ESOR, Book 1, Amora Trilogy

ESOR

~Book One~

This spell was such a simple thing. What harm could it do?

Contents

1 ~ CURSED

2 ~ PATIENT BE

3 ~ OLDE MAGICK

4 ~ NOTHING

5 ~ BROM

6 ~ CLOTH & DREAMS

7 ~ LORES

8 ~ SOJOURN

9 ~ ROSEBUD HOUSE

10 ~ DREAM

11 ~ TWIN VALES

12 ~ SPECTRE

13 ~ DUPLICITY

14 ~ DOME HOUSE

15 ~ RITUAL

16 ~ PROMISE

17 ~ SEDITION

18 ~ SHADOW

19 ~ HIGH LEDGE

20 ~ SECRETS

21 ~ CHANGELING

22 ~ DESTINY

23 ~ POWERS

24 ~ ROSE’nMAE

25 ~ CHOSEN ONE

26 ~ DESIRE

27 ~ TRAPPED

28 ~ GNARLING STORM

29 ~ ESOR

30 ~ HEART of ESOR

31 ~ DARK NIGHTS, DARK SOULS

32 ~ GLOW

33 ~ TRUEST BELONGING

34 ~ AURA MASTER

35 ~ PROPHECY

36 ~ HERO

37 ~ VISION

38 ~ FESTIVAL

Chapter 1

CURSED

"All things unfold as they should."

"An olde piece of cloth? For a spell? From Mother’s private storage pod? Mae, you know the rules!"

As usual, Iris was ranting at the top of her lungs, reeking superiority with every word. Mae flinched, fuming under her breath. She wasn’t deaf! But of course, her sister was bellowing, when all she had to do was speak normally. And now that Iris knew, did everyone else in Amora need to know as well?

Hopefully, the words hadn’t escaped beyond the living room walls, ramming their way through the casements, into Village Glade. Hopefully, too, they hadn’t absconded into the Woodlands to the ears of Fernseea and Jazmin. It was too soon. Mae would reveal her secret when the time was right.

Anxiously, she pressed her face against the warmed glass of the window. Through her reflection, her long, ice-white, forever-straight locks framed the edges of her deep azure eyes. Sullenly, Mae looked into those eyes as they moped back at her.

If Mother was here, none of this would be happening, she said to the Mae in the glass.

Beyond that glass though, a beautiful morning belied her inner state. Deep, crisp skies already called their song to Spring. Fringing the Village, deciduous inhabitants of the Woodlands eagerly sprouted their new, lush, green greeting. By Moon’s rising, they’d be thick with promise.

Nature replenished so quickly in Amora, when it had a mind to, Mae decided. Though conversely, it could turn just as swiftly. Just like her fate in this present endeavour. Thankfully, the bustle of bodies through the Village remained rhythmic. Each Sidhe of Amora continued with their Festival preparations, ignorant of the disturbance within her walls. Relief drew a sigh out of her. But only momentarily. Mae couldn’t see Jaz or Fern. She couldn’t tell if they had heard the words or not. And Iris was still carrying on for all to hear!

Besides, Iris continued her raving, I’ve never seen of it! So don’t be wasting your time even looking, Mae!

That was the way it worked in Amora. If Iris hadn’t seen of it, it wasn’t. Almost every Sidhe in that enchanted land just took for granted that what Iris said was exactly right, and therefore, must be so.

Nearly four cycles older, and daughter of the Sidhe Consort, Olicea, Iris thought she owned everyone. But Mae would have none of it! Iris wasn’t even a proper sister. Just a mean, foster one.

She returned her glare to Iris. What she lacked in age and height, she fortified with obstinacy. She wasn’t going to let Iris ruin this. Especially now that time was of the essence. Mae had no doubts that back-up for Iris would soon arrive.

You always think you’re so superior, Iris! Mae seethed at her, straightening herself to full height, so almost reaching Iris’ chin. "Just because you haven’t seen of it, doesn’t mean it isn’t, you know! And this is my business, not yours!"

Boldly then, Mae dived into the forbidden storage pod, before Iris could utter even a peep more in protest.

From the outside, the pod was a pale green, domed container, standing the height of a small child. But inside, it was as deep as a cavern. One could get lost in there.

Normally, it was topped with a protective lid, carved fastidiously with dragonflies and geraniums, by Foster Father Gerani. But now that lid was on the floor. Mae’s feet and ankles had replaced it.

Anchored by her toes to the edge of the pod, the rest of her buried inside, Mae used her fingers to search her way blindly through a tangled treasure of past festivals and parties. A veritable thrift shop of old veils and capes, dresses and headpieces, scarves, leaf shawls and coats, etched potion bottles and enchantment rings, it was beguiling in there.

Mae quickly discovered, though, that searching for something inside a storage pod as deep as this one, was not a simple task. It required being prepared for the small amount of air in there to taste like mothballs, being capable of finding one particular thing in a vast array of things without the benefit of sight, and being totally upside down, barely clinging by the toe tips, for the entire process.

Nevertheless, it was worth it. For Mae was certain that concealed within that suffocating dimness, she would find a very special, very potent, olde piece of cloth. Somehow, she was certain, also, that her hands would immediately recognise it.

No, they’d never felt such cloth before. But since Dead of Winter just passed, new Knowings had grown within her. New Sensings were guiding her. A new Inner Voice was speaking to her. It whispered to her, sharing secrets, and ancient words of magick.

Mae had no doubts. She would Know that olde cloth the instant even a fingertip touched its aged crumpled roughness. She would immediately Know its ancient power. She would know, too, exactly what to do with it.

Barely had Mae’s searching begun, when she felt the grappling of Iris’ grip at her ankles.

Mae, grt yorfelf owt off ere the-is minat! Iris groaned.

Mae ignored her. She could scarcely understand what Iris was saying anyway. But a heftier wrench soon had her heaving backwards. She’d been extracted from the storage pod, and from her hopes.

With her, came a twisted, tangled array of odds and sods, none of which was the olde cloth she’d sought. With her, too, came the pain of her long, silky hair being torn from her scalp, as it caught on the way out.

Ouch! Ouch, ouch, ouch! Mae’s body hit the floor in a heap. You just tore chunks of my hair out, Iris! Mae yelled.

Serves you right for poking around where you don’t belong! Iris snapped.

This kind of callous disregard from Iris wasn’t new for Mae. Nor was the pain of having her hair pulled and torn. Vindictive Sidhe were plentiful, especially where Mae was concerned. They felt justified, and Mae knew why.

She was different. She had straight hair. All other Sidhe had curls, or at least waves, even the boys. Mae’s hair was devoid of curls, and so, of life, everyone said.

Such hair as the others had though, marked their regal Sidhe tribe. Such hair denoted status in their magickal world. Such hair intentioned belonging.

When Mae was younger, back when her insights were innocent, she’d admired her hair. Reflected in Mirror Brook, it had shone like filaments of sunlight through a cloud. Wafting as finely and gently as gossamer on the breezes, it had never kinked or tangled. Mae had thought it was not only beautiful, but glorious.

But as she’d grown, reality had shattered the splendour of that reflection. Other truths had replaced it - leering laughter, giggling gossip, exclusion from games and friendships. Very soon and very young, Mae had learned the dismal truth. With forever-straight hair she’d never belong. Then, last Summer, when Brom Eliad, her best and only friend, deserted her out of the blue, that truth had consolidated even more. Mae knew she couldn’t live like this - with no Brom, with no other friends, with no curls.

Even the Olde Ones had abandoned her. In fact, they’d made things even worse!

Please work your magick, she’d begged them, one desperate moment the previous Autumn. "Please change my hair so I can belong."

She’d hoped that they would empathise, understand. But no! Instead, they’d betrayed her.

You be Chosen. The Chosen One you be, the Olde Ones had said in unison, as they always did. For the Olde Ones, though many, were one soul family, and therefore, one thought, one action, one voice.

"Your hair be the symbol. Your hair be special. You be special."

But Mae would no longer be swayed, even if it were the Olde Ones doing the swaying. She loathed what her specialness was doing to her life. She longed for support to change it.

I don’t want to be special! she’d shouted at the Olde Ones. I want to be like all the other Sidhe of Amora!

"All things unfold as they should, Young One. All things unfold as they should. Patient be. Be Patient."

Patient? she’d questioned brazenly. Patient! she’d repeated, screaming at the Olde Ones. I’ve been fifteen cycles patient!

Your anomaly, Child. Your anomaly, they’d chorused. Your purpose will be. But in Prophecy’s time. In Prophecy’s time it be.

No! she’d screamed back. "It isn’t fair! I want to be fixed! I want to belong! Please, just help me. Please, just give me curls like everyone else," she’d finally found herself begging.

Meddling may dire imports invite, they’d chorused in an eerie echo, gathering in unnerving calm around her. You must obey, Child. You must obey!

Then it’d happened. An explosive flash. A ravenous conjuring. A betrayal completed. Mae’s ice-white, forever-straight hair had been sealed with more Olde Magick. Now she’d been cursed with a double-bonded spell - not only the straight hair curse of her birth, but also, with the sturdiest bond of the Olde Ones.

This transmuted spell, Mae was soon told, was an Evermore Curse. For in the entire memory of Amora, never had a spell of the Olde Ones been broken. Never! Attached to a birth curse, it would be more than impossible to remove.

Even so, since then, everyone had been watching her even more closely. And…, closing her out even more than before. Strangely, for Mae, that became her glimmer of hope.

For with the powerful bonds already applied, why would they watch her so? There had to be Secret Keeping about. There had to be a secret about her curse, about her hair, about the getting of curls. One way or another, she’d discover exactly what that secret was. And then, she’d use it. She’d use it to break her Evermore Curse.

Two seasons later, when Dead of Winter brought with her Mae’s sixteenth birthday, she brought with her also, the very secret Mae had sought. For on that day, Mae came to know of the olde cloth and where to find it. She came to know of the Ancient Magick and what to do with it. She came to know of a new power and how to use it.

And use it she would!

Chapter 2

PATIENT BE

"Magick? At this time of the cycle?"

There was no way a bit of hair pulling or yanking from storage pods by a bossy foster sister, was going to stop Mae now. Soon, her Evermore Curse would be no more. Soon, her hair would be flouncing with curls. Soon, she’d be just like every other Sidhe of Amora. Essentially, also, she would have them in time for the most important annual event in that enchanted land. For at the rising of Moon in three days’ time, on the eve of the Vernal Equinox, the Festival of Veils would begin. She must have her curls by then.

As usual, though, Iris was ceaselessly snooping, and hounding, and hindering, when all she had to do was leave. Right now, she was standing beside Olicea’s storage pod, surrounded by a mess of garments and trinkets. She’d hitched the hem of her long skirt into her waist band. She’d wrapped her train of amber curls into a knot at the back. And now, she was stretching her arm out, in a feigned gesture of helpfulness.

Mae knew better. Under her breath, Iris would be blistering, intent on doing whatever she could to win this, so Mae ignored the spurious gesture.

Well get up yourself then! Iris screamed at her, even though Mae was already on her feet.

And stay out of that pod! There’s a lot to do, Mae, and scrabbling around in storage pods looking for old rags isn’t one of them!

You’re worse than the Olde Ones, Iris! Mae fumed back at her. "Being in charge while Olicea’s away doesn’t mean you own me! When she gets back, I’m going to tell her how you treat me. I’m going to tell her everything!"

"Everything? Really, Mae?" Iris rolled her eyes. Including poking about in her belongings? Besides, tattling like a Tiny One at Garland age is hardly acceptable.

"So? Since when do I care what’s acceptable?" Mae scoffed back at her.

She hoped her intonation had the desired smug taunt she’d intended. But Iris didn’t seem to notice, distracted now by the predictable arrival of her pandering cheer squad.

"Great!" Mae mumbled under her breath.

What’s the emergency? Fernseea and Jazmin entered melodramatically, puffing and panting in unison, their long curls flouncing, their garb wafting at their ankles as they placed their filled Pales beside the pod.

They can’t be that breathless, Mae hissed at the mossy floor. They’ve only come from the Woodlands.

She was supposed to have been with them, helping them, with the collecting. What an honour! Picking up leaves and petals, and other lame droppings of nature and dumping them into a bucket. Why would she want to help with that? Why would she want to make garlands?

Woven from vines, and adorned with petals, leaves and feathers, these garlands were presented ceremoniously during the Festival of Veils. Once bestowed, they denoted a new status - that of Garland Sidhe, the symbol of a coming of age. They also denoted new privilege - to use domestic magick without supervision.

All those who’d turned sixteen, since the previous Vernal Equinox, were supposed to be eligible. Except Mae, of course. Yes, she’d turned sixteen. And yes, as Iris had so pointedly confirmed, Mae was of Garland age now.

So, in three risings, she should be wearing a garland, and using domestic magick without supervision. But she had been excluded from the list.

Patient be, the Olde Ones had chorused when she’d raised her complaint with them. Your anomaly, Child. Patient be. For what is certain…

I know, I know, Mae had finished their sentence for them, forcing all the breath from her lungs, so she wouldn’t scream. All things unfold as they should!

But even now, frustration still seethed where that air had been.

What in all Amora have you been up to, Mae? Fernseea fussed, tidying all the long hair from Mae’s face, refastening the ruby brooch to the curved collar of her blue cotton dress, about to retie the sash at Mae’s waist.

Mae slapped Fern’s hand away.

"Stop fussing over me like I’m a Tiny One, Fern. I am sixteen you know! Not that it matters to anyone!"

Stop avoiding my question, Mae, Fernseea rebuked. What have you been up to?

Fern repeated her words, slowly this time, emphasising every word. A frown had creased her eyes to a determined squint.

"Most unfair!" Mae grumbled under her breath, trying to release her own eyes from Fern’s grasp.

Whenever Fern looked at Mae that way, nothing but the truth could come out. It was a very annoying knack she had. But the last thing Mae intended, was to explain herself to every Iris lackey in the Village, including Fernseea.

I was just looking for…, something, was the best she could do to resist.

Not good enough, Mae! Fernseea snapped back, trapping Mae with her gaze.

Tell them what you were doing, Mae, Iris pushed, Jazmin beside her, adding a glower of support.

Mae pursed her lips. There was no way she was sharing this freely!

Fern pressed for more.

"Mae," was all she said, but she’d increased that level of determination in those eyes of hers.

Mae was resisting so tightly her jaws were aching, but to no avail. I was looking for a piece of olde cloth, the words stumbled out against her will.

A glimpse of panic flashed through Fern’s eyes.

"A piece of olde cloth? she reeled her shock towards Iris, who was nodding and mouthing, I know. I know."

Fern pressed for even more. What for, exactly?

"Yes, a piece of olde cloth," Mae repeated, trying to withhold revealing any more.

"Mae," Fern pressed again.

Against all her will, more words leaked out, too coveted to become so uncovered.

For a spell, Mae mumbled, defeated.

"A spell? Magick? At this time of the cycle? And with your anomaly? Fern’s pitch had risen. She flashed her worry towards Iris, but returned her disapproval to Mae. Mae, you know the rules!" Fern scolded.

"Yes, Mae defended. Nothing unsupervised. And nothing but absolutely essential magick until the Olde Ones return. But you’re all so busy. And this is essential!"

So what’s so essential that it can’t wait until after the Festival of Veils, Mae?

Now Jazmin was on her case!

Mae’s eyes escaped to her feet. This was her secret. She knew they would never allow it. Not now. Not ever! And if she told them, they would watch her every move for the rest of her life!

Too soon, Fern’s hand was under Mae’s chin, tilting her face upwards. There was no mistaking that look in Fern’s eyes. She already knew. She just wanted Mae to admit it out loud.

Okay! I give up! Mae screamed at the three of them at once. "I want to curl my hair! Are you happy now you know everything about my life?"

But the three girls weren’t happy at all. In fact, Mae could see by the gravity gripping their expressions that they were horrified.

Chapter 3

OLDE MAGICK

"Olde Magick is for Olde Ones.

Not the likes of you!"

Mae braced herself for at least one of the girls to scream at her. But there wasn’t a sound from any of them. Instead, all three were gawking, speechless, back and forth at each other, and then at her. Their wide eyes flicked signals like some kind of secret language.

Mae prepared herself anyway. Surely in a moment the retribution would come? Everyone knew that she shouldn’t be using magick unsupervised. Everyone knew, too, that the Olde Ones had forbidden her to curl her hair, that it was now bound in an Evermore Curse as an added precaution.

But surely, Mae was thinking, if it’s so wrong, it won’t work anyway? After all, an Evermore Curse can’t be broken, apparently. And if it did work, she was reasoning, surely that would be a sign? It would prove that the Olde Ones were just being idiotically cautious, like all adults.

This spell was such a simple thing. It required only a smidgeon of magick beyond the olde piece of cloth. What harm could it do?

Mae looked from the thoughts inside her head, back to the girls. She tried to read their expressions. She tried to decipher their secret code. At first she saw trepidation. Actually, more like terror, really, she thought. Then it was something about, no, no, don’t tell her that! That won’t work with Mae. It will only make it worse! And lastly, it was something to do with keeping calm, and charming her, or rather, coaxing her, Mae decided.

Finally, Jazmin spoke for the three of them, almost too sweetly.

Mae, you’re being too silly for words. You can’t get curls out of an old rag! Where in Sidhe’s magick did you get that idea?

It just popped into my head, Mae defended.

Again, their eyes flicked in coded conversation. Back to trepidation, at least. Inside Mae, a growing certainty welled. The three older girls were holding back. There was definitely more to this.

Regardless, before Mae could press things further, true to form, Iris took control, impatience leaking with every word.

Mae, there’s nothing for it than to accept that your hair was born straight. It has always been so, and is meant to be.

No-one else in Amora has straight hair, Mae defended. Not even the boys. I want to be like everyone else.

"Well, that’s not for you to decide, Mae. Your purpose is predestined, like all Sidhe of Amora. Besides, sounds to me like you’re