Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Things have improved by leaps and bounds with Ash.
It seems as though we lanced the internal wound she had been carrying around, at least from Brett.
I’m thinking of Betsy’s advice as we lounge in the apartment.
We arranged the day off together. Casie sits on the couch, one of my shirts baggy on her small frame, sipping her coffee, feet on my lap.
Calida is sunning herself on the back of the couch, tail swinging like a metronome.
I sip my own coffee, fingers idly trailing up and down her smooth calf. I can tell when my witchling has something on her mind. I’ll just wait her out, and bide my time.
She breaks the silence first, as I’d planned, twisting a loose curl between her fingers. “You know, sometimes I feel like you’re… somewhere else. Like you’re here with me, but your mind’s walking around someplace I can’t see.”
I don’t deflect, considering her words. “Because part of me is, I suppose. Goira isn’t easy to leave behind.”
She stills at my mention of home, her eyes finding mine. “Goira.” She says the word like it’s strange and familiar all at once.
I shrug casually, but my eyes never leave hers. “It’s home.” I say simply.
“Are you leaving?”
“No. No, I’m not leaving. I suppose you can say I’m homesick.”
“Oh,” she says, her voice sounding small. She tries to shake it off, saying “Will you tell me more about it? I mean… for my book?”
I bite back a smile. “Of course. What do you want to know?”
She seems to consider my offer. We’ve already had conversations about Goira, but this time I intend to be a little more daring about what I tell her.
“Magick,” she finally says. “Tell me about it. I’ve seen it.
Experienced some of it.” I grin as a flush heats her cheeks.
Yes, we certainly did. “How does it work?”
“Powers vary, person to person. Sometimes, a specific power will run in the family, although that isn’t always the case.
As far as what determines it? That’s for smarter minds than mine to say.
My mother always said it’s determined by the needs of Goira, in that time and the time to come.
” I roll my shoulders, displacing the weight of that statement.
She seems to ponder this. “What, exactly, are your powers? I know I’ve seen some of them — you sight shielded Calida. The connection the other night in bed.”
“Well, it varies, like I said — for everyone. Me? I can call on the elements and ask them for help. I can do a bit of mind work. Many have one specific gift. I can call on mine equally, no matter the element. The same with the mind work, if you will.”
She seems to think this over. “But it has limits?”
“Yes, just like everything else. Mental, emotional, and physical exhaustion all tie into it. If I’m physically exhausted, I can ask elements to lend strength. But bodies have limits, power or no.”
“Who’s the strongest of you?”
I’m not sure how to answer that. I could say “You”, and risk watching her disintegrate before my eyes.
“Depends on how you mean.” I sip my coffee, trying to buy myself time. I didn’t really think she’d leap in quite that much. I should have.
She huffs out a laugh. “Who has the strongest powers? Or, I guess, what is the strongest power? I don’t even know how to ask it, I guess.”
Shit.
“The current Princess is the strongest that I know of.” I hedge.
“Does she do mind work?” she asks.
“After a fashion. She… well, she can sort of use the emotions around her to manifest powers.”
There’s silence. I wait. Was I too direct?
“She can fucking what?! That’s amazing! How does it work?”
I fucking knew she was gonna go there.
“I’m not sure.” How much to say? How much is appropriate? How much is too much?
I go with instinct.
“She could never explain it, not clearly. Other than to tell me — us — that the power depends on the feelings.”
“Wasn’t that dangerous? Having someone who could wield what you’re feeling?”
“The Princess was always careful in her practice,” I say, carefully.
How to explain? “All power has some element of danger, doesn’t it?
” I gesture widely with my hands. “Even just imagined, socially constructed power in the human world has proven to be dangerous, to kill millions. In the same way that strength — of any kind — can be put to a more sinister use.” I shrug, trying to downplay how my heart is pounding.
This is where I need to tread carefully.
“But I don’t understand. How can you turn emotions into power? Can she… I don’t know, play with how people feel?”
“No.” I pause, trying to seem like I’m considering.
It’s really fucking hard to know how much I should admit to knowing; how well should I appear to know my Princess?
Fuck. If she only knew. “No, as far as I know, she doesn’t have the ability of emotional manipulation.
” That’s an interesting thought, actually.
“What she can do is use the emotions around her — both in herself and in the… environment, I suppose — to manifest in different ways.”
“What do they manifest as?” I can hear the eagerness in her voice.
Careful now.
“To my understanding,” I bite back a grin. “It depends on the emotion, doesn’t it?”
Ash seems to ponder this. “Okay. What about, say… joy?”
“Joy manifests as a radiant light or a healing warmth. It can help mend wounds, lift spirits, sprout rainbows. I believe she’s used it for entertaining children on occasion.
” She did in fact, and often, especially during a healing.
Dancing rainbows are fantastic for distracting a child during painful healing.
“That makes sense.” She nods. “Sadness?”
“Sorrow or sadness is largely water-based, right? So water.”
“Just water?” She seems very unimpressed.
“Just water?” I repeat. “Really? You can’t think of anything scary about water?”
She seems to think it over, while I finish my coffee and rise to go get more. “Ice, I suppose.” She calls after me.
I grin. She’s getting it. “Aye, ice. Ice that can be shaped into weapons — spears, swords. But water itself can be terrifying. A giant wave appearing out of nowhere, drowning an army?”
“That takes a lot of power, right?”
“Well, I did say she was the strongest, didn’t I?”
When I come back with my refill, Ash has gotten a notebook and is jotting notes.
“Fine, you made your point. What about fear or rage?”
There’s the boggy ground. “Fear, to the best of my knowledge, summons shadows. Illusions. Rage, on the other hand, is hot and becomes fire. Whips of fire, walls of flame.” I shrug, feigning nonchalance.
“Wow,” she taps her pencil. “What else can she do?”
“Let’s see.” I think, trying to figure out what else I can say without going too far. “Love becomes a shield, from what I can remember.”
“What about hope? Or indifference? Or, I don’t know… trauma?”
Fuck. This is where I didn’t want to end up.
“To the best of my knowledge, she’s never tapped into hope or indifference. It would stand to reason that indifference wouldn’t manifest much,” I muse. “…what do you think tapping into trauma would create?”
We’re both quiet for a long moment. This might be it. I focus on controlling my breathing, waiting while she thinks. Please let this be it.
“I think…” she begins, frowning. “I think it would be devastating. Trauma isn’t an emotion though, is it?”
“Likely not by definition, no. But it does describe a huge stew of emotions. What do you think tapping into something like that would do?”
“I don’t know. I imagine it would be… devastating. Mixing power with that sort of pain? The results could be catastrophic.”
My breath catches in my throat as I meet her eyes. They’re silver in the light.
Oh, fuck.
“Has that ever happened, Flint?”
I wince and avert my eyes away from her. “Only once.” I whisper.
She’s silent and, despite my fear, I risk looking at. her again. She’s staring into space. I wait, studying her face. The silver is still in her eyes, making them appear to glow.
“Cas?” I say, softly.
She seems to start, shaking her head and coming back to the current moment.
Slowly, her eyes return to normal. “No problem. I understand there are still some things you don’t want to talk about.
” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“What about the bad guys?” She finishes her own coffee. “Who were your bad guys, Flint?”
Here we go…
“How about I tell you a story?” I offer.
She grins and sets her coffee aside. I take my place next to her on the couch, she snuggles in next to me. “Yes, please!”
Okay, Flint. Don’t fuck this up.
“I’ve told you that in Goira, the land is, and has been, ruled by a matriarchy.
Years ago, a disgruntled faction known as the Hollow Order came into being.
There’s some speculation of where and how.
It wasn’t a foreign enemy, to the best of my knowledge.
Rather, they were a cancer, spreading from within Goira.
Their infiltration was subtle, almost parasitic.
As much as I’ve read and studied, no one has a definitive answer on where they came from. ”
“From what I have been able to gather over the years, it began as a sort of whisper network. Missionaries would appear, posed as healers, wandering holy men, or philosophers, whispering dangerous rhetoric. “Don’t you ever grow weary of bowing to the weight of women?” "Worth is owed, not earned.” “Magick has made females unnatural.” They clung to and sang praises to a patriarchal past that, as far as any historian was able to find, was completely fabricated.
They were convinced they were the rightful rulers over everything — women, Goira.
Powers and legacy. Their “text” talks of ancient “fallen masculinity” and “obedient” feminine archetypes, spreading the idea that these ideals were lost to corruption. ”