A hand gripped his arm, offering support. Jhali.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “I’m sorry for being so needy of late.”
“Mages are always needy.”
“Is that why you became a mage hunter rather than a professional bodyguard?”
“You know why I became one,” she said without humor, then eyed his forehead, and produced a clean white cloth from some inside pocket in her wrap. She wiped his brow and face.
It was strange to have an assassin caring for him but somehow appealing. Her touch was gentle, her eyes concerned.
“Could you do that again?” Yanko asked as she started to fold the handkerchief to return it to her pocket.
“Did I miss a spot?” She scrutinized his face.
“No, I just liked being mothered. I never really had anyone do that to me, except maybe my grandmother when I was sick as a little boy.”
“Mothered? That doesn’t seem like the correct term when a woman who’s kissed you is doing it.”
“I’m open to other suggestions.”
She must not have had any, but she smoothed the cloth over his face again. It was a little damp, and he leaned forward, appreciating the coolness against his fevered skin. She released his arm and stroked the side of his head. His hair was damp with sweat, so he couldn’t imagine it was appealing to touch. But he appreciated that she did, stroking it gently.
“Your concoction better work,” Jhali said. “You look like bat droppings.”
“Then I feel very special that you’re rubbing my head.”
She snorted. “You should.”
“Yanko?” Tynlee asked from a few feet away.
Yanko lifted his head. “Yes?”
Two soldiers stood at her side. A twinge of embarrassment went through him. It was one thing to be seen getting a head rub in front of Tynlee, but two hulking Turgonian corporals? They stared at him with blank expressions, their hair glistening with moisture. Only then did Yanko realize clouds had come in, and a drizzle misted the air.
He cleared his throat and straightened as Tynlee stepped forward with a homemade pestle and one of the collapsible tin bowls from a soldier’s mess kit. It was full of fine black powder. She waved over one of the soldiers with a canteen and little tin cup. Tynlee measured a heaping spoonful into the water, stirred it, and handed it to Yanko.
“It will probably work best on an empty stomach,” she said.
“I haven’t eaten since… yesterday sometime.” He hadn’t felt up to it since waking. Looking down at the tar-colored water didn’t inspire his appetite to make an appearance. “I just chug it?”
“Yes. Four times a day. On an empty stomach.”
“It can’t kill me, right? If I, uh, messed up something?” Yanko nodded toward the repurposed water tank.
“It’s just burnt kelp, essentially. Activated charcoal is used for water filtration. It’ll be fine.”
“Right.” He thought about asking if she’d tried it, but he was the one coughing, and he was the one who’d made the concoction.
“I’ll drink with you,” she said, perhaps reading his thoughts again, and waved for a second tin. “Everyone who was exposed to the lake air around here should take it until we can get access to the other drug.”
The soldier eyed the mound of black powder as he poured a second cup of water for her. He said something gravely to her in Turgonian.
“Do I want to know what he said?” Yanko asked.
“He said I’m very brave.” Her eyes crinkled, but the humor didn’t last. She looked toward the men lying on blankets nearby. The tents had been broken down, leaving little else in the camp area. Dak was still there, not moving much.
She mixed herself a cup and drank deeply and with determination.
Yanko sighed and did the same. It didn’t taste as badly as he feared, but he noticed a gritty texture to the water, some of the tiny pieces not ground as finely as others.
When the tin was empty, he lowered it and waited. Nothing happened. He neither felt better nor bent forward and heaved it all up.
“I’m going to make use of the two assistants the general gave me—” Tynlee waved to the soldiers, who were watching them intently, as if they suspected it was only a matter of time before Tynlee and Yanko keeled over or vomited, “—and turn the rest of it into a fine powder. We’ll see if we can find some bags to pour portions into to deliver to the soldiers—and your new pirate friends.”
Yanko shook his head at the joke. He hadn’t even seen the pirates, so he was surprised everyone kept mentioning them. He would be surprised if they didn’t slink away into the ether after receiving their bags of powder.
“Will you tell them that they need to go to Kyatt to find a real drug?” he asked, feeling chagrined that he’d promised them a cure, and all he had was burned kelp.
“I’ll tell them. I don’t know how many of them will be welcome there.”
“Kyatt let Lakeo in,” Jhali stated.
Tynlee blinked. “Was that a joke?”
“Why does nobody ever recognize my jokes, Yanko?” Jhali asked.
“Your delivery is a touch deadpan.” He patted her on the back. “Honored Consul, what do you want me to do to help?” He would feel guilty doing nothing while she and the soldiers ground everything in the tank with that makeshift mortar and pestle.
“Take a nap, Yanko. You look like—”
“Bat droppings, I know. Or, according to Lakeo, owl pellets.”
“I was going to say a wad of grass the dog vomited onto the floor. Your face has a greenish tint.”
“The similes grow more and more appealing,” Yanko murmured.
Though Yanko felt he should do more to help, his body agreed with Tynlee’s suggestion of rest. He wandered toward Dak and the other supine soldiers, figuring he might as well lie down among the sick.
“Make sure he takes another dose in a couple of hours, Jhali,” Tynlee called after them. “I’ll send over a sack.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You don’t need to stand guard while I sleep,” Yanko said to Jhali, smiling wanly. “I promise not to go anywhere this time. No, wait.” He stopped as a realization struck him. “There’s not much point in trying to rid our systems of the toxins if we’re all still exposed to the plant, is there?”
Jhali’s eyes narrowed. “If you mean to move another colony of that stuff, you had better rest first. Otherwise, I’ll have to push you along in a wheelbarrow as you levitate it out to sea.”
“I doubt the Turgonians brought a wheelbarrow along.”
“Then I would have to carry you.” She frowned as he veered away from the assemblage of sick people and toward the rise that overlooked the lake. “You don’t look light.”
“I’ll just take a look and consider my options.”
Her frown deepened. “You should rest first.”
“Probably, but unless the charcoal does a lot more than we think it will, I could end up waking weaker rather than stronger, especially if the plant is still in the area.”
She didn’t look happy about the words, but she didn’t deny the truth to them. She clenched her jaw as she walked at his side, and she glared at the terrain ahead, her hand on the hilt of her dagger, as if daring any pirates to ambush them.
“Thanks for sticking with me,” he said.
She grunted by way of acknowledgment. Nurian mage hunters had a lot in common with dour Turgonian intelligence colonels.
“Later,” he said, “when I’m feeling better, I’ll rub your head, if you want.”
“Let’s see if you make it through the day without puking on yourself.”
“I suppose vomit would dampen the head-rubbing mood.”
Yanko trudged up to the top of the rise, his pace painfully slow. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Jhali grew impatient and slung him over her shoulder. Normally, he wouldn’t think a woman could do that, but she probably could.
When they reached the top, Yanko groaned.
; Jhali eyed him. “I thought I was joking about the vomit.”
“I’m not going to throw up. They might.” He pointed at the pirates camped around the far side of the lake.
Oh, they were back a few hundred yards from the shoreline, perhaps due to the stench that had grown stronger as soon as Yanko crested the rise, but far closer than was healthy. He wished he’d told them about the plant.
One unwise man stood right at the water’s edge with a homemade fishing pole in hand. Yanko slapped his palm to his face.
“Are there any fish in there?” Jhali asked.
“No.”
Yanko lowered his hand and reached toward the lake with his senses. A few of the pirates had noticed him and were pointing. The would-be fisherman jogged back to his camp. Yanko hoped he wasn’t about to be stampeded by men and women demanding a cure.
“I’ll keep an eye on them.” Jhali nodded for him to use his magic for whatever he needed.
“Thank you,” he murmured, letting his eyelids droop.
The colony of plants was still down there, nestled up to a steam vent he hadn’t noticed during his first visit. This time, he knew what to look for. He also knew, now that he had seen a more robust version of the plant in the cave lake, that this colony was dying. Irreversibly? He didn’t know, but he doubted anything but healthy vegetation would survive a transplant. His gardening experience told him that.
He gripped his chin as he contemplated the water. A pair of pirates headed around the lake’s edge and toward the rise.
“Will you deliver a message for me?” Yanko asked.
Jhali’s eyebrows twitched.
He would’ve gone to the pirates’ camp himself, but he was so tired, and the sooner he dealt with the plants, the better for everyone here.
“I don’t think they would survive being transplanted,” Yanko said, “so—”
“I don’t think you would survive another transplant,” Jhali interrupted.
“Possibly so.” Especially in his current state. “I’m going to kill them.” He felt like some evil plant-slaying overlord as he said the words, but he suspected that would be their fate, regardless, now that their environment had changed.
“Good,” Jhali said with feeling that promised she didn’t share any of his guilt.
“Please tell the pirates to move away from the lake. It’s very possible that, as we talked about earlier, killing the plants will cause more toxins to be released.” He wondered if the fact that the plants were dying was causing more toxins than normal to be released already.
“All right, but keep in mind that mage hunters don’t usually act as messengers for mages.”
“Does that mean I need to promise two head rubs?” he asked as she headed down to meet the pirates.
“And a foot rub,” she called over her shoulder.
Yanko smiled, then sank to his knees. Since they kept trying to buckle on him, he would save them the trouble. He didn’t think this would take nearly as much effort as transplanting the other colony had, but he also wasn’t sure how much power he could call upon with his body so weak.
Tynlee? he reached out telepathically before he started. The plants in the lake are weak and dying. I’m going to hasten them along in the hope that it’ll put an end to the release of toxins, but in case it gets worse before it gets better, you may want to warn the Turgonians.
You want to do that now? Before they finish moving the camp? They should be done by nightfall.
I might not be sensate by nightfall. Dak and I arrived at the same time, you know.
Dak is sensate. He’s just…
Weak. I need to do this while I have the power.
She sighed into his mind. Very well. I’ll tell Aldercrest.
Yanko considered the vegetation carefully, wondering if he should wait for Jhali to return and create a barrier around them while he worked? But what of all those pirates? Maybe he could create a barrier around the plants. Something that would keep whatever they released from escaping, at least until he let the barrier go.
He experimented with that before touching them, creating a dome like the one that had held in the prisoners on that island. Next, he debated how to burn something that was underwater. Or could he simply will his magic to damage the cells, so they would die?
He remembered once doing something similar to weeds growing along the walkway between the kennel and the greenhouse when his grandmother had asked him to pull them by hand. He had only been six or seven. It had worked, though he hadn’t understood the science behind it at the time. He’d felt bad as the weeds withered and died, and he’d run off to gather sunflower seeds to plant in the cracks so something else would grow in the void. Grandmother hadn’t been amused when the six-foot-tall sunflowers sprouted all along the walkway. He smiled faintly in memory, though he wondered what it would have been like to have a family that supported his interest in earth magic. If he ever had children, he would let them study whatever they wished.
“Yanko?” Jhali asked softly, not touching him. “They’re moving their camp.”
He nodded, and sweat dripped off his chin. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the fever or because of the effort creating the barrier required when he was so weak.
“Time to get this over with.” He willed the plants to die, partially by attacking their cells and partially by uprooting them.
They soon withered into lumps on the bottom. His senses told him that he’d succeeded, that they were dead.
He wiped the sweat from his cheeks. No, the tears. He blamed the illness for making him emotional about killing some plants. Deadly plants.
Tynlee? he asked again.
It’s done?
Yes, but I was wondering… You said something about the activated charcoal being used to purify water. Would there be any point in dumping some into the lake? Would it help clean the water?
It might bind the toxins and other organic matter to it, but all of it would still be sitting in the lake. And that’s all salt water, regardless. It’s not like we’ll ever be able to drink from there.
Raindrops fell onto Yanko’s head, and he looked up. The clouds had grown thicker and grayer. Maybe the rain would help clear some of the toxins from the air. And dilute the lake.
One day, unless there’s a lot of salt in the bedrock under the water, the lake should be filled with fresh water, Yanko replied. There’ll be fresh water all over, and people will be able to enjoy living here.
If you say so. You had better be prepared to trek all over the continent, dealing with those plants.
Maybe only the ones in mountain caves. I think if the Turgonians had waited a couple more months to explore, the ones in this lake, and any others exposed to the sunlight, would have died on their own.
Mm. Finish up and come drink some more of my black tea.
You should add some sugar to make it taste better.
Honey, dear. Everybody knows that honey is the preferred sweetener for tea. Perhaps the cook has some lemons too.
Yanko grimaced as he thought of lemon slices bobbing in the black liquid he’d consumed.
Jhali shifted her weight, reminding Yanko that he wasn’t quite done. He still held a barrier over the plant matter, and he was hesitant to release it, just in case. Maybe if he buried the plants under rubble? Would that lock in any potential for future danger?
Using the last of his energy, he cracked into the bedrock outside the magical dome he’d created, then levitated chunks of it over to cover the uprooted plants.
“What are you doing now?” Jhali stared at the surface of the lake, waves churning as the rocks shifted below.
His head started pounding again, so he didn’t waste his energy responding. He kept tearing stones away from the ancient earth, shifting them through his barrier one at a time, and dropping them over the plant matter until every bit of vegetation was buried under feet of silt and rock.
The effort was greater than he anticipated, and when he finished and tried to rise, all the
blood rushed away from his head, replaced by blackness. He pitched over, his last thought that it hadn’t been his knees that betrayed him.
13
Yanko was drowning. Deep in the ocean, too far from the surface to swim up, he was drowning.
He lurched upright, choking as liquid poured down his throat. He thrashed and tried to spit it out as hands gripped his shoulders, holding him in place.
“Yanko.” Dak’s stern voice penetrated his nightmares.
“Are you awake in there?” Tynlee asked.
A parrot squawked. Kei. Yanko felt a surge of warmth since he hadn’t seen his feathered friend in days. Kei had stayed on the yacht and far away from the stench of the continent. Birds were wiser than humans.
Someone pried his eyelids open, and Yanko found himself looking at Tynlee and Dak, both hovering over him and wearing concerned expressions.
“Others who have faithfully been taking the charcoal four times a day are feeling better,” Tynlee said, “but you haven’t kept up with the regimen.”
Yanko rubbed his head. The last thing he remembered was collapsing on the rise above the lake. “Haven’t I been unconscious?”
“Yes,” Tynlee said with exasperation that he didn’t understand.
He peered around and recognized the wooden walls of his cabin on her yacht. Someone had carried him back from the camp? How long had he been out?
“Three days,” she said tartly, as if this was his fault. Granted, he had chosen to draw upon more magic than was wise—and more than once—but the situations had demanded it. “Do you know how hard it is to pour a liquid down the throat of an unconscious person?”
Kei cocked an eye toward Yanko from the back of the chair and squawked in apparent agreement.
“Perhaps you should have tried the honey,” Dak said.
His usually bronze skin had a pale cast to it, but he looked haler than the last time Yanko had seen him.
“Who knew he had such powerful gag reflexes?” Tynlee muttered. “Here, drink this. And that.”
She pointed to the cup that Dak held and to a second one sitting on a shelf. The first had the familiar black tint. The second was a sickly pink-orange.
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