Magick for Friday the Thirteenth

NaNo Day 13

Daily Words: 1,560
Total Actual WC:21,672
TOTAL WC GOAL: 21,671

Here’s a bit of a longer snippet for your Friday. Enjoy! (I’ll update this post at the end of the day to include Friday’s stats.) Stats posted!

They’d been riding through the countryside for a few hours now, and Sheila still could not rid herself of the vague feeling that there was supposed to be something going wrong.

Nothing had happened in the stable-yard. Nothing as they rode out the castle gates and over the drawbridge. Nothing as they passed by the now-busy village.

Nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all.

In real life, this was great. Normal. Expected. In a novel, it was unheard of. And if this was one of her novels, a world she created, something should be happening.

The others rode along as if they did this everyday. Ignoring the fact that they probably did do this daily, or at least close, she tried to emulate their easy, calm way of sitting in the saddle. And failed. Even Bryce, who she’d expected to be as uncomfortable on a horse as she was, seemed to be at ease.

Sighing, she resigned herself to another day and more of discomfort. Sheldon and Samuel rode close together, talking, and the prince and Rupert laughed over some joke one of them had told. Gregor was at the rear of the party – but by choice, he’d informed her with a scowl when she tried to slow down to talk to him – and Alex was scouting up ahead, leaving only Bryce and Duncan unoccupied.

Normally she would consider talking to Bryce, spending some time learning more about this world she’d made by asking questions of one of its historians, but the few words she’d spoken to him at the beginning of the journey had been uncomfortable. Physically uncomfortable – at six-something, he was already close to a foot taller than she was. Add the difference in horse height to that, and it gave her a crick in the neck looking up at him to have a conversation.

That left Duncan.

She was a bit in awe of him, even though she supposed the feeling was mutual. She’d planned for his character, for a magick-user, but she hadn’t gone into much detail about him. She hadn’t named him, or figured out his appearance, and she certainly hadn’t given him faery blood.

Yet here he was, in all that detail. From his faery blood and his graceful movements to his white-blond hair and his lyrical voice, he was everything she would have wished in a magicker. Everything she could have wished, and yet didn’t think she could create.
Before she could get up the nerve to approach him, he nudged his horse over to her.

“You seem preoccupied, milady,” he said, his lilting voice reminding her of the way the Irish spoke without being an actual Irish accent.

“It’s just…” Just that she had no idea what she was supposed to be doing. Just that she felt like baggage along for the ride.

Just that she was stuck inside a dream of her own fantasy world, and she couldn’t wake up.

“I don’t know how the magick in this world really works,” she said at last. “I have a vague idea that it’s some kind of energy, but that’s it. I don’t know how it works, or who can use it, or anything like that.”

Duncan smiled. “It works differently for each of the touched. For Alex, it allows him a strong but passive sense of foretelling. For myself, it provides the ability to manipulate the magickal energies, the life-currents that flow throughout the world.” His smile turned sarcastic as he continued. “I have a much weaker talent than Alex, but a more controlled one. I am not sure which is to be preferred.”

“What do you mean? Isn’t stronger usually considered better?”

“Not always.” His gaze flicked to the front of their party, where Alex was just visible as he waited for them at the entrance to a forest. “Is it better to be strong in magickal gift, and yet be unable to ride it?” He looked back at her, mischief in his pale eyes. “Would you prefer a powerful horse, or a calm one?”

He had a point.

copyright Nicole Tom, 2009, do not copy, reprint/re-post without permission, etc.