PROLOGUE - BEFORE
The young witch slipped through the trees, each step as carefully chosen as the one before it. The heavy foliage masked her trail as if she were but a phantom in the woods, but she knew that could be undone in a second. Even a single misplaced footfall, no more than a snapped twig, could betray her location.
Though her mother had taught her there was honor to be had in defeat, she refused to accept it. History was written by the victors. Even at the tender age of fourteen Lissa McGillis, future Queen of the Monarchs, understood as much. If she was to be remembered, it would be as a ruler who offered no quarter and ceded no ground.
Despite the silence of her passage, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She’d learned to trust her instincts, and right then they screamed for her to move. With no hesitation, she threw herself in a hard dive to the left, changing her trajectory just in time for the sharp crack that came from above. The splintered remains of a large tree limb fell to the forest floor just as an invisible hand gouged a chunk from the ground where she’d been standing a moment earlier.
There was no doubt in her mind: her foe was good. She had to be better.
Lissa landed, rolled, and pointed her hands toward the sky, making her best guess as to where her enemy was. “Adh iongantach!”
A wave of purplish energy lanced out from her body, cutting a wide swath through the trees above her, angled so that any falling debris was deflected away from where she lay. Honor be damned, it would be the height of embarrassment to lose due to something as stupid as being crushed by the aftermath of her own spell.
Such an outcome was unacceptable both to her teacher and herself.
Sadly, the counterspell undermined all her efforts at stealth, giving away her position – unfortunate, as there came no cry of pain from her foe. She’d miscalculated her shot...
There!
She sensed movement from high above. It was a momentary flash, nothing more, a brief glimpse of a figure flitting through the high branches only a few feet from where she’d aimed.
It didn’t win her this battle by any stretch, but it gave her a probable trajectory – more than enough. Lissa was considered gifted among the Draíodóir, the venerable order of mystics from which she was descended. However, she was also adept in several mundane proficiencies, math and physics among them.
Though her peers didn’t consider such studies important in the grand scheme of the coven, Lissa knew better. Every advantage, no matter how insignificant, could affect the balance in the grand chess match of life – whether it was fending off rivals from within her own clan or dealing with their ancient enemies the Lycanthropes.
From a young age, she’d been raised to be a leader – a duty she took seriously – but her opponent was cut from the same cloth, had the same teachers and training. And, though Lissa couldn’t discern the thoughts of others, it was quite possible her foe shared the same ambition. If so, she couldn’t afford to make any more missteps, because none would be afforded her.
Lissa rolled to her feet and plastered herself against a thick tree trunk, doing her best to mask her presence. The base of the oak was at least four feet in diameter. It would take a spell of considerable strength to pierce it in a single shot. Considering how long this fight had played out, she didn’t think her adversary had enough left to do that.
Problem was, she realized, gulping down deep breaths of air, she didn’t either.
No. This game was nearly at its end. The next few moves would determine the victor.
Lissa knew she should play it safe, wait for a move and then counter it, but safety wasn’t a waypoint on the road to leadership. No, not when everything in her life was a test. There were always eyes upon her, judging her, looking for the slightest weakness in her armor.
She couldn’t, wouldn’t, give them the satisfaction.
At the risk of leaving herself vulnerable from above, she turned her eyes toward the ground, spotting several dead branches no more than a few steps away.
Perfect!
Leaving her cover, she purposely stepped on one – giving away her location even as she gathered power for another spell.
Any second now...
“Wind blade!”
Though the voice carried down to her with a trebled echo, she was well-versed enough in the ways of spellcraft to home in on its true source.
Lissa spun in a circle, her hands raised, letting loose every bit of power left in her lithe frame. “'BRISEADH UCHD!”
The incantation was instantly draining. Her strength ebbed and her vision narrowed to little more than a dark tunnel as unconsciousness threatened to consume her, but she fought tooth and nail to remain upright.
It was worth the effort.
The power erupted from her in an almost three-hundred and sixty degree arc. Her foe’s spell was effortlessly parried as her own shook the very forest around her. The shockwave felled smaller trees, and branches shattered by the dozen. A shower of leaves fell from the sky, blanketing the forest floor.
Best of all was the grunt of surprise and pain from above, followed a moment later by the stunned form of her opponent.
Lissa tried to raise her hands for another spell, but she was spent.
Before her sister could slam into the ground, though, a gust of wind cut through the trees, catching Carly and slowing her descent so that she touched down upon the forest floor no harder than if she had tripped.
Trying to mask how winded she was, Lissa stumbled over to where her younger sister lay and smiled down at her. “Gotcha, Car.”
“I ... almost ... had you,” Carly replied, dazed but apparently no worse for the wear.
“Horseshoes and hand grenades.”
“A hand grenade is exactly what you used,” a stern voice called out from the surrounding trees, “when a scalpel was called for.”
A middle-aged woman stepped into view and approached the two girls. Though streaks of white cut through her auburn hair, she was still quite fetching to behold. Unfortunately, that beauty was marred by the unrelenting expression etched onto her face.
“Mother,” Lissa quickly replied.
Her sister scrambled unsteadily to her feet and repeated the greeting a moment later.
“Look at you two,” Vanessa McGillis said. “That was unacceptably sloppy on both your parts.”
“But I won,” Lissa protested. Of the two siblings, she’d always been the bolder.
“Yes you did, by the skin of your teeth. That was a risky move, expending that much power. If you’d missed, you’d have been at your sister’s mercy.”
Lissa hadn’t missed, though, but she kept that opinion to herself, not wishing to press her luck with the coven’s formidable matriarch.
Her mother raised an eyebrow. “And what are you smiling about, young lady?”
Carly tried and failed to hide the grin on her face, no doubt at her sister’s scolding. Though they were close, both in age and demeanor – Lissa was only two years older – their mother had instilled a sense of competition in them. Once a duel was called, they both knew there could only be one winner.
“Do I need to remind you that, tactical advantage or not, you still lost?”
“No, ma’am,” Carly replied, averting her eyes.
Lissa glanced sidelong at her sister. Carly was an aerokineticist, gifted with the ability to control the very air itself. Conjurers like her had given rise to the old wives’ tale of witches riding broomsticks. Though Lissa’s power was ostensibly stronger, her sister’s gift was both rare and difficult to defend against, making their duels a constant challenge.
“And what was that nonsense back there?” Vanessa asked, obviously not done dressing them down.
“What nonsense?”
“You casted in English,” Lissa said, knowing this was the sort of detail their mother liked to latch onto.
“Your sister has a point. Don’t roll your eyes at me, Carolyn.”
“Sorry,” Carly quickly blurted. “But I don’t see why we need to use the old tongue. My spell worked fine. And besides...”
“Besides what?”
Carly lowered her voice to a bare whisper. “I can barely pronounce any of it.”
Lissa expected her mother to explode, but the older witch merely let out a sigh and put a hand on both their shoulders. “True enough. The words are a mere focus, nothing more. Our magic comes from within.”
“Good, then...”
“But what lies within us?” She turned and faced the trees. “Is it merely flesh and blood? If so, what separates us from the mundane? From our enemies, for that matter?”
Both girls were silent. They’d done this dance enough times to know their mother was asking a rhetorical question.
“I would argue that our true strength flows from a deeper place,” Vanessa continued, “the very soul within us. It is the wellspring from which the divine power of Queen Brigid and her most holy court flows.”
“I still don’t understand why my language matters,” Carly replied.
“It’s not us for whom it matters, but our ancestors.” Their mother turned back toward them, a smile on her lips. “Death is but a doorway to the eternal. Our blood connects us to those who came before. They sit at our queen’s side watching and guiding us.” She locked eyes with Carly. “Tell me, why did you lose today? Quickly, what does your heart say?”
Carly shrugged. “Lissa got lucky.”
Lissa opened her mouth to protest, but her mother held up a hand.
“Oh? And what is this thing called luck?” She let them stew on the question for a moment before continuing. “Luck is nothing more than a confluence of events converging in such a way to be either for or against our favor. The slightest nudge can change luck against you. Our ancestors not only watch, but they judge us, too. And though their hands don’t wield the same might as when they were alive, they can still influence this world. That’s why we use the old tongue to empower our spells. It acknowledges and honors them. In doing so, they grant us their favor.”
“Or take it away,” Lissa added.
“True enough. We should live our lives honoring those who came before. That’s what separates us from the dogs of this world. Remember this and remember it well, my daughters. For when you turn your back on that honor, the only path it will lead you down is one of ruin.”
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