“Very good. Water. We need it to live. It runs through our physical bodies, it dominates the world we live in.”
She gestured to the white bowl, filled with water. “Clear and calm now. Still. But it moves, like the sea, rises like a geyser, spills like a fountain. Its power, and mine.”
Iona watched the water stir, form little waves inside the bowl that lapped at the side. She let out a muffled gasp when it shot up to the ceiling, rippled, a liquid spear, then opened almost like a flower, and spilled back into the bowl without a drop lost.
“That was beautiful.”
“A pretty bit of magick, but an important skill. Stir the water, Iona. Feel it, see it, ask it.”
Like the candle flame, she thought. It would be focus, and that drawing up. She steadied her breath again, tried to do the same with her mind, her pulse. She stared at the water, tried to form an image of those little waves rocking its quiet surface.
And didn’t manage a ripple.
“I’m doing something wrong.”
“No. You lack patience.”
“It’s a problem. Okay, again.”
She stared at the water, pushed herself at it until her eyes ached.
“It takes longer for some. Where is your center of power. Where do you feel it rise?” Branna asked.
“Here.” Iona pressed a hand on her belly.
“For Connor it’s here.” Branna tapped her heart. “Pull it up, send it out. Use your hand for a guide. Up, out. Imagine, focus, ask.”
“Okay. Okay.” She loosened her shoulders, shoved at her hair, took a new stance. She wanted to move the damn water, she thought. She wanted to learn how to send it up like a spear. Maybe she’d been too timid. So . . .
She drew in a breath, pulled, drawing her hand up from her belly, flinging it out toward the bowl.
And barely choked back the scream when the water flew up toward the ceiling.
“Holy shit! I just—oops!”
It fell again, like a small flood
. Stopped, went still just above the counter.
“I’d prefer to avoid the mess,” Branna said, and with a flick of her finger, had the water spilling back into the bowl.
“Oh, you did it. I thought I had.”
“You sent it up, lost your focus. I spared you the mopping.”
“I did that?” Thrilled, she did a quick dance in place. “Go me. Wow, it’s just so cool. Not respectful,” she said with a wince.
“No reason there can’t be joy and wonder. It’s magick after all. Do it again. But slow. Smooth. Control, always.”
“Like riding a horse,” Iona murmured.
She took it up, only inches this time, and imagining a small fountain, created it. Slowly, slowly, she turned the fountain so it circled just above the bowl. The dance of the water filled her with that joy and with that wonder.
“You have a lot sleeping inside you,” Branna told her.
Delighted, proud, dazzled at herself, Iona let the water slide back into the bowl. “Let’s wake it up.”
* * *