“The final form of magic is also very rare, especially now that the Church of Scion has done its best to eradicate magic from these lands. Magical objects are ancient relics that have themselves been imbued with magical properties. These objects came from a time when the gods still walked among us. They can be used by magical and non-magical bloodlines alike as they themselves contain the same magic that flows through the world. This is different from a conduit object like a crystal, which just acts as something to amplify the magic in the elements.” Rory paused, as if to check I was still paying attention.
I was trying to understand the subtle difference. It made sense to me, so I nodded for him to continue. “There are four ancient relics that we know of.” Rory paused again to let me write out the list. “The Chalice, the Athame, the Sacred Wand and the Pentacle. But all four have been lost. We believe that it is likely they have all been destroyed. But if someone were to get their hands on these ancient relics, it could be catastrophic,” he finished. I was rushing to keep up, my pen scratching furiously on the paper of my notebook. “Do you have any questions?”
So many questions. But where to begin.
“What’s a pentacle?” I could infer what the other three objects were: a chalice was self-explanatory. An atheme was some sort of knife or dagger, that much I knew. A wand was also fairly obvious, even if it was more like something out of a féerie tale than real life. But I had no idea what a pentacle was.
“The Pentacle is the object that is related to the earth element,” Rory began, ever the professor. “It is said to be a golden disc, like a coin, with a symbol, possibly a five-pointed star, engraved in the top. That particular object has been lost for centuries, though. So no one is quite sure what it looks like.”
“Can you run out of magic?” I asked the other question that had tickled my mind. If magic had no limits, why didn’t the magic wielders just step up and crush Scion with their power?
“Excellent question.” Rory smiled his approval. “Yes. Magic has limits. It is a physical property—meaning that it has to adhere to the laws of physics in this world. It can manipulate the world, but it cannot defy it. So yes, much like you would get tired after physically exerting yourself, your magic drains after a while. I like to think of it as a tank, or a reserve. Once you use up what is in the reserve, it will refill, but it will take time. Using a lot of magic also takes a physical toll on the wielder. So you may feel very tired and sore after your first few lessons, much like you would if you hadn’t taken a dance class in a while.”
Somehow, Rory’s explanations had left me with more questions than answers. But he seemed to think that was enough theory for one day. We were ready to move on to the practical portion of the lesson.
My confidence was shattered as soonas we moved from the theoretical to the practical portion of training. Because training my magical abilities was very much an exercise in futility. Ciaran, Fionn and Rory all tried to show me various ways of channelling the latent ability that simmered in my blood. But I had no success.
“Maybe try your other hand?” Fionn suggested, unhelpfully, as I grasped a large quartz crystal and attempted to make it light up. Apparently this was the simplest form of magic, and even the young ones could usually accomplish it.
“It’s no use.” My face had been screwed up and twisted. I was concentrating so hard. My shoulders were tense and tight as Iattempted to find a way to reach that core of magic within me. “Maybe everyone is wrong and I don’t have any magic at all.”
“Be patient, Seraphina. It will take time to figure out what works best for you. We’re just experimenting here. There’s no pressure.” Ciaran attempted to soothe me. It just made me angrier. I didn’t need him placating me.
“Well, it feels like there’s pressure,” I snapped back. “We’ve been at this for hours. It’s not working,” I whined. I sounded pathetic, but I didn’t care. “I want to have a nap—my brain feels like I just did thirty-seven fouettés five times in a row.”
The three men looked at me with blank expressions.
“Ballet. Turns. Never mind!” I began to stomp off, frustrated.
“No, no, that makes sense. The opera! Seraphina, wait. Come back. Try again.” Ciaran grabbed my hand. I swung back around to face him. His hand was so warm; I was aware of every point of contact between us. I stared him down, waiting for an explanation. “Your magic is tied to your singing. Try the crystal again, but this time sing something while you’re holding it.” Dark eyes locked on mine, flecks of brown catching the reflection of the quartz in my hand.
He wanted me to sing. My face heated as I realized my hand was still in Ciaran’s. He hadn’t let go either. It was warm and rough. I dropped it like it was a hot pan, stepping away from him.
“I… don’t know… it probably won’t work,” I stammered.
“Oh, come on, Fifi.” Fionn rubbed his hands together, like he genuinely couldn’t wait to hear me sing. The casual use of Carlotta’s nickname for me hit me like a blow to the gut.
“Don’t call me that!” I snapped. “No one gets to call me that, okay?”
Fionn held up his hands. “Sorry. I didn’t know. Won’t happen again.”
I was so agitated.
“Magic is an entity that we don’t fully understand,” Rory said calmly, stepping to stand shoulder to shoulder with his twin, “but we know that it has an affinity for art: for anything creative. The arts make magic come to life. It’s how many of our kind find out about their gifts in the first place. Your gift is tied to singing. And I’d be willing to bet that if you sang something right now, that crystal would light up.”
“It can’t hurt to try,” Ciaran said, his voice low, sensual, full of mischief.
“Fine. Fine. You lot are insufferable, do you know that?”
“Yessssss!” Fionn did a little dance on the spot. Ciaran gestured to the crystal.
“I don’t even know what to sing.” I looked at the crystal, rooted to the floor, extremely aware of the three pairs of eyes staring me down.
“Just sing what you feel,” Ciaran encouraged. I gave him an incredulous look. He just shrugged and gestured toward the crystal.
“Here goes.” I took a deep breath and did a run—like a cadenza, the notes coming from deep within me. They evoked the feeling I had with Ciaran, while paddling through that dark canal beneath the opera house—the first time—dark, sweet, sensual and mysterious.
“Sing…” Ciaran whispered, his eyes locked on the thing in my hand. I continued, not daring to look down. I was pushing the limits of my vocal range. “Sing,” he said louder this time. His eyes dragged up to my face, from the crystal in my hand, which had filled with warmth and was vibrating softly. I finished the run at the very edge of my range. My voice lifted up, filling the entirety of the training room. I finally dared to glance at the crystal. It was shining brightly, like a fallen star, in the palm of my hand.
