Chariots of Wrath by R L King

Author:R L King [King, R L]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Magespace Press
Published: 2020-04-18T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

I’m back in a familiar space, and it feels like home.

Every inch of it closes around me with the warmth and ease of a well-loved blanket. It feels right: the wooden walls with their colorful prints of magical techniques, the bookshelves lined with well-thumbed tomes, the threadbare but soft rug on the floor, the tables stacked with ritual materials and objects that glow with magical light.

I can’t count the number of times I’ve entered this room, from the time I was a small child, eyes shining with wonder. Our family isn’t religious in the mundane sense, but this place always felt like a temple. A place for hushed voices, and reverence for forces even the wisest of us have only begun to understand. Even at that age, I knew this was a place I belonged—and as I grew older, it would be a place where I would take my spot among those who came before me, joining my mind, my heart, and my power to theirs and taking the next steps toward unraveling those mysteries.

I step forward now, sparing a quick glance down at my body. I’m dressed in my usual style: jeans, T-shirt, combat boots. No gauzy gowns or ritual robes for this girl. Magic is part of the world, and the world now is more comfortable with jeans than it is with gowns. At least my world is, and that’s one of the things I’ve always been taught: to be truly good at magic, each person has to open herself up to its mysteries and make them her own. At its core, magic is a highly personal thing—it has many aspects in common for each individual, but ultimately the differences are where the true power originates. Even the strongest teacher can’t force her style on a student, and the best teacher understands that her job consists mainly of helping her student discover her own path.

Ahead of me is a familiar door: tall, wooden, carved with swirling patterns that seem to move on their own even without magical sight. It’s closed now; it has no knobs or handles, but I know how to open it.

I know I’m ready to open it.

I’ve never seen what’s beyond that door, but I can almost picture it nonetheless: it’s the place where our family’s most important and sacred rituals take place. It’s where our circle, hundreds of years old, is inlaid into a stone floor with bits of gold, silver, and precious gems. My mother has described it to me many times, as has Mara, my mentor, but I haven’t been permitted to enter it until now.

The door ahead of me is a threshold in more ways than one.

I’m not afraid. Why would I be afraid? This is a joyous occasion, the day that marks my transition from one level of my training to the next. In an hour it will be all over, and I’ll be attending the party they’re already preparing in my honor. I wonder if it will feel

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