The Waking Magic (Winter's Blight Book 3)

by M. C. Aquila

  “It wasn’t funny; it was an accident. A bad one. So how do I control it?”

  “’Tis simple: contact your primary magic. That will help you balance things.”

  “Primary magic?” Deirdre tilted her head. “What’s that?”

  Alvey scoffed. “We spoke about this before!”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Aye, we have! Back in the caves.”

  Deirdre quickly scanned her memory. “Well, I don’t remember, so tell me, please?”

  After letting out a long-suffering sigh, drawing her hand across her brow, Alvey replied, “Very well. You need to find your primary magic; each faery has one kind that he is closest to. ’Tis what you are born with, and it does not change, no matter what may happen.”

  Deirdre scooted to the edge of her chair, leaning forward. “So what’s my primary type?”

  “I do not know! I know some that you are not, mainly Wind, Water, and Earth. Those types are so… exceptionally talkative with faeries who are their primaries, you would know by now.”

  Deirdre’s face fell. “If I have a primary, shouldn’t I have the most of it in me or something? So you could sense it?”

  The blond girl groaned, head lolling back. “That’s not how it works! I cannot tell what your primary is. You have to figure it out!”

  Deirdre sat back in her chair, staring at the rain. “But… but where do I start? I mean, what types of magic are there even? How many?”

  “There are not many. They correspond with the natural forces of the world: energy, space, and time.”

  “So there are only three kinds of magic?”

  Alvey turned red in the face and wrung the air with her hands like it were someone’s neck. But eventually she lowered her hands, letting out a long breath like the hiss of a kettle.

  Deirdre fought back a giggle at the barely contained tantrum.

  Finally composing herself, Alvey said in an overly patient voice, “You can categorize the types of magic based on those three forces. Energy is life, and its magic abounds in the visible and heat—Fire, Light, Flora, and Earth. On the other hand, space is all that lies between or supports life, and its magic abounds in the cold and hidden—Water, Wind, and Shadow.”

  Her smile widened painfully, becoming a grimace. “Do you understand what I am saying to you thus far?”

  “I think so.” Deirdre sat up straighter. “So Flora means like plants and trees, right?”

  “Aye.”

  “So, what about time? I remember you talking about Time Magic…”

  Alvey shook her head. “You do not have to concern yourself with it. ’Tis the only magic corresponding to the force of time, and no faery can truly harness it, like they can other magic… save for the one called Father Time. I have never met him.”

  Deirdre’s mouth fell open. “There’s actually a Father Time?”

  “I said there is a faery called that, did I not? Who knows where he is.” Suddenly the younger girl sat up straight, sniffing the air a couple of times. “Are those nasty cows back from the other caravan?”

  Deirdre was about to ask her what she meant, when she heard more voices from inside the caravan; a couple of the teenage girls in the family had returned from visiting. “Alvey! Don’t call girls or anyone cows! It’s really—”

  “’Tis not rude if they are trying to… how do you humans put it? Get fresh with Iain. I heard them giggling about him earlier.” Sniffing loudly, she grabbed her wheels and began to roll inside. “They had best take care to leave him alone. I think I stole—I mean, borrowed—some curses.”

  Deirdre was about to go in after her but then turned away, shaking her head. Iain can handle it. After all, she kind of listens to him since she likes him. Much more than she listens to me…

  Sighing, she looked out at the rain, letting her guard down and reaching out for the Water Magic out there. It spoke mostly of rainfall in rolling whispers and patterns of drops, both here and elsewhere in the night.

  But again…

  Something between the drops was there, waiting for her to notice it. Frowning, she sat up straighter, reaching out to it. Beyond the humidity and water, there was a deeper pull that stirred memories of other rainy nights.

  Other rainy nights…

  Deirdre held out a hand, as if waiting for someone to take it. Lowering her eyelids, she listened. The strange magic’s whispers spoke of ancient, wet evenings, and the space seemed to grow between the raindrops in the present. The space was cold and dark.

  Standing up, Deirdre walked to the edge of the makeshift patio. Rain fell, but she was also hyperaware of the shadows blocking the lights of the caravan behind her.

  A small gasp escaping, she realized It’s the night. The spaces between the rain is the night. Is that what I’m hearing? Is this Shadow Magic?

  She had always believed she was never afraid of the dark because she was brave. But now she wondered if it was because some part of her knew there was magic in the darkness.

  But there’s still the unknown. She looked out at the night, hesitating at the edge. Alvey said that space magic, or whatever, is about the cold and the hidden. But what does that even mean? She stood up straighter, squaring her shoulders. I’ll just have to find out.

  So she stepped out into the rain and darkness. Asking the magic questions was not necessary, as thoughts, feelings, and words flowed much more easily than ever before as she walked in the night.

  I guess I must be getting used to this! She grinned, then shut her eyes. It’s so full of memory. What memories?

  The magic sighed quieter than the rain, soft like a distant whisper. They were born in the night. The stars came, and they grew in the void. They were born and lived and aged. But now they are gone.

  Deirdre’s eyelashes fluttered. “Which stars?”

  The darkness showed her something deeper than water or the ground—reaching back before the foundations of Earth were laid and before the sun was born. The magic raced to the edges of all existence, remembering stars that were born, bursting with light, like merry children. Then they grew and changed, but then they turned giant and aged, passing like old men.

  And they were gone.

  Deirdre felt the sorrow of change, sharp and aching in her heart, a lump in her throat—like a family home abandoned. Wiping her eyes, she reached out again, asking for the shadows to show her something in the present.

  The magic led her through the rain to places no eyes had seen—passages into the sky through thin clouds and pathways leading down into the living, breathing core of the planet.

  In the darkness, everything was connected with the shadows, even things that were decaying—often the magic was especially strong there.

  At one point, Deirdre could not say what hour, the clouds briefly cleared and the moon came out. It dimmed the shadows, but the magic was not gone. Deirdre stood staring up at the moon’s white face as the magic whispered of the living bond it made between the moon and the earth.

  She sat down heavily on a stump as the moon disappeared, her mind and senses overcome by all she was seeing and hearing.

  I can’t feel the dark, but it is there. I can’t touch this magic, but it is there.

  How long she sat there in the dark, eyes closed, listening, she did not know, but eventually the rain faltered. Finally opening her eyes, she was in the forest, the sky above illuminated with the first rosy blush of dawn.

  Her mouth fell open, and she shot up to her feet, looking around wildly, wondering how far she’d gone from the caravan. She had left footprints in the mud, and she followed them back.

  I was out all night… She tilted her head, then smiled. But I don’t feel tired. She stretched with a happy sigh. I haven’t felt this good, this rested in… I don’t know how long!

  Skipping back to the caravan, her spirits lifting higher and higher, she found it was quiet outside. A few of the other caravans parked nearby were busy with their occupants stepping out and making coffee on fires or even
finishing breakfast and preparing to drive onward.

  The only person outside of theirs, under the awning, was Alvey. Her chair was reclined back, and she was curled under her shawl, sound asleep.

  “Alvey!” Deirdre skidded to a halt by Alvey’s chair, shaking the girl’s shoulder. “Alvey, I had the most amazing night!”

  Lowering the blanket, Alvey hissed. “Go. Away.”

  “Alvey, I still have no clue about primary magic or any of that, but I contacted a new type, Shadow Magic! And I—” She giggled, clapping her hands and bouncing up and down. “Oh, it was so easy! I just asked just one thing, and it was literally showing me the universe! It was too much! Ooh, Alvey, it was so exciting!”

  She shook Alvey’s chair until the girl swatted her hands hard, making Deirdre let go.

  “Wait one moment.” Alvey yawned, then straightened her chair. “Shadow Magic showed you all that? The very first you reached out for it!”

  “Yes!” Deirdre bounced on her heels. “Isn’t it incredible?”

  Alvey frowned. “Your primary may be Shadow Magic.”

  “Really?” She clapped her hands. “That would be brilliant! It’s so… like… it’s really cool!”

  The younger girl sniffed, suddenly shooting Deirdre a sour look, saying, “How wonderful for you. That must be why you roused me like a selfish child.”

  Deirdre scoffed at her. “Okay, Miss Grumpy! I just had to tell someone. Hey, are they awake yet?”

  “Aye. Do not tell them you are a faery, you fool.”

  The smile faded on Deirdre’s face a fraction. “Of course I won’t; that might be dangerous. What’s gotten you so upset?”

  “Never you mind.” Alvey suddenly reclined her chair again, pulling her shawl up over her face.

  The sound of voices and a teakettle whistling came from inside the caravan. After one last glance at Alvey, Deirdre shrugged and bounced over to the door, wiped off her muddy shoes, then went inside to help prepare tea and breakfast.

  Chapter Nine

  Iain stood under the awning of the caravan where they would be staying the night. It was still drizzling, and the air was damp and cold. There was a fire burning, but he was not near enough to feel its warmth. He kept his gaze fixed with hawklike focus on Cai and his mates as they sang old songs and drank across the road.

  Every time Iain had looked in on him, the stubborn man had ordered another round, even when it looked as if he was done for the evening and had set his glass down.

  Now Iain slid his hand in the collar of his shirt and brushed his fingers over the amulet’s smooth surface. For a moment his vision glazed, and as he focused on the soothing sound of the rain, the tension in his body lessened.

  When he heard squelching footsteps, he turned to see James trudging over from the fire where he had been sitting, his shoulders hunched. His little brother leaned against the caravan beside him, folded his arms, and scowled out at the rain.

  “All right, James?” Iain asked. “You want to talk about something?”

  “Um, no. I’m just, you know, standing around. Like you.” James gestured to him and asked, “What are you doing over here by yourself? People were asking about you.”

  “What people? I hadn’t noticed.”

  When James gave a cursory glance over at the fire, Iain followed suit. There were a few stragglers who had yet to head to bed, and Alvey was chatting with a couple of girls. He didn’t see Deirdre with them.

  “You didn’t notice those girls trying to talk to you? Seriously?” James shook his head and ground out, apparently doing his best impression of a grumpy bear with indigestion, “I bet you don’t even know that Alvey likes you as well.”

  It took a while for the words to compute in Iain’s brain. “You’re absolutely barking.” He gave his little brother a shove. “You’re trying to pull one over on me, yeah?”

  “She’s not a joke, you know!”

  “Wait—” Iain held up his hands. “She’s just a girl, like a sister or something. She can’t like me.”

  “Figures you’ve got girls chasing you and you don’t even notice.”

  “I don’t want anything chasing me—girls and Unseelie monsters alike,” Iain quipped lamely; James didn’t even smile. “I can’t focus on anything like that right now, yeah? It’s the furthest thing from my mind.”

  But girls are probably not the furthest thing from James’s mind at this point. He’s really growing up, isn’t he? He’s fourteen now, nearly fifteen. Soon he won’t be a kid anymore.

  For a few moments Iain was struck dumb by that realization. Then, after snapping out of it, he said, “Anyway, you don’t need a bunch of girls chasing you. You don’t need to chase them either. You only need one girl, and—”

  “Don’t! Just stop talking— Shut up!”

  Iain held up his hands in surrender but went on, “You shouldn’t even be thinking about dating and stuff, yeah?”

  “So if you’re not over here trying to be all, uh, aloof and cool, then what are you doing?”

  “I’ve been keeping an eye on Cai.”

  James swallowed hard. “Is he still drinking?”

  “Yeah.” Iain let out a sharp exhale. “It’s like he’s trying to prove something. I don’t know what.”

  “Uh, that he’s a jerk?” James’s tone was bitter. “Because he’s proved that already.”

  Thinking back to earlier that day when Cai had splashed gin in Deirdre’s face, Iain’s neck grew hot. “I know, James,” he said. “But this amulet—it must have shown me those visions of him for a reason, because he can do something about this war. Why else would I have found it?”

  James held out his hand expectantly. “Let me see the amulet.”

  Iain hesitated before obliging.

  “Hmm.” James squinted at the amulet, holding it up to his face and poked at it with one suspicious finger. He turned it over a few times. “It’s heavy. I thought it would have, um, energy, but it’s all normal feeling.”

  “Yeah?” Iain peered over his shoulder. “Isn’t it shimmering?”

  James ignored him, asking in a serious voice like he was a scientist, “So what exactly did you see in the visions?”

  “It showed me places the amulet had been before.”

  “Uh-huh. And what about Cai?”

  “Well…” Iain rubbed the back of his neck. “It showed me when King Arthur became King Arthur, and Cai was there. He kind of took credit for removing the sword from the stone.”

  James raised his eyebrows, and his voice dripped with sarcasm as he said, “You’re right, Iain. There’s so much more to Cai than him being a jerk!”

  Taking the amulet from him, Iain said, “I just think that the amulet found me so I could get Cai on our side. That’s all I know.”

  “Or maybe it was trying to warn you,” James suggested darkly, before walking to the caravan to sleep.

  That night, Iain couldn’t sleep. He was sharing a cot with his brother in one of the caravans because the sleeping arrangements were sparse. James was scrunched against the wall, his back to Iain, and was muttering and twitching in his sleep.

  The caravan was quiet and still, warm and dry; despite that, Iain was restless, used to taking the night shifts. And since his conversation with James earlier, he couldn’t get the amulet off his mind.

  Iain rolled over on his back, the thin sleeping cot squeaking under him. He took the amulet out of his shirt and squinted at it. In the darkness, it looked like it was shimmering again, like something might appear on the surface, but he figured it could be his eyes adjusting.

  Why did I pick you up, huh? And what was the point of showing me those visions? Maybe there wasn’t a reason; I just happened to be there.

  When something flashed across the silver surface, Iain bolted upright. There was a small patch of moonlight shining through the caravan window across the blanket on the cot, and he held the amulet there. He squinted, trying to make out shapes as they shifted across the metal to form a word.


  Trust.

  Who am I supposed to trust? He slouched, running a hand roughly over his face. Deirdre, James, and Alvey are all telling me to forget Cai. Maybe they’re right. It wouldn’t be the first time I was wrong about someone…

  He ran his fingers over the metal, closed his eyes, and whispered, “Show me who Cai is. Help me trust.”

  He was aware of his body slumping as his vision darkened like it had before.

  There were rolling green hills with gray rocks jutting out against a blue-gray sky. Cai looked on from the hill as young knights in training sparred with each other below; he pointed out each mistake cuttingly.

  Some of the younger men sneered that Cai had no right to oversee them when there were plenty of knights more decorated and honored than he; hadn’t his king passed him over for many quests?

  Cai leaped down from his perch and drew his sword; after shoving a squire out of the way, he showed the men the proper form by knocking each of them off their feet and parrying their blows. None could defeat him. The way he wielded a blade was powerful and effortless.

  That had always been his strength. But rumor had it he was too hotheaded for quests—too arrogant and stubborn. Words like that had followed Cai around, and he’d struck them down as he did his foes. But there was one voice whose words could pierce through his armor like an arrow: Arthur’s.

  Stone castle walls held so many secrets, talk of betrayal and doom. Alone, without any of the court present, the brothers were simply brothers again. There was no king and no steward. Just Arthur and Cai.

  “…I have not made this choice lightly, Cai…”

  Being passed over yet another quest, one that would occupy nearly all the other knights, felt like a hot knife twisted in his gut. “Answer this question honestly,” Cai demanded. “Have you denied me because you believe I am not fit for this quest?”

  Arthur grabbed the amulet at his chest. “Cai… I do not wish to deny you glory, but I have kept you from this quest for a greater purpose: to keep Camelot standing as my steward, as I travel and see the knights off. I will not be back for months.”