The Awakening

by Roberts, Nora

  “I didn’t think you could do it, so the fault was mine as much as yours.”

  “You hold back because you know how, so I end up with some bruises, but that’s all.”

  “It doesn’t give me pleasure to put marks on you.”

  “Could’ve fooled me. Not the point,” she added. “I can’t do this if I’m afraid of what I have. If I’m afraid I’ll do something that can’t be fixed or healed.”

  “I’m not so easy to kill. But sure we can work around this.” With a shrug he sat, cross-legged. “I can train you to be more than competent with the sword, with your body.”

  She offered a dour look. “Is ‘competent’ your version of ‘average’?”

  “You were average at best before today. You’ve improved on that, and will improve more, as I am not what you said. Not a crap teacher. You must have these skills, but they aren’t your true weapons. That’s in you, and you know this, so you fear it. You should, for what you have, as I do, is great. If the worlds were as we wish, the light would be only for joy and beauty, for healing and help. But the worlds are not what we wish. So we use the light to protect and shield, to fight the dark, even kill.

  “They would snuff us out like the light of a candle. Should we let them?”

  “No. I saw—in another vision—I saw what he did. A boy, just a boy, strapped to an altar. I saw what he did. We can’t let them. But you don’t give a child a weapon and let them use it. That’s what I am with this still. I’m a child with a weapon.”

  “Bugger that.” He snapped it out. “You’ve let too many tell you you’re not able or ready. That’s a flaw in you.” He rose, then gripped her hand and hauled her up. “But we can work around this worry and fear for now.”

  “How?”

  “Another enemy. An opponent you won’t fret about harming.”

  “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

  “Wait.”

  He held out his hands then drew them up, drew them down. Again and again. In the wind he called, his hair blew. Breen felt the ground beneath her feet shake.

  “So here I stir the earth and air. Five drops of water they will share. Now this image I form from one who sought to harm. Come, fire, flash to bind the spell until the wraith returns to hell.”

  He shot out his fingers, and yes, fire flashed. Smoke followed. And when it cleared a man stood, sword in hand.

  “Where did he come from? You can’t just make a person.”

  “It’s a wraith. Real enough, but not living. I gave him the face of an enemy to . . . inspire you.”

  “An enemy? I don’t . . . It’s the one who attacked me at my father’s grave. You killed him.”

  “Do you have ears? He’s an image, a wraith, not a living thing. But he can move, as he did. He can fight. He’ll fade at sunset if you don’t destroy him first, but he’ll make a worthy training tool for you, I’m thinking.

  “Do you fear hurting him?”

  “No. But—”

  “Then fight.”

  Keegan snapped his fingers. The wraith leaped.

  It killed her three times before she so much as began to find any defense.

  Then it got an arm around her, wings spread, lifted her off the ground. She forgot it wasn’t real and, in her ripe fear, struck out. Her power hit the wraith like an axe. As it turned to smoke, she fell, breathless, onto the grass.

  “There you have it.” Keegan hauled her back up again. “Again.”

  With a flick of Keegan’s fingers, the wraith formed again.

  “How did you do that? You didn’t use a spell.”

  “It’s already conjured. Again.”

  “I want you to teach me how to do that.”

  “Later.”

  In response, she sliced a hand through the air, turned the wraith back to smoke. “Now.”

  Keegan’s eyebrows shot up. “Well now, there’s some spine there. Kill it twice more—in combat—and you’ll have the edge. I’ll show you how to close the spell.”

  “And tomorrow, you’ll show me how to bring a wraith.”

  “Fair enough.”

  He watched her fight. She’d never be brilliant with a sword, but she’d do well enough. Aye, well enough there. And now that she held back nothing, she showed a confidence she’d lacked, a grace that suited her. She was very nearly formidable in her odd and interesting way.

  The focus, the control, well, they’d work on it, wouldn’t they? And for Talamh, for the Fey, and in honor of her father, he’d take her to formidable and beyond.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  For three days Breen worked from dawn till moonsrise, starting her writing day earlier and earlier to give her more time in Talamh.

  Staying at her grandmother’s might have been an easier choice, but she opted for the harder, for the time away and alone. For time in both worlds.

  Her father had made that choice, too, and now she knew just how wrenching that had been for him. He’d given up so much for her, and still he’d honored his duties to the Fey.

  She wouldn’t do less. She wouldn’t be less.

  And if she kept rosemary and an additional charm bag under her pillow to avoid the dreams and visions, she considered it simple practicality.

  Without some decent sleep, she couldn’t do the work she’d chosen.

  So she was dead asleep at eleven forty-five when her phone rang. She fumbled for it, thought: Marco.

  “Yeah, hi.”

  “Breen Kelly?”

  Not Marco. Now, heart hammering, she fumbled for the light. Someone was hurt; something was wrong.

  “Yes.”

  “This is Carlee Maybrook with the Sylvan Literary Agency. I hope I’m not disturbing your evening.”

  “No. No. Hello.” She didn’t have a clue what to say next. “It’s nice of you to call.”

  “I just got out of a meeting, and wanted to contact you right away. I, and the Sylvan Agency, would very much like to represent you.”

  “Sorry, what?” Her stomach flipped; her skin began to tingle. “You would?”

  “I loved Bollocks’s Magic Adventures, and I’m confident I can place it with the right publisher. I’m hoping you’ll tell me you’ve got more coming. You’ve got a series, Breen, and the target age group for this book loves series.”

  She heard about every other word through the buzzing in her ears as Bollocks, woken by her voice, got up, stretched, then walked over to plant his paws on the side of the bed and stare lovingly.

  “I—You’d be my agent?”

  “That’s the plan on my end. I’m happy to send you a client list, answer any questions you have.”

  Questions? She should have a list of questions, but she could barely remember her own name.

  “Can I just say yes, and thank you?”

  That got a laugh. “Fine with me. I’m going to email you a contract. Read it over. Call or email me with any questions or concerns. When and if you’re satisfied, sign it and send it back, and we’ll get started. I’d love to see anything else you’re working on.”

  “I started another with Bollocks, but it’s only the opening of a first draft because . . . I’ve been writing an adult novel, a fantasy. It’s not—”

  “Can you send me the first couple chapters of the novel?”

  Could a heart explode? Was it physically possible?

  “You want to see it? Really?”

  “Yes, I do. You’re very talented, Breen. Your writing’s fresh and fun, and Bollocks is a gem.”

  “Yes,” Breen murmured, stroking his head. “He is.”

  “I want to help you build your career. I’m going to get ahead of myself for a minute. I’m confident I can pitch and sell your YA as a series with an initial three-book deal. If your adult novel shows the same fresh voice and sense of story and world-building, I’ll work hard to put it in the hands of the right publisher.”

  “Thank you. I never really expected to get this far.”

  “Oh, I promise you, we’re just beginning. I’
ll lay all this out for you in a cover letter so you have it in writing, and attach the contract. You contact me, anytime, with any questions. And send me those chapters.”

  “I will.”

  “Have a lovely evening, and we’ll talk soon.”

  “Yes. Thank you. Bye.”

  She stared at the phone. “I’m not dreaming. That happened. That happened.” She slid out of bed to hug the joyful dog. “Look what you’ve given me!” Overwhelmed, she pressed her face into the dog’s curls. “You are a gem. My magic gem. My lucky charm. Who can sleep now? Let’s go down, get you a treat, and send those chapters. I have to call Marco!”

  She jumped up. “No, no, I might jinx it. Tell no one. It’s just you and me for now, my canine muse.”

  She did read the contract, and in her blissful haze found every word thrilling. As she composed a cover letter she drank a glass of wine as much to help her sleep as to celebrate. She sent back the signed contract and, with a tangle of trepidation and hope, sent the first two chapters of her novel.

  She’d make a trip to the village to send the hard copy of the contract, but for now, she took the rest of her wine and the dog outside.

  The cool night air on her face, and her whole future rolling out in front of her like the sea.

  She took the flickers of light dancing in the dark as fireflies at first, then realized they were pixies. Did they come every night after she slept? she wondered. Were they part of her guard, her protection?

  She stood here, and only a mile away others danced in the dark, or slept in their beds, or rocked a fretful baby.

  Two worlds, both somehow hers. How would she ever balance them?

  “I have to find a way. But I’m not going to find it tonight. Come on, Bollocks. Let’s try to get some sleep.”

  Since she only managed four hours, and it showed, she tried her first glamour—not for vanity, but to ward off questions and concerns.

  She lived in the world of one moon for the morning, in the world where any magick stayed below the surface, then made her way to the land of the Fey.

  “You seem distracted.”

  With Marg, Breen stood in the circle she’d cast. She’d brought the fire under the cauldron, selected the ingredients. And with Sedric’s help—as she could barely draw stick figures—had sketched the image of the athame she would create for herself.

  Some tools, Marg told her, could and should be passed on or gifted. Others should come from the one who would use it.

  “Did I make a mistake?”

  “Not at all, but I can see your mind go somewhere. You said you didn’t dream.”

  “I didn’t. But I didn’t sleep long. I got caught up writing.”

  Not a lie, she thought, as she’d written the cover letter and a brief synopsis to go with the two chapters.

  “You ask much of yourself.”

  “I do?”

  “My darling girl.” Gently, Marg rubbed a hand along Breen’s arm. “You have your stories, and this is work. You ask me to push you harder, and I have. You ask Keegan to train you harder, and he does. I know this, as Morena spends time watching your training.”

  “She’s my cheerleader.”

  “And she tells me you’ve improved there, but at a cost. You should take a day for joy.”

  “This gives me joy, what you’ve taught me gives me joy. I can’t claim joy from my sessions with Keegan, but I’m getting some satisfaction from them. I destroyed two wraith demons yesterday. One at a time, but I got them.”

  She hesitated, then spoke her mind. “That part of it—the fighting—it still feels surreal. Like a hard, physical game I don’t especially like playing. But this, what I do with you? It’s as natural as breathing to me.”

  “Then breathe, mo stór, and do the spell.”

  A complex one, Marg had warned her, requiring precision and concentration.

  Pushing everything else aside, she quieted her mind, opened her heart. It did come naturally now, like the rain, like the sun. And she prized it.

  “First the silver mined from the deep by trolls who go where dragons sleep.” She slid seven balls of it into the cauldron. “And out of seven will form one.

  “For light and strength crystals charged by the moons, and for wisdom three stone runes. Now mix and merge in my cauldron. A feather from a dove, the symbol of peace, and for beauty heather from the heath. Bubble and swirl what I have begun.”

  She stepped back to pick up her grandmother’s athame.

  She felt out of herself, beyond herself, and yet more centered in herself than she could remember.

  “Rise smoke, rise white to carry my words into the light. A single drop of my blood to bind this spell, and three times I ring the bell. And last this image I desire I cast into the blessed fire. Burn bright in the light, and so my spell is done.

  “What comes I will use faithfully. As I will, so mote it be.”

  She circled the cauldron three times, then extinguished the fire.

  “You glow.” Tears, ripe with pride and love, thickened Marg’s voice. “From the power, but, aye, from the joy. Take what’s yours, child of my child, child of the Fey, blood of my blood. And know you have proved yourself this day.”

  Breen reached into the cauldron, drew out the knife. The ogham script—COURAGE—ran down the blade, and on the hilt, in the center circle of the fivefold symbol, a single dragon’s heart stone glinted red.

  “It’s beautiful. I never thought about a knife being beautiful, but it is. It feels like mine.”

  “As it is.”

  Still riding on the spell, Breen turned the knife in her hand. “Nan, there’s a dragon carved on the back of the blade. We didn’t sketch that. Did you add it?”

  “I didn’t, no.” Laying a hand on Breen’s wrist, Marg studied the dragon in flight. “A gift from the gods. You did very well. Come, close the circle. You’ll have a meal before you go to Keegan.”

  Then Marg hugged her, held her. Breen felt not only centered but loved.

  From the sublime to the painful, Breen thought as she walked to the farm. She paused, one hand on Bollocks’s head, to look up, watch the hawk soar.

  She could feel Bollocks vibrate under her hand, could hear him think: Don’t stop. Let’s go. Dogs, kids, fun.

  “Go ahead.” She gave him a rub. “I’ll catch up.”

  A pair of dragons glided overhead, one burnished silver, the other spring-leaf green. Both carried riders. She found she could envy them the flight even while being grateful her feet stayed on the ground.

  As she watched, Morena walked down to meet her.

  “They’re so incredibly beautiful.”

  “And brave with it. Scouting now. It looks like Deaglan and Bria Mac Aodha—you’d say Magee. Twins they are. You wouldn’t have seen them about before, as they live nearer the Capital than here. And how did it go with your nan today?” she asked as they started walking.

  “It was amazing, especially the last part. I made an athame.” She drew it out of the sheath on her belt. “I was going to leave it in the workshop, but Nan said I should carry it with me for a day. Sort of a bonding.”

  “Of course. You conjured this?”

  “About an hour ago. I’m still feeling a little rush.”

  Morena shook her head when Breen offered it. “For the day, it should only know your hand. It’s brilliant, that’s the truth. What’s more is most don’t succeed in this level of alchemy until they’ve had years of study and practice.”

  She gave Breen an assessing look. “You should be very proud, as no doubt Marg is.”

  “I’m more just really happy. I’ve had an amazing day. Now you can come watch me be taken down several pegs.”

  “I wouldn’t be sure of the pegs, as you’re holding your own well enough. But I can’t watch today. For one I saw Keegan saddling horses, so I’d say you’re riding somewhere. And for another I promised Harken I’d help him shear the next round of sheep. Gods help me. Never give a promise to a man when you’re still
all soft and warm and tingly under him.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, should I ever have the opportunity again.”

  Morena elbowed her. “I told you before, you could all but have your pick.”

  “By the time Keegan’s done with me every day, I don’t have the energy for tingly. Good luck with the sheep.”

  “Ha!”

  They split off, Morena toward the fields, Breen toward the stables. She didn’t get far before Keegan walked the two horses in her direction.

  “You need more riding practice.”

  “Hello to you, too, and I’m happy to take a ride.” She greeted her usual gelding with a rub as Bollocks joined them. “I’ve missed riding.”

  “We’ll see if you say the same after today.” He held out a sword belt. “You have to learn to fight and defend on horseback as well.”

  “Oh.” The anticipated pleasure took a dive, but she started to strap on the sword.

  “What’s this?” He tapped the sheath.

  “The reason you can’t possibly spoil my day. I made my athame this afternoon.”

  At the crook of his finger, she took it out. Like Morena, he didn’t touch it but took her wrist to turn it, study all sides.

  “You did the spell yourself?”

  “Not the sketch. I can’t draw worth crap, so Sedric did most of that, but the rest, yeah. Except the dragon. That wasn’t on the sketch, but it’s on the blade.”

  “Then it’s meant to be.” He shifted his gaze from it to her face. “It’s good work, more than good. You chose your symbols well.”

  He mounted, waited for her to sheath her knife and do the same.

  “If you don’t have anywhere really specific, could we ride to the ruins—the Pious? My father’s grave. I haven’t been back since that first day.”

  “It’s as good a ride as any.”

  “If we’re going to work with a wraith, I’d like to try to conjure one myself. I feel like I’m on a streak.”

  “We’ll see about it.”

  “I saw the dragons and riders,” she continued as they walked the horses to the road. “Morena said they were scouts.”

  “So they were.” He’d had a talk with them before they’d headed east. He’d have to do the same himself, and Mahon with him, before much longer.