Antebellum Awakening (13 page)

“I can do it!” I growled, and set back to work. Twenty minutes later the blisters on my palms burst. Merrick, still hard at work, didn’t see me stop to tear off the bottom of my shirt. I wrapped the scrap of fabric around my hand and used my teeth to pull the knot tight. I started again, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

I’m not weak.

Amidst the grueling, repetitive motions, my mind wandered. The swirling magic in my chest pulled me back to Miss Mabel, the High Priest, and my Inheritance Curse. Too tired to push the thoughts away, to focus on
not
focusing on Miss Mabel, I let the thoughts flutter through my mind in random bursts.

Your task is to kill the High Priest.

The thought brought my defenses down for half a second, letting the magic slip from my heart in a quick pulse. A familiar tingling sensation shot through my arms when I brought the ax down on the log. The wood flew apart with a violent crack, shooting four separate pieces into the yard. I jumped with a yelp, narrowly avoiding the thickest piece. One hit the side of the cabin and clattered to the dirt, while another broke a branch off a tree several paces away. I looked down to find that the ax had bitten into the stump all the way to its top.

“Blessed be,” I muttered, tugging on the handle. The stump had swallowed the ax head whole. My head swirled as I tried to understand it, and I finally used an incantation to work the ax head free. Merrick, realizing I’d stopped, threw an armful of logs onto his pile and wiped his palms off.

“What happened?”

I thought about telling him that I’d accidentally used magic to chop the log and didn’t know how, but decided that I might sound even more out of control.

“Nothing,” I called over my shoulder, setting the ax on the ground and heading for the well before he could ask for details, unable to get away fast enough. “Just need some water.”

The cool water parched my throat. I sat down on a nearby boulder and took long draws until my stomach started to hurt. How had I buried the ax in the stump?

I finished with my drink, and unnerved by my own inability to figure out how the moment of strength came about, I dumped the rest of the water bucket over my head and returned to the porch.

“We’re all done,” he said. “Stack your logs with mine. I’ll let Sanna know.”

I suppressed my sigh of relief and did as he said without word, water dripping down my back and ears. Sanna had walked onto the porch by the time he returned and pressed a small parcel into my trembling hands.

“For the trip home,” she said. “You’re bound to be hungry. It’s good. Isadora sent it over.”

“Thank you, Sanna.”

Despite my sweaty skin, she reached up and patted my face with a bit more slap than I expected.

“You’re a good girl. You’ll get him one day. Thanks for the free labor, Merrick!” she called as he returned from the shed. The warm hues of her rare necklace caught my eye again.

“Yes,” I said, smiling at her even though she couldn’t see my face. “I’ll come again. Thank you, Sanna.”

Merrick and I started off at a walk down the winding trail through the trees, crossing over the little brook that trickled past her house. I opened the parcel to find a large slice of pound cake. I broke it in half and offered Merrick the bigger slice. He waved it away.

“Don’t you feel hunger?” I asked, irritated that he came away so unfazed. My ravenous stomach threatened to eat itself, and the broken blisters on my hands pulsed. This run would be miserable. He ignored me, so I devoured the whole piece. Once the pound cake disappeared, I peeled the fabric off my hand to tighten the makeshift bandage. Blood had soaked through the fabric.

“When did that happen?” Merrick asked in surprise, his eyes narrowing on my injuries. Embarrassed, I just shrugged.

“Awhile ago.”

“You should have said something.”

I kept walking, not knowing how to respond.
I don’t want people to know I’m weak because I can’t afford to fail again. If I fail this time, the High Priest will die.

A long silence fell between us as we walked, heading into the great maw of Letum Wood. Thinking of the run ahead, and the living memories that possibly awaited me in the forest, made my stomach hurt. Perhaps I shouldn’t have sucked down that pound cake so fast.

“It helps your hand-eye coordination,” Merrick said, breaking the silence. I turned to him in surprise.

“What does?”

“Chopping wood. It also strengthens your back, stomach, and arm muscles so that when you learn how to use a sword you’re strong enough.”

“Oh,” I said, chagrined that there had been a purpose behind the exercise after all. “How did you meet Sanna?”

“During my training as a Guardian,” he said. “I was lost in Letum Wood and fell into a creek in the middle of winter. I stumbled into her house, nearly frozen to death, and she took me in. I’ve been coming back to help her ever since.”

“You were a Guardian?”

He nodded. “I rose quickly through the ranks from Guardian, to Captain of the Guards, and then I tried out for the Protectors. Now, here I am, waiting to see if it happens.”

I could tell there was more to the story by the way he set his jaw. Before I could inquire, he motioned to the trail with a nod. He’d tied his hair back again with a leather strip, but several tendrils had worked loose while he chopped wood. He peered into the forest.

“You ready?” he asked. I shook my head. The very idea of having to fight the memories again while feeling so tired drained my already depleted energy reserves.

“No,” I admitted.

He hesitated, staring at me with those cool green eyes.

“You worked hard today, so I won’t force you to run back,” he said. “You can transport.”

Relief rushed through me like a cool breeze.

“Thank you.”

He nodded once, but even as I dropped into blackness, I couldn’t miss the concerned look that crossed his face.

A Broken Mirror

“I
’ll do the algebra homework, Leda. I will. I promise,” Camille said three days later. “I’ll work on all the algebra rubbish that Miss Scarlett is forcing me to do over the summer, but you have to tell me how I’m going to use it in real life!"

Leda started to answer Camille’s challenge but stopped, her face crinkling into thought.

“Yes, Leda,” I said, from where I lay on the Witchery floor, lounging on the large, overstuffed pillows. “How will Camille use algebra in everyday life?”

“Very well,” Leda said, taking up the challenge by clearing her throat. “I’ll tell you how you’ll use algebra in real life.”

“Wonderful,” Camille said, setting down her pencil. “I’m waiting.”

Leda cleared her throat again. “First of all, there’s a lot of practical application,” she said, pausing to chew on her bottom lip.

“She’s stalling,” I sang under my breath. Leda silenced my surfacing laugh with a sharp glare.

“Well?” Camille asked with a bit more backbone than usual. Her confidence had certainly grown the past few months. “What’s the answer?”

“Oh, you’ll use it!” Leda said in a quick rush. “You’ll use algebra all the time.”

“Yes, so you say. But how?”

“Take sewing, for example,” Leda said, her self-assuredness growing. “Yes, think of sewing. You have to know lengths for sewing, right? And angles for . . . for dresses.”

Camille’s eyes narrowed. “Angles for dresses,” she repeated blandly. “I don’t know about that.”

“Oh hang it, Camille,” Leda burst out. “You don’t have a choice. It’s required curriculum. Whether or not you’ll use it doesn’t matter. You still need to learn it to pass your first year. Now get to work.”

Camille let out a dramatic sigh and stared at the parchment with loathing. She muttered something under her breath that sounded like, “Won’t need algebra to marry a handsome Guardian,” and turned back to her studies.

Eyes closed, I enjoyed the sensation of not moving after a grueling morning lesson with Merrick. Though it had been several days ago, the experience at Sanna’s ran through my mind, and I replayed the way the magic moved through my arms and gave me a burst of strength. Every day I awoke, planning to tell my friends about what happened, but could never bring myself to do it. If even I didn’t understand it yet, how could I expect them to?

A steady flapping sound came from the turret stairs. All of us gazed at each other in question.

“What’s that?” Camille asked.

“If it’s a witch,” Leda said in a threatening tone, “they better leave now. I don’t want anyone else coming into the Witchery but us.”

The sound grew louder and was joined by two more pairs of shoes.

“Hello?” I called, climbing to my feet with a grimace. My swollen, aching leg muscles protested. Running the stairs in the lower bailey had taken its toll. I peered into the dark stairway to see only faint movement.

“Yes, move aside. Yes, yes. Move aside, please!”

A short, buxom woman bustled in wearing a light blue dress and a kerchief to match. She had cheeks so red they reminded me of cherries, and made her plump face fringed with strands of yellow hair look very merry. Her bright eyes matched her dress. Altogether, she looked entirely like a dinner roll. Round, soft, and squishy.

Camille leapt up from her chair, sending her scroll of homework flying. “Miss Henrietta!” she cried. “What are you doing here?”

“You’ll look lovely in this deep blue, won’t you? Eyes like a thunderstorm,” Miss Henrietta said to me, inviting herself in. She gazed around, her eyes nearly disappearing into her face when she squinted.

“Goodness, so bright. So, so bright. All right then, come along, Bianca. I need to see you. Yes, yes. Come.”

Her assessing gaze roved over my body and she started to tut under her breath. Two girls wearing matching black dresses with golden lace trim streamed into the room, their eyes trained on the floor. They stood next to each other against the wall and waited without making a peep.

“A little more work than I thought. Move aside. Yes. Yes, yes. Oh, that horrid fabric won’t do!” she muttered, touching my dress with the tip of her finger.

“Are you here to sew a dress for Bianca?” Camille asked, stepping forward. “See? She certainly needs the help, just like I told you.”

I shot Camille a perturbed look but she smiled innocently. Henrietta looked up, then returned to her offended perusal of my dress.

“Merry meet again, Camille,” she said. “It’s always nice to see you. Go over there, Bianca. Stand up. Up, up!”

Henrietta scooted me toward the table. A chair slid out and moved into the middle of the room.

“To the chair!” she commanded. “Yes, yes, good.”

Bewildered, I shot Leda a desperate glance, a plea for help. She smirked, tucked her legs underneath her, and disappeared into the book, 
Easing Into the Political Realm
.

“Take that horrid thing off her,” Henrietta commanded the maids. I realized with a start that she meant my dress. The two girls stepped forward and peeled the dress off, leaving me in my knickers and binder.

“Wait!” I cried. “What are you doing?”

They attacked me with a mass of material, slipping it down my body in soft folds of fabric, silencing my squawks of protest. It turned out to be mostly the shell of a dress. The sleeves were too long, the waist too wide, the neckline jagged, and the bottom frayed at the hem. Even incomplete, it took my breath away.

“The High Priestess sent us,” Henrietta said, circling me, an army of needles following in the air behind her that Camille had to dodge. The two witches with her began to poke, fold, and prod, occasionally snatching a needle from the air to slide into the dress. “This is what you are to wear for the Network Ball. I’ve been able to do most the basic work on it, but needed to check my measurements.”

“Ouch!” I muttered when one of the girls pricked my hip with a pin. She averted her eyes to avoid my glower.

“It’s a special material,” Henrietta said, her lips pursed. “Quite rare, and imbued with a special magic that keeps you cool and prevents sweat stains in the heat of the summer. It’s all the High Priestess wears.”

“What is it?” I asked, running my fingertips along the seams. It felt much softer than silk to touch, but light like linen. I never wanted to take it off.

“It’s called linea. It originally came from the Eastern Network.”

Linea.
I’d heard of it before. It was the strongest of fabrics and exquisitely expensive. I pulled my fingers away, frightened even to touch it. If it came from the East, it meant this material must have been over a century old. There hadn’t been any trade amongst the Networks since the Mansfeld Pact, a treaty that banned trade, interference, or the conducting of business across Network borders. We remained self-sufficient instead. Although there was an underground market for this sort of thing, the High Priestess would never wear material that had been obtained illegally.

“I can’t wear this,” I said, meeting Henrietta’s eyes in a panic. “I’ll destroy it. It must be over a hundred years old. I can’t even pour tea without spilling.”