Rebirth (Lost Souls #1)

Chapter 4

P racticing is all that I do. Occasionally, I’m interrupted by that inexplicable sudden darkness, each time bringing that flurry of wings with it. Once, I try to stay out in an attempt to find out what it is or means. I don’t last long; it’s as if the whole place changes into a tornado of razor-sharp feathers. They cut my flesh with little to no effort and the pain is simply too much. So, whenever darkness falls, I lock myself in my room and try to ignore when it rattles at my door and makes the candles flicker.

The only good thing that comes out of it, so far, is that I found out that I heal faster. The cuts usually disappear within the hour. Whatever happened to me, whatever brought me here, has undeniably changed me.

Unable to tell the passing of time makes everything seem endless. I go back and forth between the garden, the library, and my room, the only reprieve that I allow myself. Every waking moment I put to good use, diving deeper and deeper inside myself and into the emotions that fuel my magic, especially the one that fuels it more than any other.

Anger. Always anger, rapidly taking me over.

The need to have my memories returned and to see Henry again are my greatest drives—my first two priorities. But the reason why is a lie that I told to soothe my consciousness in front of Sophia. My love for him is long gone, I was just too scared to admit it to myself. Every time Henry so much as looked at me after that day, I grew to hate him more. Yes, it had been my body that had failed. But it had been his actions, his cruelty, that had gotten me there.

The more time that I spend practicing, the less I care about why I’m here and how I can leave. I’ve decided that trying to return home can wait until I figure the rest out. Because what has happened, and might still happen, between Henry and I will affect going home. Part of me wants to believe that there is a chance that I might return to him. A more rational part knows how unlikely this is, that I don’t want my old life back, not as it was then. Meaning that I will have to redefine my idea of home.

Sophia makes a point out of checking in on me from time to time and I have to admit that it’s nice to have her at my side. She gives me pointers as I progress, and I do, little by little. The ball of magical energy steadily grows bigger and more stable. It boosts my confidence, which in turn boosts my progress.

Every now and then I see Sophia in the garden, together with him. Walking, chatting, sometimes heated discussions in a language that I don’t understand. On one occasion I catch Sophia saying my name, and something about it terrifies me. The way in which she says it, or perhaps it’s the calculated look in her eyes at the moment she does.

Whenever I see him, I’m hit with that same odd feeling of remembrance and that pull that urges me on. It’s combined with the unease that every single one of his looks gives me, that sly smile on his lips. I don’t know what to think of him. Except for giving me my name, he has not spoken to me once, only thrown those looks my way. Looks that give me all kinds of… feelings. Amongst which a strange kind of jealousy for the way he sometimes drapes his arm around Sophia’s shoulders, how he holds her close. For the way he sometimes whispers in her ears, like one would with a lover. I don’t know nor understand why I feel possessive toward a man that I don’t even know. A man that terrifies me at that.

It’s during one of these moments that I turn away from them only to stumble upon Isra. It takes all I have to not flinch away from her as I find her standing between the trees, the memory of our last encounter still too fresh in my mind. I avert my gaze once more and circle around her as if I didn’t see her.

“So, you’re just going to ignore me?”

I curse under my breath as Isra’s voice sounds from behind me. “Hi, Isra,” I say, turning around. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Bullshit,” she spits at me. “I thought we were friends. But friends visit each other when one of them is sick. And they definitely don’t ignore each other like this.”

She does look better, as if nothing happened. She also sounds crazy, and I do not want her to get any closer to me than she already is.

I bite back the urge to point out that we’re not friends, not at all. Tilting my head, I look at her and consider my options. Then again, she’s already pissed off, and I don’t feel like pretending after all. “We’re not friends.”

The next moment, she’s right in front of me, her hand on my wrist. Her emerald-green eyes are filled with anger, staring me down. Was she always taller than me?

“What do you mean ‘we’re not friends’?” I hold back a sigh, too terrified of her possible reaction to let it out. “Wasn’t I there for you during your most difficult moment?” She starts to squeeze my wrist, and I gasp for breath. “Wasn’t I there for you to help you adjust to your new life here?”

“Isra,” I say, trying to free my wrist. “You’re hurting me.”

“This is nothing compared to the pain that you make me feel by denying our friendship. ”

She’s insane. Utterly and completely insane.

“We’re not friends. And even if we were, friends don’t hurt each other like you’re hurting me right now.”

Isra laughs, not taking her eyes off of me or loosening her grip. Instead, it only gets tighter, and I struggle to hold back a scream when the bone breaks. There is an audible crack, but Isra doesn’t seem to notice, completely absorbed in her anger. My breathing gets heavy in my attempt to bite back the pain.

“Isra, please let go of me. I’m warning you.” Sweat trickles down my temple, and I don’t know how much longer it’ll be possible for me to remain civil when all I want to do right now is make her let go. Hurt her back.

Isra cackles at this. “You’re warning me? You?”

“Let me go.”

She laughs again, and I’m fed up. Before I’m fully aware of what I’m doing, I put my hand against her upper arm. Energy surges through me and connects with her skin. Once it does, it explodes, and Isra screams in earnest. She lets go of me and all her attention goes to the arm that I just severely damaged. It hangs next to her, limp, lifeless, broken. She looks at it, stunned, as if she can’t believe that I just did that.

“You,” she wheezes, the bones making soft cracking sounds as they slowly start to heal. “You broke my arm.”

“I warned you.”

“You broke my arm!”

Cursing myself for my stupidity in antagonizing her, I take a step back, ready to run at a moment’s notice. Before she can actually make her move, Isra’s eyes go big, then her legs give out and she falls face-first into the grass. Black energy coils around her neck, her breathing heavy and labored. She manages to roll onto her back, her eyes big and unseeing. There is the snap of a finger, and the black energy turns into smoke and evaporates.

I look up and see him standing next to Isra, looking down on her. The anger in his eyes is apparent, even from where I’m standing. Effortlessly, he picks her up in his arms and stalks away, not sparing me a single glance.

“He warned her about what would happen if she did not behave.”

Sophia’s voice almost has me jumping out of my skin. My heartbeat only calms down when I find her standing to the side. She looks somber, her gaze downcast and fixed on the spot where Isra had been lying in the grass just a moment ago. When she finally looks up, residual sadness lingers on her face and in her hazelnut-colored eyes.

She approaches me and carefully touches my wrist. I wince, the bone still very much broken even though it knits itself back together. Sophia puts her hand on my back and gently nudges me forward. She guides me to one of the benches in the center of the garden and pulls me down to sit next to her.

“We heal faster than normal, but sometimes it can be convenient to extend the process a helping hand.”

She takes my arm in her hand and places the palm of her other hand on top of my wrist. She whispers a few words, and her fire-red magic appears. It wraps itself around my wrist, warm and soothing. Then the broken bone snaps fully back into place, and I wince.

“There,” Sophia says as she lets go of my arm. “Good as new.”

My arm looks and feels as if nothing happened to it, which is only slightly disconcerting. Healing magic… that sure has its advantages. Looks like I was so focused on learning how to conjure and control my magic that I didn’t consider all the other possibilities that it could come with.

“What is going to happen to her?” I ask Sophia, diverting my attention back to Isra.

“She will be punished accordingly. ”

We are quiet for a few moments. Even with the prospect of Isra being punished for what she did, I can’t find it in me to care for her.

“That was some nice use of your magic earlier,” Sophia says, breaking the silence.

“Oh.” My cheeks heat. “You saw that?”

“So did he.”

I go from embarrassed to very embarrassed, and I don’t even know why. Sophia chuckles lightly at my reaction, winking at me as she stands up.

“Come,” she says. “Let me walk you to your room.”

A fter taking time for some much-needed rest, I notice that my magic comes easier to me. It’s as if using it on Isra was the extra push that I needed. Whether that’s actually the case or not, I’m glad about it because it’s an improvement.

At the same time, and perhaps because of this, I find myself unable to stop wondering about Isra. Time passes, but I don’t come across her anymore. Once, I get too curious and go to her room, only to find it empty and looking like it has been for a while. So, when I find Sophia in the library, I ask her.

The way that she looks up at me only confuses me more. “She is still with him.”

“Is that… normal?” My voice hesitates, for I clearly do not know what is and isn’t normal here.

Sophia shrugs, her eyes already back on the book in her lap. “She has been causing trouble ever since she got here,” she says absentmindedly. “He has given her warning after warning, more than she deserved. Yet she kept ignoring it and doing as she pleased.”

“Then why is she still here?”

Sophia looks back up at me. “Because he cannot send her back. Not alive, at least.” Sophia pauses for a moment, then continues, “He does not like to be disobeyed. And she has disobeyed him so very often. Too often. I fear that he might at some point decide that she is no longer worth the trouble.” Her voice is weak, and tears glisten in her eyes when she finally does look back up at me.

“Whatever you do, do not anger him,” she implores me, her voice wavering. “He is a monster.”

Seeing our current predicament, that statement doesn’t come as a surprise.

“You are free to do whatever you want here. Truly. As long as you obey him. If you do not, there will be consequences. There will always be consequences. He has his good moments”—this time Sophia is the one to blush—“but nevertheless, he is and always will be a monster. Never forget that, no matter what happens. No matter what he says, does, or promises you. Because yes, at some point, he will seek you out.”

Her words remind me of earlier, how she already warned me about the price I will have to pay for whatever he might end up offering me.

Sophia looks past me for a moment, to the burning fire behind me. The flames reflect in her unseeing eyes, and I wonder where her mind is wandering off to. “In all honesty, I feel responsible for Isra. I helped her get settled here as well as I could. I warned her, time and time again. Even when she refused to heed my words. I cannot help but feel as if I have failed her.”

“Isra is responsible for herself,” I say, unwilling to see Sophia beat herself up over this, because she clearly does.

“I know that, but…” She hesitates. “I just hope that he does not break her beyond repair.”

She sighs and then smiles at me, but the sadness is apparent in her eyes. I have the urge to try and comfort her, only holding myself back because it feels awkward to act on it.

Sophia turns back to her book and, this time, I know that she considers the conversation to be over. Ignoring my feelings of wanting to comfort her, I decide that I’m not going to press the matter. I need to get Isra out of my mind. She’s not my problem, and the longer she’s away, the better. Because the next time she comes for me like that, I might lash out even more and really hurt her. Then again, that might be exactly what she’s aiming for. For someone to end her suffering.

My eyes go from Sophia to the roaring fire. As curious as I am about Isra’s story, I’m at least equally curious about hers. If Sophia was here first, then I can only imagine how many centuries she has lived through. How is it even possible? Unless time here doesn’t progress at a normal pace.

A fter that moment in the library, I don’t get to talk with Sophia for a while. I sometimes see her in the distance, but she always seems to vanish before I reach her. It frustrates me since I had started to enjoy her company. It makes me feel less alone. Besides that, I was hoping that she would continue to guide me and help me with learning magic. It isn’t an exaggeration to say that I’m getting better; my magic is rapidly improving and I’m ready for more.

I take my growing frustration and boredom out on the library. It leads to me turning the place upside down in search of something to learn from. It’s almost borderline desperation, the need inside me to continue to grow and improve my skills. Eventually, it’s utter luck that I find the one book with translations and notes on pronunciation. A small voice in my head tells me that it can’t be a coincidence. It must have been planted here for me to find it. Nothing about this place is that easy, I know at least that much.

Turning it over in my hands a few times, I figure what the heck, I have nothing to lose. I take the book and try my hardest to learn from it on my own.

After a while, I take it outside to try out a few of the spells, unwilling to risk damaging the library. Despite the notes next to the spells, pronunciation proves to be tricky. I somehow manage, but I’m far from confident. The magic circles that I construct don’t seem like much, and I frown as I look at them. The circle evaporates with a single gesture, and I lean back against the tree, sighing. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I close my eyes. It feels like something is missing, but I don’t know what.

This place is supposedly able to help me tap into my magic. I won’t entertain the possibility that I’ve already reached my limits. There is so much more inside me, right below the surface. If only I could reach it… The book lies heavy in my lap, the grain of the old pages almost raw to the pads of my fingers. Concentrating, I slowly let my magic run through me, over and over, from my toes to the tips of my fingers and the top of my head. It fills me up and allows for me to feel more in tune with this… energy that I’m very much still trying to control.

One hand drops from the book to the grass, and I run my fingers through the blades. Gently, I send out a small wave of magic around me. Just to feel my surroundings, to become more aware. In the past few days, I’ve noticed that this helps me relax. So, whenever I’m wound up, I let my magic become one with the garden. It rolls through the grass and up the trees, until it hits a wall a few steps away from me.

Frowning, my eyes still closed, I send out a second, slightly stronger wave. When it hits this wall again, something unmistakably snaps back at it. My magic is thrown back at me and, where it usually returns to me as gently as I’ve sent it out, it now hits me like a punch to my stomach. Gasping for air, my eyes fly open, and I find him looming over me.

I’m so startled by his sudden presence that I flinch away from him. My back presses against the trunk of the tree and my chest heaves. He picks the book out of my lap with a swift gesture, gives it a look and throws it aside. His eyes trace over me and, despite his smile, pure, unadulterated terror wells up inside of me.

“Show me what you can do.” His voice is cold, but underneath it there’s something luscious and wicked with a hard edge. It tells me he will not be accepting any kind of refusal. And I don’t want to refuse him, not with how something bubbles inside me, slowly reaching up and toward him.

He takes a few steps back and looks at me, waiting.

I swallow, possibly a bit too loud, and get to my feet. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and think. I’m very much still a beginner, and there are only a handful of spells that I’ve tried. It doesn’t mean that I’m able to cast them decently, let alone actively use them. This puts me more on the spot than I’m comfortable with. But I know that I have no other choice but to try and hope for the best.

It’s hard to not linger on the fact that I’ve never truly field tested any of these spells. Pushing these thoughts to the back of my head, I pick out a spell and try to focus on it. My breathing becomes steady and controlled. My magic flows through me, crackling at the tips of my fingers.

“Lonsh hubardo tibibp iadnamad.”

The words flow out of me, followed by an unmistakable magical energy, guided by the movement of my hands. Opening my eyes, it twists and turns into a circle that erects itself as a shield in front of me. My left hand tugs on the circle, and it expands under my touch. It takes a second until it’s big enough to shield me completely. But the protection is stable, and I move to get started on a second spell. Before I can do so, a foreign energy buzzes in the air around me.

“Aqlo adohi salman teloch.” His words are harsh, and the impact of his attack spell against my defense is so big that I nearly lose my balance. I dig my heels in the grass under my feet, grit my teeth, and move my hand to increase my protection.

The next moment, he’s standing right in front of me. His black magic hammers against my ice blue. Sparks fly around us as he chips away at my defense. My spell falters for a fraction of a second, and so does my breathing. Thankfully, it holds out. I don’t know what kind of attack spell this is or how to properly defend against it. What I do know is that it would have been bad if it had gotten through.

He has a disturbing grin on his face as he adds more power to his spell. It leaves me with no other choice than to follow suit. The power of his attack pounds against my defense. The sheer force behind it sends a shockwave through the garden. The trees sway, leaves and twigs fly around, some branches snap and fall down around us.

Despite the strength of it, I know that he isn’t even trying—that much is clear. If he really were going all out, I would have been down as soon as the words left his mouth. The way he stands there, with one hand in his pocket and the other casually gesturing to direct the spell, is a fearful sight on its own. Part of me wants to cower in front of him, another part refuses to back down. Yet another wants to wipe that smug grin off his face. One day.

After a few more agonizing seconds, he breaks off his attack. The black energy evaporates, and mine follows seconds later. I’m panting from the sheer amount of energy that it took me to keep my defense up. My legs shake, and I try to regulate my breathing in an attempt to not pass out on the spot. It takes me a few moments and, when I finally look up, he’s gone.

I groan and drop myself in the grass, exhausted. My magic feels like a raging storm, so I flatten the palms of my hands in the grass and let some of it flow out. It’s calming, soothing, and both my body and mind relax. A peaceful kind of bliss settles itself deep inside me.

I close my eyes and let my magic flow, enjoying it to the fullest.