The light in the clearing vanishes as swiftly as it appeared. Night sounds return, but Hanna and I are caught in darkness.
Stumbling, we climb the rise to our camp. I have no doubt daylight will reveal a host of bruises and scratches on my legs, arms and hands.
Without speaking, we pack up in the dark and take to the path again. We will not find sleep now; our minds are too busy.
As the sun rides the eastern peaks, Hanna says, “I don’t like it. There are too many ifs in this thing.”
“Sorcery is the main ingredient,” I murmur. “Belief in self is all well, but it takes a bit more than that to deploy the frequency needed to stop an asteroid. A woman made of light? That’s magic. Voices of those who failed? That’s magic, too. A Spire able to defend? Smacks of great feats.”
Hanna is looking at me. She says not a word.
I gaze ahead. “I now know I have abilities. I have seen and felt. Does that make me a witch? I do not think so, for those talents are of the natural world. Am I a sorceress? Does that term even exist? It implies years of practice, of knowing, and therefore cannot describe me. What am I, Hanna, and can I do this?”
Hanna too gazes ahead. “Joseph is the reader. He tells of the Rainmakers, the Healers and the Sages. All are part of who you are, talent-wise, and they are accepted in an underground manner by the more knowledgeable of Massin’s highlanders. The Elemental side, though, is where it gets tricky. There is the ability to employ frequency and to determine truth. A true Elemental is also a healer, sage and is able to summon rain.”
“I am an Elemental? Hanna, I have not summoned rain.”
“Yet,’ she grins.