Lyra opened the magic book again and tried once more to reread the spell instructions for the Fireball Spell. She knew that some offensive magic would come in handy if the invaders ever bothered to pursue them again. She allowed her body to move with the motion of the horse and held the book a little farther away from her. Perhaps the resting of her eyes helped slightly because she was able to read most of the instructions.
Fairly simple, she thought to herself, smiling as she mentally practiced the formation of the fiery projectile. Of course only practice would allow the caster to increase its intensity and the speed with which she could create them, but she thought she could now at least cast the spell. She looked eagerly around for something to practice on that would not start a forest fire. Disappointment seeped through her when she found no suitable target and she closed the book and returned it to the pack.
Lyra ran her fingers through her short blond hair and thought how nice a bath would feel. Her hair was gritty and she was sure the rest of her was as well. Still, she was feeling pretty good after a decent night’s sleep, decent except for the dream. She thought about the strange dream she had last night and the night before. She had never had the same dream twice before and it bothered her. Rhodella was standing over her sleeping body, hands on her hips as she always did when she was about to lecture on something that Lyra had done wrong. But instead of lecturing Lyra on some failing, Rhodella kept asking her why she was here. Why had she come to these woods? Where was she going? Where did she get the ring? Why were there people following her? Who were the two boys with her?
Questions, questions, questions. It didn’t make any sense at all. Rhodella knew where she was going and who the boys were and it had been her mother who gave her the ring. It was just a nonsense dream and yet she had it two nights in a row. Was it her subconscious trying to tell her that she was making a mistake? Was she feeling badly about having given her mother a bad time while Rhodella was alive? No matter how many times she tried to analyze the dream, it just made no sense to her.
The sound of running water brought Lyra out of her thoughts and she looked expectantly ahead for the stream or river, the perfect place to practice her first fireball. Excitement rippled through her body as the sound intensified and she walked through the steps of the spell again. Trying to calm herself slightly, she mentally cautioned herself to have reasonable expectations. Her first fireball would not be a thing of greatness, rather it would probably be no more powerful than her fire lighting spell. The excitement threatened to overwhelm her again as she realized that while it wouldn’t be very powerful, it would move through the air in any direction she wished it to.
She always got excited when using a new spell and she momentarily thought of how proud her father would be to see her cast the spell perfectly the first time. Her excitement immediately died as she realized that Master Malafar would be horrified to see her cast an offensive spell. It wasn’t fair, she pouted. She had loved her brother, Alfred, as much as anyone, but she did not blame the spell that killed him for his death. By her reasoning, it could have been a spear or a thrown knife that killed him. Would her father then have forbid the using of a knife? Magic was neither good nor evil. It was a tool the same as a sword or knife, no more, no less. She was starting to feel guilty about her plan to learn offensive magic, despite her belief that it was not at fault for Alfred’s death, when the stream came into view. Her excitement level rose dramatically as Antello signaled a halt to water the horses.
Lyra sprang off her horse, handing her reins to Syman, and ran upstream so her experiment would not startle the horses. Finding a large rock protruding into the stream, Lyra scampered upon it and straightened her body, scouting for the perfect spot to unleash her first deadly missile. Selecting a pool formed by the swirling waters caught by a log, she inhaled deeply, savoring the fresh, sweet aroma of the sevemor forest.
Holding her arm bent at the elbow, she started casting the spell and felt the warmth of the magic as it started build. The exhilaration of the power building within her body swept through her as her fingertips began to produce tiny sparks. The heat of the magic within her hand increased and she knew it was almost time to unleash the missile into the water. Swiftly, her mind dashed back to the mental image of the book to make sure she knew how to direct the fireball. The distraction destroyed her concentration and her hand burst into flames. Screaming hysterically, Lyra looked at her burning hand in shock and was paralyzed to act. Suddenly, her body was falling through the air and everything went black.
Lyra awoke feeling chilled all over, everywhere except her hand, which was burning hot. She opened her eyes and looked up into Syman’s face.
“I thought I had killed you,” Syman sighed. “Let me see your hand.”
Lyra held up her hand between them and saw the big puffy blisters that covered it. Quickly she lowered it back into the stream where the cooling water soothed it enough to dull the pain.
“What happened Lyra?” he asked. “Why was your hand burning?”
The pain brought tears to Lyra’s eyes and she gasped, “Magic. I tried a new spell. Foolish.”
“It was a good thing Syman pushed you into the stream,” Antello interjected. “The water put the fire out.”
“Yes, but I thought you had hit your head on the bottom and died,” Syman shook. “I swear I didn’t even think you were breathing when I dragged you to shore.”
“How long?” Lyra croaked.
“Just seconds,” Syman answered. “It was just a moment ago. I was coming to see what you were doing going off on your own like that. I heard you scream and saw your hand burning. I didn’t think. I just ran and threw myself at you and we both flew into the stream.”
“Good thing you didn’t stop to think,” commented Antello. “Those blisters look bad, but they will heal quickly. Much more burning though and you would probably have lost your hand. Keep it in the water while I go get a salve to put on it.”
Lyra cried as she felt the current rippling over her tender hand. Each tiny movement of water striking the flesh brought a sting of pain, but the coolness helped the feeling that the hand was still burning. She struggled to sit up while keeping her hand suspended in the water and Syman, seeing what she was trying to do, grabbed her shoulders and rotated her into a sitting position. She stared down at her ruined hand through the clear running water. The movement of the water distorted the image, but the blisters were clearly evident and the blackened, scorched ring on her finger was visible. She thought about getting the ring off, but that finger was blistered so badly that she knew she would be unable to remove it.
Antello returned with salve and bandages. He sat a bit away from Syman and her and Lyra realized that they were still in the stream. Syman must have dragged her to the shore and just held her until she awoke. Antello liberally covered the bandages with salve and extended them to Syman.
“Wrap each finger separately and then the whole hand,” Antello instructed. “I saw the physician do this when one of Master Caulder’s men got burned by an oil lamp. His hand was blistered worse than yours, Lyra, and he recovered in no time.”