To Have IT

There were people who had It, and people who didn’t. Normally those that didn’t greatly outnumbered those who did, so those without never really had cause to care. The general philosophy ran along the lines of the less magic in the world the better.

The midwife assisting at the time of Gwendolyn Collinine’s birth took one look at the blonde-tufted, brown-eyed, pale-skinned baby who wailed almost immediately, and shook her head at divine planning. The seventh child of Analiese and Colton Collinine was obviously without It, and in a family of what was to become twelve Its, the girl was about to learn some hard lessons.

-

Gwendolyn Collinine flipped absentmindedly through the pages. Somedays she wondered why she bothered, why she still showed up to these classes that were of no use to her, and probably never would be.

A thin man in purple robes pointed energetically to the blackboard. Thick lines swept over the dark surface, but they were light blue and faded after a moment. Gwen could have recited the equations by heart, but she copied them down anyway.

The tall man eventually turned from the board and faced his students. “Now for a practical example.”

Gwen picked up the book again and imagined herself becoming invisible. The Master placed one hand on the desk at the front of the room, “Imagine the flowing particles and define your intent,” he paused, to demonstrate. “Now repeat, Argentium Consolodium.” 

The edges of the desk rippled and distorted until what was left in its place was a solid silver desk with silver plating. Gwen refocused on her book. Her oldest brother Leo was always changing the composition of stuff. The house had once been solid gold for a week.

She gritted her teeth and focused on copying out her notes. Argentium Consolodium. She pressed her thumb to her desk surreptitiously. She willed the source to fill her, for that sweep of magic to finally open to her. Argentium Consolodium.   Nothing happened. The sharp pang of disappointment was added to a lifetime’s worth. 

There were gasps and cries of victory from across the room, but Gwen kept her head down. Her mouth puckered into a grim line. The only reason she was still allowed to study under the Tower, was because she was a Collinine. 

The sound of approaching footsteps made her glance up. The Master was coming down the aisle, straight towards her. Gwen scowled and looked down, she hated substitutes. Her usual instructor had learned to leave her alone.

“Have you even tried the exercise?”

Gwen sank further into her seat. The classroom was silent. Just because she didn’t have it, didn’t mean she couldn’t pack a mean punch when she wanted to. Growing up with six brothers who loved magical pranks had taught her a few things. Not to mention the fact that she was well-liked, and the reason half the class passed their written exams. Now the rest of her classmates waited with bated breath. 

“Well?” he pressed her.

It was Deidre’s snicker from two rows ahead that made something inside of her snap. She was sick of trying and failing. She was sick of waiting for the magic to come when it likely never would. She was tired of fighting against the inevitable. Her brother Jef was always trying to get her to play poker with him, generally because she was the only one in the family who couldn’t cheat magically, but maybe it was time she learned to fold.

The resignation coupled with an intense rage. She stood up, and her chair fell to the ground with a clang. She grabbed her books off the desk and met the master’s startled gaze with her own furious glare.

“I don’t have It,” she spat, and then she walked out. She walked between the rows, past the kids that passed because of her, past Deidre who snickered, and past that old chalkboard that had never seen an ordinary piece of chalk. At fifteen years-old, Gwendolyn Collinine, the girl who didn’t have It, walked out.

-

“Excuse me, Miss.”

Gwen looked up from her book and met eyes with a sorry-looking old woman with blotchy skin, but sweet eyes. She flashed a bright smile and closed the book, placing it face down so the woman would have no cause to question her taste for literature from the Tower. 

“What can I help you with?”

 The old woman looked hopefully over at the empty shelves. “Somethin’ for me protection. Cloves, by chance?"

Gwen shook her head. These days everyone was brewing their own protection. They didn’t understand that most of it was superstition. Even with the proper ingredients, a good potion only really affected a person’s luck. It couldn’t protect from a direct attack, magical or not. 

“I’m sorry,” her regret was genuine. “We’ve had a run on cloves, bay leaf, fennel, and coriander. Even the blacksmith is out of horseshoes.”

The old woman bowed her head and shuffled towards the exit. Gwen sighed, “Ma’am –” the old woman turned back – “I believe the worst of it hasn’t even reached Dalad, and we’re in Capital. The king has access to the Tower’s best wizards and witches.”

Gwen desperately hoped that the slight straightening in the old woman’s posture was not just wishful thinking on her part. The chimes above the door tinkled as the old woman walked out of the shop, and a small man in a flat cap entered. 

A broad grin crossed her face, and she leaned over the apothecary’s counter. “Cort, I haven’t seen you in a week.”

He chuckled and winked at her devilishly. “You and the missus both.”

Gwen laughed and held out her hand, “Hand over the letters, and don’t get scrappy about it.”

“I got better than letters,” he told her with a wink, but he passed her the bundle anyway.

She glanced at him curiously, but he refused to tell her more than that, merely shifted back and forth, as if extremely pleased with himself as she flipped through her letters. There was a healthy stack of them, all singed with purple fire, and sealed with the stamp of the Tower. She pulled out Jef’s first, he was bound to make her laugh, and she left Lillianne’s for last, as the baby in the family she always complained about everyone else. Gwen broke the seal on Jef’s letter and looked at Cort. 

“What’s going on? Why are you still here?”

He winked broadly and gestured towards the door. 

“That’s my cue to leave, but…” he paused his words as the door swung open with an inviting tinkle. Gwen’s mouth dropped. It couldn’t be, could it? Two young children entered first, then a balding man in a plain suit. She dropped her letters at the sight of him, but at the sight of woman and baby who stepped through the door, she leaped off her stool and flew around the counter. 

“Clara!” she cried. “Clara, what are you doing here?”

Her second oldest sister laughed, and took her in a one-armed hug, as she juggled a baby in the other. Gwen held her fiercely for a moment, breathing in that all too familiar scent of incense and inner fire. She finally released Clara and stepped back to admire her sister and the baby. The baby was barely awake, and it gurgled at her unintelligibly. 

There were dark rims under her sister’s eyes, and Gwen saw evidence of more than a few sleepless nights. She instantly suspected that there was more to this spur of the moment visit than she had anticipated. She looked over at Len, and he nodded, once, as if to confirm her thoughts. 

“Is my mother here?” Len asked her.

Gwen shook her head. “She went down to the market. She’ll be back for dinner. I mind the shop most days now.”

That was what walking out on the wizarding world four years ago had got her, a good job in her mother-in-law’s shop. It was not exactly the destiny she had dreamed of, but she had come to enjoy it. Her parents still said they were proud of her. 

Gwen crossed to the window and flipped the Open sign to Closed. “Come on, let’s get you all settled in.”

-

Clara followed Gwen to the basin in the kitchen and leaned her head back against the cabinet. Gwen busied herself, washing two cups, but she kept a watchful eye on her sister. Those dark circles were not just a product of a long day on the road. 

“The Tower’s fallen.”

 Gwen had to strain to pick the words out of the air, and then her first thought was, impossible, but Clara was never one to joke. The mug slipped out of her hand and clattered into the sink. The Tower had always been in her life. Powerful, real, the unattainable dream. Gwen gulped and gripped the edge of the basin. Her knuckles turned white with the strain

“Dalad too?” Her words came out remarkably even and calm, as the rest of her turned to putty.

Clara shook her head, but her expression was bleak. “The city’s in shambles. I don’t know how much longer we can hold out.”

Gwen sighed, she picked up the fallen mug. The Tower. She set it back down. “Is everyone alright?”

Clara did not nod, but she did not tell her anyone was dead. “Our family has been lucky so far.”

Gwen pressed her palm against her forehead to block out the nightmares that filled her mind. “You’re leaving your family here aren’t you, and going back?”

Clara nodded again; it was one small admission. Gwen rocked on her hands that still gripped the side of the basin. Seeing Clara like this wasn’t right. Seeing Clara like this tore her apart. Clara had a family; she shouldn’t stand between the Sorcerer and Dalad.

Gwen forced herself to straighten. She glared a Clara but the words “You can’t go back” stuck in her throat. Her sister was glowing with purple fire. Gwen’s defiance shriveled. There was nothing she could do. She was the girl who didn’t have It. She was the girl who had walked out. 

-

Gwen lay flat on her back on the hard floor and wished she had let Clara conjure her a mattress. The family used her bedroom, and they deserved one more night together. Every rib of her spine was pressed against the unforgiving wood floor. She groaned and rolled over so she could face the fire. The flames flickered and she sat up, searching for comfort in its depths. People died, her family could die, and she was useless to stop any of it. She was useless to do anything but offer old women false hope. 

Ignus Excandis. 

She poured everything she had into the words. It was the try that had bottled up inside her for four years. She screamed the words in her mind, searching for that connection, that source. A pounding headache started at the base of her skull. The fire didn’t even flicker. Gwen drew her knees up to her chest and wept. 

She wept for the life she might have had, and she wept for a lifetime of suppressed yearning, suppressed jealousy, and suppressed anger. She wanted to help, she wanted to stop the suffering. She knew that you were either born with the knack or you weren’t, but she had wanted so desperately to be one of those rare cases that learned.

“Why,” she pleaded. “Why couldn’t you have let me have It? Why couldn’t I have done something?”

There was no answer, but she had never expected one. She got to her feet and walked to the door. 

-

Gwen wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and shivered in the cool night air. Eventually, the houses gave way to a small stretch of embankment that led down to the river. The moon waxed gibbous, and its bright light shone down over the Capital. Gwen sank to the grass, and sat, her knees drawn up to her chest, staring out over the water. 

Why her of all eleven children? Why did she have to be the one that could not so much as lift a finger against the Sorcerer? 

“Well, you are the seventh child of a seventh child.”

The voice echoed within and all around her. It was pleasant, kind, and mystically situated between male and female. Gwen didn’t even bother to raise her head. If she was going mad it would be one more disappointment her parents would have to deal with.

“That doesn’t mean anything. It’s seventh sons of seventh sons that get the power and become Sorcerers.” 

“Sort of,” the voice told her. “Daughters work just as well, but the darn men always ignore half my explanations, and butcher the rest.”

Gwen gaped into the night. “Who are you?” She had a sneaking suspicion, and her heart pounded unevenly.

“That’s irrelevant.” Gwen was pretty sure it was anything but irrelevant, however, the voice brooked no argument. “You’re a seventh child of a seventh child. Seventh children were supposed to have a connection to the one true source, and the balance around us.”

Gwen snorted. “I don’t have a drop of magic, so no balance here.”

“But you brought it to your family, yes? One ordinary among so many gifted. It tempers the pursuit of power. But more importantly, do you really think I gave the Source to the wizards without having given the rest of humanity their own It? Of course not. There is another power, a deeper power, a power that is beyond what the world could ever imagine.”

It was a thought that had never occurred to her, a thing she would have called impossible. She pinched herself to double-check she wasn’t dreaming, but at that moment she felt it. A trickle of warmth that started in her heart. Her mind leaped to focus on it, and it expanded throughout her entire body. Gwen gasped in awe, and the warmth ran down into the center of the earth. Down until her awareness expanded and she could sense the loving heart of creation. 

“You cannot fight fire with fire, Gwendolyn Collinine, but you can fight mage fire with the heart of creation. This power is inherently balanced, and this power knows.”

Gwen nodded, she could feel the love, the love poured down on her over the years. Love from her mother and father. Love from every one of her four older brothers, two older sisters, two younger brothers, and littlest sister. All in their own way, all in their own time, but she understood why she was the seventh child of a seventh child, and why she had been chosen to change the world. After all her jealousy, after all her worthless thoughts, and bitterness over being useless she still understood love, and she still loved. 

The reflection of the moon rippled in the water and the voice reverberated through her mind. “Turn your shawl to silver.”

For a moment Gwen hesitated. She had tried only to fail for so long. To live with the hope was better than disappointment, but the voice brushed against her consciousness. “Gwen. Turn your shawl to silver.”

This time trying felt attainable, less like forcing the impossible into existence, and more like putting the key in the lock. She let herself go, and she trusted in the second power, the first power, the internal power. Argentium Consolodium. The words were irrelevant. The intent was what mattered. 

“Turn my shawl silver,” she commanded with quiet resolve. 

There was a flare of white light all around her, and then silver threads spread over her shawl. It looked as though it had been spun from moonshine. She could do magic. She did not have It, but she had the original It, and that was somehow better. She expected to feel a rush of exultation, but instead, a quiet peace filled her. It was as if she had awakened the part of herself, she had known always existed. 

“Are you willing to give up on It?” the voice asked her.

Gwen let the white power run over her arms, and she marveled at its beauty. She would still be the girl who didn’t have It, but she was so much more, and always had been. Gwen nodded slowly, and the words sprang to her mind unbidden but resonating with the truth. “It was never what made me worthy. I don’t have to have It to matter or change the world.”

The voice was immensely pleased. “Then go with my blessing, child. You know what you are meant to do.”

Gwen stood and bowed in the dark. Her body glowed with a faint ghostly brilliance. She understood. Her heart took her back to Dalad and the Tower. There were no accidents. Everyone played their part, everyone was worthy. She had preserved a balance once, now she would do so again. 

A broad grin flickered across her face, and her power flared. There was a brilliant flash of light, and within the apartment above the shop, a note floated to the kitchen table. It was singed with white flame, and it read;

I love you, all of you, and I have discovered what exactly I have. It is not it, but it does not have to be. Clara, I think you can guess what I am going to do, but don’t worry. Don’t try to follow. You can’t fight fire with fire, but I was born to keep the balance.