Witch of Iria

Impossible

My magic shivers as I try to force it into a double loop. The oily substance shudders and suddenly bursts apart, unable to form the impossible shape. I swear, wiping away sweat from my brow. The candlelight flickers in my room, the space cleared as much as possible. After what the Lord of Iria said....I didn't feel like going to the library. Where Idris would be waiting for me.

"Why is he waiting?" I ask no one, and the candle suddenly flares. I jump in surprise, and then it settles, as if my question has been answered. Are the old gods listening? Is Gaia, the mother of all dark things, watching me?

I summon my power once again, determined to master the ancient curse breaking spell. The room is cold, as if the night outside is devouring its heat.

"Come on, come on..."

But even as the dark ropes begin to twist the right way, the word impossible fills my mind, and they break apart. I cast my mind back to years ago...

"You say you can't do it," she begins, her voice a whip that forces me to my feet. "But magic is a manifestation of your will, of who you are and what you believe. If you don't believe you can do it, girl, then you never will. So, get up!"

I yelp as her power wraps around my wrists, painfully tightening as it drags me upright. My mother grins, her eyes caressing the red marks she has left on me. Then her smiles leaves, and she scowls at me. Leaves are caught like mice in her dark hair, and the wind rises, scattering them.

"Again," she commands. I twist my power into a knot and force myself to believe that I can summon fire, even when her hard gaze makes me believe I can't ever do anything.

I take a deep breath, returning to the present. I finally mastered fire after many weeks of slaps and curses, and my mother taught me an important lesson. Belief is everything. So, I can break this curse. I frown, gathering my power for another attempt. I can do it, just twist it into the double loop and then...then what...impossible.

The loop shatters and I snarl at the candle.

"Why won't this bloody spell work-"

A knock at the door interrupts me. I tense, wondering what they want now. Is it Elise?

I open the door and Idris stands outside, Pressyne's book in one hand.

I stare at him, taking in the tired grey eyes, the dark green outfit. For once, his gaze is soft, as if he doesn't feel like fighting. The guards watch us, their mouths etched in scowls.

"What are you doing here?"

"I was wondering why you haven't been to the library in so long," he says, meeting my eyes. I look away. "I thought you might need some practice." He holds up the book and hands it to me.

"Helping the competition? That seems a bit backward," I reply, my arm casually blocking the doorway. Why is he here?

"I know. But it's safer to know what a witch is up to. Just in case she's planning on ridding the world of acne again." He smiles. "I would have to stop that. Bad skin is a rite of passage."

I don't answer for too long and his smile becomes strained. My stomach aches, the familiar sensation of nerves making me feel ill.

"I just didn't feel like it," I finally reply, avoiding his gaze. "I didn't know you cared."

I look at him now, and he changes colour. He flushes, the hue changing his face. As if the granite skin is coming alive, turning him from a stone prince to a living man. The guards shift, the hilts of their swords catching the faint candlelight.