Faery Born (Book One in the War Faery Trilogy)

Willing my eyelids to stay open, I stared at the page. It wasn’t that I didn’t find the history of the Dark Years interesting, it was the fact that I had been studying for days.

Jumping to my feet, I shook my head and waved my arms around. Only one more day and then the final exams would be over. I couldn’t believe it. Almost finished school.

Reminding myself that I wouldn’t be finishing anything if I didn’t pass this exam, I picked the book up and carried it with me while I walked.

The Dark Years. I had only been five when they had ended, but the chaotic fear that had ruled during that time had seeped deep into my pores. Reading about it, thinking about it, made me sick to my core.

Santanas Gabrielle (the name sent a shiver down my spine no matter how many times I heard it), had been the last living War Faery. Before him, War Faeries had been benefactors of the people. They’d used their incredible powers to serve and protect. But before him, none had ever gone mad.

A mad War Faery, hell bent on raising his wife from the dead.

Santanas had done evil, unspeakable things.

Oh, they had fought him. They had fought the goblins that had ransacked the land in his name; no city left untouched, no village left totally whole. They had fought to save the children being sacrificed in his black-magic attempts to re-gain his love. And they had been partly successful. But enough children had disappeared from their beds, their broken bodies discovered deep in the woods, to leave a lasting impression.

Wards he’d placed on his body meant they hadn’t been able to kill him. So they’d trapped him. Tricked by a lover, he had drunk a potion that had torn his spirit from his body and entombed it in a rock. The rock had disappeared soon after, but that hadn’t dampened the jubilation in the streets.

They said nobody could fracture his soul from that stone, that the spell they had used to entomb him couldn’t be broken. They said he could never rise again. But history had showed that
never
sometimes
could.

A terrified child clawed her way to the front of my mind, stealing my breath and freezing my blood.

What if? What if he were to rise again?

I slammed the book shut and took a deep breath. I wasn’t a small child hiding under her bed any more. I was seventeen for goodness’ sake, soon to be eighteen.

That
thought distracted me more than any other could have. I sighed and thumped the textbook back onto the table.

On their seventeenth birthdays all witches received a wand. Some time between then, and when they turned eighteen, their ‘familiars’ found them. Until then, witches didn’t have access to their powers. I would be eighteen in only nine days. Only nine days for my familiar to find me or they never would.

I pulled my wand out of my hair (its only current use was as a hair pin) and flicked it at the text book. ‘Risius textbook.’

Nothing happened.

I kicked one of the chairs before pulling it out and slumping into it. Only nine more days.

‘Isadora Scrumpleton.’ My mother was standing in the door to the kitchen.

‘What?’ I replied. The look on my mother’s face hardened. ‘Sorry,’ I added.

Her familial, tabby cat, Sebastian, stuck his head between her legs and stared at me with large, topaz eyes.

This just in, Goblins have attacked Little Downs.

We both turned to stare at the television. Mum picked up the remote and increased the volume. The screen showed buildings in flames with smoke pouring out of them. A group of witches worked together to contain the fire. One human held a hose; its ineffective flow doing nothing more than making him feel helpful.

The full extent of the damage is not yet known, but several people have been hospitalised and a few are reported missing.

A woman staggered into view. ‘Donald,’ she screamed. ‘Donald.’ Blood trickled from a wound on her scalp.

I put my hands over my mouth as I stared at the macabre scene.

Mum flicked off the television. ‘That’s the third attack this week.’

‘How far away is Little Downs?’

‘A few hundred miles north west. A long way away.’

‘They’re getting closer.’

She moved over to me and smoothed my hair back from my face. ‘We’re too close to London for them to dare attack us.’

I wasn’t so sure; fear crept up my spine.

‘What’s got into you?’ she asked.

I rolled my eyes at the television. Like goblin raids weren’t enough to be worried about.

‘That’s not what had you in a froth before.’

I sighed. ‘The final exam is tomorrow.’

‘Do you need help studying?’

‘It’s not the theory. It’s the practical.’

‘You know the prac isn’t marked.’

‘It’s so humiliating, standing in front of the class waving my wand.’ I crossed my arms over my chest and stuck out my bottom lip. ‘I may as well be waving a chopstick.’

‘Yes, well, there have been cases of a familiar choosing a witch without the witch realising. Remember Lara Huntley’s grandson? He was chosen by a bumblebee. They would never have realised, if not for the practical tests.’

Mum,’ I paused for a second, almost too scared to voice my real concern, ‘what if I don’t get chosen?’

‘You will darling.’

‘I’m nearly eighteen. What if I don’t? There was that kid over at Dartsmouth College that never got chosen.’

‘I hear he has a very good job at a law firm in London.’

‘I don’t want to work at a law firm.’ I resisted the urge to stomp my feet.

‘What do you want to do?’

The question stumped me. I had been so focused on my powers coming in that I hadn’t thought beyond that. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Well maybe you should concern yourself with that.’ She ran her hands over her strawberry-blonde hair, tucking the bits that had escaped her bun behind her ears. ‘Now I need to work on a potion for The Weekly Witching News and you need to study.’ She disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving me staring at my books and wondering what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.

***

The students’ chatter in the Eynsford College courtyard was a low rumble. I could hear the occasional mutter about goblins, but most of the conversations were centred on exams and holidays.

I buried my head in my textbook and pretended to be unaware of what was going on around me. I always found that was the best way to escape the attention of the school bullies. Until Sabina got there with her wand, I was easy prey.

‘Still studying?’ Sabby threw her bag onto a seat and then gracefully sat beside me. The sun caught in her fiery-red hair and lit her green eyes.

‘Trying to forget about the stupid prac.’

‘Oh Izzy,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I don’t know why you get so worked up about it, nobody else cares.’

‘It’s easy for you to say.’ I looked down to where her huge, black cat sat at her feet. Phantom had showed up the very afternoon of her seventeenth birthday.

‘You’ll get chosen. You’re a pedigree, pure-blooded witch.’

The bell rang. I sighed and closed the textbook. Hopping up, I scanned the courtyard for Isgranelda and her gang. The last thing I needed on my way to the exam was to be ‘accidentally’ tripped.

I claimed a seat near the back of the exam hall and took some calming breaths while I waited for the start bell to ring. When it did, I pushed all thoughts of the practical from my mind and turned over the exam paper.

I read through the questions, relaxing as I did. No nasty surprises. An essay on the Great Faery War, discussing how it had shaped the Magic Conventions that governed us today; and one on the cultural initiation of the War and the steps taken to ensure such a travesty wouldn’t occur again. The last question was on the Dark Years.

Santanas Gabrielle. I’d heard people muttering that he would rise again. Admittedly, this muttering had been done after a drink or two at the Toasted Toadstool, where I waited on tables, and was normally shouted down quite quickly. But lately, with the goblin attacks becoming more frequent, the muttering had become louder and the shouting down not quite so quick.

I finished the exam with quarter of an hour to go. I could see Sabby staring into space while she chewed the end of her pencil. She had been hand-selected in the Academy of Advanced Witching’s early academy trials and offered a scholarship. Her magical strength lay in healing. She could already force tissue to knit back together and bones to straighten. That was what made her a formidable ally. While she chose to use her talents for good, the truth was, she could also inflict pain.

Finally, the bell indicating the end of the exam rang, causing everyone but me to cheer. We waited while the papers were collected and then there was a stampede of humans departing the building.

‘Right,’ said Radismus Prangle, the head of the Magic Department, ‘who wants to go first?’

Several hands shot up in the air. I was surprised to see Sally Blumberry’s was amongst them. ‘Must want to get the torture over early,’ I whispered as I nodded towards Sally.

‘Oh, didn’t you know?’

‘Know what?’ My voice sounded sickly even to
my
ears.

‘She got chosen yesterday.’

As if on cue, Sally hopped up and strode to the front of the room. A shiny, black raven perched on her shoulder, peeping out from under her thick, curly hair.

She waved her wand at a chair, which rose obediently into the air. A polite smatter of applause followed her successful levitation. I felt a cold sweat break out on the back of my neck.

‘She’s a natural,’ said Sabina. ‘It took me weeks to levitate a chair after I was chosen.’

Unlike the faeries, who worked with the five elements, witches’ powers were target orientated. More like talent. My Mum’s strength lay in household needs. She could use her magic for any household chore. That’s why her column on The Weekly Witching News was so popular. She designed potions to do what
she
could with the flick of her wand, and then other witches could also use magic to clean and cook.

Some witches were inventors, some builders, some farmers and hunters. The different ways the power presented were varied, every witch’s powers uniquely their own. The trick was finding the extent of a witch’s capabilities.

I could hear Radismus congratulating Sally and giving her instructions on what spells he wanted her to try. His job was to work out where our magical talents lay.

‘Oh well that still leaves Leonard, Beryl and Anthea,’ I said.

‘Hmmm,’ Sabina responded.

‘Hmmmm?’ I replied.

‘Well, I overheard Leonard and Beryl swapping stories this morning. Turns out they’ve both been picked.’

‘Whizbang.’ I shot a panicked look at Anthea who was sitting on the far side of the room. She glanced over at me, her thick glasses making her eyes look enormous. Her face took on a sympathetic look as she lifted the arm of the cardigan slung over her shoulders. A snake, disturbed from its warm bower, lifted its head and flicked its tongue while it tasted the air, searching for danger.

I groaned and sat back in my seat. I couldn’t believe it. I was the only one. The last. I could feel the icy fingers of fear clutching at me.

What if I didn’t get chosen? What if I were forever cut off from my powers?

Tears threatened as I watched my classmates perform the spells set for them by Radismus. And then, it was my turn. I could feel curious eyes boring into my back as I walked to the front.

‘Lucky last Isadora,’ Radismus boomed. I wished he would keep his voice down; I wasn’t feeling so lucky. ‘Let’s see if you can levitate that chair.’

‘I can’t,’ I told him.

‘You don’t know unless you try,’ he responded much too cheerfully. ‘Remember Ralph Huntley?’

‘Yes, I know. He was chosen by a bumblebee and they never would have known if he hadn’t tried.’ I had my doubts about that story. I mean, how could you not notice a bumblebee harassing you?

As I lifted my wand I noticed Isgranelda nudge Gretchen. They were sitting in the front row.

Oh Great.

‘Risius chairius,’ I squeaked. Not surprisingly, nothing happened.

‘Why don’t you give it another go?’ Radismus’s voice was filled with empathy. ‘This time, say it like you mean it.’

I could hear the front row girls giggling. ‘Maybe her wand’s broken.’ Isgranelda’s thick accent made the words sound broken and clipped.

I squirmed as my face started to burn.

‘Oh look, her face is on fire,’ Gretchen said.

I could see Sabby’s sympathetic face near the back, but the rest of the students broke into laughter. It rippled across the hall to where I stood sweating.

I lifted my wand and concentrated on the chair.

‘Visualise the chair lifting into the air,’ Radismus crooned, ‘see it floating.’

A spit ball smacked into my forehead. It quivered there for a second before falling to the floor where it lay in a goopy mess. I could hear sniggering as I wiped at my forehead with the back of my arm. Another one quickly followed the first. This one entangled itself into the hair hanging to the side of my face. I had to give it to Aphrode – she was a great shot.

‘Lift your arm and command the chair.’

I mean seriously, could he not
see
the incoming spit balls?

I looked out over the hall to Sabby. Anger blazed across her face and danced in her eyes. Her face was grim as she mouthed, ‘You can do it.’ No-one
ever
teased Sabina.

As I met her eyes, her fury infected me. How dare they make fun of me?

‘Isadora is a witch or so we think.’ The girls started the chant, but it quickly spread through the room, flowing up to mock me where I stood on the stage.

A pressure built inside me, stretching me like a balloon. It filled me up, threatening to burst from my pores and roar towards the girls in the front row.

The next spit ball narrowly missed my eye. I could feel myself losing control; the strange power licking out towards them. I strained to hold it back. But each peal of laughter weakened my restraint until finally, like a wave, it broke over my boundaries and roared towards them. I pointed my wand at them and shrieked, ‘Risius chairius.’