Chapter 32
The Mother’s Threads
“So, you believe that when I go to conjure elemental magic, I try to create it as if I’m willing my arcane magic to create the element from scratch?” I asked after Artton took the time to explain what he’d felt in the visions when I tried to conjure magic—as a human and fae.
“That’s correct.”
“And I don’t have to do that because the Mother has already done it for me?” I asked, brows creased.
“In a matter of speaking, yes. When the Celestial Court formed with Lumnara, only arcane magic was used. But as the magic began to form our planet, the Mother was also born, and so were her powers—even more so when the seasonal courts were formed. You see, arcane magic stays in its raw form until it’s transformed through unfathomable power into core elements, but once those elements are formed, there’s no need to recreate them. ”
“Fascinating,” I mused, my world view shifting slightly. “I guess I always saw the elements as seasonal, not in their raw form. Like, obviously it’s drier in summer, so the Summer Court doesn’t have access to water. No rain, no water.”
Artton smiled at that. “It’s actually a very common misconception, and wildly misunderstood.
The courts are prideful and would have you believing the validity of your thought process, but we can never forget that at one point we all had access to the four elements.
The Spring Court actually holds to the truth more than any other.
They believe it’s sacrilegious to give credit to the courts and not the Mother—no other court honors her with as much reverence.
It was the depth of their elemental knowledge that made me choose the Spring Court for boarding school instead of staying closer to home. ”
This was honestly one of the coolest things I’d learned about the courts to-date. Not only because I was finally beginning to understand how magic truly worked, but because it painted such a rich tapestry of who the fae were.
“Were you interested in studying elemental magic because you can wield all four?”
“Originally, no. Fire didn’t manifest for me until after I’d graduated and began training to become a commander. Unsurprisingly, I just took to magic so well that I craved a depth of knowledge that I knew I’d only get in the Spring Court,” he said.
“I still don’t understand why that knowledge was so important to you. How it helps.”
His weight shifted from one side to the other. The movement was almost imperceptible, but I had the feeling I’d learn it as one of his tells—like how Kaelun grabbed at the base of his neck, or Caius steepled his fingers.
“One of my first memories was a reoccurring dream about becoming a great general. It was all I ever thought of—drove my parents mad.” He let out an almost self-deprecating laugh at the distant memory. “The thing is, Spark, I wanted to be the strongest commander in every way, including magically.”
Confused as to how studying in the Spring Court could offer him that, I said, “There’s no way the Spring Court teaches fae how to be more powerful, is there?”
“No, there isn’t. But as cliché as it sounds, knowledge is power—just depends on how you want to use it.”
“Okay…” I said, eyeing him.
“Follow me here, because I think it’s very important that you understand this concept as well as I do. That will take time, of course, but I’ll break it down in its simplest terms to start, okay?”
I nodded slowly, still not convinced.
“You can conjure sparks, yes?”
I nodded.
“Show me.”
Raising an arm comfortably between us, I snapped my fingers, and a litany of white embers appeared, lazily floating in the air above my hand.
“Good,” he said. “Now, I want you to make them disappear and do it again, but this time, pay attention to how fast your command manifests.”
Nodding, I dismissed the embers and snapped my fingers again, this time paying attention as requested.
“You can dismiss your magic.” I did as he asked before he continued. “Now, watch very carefully for the speed at which the fire I’m about to conjure manifests.”
I leaned in a little closer, focusing intently just above his hand where I knew the flame would appear. Artton flicked his wrist so his palm was facing up, and my heart began to race.
Eyes darting to his, I said, “There’s a… delay. It was only by a heartbeat, maybe two. But it’s not instantaneous like mine.”
He smiled down at me, the fire now gone. “Yes. And that knowledge is everything.”
“Wait. What?”
“Who created the embers just now?” he asked.
“Umm… I did,” I said, the statement more of a question.
“Correct. And who created the flame?”
Brows pulling together, I said, “You.”
He shook his head. “No. I conjured the fire. You created the embers. That’s the difference.
You’re the embodiment of arcane magic, which is raw power and the source of all things, which means you can create.
This is why you are so rare, Nyleeria. Fae do not create; we conjure by pulling forth what already exists, which is why we are at the mercy of the Mother for our powers.
Believing that we create the four elements is the greatest fallacy of our kind.
That ignorance is what led the seasonal courts to lose access to their arcane magic and ultimately wage war against the Celestial Court.
And it’s why you—the spark—were protected from those that believed they deserved the power to create. ”
My brain absorbed the deluge of information like the moss soaks in the rain, and for the first time in a long time, answers outpaced questions, not that it meant I didn’t have any, because I had a lot.
Focusing on the piece that now made the most sense, I said, “That’s why I can create sparks, but not fire like you. ”
He nodded. “It’s also why you got so sick the first time you used it as a human, because you technically created the wind instead of conjuring it, throwing nature out of balance—with you paying the price.”
“All right,” I said, energized by this new understanding, “so, to conjure water, I what… essentially ask the river over there to valen itself over here?”
Artton chuckled and rubbed his hand across the faint bristle of facial hair. “Actually, I’d never, ever, explain it that way, but… yes. It’s almost exactly like that.”
“But what about fire? It’s not like there’s fire around for you to ask to join the party,” I questioned, turning to look in each direction for something I’d missed.
“You’re right, there isn’t. Now here’s where it gets interesting, and why my education was paramount.
There’s a placard above the main atrium of the boarding school that’s written in an ancient dialect, which roughly translates to: Nothing stirs—no beast, no root, no soul, no magic—without the four that bind us all.
At the heart of it, it means there’s nothing that exists on Lumnara that doesn’t possess all four elements. ”
Crossing my arms, I cocked a brow. “Artton, correct me if I’m wrong, but are you really trying to convince me that there’s fire in water—or in a rock, for that matter—because I highly doubt that’s true.”
“Ah, now this is where it gets fun,” he said, his contained excitement giving him an almost youthful look about him, and I had to admit, it was contagious. “Tell me, how do you create fire?”
“Small pieces of dry wood. Paper, if I’m lucky. And a flint,” I said without hesitation.
“And do you just throw the small pieces of wood in a pile?”
“Of course not.”
“Why?” he challenged.
“Because it—” I paused, starting to understand what he was trying to explain. “Because it needs oxygen.”
“Exactly. Now, we’ve established that fire needs the following elements to exist; earth in the form of wood, fire in the form of heat from a flint, and air in the form of oxygen.
Now, what you probably don’t know is that oxygen is formed by two components.
Carbon, which is derived from earth, and the base structure of water—which means fire would not exist if any one of the elements were missing, water included. ”
“Whoa. That’s actually really cool.”
“Agreed.”
Taking a moment, I looked around us through this new lens, cataloging everything into the four elemental categories.
Water, air, and earth were plentiful… but fire was still the more difficult one to understand.
Reaching down, I picked up a rock, its sun-kissed warmth evident.
Eyes widening, my focus quickly darted about, scanning for anything that held onto heat; then, by the river, I saw large slabs of onyx, which I knew would be hot to the touch, even with the clouds floating overhead.
“The heat from the rocks,” I said. “That’s your flint.”
He beamed like a proud teacher. “Exactly.”
“Which means,” I began thinking aloud, “in theory, conjuring elemental magic is no different than a human making a fire or digging deep enough for water. Except, as fae, we… what… ask the essence of these things to coalesce?”
“Without getting into the technicalities, yes, that’s exactly what we do.” Artton took a half-step to the side and stretched his arm out to indicate the small river. “Want to try?”
I looked to the river then him, then down to the bandolier, but before I could say what I was thinking, he said, “We’ve got to learn to walk first.”
He was right, of course. Step one: learn to conjure an element.
Walking toward the river about twenty or so paces away, I asked, “Is it hard?”
In step with me, he shook his head. “I doubt it. You just have to make sure you ground to the Mother, which we both know you’ve done before. It won’t be as intense as when she transformed you, but it will still have the same feeling. Just make sure the magic you feel in your chest isn’t involved.”
“Why not?” I asked, glancing over at him.
“Let’s just say the two don’t play well together.”
“Well, that’s not ominous or anything.”
The commander chuckled. “Pretty sure the fallout is the least of your worries, Spark.”
I rolled my eyes. We both knew he was right, but still.
We stopped about a pace away from the river. Not turning to face Artton, I said, “Now what?”
“Now,” he said, voice low as he leaned in a little closer, “you trust your fae instincts and conjure water.”
I cut him a look. “Easier said than done.”
“Enough of that,” he said sternly. “You’re fae now. Stop thinking like a human and conjure some damn water already.”
Huffing, I held his glare for a second, then turned my focus to the flowing water.
Steadying my nerves, I closed my eyes and reached for the Mother, but through my senses as opposed to touch.
Like breathing, it was something I’d unwittingly done my entire life, but ever since she’d transformed me, sensed her more powerfully than ever before.
Resisting the urge to kick off my boots and feel her beneath the souls.
I quieted my heart and searched for the omnipresent essence that existed in everything.
She was in the air I breathed. The buzzing of the bees.
The scent of the blooming valley. As I allowed myself to get lost in it, let myself sink into her vibration, I could feel the different elements like one can sense the weather changing or hear a river running.
“I can feel it,” I whispered.
“Good. Now open your eyes.”
I did, and like that night in the forest with Luca, I could see the Mother’s magical signature, though this time it was made up of micro specks, connected by threads so thin a spider would have a hard time balancing on them.
They were colored, but not in any obvious way, like blue for water.
No, they were more prismatic in nature, nearly invisible. Kind of like the bridge.
“Artton,” I breathed, the sight so beautiful I’d challenge anyone who didn’t believe witnessing it was life-altering in a way.
“I know,” he whispered back.
Not wanting to lose my concentration, I asked in a low voice, “Now what?”
“Now,” he began, “once you think of the element you want to conjure, the strongest threads will shimmer while the others will dull until they fade away. You don’t have to wait for this to happen if you’re in the heat of a battle, but while you’re learning, it’s good to learn the differences.
Then, in your mind, pluck the one you want.
When you do this, you can either snap your fingers like you do for the embers or turn your wrist up like I did. ”
Nodding, I followed his instructions and was surprised at how fast the threads shifted, three of them now prominent. Then I plucked the closest one with my mind while snapping my fingers.
A surge of power rushed over my skin as if I’d jumped into a cool lake, and then, as if the midnight sky’s worth of stars were summoned by my will, tiny water particles coalesced above my hand in a perfect sphere.
“I did it,” I screamed, throwing my hands up in celebration, which made the ball of water fall to the ground. Laughter ripped through me as adrenaline pounded through my body. Pumping the air with my fists, I jumped up and down, giggling with delight, relief, and a levity I’d forgotten existed.
Artton looked at me like I was crazy, then softened into it, and I knew he felt my joy too.
Finally coming down from the high, I craned my neck to look Artton in the eyes. Holding his gaze for a moment, my eyes watered. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
His throat bobbed. “I hadn’t realized how important this was to you,” he said.
Wiping away the lone tear that slipped out, I said, “Being incapable of wielding my powers as the spark has weighed heavier on me than almost anything else. For so long, I believed there was something wrong with me. Like I’m defective. Like…”
Taking a step closer, he said, “Like you don’t deserve to be the spark.”
Another tear slid down as I nodded. “Yeah.”
We stood there in silence, the sounds of the valley falling over us.
“Commander, Lady Nyleeria,” a stranger’s voice called out from the distance. In an instant, Artton let go of the vision, and sand took place of the soft ground.
“What is it?” Artton demanded of the messenger, who had a warrior look about him, and I couldn’t help but sense something was off.
“It’s Tarrin. He’s awake.”