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I’d never had memories that went this far back, but I could see my mother clear as day, sitting in a rocking chair in our old living room. She held a baby in her arms and sang her a lullaby.
“Turn your attention back to the golden thread,” Verla instructed. “Notice that it goes far back in time, further even than your birth. Continue on down this timeline, stepping far back into the past, through as many lifetimes as you must to reach your first.”
Images flickered across my vision, but I couldn’t make sense of any of them.
Verla’s calming voice continued to fill my ears. “Now take yourself back to your first incarnation, however far back that may be. In this life, there will be a pivotal moment, a moment so profound that you have carried it with you from one life to the next. Allow yourself to be drawn to this moment.”
In my imagination, I found myself floating along the timeline, until I came to a portal that showed a small timber-framed cottage. The cottage was nestled between rolling hills beside a beautiful meadow.
“Now that you have found the memory, step into it,” Verla said.
Verla’s voice faded, until I found myself strolling through the meadow. The hem of my wool skirt danced around my ankles. I gave no thought to the couch I was lying on, because that seemed lifetimes removed from where I was now.
“Mother isn’t going to be pleased when she learns how you killed that chicken,” I said in an accent that wasn’t mine, but felt entirely familiar.
I turned to my brother, who was carrying the dead chicken by its feet. His features were different—darker hair and more stubble—but my soul recognized him as Lucas. I was nineteen now, and my brother was only two years older. We were the youngest of five children and had been very close our whole lives, though we didn’t always get along. Now was one of those times I didn’t particularly approve of his actions.
“Mother will be proud,” he insisted. “I didn’t even have to touch it. It will make a wonderful stew.”
“If you can kill a chicken without touching it, what else can you do?” I demanded. “Your powers are dangerous, Mortimer. You must be careful with how you use them, or the wrong person is going to end up dead.”
“It’s dinner, Alora,” he shot back. “I’m not killing people.”
“But you could,” I insisted.
He kept his chin forward as he answered, “Then perhaps they deserve to die.”
I frowned. “I’m not saying you can’t use your powers. Only that you must be cautious.”
“Sorry that I’m not a Curse Breaker like you,” Mortimer shot back. “I can’t make medicine potions like Maud, or control people’s minds like Percival. I can’t see the future like Cecilia. Gods know not a single one of us are as powerful as Mother and Father. Sorry that my magic scares you, but if I’ve got this power, then I’m going to use it for good, and that starts with bringing home dinner. Unless you’re not hungry…”
Mortimer dangled the dead chicken in front of my face, and I turned up my nose.
“Get that thing away from me!” I shouted.
“Or what? You’ll run to Father?” he teased.
“I don’t need Father to save me,” I sneered. “I’ve got magic of my own.”
I formed a battle orb and aimed it at him.
He only laughed. “What are you going to do with that? I’m not the only one who can kill. Watch your magic, Alora. You might kill someone.”
He was mocking me.
“Ugh!” I complained. “You’re insufferable.”
He dangled the chicken out in front of me again. I’d had enough, and I shoved his arm aside as I took off running across the meadow toward our cottage. Our cottage was bigger than most, as Mother and Father had built it themselves. We lived a quiet life here in the countryside, where our magic was concealed from those who wished to take it.
I burst through the door to the cottage. “Mother, you’ll never believe what Mortimer did?—”
I came to an abrupt halt when I spotted my mother and three of my siblings gathered around the table. Cecilia sat in the center chair, her skin ashen as if she’s just received the worst news. My sister’s name was Cecilia, but my soul knew her as Talia. My sister Maud—whom my soul recognized as a man named Grant—and my brother Percival—who I knew as Chloe—sat on either side of Cecilia, looking to be comforting her. They all shared a look of terror.
“Alora,” my mother said hastily. “We must fortify the protection spell now. The fae have discovered our power, and they will kill us to keep another magical race from even the chance of opposing them.”
“It’s too late,” Cecilia stated in a whisper. “They’re already here.”
“MOTHER!” Mortimer’s scream came from outside.
