The Faeries' Harp

26: Magister Diarmaid

A rattling of glassware startles Saoirse from her slumber. For a moment, she is disoriented; the room in which she has been sleeping is quite dark. Is it still nighttime? she wonders dazedly, still half-lost in the land of dreams, where voices had been calling her name again, telling her to make haste, for the Great Work must begin.

“Maybe Magister Diarmaid can explain that,” she mumbles as she sits up and stretches. A yawn escapes her lips with a small squeak, and then a small orb of pale blue light appears, bobbing amiably near her head and illuminating her surroundings. “And…that.”

She has been given a small bed that seems to be made of dandelion fluff in a room that is little more than a closet. Magister Diarmaid apologized for the cramped quarters when he brought her to his dwelling the night before, and showed her that his own sleeping space is much the same. The vast majority of his home is devoted to storage of scrolls and parchments and strange artifacts she senses are magical in nature.

The rattling of glassware continues beyond her door, which seems to be just a panel of tree bark. I guess the day has begun for Magister Diarmaid, and I should not waste any more time, she decides, putting on the simple white dress that her new guardian provided for her.

“It is tradition that those officially apprenticed to study magic wear white,” he told her last night. Saoirse accepted this without comment. At that point, she could barely keep her eyes open. She had not changed out of her dirty peasant dress before collapsing on the dandelion fluff bed.

“Ah, good morning, Saoirse,” Magister Diarmaid greets her as she emerges from her sleeping quarters. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired. Confused,” she replies, struggling to keep herself aloft with her wings. The floor has a variety of parchments and strange objects scattered across it, and she is doing her best not to disturb them. Despite his solemn and put-together appearance, Magister Diarmaid is evidently not one for neat and tidy, organized spaces.

“Still tired? That simply will not do at all. We have so much to explore and so much to learn in regards to your abilities.”

“I’m sure that’s why my dreams were plagued with voices calling to me that the Great Work begins and I must make ready with haste.”

Magister Diarmaid arches one of his thick eyebrows quizzically. “The Great Work, you say? Yes, I daresay that a great work will begin right after we get you some breakfast. What else has you confused?” He hands her a plate piled with what look to her like macaroons but taste like berry cobbler.

“When I yawned, a little light appeared in my room.”

Magister Diarmaid flies to the door of her room to investigate. “Ah, you made a fairy light. Were you thinking that it was dark in there?”

“Yes.”

“That explains it. Desire is the start of most magic, at least for those like us. Lilac Order, I mean. For most fae there have to be words, gestures, perhaps an arcane focus. For us, our bodies and minds provide the power and focus. Words, gestures, and objects serve to amplify our power.”

Saoirse groans, and a nearby smoking pipe turns into a horseshoe. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

Magister Diarmaid laughs. “You miss Bergljot, it seems. Unfortunately, she has already gone to help with the portal repairs for the day.”

“And I didn’t get to bid her farewell?”

“She will be back this evening. She and I both thought it best to let you sleep. Yesterday was quite a lot for you to handle.”

“Yes.” Saoirse’s mind flashes back to the Throne Room, and in particular to the exchange with the Duke and Duchess of Chrysanthemum. “Magister…. Please do not think me ungrateful, or that I regret how things happened last night. I think it would be much for the worse if the Duke and Duchess had decided differently, and yet…. Why do they not want me?”

Magister Diarmaid flicks the fingers of his left hand and immediately the room’s atmosphere turns warm and comforting. “I know it is easier said than done, Saoirse, but do not let your heart or mind be troubled by the Duke and Duchess of Chrysanthemum. They are nobility by blood but not in heart, and truth be told the Queen has nearly lost patience with them and thinks often of stripping them of their titles. They are much disliked at court for precisely the attitudes they displayed last night. I have never known either one of them to care for anyone other than themselves.”

“They told it true, then. I am too troublesome for them.”

“That is their perspective. But I think you quite the opposite of troublesome. I have not been this excited for a day of work in quite some time.”

Saoirse is only slightly comforted by this assertion, but forces herself to smile anyway. “Then let us begin. Thank you for breakfast. What are these called, by the way?” Saoirse pops the last berry flavored morsel into her mouth.

“Temptations. I’m glad they are to your liking. Follow me. We’ll go to one of the courtyards to begin your lessons with magic.” Magister Diarmaid leads the way out of his living quarters, which are in a wing of the Palace of the Faerie Queen not far from the Throne Room, and makes a couple turns before leading them through a pearlescent arch into a mid-sized, octagonal courtyard. The ground is covered in springy green moss, and all manner of flowering vines flourish throughout the space, climbing walls and abstract statues seemingly designed as a base for the plants.

“We will be practicing here? I would hate to ruin this beauty,” Saoirse remarks as she alights on the moss. Deep purple crocuses spring up around her feet. “Did I do that?”

“Yes, and for that reason I think you need not worry about ruining anything,” Magister Diarmaid replies, trying not to laugh. “Everything you have done by accident has been either creative or transformative in nature.”

“But what if I accidentally change one of these flowery things into something ugly?”

“It is possible to reverse spells. Do not forget that I am here. Very few things that are done by magic cannot be undone. Let us begin by closing our eyes and breathing. I know that all of this has been very stressful for you, but if your emotions remain so strong, it will be very difficult to control your power. So breathe in, nice and slow and deep…hold it…and then breathe out, slow and controlled. Good. Do that again…a few more times.”

Saoirse follows Magister Diarmaid’s instructions as best she can. With her eyes closed, however, myriad images flit through her imagination: the harp, Rhys, flashes of color, bursts of light, the Flower Guard they met the day before, a dark misshapen form that fills her with terror.

“Your energy is not settling. Tell me what is troubling you,” Magister Diarmaid bids Saoirse.

“Do I have to keep my eyes closed? When they’re closed I see things, so many things, and I’m not sure what some of them are or what they mean….”

“We can try another way instead. Choose a flower to focus on. Ideally, your eyes will lose focus and gaze off to middle space, but for the time being, focusing on the flower will help you. Try again.” Magister Diarmaid is growing increasingly worried about his new ward, with her dreams and visions, but does not let Saoirse see even a hint of his concern, feeling that if he acts like there is nothing to worry about, her anxiety will ebb.

This time, Saoirse is able to settle her breathing and heart rate to something more like calm, and both she and Magister Diarmaid are relieved at this small step towards progress.

“All right. Good. Most of what you have done so far has been musical in nature. Can you sing a scale, or hum something, and we will see what comes of that?”

Saoirse obediently sings a scale, creating a gentle rain shower over herself and Magister Diarmaid. Tiny white blossoms appear where the raindrops hit the moss, and then they float away on the wind.

“Fascinating. What were you thinking of, when you did that?” Magister Diarmaid inquires.

“Peace. I’ve always found the rain…comforting,” Saoirse replies candidly. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Not at all. I am simply trying to understand, to find common threads. Can you learn tunes by ear?”

“Yes, Magister.”

“Then I will try to teach you a couple simple song-spells. It seems you will have to focus tightly on the main objective of the spell, but I think we can find a way forward from here.”

“I am ready to learn,” Saoirse says with a confidence she does not feel. She wonders how Rhys’s magic practice is going, and when she might be able to see Bergljot again. She misses Vivica and Marianne and hopes that they are not suffering in her absence. More than anything, she just wants a chance to speak with someone she trusts, to sort out everything that’s happening inside her head. May that chance come soon.