Magic Awakens (Irele Book 1)

by Lucia Ashta

  My burns were healing well, and I was able to sit up straight in bed without his assistance. “I’m ready.”

  “All right,” he said, though he didn’t sound convinced. Regardless, he began, and once he did, I was riveted.

  “Clara, this isn’t usually the kind of conversation one has. There’s no easy or right way to say any of this.” He ran his hands through messy hair. “I think what happened with you and the fire these two times was that you were doing magic.”

  He let his statement sink in. He understood better than I the prejudice, varying in degrees from dislike to murderous hostility, that magic brought along with it.

  I answered softly and steadily; there was no point to denying the unavoidable conclusion. “How could I have done magic, without having any idea how?”

  “That’s the exact question I’ve been asking myself. It makes no sense. This isn’t the way magic is learned. Regardless, that’s the inescapable conclusion at which I’ve arrived. You did magic.”

  “Is magic what you did to make the fire retreat?”

  He nodded. “Yes. It is.”

  “You really are a magician then?”

  It was a superfluous question, one that looked for any way to deny what was rapidly becoming fully undeniable.

  Marcelo didn’t respond, although the look on his face said it all.

  “So you’re a wizard.” My voice had taken on a tone of matter-of-fact resignation that went contrary to the titillating excitement of the forbidden and mysterious that naturally imbued magic. It was all happening fast. And I was utterly and completely unprepared for the turn my life was taking.

  “If I’m a wizard, then I’m a very young and inexperienced one.”

  He didn’t look that young. He only appeared to be a few years older than me. And I much doubted he was that inexperienced.

  “I don’t call myself a wizard or a magician or a sorcerer. In the end, they all do magic. Perhaps in different ways, but with similar tools. And what importance does a title have anyway?”

  Among the nobility, titles meant everything. It was a fresh and novel concept to deny them importance.

  Numbly, I spoke. “Are you implying that I’m a witch?” I enunciated each of the words thinking that if the townspeople even suspected someone of being a witch, they would call for execution amongst mounting hysteria.

  His expression turned sad. “You don’t want to be one, do you?”

  His response wasn’t exactly a denial, but it wasn’t a confirmation either. I took hold of this small hope, an infinitesimal gap within his answer, and attributed to it the possibilities of a chasm. Even if I could do a bit of accidental magic, perhaps I wasn’t a witch. The word was so frightening that I couldn’t bring myself to say it again. I had only once heard it tumble from Father’s lips, but then it was with repulsion. I didn’t want to give Marcelo the chance to attach this label to me.

  I didn’t really know if I wanted to be a witch or not. I could only assume that I didn’t. The implications of such a thing were horrendous.

  There was one thing that I was certain of, however. If there was even the smallest of chances that I was a witch, no one should ever find out.

  “Marcelo, I honestly don’t understand all of this. It’s so… strange. And unexpected. Do you have a theory as to how I could have done magic without knowing how?”

  “I have several. But the one I think most probable is that the fever somehow activated you. It’s unheard of for someone to have a fever as intense as the one you had for long. In a few days, in a few hours even, either the person recovers or dies. But you, you endured the fever for nearly a month. The fever burned extremely hot. Yet you survived it.

  “I don’t know if there are many, or any, people alive right now that have lived through what you did. So I don’t know if this is a common result of a prolonged fever or if it just happened in your case. It would make sense.”

  Make sense? None of this made any sense to me.

  “I believe the fever created pathways to that part of your brain that can do magic intuitively, without training, because magic is a natural way of interacting with the elements and with all life. Nothing more.

  “I can teach you how to control fire just enough so that it doesn’t burn you again. Or you can try to forget everything I’ve told you. There’s a chance that the pathways the fever opened in you will close again with time. In that case, you won’t need to worry about the fire at all.”

  “I thought we already covered this. I want you to teach me,” I blurted without thinking. Once I heard the words outside of me, I was certain of my choice.

  Marcelo nodded. “I realize we already covered this. I wanted to give you another chance to change your mind. There’s no going back once you walk this path. And I can’t make any promises as to where this path will take you.”

  He looked me in the eyes. Blue bore into green, trying to impose the severity of this fork in the road upon me.

  “This is serious, Clara. Life and death serious.”

  I gulped. I nodded. I knew how serious it was. You couldn’t live in Norland and not be aware of the dangers that accompanied association with magic, even if your parents tried to isolate you from all information about it.

  Marcelo sighed heavily; I could hear the conflict that raged within him. But ultimately, his blue eyes spoke of resignation.

  “If you want my honest opinion—”

  I nodded encouragingly.

  “Well, I think that you might not have any other real choice but to learn enough magic to protect yourself. Fire is powerful. It can be extremely dangerous. It’s possible that only learning some basic magic will keep you safe from more experiences like those you’ve already suffered.”

  “And then, after, will you teach me more? Will you teach me all about magic?”

  He was shaking his head even before I asked my second question.

  “No, absolutely not, Clara. Magic isn’t something to play with. I’ll teach you only so that you can be safe and fully recover, because that’s my responsibility right now. But I won’t teach you more.

  I didn’t respond. His talk had regained its biting edge. I’d returned to being one more thing he needed to deal with.

  With difficulty, I tried to rein my emotions in to see if I could draw more information out of him before he decided that even this conversation was a waste of his valuable time.

  “Have you understood how it is that I could have made water burn me? How I could have made water turn into fire?”

  “No,” he admitted, his shoulders rounded in defeat. “I can only do that kind of magic intentionally. No one I’m aware of has ever been able to achieve the transformation of elements, make one element behave like another or join with another so harmoniously, without purposefully trying to do so.

  “And there’s also the point that the firewater didn’t act like fire with me. When I reached in the bath to retrieve you, my skin felt only water. Why did the water act like fire only with you? And why would this magic of extraordinary level appear within you, someone who has no inclination toward it?”

  I got a glimpse of what had been swirling through his head while he paced my chambers. It was no wonder that he felt maddened by his fruitless exploration.

  Even as my mind absorbed the many unanswered questions, a fleeting thought—a memory, actually—teased me, just out of reach. I struggled to grasp it, but it was not yet time. It would come, I hoped. Because even though I didn’t know what it was, it was important.

  A First Book of Magic

  The day couldn’t get any prettier. Finally, after having been in bed for so long, I was outside. Marcelo said I was well enough to have short visits outdoors, as long as Maggie stayed with me at all times.

  The dressings had come off, and my feet were bandaged only when I needed to walk. The rest of the time, my skin was allowed to heal, exposed to the air.

  I didn’t realize how much the bandages had constrained me until Marcelo removed the
m. I felt gloriously free in no more than my thin, loose nightgown.

  I didn’t bother with modesty around Marcelo anymore. He’d already seen more than he could possibly forget, so I concerned myself only with my own comfort.

  The sunshine was as splendid as if I were discovering its warmth for the first time. I rested on a clean blanket and longed for the day that my skin healed enough that Marcelo would allow it to come in contact with grass.

  “How I love being outside, Maggie,” I told her for the umpteenth time.

  She chuckled. “It is quite lovely.” She hadn’t grown tired of my repeated comments yet.

  “Clara, cover yourself.”

  “What is it?” I said while I folded the blanket over me. I followed Maggie’s gaze to a man walking toward us. He was still too far away for me to make out who it was.

  “It’s Thomas. He must be returning from town.”

  We watched his calm gait in silence until he finally reached us.

  “Hullo Maggie. Hullo Miss.”

  “Hello Thomas,” Maggie said. “This is Lady Clara.”

  “Oh excuse me, Milady. I didn’t know. Uh, I came over here because there was a delivery, Miss Maggie. The delivery man ran into me and gave it to me to give to you.”

  “Thank you, Thomas. May I have it please?”

  “Yes, of course.” He fumbled in his satchel until he emerged with a letter. Even from where I was I could make out the Count of Norland’s seal.

  “Is that all, Thomas?”

  He nodded. “Yea it is. Good day then, Milady, Miss Maggie.”

  “Good day to you, Thomas,” we said.

  With thoughts of dread as to what official correspondence might mean, we watched him walk toward the stables. There were two weeks left for my parents to meet the Count of Chester’s deadline. There was still a chance they could marry me to Winston.

  “Can we burn it without reading it?”

  Maggie chuckled. “You know we can’t.”

  I groaned.

  The sunshine didn’t seem as magnificent anymore.

  Maggie and I deliberated for only a minute as to whether or not I should open the letter before handing it over to Marcelo.

  “Maggie,” I’d told her, “I need to open this letter.”

  “Clara, you can’t. You know how much trouble you’ll get into for interfering with his Lordship’s correspondence.”

  “Yes, but that’s only if Father finds out. He won’t find out.”

  “How can you be sure? Marcelo might tell him.”

  “He might. But I have a feeling he won’t.”

  “And if he does?”

  I shrugged. “Then he does. But I need to read the letter regardless.”

  Maggie’s eyes were narrowed.

  “Father is deciding my life, and I’m not even allowed to read about it? It’s not right, Maggie.”

  “I don’t know, Clara.”

  “You don’t need to worry. I take full responsibility for opening the letter. Oops,” I said while I slid my finger under the blood red seal of the House of Norland.

  It cracked. The action was irreversible. “Now it’s done, Maggie. So there’s no point in worrying about it any longer.”

  She sighed loudly, but ultimately drew nearer to study the letter over my shoulder.

  Predictably, the letter inquired about my health and asked Marcelo whether I would recover in time to meet the cutoff date for the wedding. I didn’t know what Marcelo had told Father up until then, but whatever it was, it was clear that Father was unaware of how well I was doing, and for that I silently thanked Marcelo. I hoped he was willing to continue the charade a bit longer.

  Maggie and I stayed outside as long as we could, but even the bright sunshine wasn’t enough to ward off the chill of the winter afternoon. Spring was near, but not quite here. We had to go inside.

  My chambers were warm and inviting, with bright sunlight filtering in through the windows and a small fire burning in the hearth. Maggie settled me into the rocking chair.

  “You rest up while I go deliver this letter to Marcelo.”

  I flung myself upright in the rocking chair, awkwardly trying to stand while being careful of my injured feet. “No, Maggie. I’ll go.”

  “Clara, don’t be silly. You can barely stand.”

  I couldn’t argue with that plain observation. “But Maggie, I have to be the one to take it to him. What if he takes issue with the letter’s previous, uh, readership? I don’t want him to get cross with you.”

  “I won’t let him.”

  I looked at Maggie. She was spirited and brave and obviously, in this case, a bit of a fibber. She couldn’t prevent Marcelo’s anger any more than I could.

  “Promise me that if he gives you any problems, you’ll tell him to come speak with me at once.”

  “I promise, Milady,” Maggie said, and she was off before I could protest any further.

  I expected Maggie to rejoin me once she completed the task, but Marcelo came to see me instead. He didn’t mention the letter at all but set about ensuring that my skin was still healing at its remarkable pace. I didn’t say anything about Father’s letter either. I had no choice but to trust Marcelo and hope for the best. I’d already argued my case with him. I would gain no advantage by doing it another time.

  “How are you feeling today, Clara?”

  “Better. It was wonderful to go outside again after so long.”

  I thought he might smile—his mouth twitched—but then he didn’t. “And your feet? Does the skin still hurt when you put your weight on them?”

  “My feet still hurt, though it’s not as bad as it was before. It helps when I can lean some of my weight on Maggie while I walk.” I regretted having to make this admission. My mind had moved past my body’s current limitations.

  “I have some books separated for you that I’d like you to study. You can read, right?”

  I blinked at him, letting the moment pass, trying hard not to say something snarky. I blinked another time. “Of course I can read. What kind of books are they?”

  “The dangerous kind,” he grumbled.

  At Norland Manor, Father had a sophisticated-looking library, but he and his predecessors had collected its contents mostly for show. I devoured many of the books that lined the floor-to-ceiling shelves, but none of them was as interesting as Marcelo’s promised to be.

  I relished the thought of perusing books of magic. I never imagined I would, and the unexpected surprise was delightful. My innocence impeded a complete understanding of the gravity of the situation Marcelo and I were entering together.

  “Are you ready to study now?”

  I nodded, bright and eager. I couldn’t hear what he muttered under his breath as he turned and walked away.

  He returned quickly, carrying only one book. “You must promise to take good care of it. This book is very old. It won’t withstand misuse.”

  He held it against his chest, unwilling to part with it until I promised.

  “Marcelo, I promise that I’ll be very careful with the book. I’ve read old books in my father’s library. I know how to handle them.”

  “This book isn’t like most other old books. It’s special to me for many reasons. I wish I didn’t have to let you look at it, but I’m convinced it’s the best one for you to start with.”

  He still hadn’t handed over the book.

  I looked him straight in the eyes and said, “No harm will come to the book while in my care.”

  I hoped I was right. I couldn’t be sure the book wouldn’t spontaneously combust in my grip after my experiences with fire since my arrival at the lake house.

  He handed over the book with a reluctant sigh. It was big and heavy, and I immediately liked how it felt in my hands. It had a particular smell to it: a combination of old paper and dust, which I expected, but there was also something else. I couldn’t tell what it was, but it smelled spicy, almost like cloves, like when Martha made spice bread for the holidays and the
scent of cloves, nutmeg, and ginger filled the kitchen for days.

  “The Magyke of the Elementes.” The title scrolled across the cover in gilded, ornate lettering. Swirls consumed the front of the book. “This looks amazing, Marcelo. Thank you.”

  His anxiety didn’t abate with my appreciation. “You can’t let Maggie get too close to the book. She can’t touch it or look at it.”

  “All right.” I had no idea what I would say to her when she asked about the book, because she would ask, but I knew better than to look to Marcelo for suggestions.

  “I’ll retrieve the book from you every evening before you sleep, and I’ll keep it in my rooms so that it’s safe. When your study of this book is complete, I’ll bring you another one.”

  “Is there anything in particular I should focus on?”

  “Yes. You need only read the sections about the element of fire, since that’s where our concern with you lies. You can skip the rest.”

  I nodded and balanced the book on my lap. I didn’t even notice Marcelo leave as I opened my first book of magic.

  You Are Who You Become

  I read for the rest of the afternoon and then by candlelight into the evening. Maggie checked on me often, always trying to peek at the contents of the book while doing so, but I managed to keep the secret.

  When Maggie asked what I was reading, I still hadn’t thought of what to tell her, so I opted for the truth—sort of. I told her it was Marcelo’s book, which he’d given me to read so I wouldn’t be bored anymore, and that he’d told me that no one else could look at it or touch it.

  When Maggie raised her eyebrows at that, I just shrugged in a you-know-how-strange-Marcelo-can-be kind of fashion. She didn’t much like that, but she accepted it. She took care of the tasks that had been piling up while she tended to me, and I read happily, grateful finally to have a serious distraction from my body’s recovery.

  The book had to be centuries old, and I poured over its every detail. I ignored Marcelo’s instruction to limit myself to the chapters that discussed fire. I couldn’t help myself. My brain raced ahead of me, attempting to take it all in at once, thirsting for any new knowledge. It wouldn’t let me skip a word.

  Everything about the book ignited my curiosity, particularly the dedication scrawled in a messy hand at the front. It said: