In Her Element

Almyra felt the Power entering her with the force of an avalanche that had built up speed and strength over thousands of miles; it was giving everything a blurred, lilac tint. The flower’s charm that she held in her hand felt warm and seemed to be fluctuating between extreme hot and cold with each passing second, reflecting her body’s reaction to the energy welling up inside of her.

It was so exhilarating, holding this much power in the palm of her hand. She felt as though she could control everything…she was near invincible.

She let go of the charm, almost reluctant to part with the somewhat sensual feeling, letting it drop to rest comfortably between her breasts. Then she took a deep breath and gathered the Power that still flowed from Frederic to her, and formed it into a ball that cackled with electricity.

Almyra advanced slowly on the two people standing in front of her, one with a dumbfounded look on his face, the other with a the scrunched up look of fury on hers. She tossed the ball between her hands, a bully’s tease, and the others’ eyes followed the hypnotic path.

“It’s invigorating to hold so much power in one’s hand, is it not, Master?”

She walked forward, taunting, and with each step she took, the others took a step back, and Frederick yanked harder against the ropes that kept him bound and useless.

“I wonder if you would like to feel some of the pain you have caused others, some of the losses you have inflicted on those poor lost boys and others who have crossed paths with you?”

Almyra brought the ball of energy up to her mouth and blew softly. The result was unexpected: Power swiftly shot across the room and the Master and his mother screamed when it struck them. The shrill sound bounced off the walls and the side of Almyra’s mouth twisted up in satisfaction. The Master was bent over, his arms wrapped around his stomach and his eyes screwed up with the pain. The woman was trying to keep herself in control and was vibrating with the hurt that she tried to suppress.

“Almyra,” Frederick’s voice called out to her, sounding far away, like she was underwater. Without looking at him she said, “Do not worry, sweetheart. I will have you out of here in but a moment.” She blew again, listening with cruel satisfaction as the screams reached a higher level this time.

“Almyra, please.” This time his voice was laced with desperation. She turned to look at him and her shimmering hazel eyes met his smoky grey ones. His eyes were filled with love and a sad sort of pain and…fear? “Look at yourself, Almyra. This is not you; you’re scaring me.” His voice barely registered over the sound of the screaming. “Look, love. Look.” He tilted his head slightly to his left to indicate the mirror that was there.

“Fine,” she answered coolly, and turned to look at the ornately rimmed mirror hanging on the wall near her. At first, she could not comprehend what she was looking at. Staring back at her from the mirror was a girl who could have been her—the hair, the face, the shapely neck was hers—but something was off. The girl’s eyes were angrily flashing purple, like she could kill someone by merely looking at them, and underneath was a greenish hue. The pupils were so dilated that the irises were practically not seen, given the eyes a look of coldness and a lack of depth. The cheeks were flushed and the mouth was dark red and twisted in a sly grin, as with ones who take a sadistic pleasure in their emptiness. On her neck was a very familiar looking birthmark that seemed to be losing its glow and becoming darker by the second. Almyra leaned forward to stare at it in fascination, and the girl leaned forward too.

“Oh,” Almyra whispered hoarsely, taking a step back. The girl stepped back, too. Almyra’s heart clenched and she felt nauseous as the screams of the Master and his mother finally reached her ears. Slowly, without turning around, she released them from her Power so that they fell to the floor gasping, and the angry coldness that darkened her face seeped out as she watched her reflection.

She ran to Frederick and, using a very little bit of energy, she destroyed the ropes that kept him bound to the chair. He stood carefully, wobbling slightly, and turned to face her, but she found she could not meet his eyes. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she reluctantly allowed him to lean on her as they walked to the door, until he got back full control of his limbs. They had a few steps left to reach the door, still slightly ajar, when it exploded into hundreds of tiny pieces. Frederick quickly drew Almyra into his arms just as she threw up her hands to erect a wall of powerful winds to shield them from the flying debris.

The two of them spun around just in time to see the Master, now on his feet, thrust his hand out, and this time Almyra and Frederick ducked as a log flew out of the fireplace towards them. The Master’s eyes burned with murderous intent and the lady, struggling to stand, looked on with triumph and, finally, pride as her son grunted, “I will not lose everything I have toiled so hard for.”

Another log came sailing at them, but this time, as she and Frederick dodged it, Almyra gathered as much heat as she could from the air and hit the log with it until it burst into flames, and then she pulled it down. It landed with a thump in front of them, igniting the carpet as it did so, to build a barrier of flames between the predators and the victims. Almyra grabbed her flower pendant again, squeezed her eyes shut as tight as she possibly could until a brilliant flash lit the room behind her eyelids. She opened her eyes, and her hazel ones met the deep, nearly black eyes of the King. He nodded at her regally, not even flinching when a log hit him in the back.

You did well. Go. I shall take it from here.

Girl and lord stared at each other for a few heartbeats long, and then she, with a nod of her own, turned and fled, pulling Frederick with her, the heat of the growing fire beating at their backs, urging them to pick up their pace.

By the time they found the carriage—mysteriously horseless yet seemingly in working order, ready to go, and waiting for them—the entire citadel had gone up in roaring flames, as though someone had overturned an entire drum of oil on it and then lit one small corner. Frederick helped Almyra inside the coach then followed, closing the door behind him; the carriage started moving immediately. They found blankets waiting on the cushioned seats and covered themselves—to hide shaking legs—as the stagecoach traveled seamlessly through the forest.

They sat side by side with less than two feet of space between them, but the silence seemed to widen the space. Almyra’s hands twitched nervously and she felt Frederick’s eyes on her. She knew he wanted to talk to her, to discuss what had happened in the room…but Almyra was afraid. She had lost control as she always feared she would and it could happen again. She did not want to know what Frederick thought of her now. She could not handle his anger or his comfort; she did not want his comfort. He tried to speak, to get her to open up, but she remained silent all the way home, where the excitement of their return coupled with the sorrow for those lost swallowed Almyra’s problem.