Reka held the journal tight. He wanted to read it but forced himself to focus on the crown instead. The sockets that once held the great stones were mangled and malformed. The crown held just enough of its shape to identify its purpose. The metal was braided gold and silver, though it lacked the luster of either. In truth, he thought it looked like junk.

“How are we supposed to use this?” Alexis said.

Reka patted the book. “Perhaps the answer is here.”

“Can I ask a question?” Aedon said.

Reka looked at him. “If it is relevant, I see no reason for you not to.”

“I just want to see if I understand you,” Aedon said. “It seems like you’re saying that Mika and I are related to one of the most powerful men in history.”

“You are,” Reka said. “Mika’s ability to use the stone proves that.”

Mika leaped out of her seat. “It doesn’t prove anything!”

She fled the kitchen, and Reka heard the front door open then close.

“Mika!” Aedon called.

He moved to follow, but Reka put a hand on his shoulder. “She is overwhelmed. There is nothing you can do to help her.”

“She’s my daughter!” Aedon said. “I can’t just let her run off!”

“Give her some time,” Reka said. “I have a good idea where she is going and will talk to her shortly.”

“What can you say that her father can’t?” Aedon said.

Reka shrugged. “What she experienced last night was more difficult than just finding the stone.”

“What happened?” Alexis said.

“She will tell or not in her own time,” Reka said, “but it was hard. I know you want to do what is best for your daughter, Aedon. Right now, that is let her be and let me speak to her.”

Aedon sat and put his face in his hands. “I guess I don’t have much choice.

Reka grabbed his coat and left the house.

He waded through the piled snow. Winter was on its last gasp, but it wasn’t giving way to spring easily. He didn’t travel far, though, before he found Mika.

She was standing on the edge of the swamp, looking into the distance.

Reka moved to her side and stood for a moment in silence.

“She is not out there,” he said.

Mika didn’t move. “But, I saw her.”

“Mika,” he said in a gentle voice, “the mind can play cruel tricks—“

“It wasn’t a trick,” she said. “I saw her, and she gave me the stone.”

“Maybe she did.” He said. “Maybe the magic of the stone kept her there, waiting for you to claim it. If so, she is at peace now. You cannot waste your time looking back. I don’t think she would want that.”

Mika pointed at the ground. “It’s going away.”

He looked where she pointed. The swamp was receding. The ice that covered the fringe of the swamp was now sitting on the ground, and the water was several feet away.

“I thought it might,” he said.

She looked up at him. “You did?”

“Yes,” he said. “This swamp is the reason I became convinced, at last, that Domhain must be here.”

“How?”

“I have told you what is needed to do magic; imagination, desire, energy, and focus. But we use that magic by forming links.”

“Links?” She asked. Her voice was earnest.

“Yes, child. Magic is all about links. When we put magic into stone, for instance, we are forming a link between us and the stone. The energy links us together. When we use stone, we send a little power along that link to release the stored energy.”

“I don’t understand. What does that have to do with the swamp?” She said.

Reka pulled Tine from its pouch and looked at it. “The great stones are linked to their masters. I suspect Jarlath set Domhain to keep the swamp at bay. As long as Domhain was in the hands of a true Halloran, it did as it was instructed.”

“I still don’t understand,” Mika said.

“When your mother died, the stone was no longer possessed by a Halloran. The link was broken. The swamp, which was kept at bay for centuries artificially, was now free to claim its natural place.”

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“So,” Mika said slowly, “now that I have the stone, the swamp is going away?”

“Exactly,” Reka said. “It could be that the land is rising to prevent the swamp’s incursion, or the land is absorbing the water and sending it elsewhere, or any number of things. However, it is happening, though, Domhain is now able to perform a task it was set to do hundreds of years ago.”

“And you think mama was waiting under the water for me to take it?”

Reka brushed a loose strand of hair from Mika’s forehead. “I do not know, child.”

She looked up at him with an open expression. “I’m scared.”

“Of course you are.” He said. “The thing about fear is that it is often more powerful than the thing you are afraid of. If you use your fear, you can become strong and courageous, but if you let fear use you, you become weak and cowardly. In either case, it is the fear that has the power.”

“But,” she said, “if you use fear to get strong, isn’t that a good thing?”

He knelt in the wet snow and caught a slight whiff of sulfur from the mud of the swamp. It reminded him of the fear he felt moments before walking into the foul place.

“It can be,” he said, “and if you are going to give fear the power, then it is much better to use it so. It is better, however, to look past your fear. Knowledge is the best antidote to being afraid and, so, you evaluate the danger, weigh the risk with the gain, and then act based on knowledge, not emotion.”

“That sounds hard,” she said.

“It is,” he said, “but nothing worth doing is ever easy.”

Her chin dipped low to her chest. “But what if I fail?”

Reka couldn’t help himself. He put his arms around her and spoke into her ear.

“I’m going to tell you something my father told me once.”

‘No one ever walks a difficult path without faltering. It is not, however, the inability to succeed that defines weakness. Rather it is the ability to find the path again, once lost, that defines the strength of the traveler.’

“Keep to the path, Mika, and you will never have to fear failure.”

“I’ll try,” she said, her voice weak.

Reka stood, brushing the snow from his knees. With a single, loathing look back at the swamp, he ushered Mika back to the house.

Everyone was busy eating when they reentered the kitchen. They looked up from their plates, and Aedon rushed to his daughter.

“Mika, are you ok?” He said.

“Yes, Papa,” she said. “I just got scared and ran away. I know better now.”

Reka let the moment linger a bit and passed the time by filling a plate. “Aedon,” he said, “what were you going to ask before I left?”

“You don’t let up, do you?” Aedon said. “I was going to ask if I am related to Jarlath Halloran, why can’t I use the stone too?”

“At one time,” Reka said, “you probably could have.”

“What does that mean?” Aedon asked.

Reka motioned for everyone to sit. “How magic works is very complex, and when the great stones are involved, it gets more so. I explained to Mika that magic is all about links or bonds. You, as the eldest living Halloran, should have been the rightful master of Domhain. When you gave the stone to her father-in-law, however, you broke the bond between you. In essence, you rejected the power of the stone. Because the stones always have a master, the bond transferred to Mika, the next living family member.”

“But I thought you said the stone worked to keep the swamp away because mama had it?” Mika said.

“So it did,” Reka said. “Simply possessing the stone isn’t enough to create the bond between stone and owner. Domhain did as instructed because it was a Halloran who possessed it. The bond, however, was always to you. That is why you felt the irresistible urge to go into the swamp. You never possessed the stone, and so, never willingly relinquished your bond to it.”

“You’re saying the stone wanted her to find it?” Alexis asked.

“It is not as simple as that,” Reka said. “Gregory likes to say that magic is a will without consciousness. I believe he is partly correct. I think of magic as a force that strives for balance. Look at nature. We have winter to balance summer, rainy seasons to balance drought, night to balance day, and death to balance life. It is this quest for balance which lies at the heart of all living things, and so at the heart of magic.”

“What does balance have to do with the bonds?” Aedon said.

“It is the nature of magic,” Reka said. “The stones were created in a time of unrest and war. They channeled all the power of nature, balanced by the mind of a human. It isn’t so much that the stone wanted Mika to find it. The magic simply called Mika into the swamp to redress an imbalance; stone and master together at last.”

“I’m still not understanding this,” Aedon said. “You’re saying that I could do magic once, but I can’t now because of some imbalance?”

Reka surveyed the room. “Mika, please get two cups and some flour. If I am going to explain magical theory, I might as well make it one of your lessons.”

She moved to obey. While she was gathering the supplies, Reka continued.

“What I said was that you could once use the stone, and now cannot. You can still do magic. I explained this to Mika already, but it bears repeating. Any living, thinking, being can technically do magic. That is because magic exists in every living being. Most people, however, are not able to train their minds in the right way to use magic purposefully.”

Mika set the items on the table.

“Please fill one of the cups with flour,” Reka said.

Mika did as asked.

“These two cups represent how magic works.” Reka continued. “The cup with the flour is the mage. The empty cup is where he wants his magic to go. The flour is the magic.”

Reka waved his hand between the two cups. A small amount of flour rose and flowed into the empty cup.

“What you have witnessed is the balance of magic at work,” Reka said.

Ulf picked up one of the cups. “Magic is flour?”

“You’re not supposed to take it literally,” Alexis said.

Reka ignored the comment. “Keep in mind, the cups have a definite shape and size so, they hold a finite amount of flour. It is the same with a person. There is a limit to how much magic a person has. When a mage uses magic, it comes from them the same way the flour in the second cup came from the first. That is the balance of magic. That is also why we cannot simply hurl spells about without regard.”

“What happens when a mage uses all their magic?” Aedon asked.

“They die,” Alexis said.

Alexis’ expression was forlorn, and Reka averted his eyes. “Correct,” he said.

“Ok,” Aedon said, “how do you know how much magic you have?”

“There are many factors that determine that,” Reka said. “Size matters in magic, of course. But so does knowledge, experience, and a whole host of things. No one knows for sure all the factors, but that is the reason I wanted you to train Mika to fight. Physical strength matters almost as much as mental strength.”

Aedon leaned forward. “So you’re teaching Mika something that might kill her, and you can’t even tell when she might overextend herself?”

“Precision does not exist in magic, Aedon,” Reka said. “It is too personal. But you forget about the balance. Mika’s body will tell her when she is drawing too much. She can continue to use magic past that point, of course, but she will not do so out of ignorance.

“Now, I think it best we finish our food and allow Mika to rest. She has had a hard night and is in for hard days to come. For myself, I have some reading to do.”