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“Holy shit.” Ayda exhaled heavily as she looked around. Something was different.
No, everything is different.
Ayda studied the trees, the ground, and the sky around her and suddenly realized she could see the signature of their magic. It wasn't her earth magic; she could always summon that and see it dancing in the ether, but this wasn't that. It was the power owned by the trees, the land, and the magical trails of dust and sky that followed the stars. This wasn't earth magic. Ayda had learned to work with the land; this was the land itself.
It was written across the leaves in an ancient language, older than time. Grids of power appeared in the petals of flowers and were written into the constellations. Ayda slowly reached out her hand, tempted to see if she could touch it.
“You can touch it.” Ásví's voice was proud. It shocked Ayda from her stupor, and she turned towards Ásví, gasping.
“What the fuck was that?” Ayda put her hand on her chest and tried to slow her breathing as her adrenaline caught up.
“That is the old magic—the magic of the Norse gods and the islands themselves. Before, you worked alongside the earth with your power that used nature. This is nature's power.” Ásví crossed her arms over her chest, turning towards the altar. The flame was still going strong, but now it was bright blue.
“I thought it was going to kill me.” Ayda shook her head and cracked her knuckles, still attempting to get her bearings.
Ásví removed her pipe again and lit it off the altar's flame. She made a noncommittal humming noise as she blew another smoke ring.
“It might have killed you.”
“What?” Ayda shrieked. She turned towards Ásví and took a step backward. Everyone's warnings about how dangerous Ásví could be started churning in her mind. Ayda glanced over her shoulder and debated if she could return to the stave church without Ásví catching her.
“Calm down.” Ásví smirked. “It's always possible with old magic, but I was fairly confident it would work.”
“You were ‘fairly confident’?” Ayda air quoted the words. “With my life? What was the point of that anyway?”
“The old magic was still dormant in your veins. We had to ask the old gods to wake it up before we did anything else.”
“And if the old gods refused?”
“Then it would've killed you.” Ayda made another shocked noise, and Ásví waved it off. “They would've refused if you didn't have it in your blood. And you do. So, see? Problem solved.”
“Problem. Solved,” Ayda repeated, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I can't believe you almost killed me.”
Ásví chewed on the end of her pipe. “If it makes you feel better, I had to do the same thing to Wyn and Hùisdean to kickstart their magical training. I'm not doing anything to you that I wasn't prepared to do to my own family.”
Ayda sighed. It did make her feel slightly better. Ásví smiled.
“How does it feel, girl?”
Ayda took a deep breath and focused on Ásví's question. How did it feel?
It feels incredible.
Ayda gasped when she focused on the sensations running through her body. She could sense two distinct forms of magic mingling in her veins. They were complementary, echoing off one another and mixing in a surge of ice and fresh grass. Ayda held her hand out before her, and a small thistle emerged from the ground without hesitation. She snapped her fingers, and frost encompassed the flower. When Ayda snapped her fingers a second time, the ice disappeared.
“Incredible.” Ayda shook her head. “I can use both magics now.”
“You certainly can.” Ásví looked smug. She extinguished her pipe, shoved it back in her jacket pocket, and turned towards the fire. “Now that's out of the way, let's have a little chat with Margaret, shall we?” Ásví stepped closer to the fire and beckoned for Ayda to join her at her side.
“What do we need to do?” Ayda looked at the blue fire, still a raging pillar before them.
“Simple,” Ásví shrugged, “ask Margaret to talk to you.” Ásví's tone suggested this was as simple as pouring a glass of juice or calling someone. Ayda grunted.
“And how do you want me to attempt that?”
Ásví's face was impassive. “However you think it makes sense.”
Ayda wanted to scream sometimes at Ásví's vague directions, but that was typical of a wizard.
