enough to realize that though I couldn’t tell him what he wanted to know, I did know a means through which he could find it. As to whether or not it will be a needless tragedy, only time will tell us that.”

  She frowned in confusion. “Then, why do you say that giving the stone to Ryan was selfish on your part?”

  “Because people will know that Oran Morovang gave the witch stone to Aric’s reincarnation. I will be an active participant in this historical moment.”

  “Historical moment? You make this sound like a very important event.”

  “It is a very important event, because it is the fulfillment of a very old prophecy.”

  “I don’t suppose you can tell me just what this prophecy is.” He shook his head, and she sighed in resignation. “But you can verify any knowledge I do have, right?”

  “Of course. What would you like to know?”

  “Well, when Ryan did the regression, he said that Aric and Terza were mortals. Is that true?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why have we always been told they were a witch and a warlock? I know that our people love to embellish the stories about our past. I also know that the narrators don’t always correct their inaccuracies, particularly if they feel the exact details are immaterial to the moral of the story. But it seems that this is an important detail that the narrators should have corrected. So why didn’t they?”

  As though uncomfortable with the question, Oran shifted slightly on the bench. “You must remember the time in which Moira and Aric lived, Shana. The Inquisition had turned their attention on us. Witches were being declared heretics and devil worshippers. They were being tortured and put to death. Our people were in extreme danger, and they were afraid. Many coven members felt it was wrong for the council of high priests to forbid them to use their powers in self-defense against the witch hunters.”

  “I know all of that, Oran, but I still don’t understand why we were not told that Aric and Terza were mortals,” Shana replied.

  Again, he shifted uncomfortably. “As I said, it was a time of great upheaval in our society. It was difficult enough to keep our people calm. You can imagine what would have happened within the covens had it been learned that Moira, the most powerful witch who ever lived—the witch who was more powerful than any warlock who had ever lived—was destroyed by a mere mortal.”

  “So when Aric killed Moira, the narrators decided to lie and say that Aric and Terza were a warlock and a witch?” Shana asked in disbelief.

  He shook his head. “The council of high priests made that decision. They cast a spell over all the people, both coven members and mortals, who knew the truth, so that was the story they believed. The members of the council and the narrators, of course, were exempt from the spell.”

  Shana shook her head in amazement. “I guess I can understand their decision, but we are no longer living in immediate danger of persecution. Why hasn’t the truth been revealed?”

  “Because the story of Moira and Aric is too ingrained within our society,” he said with a pensive frown. “If the truth was told now, coven members would begin to wonder what other lies they’ve been told, which I assure you are very few. However, there are many young coven members around the world who are becoming as restless as you have become. They’re tired of being confined within coven boundaries, and they’re looking for reasons to dissolve the barriers that restrict them.”

  He paused and sighed heavily, before continuing, “That’s why the experiment of intermarriage within our coven is so critical. The council recognizes that changes must be made, but they also understand that these changes must come about with great deliberation if we hope for our race to survive.”

  “You don’t sound as if you approve of the changes,” Shana noted, not surprised to learn that Oran was privy to the inner workings of the high council. For years, it had been rumored that he was the narrator who observed their actions. She was also sure that the moment she walked away from him, he would cast a spell and she would forget most of this information.

  “I don’t disapprove of the changes, because I know that they are necessary for our survival,” he replied, giving her another rueful smile. “But I also recognize that when that happens, much of what we are—who we are—will begin to disappear. At some point, our descendents will grow up never learning the story of Moira and Aric, or a thousand other stories that have been passed down for several millennia. Eventually, there will be no need for my family, because we will be absorbed into the mortal society. No matter how hard we fight to keep our history and our traditions alive, much of it will be lost. It may be necessary for that to happen, but it saddens me.”

  “It saddens me, too,” Shana said, and it was the truth. Though she’d spent her life yearning to flee the coven and its restrictions, she had always believed that the coven would be there—a haven to which she could always return if she wanted. Now, she truly understood the losses involved. As more and more members left, the entire fabric of the coven would begin to disintegrate. There would no longer be the strong sense of community and unity. Jobs, such as Oran’s, would eventually become irrelevant, and, thus, die out. Shana found it ironic that in order to save the race from extinction, a society that had existed for thousands of years would have to die. She thought it was not only sad, but tragic. />
  “I’m afraid I’ve been rambling,” Oran said, interrupting her musing. “And I apologize. You have more important matters to discuss than the reflective thoughts of an old warlock. What else would you like to know?”

  “You haven’t been rambling, Oran,” Shana quickly assured. “I’ve enjoyed listening to what you’ve had to say, and when this matter with Moira is over, I will give it more thought.”

  “If that’s true, then I’m glad I’ve rambled,” he said giving her a pleased smile. “Now, what else would you like to know?”

  Shana took a moment to gather her thoughts, then said, “Ryan, or rather Aric, claimed that Moira made a bargain with the dark forces for his soul. Is that true?”

  “It’s true that she negotiated a bargain,” he replied.

  Shana quickly picked up on the nuance of his answer. Negotiation was not the same as actually making a bargain.

  She took a moment to consider that before saying, “According to Aric, the agreement with the dark forces was that he would surrender his soul for five centuries. Why five centuries? Why not two or ten or eternity, for that matter?”

  “I’m sorry, Shana, but I can’t answer that question,” he said, shaking his head.

  Shana frowned in frustration. “Can you tell me if this is important? Will I be wasting my time trying to figure it out?”

  “You will not be wasting your time.”

  Shana arched a brow. So there was something important about the terms of the bargain. But what?

  Knowing she couldn’t waste Oran’s time thinking about it, she continued, “You told Ryan that Moira wasn’t playing by the rules. Is it because she’s forcing Aric to the surface instead of fighting Ryan for his soul?”

  “I’m impressed with your deductive abilities,” Oran said, giving a pleased nod.

  “Is there any way to use that against Moira?”

  “There is always power in knowledge, Shana.”

  Shana frowned at his ambiguous answer, but she knew that pursuing the matter would be useless, so she asked, “Can you tell me why Moira became so obsessed with Aric? She was, after all, the most powerful witch who had ever lived. Why would she want a mortal mate?”

  “I’m sorry, Shana, but I can’t answer that question.” She drew in a frustrated breath. “Can you tell me if it’s important? If so, is there a clue in the knowledge I do have?”

  “It is important, and a part of the answer is available to you.”

  “Can you tell me what knowledge I should examine for the answer?”

  He stared at her for a long moment, and Shana realized she’d just asked him to again walk that fine line between observance and interference.

  Suddenly, he replied, “Why do all the coven members’ last names begin with the letters Mor?”

  She recited what every witch and warlock was taught before they even entered school. “It’s because the letter ‘M’ is the thirteenth letter in the alphabet, and symbolizes the original thirteen covens, from which our coven is descended. The letter ‘O’ is the fifteenth letter, and ‘R’ is the eighteenth letter. When you add thirteen, fifteen, and eighteen together, you come up with a total of forty-six. Add the four and the six together, and you come up with ten. The zero is automatically canceled out, which leaves you with the number one. That is symbolic, because it means that everyone in the coven is united as one.”

  He nodded. “Do you have any other questions?”

  Shana gaped at him. What did the meaning behind coven members’ last names have to do with Moira? She wanted to ask, but she knew he wouldn’t—or, rather, couldn’t—answer her, or he would have done so. So what was he trying to tell her by making her go through that exercise?

  “Actually, I have two more questions,” she replied, raking her hand through her hair in an effort to clarify her thoughts. “I know that Moira is using the enchanted Tarot deck to direct whatever is happening. If I figure out the key to reading the cards, will that help us defeat her?”

  “Again, knowledge is power,” he answered. “Whether that knowledge can be used to defeat her will depend upon the mortal. What is your final question?”

  “I know that you have touched my mind, so you are aware of everything I have learned about Aric and Moira. Am I overlooking anything that could help us, and if so, can you provide me with any guidance toward finding out what it is?”

  “I believe that is two questions,” he said, smiling indulgently, “but I will answer them both. Yes, there is something important you are overlooking. The only guidance I can give you is that you should closely examine everything you learned during the regression.”

  Shana opened her mouth to ask another question, but Oran held up his hand. “I’m sorry, Shana, but those are all the questions I can answer. It’s up to you now.”

  Shana heaved a heavy sigh. “Thank you for taking the time to talk with me, Oran.”

  “You don’t need to thank me, Shana. I’m simply doing my job, and again I’m being selfish, because our conversation will again make me part of history. I just hope that I’m portrayed as the narrator who helped you to succeed,” he said, bending forward so he could catch her chin in his hand.

  He lifted her face and stared deeply into her eyes. “There is something I want you to remember. You may be powerless, but you are still a witch. Remember the doctrines you’ve been taught and use them accordingly. In the meantime, I will pray for your success, but know that regardless of the outcome, you will be portrayed as a very brave witch.”

  “Thank you, Oran,” she said, touched by his statement. Then she smiled wryly. “I have to say, however, that I would have rather been portrayed as a smart witch. If I had obeyed the rules, I wouldn’t have created this mess.”

  “You didn’t create this situation, Shana. Moira and Aric created it five hundred years ago. So don’t waste your time worrying about matters beyond your control. Concentrate on the facts. As I’ve said, knowledge is power.

  “Now, I must retire,” he said, releasing her chin and reaching for his cane, which was resting against his knee. Shana quickly stood and helped him to his feet.

  “Good night, Oran,” she said as he walked toward the stoop.

  He nodded. “Good night, Shana, and my prayers will be with you.”

  Shana waited until he was in the house before she turned to go. As she did so, she caught her breath. Another Tarot card was lying on the bench where Oran had been seated.

  Quickly, she grabbed it. It was Strength, and Shana shook her head in awe. She’d never seen such a sensual portrayal of Strength. The witch, who had her face and body, was naked. She was kneeling on the ground, her arms wrapped around the neck of a ferocious lion, and her cheek resting against his head. His mouth was open, and his teeth were glistening menacingly just inches from her throat, but there was no fear in her expression. She looked serene and all-powerful—a woman supremely in control of the world around her.

  And, of course, that’s exactly what the card meant, Shana realized. Courage and strength.

  But do I have enough courage and strength to win this battle? she asked herself uncertainly, still staring at the card. The symbolism was clear. Her nakedness meant that she could bring nothing into this battle but herself—who she was, what she was inside. She would have no weapons, no clothes, no friends. She also knew instinctively that the lion was a portrayal of Ryan and the threat he presented to her through Moira. If she hoped to survive, she would have to have enough faith to lie down with the lion—to turn herself over to Ryan—and believe that she would come through the battle unscathed.

  And do I have that much faith? That much courage and strength?

  Suddenly, Oran’s words slipped into her mind, Regardless of the outcome, you will be portrayed as a very brave witch.

  Tucking the card into her pocket, she headed for home, sayin
g, “Oran’s right. I am brave, and you’ve met your match in me, Moira. But you already know that, don’t you? ‘Why else would you deliver two cards without your usual gloating declaration about my future being yours? It means that I’ve done the unexpected, and now that I know you aren’t completely in control of the future, you’re in serious trouble. You’ve also given me three more cards, and I’m going to figure out how to read your spread if it kills me.”

  She shuddered at the unintentional pun, but then she shrugged off the fearful feelings stirring within. She could beat Moira. She was, after all, Strength, and she would fight tooth and nail for her mate and her child.

  GO BACK TO SHANA, or I’ll kill her!

  When Moira issued her threat, Ryan had been wandering through the woods for more than an hour. He stopped instantly and glanced warily around the heavily wooded area, scrutinizing every shadow. He knew Moira was here. He not only sensed her presence, but he could smell her intoxicating scent. It was so provocative, so seductive, and yet it was so strong it was almost cloying. So why did he find it so sexy?

  Because you have always wanted me.

  “That’s not true!” he declared angrily as he continued to search for her. “I wanted Terza. I never wanted you. You forced yourself on me.”

  You could have resisted me back then, but you didn’t want to resist me. Just as you don’t want to resist me now.

  Suddenly, an invisible hand trailed down Ryan’s chest and over his abdomen. He stumbled back a step in horror. But it wasn’t her unseen contact that distressed him. It was that her touch had made him instantly and fully aroused. How could she do this to him when he hated her so badly? And it was hate rising inside him. Hate so strong he could almost taste it.