“Took you long enough to work that out,” Tineke said sourly. “The vigil is finished. We’re ordered back to the trials to pick up the pieces.”
A stir of unvoiced unease answered her statement.
…pieces?
Viola hurried toward them. “I need someone to carry me there, quickly.”
“I can,” Istvan said. “Climb up.”
Koos boosted Viola onto Istvan’s back.
She clutched both feathers and fur. “Go!”
Chapter 14
Waking from the vigil hurt. Physical sensation hurt. It was as if I’d been skinned and my raw nerves touched everything. Sound was too loud. The stars above us bombarded me with light. Suns, all of them were suns.
I closed my eyes, but opened them hurriedly. Uncomfortable as reality was, I infinitely preferred it to another hallucination.
Unless I was hallucinating now?
A woman screamed. Another sobbed. A man howled a lone protest of anguished fury.
Oh God. We were all waking up, and others’ dream-reality had been worse than mine. My life had been privileged. I’d been lucky, and that luck had made the remembering easier. I hadn’t had to relive torture or the death of a partner or child. I hadn’t—
I stopped counting my blessings and feeling guilty about them as I vomited at the memory of killing a man. My life hadn’t been easy. It just could have been worse.
The rain had stopped. The poncho I wore was wet and muddy. So was my hair.
Magistrate Istvan landed. A figure tumbled off him and ran toward the nearest screaming woman. Winona. Winona was tearing herself apart with sound. The screams came from primal pain.
I tried to go to her. One step. Two. I tripped over grass or my own feet or nothing at all, and fell.
Other Faerene appeared, either out of nowhere or running into the clearing. Some flew in, as the black griffin had.
The fire pits flared to life with warmth and light.
Winona’s screams ceased.
I crawled to one of the fire pits. Until I warmed up enough for the blood to flow through my limbs and take the cramps out of them, I was next to useless.
“Damn and blast this stupidity.” Magistrate Istvan blocked me. “Be still. This is a drying wind.”
A gigantic hairdryer seemed to blow at me from all directions. My wet clothes steamed, then dried. I warmed. Some of my panic and fear receded. It’s strange how physical and emotional symptoms can get confused. As my physical condition improved, so did my mental balance.
Magistrate Istvan tucked me under his wing.
It was such an unlikely action that I didn’t protest or worry.
“There is nothing you can do that the healers and tutors aren’t already doing.” His voice was odd. It had a deepness to it, and yet, an eagle’s cutting edge.
“I’m human,” I said. “They’re not.” But I didn’t try to wriggle away from him. In fact, I nestled into his soft fur as his wing blocked out the world. After the bizarre vigil hallucinations, his substantial body and uncompromising attitude fortified me. Just a few minutes, I promised myself. Then I’ll go help.
Istvan was silent for a minute as he considered my response. “You are human, but that is why you must not interfere. All of the familiar candidates must learn to rely on—to trust—Faerene.”
“As I am with you?”
His silence this time was even longer. “I’m not suited to be your familiar partner.”
“Huh.” I peeped out from under his wing at what now resembled an open air trauma ward, although the trauma was psychic rather than physical. Faerene rushed about, while humans wept. “I don’t want to be your partner, but why do you say you’re not suited? What have you all learned from this vigil?” I spat the last word.
“We’ve learned that it hurt you, all of you,” Istvan said quietly. “What more we’ve learned, I don’t know. The scholars are analyzing the results.”
I leaned heavily against him. That’s all we were to the Faerene: data to be analyzed; slaves to be experimented with. The gray light of predawn crept in among the light from the fire pits. I felt like the light, all washed out and dispirited.
“I am not suited to look after the young,” Istvan said as he protected me.
“How old are you?”
“Six centuries.” He raised his voice. “I have her.”
I opened my eyes. When had they drifted shut? Had the weight of six centuries depressed them?
Rory looked at me peeping out from the shelter of Istvan’s wing. His shoulders lowered with relief.
I ducked back, hiding from him. Rejecting him.
Why hide from him, but accept shelter from a different Faerene? Because Istvan looked different. I expected him to act differently, even to value humans less. Rory had fooled me. Even after I’d seen him as wolf and wolfman, I’d still expected humanity from him.
The vigil hadn’t just shown me myself with all excuses and callouses, all the layers of living, stripped away. It had flaunted the Faerene’s contempt for humans.
I was abruptly ashamed that I’d huddled away, accepting Istvan’s order that I not help my fellow humans. I wriggled out from beneath his wing. Although my clothes were dry now, the wind was still cold and the mud on my clothes, skin and hair was flaking and horrible.
The Faerene were evacuating the field of nightmares. People were being carried to the healers’ tent and to the Faerene’s own sleeping quarters. They were separating us. How many of us would vanish after this experiment in meddling with our minds and emotions? And wasn’t “vanish” a pathetic euphemism? The Faerene would execute those who’d collapsed under the ordeal of reliving their lives and seeing themselves.
Tricky, devilish Faerene.
I was a walking trauma survivor. A small part of me recognized the symptoms of shock. I walked across the field far too steadily, collected my bathroom things and clean clothes, and headed for the showers. It’s what people did after terrible events. We operated on automatic pilot, letting our brains shut down and our emotions freeze, while our bodies did ordinary tasks.
I unbraided my hair and stepped beneath the stream of water.
It was warm.
That shocked me out my haze. My mind, heart and body clicked together. I hit the rock with my open hand. The water was warm. The Faerene could have done this magic at any point. We humans hadn’t had to shower in freezing water. It had just been another layer of discomfort, another ploy the Faerene used in whatever inhuman strategy guided the trials.
I picked up the block of soap and began lathering my hair and body, scrubbing away the mud of the field. I scrubbed vigorously, anger restoring my energy. I was so done with being crapped on. Good phrase that. I’d borrowed it from Niamh.
My hands dropped. I bowed my head beneath the stream of warm water, letting it wash over me while realization did the same.
The Faerene had just proven how ruthless they were. I couldn’t afford to hand them more weapons to use against me. Already, I’d been stupid. I’d trusted them with my life story. I’d regaled them with it as if they were friends.
Now, to protect my real friends and family I had to give them up. I had to act and plan as if being taken from them was a good thing. The people of Apfall Hill would be safest if the Faerene didn’t notice them.
No more scheming to go home. I didn’t dare lecture myself out loud.
Could the Faerene read minds? They had to be able to do something akin to it since Istvan had said they’d gathered data from our vigil. I began singing folk songs in my head. Around the homestead, Craig sang them constantly, and I’d discovered just how suited they were to working. Their rhythm suited the natural rhythm of weeding or hoeing or so many tasks.
I sang as I sought out the food tent. You’re not going to read my mind. Butt out!
The spread of food only reinforced my mood of defiance and suspicion. A lavish breakfast banquet included anything you could want, from seemingly any culture. I skipped the rice porri
dge, and filled a plate with bacon, waffles and syrup. As I filled a mug with coffee, Chen slid a second mug up beside it. I filled his, too.
“Viola told me to look after myself before I helped others.” His gaze slid back to the tent entrance. He stood straight and had clean clothes on. Food was evidently the final item on his self-care to-do list.
I poured the coffee carefully into his mug. Not too full. Nothing spilled. “The Faerene don’t want us helping humans. They want the traumatized familiar candidates to rebuild their sense of self on a foundation of trusting the Faerene, particularly their new magician partners.”
Chen frowned at me.
I nodded. We were all traumatized.
I dragged a stool up to the table where Pericles sat. There were no chairs in the food tent, only three-legged wooden stools. I guess the idea was that no one got so comfortable that they lingered over their meals.
Mirembe sat at another table with two other women.
I was glad to see her coping, but I figured Pericles could look after himself better than Mirembe could, and I wasn’t going to offer up hostages—that is people I could care about—to the Faerene. So I sat with Pericles.
Chen sat at our table, but concentrated on eating.
Rory walked in. His gaze fixed on me, intensity increasing as he neared me.
I concentrated on waffles and bacon, both dripping in syrup.
“Braid your hair,” he said to me.
No “good morning”. No “glad you’re okay”. But that was okay. I wasn’t being friends with the Faerene anymore. Still. Braid your hair?
“Rory, leave it,” Koos said sharply. “She’s human.”
Rory growled.
Chen’s hand tightened around his knife.
I turned and looked up at Rory. “No.” My hair was down to finish drying. It lay against my back to my waist.
Koos put an admonitory hand on Rory’s shoulder.
Rory snarled. His lips pulled back from large, white, sharp teeth. The sound was pure threat.
The smaller werewolf flinched back, releasing Rory. “Amy is not a were,” Koos kept talking though; kept trying to reason with Rory. “Her hair loose doesn’t mean what it does to you.”
Involuntarily, I looked a question at Rory. What does it mean?
He answered in the same manner, without words. He sat on a stool beside me, and his large hand cupped the back of my head and slid slowly down. Down over my vulnerable nape and along my spine. The slight pull of the loose hair strands that snagged against his callouses was disturbingly arousing.
It was Koos who gave an explanation. “Among weres, women only wear their hair loose when they’re intimate with someone they trust. Mostly, it’s a forgotten tradition as women cut their hair. But your hair is long.”
Rory repeated the caress.
And Rory is feeling possessive. None of us needed Koos to complete the explanation aloud.
“Get me scissors and I’ll cut it,” I said.
Rory stalked out of the tent.
I cut a very precise square of waffle and dipped it in the syrup swimming on my plate. That ought to have given Pericles and Chen the hint to keep eating.
Instead, they stared over my left shoulder.
Since Koos had quietly retreated to the buffet, I wasn’t sure who they were staring at all worried-like.
“Amy.”
Well, that answered the question, but I refused to turn and acknowledge Lajos.
The elf picked up the stool Rory had knocked over when he stood so suddenly. He sat on it, right next to me. “The problem is that you blend in too well with us. Some forget that you are other, vulnerable and ignorant in ways we are not.”
I washed the insult down with the last of my coffee.
“It is not just Rory who considers you one of his own,” Lajos continued. “I’ve had Tineke yelling at me. And Istvan…he protected you.”
Chen resumed eating.
Pericles was more hesitant. He picked up his mug of coffee and cradled it carefully. It wasn’t much of a barrier between himself and Lajos.
Then I realized that the person Pericles observed with such caution was me, not the elf.
“We trust you more than you trust us,” Lajos said musingly. “Perhaps it is your youth. You are the youngest of the human candidates.”
“Why are we the candidates?” Chen asked. “Why were we chosen?”
“Because you were the ones with magic. But why did the magic choose you? Not that magic is sentient. But why did the ability to channel it emerge in you? Our scholars are baffled. There is no correlation they can find. You are all so different.” Lajos stood. “When you’ve finished eating, return to your tents and sleep.”
The last of my waffles and bacon went down easier with his departure. I contemplated the idea of a coffee refill, but Lajos had been right about one thing. I needed sleep more than caffeine.
I stacked my plate and mug for clean up, and returned to the human tents. Within minutes I was asleep on my futon, snuggled beneath blankets and hiding from the world.
The Faerene are tricky. I suspect a sleep spell kept us tucked away while they handled the fallout from the vigil. It was too convenient that we all woke from dreamless sleep twenty minutes before dinner was served.
Order had been restored to the field. No more humans collapsed on it or ran screaming across it.
We collected hot pastries with vegetable and meat fillings and mugs of hot tea, and settled around the fire pits.
I wanted to sit alone, but at the same time, I didn’t want to risk setting myself up for Faerene to join me. So I joined Pericles and Jonny from my tutorial group and five of Marton’s group who shared our fire pit.
Across from us, diagonally to my right, seven of Rory’s group sat with five from Frida’s tutorial group.
Melinda walked up to us with her ears back and her hooves dragging. Even without the emotional vibrations from the purple tint that dulled the silver light from her horn I’d have known from her body language that she felt sorrow and grief and a painful degree of self-blame.
I was angry and mistrustful of the Faerene, but leaving Melinda stuck in her misery would have been cruel. It is always the good people who feel the worst about bad behavior. The wicked, who are to blame for it, just shrug off the guilt. I stood and put an arm over Melinda’s neck as if she was a horse and not a mythical, magical unicorn.
“I hope you are partnered with a unicorn, Amy,” Melinda said. “We are compassionate and calm, and will appreciate your good heart.”
Marton ruffled his feathers. “Everyone appreciates kindness. And some of us need it more than unicorns. Humans will be just like goblins and elves, and rate unicorns to highly. I think Amy would suit an orc magician.”
“Why were you studying my student?” Melinda stamped a hoof. The purple tint to her light disappeared as its glow intensified.
Marton had riled her right out of her misery. Good for him.
“I heard her tell her story,” Marton said. “I’ve been curious. Don’t tell me you aren’t. With only half the candidates remaining—”
“Half?” I looked around. I’d seen the gaps in our numbers, but I’d assumed people were slow to emerge from the sleep tents.
“Fifty four of you remain,” Melinda said sadly.
It was a conversation killer of a statement.
I sat down cross-legged and unwrapped the cloth that protected the two pastries I’d picked up in the food tent. I ate because of the lessons Digger had drummed into me: a soldier who wanted to live ate when she could, rested when she could, learned all that she could.
Around thirty of us hadn’t survived the vigil.
The only Faerene visibly present were Lajos and our tutors.
Lajos began talking without his trademark explosive handclap. “You will have noticed that many of you are missing. Thirty of you are currently receiving treatment for psychic trauma. On exiting the vigil trance, the final stage is self-acceptance. Possibly be
cause of differences between elves and humans or possibly due to the vigil being held after the last terrible months, thirty of you broke down rather than accept themselves. Our healers hope they will be able to guide the thirty toward self-acceptance.”
He didn’t add that if they couldn’t, the shattered humans would be executed. However, that was the standard threat. If we couldn’t, or wouldn’t, play according to the Faerene’s rules, then we died.
“For those of you who remain, congratulations.”
No one cheered.
“Originally, we planned for your magician partners to guide you through the process for controlling your channeling of magic. However, determining your matches is taking longer than we allowed for, so I’ll be teaching you, and your tutors will be monitoring your actions. Don’t be afraid of the magic you channel getting free and causing trouble. This is a resilient site. You can channel raw magic here without risk. Don’t try these exercises outside of the field. Not ever.”
I finished my pastries and wiped my hands on the cloth they’d been wrapped in.
I was so finished taking Lajos or any Faerene at their word. Even if they didn’t outright lie, their omissions and misdirection led us away from the truth.
And what truth was he hiding this time?
Possibly matching human familiars and magicians was proving more difficult than the organizers of the trials had anticipated. For instance, I couldn’t imagine Istvan meekly accepting a match he disliked. Add in another ninety nine opinionated Faerene, and the fact that nearly half of them didn’t have a match unless the healers performed miracles with our traumatized thirty, and complicated just upgraded to migraine-level.
The Faerene had to be busy people this soon after migrating from their home world. There would be a ton of work to do setting up their new lives. Now this, the trials, had taken them away from their essential tasks and they’d all want recompense for the time spent here. So yeah, the matching of familiars and magicians was likely an issue, but it wasn’t why Lajos was leading us humans through our controlled channeling of magic.
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