“It isn’t? Killing everyone isn’t what I shouldn’t be worried about?”
“No.”
“Then what is?”
He pursed his lips before answering. “Mending the rift,” he said simply.
“What about mending the rift?” I asked. “What does that even mean?”
He only shook his head. “That is not for me to reveal.”
Taking a deep breath, I tried to keep my emotions in check. I hated prophecies in the first place, especially since they were never straightforward. They only hinted at things, leaving my imagination to fill in the gaps, and my imagination tended to go to awful, maddening places. Maybe it was time for us to focus on something else.
“You said there was a way to manipulate the prophecy. What did you mean by that?”
We sat in the chairs near the telescope as the gears continued their incessant clicking, like a clock marking time, counting down to something I was beginning to fear even more with each passing minute.
“Time,” he said. “Time is the one variable never mentioned in the prophecy.”
“Time?”
He nodded.
I followed his train of thought. “Can time be manipulated?”
“What do you think?”
I thought about what I knew. I’d never seen anyone manipulate time, and time travel seemed a bit farfetched, even in the crazy worlds I lived in, but then I remembered something. “Mochazon,” I said. “He was a pixie man who traveled to Earth because the tree with pure magic sent him there—but it sent him two weeks into the past. It was a fluke. I don’t think it was meant to happen, but it did. Could something like that happen again?”
“Perhaps, though it would not be easy, and I’m afraid only a spell with pure magic can manipulate time. Even so, such feats have never been accomplished by any practitioner I know—and there is a reason. Time is not meant to be tampered with.”
“But if it could be, then how would one do it?”
“It would be much the same as creating a portal. One would need the proper magic. More importantly, the spell would require an anchor.”
“An anchor?” My figurines. They must have been anchors for the portals I created. But to manipulate time, I would need a different sort.
Lucretian rose. “Come,” he said. “I must show you.” I followed him back to the small stove where he stooped and opened the door. Most of the logs had burned down, leaving a bed of glowing embers in their place.
The druid stood, removed a pair of tongs from a shelf on the wall, then returned to kneel by the heater. Carefully, he removed one of the coals from the open stove. After shutting the door with a click, he turned to me.
The coal shimmered in differing hues of bright orange, but it slowly cooled. When the coal turned black, Lucretian’s eyes met mine.
“Hold out your hand,” he said.
I did as he said. He placed the coal on my palm.
“What is that?” he asked.
“A coal.”
“Yes, and what else?”
“Charred wood?” I wasn’t sure what he was getting at.
“Is it more?” he asked.
I studied the object sitting on my palm, feeling its weight in my hand, barely heavy enough to make an impression. It was fuel, carbon. It was many things, but I suspected Lucretian wasn’t referring to any of its physical traits, so I concentrated on something else instead.
Its magic called to me ever so quietly, a gentle whisper, barely perceptible. It was only there if I searched for it—yet, I felt it. The characteristics of black magic came from the small piece of charred wood.
“Black magic,” I answered.
His eyes lit up. “Yes! You can feel it, can’t you? Is it evil?”
“No, it’s only magic.”
“Correct. Magic is not evil, but it can become that way if the practitioner uses it for ill purposes. Black magic is negative magic. It absorbs energy. It must be taken from something else and cannot be created on its own, making it more easily tainted and unable to resist evil the same way other magics function. But,” he said intently, “its unique properties can also be used to balance the other magics.”
I held very still, not breathing as his words sank in. “I can use it to balance my magic.”
“Yes, and I suspect you already have been, even though you didn’t realize it.”
“My magic has been easier to use since I got here.”
“And that is because you have been using black magic.”
“But… I’ve only been using what’s around me. I haven’t been conjuring the magic. Because if I did, wouldn’t that make me… wouldn’t I be… a witch?”
He only stared at me.
“Because I’m not a witch. I couldn’t be. I’m only able to use black magic here because it’s part of this world, but I’ve never been able to use the powers outside of this world.”
“You are correct for the most part. But, as you see, black magic can be found all around—even in your world—if you know where to look, regardless of whether you possess the natural abilities to use it.”
My knees felt weak. Silvestra was right all along. I could use black magic. “You know, this would have made my life a whole lot easier if I’d known this a few months ago.”
“Now that you have this knowledge, you must use the magic to balance your own powers. Soon, with the three magics working together, you will find your powers growing stronger.”
His eyes became more intense as he studied my face.
“’She will come…” he said, his voice quiet, yet his words resonated within my soul. “‘In flame.” He opened his palm where a pillar of amber and blue fire sparked to life. “‘… And ash.’” With his other hand, he picked up the coal, crushed it in his hand, and let the ash fall onto my palm, a light coating that I barely felt, soft against my skin.
He held up the flame flickering over his palm. “Amber—Earth magic.
