Curse of the Celts Clara O'Connor (new reading txt) 📖

There was silence at the table as we took this in. Magic was waning amongst the Britons. What would the council do if they had that information? It was the threat of the magic wielded by the Britons that kept our societies separate, that prevented the Empire from using its superior firepower and technology to dominate this island.

“This is no small matter. They have your scent now. How much power did you use to attract their attention and bring them to our plane?”

I looked to Marcus who had paused in eating too but kept his head down. I wasn’t sure what to do; Devyn had barely spoken since we arrived, and Marcus was scarcely recognisable. His gaunt, shrunken appearance showed the toll the last few days had taken on him – his father’s death, depleting every last drop of his power in his desperation to try to heal those spirits, and then being hunted through the forest. As he met my eyes, his were vacant but he shrugged, giving his consent that I should tell the tale.

“It was Marcus. There were these people, so many of them… all showing signs of the same illness that’s been sweeping the city. Marcus is a doctor. He’s had some success in healing people, but he uses magic to do so. It comes from within him, and he knows he isn’t supposed to go beyond a certain level; he knows he can only save a small number. Out there in the woods, there were so many, and Marcus kept trying to save them, one after another. He used a lot of power, more than he should have. That’s how he got burned out,” I explained.

“I see, but when they came, Marcus was a dried-up husk. You’re the one that was the juicy bone, the one they’ll be back for. I can’t do much for him till he gets some energy back. Let’s work with what you have and make sure you know how to give ’em a kicking they won’t soon forget should they be foolish enough to return.” Callum surveyed the table and, leaning across, heaped seconds onto our plates. “Now, eat up; you’ll need your strength.”

After breakfast the next morning, I followed Callum through the halls of the college, relieved to find my handfast tether to Marcus had extended to a greater distance now we were beyond the unstable border ley line. We wound our way through a labyrinth of stone passageways, some small and narrow, some wide and littered with portraits of stern men and women, no doubt professors and deans of generations past. Some wore elaborate Celtic dress while others were in simpler, more modern garb; most were distinctly Briton in style but occasionally we passed one with more exotic robes and colouring. In Londinium, people came from all over the Empire, which was why Devyn’s darker skin fitted in so easily, but these people wore culturally rich clothing, indicating that they were from outside the Empire – Africans and Americans, though some dressed vaguely in the imperial style. I wondered if they might be people like Devyn’s mother, people who fled persecution at home to live outside the reach of the Empire.

Our feet echoed on the flagstone – or rather mine did. Why did it seem like I was always the loudest person in the vicinity out here in the Wilds? Everyone walked like ghosts, barely making a sound. I supposed that, living in the city, I had grown up accustomed to the basic comfort of my own safety; even down in the stews I had never had to fear being attacked… Pestered by beggars maybe, but there was never any real danger that someone there would assault an elite. In the city, the danger wasn’t being heard but being seen by the ever-present cameras. The same was not true out here in lands where it still held that the best insurance of one’s safety seemed to be to tread lightly and carry a big stick.

Finally, we arrived in a courtyard. It was large and surrounded by stone walls with small casement windows higher up. The yard itself was divided up into quarters, each with its own unique characteristic. There was a large oak tree in the centre.

“Each section of this courtyard represents one of the four elements of which magic is made up,” Callum explained. “They are here to help you connect to them and train, but first we need to find out which of them you hold an affinity with.”

I glanced up at the windows, uncomfortable at the thought that others might be watching.

Callum caught me at it and correctly interpreted my nervousness.

“Oh, don’t worry about the windows; those are the halls of residence, and most everyone has gone home for the festivities.”

“What festivities?”

“What festivities? What do they teach you behind those big walls? Don’t you know anything about the people with whom you share this island?”

“Yes,” I snapped back. “I know that it’s Samhain and that the dead can cross over.”

Which, admittedly, was fairly recently acquired knowledge.

“I can see that this might be pertinent information to someone crossing the borderlands, but it’s a great deal more than that. It is the harvest festival. After all the work has been done and the fires are lit for the winter, there are bonfires and dancing and feasting. The beloved dead are invited to dine, and people disguise themselves from the dead who come with evil intent.”

So maybe I knew hardly anything. At least it explained why the halls were so deserted. As long as no one but Callum was going to be watching me make a complete and utter fool of myself… I hated this, hated not being able to do anything well. I had striven my whole life to be perfect at everything, to do well at school, to have appropriate friends, to look good, to be deserving. To be worthy of my parents,