The Great War: Chapter 35
Hide in the shadows, the comforting dark
This is Mathew’s second night staying up long after every other being has fallen asleep, rolling around on his blanket restlessly. Inside his body, a storm of icy wind swirls, a biting cold able to make him shiver.
Everything feels tight and tense, as if he were anticipating a battle. It takes nearly all of his willpower to keep it from leaking out, from affecting the beings around him, to the point where he can only doze for brief bursts at a time.
He’s never felt his magic like this before. It’s uncomfortable, bordering on painful, as if it were trying to freeze him from the inside out. He can’t simply ignore it, either, like he used to.
Finally, he sits up and reaches for his personal bag, which rests nearby. As soon as his fingers touch the fabric, the storm within him shifts, traveling down his arm and to his fingertips, releasing as a small layer of frost as he pulls it close to his body. In the dark, he hugs the bag close to himself, letting his magic flow free. The bag slowly stiffens as it begins to freeze over, alleviating some of his internal pressure.
Finally, now, he can think somewhat clearly.
That wizard… was it him that made Mathew like this? Something about his lightning that somehow supercharged his magic? Can wizards even do that in the first place? Or maybe it was one of the other wizards there, done without Mathew being aware of it?
No. How could they have known he had magic in the first place? He’s done so well to hide it all this time, it shouldn’t have been apparent to them. But it had to be them…
He squeezes his bag tighter, scanning the large room. The darkness is next to impenetrable, hardly a thing to see. He can’t help but feel thankful for it, for if there were still beings awake like he is, surely they’d be able to see the icy blue of his magic with any amount of light greater than this.
The waves outside make the gigantic ship rock gently and creak as they sail off aimlessly, waiting for their next orders. If he dare sneak up to the top deck right now, maybe he’d be able to see the stars above in all their glory, or even watch the dark waves roll across the glittering water. Just as he would sometimes at home, sneaking out to the bay with Ingum to stargaze, casting small pebbles into the water in an effort to see who could throw the farthest. It was one of the few things he could agree on with his siblings: nighttime was beautiful.
Just the mere thought of his family makes him feel ever so slightly homesick. He misses the tall trees of Gardall, which he would always try and climb using whatever sword he could get his hands on. He misses the smell of his mother’s cooking in the early light of each cycle, always an aroma he loved to wake to. He misses training with his father. He misses bickering with his siblings. It all feels like a distant life he used to live, one much more care free and bright.
Mother… Ingum… the Guardians…
Dread sets in once more, his stomach sinking sickeningly. He’ll never be rid of it, that feeling that something terrible happened.
If it were any other time, under any other circumstance, maybe he would have asked for Anya to explain, to try and console her in her distress. He’s only glad that Lorn was with him and not one of the other crew that landed with them, or else he might have already been reported to the Guardians. And then stars only know what would have happened to him after that…
No, he knows what would have happened. He’d be a complete fool if he didn’t know the consequences of not hiding his magic on a ship full of Guardians. He probably would have been executed. That might have happened with his mother and Ingum, but somehow Anya was spared of their fates.
But it’s not like he can run anywhere now. He’s stuck on this ship floating in the middle of the ocean, with the only way off is through one of the small rowboats. That, or he’d have to figure out how to run on water, in which case he might as well kiss good bye his sailing dreams and embrace his magic.
Slowly, he lets his bag go, and he feels his magic surge back inwards from his hands, pooling in his chest once more. The stiffness of the bag fades, though the chill of the ice continues to radiate from the fabric. Even letting some of his magic out, it still continues to pulse with chilly pain within as he lays back down on his blanket.
Maybe he should ask Lorn about how he manages his magic when first light breaks. He seems to have his well under control. Or maybe he suffers like how Mathew does now, all alone in the dark.