Page 31 of A Tale of Mirth & Magic

E LIKKI

T he next few days passed blissfully. Barra and I would wake, sunlight peeking in through the curtains, and come together under the covers for sleepy morning sex.

Either twenty minutes or two hours later, we’d dress and head downstairs for breakfast with silly grins.

After filling up on fruit-laden pancakes or eggy toast, we strolled through town for a light morning walk.

On the first day, I’d decided to seek out Old Orchard’s local Artisans Guild and found a metalwork station to borrow while I was in town.

I was determined to follow through on the promise I’d made myself after the encounter with Maerryl—I would hone my control over my powers, slowly but surely learning how to sink into that calm frame of mind that allowed me to exert full dominance over my metals.

And that meant practice, practice, and then some more practice.

For this, I needed the resources found at a guildhall, where I could make some new pieces to work my magic on.

So now, each morning, Barra and I would end our meanderings there, parting with a head-turning kiss at the door before he went off to take care of his own business.

We knew we should probably be laying low, but his seven-and-a-half-foot-tall lavender form was near impossible to miss anyway. Might as well give people something to stare at , I thought as we approached the guildhall hand in hand on the fourth day.

When we stopped, I pulled down the back of Barra’s neck, bringing his mouth firmly to mine. I loved the way his breath huffed out a little whenever I surprised him with my intensity—the slight pause before his body won out over whatever concerns his mind was feeding to him.

I knew he worried about passersby staring, of being judged for who he was or how he looked.

And I also knew the joy and freedom he felt when he was able to let that all go for a while.

When he threw his arms around me, returning my kisses fiercely, lifting me up to my tiptoes to bring us closer together, matching my brazenness—I saw the light in his eyes as we drew back and said our goodbyes.

The looseness in his gait as he walked away smiling, so different from the rigid, contained posture he normally carried.

Something was changing in him, and I blazed inside to see it.

I would kiss him a million times in public, act a fool if it opened him up like this.

For the first time, I thought— How might he be changing me?

Pushing that irksome idea away, I entered the guildhall and resolved to focus only on my work for the day.

Old Orchard’s guildhall was designed in an open-air layout, at least four times larger than the charming but cramped guildhall in Povon.

Once you passed through the magically protected front gate, you entered a courtyard with smooth gray rock underfoot.

Arranged in a semicircle around it was a low, long building, also made of gray stone, with wide eaves to protect the dozens of workstations tucked along its curving length.

Inside the main hall, through wide turquoise doors at the building’s center, was a large gathering space, a mailroom, and an exhibition room where local artisans could display one item each of their craft.

Along the outer walls were spare bedrooms, bathrooms, and a small kitchen.

Spaced along the inner walls were the more elite workshops for each artisan specialty—everything from calligraphers to cobblers, potters to painters.

You had to reach a certain rank within the guild, or be an apprentice of a high-ranking member, to have access to those more private and permanent workspaces.

Though I’d found that with the right amount of charm and flattery, I could usually convince someone to lend me the tools or materials I needed.

In any case, I actually preferred working at one of the floating stations in the courtyard.

They were all about the size of a street vendor’s cart, and several were outfitted with what I need to make my jewelry.

As long as the weather was pleasant, I’d much rather be out in the fresh air, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the guildhall’s constant activity.

Made it easier to people-watch and pick up gossip also—two of my favorite pastimes.

As I walked through the courtyard and found an unused station, a few people shouted greetings to me. I chirped back to them, enjoying the warm buzz of friendliness on a bright, sunny morning.

“Hello, Sera! Sounds like you’ve got the pitch just right on those lovely wind chimes!”

“Feeling spicy today, Filippe? Those hot peppers are burning my nose hairs from here!”

“Wow, wow, wow! That self-portrait is really coming along, Mabal—you look stunning.”

I settled into my spot, unrolling my bulky jewelers kit and laying out the tools I would need first. Then I lit a fire under the small stove and placed a crucible on top to heat.

While I waited, I took out my notebook containing all the recent sketches I’d made. In these past few days, I’d been more inspired than I’d felt for years. Designs popped into my head constantly. It was almost more than I could manage to get down on paper before something new came to mind.

The pieces were of a simpler physical design than I normally created, yet magically more intricate than I’d ever attempted before.

Most were quite elegant, spare shapes—such as brass interlocking circles woven together into a cuff bracelet, or a shiny silver four-pointed necklace pendant inset with a smooth piece of sea glass—and I reined myself in from adding my usual extravagant flourishes.

With the new, more difficult enchantments I’d been working on, the second, magic-imbuing stage was taking so long that I’d need days to finish just one piece if I didn’t scale back on the details.

As it was, I spent most of my mornings metalsmithing, working to carefully melt, mold, shape, and transform the designs in my notebook into real, solid jewelry pieces.

Sometimes I drew on my powers a tiny bit—to reheat a section more easily or force a curve into the metal when it acted stubborn—but that was instinctual, small stuff.

I had to conserve most of my energy for later.

After an extended lunch break with Barra, I usually went right back to our room at the inn.

He attended more meetings after our meal, so I had the space to myself all afternoon.

Once I chose a piece to work on, I sat down in the comfiest chair and closed my eyes. Holding the freshly made jewelry in my hands, I forced myself to do the breathing exercises my old mentor had taught me. Four seconds breathing in, hold for four seconds, then four out and four holding again.

When he caught me doing this one day, Barra told me he does something similar when his anxiety spikes. For mages like me, it’s a technique that can also be used to focus our minds and allow us to access and more easily control our magic.

I’ve known about this skill for ages, of course.

My mentor used to hound me constantly about practicing more.

But I had hated the tedium… and was awful at it too.

Most of the time I tried, it felt completely fruitless.

My magic was always like a snarled, pulsing ball inside me.

Whenever I struggled with it, breathing as carefully as I could, the magic still wrestled out of my grip.

The feeling that my mentor and others in the guild had described to me over the years—of their power coming into balance, of connecting with and calming it within themselves—I never reached that point.

Try as I might, I couldn’t get there. It drove me mad with frustration. My magic and I remained at odds.

Ultimately, I had given up. Stopped trying.

And I just let my magic be, avoiding it most of the time.

I could draw on it a little when I was metalworking, as I fell into a focused state of sorts that calmed it into mild complacency.

Creating jewelry and working with the comforting physicality of metal centered me, taking all my concentration. It seemed to help.

Other times, it burst out of me, uncontrollable, when I was angry or upset. And almost always caused a problem and a mess to clean up. I hadn’t realized until my recent adventures with Barra, and all this bounty hunter nonsense started, just how out of control it had gotten.

When things went sideways and a strong emotion raced through me, my magic came with it.

It flowed right to my fingertips, thrumming do it do it DO IT , and I used to just let my magic take over.

But if I could control my emotions, I could control the magic.

So now I sit in our room every afternoon, recalling the way it felt on that forest road with Maerryl, when I imbued the golden bracelets with my intentions.

I was steady, collected. The willing metal leaped in my mind, responding to my determination and eager to receive my energy.

I practiced by channeling that feeling often now, reaching inside myself to find the snarled ball of light that is my magic.

Every day, I sensed it untangling, relaxing.

Bit by bit. I was trying not to get too excited.

Eventually, my magic might flare up again.

Unpredictable, chaotic, fierce—the force of it was bound to catch me unawares again at some point.

It almost made me wish for someone who could teach me more, guide me in this work.

If only my mentor could see me now—I’d definitely earn one of her rare smiles.

We could finally make progress, move forward.

So much more was possible now. She could show me the secrets of wielding that I’d once dreamed of learning. I wouldn’t give up like before.

Still, I was doing fine alone. I had my friendly metals, my deft fingers, and a new calm that was settling in me with each day that passed.

Maybe sometime in the future, though, I could find a master to teach me again.

The vision of myself as an official mage of Kurriel popped up from where I’d hidden it long ago. Perhaps it wasn’t too late…

But I didn’t want to get ahead of myself.

The most important thing, for both Barra’s safety and my career, was to hone my control little by little until my own will was as strong as my magic’s force.

Before, the thought of that kind of long-term, drudging work would have driven me to frustration.

Now I felt a tingle of excitement and anticipation.

I’d already improved more in these past few days than I’d ever thought possible.

Somehow, it was so much easier to work like this when the rest of my time was filled with such…

happiness. Mornings tangled up in bed with Barra, our meals and walks each day, the long evenings of conversation and fun—everything felt simpler with him around. Lighter.

Sitting in our quiet inn room now, breathing evenly, I gently touched the core of my magic.

It brightened and danced within me. Slowly, ever so slowly, I drew one strand out.

Focusing on the four-pointed silver pendant cupped in my hands, I set my intention for it firmly in my mind.

Twining that intention around the strand of my power, I carefully fed it into the metal.

It knew me. We’ve been together for years, and I concentrated on that connection while slipping my magic into its solid, welcoming form.

The silver glowed, warming the already hot, sweaty skin of my palms. You are a shield. You will protect your wearer from harm , I told the pendant. You will let no spells touch your wearer’s mind. You will deflect curses, charms, and invasive spells. You are strong and solid. You are a shield.

Over and over, I repeated this sentiment to the pendant, imagining my power and will filling every tiny part of it. The silver agreed with me. It was a shield. It would protect its wearer from harm. It was happy to do as I asked.

Thank you , I thought to my creation as the final bit of my magic’s strand slipped into the pendant. I opened my hands. It glowed softly, pulsing with the most beautiful light.

My magic did this. Created this . It was still hard to believe, though this was the fourth powerful piece I’d made in as many days.

I slipped it onto a long, sturdy chain and drew it over my head, pressing the hot metal gently against my heart.

A quiver passed through me. The pendant’s protection covered me now, so lightly that I probably wouldn’t even notice if it wasn’t my own magic.

I’d wanted it to be strong but difficult for other mages to detect, and it seemed I’d achieved that.

Joy burned in my chest, and I blinked sudden hot tears away.

This was real. I’d had an idea, and I used my metalworking skills and this new, unrefined grasp on my power to make something unique.

Something that was not only beautiful—and goddess, it was stunning!

—but also useful. It was leagues beyond the pieces I’d created before, painstakingly etching rudimentary runes into metal for hours on end to give the wearer some mild power—more confidence, a lessening of aches and pains, protection from bees, and such.

But this—what I’d unlocked within myself these past days—this was real magic.

Badass, big money, Hey, have you heard of that mighty elf mage Elikki?

kind of magic. The sort that my mentor had always said I possessed, usually shaking her head in disappointment at my latest tantrum of frustration. Now, though, who knew what I could do?

Rings that made the wearer invisible? Earrings that let one hear sounds a mile away? Bangles that could give the power of flight?

I brushed my fingertips over the smooth sea glass in the center, a deep amber with a hint of red that had reminded me of the ribbon I’d tied into Barra’s hair.

That felt like a lifetime ago. Tracing over each of the pendant’s metal curves and four distinct points, I could sense the thrum of its power— my power—coiled contentedly within.

I couldn’t wait to find out.