Magic and Nature
Many know, few understand
Mathew sits under a tree one cold Gardall morning, picking up fallen sticks with frustration. Each stick he touches, frost spreads from his fingers and covers it whole with glittering white crystals. And when he throws the stick away, it reverts back to its normal brown.
Mathew reaches for another stick. Don’t freeze, don’t freeze, don’t freeze…
He holds the stick up to his face, and he watches it become coated in frost once again. Failure.
He throws the stick away and reaches for another without a word, only a small scowl.
Footsteps rise behind him, some being making their way over the crunchy leaves. He disregards the noise, solely focused on the task he gave himself.
“There you are, Mathew,” his mother chuckles, standing over him with a soft smile. Her braided brown hair hangs over her shoulder, and her dark blue eyes sparkle in the early light of the cycle.
“Go away, mom,” Mathew grumbles back at her, tossing away another stick.
“What are you doing, Mathew?”
“Trying not to freeze things.”
His mother remains silent for a moment as she watches Mathew go through his routine. He’s been doing this for so long that he’s simply fallen into a rhythm. Pick up, toss, pick up, toss.
“Why don’t you want to freeze things?” his mother finally asks him.
“It’s annoying,” Mathew replies.
“Is it getting in your way?”
“I just don’t want to!” Mathew throws the stick he holds harder than he has the others, flinging it against the tree opposite him, and it snaps in two.
His mother lets out a sigh. “You can’t force your magic to do what you want, Mathew.”
“Why not? It’s mine.”
His mother shakes her head, kneeling down next to him. “We were born with the ability to use magic, but the magic isn’t our own. Magic comes from the nature around us.” She picks up a stick and holds it in front of her, free of ice. “If you work with nature, then nature will work with you.”
“How do I do that?” Mathew asks, staring at the stick in his mother’s hand.
His mother places the stick gently back on the ground in front of her, then straightens her back and rolls her shoulders. “Close your eyes.”
Mathew frowns, but follows his mother’s instruction. He closes his eyes and sits quietly, waiting.
A cold breeze rolls over his body, rustling the leaves of the trees around him. His arms feel as if they are covered in ice, but the chill doesn’t bother him. He takes a deep breath, and with his breath something swirls in his chest. It’s a storm he never noticed before, one that presses against his lungs and heart as it churns wildly and expands with force.
He opens his eyes with a gasp, and the sensation fades away, leaving him breathing heavily as his heart pounds in his ears.
His mother places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Did you feel it?”
Mathew nods, a hand straying to his chest.
“It feels scary,” his mother continues, “but if you spend time with it, you will understand it.”
“What is it?” Mathew can’t help but ask, looking to his mother with wide eyes.
“The power of nature,” his mother replies with a soft smile. She stands, brushing leaves and small specks of dirt off her light blue dress. “If you don’t want to learn magic from me, then meditate. Even if you don’t like magic, no matter how far you sail, you will always have it inside of you. Now, don’t stay out too long. Breakfast is almost ready.”
Mathew nods, turning back to the sticks on the ground around him, listening to his mother walk back to the family cabin.
He picks up another stick, and it freezes over in an instant. He stares at it, turning his attention to the nature around him. The pulse of magic fills his arm, waves of cold traveling along his bones and into his fingertips. The storm in his chest begins to press against his lungs once more.
He forces himself to breathe through the weight, allowing the storm to act as it wishes. The air he expels through his mouth turns to thick white mist as his body’s temperature drops further. The chill makes his entire body tingle, and the hairs on his arms stand straight.
Then, to his surprise, the storm begins to die. The pulse of magic weakens, to the point where it no longer sends strong icy energy to his hand. The weight in his chest gradually lifts, and his body warms ever so slightly. The magic has run its course, and now it’s drawing back.
And he watches the stick thaw in his hand.