~*~

In the end, I went to the river that cut through the town to wash off the dirt and stains. The sun had almost set when I reached home. Actually, it was my aunt’s place, and I’d only been living there for a year, but I guess it was home nonetheless.

Oliver answered the door when I knocked and wordlessly gave me a nod. He was my older cousin by a year, though we weren’t close at all. The brown-haired youth barely even gave me enough time to greet him before he disappeared into the main hall, likely headed upstairs to rest.

Aunt Helen was a tailor and so the ground floor was the workshop itself. I boarded up the door behind me and quickly dashed to my room—a storage room connected to the hall that held rolls of fabric. A corner had been cleared and a straw mattress laid on the wooden floor for me, a rough wool blanket serving as my covers. It wasn’t comfortable, it didn’t even have a door, but I was grateful. That and I had brought along my wool pillow from my house so it wasn’t all bad.

Dropping my bag, I quickly changed into my only other set of clothes and examined the damaged shirt once more. The tears didn’t look too bad once the dirt had washed off; maybe I didn’t need to repair it after all. I dried off my hair as best I could before returning to the hall. Oliver hadn’t even reacted when I showed up dripping wet, guess he really didn't give a damn about me.

I sat at the table where a single bowl of pottage rested. It was late in the evening, a few hours before curfew, and everyone probably finished their dinner long ago. I should be happy that Oliver stayed downstairs to wait for me, but my mind was weirdly fixated on the fact that he ignored me.

Even my cousin doesn’t talk to me.

I sat in silence as I wolfed down the food. It was bland but filling, and I was hungry. Next to me, a fire in the hearth burnt, casting the room into a pretty shade of orange. The fire roared with gusto, throwing out glowing golden embers that twirled and danced as they descended, tiny sparkling stars that gave their all before they returned to the ground; spent but with their purpose fulfilled.

I sat there for a few moments, my bowl empty as I admired the flames, watching as some of the embers tried escaping up the chimney.

I wanted to escape too. Aunt Helen was really kind to me but nothing could compare to being with my father. That man was forgetful, careless, and sometimes even thoughtless, but I still missed the heck out of him. That and he could swear like the best of them, and that was awesome.

Maybe three more months at most, from what I heard from the merchants, and this stupid war would be over and he'd be back. And one more month to go before I’d be free from Sarah.

But that also meant that I had only a month left to awaken my magic and get an apprenticeship. As much as I wanted to be optimistic, I knew that it wasn’t likely to happen. I’d be better off keeping my head off the clouds and being more practical, even if it meant giving up my dreams. Maybe... I should get an apprenticeship in tailoring and be like Aunt Helen.

Instantly, I felt nauseous; heh, who knew even my body would reject the idea.

I sighed and grumbled as I cleaned the bowl and returned to my room. There, I held up the amulet my mother left me. Even in the dark room, lit only by the fading sunlight and the fireplace outside, the silver crescent shone and showed its brilliance. It was supposedly a magical charm that would grant protection against a single life-threatening blow, though I mainly saw it as a trinket my mother left me. Father told me she had worn it herself before I was born, and I’d never take it off even when I slept—I felt like my mother was still with me when I wore it. Maybe that was part of its magical effects.

I sat cross-legged on my bed. With only one remaining month, I should practice as much as I could. Recalling the steps I had taken to draw out my mana, I concentrated on the rhythm of my heartbeat and reached in, focusing on a region deep within my chest, close to where my heart was. I pictured a thread tied to a door that guarded my mana reserve and, with an exhale, I pulled. There was a slight tingle as a tinge of cold seemed to inch out from my chest. This was the feeling I held on to when I summoned my first flame in class earlier today. Well, more like first puff of smoke.

Beggars can’t be choosers, I guess.

It had taken me half an hour’s worth of concentration to guide the slow-moving bit of mana to my hand, but I wasn’t complaining. After all, it had taken me two whole months to get to the point where I could access my mana reserve. Well, at least I had a mana reserve.

Maybe I just needed more? That tiny bit of mana probably wasn’t enough to sustain a flame. Master Grishaw had told us the amount of mana we could draw out was fixed and would only slowly increase with practice, but what could I really lose?

And so I kept pulling, despite nothing really changing. I ditched the thread and imagined a large iron chain instead that was bolted straight onto the door, and yanked with all my might. My head started hurting. It wasn’t enough; I needed more. So I did the only thing I thought of: I pictured two chains instead of just one and heaved. No matter how painful my head got, I didn’t stop. I had a single thought in my mind—Sarah.

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I needed power to stand up to that two-faced bitch.

Suddenly, something snapped. What was a drop of coolness in my chest became a piercing icy cold that shot through my veins. It was as if a pipe within me had unclogged itself and I felt an intense rush as mana circulated within me with wild abandon.

I gathered my trembling hands. I was almost too afraid to move, in case what miracle bestowed upon me would disappear if I even breathed wrongly. I didn’t even dare pinch myself: what if the pain made this go away! A few seconds passed as I tried to steady myself before realizing it was futile.

Oh, fuck it! Who cares about being calm, I can finally cast real magic with this!

I went through the steps familiar to me. I imagined a flame; I saw the light it granted as it flickered and flared, and felt the intense heat it radiated as it roared. With that image firmly affixed in my mind’s eye, I crammed as much mana as I could into my hands and willed the fire into existence.

Soundlessly, a huge ball of fire the size of my head erupted from above my outstretched palms. My eyes widened. It wasn’t the orange that I had imagined, nor did it give off any heat like I thought it would. No, it was black; blacker than obsidian and darker than the darkest night. It was also cold; so cold, in fact, that my fingers started going numb in just seconds.

I stared at it, my mouth agape. Wha… what in the world—

Abruptly, it disappeared. My room spun as I leaned over and retched. The cold within me receded and in its place was pain, as if someone had ran a hammer through me. I opened my mouth to scream, but nothing happened. My body had stopped responding to me. I watched in slow-motion as I toppled over, the floor rushing to meet my face.

~*~

When I came to, I was lying on the ground in a pool of sweat. I didn’t know how long I was out, but it had gotten significantly darker. I shakily got up and examined myself. My left cheek hurt, I was bleeding from my lower lip, and my throat was parched, but thankfully I hadn’t broken my nose or lost any teeth. My body also seemed okay though I was exhausted. I wasn’t sure if I could still channel mana as well as I just did, but it was probably a bad idea to test it now. It sure was tempting though.

Tomorrow, I told myself, after a night’s rest.

I dropped back down onto my bed. What the hell was going on? I’ve never seen a cold flame that burnt black. And more importantly, why didn’t it work? I thought I had done the impossible when I got a good mana flow going, but why couldn’t I cast the spell that almost everyone used daily?

“I just want to be a mage,” I whispered as I dug my face into my pillow.

All you have to do is ask.

I jumped into a crouch and went on full alert. Where had that voice come from? Hugging my pillow to my chest, I snatched the knife from my bag and brandished it towards the doorway.

Who was that? A burglar?

My room was dark, and the only source of light was the red glow of the hearth that shone into the room from the doorway. The shadows cast by the scattered rolls of textile moved seemingly on their own accord, dancing and flickering about. Nothing. I half expected to see a pair of eyes staring back at me from the darkness, but there really was nothing.

Show yourself, you coward. My bed was my fortress, and I wasn't going to let anybody invade it.

I gripped my knife harder. No, wait a second. The voice hadn’t sounded like it came from any direction in particular. It hadn’t even sounded human. It had a deep reverberation and seemed to echo from all around me. But that wasn’t possible. It was as if… it came from inside my head.

Still, I wasn’t going to let my guard down. Either I was going crazy or someone had broken in somehow. Neither option was good but I sure as hell wasn’t going to discount the latter right away. Or rather, a part of me wished it was the latter. I kept my posture and stayed quiet. My uncle always barred the door leading upstairs after everyone had their dinner so I didn’t have to worry about them.

A loud clang rang through the town, causing me to jump.

Damn curfew bell.

I hesitated a moment before tearing myself off the safety of my bed. I tip-toed towards the doorway, my eyes constantly scanning my surroundings. Come at me, asshole. I had my knife and I wasn’t afraid to use it.

I crept into the hall. Aside from the cracking of the flame from the hearth, everything was quiet. There were no signs of anyone being on the ground floor besides me, and a quick glance towards the main doorway showed that it was still boarded up the way I left it. The shutters to the windows were still open but the openings were too thin for anyone to squeeze through. Was I really hearing things?

"Elizabeth dear?" Aunt Helen called out from upstairs, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“I got it,” I yelled as I walked over to the hearth. After one last check around the hall, I picked up the nearby rake and removed the burning logs from where the fire burnt, sweeping the hot ashes aside. I then raked the cold ashes back over the fire and watched as it sputtered out. The hearth no longer burnt but still gave off enough heat. This had been my nightly routine since I started living with Aunt Helen. It’s only been a year but it still gave me a sense of normality.

Feeling slightly better, I went over to the table by the hearth and poured myself a cup of water. There wasn’t an intruder, and I was sure I hadn’t imagined the voice. It had been too loud and too clear to be something I misheard. So, what? Were there voices in my head now? I doubted this was normal, but I wasn’t sure if I’d tell anyone about it. I didn’t want my aunt to worry, and my uncle wouldn’t give a damn. Master Grishaw would probably know something about it, but I wasn’t going to risk letting Sarah gain more ammunition against me.

I could deal with useless, uncouth and untalented, but to add on insane as well? Yea, no thank you.

As I finished my drink, I decided to simply stop worrying about it and returned to my room, my bare feet pattering against the warm wooden floor. I was too tired to care. If I had a chance, I’d ask Master Grishaw about it, otherwise, it wasn’t urgent unless the voice reappeared. I scooted up to the corner of my bed and pulled my covers over me. More important was that weird black flame; I definitely needed to ask about it. I giggled. Perhaps the weird one was me.

First the constant headaches. Then a nonsensical flame. Now, I was even hearing voices in my head. Yea, maybe I’ve finally lost it.

But hey, at least that flame looked pretty badass.