Born of Magic (Heiress of Magic Trilogy Book 1)

by H. D. Gordon

  “The Warlock said, ‘Hate is what binds us. It is what traps us in place and refuses to let us move forward. It’s the driving power of dark Magic and troubled minds and bad deeds.’”

  Surah listened with growing horror. “And what sets us free?” she asked, though some part of her already knew the answer.

  “Love,” Charlie said in a near whisper. “Love sets us free.”

  Surah pulled her gaze away from him so she could think for a moment, staring down at her hurting hands. When she looked up again, there was hope in her violet eyes.

  “Did you get a chance to ask him if he’d ever performed this spell before? What words he used if he did?”

  Charlie nodded. “Yes and yes. He said he performed it once, and he used a nursery rhyme.”

  “A what?”

  “A nursery rhyme. You know, like the ones that mothers—”

  “I know what a nursery rhyme is.”

  “Okay.”

  A string of expletives ran through Surah’s head. Her mind was trying to fly a mile a minute and instead was stuck at a stop. A spell that came with no definite language. She concentrated, running back over every bit of her training she could remember. She had learned something about such magic, she was sure of it. She just had to find the memory in a whole ocean of memories.

  She looked at him again, this handsome, mysterious man who she still didn’t know if she could trust. She seemed to be changing her mind about him around every corner.

  Right now, he seemed like the only hope she had. Some of her memories came back at this thought, and a small smile found her face.

  “So is that it then?” she asked. “That’s what he told you was the driving force of the spell? If there is no definite language, then the words used must have a specific meaning, right?”

  Charlie nodded slowly, rubbing his hand over his jaw. He looked the princess in the eyes, his glittering like jewels in the dark closeness of the cave.

  “That’s right,” he told her. “The Warlock said the words must speak the language of love.”

  Chapter 27

  Surah

  Surah’s eyebrows shot up.

  Love.

  Of course. Now she remembered. It all came back to her in a rush. Bassil had taught her this after the war in which she’d lost her mother and her sister. She had been in a bad place, angry at the world and filled with grief and hate. She remembered what he’d said to her now, word for word.

  “No matter the horrors you see in the world, be careful not to allow yourself to be full of hate, princess. Hate is a heavy thing. It weighs us down, chaining us in a dark place… You focus instead on your love. If you want to be free of this heavy darkness you feel, focus on love. Love is the skeleton key to the chains which hate can wrap around you. To love is to be free.”

  She was pretty sure she’d rolled her eyes when he’d told her this. But she wasn’t rolling her eyes now. She was thinking. Thinking very hard.

  When Bassil had performed this spell he’d used a nursery rhyme, like the ones mothers sing to their children. What did she know of Bassil’s mother? Not much, except that he’d lost her when he’d been very young. He rarely spoke of his mother, or about anything in his past, actually, but Surah was sure there had been hints about it in all the years that she’d known the Warlock. He was her instructor, after all, and the best she’d ever had. To teach that well, one taught with heart and soul, with experience and learned lessons. Now she just had to prove a worthy student and put the pieces together.

  And she needed to do it quickly.

  Bassil loved his mother, she knew that, but Surah thought that he hadn’t known his mother very well, because she had died when he’d been so young. She knew he probably wished he’d had a chance to know her, bet he wondered how his life would have been different had she lived on. This was all speculation of course, but it was based on an overall impression she had of the Warlock, and at least it was a start.

  So he’d used a nursery rhyme to perform a spell that could break the chains of Dark magic. Could the nursery rhyme be one of the only memories Bassil had of his mother? She couldn’t be sure, but she thought this was right. Her gut said it was right, because words that meant so much to someone could create powerful magic indeed.

  Charlie was silent as she worked through all this, and now she wasn’t sure who would be a better choice to perform the spell. She was trying hard to think of something her mother used to say to her, but other than simple I love yous, most of the things she remembered her mother telling her were about how to be a proper princess.

  She thought of her sister, but it had been so long since she’d lost Syra that the memories were a distant thing, something she’d probably blocked out long ago so she could get on with her life, and now it pained her to think that she’d done so.

  Her brother and father were not men who often spoke words of love, they more so showed their care through their actions. She couldn’t think of a nursery rhyme, or a lullaby, or even a simple sentence that meant so much to her.

  It was such a heavy, defeating thought.

  “What’re we going to do, princess?” Charlie asked.

  Surah bit her lip, her eyebrows furrowed with worry. “I don’t know, Mr. Redmine,” she said. “I seem to be drawing a blank.”

  “You must know something, some memory that, I don’t know, can fuel this thing.”

  She stared at him a moment, at the strong line of his jaw. She shook her head slowly. “If I do, it won’t come to me right now. I have to think. I don’t suppose you have anything that can do it?”

  Charlie was silent for a long time, his emerald eyes going deep in thought.

  “You do?” she asked, her heart leaping with hope.

  His shoulders lifted once in a small shrug. “I have to think.”

  “We don’t have much time.”

  “I know.”

  Surah sighed and swallowed, wishing she could run her arm across her damp forehead.

  “All right,” she said. “We may as well get started, because Gods know how long this is going to take. Pour the powder on my wrists and then place your hands on mine. We’ll both just have to concentrate. Say whatever words come to you that you associate with love. I’ll do the same.” She glanced at the softening daylight beyond the waterfall. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  He did as she asked, popping the cork out of the vial and sprinkling the silver substance over her wrists, where it caught and hung in the black smoke that was holding her in place, like stars dusted over a dark sky.

  His large, warm hand closed over her numb fingers, which had gone from pulsing heat to terribly cold. His touch soothed her some, even through her thick gloves, and she found herself catching her breath.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “Sure.”

  She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. After a moment, he did the same.

  They tried. And tried and tried. He said things that his mother used to say to him, and she did the same, but they had no effect.

  Surah reached back in her mind and recalled the brunches she used to have with Syra and her mother, of the times they’d shared tea and secrets. She thought of Samson, of how he would always call her “love” or “honey” or “sweetheart” when they were alone, of how he would lick her wounds when she was injured.

  But nothing worked. The chains remained as immovable as ever. She wouldn’t have thought such a task would be so hard, but then she supposed that it really would be for most anyone. Who, when faced with this situation, with the clock practically ticking between their ears, could think of words that meant so much to them that they could set them free? It was a lot harder than one would think.

  Twenty minutes passed. They were both sweating heavily now.

  Thirty minutes. Surah was starting to get a headache behind her closed eyes. Charlie’s hands were growing moist.

  Forty minutes, and at last, Surah opened her eyes, releasing a heavy breath.

  “I
t’s useless,” she said, and didn’t even care that her voice sounded uncharacteristically small.

  Charlie’s eyes opened and he looked at her. She was looking down at her hands, her face blank of any expression at all. He reached a hand up and placed it under her chin, gently tilting her face up to look at him. She offered no protest.

  “No,” he said. “It’s not. We have to keep trying. It’ll work. It has to.”

  She shook her head, fighting back more tears. “No, it doesn’t.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  She cleared her throat. “Why?”

  “It just does.”

  Surah looked down at her hands again, to afraid to believe him. Charlie sighed and looked around, his eyes falling on his old wooden guitar, where it rested against the wall. Black Heart had left it there as a joke, commenting that it was so that Charlie didn’t get bored on prisoner duty.

  He got up to retrieve the instrument and settled back down in front of her, the guitar across his lap.

  She watched him as his fingers settled over the strings, his hands moving the guitar into position. “You have an idea?” she asked.

  He nodded, swallowed. “Yep.”

  “A song?” she asked, and smiled, hope flooding back into her. “You know a song that speaks about love? What song is it?”

  “You’ve never heard it before.”

  “I know a lot of songs.”

  “Not this one.”

  “How do you know?”

  He hesitated, and when his eyes met hers, she saw something there that she couldn’t quite pin down.

  “Because,” he said, “I wrote it and I’ve never played it for anyone before.”

  Her smile grew. This might actually work. “What’s it called?”

  Again, he hesitated. “It doesn’t have a name,” he said.

  For some reason, Surah thought this was a lie.

  Surah waited silently. Charlie pulled his eyes away, looking down at the instrument in his lap.

  “Just play it,” she said gently. “It’s worth a shot.”

  Charlie nodded, still staring at the strings. He took a deep breath and began to play. His fingers began to strum the strings slowly, releasing a gentle melody. Then they moved a little faster, not much, but a little, the chords taking on a soft rhythm that made goose bumps pop up along her arms. Before he even began to sing the words, Surah could tell this was a love song. Just the soft, sweet notes said it was.

  Then Charlie began to sing, his deep voice a perfect pitch that accompanied the melody. More goose bumps worked their way across her neck, and she found herself watching his lips move as he sang the words. She listened. She had a feeling that when Charlie Redmine picked up his guitar and played a song, anyone within hearing distance stopped and listened. But it was just the two of them in the small, slowly darkening cave. Just them and the music and his deep, country voice. A humble, beautiful drawl.

  The words were simple, lovely.

  “In a world full of darkness

  And a dream where it’s cold

  Amongst the shadowed stardust

  There’s a princess I’m told

  She is not like the others

  She is good and she is sweet

  Where there is fault she offers mercy

  Where others bind, she sets free…”

  The world seemed to have fallen away. Surah could no longer feel the pain in her wrists, the ache in her back. She could no longer hear the clock ticking between her ears. All she could hear was Charlie. His deep voice and sweet song and the beating of her heart. He continued to play, filling up the cave with the soft music, filling up the world with it.

  “In a world full of darkness

  And a dream where it’s cold

  Amongst the shadowed stardust

  There’s a princess I’m told”

  The tempo picked up again here, his fingers strumming the strings with rapid movements, dancing over them. Surah felt her own pulse quicken, her throat go tight, a knot forming in the pit of her stomach.

  The music slowed again, coming to an end, and Charlie’s voice was so quiet as he sang the final words that she had to strain to hear. She didn’t realize it, but she was leaning forward.

  “Sleep well, princess

  Rest your lovely head

  Wherever you are in the world

  I wish I was instead”

  Surah’s hammering heart stopped. Her breath halted in her throat. Charlie’s fingers stroked the strings slowly, then settled. The last chord hung in the air for a bit, as if she could reach out her hand and touch it, and then silence fell around them.

  She stared at Charlie and was surprised to find that he was not looking up at her. His eyes were downcast, an opposite to his usual direct stare, and she wondered if his cheeks were slightly red under his dark facial hair. There was no way to know.

  No way to know, but she did, didn’t she? She could feel it. She could hear it whispered on the notes that had faded away and yet seemed to still be lingering in her ears. She could see it on his face, in the emerald of his eyes that would no longer meet her own.

  Perhaps it was presumptuous of her, perhaps she was completely off the mark, but she didn’t think so. She thought the song just might belong to her, despite the fact that she had no real reason to believe this. Just a feeling.

  She wanted to ask him, but found she didn’t have the nerve. How arrogant would that sound? She couldn’t just say, hey, you wrote that for me, didn’t you? No, she couldn’t say that. She wouldn’t say that. She opened her mouth to say it.

  For whatever reason, she had to know.

  But she didn’t get the chance, because in front of her, Charlie’s eyes widened, and she followed his gaze to see what had made them do so. While listening to his song she had completely forgotten about the restraints around her wrists. She had forgotten about everything, the whole situation, and now that the music had stopped, it all came back with crushing clarity.

  She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

  The black smoke holding her in place was loosening. The relief was instant, though pain still coursed through her fingers. She watched as the black magic receded and folded into itself, then disappeared altogether.

  She wiggled her fingers. It took more effort than it should have. There were angry, red rings around her wrists, like bloody bracelets. She could feel the blood slowly beginning to course back through her fingers, and it felt wonderful and awful at the same time.

  She was free.

  Without thinking, she threw her arms around Charlie’s neck and pulled him into a tight hug, breathing in the fresh scent of him, absorbing his heat.

  Slowly, his strong arms came up and held her even tighter, their bodies pressed close together, his chest warm and solid against hers.

  “Thank you,” she whispered against his neck, thinking she should pull away. Lingering.

  He was silent for a moment. Then, he said, “You’re welcome.”

  “Well, isn’t this just precious?” said a voice beside them.

  Charlie and Surah broke apart instantly, hearts leaping in their chests, eyes going wide like children who had just been caught doing something naughty.

  They saw him at the same time, saw the Black Stone weighing heavily around his neck and the murderous glint in his emerald eyes.

  Black Heart had returned.

  The heels of his boots clicked as he stepped forward, his dark cloak rippling like something alive as he moved. His pale hands came up and slipped the hood back from his head, revealing his dark, slicked-back hair. He was smiling, but there was only malice behind it, making it an oddly terrifying expression. The antithesis of a smile.

  Black Heart clucked his tongue, cold eyes flicking back and forth between Charlie and Surah, who were now on their feet, postures stiff. His eyes settled on Charlie and he shook his head.

  “I’m disappointed in you, Charlie Boy,” he said. “Extremely disappointed.”

  Chapter 28
r />   Surah

  Silence hung between them for what seemed to Surah to be an incredibly long moment. It was as though time itself had paused, as if everything in the universe hung suspended in space.

  Waiting.

  Then, Charlie said, “I guess that makes two of us, brother.”

  Surah’s head jerked toward Charlie, her mind momentarily unable to process coherent thoughts. Charlie Redmine was staring levelly at his brother.

  Black Heart shook his head again, his hand coming up and rubbing his jaw. Surah realized this must be a habit for both men, except it was somehow attractive when Charlie did it.

  “What am I supposed to do with you now, Charlie Boy? You haven’t left me many choices.”

  Charlie’s voice answered smooth and calm. “There are plenty of choices.”

  Surah stood perfectly still, saying nothing. Black Heart looked at her, and she tilted her chin up and held his gaze. He laughed.

  “Still so proud, are we?” he asked, taking a step toward her.

  Surah held her ground, but to her surprise, Charlie moved between her and his brother. His voice sounded more serious than she’d ever heard it when he spoke.

  “Leave her alone, Michael,” he said.

  The anger that flashed behind Black Heart’s eyes was so intense that Surah thought she could feel it burning his skin, but she didn’t step back. Charlie still stood in between them.

  Black Heart’s eyes fixed on Surah over Charlie’s shoulder. His lips were tight when he spoke. “Move aside, little brother.”

  Charlie folded his arms over his chest. “No.”

  Black Heart’s eyes flicked back to him. “Fine, have it your way.”

  His hand whipped to the side, and Charlie was lifted from his feet and slammed into the rock wall of the cavern, as if one of the Gods had reached down and slapped him aside. Black Heart’s hand was raised, holding Charlie in place without even touching him.

  Surah was already in motion.