The next few days passed in a blur of activity as we prepared to head back to Calia. I practiced shifting into my dragon form as much as I could, although the process still took a lot out of me.
During my first few barely successful attempts, I would only just be able to change into my dragon form—a much smaller version of my father’s majestic figure. My transformation wouldn’t last long; I could barely sustain it for about a quarter of an hour before my body would involuntarily revert back to my human form. And changing back left me even more winded: out of breath, curled into myself, with a massive headache.
Which is why the other big undertaking my father insisted we do before we left was to create a soulstone for me. Being able to channel my magical energy through it would ease the transition, as well as help me maintain my creature self longer. When I asked my father why I wasn’t able to hold my dragon shape, Joichan explained that the mental control needed for shifting required time and practice. It took most Annlyn children a year or two to master that power, and I was trying to perfect that skill in a few days.
So, I needed a soulstone. The amber pendant that Pazho had gifted me provided the perfect conduit for magic.
I drew out the necklace with its clear dark yellow jewel. Joichan took it from me and placed in on the table between us.
“How does this work?” I asked.
My father, lost in studying the amber stone, absently replied, “I’ll need your blood.”
“Excuse me?” Horrified, I reached out to grab the necklace back, then stopped myself. Instead, I drummed my fingers on the table, full of nervous energy.
Joichan broke off from his intense scrutiny of the pendant. “Don’t worry, I don’t need a lot. And dragons heal fast. It comes from being an innately magical being, you know.”
I didn’t know, and the reassurance didn’t make me feel much better. I hastily removed my hand from the table, as if my father had suggested that cutting off a few digits was necessary for the soulstone spell.
Joichan laughed. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. I suppose because most shapeshifters are so young when they go through this, no one remembers the pain. But you’ll be fine.”
The hardest part—according to my father—was finding a stone that was suitable for spell casting. Not all gemstones were able to hold magic; sometimes a rock was just a rock. But my father could sense the aura of enchantment around my amber pendant, and deemed it a worthy blank slate waiting to be linked to the right owner.
My father took a sharp knife, heated the blade in the fire, and set it aside on top of a clean cloth that was lying on the table. While we waited for the knife to cool, he gathered other items from around the cave. A smooth ceramic bowl. A candle, slightly used from the look of it. Some small pieces of fabric for bandages. Various dried herbs in smoky glass jars. A pitcher of water. The table was rather crowded by the time my father found the last thing he wanted and sat back down at the table with me.
Joichan had me open the jars and pour out a scoop of each herb into their corresponding jar lid. While I did that, he poured water into the bowl and touched a fingertip to the the water’s surface. It instantly boiled and steam wafted up. Impressed, I raised an eyebrow at my father. Joichan grinned. “One of the other advantages of being an innately magical being.”
“One whose specialty is fire?”
“There is that, yes.”
Joichan threw herbs into the bubbling water, in varying measurements. The water turned greenish, with a somewhat sweet smell I couldn’t identify. I breathed deeply. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was definitely potent.
Joichan held out his hand expectantly. “May I see your hand?”
With trepidation, I placed my hand, palm up, in his. With his free hand, my father picked up the now-cool knife. Holding my hand steady, he made a quick cut across my palm. It barely stung; my brain only registered that he had cut me when I saw the red bloom of blood on my hand.
Joichan put the knife aside and pressed against the wound, making the blood flow faster. He turned my hand upside down so the blood dripped from my wound into the bowl of water below. The water turned muddy-colored. The metallic scent of my blood mingled with the herbal aroma, and I turned my face away, trying to not breathe in too deeply.
My father put the necklace, amber first, into the bowl. When the last gold glint had slid beneath the surface, he said, “Junctus. May the two become one. Fiat.”
There was a flash, and the sickly smell grew stronger, then completely disappeared. As did the water in the bowl. All that was left was my necklace and a few soggy herbs at the bottom.
“Did it work?” I breathed.
“Let’s check, shall we?”
My father quickly bound my cut with one of the bandages lying nearby and released my hand. He lit the candle and waited until there was a nice, steady flame. Then, picking up the necklace, he held the amber up to the light and studied it intensely.
“Well?” I tried to hide my impatience.
“See for yourself.” My father waved for me to come closer. I leaned in until I was practically touching the pendant with my nose. I studied the gemstone, but didn’t see anything. I looked at my father, who just shook his head at me and nodded back at the jewelry he was patiently holding over the flame. I looked again.
There—I could see something. At first I thought it was my reflection, but it couldn’t be. The image of myself in the amber was too clear for that. It was more like my likeness had been caught inside the amber. And I felt it pulling me in, crying out for me. My father willingly dropped the necklace into my outstretched hand. Once my fingers touched it, I felt much better. Complete.
“May I?” My father took the necklace from me and clasped it around my neck. He beamed. “Perfect. It suits you, daughter of dragons.”
