Well that was a bust. Clearly Thyri hadn’t seen Jorg in a while, and Rhaegar was not himself. In fact, he seemed to think he was someone else entirely, although he also seemed to think this was some sort of conspiracy involving a competition. Svea seemed to recall that the man at the waterfalls, the man who had been making the announcements, had mentioned something about a competition, but Svea couldn’t be certain that that was what Rhaegar, or “Thoth” meant. She hadn’t actually entered that, had she?
It would explain so much. It would explain the trip to the future, since that had been something the man had spoken about, it would explain why this “Thoth” thought she was a competitor. Maybe she was? Was it normal to end up going back and forth in time and end up with people you knew acting oddly around you? They seemed to think she looked like Lorraine, but Svea had looked in the mirror when she woke up. She looked like herself. She couldn’t talk to Nana like she wanted to, and she seemed to be picking up on the conversations between other people and their familiars whenever she tried.
She wanted to go home. None of this weird stuff happened when she was at home in the Henge. Although small adventures occurred, and there was that one time that Jorg had run off (actually, it was pretty recently), but nothing as bad as this had ever happened to Svea. And it started because she’d left the house to go for a walk. Returning to the safety of the cottage would make everything better; it would make everything normal again. Plus, if Jorg wasn’t at the pantheon with his mother and father, she had to believe that he and her familiar were still at home, safe and sound.
The walk through the woods was quiet and left Svea to her thoughts. Although a few birds twittered and tweeted to one another, and sticks snapped as she strode on them, the lack of giggles and shouts from a four-year old were notably absent. Her thoughts turned to Rook, and a small smile twisted her mouth into a shape that should have been familiar, but felt foreign, like her muscles had forgotten how. She knew she wouldn’t see him again, but she’d liked him. She’d liked him like she’d never had the opportunity to like anyone. He’d protected her when she needed, and pushed when that was required instead. Even when Svea hadn’t wanted to be pushed. He was the reason her comfort zone had expanded, and why she could control her magic. Anissa had taught her, but it had been under Rook’s orders.
What would he think of a Shaman the way it was in the present? What would he think of Svea caring for Jorg? The smile twisted as the thought corrupted the memories. He’d hate it. He’d hate that she loved a demi-god like a son; he’d hate that she’d hidden that part of herself from him; he’d hate the entire situation. He’d hate her. He’d hate her.
A tear fell to the ground and was instantly sucked up. It hadn’t rained in the henge for a long time, and the earth was parched. Maybe she could fix that now? If she could make ice from nothing, if she could melt ice at will, she could make water to turn the yellowed grass green again. She could make Shaman a little more like it was meant to be, and less like it would one day become. Her nails bit into her palms as she concentrated on her emotional state, but it was hard. She wasn’t nervous; she wasn’t scared. She was sad and dismayed and lonely.
The trees spat their leaves at her as the earth shook them. That wasn’t right. She tried again, and again the world trembled and then Svea was powerless to stop it. She reached for the trunk of a nearby oak and held on as the earthquake built itself up. She clung to it like a child to its mother (or his nanny) frightened by what she’d unleashed. Never before had she moved the earth. Her magic had only turned flame to ice, and created frozen walls of protection, but this felt distinctly the same. The same mental pool of power was draining as the quake raged as it did during her magical lessons.
She needed to stop it. She had to end it before Jorg became frightened and had only Nana to cling to. The Samoyed didn’t understand magic anymore than Svea had before her walk. She stood and, as best she could without falling to the ground, she ran toward the little cottage in the wood. The closer she got, the less lonely she felt and the quieter the tremors became under she reached the door and heard the ecstatic sounds of balls bouncing and nails scraping along the floor as her small family played together, oblivious to the natural disaster that had just occurred. She reached toward the knob and twisted.
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