A Little Bit of Magic

Truth be told, there’s a lot more to magic than incantations. One must be connected to the very earth, her flora, her fauna, and her people. Not many folks are aware of this fact, but everyone is born with the ability to use magic; just some have more liberty to practice. They blossom with time, grow with the flowers and adapt their gifts with the changing of the seasons. Magic claps like thunder, padders like rain and burst like fire. Sorcery is stronger in a select few. Those people can spin the world the other way, can move mountains, can start and stop wars, but that power belongs to a handful of people.

Amara is one of those people.

Amara Lee McIntosh is a strapping young lass born in the highlands of Northern Ireland. The girl was blessed with bushy ginger hair, soft brown constellations upon her skin and a birthmark she believed to be shaped like a dragon. In a town filled with quiet people, with quiet features, Amara stood out like a raging fire upon an open sea. She was fiery with a proud spirit and had the courage of a lion. While everyone milled around town, their lives torpid and small, that bright young lady hopped over barbed wire fences, tipped cows and played with the children without a care in the world.

The village she resided in was quaint and quiet. Everyone lived very ordinary lives with ordinary work of a village that small. Nothing exciting happened unless Amara and her father sparked some new trouble and even then the villagers eventually fell back into wonted serenity. The streets were narrow and the work was sparse, but the people were happy one way or another, which included Amara and her father.  

Merlin, a nickname Amara lovingly gave him, was a kind man. He was of a gentle disposition, soft-spoken, petite with striking blue eyes and jet black hair. He loved his daughter more than anything in the world, and doted on her unlike any man in the village did with their child. Now Amara was not his daughter by blood. Her real mother and father passed away in a wreck in Scotland when she was an infant and Merlin was next in line to be her guardian. He taught her how to use her magic.

She was a natural, a prodigy even. By the time she was eight years old, she could make small flowers grow just by walking barefoot in the grass. At age twelve, she learned how to make small fires and how to hold water in the palm of her hand. Amara was talented, and Merlin took pride and care into teaching her. When she was sixteen, Merlin decided to drive to Newtownabbey to get her a gift for her progress. He never made it back home. His car overturned on the winding road on his way back to the village, it was quick and painless for him. On that day, Amara learned how to control the weather. When news reached her about her father, that once sunny sky was full of rain.

It was a dark night when she began to hear voices. They were quiet at first, almost like a whisper but not quite. As time went on the voices grew louder, they cooed little words of comfort in her ear and tried to coax her out of her grief. She never listened, even as those pretty nothings filled her ears, she paid them no mind. Until one evening, when the sunset on the sea, the waves crashed against the rocks with herculean strength, she heard a voice, a new one.

“Come home my darling.”

She jumped to her feet and looked around frantically. The wind began to pick up speed as she searched wildly for the new voice in the night. Her violet eyes scanned the grassy fields behind her. For the first time since the voices began to whisper, she wished for them to speak.

“Follow your heart wee lass. Follow your heart. Follow where your magic leads.”

“Dad?” she vacillated, the voice and words all too familiar. Tears welled in her eyes as the wind wrapped around her body and hugged her tight, just like a father would his daughter. She knew that loving feeling all too well. Her father was part of the environment now, just like he said he would be in death. His magic tied him to the very core of the earth, and he now resided in the tender embrace of Mother Nature. His essence blew with the wind, grew in every flower, eroded every rock and lit every flame. Amara smiled to herself, her father may have been dead, but he was not gone. She looked out at the sea, calmed the waves from their previous acts of rage against the cliffside, and walked home with a newfound sense of peace

Her Shire Horse, whom she named Arthur nickered upon her arrival and trotted in place happily. He was a needy animal, Arthur always missed her when she left, even if it was for a few minutes. Amara chuckled and rubbed his snout gently. “Ay old boy I just took a dander at the cliffside,” the horse nudged her chest as she spoke, “you’re needy old boy, maybe Da was right about you being banjaxed.”

The horse looked towards the driveway of their cottage, then nudged her again. She smiled at Arthur and stroked his face, “aye da’s dead, but he’s not gone ya know? He spoke to me tonight. He’s still here, you wanna see?” She knelt down and popped off her shoes. The second her feet hit the grass, small white flowers began to grow. Amara began to skip and jump as little flowers sprouted wherever she landed. Occasionally one of her neighbors would peek out their windows and grin softly. It was the happiest she looked since the funeral, and even though they didn’t understand why, they felt her joy along with her.

“I love you my darling. Welcome home.”