A Shadow Bright and Burning (Kingdom on Fire #1)(23)

“We do so many things for tradition’s sake,” Magnus said, circling me, “that few of us can remember why we really did them in the first place.”



“Perhaps we should begin,” Blackwood said, removing his stave from the sheath on his hip.

“Did Joan of Arc have a sheath for her stave?” I asked, wanting one of my own. The Maid of Orleans had been the last recorded female sorcerer. I knew our English Order hated that she was so very French.

“I don’t think so,” Agrippa said.

“It’s difficult,” I said, looking down at Porridge, “when your last point of reference died over four hundred years ago.”

I felt a strange charge in the air, as if Magnus and Blackwood and Agrippa all shared some private glance. But when I looked up at the three of them, they were each focused on some separate task. The moment, if there had even been one, was gone.

“There are other sorcerer women in history you might admire,” Agrippa said. “Hypatia of Alexandria, the teacher. Much like you.” He smiled. “Hatshepsut, deemed by many as the greatest pharaoh in Egypt’s long history.”

It struck me as odd that most sorcerer women belonged solely to antiquity, as if the glory of female magic were some crumbling myth to be debated by scholars.

“Now, no more talk,” Agrippa said. “It’s time for the lesson.” He bid me to remain where I was, at the center of the star. They formed a triangle around me. “Sorcerers are strongest in numbers, working best in groups of three. We’re forming this triangle and allowing you to stay in the center so that you don’t have to work as hard in the beginning.” Agrippa took out his stave. “You haven’t named yours by any chance, have you?” He looked pleased when I nodded. “Excellent. Do as I do and say its name.” He brought his stave to the floor, crouched down, and whispered, “Tiberius.”



I copied him and whispered, “Porridge.” Magnus snorted in pleasure. The blue light crept back into the carvings.

“You call power when you do that.” Agrippa noticed my timid handling of the stave. “Do you understand its purpose?”

“Er, it’s a magical piece of wood?” I realized that my book knowledge would take me only so far in this course.

He smiled. “In concert halls, a conductor takes his baton to command the music. It’s the same principle here. Your stave directs the elements of the earth as a baton directs instruments.” He circled me and continued. “You’re at somewhat of a disadvantage. There are six required maneuvers for commendation, all of them enormously tricky. Four demonstrate your mastery of the elements, one shows warding proficiency, and one highlights a specific skill. The young gentlemen have been training since they arrived in my home two years ago. We’ll have to work hard to have you ready by late June.” Sorcerers were always commended on Midsummer Eve, so that gave us nine weeks. Not much time at all. “George, if you would please demonstrate water?”

Blackwood went to a small table, on which sat objects to help with the training. He picked up a bowl of water, brought it over, and set it down in front of me.

“Allow me, Master,” Magnus said, sliding past Blackwood.

“George is more skilled at water play, Julian.”



“But Howel should get an idea of sorcerer form, and I’m the best example of that.” He winked at me. I pretended not to notice. He really was a shameless flirt.

Magnus readied himself. With a whispered word, he swung his stave like a sword. The water before him began to spin, rising into the air from its bowl. He turned and, with a sweep of his arm, brought the water to circle around him.

With one decisive whip of his stave, Magnus raised his arms, and the water flew up over his head, re-forming into a flurry of snow. He struck into the air, and the snow grew into a storm that chilled the room with its power. With another fast movement, Magnus morphed the snow into jagged-looking shards of ice. He sent them flying but stopped them before any of us came to harm. Finally, he summoned the ice back and melted it into a threatening black cloud. He punctured the cloud, and the water rained down into the silver bowl. Not a drop was spilled.

When he’d finished, Magnus slammed the end of his stave to the floor. His breathing was heavy, and sweat beaded on his forehead. He looked enormously pleased with himself.

“What do you think?” Agrippa asked.

I could feel the raw energy buzzing over my skin. It was both exhilarating and terrifying. “I’ll have to do that?” I swallowed.

“First you must learn to channel the element,” Agrippa said. He picked up the bowl and emptied it in front of me. The water grew into a perfect round circle, stopping inches from the toes of my slippers.

“What should I do?” I breathed deeply and prepared.



“Try to get it into the air, in an orb,” Agrippa said. “With your stave activated, take it in hand and touch the carved symbol for water.”

I did as he asked, pressing my fingers against the triangle. It glowed briefly.

“Now,” Agrippa said, “touch your stave to the floor, your left knee bent. Yes, your left knee specifically. Bring the stave up slowly. Clear your mind.”

“How do I shape the water if I can’t think about it?”

The sorcerers’ reactions were interesting. They looked as if I’d said something both amusing and grotesque. “You don’t shape it so much as you let it be shaped through you. Sorcerers ask permission; they don’t take control.” Sensing I’d made a colossal blunder, I blushed. “Again, bring the stave up. Feel it in your marrow, the water floating up from the floor.”