33. Chapter Thirty-Three Bahira
Chapter Thirty-Three: Bahira
M ore anxiety than usual has been simmering within me since our deal with the shifter king was made, so I engage in some target practice to hopefully help ease it. At this moment, he sails to our shores with the hope that one of our mages can help with whatever magic problem his kingdom has. A part of me wants to laugh at the irony, but really, I just hope he keeps his end of the bargain and helps our people escape, if it ever comes to that. Although I suppose with the blood deal, he won’t have a choice but to do it. His smug, arrogant face drifts into my mind right as I release the arrow pulled taught on my bow. It penetrates the wooden target one hundred and fifty feet away but just barely underneath the center circle I was aiming for.
“Shit,” I hiss, grabbing another arrow from the quiver on my back. I roll my shoulders back, exhaling sharply before nocking the new arrow. My muscles flex in preparation as I drag in a deep breath and draw the bowstring. I clear my mind of anything related to the infuriating island king and, instead, narrow my gaze on the target. There are a few seconds before I release the arrow where the world seems to still, the only sound and feeling that of my thumping heart. My mind is blissfully quiet, my anxiety non-existent. I pretend, as I let the arrow fly, that it carries the weight of my worries, of my self-imposed pressure. This time, when the arrow plunges into the exact center of the target, the corner of my mouth lifts in triumph. The wind blows tendrils of my curly hair across my face from the ponytail high atop my head as I let the last five arrows fly into the target. All of them hitting the center circle.
My mind wanders to my afternoon plans as I walk back to the palace after training. I had last worked with the magic-infused water from Councilman Hadrik, comparing it to a young mage named Alba. Alba’s magic brought some life to the dead pirang leaves, but once the magic was used up, the leaves returned to their decayed state. With Hadrik’s magic, they not only came back to life, but they also sprouted new life and continued to grow. I want to test and see how much stronger the reaction will be when the magic comes directly from the source and not from a dilution of magic in water. I want to chart how long the young mages’ magic will work to keep the leaves looking alive before it begins to wear off. Generally speaking, mage magic should ramp up with age, hitting a peak at twenty-two and then staying there until death. What was happening that the magic is now losing its potency over generations? Are there other connections between magic and time passing that I am missing?
My sandaled feet are quiet against the pitch black stone as I walk to my father’s office, a heavy sigh escaping my lips. Along the way, I reach one of my favorite tapestries in the palace. It hangs on the wall to my right, the large piece of art depicting the last of the Void Magic users, Queen Lucia Vasiris, in a council meeting. She sits at the head of the table—where my father now does—while the mages around her look on admiringly. The artist depicts her as literally glowing with her magic. She’s beautiful, and her smile is serene as she looks out onto her council. I ponder the sacrifice she made when the war grew too close. She was the most powerful magic user on the Continent, yet she sacrificed her life to separate the beings fighting when she could have just ended them herself. Or at least, that is what our history books conclude. Only the fae and sirens have long enough life-spans that some could still be alive today from when the Spell was cast.
“I thought we were meeting in my office,” my father says as he strolls forward from one of the long hallways in front of me. I hadn’t realized I had stopped walking to study the tapestry.
“Do you ever wonder what Queen Lucia was thinking about in her last moments? Before she cast the Spell?” My eyes flick to my father next to me.
He folds his arms over his chest as he ponders my question. “I remember as a boy reading about her in some old book,” he gestures towards the small palace library behind us as I snort. “They claim that she was not just a kind, gentle woman but also smart and incredibly empathetic. She understood the weight of the magic she carried, and I suppose that makes sense, considering Void Magic was inherited based on worthiness.” He looks back to me, his face soft as he takes me in. “I think she thought about the people and the kingdom she loved dearly. I bet she probably felt the impact of such a hard choice but saw no other way to right the wrongs that were happening.”
I nod my head, turning back to the tapestry and the petite woman who held so much magical ability. What factors went into figuring out if someone was worthy of that gift? And if there was some all-knowing being who could decide who was worthy, did that mean they could also choose who wasn’t? Is that why I didn’t have any magic? Not because it was being blocked, but because something, somewhere, established I wasn’t good enough?
A tightness clenches my chest and twists my stomach at the thought. Trying to change the trajectory of my thoughts, I ask, “Do you think our ancestors expected to be in power for this long? That it would be two-hundred years and still no blue flame to indicate the next true ruler of the Mage Kingdom?” I ask, trying to change the trajectory of my thoughts.
“No, I bet they assumed that the remaining mages from her line at the time would eventually produce an heir that would inherit the magic. In fact, your great-grandfather dedicated a room here,” he says, motioning down a hallway to our left, “for the moment he attended a ceremony that produced a blue flame.” I hadn’t realized we had such a space here. “Are you ready to go? I’m afraid I’m needed for more party planning for tomorrow’s celebration, so time is short.”
I steal one more glance at the tapestry before turning and walking with my father to my workshop.
Haylee and a young mage named Erick are already at my workshop when my father and I arrive. Joining them inside, I walk over to three glass bottles containing the dead pirang leaves and spread them out on the table.
“I need you to just feed your magic into the leaves for a minute straight.” I point to the glass bottles I want each one to stand in front of.
Going to the desk Haylee and I share, I open one of the drawers that holds the folders I use to organize my data. Inside the top folder, I grab a paper that lists the data from my last round of experiments. Grabbing a spelled pen, I walk around the table to stand on the opposite end. My body nearly trembles with anticipation as I tap the pen steadily against my chin.
“Go!” I shout, flipping over my tray of hourglasses to begin the countdown. They each point a finger to their respective bottle and begin infusing their magic directly into the plants. The bottle in front of my father glows a light purple, and instantly, the dead leaves begin to transform, health and life coming back to them. Haylee’s magic flares a bright yellow—similar to her hair—as the leaves in her bottle take a few seconds longer but also begin to turn green. Erick’s magic is red, and his slight hand shakes with the effort it takes to concentrate on sending it into the bottle. His leaves are the slowest to transform, cycling through many color gradients of brown before finally hinting at green.
“A few more seconds,” I say loudly, nervously pacing back and forth in front of the table as I watch the one minute hourglass timer near its end. When the last granule of sand falls, I hold my hand up to halt them. Their magic fades away from their fingertips, momentarily making the leaves glow. In my previous experiment, Alba’s magic had lasted for approximately five minutes before the leaves started to wilt again. Hadrik’s had given actual life to the leaves, and I expect my father’s to do even more as he is an even stronger mage. Haylee is like a control element—her generation between my father’s and Erick’s, so I expect her magic to react in the middle as well.
My attention is drawn to the two minute hourglass, my father giving my forehead a quick kiss before he ushers Erick out of the room to let me work. From the corner of my eye, I see Haylee move to the desk and sit down on the edge of her seat. My eyes move between the three glowing glass jars—watching as the row of hourglasses reaches the two minute mark. The leaves in my father’s bottle have sprouted roots, new buds forming and blossoming as it uses up the magic to sustain itself. Over and over, I watch as each dead leaf does the same thing. The bottle of Haylee’s magic moves slower, no new life sprouting—which is surprising to me—though the leaves turn a vibrant green one by one. But when my eyes fall back on Erick’s bottle, the light green leaves have already begun to revert back to their decayed state.
“What?” I whisper, walking over to his bottle to squat down in front of it.
I watch as each leaf that was green fades to dark brown in a matter of seconds. I look over to Haylee’s bottle, and without glancing at the hourglasses, I know that it can’t have reached the five minute mark yet. The plump bright green leaves start shriveling—more slowly than Erick’s leaves but decaying all the same.
“What the hell is happening?” I question under my breath, abject panic quickly replacing any excitement I had.
Haylee’s chair screeches as she pushes it back and stands. Her footsteps and my racing heart fill the otherwise-quiet room as she comes to stand next to me. She watches the final leaves in her bottle shrink back to brittle and lifeless pieces. Tension builds in the air as we both look at the remaining bottle with my father’s magic. It has already stopped sprouting new roots and buds. This was strong magic, the mage king’s magic. Only one other person in the kingdom has stronger magic than him, and that is Nox. And yet in this experiment, his magic has stopped working more quickly than Hadrik’s had. My hypothesis was that having the magic come directly from the source might result in it feeding the plants longer. But in all three instances, the magic fails more quickly than in my last experiment. It doesn’t make sense that magic diluted in water is stronger than magic directly from a mage’s hand. It doesn’t make sense that the leaves would absorb and use the magic up so quickly that they then began to decay at an even faster rate. None of this makes any fucking sense.
My heart beats furiously as my breath starts to rush in and out of me. I pace around the table, trying to figure out what I am missing. I have to be missing something. All the insecurities and fears I’ve spent nearly a lifetime trying to squash burst out of me at this newest failure. I have spent years on this. Years consumed by combing through texts and laying out experiments that would help me quantify and translate why we were losing magic and how we could get it back.
I think Haylee says my name, but I can’t be sure with the ringing in my ears. I squeeze my eyes shut, my stomach beginning to twist into knots as I gasp for breath. I’ve been desperately obsessed with trying to fix our magic, but I’ve made zero progress. Nothing to show for all of my tinkering, as Gosston had put it. Maybe he was right. Maybe he and all the others of this kingdom that see me as weaker and less-than would finally get what they expected from me. Maybe I should just stop fighting what nature or the gods or the fucking universe intended for me to be. All this time, I thought I was made for more. That I could actually be the one that could give some sort of answer to our people for why this is happening, but I’ve fallen short.
For the first time since my blood dropped into the Cauldron of Vires, I am utterly hopeless. I feel insignificant and unintelligent and just… pathetically undeserving. Of my title . My hands form fists as I pace back and forth. Of my place in this kingdom. Tears form in the back of my eyes, my frustration a thickening thunder cloud waiting to unleash. Of everything.
“Bahira,” Haylee says, and I snap.
“What?” I scream out, swinging around, my hands accidentally slamming into an empty glass bottle. It hits the floor and shatters, shards of glass flying everywhere. “Shit,” I grumble as I bend down to start picking them up. Haylee comes over to help, an awkward silence in the room as we work to clean up my mess. Carefully laying another piece of glass in my palm, I tell her, “I’m sorry, Haylee.”
“It’s okay. I understand—” Her words halt when she hisses out a breath, cradling her hand close to her. Blood begins dripping off her hand and onto the floor as she stands up. I quickly run to a drawer by the sink—throwing it open as I grab two clean white cloths and rush back to her.
“Give me your hand.” I reach across the table with my failed experiments. Her blood drips rapidly, small drops plop and splatter while I clean the wound out before she uses her magic to heal it. Unable to stop the guilt creeping up the column of my throat, I ask, “Are you okay?”
She nods her head, a pitying look crossing over her features—causing my teeth to grind together in response. “Bahira, why don’t we—”
“I just need to be alone,” I interrupt sharply, forcing a curve to my lips as I look at her. The smile doesn’t convince either of us in any way, but Haylee doesn’t call me out on it. Instead, she nods her head, sending me one more look before walking out of the workshop.
I continue picking up the pieces of glass, kneeling on the ground as my hands start to tremble. The first tear falls, then the second, and before I know it, my vision is completely blurred. A harsh cry breaks free as I throw the glass across the room before slamming my palms down on the ground, pain prickling my hands. My body folds over my knees as I let my failure manifest in the tears falling from my eyes.
I cry for the woman who walked into this workshop today with hope that she would discover a breakthrough. I cry for the princess of the Mage Kingdom who just wants to find her value and to contribute in a meaningful way. I cry for the teenager who had to deal with snide comments and dirty looks because of what she was born lacking. And I cry for the little girl who made her father prick her finger five times before she let him embrace her in a hug. Who feared that her parents might not want a magicless daughter.