Antebellum Awakening (30 page)

“Is there a way to resurrect Almorran magic? The priests have been gone for centuries.”

“Yes, there is,” Sanna said, smacking her lips carelessly. “There always is. Witches may die, but magic does not. Especially not the old magic. For the sake of every witch in Antebellum, let’s hope that’s not what happens. I’m not sure we’d survive that kind of resurrection.”

Her sudden shiver brought a little lump of fear into my heart.

“Yes,” I whispered, slumping back against the seat. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

Viveet

M
errick sat next to me the next morning and blew out a long breath of air. Neither of us spoke for a long time as we stared out at Letum Wood, lost in thought. I wondered if he’d still want to do a lesson today.

“So that’s what happened,” I said, swallowing. A few birds twittered by, disappearing into the ragged wall of green leaves that surrounded us. I was grateful to be sitting. It made it feel less like the world was moving too fast around me. “I finally let the memories come and everything changed.”

He’d remained quiet during my entire recounting of the previous day, including my time with Sanna. I’d even told him of my mother’s ghost, and how my reluctance to run stemmed from seeing her in the forest. Now he just stared out, his eyes stewing.

“I can tell that your magic has settled,” he finally said.

Settled, yes. That was it. The usual restless knot of anxiety, the cagey dragon in my chest, all of it had calmed. It seemed to purr like a content kitten.

“I’m still trying to figure out what happened,” I said, breaking the silence. “I think I understand it, but I’m not sure.”

His intense green eyes met mine.

“Tell me what you think happened.”

“I think that my refusal to remember or think or talk about Mama just built the powers. Then, when I got angry or scared, the emotions amplified an already volatile magic, and it took over.”

He nodded and asked, “So what did you do that changed the pattern?”

I paused for a moment, reflecting back.

“I didn’t stop myself from remembering.”

“Or feeling,” he pointed out.

“Yes,” I said slowly, thinking it over. I had felt a lot of emotions, brutal emotions that I’d never given time to before. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Denying your emotions only increases your powers until you can’t handle it anymore. Accepting the grief, even the pain, allows us to control it and stops it from expressing itself in more destructive ways.”

“Couldn’t you have just told me that?” I asked sheepishly.

“Would you have listened?” he shot right back.

“No,” I admitted after thinking it over. “I wouldn’t have.”

His voice dropped, and he regained some of that distant intensity in his green eyes. “Be prepared to really start experiencing the grief now that you’ve faced it. Everything you’ve been putting off will come at you full force. As long as you recognize that emotions are power, and you don’t prevent yourself from feeling it, you’ll get through.”

“Thanks,” I said, managing a small smile. He nodded.

“It’ll be okay,” he said. “Just remember that.”

“I will.”

Merrick stood up and began to lope at an effortless jog toward a leather parcel near the back wall of the garden.

“I brought this today but wasn’t sure if you were ready,” he said over his shoulder. “Now that I know you’ve figured out enough about controlling your powers that we can start working on it, I feel good about starting with swords.”

That piqued my curiosity. I stood and joined him on the other side of the garden.

“With swords?”

The leather flaps fell away to reveal a gleaming sword. Swirls of ivy patterns that reminded me of Letum Wood ran the length of the silver blade, which was about as long as my arm. A deep blue snaked through the ivy leaves and down the hilt.

“What is it?” I asked.

“A sword,” he replied in a wry tone. “Your sword. Pick it up. It won’t bite.”

Hesitant, I reached out and wrapped my hand around the hilt. The moment it touched my palm I felt a thrill rush from the tips of my fingers through my shoulder. A sapphire blue light zipped through the leaves on the blade, disappearing so fast I thought I’d imagined it.

“Where did you get it?” I asked.

“I didn’t,” he said, running his narrowed gaze over it. “Your father had it made for you. He told me to give it to you when you were ready.”

“When did he have it made?”

Merrick shrugged. “Must have been a while ago. Swords like that can take years to finish. See the letter
A
carved into the metal near the hilt? It’s a distinct signature from the swordmaker Andrei. I’ve seen his work before. He lives in the Southern Network and uses a special kind of metal that’s only mined in a few places in the South and West. It’s known for making exceptional swords that are never brittle.”

“What?” My head jerked up. “The South? We aren’t allowed to trade with the South.”

“That’s a Southern blade, all right. Your father must be a friend of Andrei’s. If Andrei gave it as a gift then it wouldn’t violate the prohibition on trade. Turn it over. See the writing on the back?”

Instead of asking how Papa had even met Andrei—a pointless question, given the travels he’d been on in his job as a Protector—I did as Merrick said, flipping the sword around and resting it on my palm. The twisting vines near the top of the hilt spelled out a tiny word.

Viveet.

“That’s the name of the sword,” Merrick said. “Every good swordmaker names each sword based on their experience in creating the weapon. Since every sword is forged differently, they all have their own personality.”

“Viveet,” I whispered, my eyes narrowing on the word. I looked up to Merrick. “That’s the language of the Ancients.”

Merrick nodded, an expectant look on his face.

“It means
protector
,” I said.

“It’ll be interesting to see what kind of personality Viveet has, then.”

I ran my hand along the smooth edge. It lit up in the same shade of sapphire blue it had before and faded again when I pulled my hand away. The metal felt chilly, like it had been submerged in a bucket of ice. Merrick sheathed his sword, which was longer than mine and etched with a purple filigree. He reached for Viveet, and when I reluctantly gave her up, inspected her with a deft ease that could only come with years of experience.

“A good sword is like a shield,” he explained, testing the weight with his firm grip. “The more you train with it, the more it responds to you. The magic that comes with using a sword will become stronger as well, so keep that in mind.”

He stepped back and ran through a few routines, swinging it in wide arcs. The blade sliced through the air like a song.

“Am I going to use Viveet now?” I asked, hoping to get rid of the cumbersome wooden sword he’d been making me practice with every day. I had so many splinters in my hands that my palm was starting to scar.

“Yes. Now that you know how to keep yourself under control, I’ll trust you with a real blade.”

Merrick, all business now, pulled his own sword from the sheath and handed Viveet back.

“We’re going to go through the sword positions again, but this time with Viveet. The weight and balance is different, so we’ll keep it slow for now. The last thing I need is the wrath of your father if you get hurt. Here’s Viveet’s sheath; put it on. You’ll need to practice drawing your sword and sheathing her in one smooth motion. Until you build that muscle memory, it’s not as easy as it looks.”

He tossed me the hard leather sheath, complete with a belt to buckle around my hips. I obeyed his directions, then inspected Viveet’s light metal frame and easy grip. I swung her through a few positions, enjoying her light, nimble movements. Compared to the clunky wooden sword I’d learned with, she felt like fighting with a puff of air. Perhaps Merrick did know what he was doing. But of course that was an admission I wasn’t likely to concede to yet.

“Are you ready to learn how to put magic and sword fighting together?” Merrick asked, one eyebrow lifted. His face had returned to its usual focused, brow-pulled expression.

“Yes,” I said, feeling like I’d been handed a key to my own life. It was empowering and terrifying at the same time. Miss Mabel would be back on my birthday. I might not be perfect, but I could be strong. “I think I’m ready.”

“You are.”

I met his eyes.

“Then let’s get started.”

A Bracelet and a Shop

T
he days faded into weeks and then months. Every hour blurred into the next. Training, running, aching muscles, calloused hands. Viveet sang under my hand, guided by Merrick’s persistence and talent. I learned from him every morning, and practiced alone every evening, sometimes far into the night.

Enduring the pain of Mama’s death instead of trying to ignore it made me the master, and the magic my minion. Once I stopped fighting the grief, the power flowed into me, swift and strong.

As Merrick promised, my emotions took on a higher range. Acknowledging the feelings had a way of amplifying them. Sometimes it frightened me, the enormity of what I felt. One minute I could be laughing, and the next fighting back tears. My lows became very low indeed. I cried myself to sleep at night, and occasionally locked myself into a melancholic seclusion. Other days it let me go, gave me a break, allowing me to laugh and live and heal another small corner of my heart before the next onslaught.

A flurry of activity surrounded Papa day and night. Except for our ritual breakfasts, I rarely saw him. Witches came to protest his upcoming reign every day at the front gates of Chatham Castle. The Factios provoked rallies against him throughout Chatham City. I no longer doubted whether they worked for Miss Mabel or her partner: I could see it in the darkness of their eyes. The protestors shouted Papa’s name so loud I could hear it from the Witchery. Papa and the High Priestess didn’t seem to notice, but I did. The rage and discontent settling over Chatham City terrified me.

The High Priestess scheduled the Empowerment on the morning of my seventeenth birthday, the same day as the Anniversary Ball. The castle started preparing months in advance. I took it all in with a detached air, living for one thing: learning to meld magic and sword fighting so I could defeat Miss Mabel.

Leda graduated from her first-year and immediately dove into her second-year courses just as spring finished. Brecken left for a three-month assignment guarding the Borderlands, leaving Camille behind. She avoided her classes even more dutifully than before and went on long walks in the rambling gardens alone. Michelle spent more time blushing, and more time in the kitchens with Nicolas, than ever before.

The ebb and flow of life seemed to elongate into one long river that moved me closer and closer to my birthday. I moved with it, gaining strength and power with every day that passed until it dumped me firmly on the doorstep of my demise. Before I knew it, spring had become summer and three months had passed.

One hot summer afternoon two days before my birthday, the heat drove Camille and I deeper into the cold, unexplored passages of Chatham Castle. She let out a dramatic sigh. We were staring at a painting of two water nymphs trying to woo a young witch into the water. Once he gave into their song, they would devour him and use his bones to make the walls of their house. Camille stared at it as if it were a road map for her life instead of a vulgar painting with half-naked women and an enamored young man.

“I’m sad today, Bianca,” Camille admitted, finally abandoning the painting. We walked down the dank corridor side by side. Her normal enthusiasm had waned, and today she seemed quite depressed and dull.

“Why are you sad?” I asked, running my fingers along a faded gold frame that left a light coating of dust on my finger. The painting was of a woman with long auburn curls billowing around her. She had a thin face with high cheekbones and a confident expression. Esmelda, our first High Priestess.

“I don’t know,” Camille said in a low voice, brushing past a velvet seat along the side of the hallway. “I’m just sad.”

“Even with the Anniversary Ball coming up in two days?”

“Yes.”

“Does this have something to do with Brecken?”

“Brecken?” Camille murmured with a little too much innocence in her tone. “W-why would this be about him?”

“Well, you haven’t seen him for several months now.”

I expected her to shoot me a sharp look and a curt expression, but she just sighed instead.

“You’re right.”

Startled, I turned to look at her, confirming now what I had suspected for weeks.

“I miss him. He’s been gone for three months, and I haven’t gotten a letter from him in two weeks.”

“You like him a lot, don’t you?”

“Oh, very much! To make matters worse, several more Guardians have asked me to the Anniversary Ball, and I just don’t know what to do. There’s a chance he could be back in time to attend with the rest of the Captains, but he doesn’t know for sure. He may not. I certainly can’t wait around for him to figure it out.”