The Faeries' Harp

27: Something New

“Well,” Duke Aonghus begins, staring at the disintegrated floral remains at Rhys’s feet, “that is not what I expected.”

“Me either,” Rhys mumbles, wondering what he did wrong.

“Do not panic. There is little that is done with magic that cannot be undone the same way. Envision them as they were, before you changed them to what they are now, and when you think you are ready, say ‘emriohl’ as you point at them. It means ‘restore.’ That should accomplish what you are hoping for, yes?”

“I hope so.” He breathes deeply, trying to remember what the flowers looked like before he inadvertently destroyed them. Fortunately for him, there are many others of the same variety blooming nearby, and it is not hard to get the image in his mind.

“Emriohl,” he says firmly, pointing at the crumbled, blackened remnants.

Nothing happens.

Immediately panic bubbles up inside him, combining with his already strong and present fears of his own inadequacy. He closes his eyes and bites his lip hard, trying to rein in his frustration and fear and self-doubt.

“What did I do wrong?” he asks Duke Aonghus, his voice little more than a whisper.

“At this stage, nothing, or at least nothing I can identify. Learning is a process, and it takes time and effort. Not everything is going to work instantaneously,” Duke Aonghus assures him. “The first thing is to let go of all the negative emotions you are feeling. Often our emotions play a role in our magic. Try to focus on something that makes you happy instead, if you can do that and keep the image of the flowers in your mind at the same time.”

“Happy….” It has been quite a long time since Rhys has considered himself happy, but his mind immediately takes him to the sunrise at the lake, the morning before his whole world was transformed. The sense of peace and awe he had then returns to him, albeit diminished. What if I need more than that? he worries. More memories come, with a little more effort: Evelyn, on a good day, baking pastries to sell and letting him eat a broken one; the sense of pride he had when he forged his first knife, and the way the blacksmith commended him; the way Saoirse looked handing him the bag of coins.

Almost subconsciously, he finds himself pointing at the ruined flowers and saying “emriohl” again, this time gently, almost encouragingly. At first, nothing seems to change, but Rhys focuses in on the blackened plants and, slowly but surely, green flows back into them from the base up. Eventually, after what feels like forever to Rhys, even the blossoms come back.

“There it is,” Duke Aonghus commends him with a smile. Rhys sighs in relief and realizes suddenly that he’s been holding his breath for quite some time, and there’s a sheen of sweat on his brow. “Certainly more difficult for you, restoring.”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps we shall try transform again, this time on this rock here.” Duke Aonghus gestures to a boulder large enough to sit on, perhaps the size of a giant’s head, a short distance away from Rhys. “You can come closer to it if you need to.”

“This is supposed to be a test, right? Let’s see if I can do it from this distance.” This time, Rhys envisions the rock as a large toad before he points at it and says “zanzri.” For a moment, the rock shifts to look exactly how Rhys is imagining it, but then it abruptly and unceremoniously crumbles to rubble. A rumble of frustration reverberates in Rhys’s chest and, with a loud c***k, a branch falls from a tree overhead, turning from leafy green to dry and withered and bare before it hits the ground near Rhys, startling him into jumping away from it.

“Well. There is no question of your power,” Duke Aonghus remarks, trying to be optimistic for his son, though he is just as perplexed and concerned as Rhys is underneath his calm exterior. “You might well have as much talent as your Saoirse.”

“But mine destroys,” Rhys despairs. “Why is it like this? Is yours like this?”

“Let us not jump to that conclusion quite yet.”

“Is your like this? Or the Duchess’s?”

“Destruction like this is not the first thing either of us learned to do, but we’re both perfectly capable of it. Our abilities are not what we should be focusing on at present, however. I do not think we need to worry about the branch, as long as we remove it completely, but I would like you to try to restore that boulder.”

This is not the answer Rhys was hoping for, but he sees the sense in Duke Aonghus’s proposed course of action, and so he approaches the crumbled boulder and lays his hands on the pieces. Once again he tries to focus on pleasant memories while imagining the rock as its whole self again, but this time he feels something inside him fighting it. Your worth is not and should not be determined by whatever happens here today, Duke Aonghus’s words from earlier echo inside Rhys’s mind, and he squashes down whatever is fighting his efforts to restore the rock while repeating “emriohl” over and over again under his breath. Slowly at first, and then all at once, the pieces reassemble themselves into their former attitude, and one last “emriohl” from Rhys seals the cracks between them, making the rock whole again as it once was.

Upon releasing his concentration, Rhys finds himself quite dizzy and sits down carefully on the rock he has just restored.

“I understand now why Saoirse was so tired yesterday,” he mutters, breathing heavily.

“We can certainly take a break,” Duke Aonghus decides, surveying Rhys critically for a moment. “No need to overdo it. When you are feeling up to it, though, let me know and we will make that branch disappear.”

“Is that much different from just destroying it?”

“If you want to destroy it, that will suit me fine. It can also be sent to the human realm, to a random location. We have no use for it here.”

“Why a random location?”

“It is the custom of our kind to wreak havoc amongst the mortals.”

“I do not think I can ever in good conscience do that, having lived among them.”

Duke Aonghus sighs, but a kindly smile plays about his lips. “You have a good heart. Better than what the natural bent of your magic would suggest.”

“Why is it like this?”

“Alas, I know not, but the Queen and Magister Diarmaid might be able to help us solve this quandary. I will request an audience with her as soon as we have finished cleaning up.”

Rhys turns his attention to the dead branch. The sooner we can see the Queen to sort this out, the better. And maybe Saoirse will come with Magister Diarmaid to the audience and I will get to see her again.

“Begone,” he orders the branch while flicking his fingers at it. The branch obediently explodes into ash, which is carried away on the gentle breeze that wafts through the gardens.

“Eager for answers, lad?” Duke Aonghus chuckles. Rhys nods fervently. “Aye, as am I. Let us hope that the Queen can see us today.”