Page 300 of Awakened

“She’d probably tell me a story,” I answer, dipping the hem of Caelan’s hoodie into the water and using it to scrub at my teeth.

“Did she tell you a lot of stories growing up?”

I laugh. A lot would be an understatement. Some days and weeks, Father was in an exceptionally bad mood, and all Mother could do was whisper stories to me beneath my bedsheets. She had so many—all wildly fantastical. I don’t even know how she kept them all separate in her mind. She’d memorized them. I knew because they never changed. Even now I can still repeat most of them word for word.

“So many,” I tell her. “It was her favorite thing to do.”

I leave out the part about how some days it was the only thing we could do, since Father refused to let us leave the house. By the time I was ten, he’d got rid of all the televisions and anything that could be used as a radio. We weren’t even allowed in the library most days.

Lost in my memories, I follow Branwen back to the teaching Chamber. I don’t often let myself fall into these memories, not when each of them is so bittersweet. I miss my mother fiercely, and with an ache that I don’t think will ever go away. I just wish we made it back to the willow to find what she left me before I got lost down here. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and know it’s the last thing she⁠—

I shake my head, trying to shake that specific memory away. I don’t want to think about her like that. Don’t want to remember her the way she looked then—barely like my mother at all. She was so pale and fragile and weak. When she pushed her light into me, it was exactly like when I did the same to Caelan to heal him… except she gave me everything she had, and told me to burn.

‘You are my daughter.’

Growing up, she would always remind me of that. Sometimes, she said it before I went to sleep; the words accompanied by a kiss on my temple before she turned out the lights. Her smile never left, but her eyes… her eyes were sometimes sad. Knowing. Like she was afraid that being her daughter was a curse as well as a reminder of who I was.

“I wonder who labeled these,” Branwen mumbles, grabbing a beautiful ruby-red glass jar and squinting at the slanted writing. “I mean, obviously it was whoever used this place, but some of these things are absolutely wild.”

Spinning to face me, she holds up the jar she’s been inspecting.

“It’s almost like ingredients for a witch’s spell,” she laughs. “This one is ‘Sand from the Castovian Sea, Procured under a full moon by the light of Anaxis.’ Who the hell is Anaxis and where is the Castovian Sea?”

Without waiting for an answer, she spins back around and replaces the red jar with another. This one is clear, containing what looks like tree bark. It has an iridescent blue sheen. Taking it from her, I hold it up to the light and turn it to find the label.

“‘Balcolon Shards, Procured in the fifth week of the fourth changing.’” I set it back down carefully. “Maybe that’s how they dated things?”

Planting her fists on her hips, she chews on her lower lip, brow furrowing as she considers. “Alright, but what’s a Balcolon?”

“It’s probably a very pretentious name for ‘bark.’”

It’s impossible not to be awed by the sheer number of items whoever ran this place kept on hand. Reaching out, I run a finger lightly over a small jar the color of the sunset. “I don’t think whoever labeled or left all this stuff was shopping at your normal, everyday apothecary. I doubt there was a CVS on every corner wherever it came from.”

“Can you imagine?” Branwen replies, gingerly picking up another bottle. “Yes, can you please point me in the direction of the shiny tree stuff? I’d also like to purchase some sand from the Castovian Sea. It has to be procured by the light Anaxis, mind. No other light will do. It simply must be Anaxis.”

I throw back my head and laugh. I laugh so hard that tears spring to my eyes and I have to bend over, struggling to breathe through it. I’m not sure if I’m losing my grip on reality thanks to the lack of sleep or food or both, or if the idea of asking some poor cashier where to find the shiny tree stuff really is that funny, but gods… it feels so good to laugh.

“Alright, Fire Witch,” Branwen drawls over my giggles, shaking her head with a smile. “What are we going to try today? I think it’s pretty safe to say by now that you have some kind of ability with all four elements, so pick one.”

Reality rushes in, and my laughter dies a fast death. Groaning, I catch myself right before I actually stomp my foot like a child.

“Let’s pick something that won’t kill us if I screw it up,” I suggest, wincing.

“Well, fire and Earth are off the table then.”

“Why? What’s wrong with Earth?”

She levels me with a flat look, then extends her arms and gestures around us. “We’re literally in a cave. In the Earth. I feel like we should stay away from that one until you have a better handle on things, love. Unless you’d like to try and recreate the cave-in, in which case, I have to warn you—in times of great need anyone can serve in the office of a priest, and I haven’t been to confession in three years.”

I narrow my eyes. “I’m about ninety-nine percent sure that’s only for Baptisms. I’m pretty confident you have to have a real priest for confession.”

She opens her mouth to reply but hesitates, then shuts it and shrugs. “My point stands.”

“Your point is shaky at best, but I get the gist. Let’s go with water, then. I can’t blow that up… Or set it on fire.”

For the next few hours, I sit in front of two bowls of water and try to make them move, with varying results. A few times it rippled, and once, it flew straight up into the air like a geyser. Unfortunately, the only thing I’ve managed to do with any certainty is prove to myself that I definitely don't have control over my powers.

By the afternoon—or what I think must be afternoon—I’m cranky, starving, and soaking wet. Again.