Merlin pulled the roots of the corncockle and tossed it in the basket on the ground beside him. He sighed and wiped the perspiration beading on his forehead with the back of his hand. The sun was lower in the sky and the day in the field was nearly over, thank the gods. He'd forgotten just how backbreaking of a job weeding the fields was. But at least it kept his mind from dwelling on other things.
Six days passed since he arrived back in Ealdor. He glanced over his shoulder and spotted Della a few paces away. Word spread quickly enough that she wasn't tied to him, matrimonially speaking, and Mother helped clarify that she'd recently suffered the loss of her remaining family at the hands of the Saxons. The people kept a respectful distance and accepted her presence well enough, despite the whispers he knew occurred out of earshot.
She kept her head down, picking the weeds at a surprising pace. Even at this distance, he spotted her basket near to overflowing. She'd thrown herself headlong into working around the house and in the field. She was up before dawn and didn't seem to stop for more than a moment. It's her way of coping with loss, he thought. But he worried she hadn't given herself adequate time to actually grieve.
Geralt, a fellow neighbor and childhood friend, lightly clamped him on the shoulder. It startled him out of his thoughts, which seemed to be focused more and more on Della lately.
"She's a pretty one, that friend of yours," he said. "I can tell you think so by the way you've looked at her throughout the day."
Have I really been doing that? "I just want to make sure she's all right is all," he replied, brushing the dirt off his hands. "She's been through a lot."
"We all know that part of the story by now, old friend," Geralt said. "Anyway, what kind of man wouldn't like to look at her every once in awhile?" He winked.
"I'm sure your wife would love to hear you say that," Merlin said, trying to keep a feeling between irritation and something too close to jealousy at bay.
Geralt shrugged. "Seeing as she's got the third child of mine growing within her, she's got no worries." He chuckled seeing Merlin's face turn red. "You spent your youth chasing after the king of yours, while the rest of us got settled. Perhaps it's time for you to settle down, too."
I did more than chase after him, you prat. Merlin bit back the retort, knowing he couldn't very well tell him the truth. Geralt always had a habit of teasing him well past the point of annoyance.
Geralt patted him once more on the back. "Just consider it. If you don't, I know a few others here that will."
I doubt that. Della left Edward behind, someone who cared for her—loved her even. But he remembered what she told him back in Havenswood. I could never keep a secret like this from my spouse. He understood that too well.
He pushed the conversation with Geralt aside as he gathered up his basket and walked over to Della, who was still bent over, grabbing a stubborn weed at its base. Her cheeks were red with exertion and the light freckles that dotted her nose and cheeks seemed to have multiplied in the past few days with her time in the fields.
"You've been hard at work," he teased.
She stood up and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, leaving a small smudge of dirt. "Have I?" she asked as she looked at her basket, then at his. "I didn't notice." She picked up her basket and sifted through the pink flowers of the corncockles. "The more herbs and weeds I gather, the faster I can replenish my tinctures and the sooner I can stop imposing on you and your mother."
"You're not imposing," Merlin said. He wished he could get that through to her but she was so fiercely independent. "You can stay as long as you need. You've been working yourself to the bone almost since the moment we arrived and I—" he paused, making sure the remaining villagers were far enough away, "I'm just concerned for you. You've barely let yourself grieve or—"
"I'm fine, Merlin," Della said firmly. "How many times have I told you to stop worrying about me?"
"Plenty," he said. "But you know I never listen." He grinned, hoping to lighten the tension.
It worked. She gave him a small smile back. "Yes, I know that all too well." They started back towards the village through the green knee-high stalks of wheat. Scattered red poppy flowers dotted the field and blew gently in the evening breeze. "So. How's that teleportation spell going?"
He groaned. "Not well." He started practicing the spell three nights ago, out in the woods, with very little progress. "I can conjure up the start of the spell, the whirlwind part, and I feel myself starting to—" he couldn't find the words to describe disappearing into thin air. "Move? But then it stops and I find myself just feet away from where I started." He sighed. "Perhaps I'm remembering the spell wrong. I wish I still had my grimoire to see if I was right. I feel like I'm missing something." He'd read over the spell many times throughout the years but hadn't the time to actually practice it adequately.
Della was silent for a moment. She chewed her bottom lip, something he recognized when she was thinking. "What are the main aspects of the spell?" She asked. "I may not be able to help but I can try."
"Well, one normally needs a source of magical energy to draw the power from, like an amulet or other object, but I've been able to draw it from the earth, at least to conjure the whirlwind. Perhaps I do need an enchanted object."
Della shook her head. "I don't think so," she said. "You're magic incarnate, are you not? I think that's more than sufficient."
He supposed that could be true. "I also know that the spell only works if it's a place the caster has been before," he said. "You have to envision it as if you're already there. Or at least that's what I've been doing." He shook his head. "I've cleared my thoughts as much as possible, I've tried variations on the wording, and nothing."
She paused and stopped in the front of the cottage, something akin to revelation crossing her features. "What if you're skipping a step?" she asked.
He thought back to the spell book again, but was unable to remember. "I'm not sure what that would be."
"Well, think of the spell similar to undertaking a journey," she said. "When you start out, you plan the path ahead—or least have a vague idea of the roads you'll take to get there. If not, you end up lost and someplace else entirely. Perhaps you need to envision traveling there, like you were actually along a road."
He thought about the simple logic and it was like the spell suddenly became clear. "That has to be it," he said. "I was forgetting one of the main aspects of the spell." He smiled sadly. "You reminded me of Gaius just now." A momentary melancholy washed over him, thinking about him back in Camelot—and the as of yet unfinished letter.
"I'm not nearly as wise as he would be," Della said quickly. "It's all just speculation on my part. Remember, I'm mostly cursed with visions."
"You aren't cursed," Merlin said. He wished he could make her believe how gifted she was. "You underestimate your own skill. I've seen you cast a powerful fire spell and watched you heal a serious wound in your leg while you struggled with the pain from several broken ribs. That takes an immense level of concentration. With more practice, I'm sure you can master other spells."
"Maybe someday," Della said, though unconvincingly. She put her basket down on the bench outside the cottage door. "You mentioned Gaius just now. How is the writing coming?"
"I've started," he said, unconsciously scratching the back of his head in anxiety. "I…just haven't gotten past the "Dear" part."
Della crossed her arms. "You know, your mother's going to ask you about it again too. She'll not let you push this aside so easily. Nor will I for that matter."
"I know, I know," he said. "I've been so busy focusing on it that I haven't really had the chance to sit down and think about what to say yet."
Della relaxed her arms and posture. "Do you promise to write them tonight?"
He nodded. "I won't back out again. I'll get them done when I come back. I promise."
She smiled and he realized how much he enjoyed it when she did. "All right. I'll hold you to that."
He smirked. "And how will you do that?"
"Oh I don't know," she said, with a smirk of her own. "The honey is looking low."
He laughed at her cheeky comment. "Ouch. You sure know how to hit where it hurts." He patted his stomach.
"Then that should be motivation enough," she said. "Speaking of supper, I should probably head in and help Hunith."
She started to move away and before he could think, he blurted out, "Come with me. You can help me with the spell. I'm sure Mother can make supper tonight."
She looked confused and he wondered why he asked that. "I'm not sure how my presence will help. Wouldn't I be a distraction?"
He scrambled for a reason more than just a dislike for watching her walk off. "I think you might actually help me focus." She still looked hesitant and he continued. "Knowing that there's someone there at the end of the journey waiting for me is more incentive than picturing a moss-covered rock or a fallen tree."
Her cheeks turned pink and he realized the request made her uneasy. He inwardly cursed himself for not thinking before he spoke. "If you're uncomfortable I understand."
"It's not that I don't want to," she said just as quickly. "I'd love to help you. But entering the woods together at nightfall might look a little questionable. I just want to be careful not to give the villagers any fuel for gossip."
"Ah, yeah," he said, embarrassed for not thinking of that. After the conversation he had with Geralt, it would definitely look like…well, he knew where most people's minds would wander. "I don't want to hurt your reputation. I've done that once already."
"Merlin," she said, "That's not—"
"It's all right," he said, forcing a smile. He didn't want to remind her anymore of everything that went wrong in Havenswood. "I'm going to head out to the forest now. Tell Mother I'll be back before it's too late. Save some of your stew for me, will you?"
The cheerful demeanor she had before dissipated and she looked hurt at his terse ending of the conversation. "Of course."
He turned and headed for the woods, berating himself for making it tense between them. Again. He had an uncanny habit of doing that.
What had he been thinking, asking her that? He knew the answer but it left him uncertain: he enjoyed being around her. And that in itself left him feeling vulnerable.
He was finding it increasingly harder to quell the burgeoning feelings. He shook his head and sighed. He'd only known her a little more than a week. But you fell for Freya in less than half that time. He swore to himself after that to be more careful in guarding his heart, and it had worked for years. But Della was different. She was the first person he knew who had nearly as big of a burden upon her as he did, the first person who really could understand. Perhaps that was why he felt the bond between them was strong. That and the trauma of the past week.
His mind flashed back to when he nearly kissed her the night they left Havenswood. He thought then that she had similar feelings. He remembered her leaning in ever so slightly before he convinced himself to pull back.
With each step, he convinced himself he was the only one who felt a deeper connection developing between them.
Merlin walked a little longer until he made it to the meadow where he'd been practicing the spell. It was far enough from the village that people wouldn't be out here close to nightfall, especially since they thought it was haunted, according to what Mother told him in letters. Another thing tied to me, he thought. It was the same place years prior where Morgana's Southron army had been charred by Kilgharrah while in pursuit of Arthur.
He pushed the memory aside, clearing his head as much as possible in preparation for the spell. He thought of his destination, a stream bed about a mile away. He remembered what Della said: to try envisioning a path before him, like a road heading to his destination.
He took in a breath, gathering the magic from the earth around him, feeling it infuse his soul until he was nearly one with his surroundings. "Ic bedyrne un astýre."
The whirlwind started slowly at his feet until it surrounded him. The path before him was clear and immediately, he felt himself propelled forward in a surge of wind. The shock of such a sensation nearly broke his concentration but he maintained his focus. The surroundings blurred around him like a dark and hazy afterthought. Suddenly, he saw the small creek valley before him through the wind and haze.
The whirlwind ceased faster than he anticipated, sending his senses scrambling to figure out his new surroundings. He fell on his left arm with a harsh thump onto the forest floor, letting out a cry as he felt pain surge through his forearm, mind still spinning.
He pushed himself up to a sitting position, cringing at the sting in his arm. It didn't feel broken but the impact of the landing would certainly leave an unsightly bruise. But at least he'd made it to his destination if not a little less gracefully than expected. Now he just needed to figure out how to not look like a toddler just learning how to walk.
He shook off the pain and got to his feet. His legs were unsteady from the amount of energy used to cast the spell. Having an enchanted object would likely remedy that, but he would have to be content using himself as the conduit. He focused on practicing again.
By the fifth time, he prepared his senses for the abrupt changes and the earlier queasiness disappeared. Emerging on the other end on two feet was still a challenge, especially as he grew weaker with each incantation, but by the last effort, he'd managed to find himself standing— albeit on shaky legs.
He took a deep breath and sat down, now lightheaded from the sheer amount of magic used. The exhaustion took over and he wanted nothing more than to lie down and close his eyes.
Then he remembered the promise he'd given Della about the letters. He groaned, realizing that he wouldn't be able to push it off another night. She would make good on her own promise and eating plain gruel for every meal was not appetizing.
Did he have enough energy left to teleport back the two miles to the edge of Ealdor? The thought of walking all that way on such little energy was stimulus enough for him to try.
He thought of the ridge on the edge of the village—too much closer might draw attention and he hadn't quite figured out if there was a way to dampen the noise of the spell.
"Ic bedyrne un astýre." His stomach growled as the whirlwind encircled him and he thought of Della back at the cottage, helping to prepare supper. He smiled in anticipation.
The ethereal road ahead suddenly shifted and he felt as if he was yanked by a string in another direction. What the hell-
Before he could figure out just what was going on, the blur of his surroundings cleared and he suddenly saw figures of two women ahead of him—that of his mother and Della.
Through the haze, he watched as they looked in his direction, shock on both their faces. The whirlwind dropped him on the floor of the cottage, just as ungracefully as the first time, though this time he felt himself propelled forward as he landed on his knees.
His vision cleared completely and he didn't miss the surprise on Della's face—and the anger on his mother's.
He knew that look all too well.
"Merlin, how many times have I told you—"
"No magic in the house," he continued. "I didn't do this on purpose." Another phrase he'd uttered a hundred times over his childhood. He stood up and brushed off his knees.
Mother's anger softened but she was still stern. "You're well past the age of knowing better," she said. "I thought you had better control."
"I do," he said. "I just—" He thought back to what happened. His head was clear—and then it wasn't. He'd thought of Della the split second before the whirlwind transported him. That was—unexpected. "I didn't clear my head as well as I thought." He said quickly. Now he was even more confused on the aspects of the spell. Why had it worked that way? "It won't happen again. I promise. And I'm sorry."
Hunith gave him a small smile and came up to hug him. "I know. Just be careful, all right? Just be thankful there aren't many people out right now. The sound of that wind nearly made my ears pop." She walked back over to the table and set out the bowls.
He walked over and sat down on the bench and sighed. Della came over to ladle out some stew and the smell made his stomach growl again. "Looks like you've mastered teleportation now. Well...except the landing part." She bit back a smile.
"Almost," he said. He wasn't about to bring up the confusion of the last time, why it had suddenly shifted mid-stream. He didn't want to admit to her she was the last thing he thought of right before landing in a heap on the cottage floor. "Your advice earlier helped. Thank you."
She beamed before setting the bowl down and taking her seat across from him. "Will you follow through on your promise now?"
"Yes," he said. "Or else this will be my last good supper from you." He brought a spoonful of stew to his mouth and savored the taste, his mind still pondering what happened with the spell. Could thinking about someone transport you to the spot where they were? He didn't know such a thing was possible with that spell; he would've remembered that important detail if that was the case. But that had to be partially why.
If ever there was a time he missed Gaius' wisdom, now was it. And the thought of telling Della about his theory made his cheeks burn. He'd have to figure out why it happened on his own.
Della stifled a yawn as she listened to the sound of the rain on the roof. It was mid-morning but the day was overcast and rainy, confining them to the house. She refocused on mending the arrow hole in her old dress, the only evidence left of the attack that had changed her life forever. That and a now noticeable scar on her upper thigh.
Hunith noticed her display of drowsiness. "You should've slept in today," she said. "I heard you toss and turn throughout the night."
Della shook her head. "I can't sleep past dawn," she said. "Even if I'm up most of the night." She looked over at the end of the room where Merlin was still asleep. True to his promise, he'd written the letters. She sat under her blanket, listening as he occasionally mumbled to himself in frustration. She imagined how hard it was for him to say goodbye to those he cared about.
"You haven't slept well since you arrived," Hunith said. "And you've been working so hard throughout the day. You should take some time to rest."
She shook her head again. "I have to keep busy. Or else I'll think too much on things I wish I could forget."
"I understand," Hunith said, "I was the same right after Merlin's father left." Hunith looked over to the end of the room where Merlin was still sleeping. "But it's natural to grieve. It's the only way you'll be able to truly move on."
"Merlin voiced similar concern yesterday," she admitted.
"He's concerned for you, as am I," Hunith said.
Della kept her eyes focused on her sewing, swallowing the lump that rose in her throat. "I'm afraid if I let myself think about it, I'll never be able to emerge. It…it happened once before, and I nearly died from the pain." She quickly wiped away the tear that escaped down her cheek. "It's best this way."
Hunith sighed softly but said nothing more. Della appreciated her concern—and Merlin's—but she wouldn't let herself go down that road again. Move forward and move on, she told herself.
Della pushed the thoughts aside and continued mending. She was so focused that she jumped at the sound of Merlin's voice coming from behind her.
"Good morning," he said. His voice was still groggy from sleep.
"It's nearly afternoon now," Hunith said from her chair.
"Sorry for sleeping so late," he said. "I was up most of the night writing." Della could feel him looking at her. "But they're done now."
She smiled, grateful that she wouldn't have to make good on her threat from yesterday.
"Good," Hunith said. "A messenger from Engerd comes through once every fortnight. The last one stopped by the day before you came home, so in another week—"
"I'm taking them to Camelot today," Merlin said. Della looked up and over at him in surprise and from Hunith's silence, she must've felt the same.
Della found her words first. "I thought you never wanted to go back," she said.
"I'm only going back long enough to leave the letters and then I'm teleporting back," Merlin said. "I thought about it most of the night and rather than wait for a messenger, I figured I could use my new ability to get this done and over with. Then I can say goodbye to that part of my life once and for all." He looked down for a moment at his hands and Della saw a muscle in his jaw quiver.
"But won't someone notice you teleport in?" Hunith asked.
Merlin looked back up, resolve in his eyes. "I've planned it out," he said. "I'll teleport to my old room. Gaius goes on his afternoon rounds right after lunch and visits the market mid-week—which is today," Merlin said. "He'll be gone for hours, giving me plenty of time to arrive and leave before anyone noticed I was ever there."
"But Camelot is so far," Della said. "Wouldn't traveling that distance take a great deal of energy? Would you have enough to come back?" She saw how drained he was at supper last night—so much so that his hands quivered while he ate.
Merlin shrugged. "I can manage it."
Della and Hunith exchanged glances and she didn't have to read her mind to see Hunith's hesitance.
Merlin noticed their silent exchange. "Nice to see you both have faith in me." He stood up from the table and went over to the peg on the wall where his travel bag was. "I'll find something to eat along the way. I should be back within the hour. You'll see." He left out the door without another word.
Hunith sighed. "I fear this will not be as easy as he thinks."
"It rarely is," Della said. How many times had she seen him in her visions rush impulsively into something and have a poor outcome in the end? She felt the same as Hunith but there was nothing much she could do. One thing she knew about Merlin over the years of her visions was that when he was set on doing something, nothing would stop him.
Della turned her attention back to her mending. Not three more stitches into her work came a frantic knock at the door.
Hunith stood up and walked over to the door. She opened it and a young woman rushed in. The woman absentmindedly wiped the wet strands of her white blonde hair from her forehead. "Hunith, I need your help. My little boy..." she broke into hysterical sobs.
Della was immediately alert. She put her mending down and walked over, but maintained a respectful distance from the stranger.
"Ceridwen, you need to take a deep breath and tell me what's wrong," Hunith said, bracing the woman's shoulders. Her voice was calm but firm. "What's wrong with Owen?"
Ceridwen took a deep breath and wiped her cheeks with her hand. "Two nights ago he lost his appetite. He threw up and...and had other stomach issues. I wasn't worried then as he's had such illnesses before and recovered quickly. But he was sick all day yesterday and late last night, he was so lethargic and out of it I couldn't get him to talk coherently. He wouldn't rouse this morning. I...I went to Old Mistress Nerys who came over this morning and said it was mushroom poisoning and there's nothing more to do."
"Mistress Nerys is wise in healing arts," Hunith said. "If she says that's so then —"
Ceridwen glanced over at Della and then back to Hunith, biting her lip. "I remembered hearing that Della here was a healer in her old village. I thought...I thought that maybe..."
"I'll do what I can to help," Della said, without hesitation.
"Oh thank you!" Ceridwen said, taking her hands in hers, relief washing over her.
Della gave her a small smile and squeezed her hands. "I don't want you to get your hopes up just yet," she said. "Mistress Nerys is likely correct. But I can try."
"That's all that I ask," Ceridwen said. "Owen is all I have left and I…" she brought her hand back up to her mouth and started crying again. "I'm willing to try anything."
Della saw Hunith's hesitation out of the corner of her eye. She knew what was crossing her mind—likely the same as hers. Magic may be the only way now to save the boy. But could she do it? Was she strong enough—brave enough to chance it?
Merlin, I wish you were here right now. She knew he wouldn't hesitate even for a moment. She needed the reassurance that she would be making the right choice if it came to it.
"Let me get my medicine case," Della said, walking over to where she'd stored what she brought from Havenswood. She opened it, checking its contents. Yes, she'd brought the milk thistle and fennel tonic. But it may not be enough now.
Della followed Hunith and Ceridwen out of the cottage and into the rain. Ceridwen's cottage was just two houses down from theirs and they were there quickly.
They entered the small cottage and Della saw where a little boy no older than four years was on a small cot on the floor. An old woman sat on a stool next to him, her white and wispy hair pulled back in a loose braid. She turned to see who entered and Della was immediately met with a scowl. "I thought you were just bringing Hunith," she said, dark green eyes giving her a once over.
"This is Della, Mistress," Ceridwen said. "She was a healer in her old village."
"Was being the key word there," the old woman said.
Della clenched her jaw. She had a right mind to put this old biddy in her place but decided that would not be the best course of action.
Hunith spoke up for her instead. "It will not hurt Owen for Della to look at him."
"Fine, fine," Nerys said, waving her hand dismissively as she got up from her spot on the stool. "But there's nothing to be done for him, like I told Ceridwen. The poison has taken too much toll on him already."
Della ignored the woman and sat on the stool, studying the little boy. His skin had a yellow tint to it. She gently put her hands on his abdomen and felt the swelling. Not a good sign. She gently opened one of his eyes and saw the whites were yellow as well. His organs were failing rapidly. Nerys was correct in her assessment of the boy: the poison had already done too much damage for him to be saved.
But he's not dead yet. You can still save him. That's what Merlin would tell her. You underestimate your own power. Hadn't he told her that just yesterday?
But did she? Could she even remember the spells needed to help heal little Owen? Ealhwyn secretly used such spells once or twice before on unsuspecting victims but she never had. I have to try.
She took a steadying breath, resolve growing within her. If she were to do this, Ceridwen and Nerys needed to be gone. She wasn't practiced enough to incant the spell wordlessly like her aunt had.
Della stood up and went to the table in the middle of the room. She opened her medicine case and pulled out a vial of light yellow liquid. "I'm going to try giving him a tonic of milk thistle and fennel," Della said with as much confidence as she could muster. "Both are known to help counteract mushroom poisoning."
A sound of disgust came from Nerys. "Are you daft, girl? It's much too late for that. Perhaps if the boy had been given the tonic this time yesterday, there would've been a small chance."
"I'm not 'daft'," Della said. "This concoction has worked before in patients further gone than him." That was a bit of a lie, since magic was involved, but Nerys didn't need to know that.
"Bah," Nerys did her dismissive hand gesture again. "Ceridwen, this girl here gives you false hope."
"Better that than none at all," Ceridwen replied. She turned towards Della. "Please, can you give him the tonic?"
"I'm not going to stand by and watch this fool's folly," Nerys said.
"Then you are more than welcome to leave, Mistress," Hunith said in a calm yet firm voice. "Thank you for your help." She locked eyes with Nerys, an unspoken challenge in her demeanor.
Nerys' nostrils flared in anger but she said nothing more to anyone as she left the cottage in a huff.
Ceridwen took a shaky breath. "She'll not forgive me for going against her," she said.
"Do not worry about that now," Hunith replied. "We need to focus on helping Owen recover."
While Hunith continued to assure Ceridwen, Della pulled out a smaller vial of light brown powder marked "sleeping draught" in Ealhwyn's handwriting. Ceridwen would not willingly take it on her own, nor would she if put in a similar situation. She or Hunith would need to covertly pour it in a drink. Drugging the poor woman without her knowledge did not sit well with Della, but it was the only way she could attempt to use her magic to heal Owen.
Ceridwen sat next to Owen, rubbing his small hand. Hunith looked over at Della who motioned her to come over. She showed her the sleeping draught and without a word, Hunith nodded and took the vial. She calmly walked over and poured a cup of water. In one swift and smooth motion, the contents of the vial were emptied into the cup.
Hunith made her way back to Ceridwen. "Here, dear," she said.
"Thank you," Ceridwen said, looking up from her son's face. She took three long sips of water and handed the cup back to Hunith.
The draught took effect within moments. Ceridwen was bent over her son in slumber, still holding his hand.
Hunith helped Della gently slide the stool with Ceridwen's sleeping form to the end of the cot. Once she was situated, Della brought another stool over from the other end of the room and grabbed the thistle tonic. It was time to begin.
First, she needed to stop the continuing damage from the poison. This would be the easier of the spells needed to heal the boy. She took the vial and incanted the spell for the antidote in as low a voice as possible.
"Hailige áttor."
The potion in the vial glowed for a moment before it faded back to its normal color. Della opened the cork and propped Owen against her arm. She wouldn't be able to keep his mouth open and pour the liquid in at the same time. "Hunith?" She called. "Can you give me a hand?
Hunith walked over. "Of course."
"I need you to pour the potion in his mouth for me," she said. She handed her the bottle and gently opened Owen's mouth. "Ready?"
Hunith nodded and poured the liquid into Owen's mouth. Della shut his jaw and tilted his head backward, hoping his instinctual reflex to swallow would work. She held her breath, ready to call on more magic if needed. Within a moment, she watched the small muscles in his throat work the liquid down.
"That will counteract any more damage from the poison," Della said. "Now comes the hardest part: healing the damage that's been done." She pushed back a strand of loose hair from her face nervously. "I wish Merlin were back. I know he could do this."
Hunith put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I believe you can do this, too.
Della nodded and reached back to squeeze Hunith's hand in thanks. "All right. Here goes everything I have."
Hunith let go of her shoulder as she took a deep breath. Her stomach was tense and her nerves on edge. Unlike elemental magic, which hummed and vibrated as constant as a bee's hive and was easier to sense, healing spells were as delicate and intricate as a spider's web. And much like a web, the strands of magic used were fine and easily tangled. It would take every bit of her focus and fortitude to weave those strands together properly and use it to heal Owen's dying organs.
She placed her hands lightly on Owen's swollen stomach and focused on trying to assess the damage done by the poison. It was not hard to find; it pricked the edge of her consciousness like a needles under her skin.
The energy gathered around her as fine but as strong as strands of rope. Her muscles tensed and body hummed as she used every bit of concentration to weave the spell together. She sensed each strand forming under her fingertips. The words of the ancient spell floated to the front of her mind and to her lips.
"Áwefan innanwund, þurhhæle licsare."
The strength of the spell startled her as the power flowed through her and towards her hands. Her focus was broken for the briefest of moments and the strands of the spell tangled together much as she feared they would.
Her hands shook from the effort of the spell. She only had enough strength to try once more. If it failed this time…
You can do this, Della. She thought of Ceridwen, asleep at the foot of the bed, still clinging to hope; of Hunith, who had unwavering faith in her; and of Merlin, whose words of encouragement still echoed in her heart.
She refocused her energy, channeling every bit she had towards Owen. ""Áwefan innanwund, þurhhæle licsare!" She almost didn't recognize her own voice as she said the words, imbuing life into each syllable.
Gradually, the prickling on the edge of her mind eased as she wove the strands together again, as it coalesced and flowed through her fingers and into Owen's body. The swelling lessened, the yellow pall of his skin faded back to normal as she felt the poison dissipate with each breath. She struggled to maintain the magical energy as she tried to keep her arms steady. With each breath, she felt herself growing weaker and her own consciousness fade. Stay strong. Keep going. Just a moment longer....
Owen's eyelids fluttered and he let out a long, deep sigh and stirred in his sleep. "Ma…ma."
Della removed her hands, now shaking from exhaustion. Her arms tingled from the aftereffects of the spell. Relief washed through her seeing the once deathly ill boy beginning to make a full recovery.
"You did it, Della," Hunith said, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She wrapped an arm around her and drew her into an embrace. "I knew you could do it. If Merlin were here, he'd be proud of you too."
And for the first time in awhile, Della actually saw her magic as a gift instead of a curse.
A/N: Longest chapter yet :) I know it took a little longer than the 2 weeks I promised, but for good reason. I hope you all enjoyed this magic heavy chapter. It was my favorite one to write.
Thanks again to Requiem17 for making Della's arc a little more cohesive in this chapter and Jewelsmg for suggesting I change the scene up with the sleeping draught. It works much better that way! :)
And as always thanks to my faithful readers and reviewers!