Then one day he followed his sister when she went on one of her mysterious outings, in spite of his promise not to do so, and discovered what she was trying to hide. Concealed within a stand of trees, he watched her kneel in a clearing and begin to sing words he could not make out and motion with her hands in ways he did not recognize. At first, he thought she was performing a ritual of some kind, perhaps a giving of thanks to Mother Earth. But then she shifted just enough that he could see the results of what she had been doing. From the soil in front of her, a slender green stalk emerged like a snake, twisting and reaching for the light, maturing much more swiftly than a normal growing cycle would require. The stalk budded with leaves that within seconds were fully formed, and then with scarlet flowers that blossomed like starbursts.
Unable to help himself, he burst out of the trees and rushed over to her. “How did you do that?”
She looked up, not as surprised as he would have expected. “You followed me, didn’t you? Even though I told you not to.”
He made a dismissive gesture. “I wanted to see what you were doing.”
“It’s my business.” She frowned. “You shouldn’t have come.”
He felt a surge of anger at her presumption. “But I did, so tell me.” He pointed at the tiny plant. “How come you can do that, and I can’t? You have to teach me!”
“I can’t. You don’t have the gift.”
“What gift? What are you talking about?”
“Magic.”
“You can do magic? Then you can teach me. If you can’t teach me the trick with the plant, then teach me something else.”
The frown deepened. “I can’t. That’s all I know how to do!”
Abruptly, he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “You teach me, Tarsha, or I’ll tell Mama about this!”
Tarsha paled. He had guessed right. Their mother didn’t know. “If I show you how I do it, you must promise not to tell her. Will you?”
“I don’t tell her lots of things.”
“All right. Sit down.”
He sat, legs crossed in front of him, leaning forward eagerly. She was only ten years old, but smart for her age. Teaching him would not be difficult.
“You have to sort of sing to it,” she said, pointing to the plant. “You think about what you want it to do when it is a seed, and you sing to it to make it obey. I only found out a few months ago that I could do it. That’s why I have been going off by myself—to discover what else I can do. There’s more, I think, but so far that’s all I’ve learned.”
“But you can teach me that much?”
“Not if you can’t do the singing right. It’s a sort of humming, a kind of…I don’t know. A kind of reaching-out. I can’t explain it.”
“But you have it and I don’t!” he complained.
She shushed him. “Not yet, maybe. But you are my brother. You might find out it’s hiding inside you. Do you want me to help you find out?”
He nodded eagerly. “Let’s try!”
They did so for almost an hour, but Tavo could not make anything happen. Eventually, he grew frustrated. She recognized the signs of his growing rage and hastened to calm him.
“Maybe it will just take a little longer for you to find it. I didn’t know I had it until it just happened one day. Maybe that’s what will happen to you. I can keep working with you, but you have to keep your promise. You have to keep this secret from Mama and Papa. You can’t tell them. At least until you find out you can do it, too.”
He had accepted her explanation and asked only that he be allowed to go with her while she practiced using the magic so he could practice with her. That way, he could better understand what it was like and how it might feel when he discovered it, too. They were still close then, still very private in their sibling relationship—less a part of the larger community and more a community of two. Tavo loved his sister enough that he understood the nature of his responsibility for her. He was protective of her in the way a brother often is of a younger sister. He adored her. And even when he was angriest, he knew he would never hurt her.
Because in those days, he had no doubt that she would always be there for him, and they would always be close.
—
But even with her efforts to help him, even with all her coaching and support, he was almost seventeen before the magic revealed itself. It happened all at once—unexpectedly, shockingly, just as Tarsha had told him it might. He was off by himself, not far from his house, playing inside a fort he had constructed of old tree branches, deadwood, and heavy stones, pretending at heroic conquests and daring deeds, his thoughts so far from the magic it would have been difficult to measure the distance. His sister was elsewhere, gone off to the village with her mother to shop. Two years had passed since Tarsha had told him for the first time about the magic, seemingly a lifetime ago. In all that time, no sign of the magic had appeared in him. Her own use had grown considerably, allowing her to change things of all sorts and even sometimes to make herself disappear into her surroundings. Her skills were raw and unschooled, and often she failed to make the magic obey her. But at least she had some use of it. He had none—and he was beginning to believe he never would.
Inside the fort, peering out at the forest and the animals and birds, he was practicing being a hunter, spying on game, choosing his target. He had a slingshot with him, his favorite weapon, and he was usually quite accurate with it. Sometimes it bothered him when he killed small creatures, but mostly he considered it necessary so that they would not overrun the forest. Where he had come up with the possibility of this happening he had no idea, but he was having many strange thoughts lately—increasingly dark and unpleasant, but at the same time rather intriguing.
Upon spying a squirrel not too many yards from where he lay concealed, he shifted his position within the fort so that he was aligned with his target while staying hidden, sighted through the Y of his sling, and released a smooth, round stone.
And missed.
The squirrel shot away and was gone.
He tried again a few minutes later with a bird. Same result. He began to grow angry with his inability to do something he had done so often before—and without any problem. He got to his knees, settled himself in place, and waited. The minutes slipped away and he grew impatient as well as angry.
Then a raven landed close by, and he knew he had his target marked and readied himself. This time he would not miss. Deep breath, steady hands, and release!
The stone caromed off a patch of bare earth a good two feet from where the raven strutted.
Another miss.
He lost all control of himself, leaping to his feet within his enclosure, screaming and howling, stamping his feet and swinging his arms like windmills, so furious he was shaking with rage. He wanted to destroy something. He wanted to destroy everything!
And all at once everything seemed to explode from inside him. He felt it rise into his throat and exit through his open mouth like a giant wind. The fort he had built flew apart, pieces of it spinning off in all directions. It shocked him so greatly that he went silent and motionless. The fort was leveled, and he was left standing amid the wreckage, staring into the trees beyond—now emptied of animals and birds alike.
But immediately, he knew. He felt a mix of satisfaction and fear, because he now wasn’t quite sure what to do with this thing he had wanted so much. How could he manage something that could be triggered so spontaneously? How could he find a way to make it do what he wanted?