The cruel thing about time is, it waits for no man–or magical young woman. It simply goes on and on and on. And the world spins, and the birds sing, oblivious to your pain.
The bill for a considerable amount of increased taxes rolled in a day later, as they expected it to. It was horrible, and yet, they had to move on and put food on the table. So Analune her mother worked and tried to shove the pains in their stomach away.
Two days after that, people were getting angry. People pointed and jeered and spoke in high, shrill voices. Children stopped playing outside with their friends to spare their innocence. A family down the block lost their home.
The next day... well. The next day began a new problem. One worse than the riots and taxes and money.
Quite a fair amount worse.
Rumors spread that starpilots had to go a little closer than they expected to get to the moon. It spun a little slower and, worse, was falling out of orbit to Enemine.
It was on a course to crash into their dear, dear planet.
The tides had been rising lately.
Mildree rubbed Analune's back as she brought the news. The girl took it fairly well, she thought. She just gritted her teeth and closed her eyes. "Magic can fix it," she had insisted.
Mildree shook her head mournfully. "Who's advanced enough for that, dear?" She asked. "Nobody is who."
Analune sighed, growing angry, and Mildree felt her daughter's back grow hot. Blistering hot. "How long do we have?"
"A year," Mildree said, taking her hand off her. "That's no time at all, dear. But perhaps we can build a ship and find some other planet."
"No," Analune said. Her shirt was singed. "Mother, we can't do that. We have to use magic."
"That's just going to make things worse," Mildree said. "You can't help with this. Your magic isn't able to move an entire moon, anyway."
Ana shook her head, and her jewel eyes wettened. "Mother, we can't just lie down and die. Please. You always have the answers. How can we fix this?"
Mildree looked away. "I'm sorry, dear."
Analune's tears spilled over, and she took a deep breath. Calm yourself, she chided.
"I can fix this, Mother," she said, willing her voice not to shake. "Just give me six months--no, five. Just five months."
Mildree looked at her with shadowed eyes. "Don't go down this path. Failure hurts."
"We'll see."
Mildree bit the inside of her cheek so hard it drew blood. "I'm not going to stop you. But promise me you'll take care of yourself, honey."
"I promise."
But magic was dangerous. And so was she. You couldn't promise to stay safe the same way you couldn't promise to not get two broken legs after jumping off a cliff. And so that was the first lie she ever told.
It was even worse for her to practice magic than the others. Analune had more trouble controlling her magic than the other girls. Her mother used to say that it was because she just had so much of it. Mildree was too bullheaded to think that that might be a bad thing.
But what she said was untrue. Analune was a Starpuller, which made her blood black and her skin glow like the fishes in the Dark Sea, the ocean past the mountains by her town, but it made her magic weaker than the tongues of Sun or Star.
Star magic was the only one that could improve. And that was exactly what she would do.
That night, Analune crept down to the basement and practiced magic until she collapsed from exhaustion and her magic reserves were as empty as an eggshell. She didn't arouse in the morning to go to school.
The next night, the starlight seemed to glow a little brighter, like a blood moon, and flowed to her hands a little easier. And that was true for the next night, and the night after that.
A month later, she made no more mistakes in class. Her progress was too slow, she thought. But it was something.
A week after that, she made a glass pendant, exactly as she had imagined. Just once.
Two weeks after that... well. She was learning the basics of magic. It was simple: bigger spells took more magic. Complex spells took more concentration and power. When you don't have enough magic for a spell, the thing shrivels and burns like paper under a match.
And then, after another week, she got a lot better. She graduated to a Starpuller, like the more advanced witches and wizards, instead of just a Startrail, where occasional small fits of magic burst from her skin and wisps of light trailed after her. Now she could make things exactly as she imagined it. She made the red hat she wanted, and a wool blanket, and a simple pocketwatch.
Analune was getting better.
She hoped it would be enough.
