Page 14 of The Discovered
I hesitated but then obeyed.Fine.
“Good girl.”
Are you kidding me? Why was he so patronizing? I was going to punch him if he—
At the sound of a gust of wind my eyes flew open just in time to see Daelon fly backward onto the hardwood floor, catching himself on his forearm. The look in his eyes went from bemused to enraged quicker than it took me to realizeIhad just done that, somehow.
“I—”
Before I could apologize, he’d dragged himself back to his seat in front of me.
“Whatever was that for?” he asked, his anger dissipating as he shook his head. “Don’t make me restrain you.”
I glowered at him. “You’re going to make me send you through that glass wall, next, Daelon,” I hissed.
His face was now unreadable, as if made of stone. He just stared at me with his head cocked to the side, deep in thought. I squirmed under his gaze, holding my breath.
For a moment I wasn’t sure what was going to happen next. Was he actually angry? Did he understand whyIwas so angry? Had people allowed him to act like this his entire life?
“What am I going to do with you?” he finally asked, clicking his tongue. “Close your eyes again, and this time bea bitmore aware of how your thoughts and emotions are guiding your power.”
I complied wordlessly, utterly confused by the whole interaction.
“Good. Now slow your breathing.”
This was about me and my training, not Daelon and his mood swings, shielded aura, suspicious lack of backstory, and oscillation between being repulsed at the thought of flirting with me and being blatantly sexual. Did he even realize he was doing it? Maybe this was just a classic case of witch-human cultural difference.
Focus, Áine, I reminded myself.
“I know when your energy shifts,” Daelon said. “I feel the ebb and flow of power in this room, as if you’re warring with yourself for control. That’s good—that means you’re at least, on some level, already self-aware. I want you to work through it. Continue to slow and deepen your breathing, from your stomach. Think of something on a smaller scale than your mothers that brings out your anger, or another negative emotion that’s hard to control. Something manageable. Then move through the energy that calls to you. What does it feel like? Where does it want to go? Don’t let it take you. Just observe.”
“Like getting stuck behind someone walking very slowly?” I joked, but I was ignored.
I wanted to say that this felt like a corny New Age guided meditation, but I held my tongue. I retreated within myself, following the trail of my annoyance toward Daelon’s attitude. But it was too overwhelming a force, difficult to conceptualize and focus on. It was just an elusive reddish hue in an entire field of color, intensity, and shape.
“It’ll help to create a metaphor within your mind—something tangible that will help you psychically organize and understand what you feel and how you channel. Think of it like visualizing an elaborate, functional daydream. A library of energy maybe, or a garden, or an—”
“Ocean,” I said softly, unsure of where this word arose from, but it felt like more than a mere metaphor. That was what my power was. It was a vast blue ocean that spread out infinitely.
I let Daelon’s words guide me as I wrestled with all this power, allowing it in so it could take shape. The landscape of my mind was chaotic and unorganized, whirring with visions and impressions waiting to be perceived.
“Let it carry you away,” Daelon said, but his voice was growing more and more distant now. “I’m going to focus my magick on helping you into more of a trance-like state. But it’ll only help if you allow it in,” Daelon stressed.
His own magick swam toward me, and I could read its intent to aid me. I let it in, and my skepticism, self-consciousness, and doubt melted away into a quiet stillness. Soon the sound of crashing waves rose from the depths, and my body felt as though it was swaying back and forth.
I let go. Fully and completely.
I waded in a pool of infinite energy. The water was clear and iridescent, and as I reached its center, I felt currents reaching for me from all directions. I again considered my frustration with Daelon, though I was more detached from the anger than I had been moments ago. As I homed in, one of the currents before me grew stronger. It was anger. These streams were feelings or frequencies, not just mine, butall. Normally I surrendered to these pulls without even realizing it, following impulse, but now I was fully conscious. I was merely an observer.
Within my anger was the anger of millions—witches and humans alike. This ocean was endless, and it contained multitudes. It was every desire ever bloomed, every thought ever conceived, every spell ever cast, and every action ever undertaken. It was all things, and I had access to it all—like a vibrant cosmic tapestry depicting the fabric of all of existence.
My anger toward Daelon was his anger toward me. It was my anger toward myself, toward this world, toward my mothers, and toward the people who killed my mothers. I saw it all within the energy, like watching a universal drama play out before my eyes. Waves began to lap, growing violent and tall, and I was pulled into the chaos of the tide’s violent ebb and flow. In a panic, I realized that my metaphor had taken on tangible shape as I gulped down very real water, salty and strong against my tongue. The anger wasn’t detached anymore. It was within me and I within it. I—we—needed revenge. A wave of energy grabbed hold of me and dragged me beneath the surface.
I held my breath to avoid swallowing more ocean, opening my eyes to see visions playing out before me like a hologram amidst the shimmering water. I saw the cottage door fly open, seeing in third person the look of terror on my face as a ten-year-old child. My mothers chanted and my silver bracelet glowed with murky, defensive energy. Two men entered. They shoved past my mothers and reached out for me, but they grasped nothing as I vanished before their eyes.
“Where have you sent her?” one man snarled, striking Momma Celeste square on the jaw. He held magick in his palms that was black and evil, holding within its depths the screams of tortured witches.
I screamed underneath the water, shockwaves from my outburst dispersing the mirage to reveal tempestuous, dark water. I ran out of air, and water entered my lungs as I gasped and spluttered. I lost control of the rage swelling up within me, making it even more difficult to swim back to the surface as currents pushed and pulled me in all directions. Within the storm and struggle I felt a presence.
