Celeste knew it was a test even though her grandmother framed it as a simple invitation to visit her herb shop.
Her twin brother, Angos, had discovered his gift as a toddler. He loved to fold papers into swords and spent hours in pretend play with his toys, acting out battles. By eleven, grandpa enrolled him as an apprentice with the village blacksmith, and by sixteen, he became a remarkable weapons maker.
The first weapon he forged was a silver dagger etched with his signature runes. It whispered only to its wielder. He gave it to her and she couldn't stop crying. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever owned.
While Angos' gift came naturally, Celeste's remained hidden.
At eighteen, she heard her grandparents behind closed doors planning something. She understood at last when her grandmother kept the herb shop closed for two days. On the third morning, she handed Celeste an iron key. “Go to the shop,” she said calmly, “look around. Be back before nightfall.”
Celeste chewed nervously on her lower lip, wishing Angos could come with her but their grandpa refused. Then she knew it was a test. This path was hers to walk alone.
Maybe she had no gift though such a thing had never happened in their bloodline. Everyone had gifts. Their parents had been powerful mages who sacrificed their lives in the battle of Bleakmoor to save their queen.
The stories made her proud. She wanted to become strong like her parents, worthy like them but none of the gifts called to her.
The shop door creaked softly as she pushed it open. It was dark inside. The earthy scent of dried herbs, roots and crushed flowers filled the air. Dusty shelves towered up to the ceiling and packed with jars and bowls.
As the door clicked shut behind her, an amber glow lit from a jar on the middle shelf. Inside the jar was a rare herb she had never seen before, the one on display.
She dragged an old ladder leaning against the wall towards the shelf. The moment she began to climb, the rungs lit up in a blurry golden glow, bathing the shop in a fine light until it resembled something from a fairy tale. She gasped, her heart hammering.
When she reached the middle shelf, she touched the jar and her mind went completely empty. Sounds and sensation disappeared while images rushed through her of sick and wounded people and how to cure them. It was an overload that she staggered, almost falling off the ladder before she returned to her body.
A bright smile lit her face as understanding dawned on her. She'd found her gift. She was a healer.
I hope you enjoyed reading this short piece. It's inspired by the Freewrite #dailyprompt phrase "the one on display".
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