Dark Mirror (10 page)

She turned her attention to the countryside. Lackland Abbey lay behind, its massive walls forbidding. Ahead she saw the spire of the parish church in Lackland village. The sea was a silvery shimmer to her left while fields and hills unrolled in other directions. She felt gloriously free. Though if she took up flying regularly, she would need to wear something more modest than skirts and petticoats!

But, of course, she wouldn’t fly again. This was only for Miss Wheaton’s evaluation. Excitement gone, she chose a spot on the ground and concentrated on gliding down safely. She stumbled as she landed, but she was improving with practice.

Miss Wheaton caught Tory’s arm to steady her. “Your control is surprisingly good for a new mage. Did you take lessons?”

Tory shook her head. “There was a book in my father’s library,
Controlling Magic
by An Anonymous Lady. It talked about pulling one’s energy to one’s center in order to find balance. Are you familiar with that book?”

The teacher laughed. “I wrote it. The exercises are very similar to what you will study in my classes, though I’ve learned some new techniques since I wrote the book.”

Tory blinked. Miss Wheaton had unexpected depths. She studied her teacher, using all her senses. “You have many secrets.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” Miss Wheaton changed the subject. “How did you discover you could fly?”

“I woke up from a dream floating over my bed,” Tory said. “I thought I’d be able to conceal my ability and carry on as usual, but … that wasn’t possible.”

“Your father’s letter described how you saved your nephew.” Miss Wheaton resumed walking along the path. “You showed great courage, Miss Mansfield.”

Tory shrugged as she fell into step with her companion. “Not really. I was terrified, but I couldn’t just stand there and watch Jamie die.”

“That is the definition of true courage,” the teacher said quietly. “Being frightened, yet still doing what is right.”

Being brave hadn’t prevented her father from sending her away. Tory hoped she’d get her reward for saving Jamie in heaven, since it hadn’t happened on earth.

CHAPTER 10

Lackland was a pretty fishing village built around the mouth of the Lack, a small river that cut through the chalk cliffs to empty into the English Channel. A few houses were scattered along the cliffs above, but most of the village was stepped down the hillside that led to sea level.

The narrow streets lined with narrow houses reminded Tory of the village near Fairmount Hall, though the cliffs were much whiter here. As they passed the parish church, she remarked, “I see the church is Saint Peter’s by the Sea. I suppose that’s because Saint Peter was the patron saint of fishermen?”

“Yes, and it’s a pretty place. Would you like to go inside?” When Tory nodded, Miss Wheaton led the way in.

Tory sighed with relaxation. The church was indeed lovely, and they had it to themselves. Unlike the school’s chapel, there was no unpleasant vicar to ruin the peace. As they drifted about the church, admiring the stained glass and the bouquets of flowers and leaves, Tory asked, “What kind of magic is the most common?”

Miss Wheaton considered. “Most magelings have at least a little healing ability, but intuition is even more common. That’s the ability to know something without rational knowledge. Many people who don’t consider themselves magical have intuition, though they don’t always use it.”

Tory frowned. “How does one tell intuition from simple emotions? Wouldn’t wanting something a lot get in the way of a mystical feeling?”

“Like anything else, it takes practice,” the teacher replied. “The next time you need to decide something, clear your mind and see which choice feels right. The more you do it, the more accurate you become.”

Still skeptical, Tory asked, “Is your intuition always accurate?”

“Sometimes my emotions get in the way,” Miss Wheaton admitted. “But if I take the time to really clear away thoughts and feelings, what is left is usually true.”

“I’ll try that.” Tory closed her eyes. “Let’s see … I’m hungry, and now that I clear my mind—I have a powerful intuition that somewhere near the harbor, there is a tea shop that will cure the problem.”

The teacher laughed. “What excellent intuition! I do believe there is just such a tea shop. Shall we go find it?”

Smiling, they continued down the hill, Miss Wheaton describing different kinds of magical ability. The tea shop was very pleasant, with excellent sausage rolls and iced cakes. Tory was pleased when they were seated by a window with a view of the small harbor. She was happier than at any time since she woke up floating over her bed.

As they left the tearoom, she asked, “Have I been sufficiently tested?”

Miss Wheaton nodded. “You have a good deal of power, and have a decent start on controlling it. I’ll put you in my intermediate class.”

At least Tory didn’t have to start with the beginners, but she’d still be imprisoned at Lackland Abbey for at least a year, probably more. She looked wistfully at the harbor. Several piers jutted out into the water, small boats moored alongside. The larger boats would be fishing in the channel now. “Do you bring students here often?”

“Regularly, but not as often as they’d like.” As they turned to retrace their steps, Miss Wheaton halted, surprise on her face. “That gentleman at the corner is one of the teachers from the boys’ school, Mr. Stephens.”

Tory’s eyes narrowed. The male teacher had a compact build and a quick, forceful way of moving. “He’s a mage, isn’t he? Does he teach control classes like you?”

“You have a definite talent for reading people, Miss Mansfield.” Miss Wheaton hesitated. “I need to speak with him. Would you mind going off on your own to visit the waterfront? I’ll collect you when I’ve finished my discussion with Mr. Stephens.”

To wander freely, even if only for a few minutes! “I’d like that.” Since Miss Wheaton still looked doubtful, Tory added, “I don’t see how anyone could get into trouble in a village this small.”

“No doubt you’re right. Very well, I’ll see you in a few minutes.” Miss Wheaton headed down the street toward Mr. Stephens. Tory saw the male teacher’s energy flare when he saw Miss Wheaton approaching.

Curious, she watched as they met. They didn’t touch or do anything improper, but as Miss Wheaton looked up at Mr. Stephens, they
glowed
at each other. So Miss Wheaton had a beau. And they had Lackland’s high stone wall between them and probably few opportunities to meet.

Finding the thought perversely satisfying, Tory walked down the hill to the waterfront with long, swinging steps. She enjoyed the illusion of freedom. There was nothing to stop her running away from Lackland, except common sense.

She walked out on the longest pier, breathing in the mingled seaside scents of seaweed and salt air. The breeze fluttered her skirts and bonnet, so she pulled off the bonnet so she could feel the wind in her hair.

A gull glided down to perch on the nearest piling, its expression hopeful. Since Tory had saved a ginger biscuit from the tearoom, she broke off a corner and tossed it toward the piling.

The gull swooped down and snatched the tidbit from the air and returned to its piling. Other gulls appeared. Tory shook her head. “Sorry, the rest is for me.”

An amused voice behind her said, “Do the gulls talk back?”

Startled, she swung around to see a young man about her age. He had lovely thick blond hair and a mischievous smile.

“I don’t speak gull,” she replied, “but I imagine they’re saying ‘More, more!’”

“That’s a safe guess.” He looked her up and down with unabashed curiosity. “Since you’re one of the poor fools from the abbey, maybe you really can speak to birds.”

Tory bristled. “No gentleman would call a lady he’s just met a fool.”

“You’re likely a lady, but I’m no gentleman,” he said cheerfully.

“That’s obvious,” she said tartly. “Anyone trapped in Lackland Abbey deserves sympathy, but why do you call us fools?”

“Because you have the grandest talents anyone can ask for, and you’re trying to destroy them.”

She narrowed her eyes and studied him on all levels. His clothes and accent were decent, if not out of the top drawer, but his broad shoulders were splendid. She guessed that he might be the son of a prosperous local merchant or professional man. More than that … “You have magic yourself,” she said flatly.

“Aye, and proud to be a mage. I’m Jack Rainford, and the best weather worker in Britain.” Seeing Tory’s brows arch, he grinned. “Well, the best in Kent, anyhow. There have always been weather mages in my family and my mother says I cut my baby teeth on clouds. This nice sunny day you’re enjoying? You can thank me for it.”

She laughed. “And here I thought God made the weather.”

“He makes it, but I can alter it.” Jack gestured to the south. “See that dark line of rain clouds moving out into the channel? They would have been raining here, but we’ve had enough rain, so I pushed the clouds south, where it’s been dryer.”

Remembering that her mother had some weather ability, Tory asked, “How is weather controlled?”

“It’s hard to explain.” His brow furrowed. “You have to have the weather talent, of course. Then it’s a matter of reaching out and feeling the air. I can sense winds and storms far away. Over the Atlantic, on the Continent. I can’t conjure a storm out of still air, but I can herd storms a long way and build them up as they come closer. It’s easier to push clouds away if I want some sunshine.”

“Can you show me?”

“It’s a waste of power,” he said, “but since you have such pretty blue eyes…”

Tory wanted to think that Sarah was right about her bewitching eyes, but more likely Jack Rainford was an incorrigible flirt. It was interesting to talk to someone who was a mage and proud of it, though.

Jack focused his gaze on the rain clouds he’d pointed out. Tory felt a kind of … tension in the air. She guessed that it was the feel of strong magic being exercised.

After several minutes of silence, he muttered, “This storm is a stubborn one. It’s giving me a headache.”

“Or perhaps you aren’t really a weather mage,” she said, disappointed.

“I am so!” He scowled at the storm—and a chunk of dark clouds split away from the main storm and headed in their direction, moving unnaturally fast.

She caught her breath. “You really did that?”

“If you don’t believe me, I’ll let it rain right on your head!”

Tory could see raindrops pelting down from the approaching clouds. “That’s not necessary,” she said hastily. “I’m convinced, and I don’t want to get wet.”

“I’ll release the clouds since I don’t want to get wet, either.” He gazed intently at the cloud. It stopped moving toward them in that unnatural way and began drifting east across the channel on a track parallel to the main storm. “Let it rain on the Frenchies,” Jack said in a hard voice. “Keep their powder wet so they can’t invade.”

Elspeth had also talked of possible invasion, and her words had stuck in Tory’s mind. “Do you think they’ll try to?”

“If they can, they will,” he said brusquely. “The French and the English have been at each other’s throats forever. You know any history? The last successful invasion of England was William the Conqueror, and he was Norman French.”

“1066.” The date was engraved in the mind of every English schoolchild. “But the channel has kept us safe ever since.”

“I wouldn’t count on that always being true.” Jack frowned at the French shore.

Tory looked across the water and imagined massing armies intent on conquest. “We must put our faith in the Royal Navy.”

“That and magic.” Jack was no longer smiling. “Mages can help keep England safe. That’s why it’s so stupid that people like you throw it away.”

“It’s not my choice to be at Lackland!”

“But you’ll go along with it like a good little sheep,” he said, not bothering to keep contempt from his voice. “A pity. All that power, wasted!”

“Even if I kept my magic, girls can’t be soldiers or sailors.” Angry, she donned her bonnet again. “Not to mention that being a mage would cost me much of my family.”

“You’d be useless in the infantry, but your magic could still be of value. Female mages can be as powerful as men.” He turned his full attention to Tory. “When the French come, you could fight to protect your country just like me. But you won’t. You’ll be shivering in your fancy school and hoping the Frenchies won’t hurt you.”

“If I weren’t a lady, I’d push you off the pier,” she said through gritted teeth.

“I should like to see you try!” Good humor restored, he said, “I shouldn’t tease you. All you poor, talented aristocrats are raised to hate yourselves. Only a few have the courage and wit to break out and learn how to be real mages.”

Tory had a sudden mental image of Elspeth on the headlands facing France, her arms raised into the wind as she used her power to stave off invasion. “Some of Lackland’s students will be standing beside you if invasion comes. But most of us just want to go home. Is that so wrong?”

“You can’t go home again, not really, and you know it. Poor fools, like I said before.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “But you’re right, not all the students at Lackland are sheep. You’d be surprised what goes on out there at the abbey.”