Page 12 of A Tale of Mirth & Magic

Barra lit up and launched into descriptions of each sister.

Telen, the oldest—she was apprentice to Ma Reese, learning her mother’s trade and helping with the business side of things when Barra was out of town.

Sassura, the other middle child, after Barra—a dancer and the wild one of the family, apparently.

She spent half of the year traveling with her troupe, performing in the surrounding towns and villages for the warm months.

When the season turned, she returned to spend the winter at home and teach her craft.

Monty, the youngest—was still figuring things out, and she was indisputably the best cook in the family.

She and her partner had just moved in together, and they were expecting a half-human, half-fairy baby in a few months.

I listened to him talk on and on about each one, pride and affection clear in his voice.

I loved hearing about all of them, loved seeing Barra so animated and fond.

And I made all the right noises as he went on, building the picture of their lives.

But I couldn’t help the tiny flame of jealousy that ignited when I imagined it—the six of them together, cozy by the fire in their home.

Or eating supper together around a big table.

Or walking through the village market, laughing and happy.

What must it be like to have that? A warm blanket wrapped around your heart. Solid ground always under your feet. Safety. Home. I should have had that too. Why couldn’t I have it now? The envy flared brighter, and I wrapped my arms around my middle.

I hated myself for it, but suddenly I couldn’t bear to hear any more.

“Wow, they sound amazing! Hey, maybe we should stop for a midday meal soon. See what we can pull together.”

Barra looked up at the sun’s placement in the sky. “We’ve only been walking for a couple of hours. It might be best to keep going if we want to arrive at the inn before it gets dark.”

“Got it, got it. Very practical.”

“Did I tell you about Ma Wren yet? She’s a chatterbox, and she does the most intricate pottery you’ve ever—”

“Why aren’t we riding on Pebble?” I interrupted. “We could make better time that way.”

“Oh,” Barra said, surprised. “I don’t want to wear her out too much, carrying both of us and the packs all day. But she can definitely take one of us. Here, let me help you up.”

“It’s fine, I can walk,” I said, suddenly feeling foolish. I was no stranger to walking. I spent much of my travels going alone on paths just like these, unless I got lucky and caught a ride on the back of someone’s wagon.

“No, you’re right—we’ll make better time this way. I can walk at my full stride. I should have thought of this earlier.”

Barra stopped, halting Pebble. She dropped her gray head and began munching at the grass off the path. He bent, lacing his fingers together into a step.

“Let me boost you up.”

“She won’t like me riding her without you.”

“I promise you she won’t mind.”

“What if she bolts?”

“She will not bolt. She never has.”

“But what if she does ?”

“Elikki, even if she did—which she won’t—I’m sure you’re more than capable of holding on until I catch up. You’re strong, you have elven reflexes, and I know you’re not really as frightened of this horse as you think you are.”

I harrumphed. Eyeing Pebble as she grazed nonchalantly, looking the perfect picture of innocence, I finally sighed and placed a foot in Barra’s waiting hands.

“One, two…” and on three he lifted as I jumped. I swung my other leg over Pebble’s gigantic back and landed solidly into the leather saddle.

“Well done.” He placed the reins in my hands. I gripped them. “Not too tightly,” he said, prying my fingers looser so I wouldn’t pull at Pebble’s mouth. “You all right?” he said, and I nodded.

I was way too far from the ground. But it also felt a bit… thrilling? I’d ridden horses before, though not since I was young. And even then, they were about half the size of this one. I was even a little taller than Barra now!

It was strange seeing him from this angle.

He was patting his horse’s neck, talking quietly.

The way he murmured reassuringly to her, taking time to make sure I felt comfortable, was thoughtful and so achingly cute.

I smiled when he slipped a sugar cube from his pocket and offered it to Pebble. She sniffed, then lipped it up.

“Bribing her for good behavior?” I joked.

“Just a little incentive. We’ve agreed she gets three more if you arrive at the inn in one piece.”

“HA. HA. You’re hilarious.”

“I’m sorry.” But his eyes glinted with laughter. “You’ll be fine, I swear. Here.” He pulled something from a saddlebag near my leg and held it out.

“What, a sugar cube for me too? I promise I’ll be good.” I fluttered my eyelashes. He snorted.

“A snack,” he said, and I took the dried jerky he held out.

“Yummm, thanks.”

Barra started walking along the path again, and Pebble followed without my prompting. I took advantage of my added height and watched him. He moved with grace, comfortable on this quiet forest path in a way he hadn’t been in the tavern.

“So, what about you?” he said.

I started. “What about me?”

He threw a glance over his shoulder at me. “You grilled me about my whole life, my family, everything—tell me more about yourself.”

“Oh, right,” I said. “Well. There isn’t that much to tell.”

Barra stayed silent. He was right. I’d convinced him to open up to me. I could share a bit. Even if everything in me wanted to distract him with a joke or well-timed flirtation. Turn the conversation back to him. Or maybe just bolt into the forest…

Come on, girl. Sharing time. You can do this. I swallowed hard. “My mother is a sun elf. My father is a moon elf. I… happened. Accidentally. They didn’t get along, and I didn’t quite… fit. With either of them. Neither of them really wanted a child.”

“I’m sorry, Elikki. That sounds very difficult.”

I took a large bite of jerky. Deliciously smoky, it tasted of citrus and maple. When I’d finished chewing, I took a long swig of water. Barra kept walking silently by my side.

“I left home when I was pretty young. And I’ve been on the road, for the most part, ever since. After learning my jewelry craft from a master many years ago, I became a member of the Artisans Guild, so there are workshops for me to use in most towns and cities across Kurriel.”

I took another ferocious bite, chewing and avoiding Barra’s gaze.

“How young?” he asked after a few moments of silence.

“Fifteen.”

He didn’t reply, and I shifted uncomfortably in the saddle.

“You don’t need to feel sorry for me. I’m happy with my life now,” I said.

“I don’t feel sorry for you,” he said. “I’m just sorry that happened to you. Every child deserves to be raised with love and security.”

My stomach twisted. It was probably the jerky. “Maybe I didn’t have it easy growing up, but who does? At least I found a craft that I love, and I’m good at it. The metal calls to me. It’s enough that I found my own way, in my own time.”

Barra looked at me. “Is it?”

“Yes.”

Silence again, and this time I couldn’t stand it. He pitied me. I should never have shared so much. I felt that familiar rush of anger course through me. It washed over my chest, down my arms, and through my stomach. It burned in the tips of my toes.

I reached for metal around me—the gold bands on my fingers and the silver of my hairstick flowed to my grasp, liquid and pliant.

I held one in each hand, reins forgotten in my lap.

When I held them in the full grip of my mind, I wrapped silver and gold around my fists in thin loops.

Spinning rapidly, shining in the sun. I opened my palms and sent the metal skyward in streaking drips of upward rain.

They fell back to the earth and I scooped them up before they landed, pulling them close to me again.

I sent them soaring—silver and gold, gold and silver—through the air around Barra, spinning in an ever-tightening spiral.

I almost couldn’t see him through the blurring movement of a hundred tiny shards.

When he began to look alarmed, I tried calling them back to my hands.

Shards ricocheted around us. Suddenly, I could feel them slipping from my magical grasp and scrambled to maintain control.

Sweat dripped down the back of my neck. Metal pieces began to fling from the spiral into the air, lightly pinging into trees, the grass, far into the distance. No no no.

Desperately, I tried tightening my hold.

The fiery anger inside turned to panic as more and more of the metal escaped.

In a last-ditch effort, I called the remaining pieces toward me, slowing and soothing them into simple mounds of metal once again.

I barely had half left. The others were gone, lost. Scattered across the forest floor.

Frustration bit bitterly at me, and I cursed my powers for the thousandth time in my life.

Barra watched me steadily. We had stopped on the path. I was breathing hard, power tingling through my fingers.

My long hair, now let loose, fell around me in waves. Barra stepped closer. He gently pried open each hand where they clutched the small clumps of metal. Gold. Silver. They were warm in my palms.

I closed my eyes. Tears prickled at the backs of my eyelids, and I suddenly felt drained. I was empty, alone, with these stupid lumps of metal. Childish toys. Party tricks and shiny baubles.

Barra’s palm brushed my cheek, light and cool. He slid his hand through my hair and cupped the back of my neck. I sighed into his grip, leaning down in the saddle toward him.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. I’ve got you,” he said. Rubbing my neck with his fingers in a slow rhythm, Barra brought his forehead to mine. I focused on the contact, letting him ground me. My head spun. “You’re all right, Elikki. Just breathe.”

We stayed there together as the minutes passed, until I came back to myself. His solid forehead, cool against my hot skin, and his steady breath slowing down my rapid inhales.

Breathe.

Just breathe.

When I could think clearly again, I realized how close we were. Barra still gently stroked the back of my neck.

Our faces were hidden together under the thick curtain of my hair. All my awareness had narrowed down on him—the firm press of his forehead on mine, his mint and woodsmoke scent, his broad chest.

I could sense his lips just a few inches away. This somehow felt a hundred times more intimate than in the morning, when I licked honey off those lips and begged him to let me come. This felt new, strange. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had comforted me.

I should kiss him. Did he want me to kiss him?

And then a second later— Oh goddess, I probably have horrible jerky breath.

Pebble, bless her, saved me at that moment by shifting forward to reach a fresh patch of grass. Barra and I were broken apart.

I blinked at the sudden sunlight. Barra took a couple steps away, giving me space. I looked at the small chunks of metal still in my hands.

Holding the silver one out to him, I said, “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to give me anything, Elikki.”

“I want you to have it.”

He hesitated, then reached out. I passed him the silver. Picking up Pebble’s reins, I nudged her forward on the path.

“It’s almost like a river stone,” Barra said, inspecting the lumpy metal as we began to walk again. “Can’t you turn it back into your hairstick?”

“Even if I wanted to—which I don’t, particularly—I probably couldn’t.

Not without a proper fire and some time with my metalsmithing tools.

I can only magically manipulate metal using strong emotion, and it typically only works if I have a bond with the metal itself. I’m a bit… tapped out right now.”

Not to mention, I tried to avoid doing it at all costs.

Using my magic like that always felt amazing in the moment.

But the emotions that seemed to power my gift—fury, anger, frustration—created an edge of unpredictability that often scared me.

That wasn’t who I was. And once the rage faded away, I was usually left with a deep sense of loss and regret.

There was a time when I’d thought I could be a powerful mage.

I’d thought my destiny was to become an official Mage of the Realm, certified and everything, and rise to the top of our ranks in the Artisan Guild across all Kurriel.

“Grand Mage Elikki Sunstorm”—the sound of it had rung so perfectly in my imagination.

I felt the ghost of a bitter smile return as I remembered that foolhardy time.

When I was young, about twenty, I’d sought out a master metal mage renowned across Kurriel for her skill as a sculptor and convinced her to train me.

But no matter how hard I tried, or how patient she was with me, my magic refused to submit to my will.

“Too wild, too little control,” my mentor would chide, clicking her tongue at my latest failure.

“You must master your anger and pain, child, or you can never hope to master your magic.”

After a year of little improvement, and increasing frustration on both ends, we parted ways.

I went back on the road, resigned to tucking my powers away and just focusing on my skills as a jeweler.

As my work has improved over the years, I’ve built a bit of a reputation for myself.

And I could still feel the metal, connect with it, even if I usually couldn’t risk drawing on my magic.

It was fulfilling enough work. That’s what I told myself, anyway.

I could tell Barra wanted to ask me more. He was going to bring up what just happened. Me, losing it. Freaking out on him. I had too many thoughts running around in my mind—too much of the past dredged up. I needed silence.

“Would you mind if we didn’t talk for a little while?” I asked. “It’s not that I don’t want to talk with you—I do! I just… have to think.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Barra said.

“Are you sure? Because I—”

“I’m sure.” He gave me a small, reassuring smile.

I tried to smile back. “Thanks.”