by Bex Hogan
I hurry over to him, my second batch of medicine ready. ‘Now what?’
With his uninjured hand he passes me a small bottle filled with fine white fragments. ‘Now add a pinch of this.’
I take it and open the lid. ‘What is it?’
‘Shavings. Of animal bones.’
Glancing up at him, I see the challenge in his eyes. If he thinks me squeamish, he doesn’t know me yet. I add the grains of bone and mix it in well, looking at him for approval when I’m done.
‘And now for the most important part,’ he says. He pulls a small book from his pocket and hands it to me. I open it to see pages filled with the ancient language of the Mages. ‘It is the incantation that takes a potion from ordinary to extraordinary. The words are nothing in the mouths of people without magic. You are the vessel. Let’s see if you truly have the gift or not. Choose what words seem right to you.’
My heart beats a little faster. I can feel the magic rising inside me; my blood starts to heat and my skin burns from the inside out. I stir the remedy again and this time whisper the word, ‘Vellja’ over it too. If I’ve remembered correctly, it means ‘heal’.
Gaius offers me his burnt hand, and once again I rub the paste over the raw skin, but instantly know something is different this time. Before it was an unremarkable act, the simple appliance of ointment to wound. This time I feel the crackle of skin, a pulsing energy, and I think he does too, because he pulls quickly away, giving me a slightly suspicious look. He immediately hides it, but I wonder what I’ve done wrong.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, my confidence shaken. ‘Did I make a mistake?’
He is staring at me now, and I know something’s not gone to plan. Once more he wipes his hand clean and holds it up for us to look at.
I have to blink several times before I’m certain what I’m seeing is real. The skin shows no sign of any burn – not even a scar.
‘How did you do that?’ Gaius almost sounds like he’s accusing me of something.
‘I just did what you asked. It’s good, though, right? Your skin is completely healed.’
‘What I wanted to teach you was the difference between a remedy and a potion. That a potion is faster than a remedy. I expected to see noticeable improvement, not a complete cure.’
Our eyes meet and I see my own uncertainty reflected there.
‘It would seem your magic is indeed aligned with healing,’ he says eventually. ‘In fact, I would go so far as to say you appear to have a link to the life force itself. It may even be possible one day for you to heal with a single touch.’
It seems unimaginable to think I could ever wield such a power and I’m about to tell him so, until a memory nudges at my mind. A memory of holding a broken little moonbird in my hands on the deck of the Maiden and willing it to survive. Of seeing it recover and assuming I had been wrong about how close to death it was. Is it possible my touch did heal it after all? That the magic within me answered my deepest plea without my knowledge?
I share the story with Gaius and his dishevelled eyebrows twitch upwards. ‘You have a gift. What we must do now is teach you how to use that power on command. That is the challenge before us. Are you prepared to do all it takes to harness your abilities?’
‘Yes, as long as you don’t do anything like that again. What if I couldn’t have cured you?’
‘Marianne, do not make the mistake of thinking what we do in this room is safe.’
While my tone was playful, his is deadly serious and the mood in the room shifts.
‘Magic isn’t safe,’ he continues. ‘It’s wild, unpredictable. Trying to harness it is dangerous, both for us and those we wish to use it on. You must understand the sacrifice required of you to become a Mage. Are you prepared to take the risk?’
His words are meant to warn me, possibly even scold me, but they thrill me.
‘Yes.’
And his smile returns. ‘Good. Then let us continue.’
I barely leave the sanctuary of Gaius’s potion room for the next few weeks. My eyes have been opened to a vast new world of possibilities and it’s staggering to realise how little I knew before.
My mornings are spent in study, reading through his papers and understanding the properties of plants and herbs in greater depth. I spend hours memorising incantations and experimenting with different ingredients in the many cauldrons Gaius provides.
He works me hard, demanding perfection from me and my craft. Though he can be gruff at times, I know he’s pleased with me when a smile twitches at the corner of his mouth.
In the afternoons everything changes. Gaius brings me rats from the kitchens, still hanging from the cook’s traps. He lays them out in front of me, like a cat delivering a gift, and I attempt to heal them with nothing more than my touch.
Every time I fail.
Though I’ve started to recognise the various sensations magic creates in my body – some harmless, some curious, some almost painful – I cannot get close to commanding it.
And I try hard. The pitiful noises the rats make with their bodies half crushed by the cruel traps distress me, as does the sight of them trying to twist free from their torment and failing, their spines snapped by the lethal bar that’s imprisoned them.
Again and again I focus on the need to save them, trying to replicate the instances before when the magic has come so willingly to my call, but it remains silent. Unreachable.
It’s frustrating Gaius, I can tell, though while I work he never speaks. Only watches. Sometimes he takes pity on me and allows me to try a potion on the rats, but I’m yet to discover one that can mend bone and repair organs.
When the creatures inevitably die from their injuries, I resume my practice of autopsying, something I started doing when I was living aboard the Maiden. Now, no longer needing to keep it secret, I can undo the body in a more methodical way, peeling back flesh, removing organs and laying them out on the benches to understand how they connect. Gaius has even helped me boil the flesh off several carcasses, so I can study the skeleton more closely. I can see where the small bones have broken or been crushed, sometimes just the backbone, but sometimes the ribs too. The occasional poor rat has had his skull crushed and was already beyond my help.
For all my failings Gaius doesn’t chastise me.
‘You must simply keep trying,’ he says. ‘We know you have it in you.’
He asks over and over about my ability to see threads of energy rise from a dying, or even dead, body. It’s not something he’s come across before, and though he speaks of it as a wonderful gift, something deep inside me wants to reject his praise. So far it’s done nothing good.
‘Only because you haven’t harnessed your ability properly,’ he says during one of our many discussions on the topic. ‘As you’re discovering, all skills must be practised, even ones you’re naturally gifted at.’
I give him a withering look, as I peel redroot. ‘What do you suggest? Would you like to stab yourself and see if I can fix you in time?’
He scoffs at my sarcasm and flicks some seeds in my direction. ‘Of course not. But maybe we should forget about trying to heal the rats while they live, and should instead concentrate on bringing them back from death.’
I shake my head. ‘A boy far wiser than his years once told me I shouldn’t try to, that it can do no good. And after what happened to Lilah I’m inclined to agree with him.’
‘But that was only your inexperience,’ Gaius argues. ‘Listen to what you’re saying. No good? You could raise the dead, Marianne.’
I remember what happened on the Ninth Isle and think that perhaps the dead might not want to return.
‘I want to heal. Raising the dead isn’t natural.’
‘Well, then the dying. You could bring them back from the brink.’
‘You assume there are always threads there to restore. None of the rats have had any.’ A fact I find fascinating. I don’t know why some deaths offer the chance to be undone, while others don’t, but I wonder if
it has something to do with the suddenness of the demise. Too quick and all trace of life is immediately extinguished. Too slow and prolonged, and there is not enough energy left at the very end to salvage.
I gesture to the ingredients laid out in front of us. ‘Besides, you’re teaching me the power of potions. Firewort can stave off death, I’ve seen it.’
‘Why would you want to settle for such limited abilities? What if you don’t have access to the ingredients you need? Another Mage might have to resign themselves to that situation, but you have the potential to go beyond, to summon the magic within.’
And to prove his point Gaius grabs the stick of redroot from me and places it before him. Raising his hand and closing his eyes, he mutters words under his breath and I watch the redroot burst into flames. I grab a jug of water and throw it over the burning mass before it can spread to the very flammable contents of the room.
‘You see?’ he says. ‘There’s so much more than potions.’
He’s right of course, and I double my efforts in my attempts to heal the rats – for what good it does me.
What little time I’m not with Gaius is spent in the company of my friends. True to their words, Mordecai and Jax have been out travelling around the settlements seeking information, but to their frustration the Hooded remain as elusive as ever.
Astrid and Olwyn meanwhile have struck up quite a friendship, which pleases me no end. In between teaching Olwyn the skills required to become a Guardian, the two of them have subtly been speaking with other people, trying to find out where loyalties really lie.
‘Part of the problem,’ Astrid says one evening, as we sit in Mordecai’s room together, all catching up on the day’s events, ‘is that virtually no one has met you. How can they support a potential Queen they’ve never even seen?’
‘All right,’ I say. ‘What do you suggest? Arlan’s hardly going to parade me through the palace.’
‘How about you come and train with us tomorrow?’ Olwyn says. ‘You won’t meet everyone, but the courtyard’s always busy, and word about your skills will spread. You don’t have to do anything, just be yourself.’
‘That’s not a bad idea,’ Jax says.
I agree, but it means disturbing my work with Gaius and I’m reluctant to risk any progress I might be making with the rats.
‘I suppose so.’ I could hardly sound less enthusiastic.
‘I know you’re enjoying your studies,’ Olwyn says. ‘But I’ve barely seen you in weeks.’ She hesitates. ‘It might be good for you to do something different.’
With a pang of guilt I realise why I’ve felt so pleased she’s grown close with Astrid. It means I don’t have to worry about being responsible for her. I check myself quietly. I mustn’t forget who my true friends are.
‘You’re right,’ I say, stretching to clutch her hand. ‘I’ve missed you. It’d be nice to spend some time together.’
‘And meet your loyal protectors.’ Mordecai sounds bitter. He’s really growing to hate his own people.
There’s a knock at the door and we all glance up in surprise.
‘Expecting anyone?’ Jax asks as Mordecai gets to his feet.
‘No,’ he says, and I notice his hand rests on his dagger as he goes to the door.
He opens it a fraction and exchanges words with the person on the other side, before closing it and turning to us all.
‘We’d better go,’ he says. ‘There’s something happening in the throne room.’
As we hurry down the corridor, Mordecai reaches for my arm. ‘Gaius sent someone to alert us. Whatever’s going on, our presence isn’t wanted.’
‘Do we know what’s wrong?’
Mordecai shakes his head. ‘No, but whatever it is, I don’t think you’re going to like it.’
He’s warning me to keep my temper and hold my tongue, but I won’t make any promises I’m likely to break.
As we walk into the throne room, I quickly take in the scene. Rafe is sitting on the throne – actually on the throne – and instantly my blood boils. How dare he? There are at least thirty Guardians in the room, most of whom seem to be there to protect him, but there are a handful storming angrily away from the throne towards us, and there’s a definite atmosphere of mutiny in the air.
As one of the men pushes past us, Mordecai grabs his arm.
‘What’s going on?’
The man points at Rafe. ‘Ask him.’
I can feel my opportunity to find out what happened slipping away and decide I’m going to have to act before these men leave.
With as much authority as I can muster I stride towards the throne, my eyes locked on the boy upon it and the two people either side of him.
‘What is happening?’ I demand to know. ‘Why are these men so angry?’
Arlan narrows his eyes when he sees me, but it’s Rafe who answers. ‘What is she doing here?’
‘A good question,’ Arlan says. ‘Your presence was not requested.’
‘It doesn’t have to be.’ I see everyone flinch slightly at my tone of voice and satisfaction creeps in. I’m sick of them treating me like a nobody in my own palace. ‘You seem to be under a misapprehension that I’ve granted the throne to Rafe, but I have done no such thing. Until such time as I do – if I do – he has no right to sit there like a king, nor does he have any right to exclude me from matters of importance. So you will answer me. What is happening?’
For the first time since I’ve arrived I see a glimmer of fear in Arlan’s and Eena’s eyes. They had completely underestimated me.
When they don’t answer, the man Mordecai spoke to decides to do me the courtesy.
‘We’ve travelled from Arbner,’ he says. When I look blank he adds, ‘A nearby settlement. We were only passing through, but found a town filled with grief, a wailing like I’ve never known.’
‘The Hooded?’
He nods. ‘They took all the children.’
‘All of them?’ I can barely say the words.
His jaw clenches. ‘All of them.’ For a moment he composes himself before spinning on Rafe. ‘So we galloped here with every haste to rally help. But it seems our hands are tied and we must stand by while atrocities are committed.’
‘You have to send help,’ I say to anyone who will listen, almost speechless with shock. ‘We may still be able to catch up with them.’
Arlan fixes his most steely gaze on me. ‘The Hooded are masters of disappearance. We’ll never find them.’
‘They won’t find it so easy to hide in shadows with a settlement full of children in tow.’
‘Has it occurred to you this might be what they want?’ Eena says. ‘For us to send out our best men and leave Rafe exposed for them to swoop in and kill?’
The fire of my rage is burning bright now. ‘You have hundreds of men! Send half and you’ll still be well protected. These are children we’re talking about.’ I manage to stop myself before I say that I doubt the Hooded care about the life of Rafe. What threat does he possibly pose to them?
‘The decision has been made,’ Arlan says. ‘You will not challenge the Prince, nor will the Guardians disobey his orders.’
Only a calming hand on my shoulder stops me from rushing forward to punch his arrogant face. Olwyn knows my temper is about to erupt.
‘Perhaps we should ask the Mage what he advises,’ Eena says and I feel a wave of relief. Gaius will help. Gaius will make this right.
Stepping out of the shadows, Gaius avoids looking at me. ‘I agree with the Prince. It is unwise to pursue them when we have no knowledge of where they’ve gone. It would be a hollow endeavour.’
The betrayal stings. I’ve lost this battle as I have every other since I arrived.
‘If you let the West burn, then what will be left for you to rule?’ I say softly to Rafe. ‘Listen to your own heart, not those around you. And don’t let fear paralyse you. There’s always something you can do.’
And with that I leave, emptiness growing like a chasm in my chest. I wa
nt to be alone and so I don’t wait for my friends, but when I reach my room Gaius is there. I don’t know what secret passage he must have used to get here so quickly from the throne room, and right now I don’t care.
‘Marianne—’ he begins, but I cut him off.
‘How could you? I thought you were my friend?’
‘I am your teacher,’ he says with restraint. ‘But I advise the royalty, and as you haven’t claimed the throne that still means I have to counsel that little imbecile. And whether you like it or not, charging out into the unknown is not a good plan. It’s an impetuous one, one that will get many people killed. Your impatience does you no credit. Sometimes you still act very much like a Snake.’
My anger flares up at the insult, but I fight it back. I don’t want to quarrel with Gaius. Instead I lean my head against the cold stone and close my eyes.
‘Do you know what you need?’ he says. ‘Some air. I’ve had you cooped up inside for too long. There’s a small doorway in the west wing that leads on to an external staircase. If you were to slip out that way, no one would see you go. Why don’t you go and clear your head?’
I frown. ‘I thought it was dangerous out there?’
He smiles as he starts to walk away. ‘And here I was thinking you lived for danger.’
The prospect is too appealing to resist. The walls of the palace feel like they’re closing in on me and I can hardly breathe. Pausing only to grab my cloak, I follow his directions, creeping along the hallways until I find a little door that looks so much a part of the wall I almost miss it. I have to shove it hard, but when it opens a blast of cold night air hits my face. I’m outside.
I hesitate for a moment. Perhaps I should tell one of my friends where I’m going, but then I decide against it. They’d only want to come with me, and right now I need to be on my own. I’m too angry for company. Besides, Gaius knows where I am.
Stone steps jut out from the wall and I run down them with such speed I feel like I’m gliding. Almost flying. It’s good to be out, even if there is menace in the air. The stairway leads to a lower part of the wall and it’s easy to scramble over and escape the confines of the palace. Keeping low, I prowl beyond the ramparts towards the small settlement in the distance. My mind is muddled with conflict. Am I really going to stand by and let that boy be manipulated by Arlan and his mother to make unconscionable decisions? He can’t rule the Western Isles; he just can’t. And yet … I don’t want to either. For all the sense of responsibility I feel towards the throne, the possessiveness I experience whenever I see Rafe on it, I still don’t want to be the Queen. I just don’t want someone worse to take my place.