Grabbing hold of the familiar green magic, Sarn flung it, willing the magic to catch his son. A bright emerald bubble flared around Ran, and he stopped falling. But his sack hit the stairs and Bear cartwheeled around a bend. Its button eyes widened in surprise.
“Bear!” Ran shrieked as he landed on the radiant bubble’s floor and bounced. His tiny hands reached for his falling friend.
Sarn lashed out a second time releasing a cloud of green motes. They gathered into a bright net which sailed around a bend and returned cradling Bear.
“Are you okay?” Sarn asked as his magic floated his son into his arms and he hugged the child.
Ran extended his arms. “Bear!”
“Bear’s okay, but are you?”
Ran nodded as the magic carried his furry friend into his arms. Squeezing Bear, Ran turned his tear streaked face into Sarn's chest. And he held his son tight against his racing heart.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
His son’s eyes said, no more stairs.
And Sarn agreed, but the change in plan left him with a problem. One his magic rectified. Luminous green hands lifted his bag from the step he’d dropped it on. With luck, nothing had broken.
The magic sent another shimmering tendril to seize his son’s bag from where it had fallen. Magic removed the jar of preserves and turned it for inspection. By some miracle, it had remained intact despite its tumble.
“Wow.” Ran stared at the show.
Sarn nodded unable to stop or speak. New muscles stretched as they worked. How was he doing this?
After displaying the unbroken jar, his magic added it to his load. Sarn rubbed his shoulder. It felt dented from bearing the weight of their dinner. Relieved of his burden, he watched the sack swing around a bend in the stair. Pain slashed across Sarn’s brow, and his sight dimmed as a spectral hand darted into the magic’s flow.
For a heartbeat, the ghost boy gained solidity. It looked at him with frightened eyes then turned its hand diverting an emerald beam into the gathering shadows. They vanished the instant his magic touched them.
“Why did you do that?”
The ghost pointed to its eyes then to where the shadows had been.
“Are you saying the shadows have eyes?”
The ghost boy nodded.
“How can that be?”
The specter shrugged its thin shoulders then winked out when Ran stuck his hand into the magic’s stream.
Slumped against the wall, Sarn compacted the magic into a shining bubble around them. If there was something in the shadows, it would see nothing but green light now. And this was one more thing he needed to sort out after work if there was a later.
“Are you okay?”
“I am now,” Ran said, but still clung to him. And after the scares of the day, the boy deserved some coddling, so Sarn held his son tight.
“Yeah, because the magic saved you.” Magic could protect his son far better than he could. Sarn rubbed the bridge of his nose. Why hadn’t he slept when he’d had the chance?
“No, you saved me. The magic does what you tell it.” Ran poked Sarn in the belly eliciting a grunt.
“Yeah, but I don’t know what I’m doing with it. It’s all guesswork and good luck, and I’m sick of it.” And whose fault was that? His, of course, it was his magic. Sarn rubbed his eyes. As soon as everyone ceased chasing him, he needed to figure out how the magic worked and what he could do with it.
“’Cause you don’t play with it.” Ran gave him a pointed glare.
“The magic?”
Ran nodded.
Sarn leaned his head back against the wall.
“We should do that tomorrow.” Ran nodded, liking the idea a whole lot more than Sarn did.
“We’ll see.” Sarn gained his feet still holding his son, who was ignoring him. He sighed. Ran had a one-track mind at times.
“That’ll be our ad-ven-ture.” Ran nodded, satisfied with his plan until he noticed the elevation change. “No more stairs. I don’t like them.”
“Neither do I.” Sarn gave the spiral affair a baleful glare then hurried to the Lower Quarters to collect their dinner.
“They’re okay.” Miren dumped his books on the table and gave the bubbling pot a suspicious glance. “What are you cooking? I’m only asking because your cooking skills are limited to reheating things.”
Sarn nodded and sat back on his heels to let the oats cook. If they needed stirring, he’d be in trouble. “I thought we could use the preserves to flavor it.”
“Sounds good,” Miren sank onto the stool, rubbing his knee.
“Are you okay?”
“It’s the damp of this place.” Miren indicated Ran with a wave. “What’s wrong with him? Is he tired?”
Ran clutched his bear and curled in close.
“Yeah, he’s okay.” Sarn stroked his son’s greasy hair, grimacing when his fingers tangled in it. Tomorrow he’d have to make bathing a priority for them both.
Miren’s expression soured as he opened his mouth to ask the question they all dreaded, but Sarn preempted him.
“I’ll go when nineteenth bell rings.”
They said nothing more as Sarn divided up and decorated the oats without a spoon. He added silverware to his list of items he needed to procure. Though Ran dug his fingers into their shared portion with gusto, no scare was bad enough to depress his appetite.
But Sarn left his untouched. Something about his cave felt off. Piles of dirty clothes competed for floor space with books and papers, but nothing looked out of the ordinary. Sarn gave it up as a lost cause. Only the Foundlings knew where he lived, but that cast of shady characters changed more often than his clothes. Still, it niggled at him, so he consulted his map to see which Foundlings were in residence tonight.
A bell rang nineteen times startling Sarn. He started to rise but stopped when Ran clutched his leg.
“I have to go now, but I’ll be back.” Sarn pried Ran’s sticky fingers from his pants leaving pink smears behind.
“Don’t go.” Ran fixed desperate eyes on Sarn.
“I have to go.”
All the shocks of the day rebounded and Ran dissolved into tears.
Sarn hugged him tight. “Listen to me. I’ll be back soon. I can only speak the truth.” When his magic allowed those words to pass unchanged, a weight slid off Sarn’s shoulders, and he felt lightheaded for a moment. “I will be back.”
But Ran's fears remained unchanged thanks to his mother's abandonment. Meeting his son’s eyes, Sarn spoke to that fear. Maybe his words could soothe it away. “I’ll never leave you.”
“You promise?” Ran sniffed and rubbed at his bloodshot eyes.
Sly child, Sarn tweaked his son's nose. “You know what I mean. If I go, I’ll always come back.”
The implications of what he’d said staggered Sarn. Could it mean what he thought it did? But how could it unless he and his son died together someday. Logic screamed a denial at Sarn. He was sixteen years older than his son. But his magic would not allow him to lie thus confirming, he and his son would die together someday. Or he would outlive his son, in defiance of the natural order.
Miren said something, but his complaint hit Sarn's ears as a burst of static as his world shattered around him. The word ‘no’ kept ringing in his ears. Fuck Fate, he would not fail his son, ever.
Judging by his furrowed brow, even Ran sensed something significant had passed. Fear no longer clouded his eyes. Worse, curiosity lit them, portending complicated questions.
Maybe he should go to work and avoid them. “I have to go now—” Sarn groped for words. His mouth was dry, and each syllable he uttered rubbed sandpaper across his throat. “Will you be okay until I return?”
Ran nodded and held out his arms for one last squeeze. Sarn gathered him in as the ghost boy poked his head through the door and touched a book Miren had dropped on the way in. Before Sarn could glance away, images flashed across his mind’s eye—Hadrovel, a thirteen-pointed star bleeding
and a shadow looming over his son.
Sarn squeezed his eyes closed, breaking the connection. A book thudded to the ground, and the low-level nausea he’d been feeling since leaving the storeroom vanished with the specter.
“Do you still have those seeds?” Sarn said into his son’s greasy hair.
“The ones from the Queen Tree?”
“Yes, keep them close tonight.”
“Okay.”
A mystified Ran rushed to fetch them and returned with his bear. A silver glow shined from Bear’s belly flap spreading The Queen of All Trees’ soothing presence throughout their cave, easing some of Sarn’s fears.
Had one of Bear’s button eyes winked at him? Sarn rubbed tired eyes. His body tingled with apprehension, but there was nothing else he could do to protect his son except trust in her power. As long as her light shined, Ran would be ok.
Since he was out of time, Sarn pushed to his feet ignoring his torn and filthy clothes. No one would see him anyway, so it didn’t matter if he went one more night without changing them.
“Lock this door and keep it locked until you wake up.” Sarn paused on the threshold still unable to go. There was still something wrong, but he’d failed to turn up anything. The first stabs of the promises he’d made compelled him to pull the door shut and go. But he held back, needing to hear the lock sliding home before he broke into a run and raced against time. But not even he could outpace the questions boiling in his mind.
Chapter 26
“Sarn! Stop!” Nolo shouted, and his command slammed Sarn to a halt, but the questions kept firing.
How could his son not outlive him? Sarn replayed the conversation for the tenth time. There was a flaw in this somewhere, and his sanity depended on finding it.
Nolo trotted over, and Sarn pointed to the ceiling where metal tubes piped the bells’ chiming into every level.
“I’m not late.”
“No, you’re not,” Nolo studied him. “Are you all right?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Sarn’s brow puckered in confusion. Was his unsettled mental state visible? In truth, he was about as far from all right as he could get and still be breathing. But if he admitted that, he’d spend the night fending off flesh-menders. No thank you, I have answers to find.
“The mountain shook, and we thought—”
“It had something to do with me.” Perhaps it had. Tonight, was full of revelations, none of them good ones. Sarn gestured to himself. “Well, I’m standing here aren’t I?”
“It’s the second time in two days, and you’re telling me it had nothing to do with you?” Astounded, Nolo’s eyes searched Sarn, and he did his best to cover his shock.
When was the second quake? Oh right, during the scuffle in the storeroom, he had forgotten about that. Not good since Dirk was unlikely to return the favor.
“Was anyone hurt?”.
Nolo shook his head. “No, both quakes were minor from what I can tell. Are you certain you’re alright? You look wrung out.”
Because he was, and he’d continue to be until he resolved whatever the ghost boy’s death had set into motion. Sarn glanced at his numb arm. The ghost boy let go, but it stayed close even though he couldn’t help it right now.
Why did Nolo care? Where was this concern when the Rangers had captured him and handed him over to his personal torturer? Unable to bear his master’s scrutiny any longer, Sarn turned his back on Nolo. He knew what selfishness lurked in the Ranger's heart.
“I’m not late, and I never skip work. So why were you looking for me?”
“I know, I called out because there’s something I need you to do.”
One of his masters needed him to do something? Stunned, Sarn stared at Nolo until a black hand held out a blindfold.
“And put this on before someone sees you.”
Sarn wound the blindfold around his eyes trapping his hood underneath in his haste to go. Nolo turned Sarn toward a residential corridor.
“Where are we going?”
“To get you cleaned up. You’re a mess, and I need you presentable.”
“For what?” Since when did the Rangers ever let anyone see him? The question slipped out before realization hit Sarn. There was only one person who would want to see him—his owner. So, the Lord of the Mountain had requested an audience. “He’s here?”
“Yes, and he wants to see you.”
“Tonight? Why?”
“I don’t know.” But Nolo disproved of the visit, his sharp tone made that clear as he listed what not to do. “No cursing, no attitude—in fact, it’s better if you don’t speak at all. Just stand there and let him see you. He just wants to make sure you’re still breathing.”
Why did Lord Nalshira pick tonight for his yearly inspection? Sarn wanted to punch something. He had too many things he needed to do instead of wasting his time playing produce for his purchaser to admire.
A door opened on quiet hinges a half hour later. They were in freeman’s territory—another blank spot on his map. But not one Sarn could fill in anytime soon since the Indentured were not allowed in these tunnels.
“You can take off the blindfold now.”
Sarn picked at the knot until it fell out then let the black strip flutter to the tiled floor.
As he spoke, Nolo touched each item in turn. “Towels are here. Soap is there. Clean clothes are over there. In half an hour, you and your clothes had better be clean. Consider it a damned order.” Nolo shot Sarn a glare before slamming the door.
Sarn regarded the stone basin full of water and the cake of soap lying on its rim. Removing the layers of dirt and grime would rob him of an essential part of his disguise. No good would come of this and his gut churned with foreboding. What if he skipped the whole bath routine and met his noble master as he was?
Dust clung to his clothes, and it had worked itself into the greasy mess of his hair too. Food stains, courtesy of his son, decorated his tunic and trousers. Both knees were torn out of his trousers exposing a generous amount of hairy leg. Yeah, he was a frightful mess, but he owed Lord Joranth nothing but contempt.
The bastard had handed him over to Hadrovel the psychopath Orphan Master. At the time, he’d been fourteen and sickly thanks to exposure. Sarn sat on the tub’s wide brim. Part of him wished Joranth’s men had not spotted his damned luminous eyes and pulled him out of that snowbank six years ago.
What would it have taken—another couple of hours? And he might have slipped into sleep, cocooned in snow never to reawaken. Miren would have died too, and Ran would never have been born. No first word, no first step, no first smile, and Sarn had his answer. For one of Ran’s smiles, he’d do it all over again.
Dipping his hand into the pool, he relaxed at its warm touch. Red lumir stones glowed heating the water. Before he could get any more annoyed, Sarn pulled off his boots but left his clothes on as he submerged. His magic retreated as he lathered his tunic and the scarred skin underneath.
A translucent head popped up over the rim of the tub, and the specter plunged its hand into the water chilling it. For the second time, a shadow separated from the ghost, and it turned frightened eyes on Sarn. Cramps wracked Sarn’s gut, and he doubled over as a wrongness wrenched his insides.
Black tentacles shot out of the blobby shadow, and they seized the specter. The ghost boy struggled to break free, and Sarn sought some way to help, but the magic ignored his summons. He was neck deep in water whose touch had driven it deep into the core of his being, and it refused to come out. Watery hands seized Sarn, and he flailed as his limbs refused to work. Both the ghost and the shadow vanished as a wave of water washed over them—a wave wearing Hadrovel’s face.
“I told you to stay out of this.”
An invisible force whipped the bathwater into a funnel then toppled it. Water slammed into Sarn knocking him out of the tub. He hit the floor shoulder first and managed to keep his right arm between his head and the wet tiles. Magic sparked on his skin but recoiled from his sodden clothing.
<
br /> “If you persist in this, he’ll see you. And everything I’ve done will come to nothing.” A Hadrovel-shaped geyser lifted the tub and threw it.
As Sarn rolled under the projectile, white magic pushed down the water-hating green one and lashed out, sending a bolt of lightning at Hadrovel.
“No, it’s too soon. You shouldn’t be able to do that, not yet. No good will come of this. Mark my words.” The water-borne creature borrowing Hadrovel’s likeness collapsed into a puddle.
There were so many questions he should have asked instead of throwing an unknown power at his attacker. But he hadn’t, so Sarn sat there staring at the white flames dancing across his knuckles. It was the same power that had made a grab for him in the river two days ago, and in all that time, he still had no answers.
“What are you talking about?”
His question echoed in the flooded chamber reinforcing how lost and alone he was. Even the white magic abandoned him. It receded back to wherever it went when not in use vanishing from his perceptions. Sarn punched the nearest puddle sending water flying and pain shooting across his knuckles when no magic softened the blow.
Warning of an incoming visitor roused Sarn. His map tried to form but fizzled out since it was maintained by his earth-loving green magic, which refused to come out until he dried off. All at once, everything flooded back—Nolo’s orders, the impending visit with Lord Joranth and the mess surrounding him.
“Oh shit.”
Rising took some doing since Sarn was wearing five pounds of sodden cloth thanks to his cloak. It would take hours to dry, but there was nothing he could do except wring the thing out with extreme prejudice.
Cold air kissed his wet skin when he traded soaked garments for damp ones, and he shuddered. Green magic uncurled in response to his unease, and his head map reappeared. Though it stayed minimized at the edge of his vision, he could keep an eye on his approaching visitor.
A touch to his face confirmed he could forgo shaving for another fortnight at least. Thankfully, his hair grew an inch every two to three years. A good thing too, since he didn’t see a razor anywhere. The Rangers still didn’t trust him with sharp objects. But he found his saturated boots and had to pour out their contents before he could stuff his foot into them.
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