The next day Esmeralda was entirely free, and after a morning of fruitless painting for her and fruitless research for Astrid they decided over a light meal to return to the forest, artifact in tow, in the hopes of finding some clue to its origin. The pair thus rode back to the hills north of Rask, where the forest they’d visited sat nestled between steep, rocky cliffs.

As they descended once more into the lush valley Esmeralda tried to talk to the forest; it remained silent. Nothing stirred within her. Pursing her lips she began the arduous traversal of the forest’s rough grounds, knees aching as she fought to keep up with Astrid’s fleet pace.

As they searched Esmeralda realized she could hear whispers on the wind, echoes of the forest’s past. They were indecipherable, as though she were hearing them in a dream; these voices and their words both were phantoms, and Esmeralda scowled, feeling strongly her head was busy enough without the extra chatter. She tuned the whispers out and slowly they receded, and the wind blew through only her hair once more.

As time wore on the sun drew low in the sky, reeling light in from the forest like a fishing line, and Astrid and Esmeralda grew increasingly despondent as they failed to find anything. Astrid complained that her feet hurt; Esmeralda had felt unsettled all afternoon, and exhaustion was hammering her.

With weary eyes Astrid pouted in Esmeralda’s arms. “Let’s go home, Es. There’s nothing here.”

Esmeralda squeezed her. “Yeah, we won’t find anything. We’ve done enough stomping around. Let’s get outta here.”

Astrid responded with a smile and they began their trek back, an isolating and unsettling darkness rising up around them, carrying numbing cold in its grasp. On their ride home Astrid buried herself against Esmeralda, who was grateful for her partner’s warmth as the frigid wind whipped past her face.

Once they arrived home they warmed up by the fireplace and shared a meal, then sat outside gazing at the sea as it churned under the nighttime sky. Together they sat, for a long time, keeping each other warm.

Esmeralda remained deep in thought, looking out at the wind-licked waves of the Al-Rahba, until an idea struck. She asked Astrid if she’d ever seen a conjuring spell before.

Astrid shook her head. “No, never.”

“I’m not surprised. It’s complex, and it’s normally not worth the risk involved, so nobody ever really learns it. But what it does is, you can basically reach into something’s innate history and summon echoes of its past.”

Astrid frowned. “Echoes of its past?”

“It can be anything. Like - it can be a memory playing back in your mind, or something you physically see. It’s almost like divination. You have to interpret whatever you get.”

“You know I don’t like you doing dangerous stuff, Es.” Astrid sounded tired; she faced the sea as she spoke. “How do you even know this kind of magic? Where’d you learn it?”

Stolen story; please report.

Esmeralda felt rage surge inside her, for just a moment, like an animal lashing out with its tail; it scared her. She was silent for a long time before she decided what to say. “You pick things up, you live as long as I do.”

She smiled and cast a wry glance at Astrid, who continued looking glumly out at the horizon.

Esmeralda ran her fingers through Astrid’s hair, glittering in the moonlight. “I know what I’m doing, songbird. You know I don’t do anything I don’t think I can handle.

Astrid looked up at Esmeralda now, who saw in her emerald eyes a deep sadness. She spoke in a whisper. “I don’t think you always know what you can handle.”

Esmeralda ran a finger lightly down Astrid’s face. “I can handle this, Astrid. I promise.”

Astrid’s expression didn’t shift, but she placed a hand over Esmeralda’s and squeezed it. “Alright. I’m here to help you, you know.” The pair exchanged a kiss and passed some time in silence before the nighttime cold chased them inside for good, and it came time to perform the spell.

Esmeralda splashed several lengths of parchment with ink, all complex symbols seldom seen in common spells. Laying them in a pattern on the ground in front of their home, Esmeralda placed the artifact on one of the runes while she stood next to another. Astrid watched from the doorway, arms folded.

As the breeze around her calmed for a moment, Esmeralda took a deep breath and began casting her spell.

In the dense nighttime cold she danced around her calligraphy, silently reciting the spell’s incantation and centering within herself what she felt gave her strength: the ocean breeze, Astrid’s gentle support, her own desire for repentance. An ephemeral mist rose around the lighthouse grounds, and the air crackled with something ancient. Gooseflesh ran down her limbs.

Abruptly Esmeralda stopped moving, having returned to her original location, and she began knitting and kneading the air with her fingers, coaxing out of the object its own intangible history. Images began to form in her mind, and emotions in her heart, and sensations in her body; she felt them coming into focus as her fingers danced through the air.

What she felt most clearly of all, however, delivered a rude shock; within her hands she suddenly felt the numbing, frigid fur of an animal, wondrously soft, like frozen silk. Her fingers were paralyzed as it enveloped her digits, her palm, and began to snake up her wrist-

She stumbled, and as her concentration broke she lost control of the spell. In quick succession there was a piercing bang that echoed along the dark coastline and a psychic explosion that was felt, not seen, its force rippling outward from Esmeralda, who was sent hurtling through the night. She landed in a heap on the ground and Astrid, struggling through the energy that still hung heavy in the air, rushed to her.

“Es! Are you OK?”

Esmeralda heard Astrid running as she took a deep, rattling breath and felt pain radiating through her wrists; she’d broken her fall with her hands. She was on her knees. Astrid’s hand settled upon her back, rubbing gently.

“Es, are you OK, love?” Esmeralda felt grateful for Astrid then, her voice and touch a needed comfort after the shock of botching the spell. She sat up and tried to calm her breathing; her entire body was trembling.

“Just stay here. I’ll get you some water.” Astrid was gone a moment, sprinting back with a canteen and a cloth that she used to wash Esmeralda’s face.

Esmeralda held the drink with weak hands; her palms burned as though frostbitten. Her breath tasted sick. Astrid sat beside her for a long time, holding her as the moon and stars rose high above them. Esmeralda choked back tears, choked down the water, and eventually returned inside with Astrid, who insisted they go straight to bed.

Once they’d huddled close to one another underneath their blankets, Astrid took Esmeralda’s hand and asked if the spell had worked.

“Did you see anything?” Her eyes were wide and curious, like a kitten’s. “What happened?”

“I felt something,” Esmeralda managed.

“What did you feel?”

Esmeralda wouldn’t say, and Astrid, eyes darkening, didn’t ask again.

Deep into the night Esmeralda lay there, quivering and stifling sobs, Astrid’s hands as frigid as snow between her fingers.