Malachi

SOMEONE WAS IN MY ROOM. I knew it. It was like a hush uneasiness in my chest. My knife's hilt was cold underneath my pillow. My fingers wrapped around the ivy stems etched into my dagger. It was uncommon for someone to sneak on me. No one had surprised me since the Gift ceremony. I grinded my teeth. I didn't want to think about that day. No. I will not go there. But to remember what life was like before my power. To taste the cinnamon pastries before Madam Claudia shooed Nicholas and me away with her towels and wooden spoon as she made our ginger and pistachio shortbreads.

The bay window was cracked open to let in the early spring breeze. The curtains indicated the wind picked up its motion. The nighttime quiet was suffocating with no birds singing their melody and no animals crawling outside.

But I knew. I sat up from my bed. The bed posts stood tall on all four corners, the navy bed drapes with sapphire glitters could be seen in the crescent moonlight. My dark navy raven hair fell down in front of my eyes. Eyes that matched the color. I wasn't born with this. The Gift ceremony gave me more than just my power. My Gift took my mother's emerald and blue sky irises away from me.

The white nightshirt strings were untied. I must've tossed and turned throughout the hour or so. Flinging the annoying string, it landed near my chest. My eyes began to scan my surroundings. The cedar chest with foxglove etched in gold covered the top. The sidings where the brass handles were positioned had lilacs, vines, and roses in copper that were first carved into the wood. The lock was on the front.

Good. No one had gotten into it. Lifting up the bed sheet, intentionally twisted my hip to let my heel touch the wooden floor. Nothing was in the corners. The open hearth had small embers popping from its contained stone. The glow was faint as if a baby dragon was sleeping. And with the dragon's breath, its belly grew out with oxygen, the wood cracked and radiated and then the belly went inward, the glow dimmed.

I inhaled. A nearby guard walked the corridor, performing his duties. His tobacco and cedar overwhelmed my tongue. His fortress strength had a different tone: copper and clay. But each step he took, the further I couldn't taste. His power was out of my reach. If only I had swallowed the particles earlier.

Shaking my head, I sucked in the dust faint snowflakes that were invisible to the untrained eye. I expected the zesty blood orange from the southern regions of Moriah or the warm dark roast coffee bean with caramel tones from the western regions of Abel to determine whoever was here.

I held the taste. Swishing the particles in my mouth and under my tongue, I couldn't breathe. There was no flavor. Stale, soft, and tasteless magic.

But someone is here.

Even Non-Gifted had the snowflake particles revolving around them. Their tone always matched their personality. A person's dreams, desires, fears, emotions; all twined together in a ball of flavors that it was hard to gulp down the intensity. My stomach had difficulties the first year after my Ceremony to gulp the magic. I couldn't keep anything down let alone real food.

I stepped purposefully avoiding the creaks in the floorboards. My hand clasped my dagger. The hilt had become warm from my touch.

Did my brother send someone?

No.

His imagination and plans stayed neutral and warm to hospitality.  He wouldn't dare. Why would he? He had no sense of my plan. Nicholas grinned earlier this morning as if there were no problems in the Kingdom. He had little knowledge of what fragile state our currency had, what thin string we had on what our citizens desired and claimed they deserved, or what his own brother thought of him. He'd all but tackled me with a hug after his final studies.

"I'm almost free, Alac." Nicholas held his hands on top of my shoulders. His golden locks shined brighter in the sunlight. His hazel eyes were big and full of anticipation. "Who'd thought I'd even say that?"

"It's nearly here," I replied.

Nicholas grinned. His whole face was smooth and flawless. He patted my shoulder before letting go. I prayed that he didn't notice my tension.

I scratched my face. The dagger's hilt end bumped against my chin.

"Blessings onto you,

the son that will

restore our Land."

I blinked. Gripping my bedside frame, to keep me from landing on the floorboard that creaked, I contained a hiss.

Why did Father bless him? And not me?

I breathed out. Some magic escaped and I tried to reclaim them. The snowflakes danced in front of me and on my night attire.

I will not think anymore about this dreadful day.

Closing my mouth, I brought my hands up. My dagger had the ready. The moonlight reflected off the metal. Preparation was key. And whoever entered my bedchamber, they had the upper hand.

Why can't I taste them?

The see-through curtains in front of my window couldn't hide any figures. My wardrobe tucked in the corner, matched the details of the chest in front of my bed. I went around on the other side of the wardrobe. I jolted the dagger forward. Quick and hard. My chest heaved. Magic floated in the air freely. My knuckles radiated pain. I tightened my fist around the blade too hard. No one was here.

Someone was here. This deep knowledge seeped into my bones.

"Where are you?" My voice was deep from the interrupted sleep.

Then there was something. Above me, on the ceiling was a thin layer. As if the whole thing was a portrait like what Father displayed when he hired the artists to paint our ballroom and corridors leading to the social areas with scenes: men and women, parties, angels, and more creatures that were holy watching and blessing us humans, but this layer was different. I had nothing painted in my bedchamber. The maids and servants could attest.

There. A woman sat. She was my height. Perhaps shorter, I couldn't be sure from my angle. Her left hand stayed on top of her head, ruffling her brunette hair. Her eyes focused on something intently. Gray irises like the mourning dove - soft -

My face began to grow hot. A woman. Why was a woman in my bedchamber?

Wait. This was a painting. It had to be. For the colors were subdued, drained, and had another layer on top, making it difficult for my eyes to observe properly. But for a painting to be on the ceiling and in the corner, I wasn't an artist and had no Gift to enhance Creation, there was something in my gut that told me this wasn't a normal painting.

She moved.

Her hand ruffled her hair and pressed down on a flat surface, then back up to her ear. Her wavy brunette hair followed her location, making the ends of her hair scrunched up to her ear. She leaned to that same side. Her feet - no, shoes. She wore shoes that were covered all the way around similar to my boots. The shoes stopped around her ankles. She kicked and kicked the air. A flowing material followed her movement, keeping her legs covered. Wait. The woman wore nothing around her ankles.

I dropped my dagger. Stumbling and averting my eyes, flush came back on my face.

In all the Kingdom, I'd never witnessed a moving picture. Stories had nothing on what was happening before me. Ghosts. Yes. There were plenty of ghosts that haunted the Castle, the emerald fields and hills, cemeteries, boarding houses, and many more locations. Would a ghost take on the form of a painting? Why would it? For a ghost had more power and freedom roaming wherever it desired to stay connected with. A woman connected to my - I shook my head.

Another explanation had to be explored. In all my five and twenty years, I had little experience with women. This was the first time I'd met this one. This will be the last time I see her.

"You have the wrong room," I stated. The particles swirled around me. I pulled and soaked in the small amounts of magic through my skin. Dark clouds emerged from my hands. I tried to keep my voice in one tone. Authoritative. In control.

She bit something. Whatever it was, the thing was long and had an end to it. She used the same item to press into the surface. The ceiling? She was drawing on the ceiling?

She had little response. Was she ignoring me? Could she hear me?

"Ma'am," I coughed. My ears were getting warmer. Had to be cordial. Had to be nice. After all, eyes and ears were on me at all times. "I believe you have the wrong room. Please make your way to the East Wing. I'm sure you'll be comfortable there."

A fake smile appeared on my lips. Hands were open. I ignored the dagger that reflected half my face back to myself that lay on the floor. How ironic that I was ready to kill this intruder before I found out it was a woman. Unless she was a great warrior at deception and had strength that surpassed me. Then again, she had nothing on me. When she would attack, I'd reach for my hidden dagger behind my back and plunge it into her throat.

Her gray eyes focused on whatever was in front of her. It was me, but not me. She looked beyond that. Her lips pressed together. A pout of sorts. Star Light, constellations decorated her chin and nose - freckles perhaps?

She was quiet.

The dark clouds around me disappeared. The magic floated upward towards her but the snowflakes faded and became something else. Something entirely transformed. This time whatever transformation occurred, it was invisible. I inhaled. The magic that floated up never came back down. What was this?

I pulled all the rest of the magic in the room. Again, tasteless besides the hearth's cedar, feast flavors from dinner time on my clothes, and the items in my room that had second hand tastes, I filled up my lungs and stomach with the particles.

Ready to command. Ready to take control of this mystery.

Before I could think the words, the woman looked at me. She gazed into my eyes. Then with a small smile, pink and soft, she said, "I see you. Wow. I keep learning something new about you, Malachi."

She knew my name.

A warm chuckle escaped her lips where she used that same item from earlier to paint - write -

All a welcoming sound. Genuine and free. When was the last time a person gazed into my eyes? A person that called me by name? A person that didn't avert, avoid, or ignore my presence. 

Now I have a son that has a proper power, Father's voice rang in my head.

The magic swirled on my tongue and I had to let it go.

The woman's laughter chimed something in me. Her warm alto voice, "Malachi." I will think about that versus the other voice.

"What's your name?" I asked. A plea. A wishful thinking. The longing escaped before I could contain it.

I looked up.

She was gone. The veil had been wiped clean. The hearth behind me blew out its last ember. The spring air stopped blowing the early morning's cool breeze. The curtains stood still. Moonlight now cast on the edge. I leaned forward and picked up my dagger, the metal vines etched in the palm of my hand. I could pretend that this moment never happened. But the taste, the tasteless night was the first since my Ceremony. I knew this was different. In the dagger's blade, I grinned in my reflection.

This was the first time I experienced lightness. I wasn't alone anymore.

Please come back, my Ghost.