Voice of Command (The Spoken Mage Book 2)

by Melanie Cellier

  “This afternoon we will tour some of the facilities provided by the crown for combating the epidemic. Later in the week, you will all have the opportunity to observe Beatrice and Reese as they research the mutation of the fever and experiment with ways to identify those most at risk.”

  Her eyes strayed toward me. “It’s important work, so I hope you all know better than to disturb them in any way.”

  I bit my lip, my brow creasing. She should know me better than that. I could contribute nothing to Beatrice’s work and would never consider interfering.

  Before we left, she handed us each a small roll of parchment and instructed us to rip it. I scanned the words before doing so. A composition to ward off insect bites. I rocked backward.

  This epidemic could be stopped in its tracks if these could be distributed to everyone.

  “How long does it last?” I asked Acacia.

  “Depends on the strength put into it during the composing. These will last a couple of days. We’ll refresh them as needed.”

  She gave the still whole parchment in my hand a significant look, and I ripped it with a feeling of disappointment. The mages had neither the existing stores nor sufficient strength to heal those who had come down with the fever. At least not strength they were willing to expend. They would certainly not have enough to protect everyone who had yet to be infected from bites. Especially not when it needed such regular refreshing.

  Although apparently they have plenty to keep us in a constant supply. I pushed the thought aside. Some things I could do nothing about.

  Outside the wind felt cool against my exposed skin but, like further north, it didn’t seem nearly cold enough to be approaching Midwinter. Now that I knew the part the unseasonable weather had played in the epidemic, I could no longer enjoy the unexpected reprieve. Would it turn soon? And, if it did, would it bring an end to this outbreak?

  We walked this time, through nearly empty streets. Now that I was paying attention, I saw thin material over every open doorway or window, and everyone I saw seemed wrapped up far too well for the weather. Attempts to keep away the insects, I realized.

  No one we saw talked to us, although everyone stepped aside to let us pass. I saw several sour looks. We didn’t need our robes to mark us apart when we had made no effort to cover our exposed skin. We strolled through their streets—too powerful even to fear an epidemic.

  Acacia took us first to a large white tent that held no taint of sickness. Supplies stood in ordered piles, and a small queue of locals waited in front of a large desk to have their names marked in a book and supplies allocated to them.

  The majority of it seemed to be food, although I also saw stacks of thin material of the type covering all the building openings.

  Two black-robed mages sat behind the desk, processing the applicants with bored expressions. Their robes—the same color as those worn by our instructors at the Academy—were a flash of familiarity in an unfamiliar place. But of course they were University academics rather than Academy instructors. I recognized neither of their faces.

  The tail end of an altercation seemed to be under way, but the local man stormed from the tent before I could grasp the issue of contention. The mage who had been talking with him left the table to approach us.

  “Common folk,” he said. “Always so demanding.”

  I stared at him, and my mouth opened without my quite knowing what I meant to say. But someone bumped against me, sending me stumbling a step to the side, and the moment passed.

  I glared at Jasper, but he looked unrepentant as he stepped away from me. My mood didn’t improve when I caught a look of amusement on Lucas’s face as he watched my brother and me. I turned back to Acacia and tried to put them both out of my mind.

  She introduced the black-robed mage who turned out to have been sent down from the main university campus a couple of weeks earlier. From his comments he was expected to serve only a limited stint before being relieved—an event he was looking forward to with great anticipation. His companion, however, was from the local campus. He acknowledged us with a nod but didn’t get up, continuing to process the queue which had grown a little longer now that the second mage had abandoned the task.

  I tried to ignore the disgruntled looks and unhappy body language from those waiting as the mage made no move to return to the desk. Instead he took us on a tour of the large tent, explaining how they sourced and organized their supplies, and how they were allocated.

  Twice I caught Lucas’s eyes on me, and for once I had no trouble reading his expression. Look, it said, see how the crown is providing for its people in a crisis. See how the mages are the ones dispersing the largesse.

  And I had to acknowledge that the supplies had come from the crown. But I also saw that while the two keeping records were, by necessity, mages, the other helpers in the tent were all commonborn. The ones sorting the newly arrived crates of supplies, the ones handing out the various items once the mages had allocated them, and the ones who now moved up and down the increasingly restless line with quiet words of calm.

  And it could not be more clear that one at least of the mages working in this tent would rather be almost anywhere else. An unfortunate cost of a University position, as he called it.

  By the time we had completed the tour, and the mage guide had answered the questions put forward mainly by Edmond and Clarence, I couldn’t wait to get back out into the open air. But when Acacia turned us back toward the campus building, something in me rebelled.

  We still hadn’t even seen a sick person, and I couldn’t bear to overflow with energy that could do so much good somewhere else. What good was being a mage if I couldn’t use my powers?

  I let my friends pull ahead of me, drifting toward the back of the group until we passed a narrow side road. I could see that it led into a small square, now filled with a white tent. With a quick glance at the group—now all ahead of me—I slipped away and down the road.

  Chapter 12

  It was only a small square, so the white tent filled it almost completely. I edged around it, looking for the opening, which turned out to be on the opposite side. Two large flaps had been secured open, and no one seemed to be monitoring new arrivals, so I walked straight in.

  The inside of the tent smelled like sweat and blood and vomit, and I gagged. Pausing, I forced myself to take a deep breath in an attempt to acclimatize to it. A breeze blew past my face, bringing fresh air, and I took an even deeper breath.

  My eye caught on a single blue robe. A tired looking young mage—a wind worker from her colors—sat in a corner of the tent, her gaze on a small opening in the canvas near her feet. The breeze which had just sprung up flowed past me and through the gap back into the square. Not a natural wind, then.

  I surveyed the rest of the tent. It had been divided into two sections, and a moment’s observation showed the distinction between them. Just the noises were enough. In the front section, first stage patients lay mostly quietly, although some tossed and turned restlessly, and the occasional retching could be heard. From the back section, however, a chorus of groans and cries mingled with a much more constant sound of vomiting.

  Gratefully—and a little guiltily—I turned away from the opening that led to that section. I could do nothing for those poor people. A single purple-robed healer mage walked up and down through each section. Both of them wore leather satchels strapped tightly across their torsos—closely guarding the valuable compositions.

  The other people who walked between the long rows of stretcher beds wore the purple-hued uniforms of commonborn nurses, who assisted healer mages with all the practical tasks associated with healing. Without exception, they looked harried and exhausted.

  I briefly considered approaching one of them, or even the mage who was occupied on the far side of the tent. But I quickly rejected the idea. Explaining how I could help would involve explaining who I was—and I could only imagine the questions and confusion such an explanation would provoke.

&nb
sp; Some of the patients watched me with curious expressions, but my robe kept me from any questions, and the lack of purple kept me from requests for assistance. I walked along the lines of beds, watching the faces, suddenly gripped by indecision.

  I wanted to help them, but there were far more here than even my strength could stretch to. And now that I was faced with the people themselves, I didn’t know how to proceed. If I could only heal some, how did I choose between them?

  An anguished wail pierced the close atmosphere of the tent. Many heads turned toward it, but even more turned away, their expressions closed and eyes hooded. How many times had they heard similar cries?

  But I was new here and could not ignore it.

  Steeling myself, I stepped through into the back section. The wailing woman had broken down into sobs, still easily identifiable among the rows of beds. She wasn’t lying in one of them, however. Instead she bent over a stretcher that looked tragically large for the small child lying on it.

  As I approached, the young girl spasmed, her eyes glassy and unseeing, and vomited. A nurse moved quickly, wiping it away, but not before I saw the red. The woman clutched at the child, but when the nurse firmly moved her aside so she could continue attending the girl, the mother leaped to her feet. Running between the beds, she threw herself at the mage, clutching desperately at one of her arms.

  The healer spoke to her in quiet, firm tones, attempting to detach her. I couldn’t hear the words, but I could see the repeated shakes of her head. And when she glanced toward the girl, the weight of exhaustion and grief in her eyes told the story clearly enough.

  “But the blood has only just started.” The mother’s voice rose into a screech. “Surely it’s not too late. It can’t be too late!”

  I reached the girl and the nurse still attending her.

  “Is it true?” I asked quietly. “Has she only just started with the blood and…”

  The nurse looked up, her brow creasing briefly as she took in my white robe. But she didn’t question my presence, the previous weary expression taking hold again.

  “Yes. We had hoped she might be one of the lucky ones.” She wiped the girl’s forehead with a soft hand. “They try to prioritize healing the little ones, but her mother didn’t bring her in until it was too late. She’d already hit the second stage.”

  “Why would—”

  The woman shrugged. “Some don’t trust us when we say it’s not spread person-to-person. They think they’ll be better off and safer in their homes. Others can’t accept the truth that they or their loved one are ill. They close their eyes to the symptoms and don’t believe they have it until they hit the second stage. And they don’t realize it’s too late by then.”

  “Oh, how sad.” I looked down at the girl, tears stinging my eyes.

  “We try to spread the word, educate people as much as we can.” The nurse shook her head. “But we already have our hands full here, and we can’t reach everyone. The irony is that it would be different if it was spread person-to-person. Then they wouldn’t have a choice. We’d have quarantines and door-to-door house checks. Anyone with symptoms would be dragged in whether they wanted to come or not.”

  The girl cried feebly, calling for her mother, but the woman was too far away to hear, still pleading with the healer. I swallowed.

  “If it’s only just started…the blood, I mean…if it’s only just started, perhaps her organs are still undamaged. Or not too damaged at any rate. Perhaps it’s not too late?”

  The nurse shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. The damage will be done soon enough. And we don’t have the spare power it would take to burn her system clear at this point.” Her eyes moved tellingly to the single mage who oversaw the whole section.

  Determination gripped me. There was power enough here, I was sure of it. Inside me.

  The girl had stilled, and someone on another stretcher had started calling feebly for the nurse.

  “You go,” I said. “I’ll stay with her.”

  The nurse was already moving, nodding her thanks as she left. I sat on the stretcher and took a deep breath. Beatrice had said they didn’t heal patients in the second stage because only a very great expenditure of power, broadly applied, could save them at that point. Not even the healers had the necessary knowledge to apply finesse to such a healing.

  But brute strength was exactly what I possessed.

  I could hear Thornton screaming at me in my head, but I pushed him away. I could do this. I knew I could. And some things were worth the risk.

  Gathering the girl into my lap, I leaned down and whispered quietly. First the binding words, and then a general direction to heal the girl.

  “End binding.” I felt the rush of power streaming from me toward the small figure in my arms. It settled over her as a mist, and she twisted slightly, mewing like a kitten.

  As I watched, breathless, her expression cleared, and her color dropped sharply from her fevered flush as she briefly turned pale and then returned to a normal, healthy color. Her shivers and shakes ceased, and she stilled in my arms.

  Still I felt the power streaming out, sinking into every part of her. Now I was truly struggling to draw breath, my head spinning with more than anxiety for the girl. Still the power drew from me. I needed to cut it off. But if I did, if some part of her remained unhealed, it might all be for nothing. I could hold on a little longer.

  The black closed in further.

  And then abruptly it was over. The power cut off, and the girl opened her eyes and looked up at me.

  “Who are you? I’m hungry.”

  I managed a wobbly smile as my vision slowly cleared, and my head settled.

  “I’m Elena. Are you feeling better?”

  She nodded. “Was I sick? Where’s…” She trailed off as she looked around, presumably for her mother.

  The woman, still latched onto the mage, looked up and gave another loud cry. Rushing over, she scooped the girl out of my arms. The healer trailed behind her, eyes fixed on me.

  I stood and tried to look and sound far more confident than I felt. But I swayed slightly, not helping my effort.

  “She’s better now. I healed her,” I said.

  “You healed her?” The healer looked me up and down. “But you’re a trainee. What are you even doing here? You shouldn’t be here. Where are your instructors? And where did you get the compositions? That would have taken a lot of power.”

  “I did it myself.”

  “Yourself? Impossible. Now look here, this isn’t a time for games—”

  She broke off abruptly, her eyes flying to something over my shoulder. I whirled around too quickly and nearly fell as the light-headedness returned.

  A strong hand steadied me, sending warmth pouring through my body. My head cleared.

  “Your…Your Highness.” The healer looked rapidly between Lucas and me. “I don’t understand. This girl says—”

  “This girl is the Spoken Mage, and if she said she healed that child, then no doubt she did.” His commanding tone assumed her belief and left no room for questions. “But we need to be returning to the University.”

  “Of…of course.” The healer dipped into a shallow curtsy, reminding me that only at the Academy was Lucas treated with informality.

  The prince nodded to the woman and to the astonished nurse who had rushed back over at all the commotion. Then he tightened his grip on my elbow and hauled me out of the tent. I stumbled behind him, nearly tripping several times until we reached the outdoors and his pace slowed.

  I pulled back against him, both of us coming to a stop.

  “What are you—”

  “What am I doing?” His voice thundered, although the volume was low. I had never heard him angry like this. “What are you doing, Elena? What were you thinking healing that girl? She was in the second stage. And you shouldn’t have been in there at all. You are too valuable to risk yourself. When will you get that into your head?”

  “How could I not?” I snapped ba
ck. “How could I come here to Abalene and do nothing? At least the rest of you can help from afar, but I can’t. It’s not as if this disease is spread person-to-person. I got the protection against insects just like the rest of you.”

  “Have you looked at yourself?” His voice was icy now.

  “What do you mean?” I looked down at my once-white robe. “Oh.”

  Somehow I had gotten a dark smear of blood all across my front. From the girl, I supposed.

  “It might not be spread easily person-to-person, but it is spread via blood. Thus the insects. There’s a legitimate risk for those nursing second-stage patients.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s only on my robe. I don’t have any open cuts. I’ll be fine.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You’d better hope so.”

  And then he let go of my arm only to pull off my robe. With two quick strides, he approached a barrel which sat just outside the entrance to the tent, a small fire inside sending up a steady stream of smoke. He stuffed my robe inside, the fire disappearing for a moment and then sprouting up higher than ever.

  “Hey!”

  He glared at me. “Really? You still wanted that?”

  I glared straight back. “I want to be consulted and treated like an equal. But that’s always been too much to ask from you, hasn’t it?!”

  He looked at me with confusion, as if he couldn’t even process my words. “Like an equal?”

  I snorted, shook my head, and took off toward the campus building. Lucas followed closely but didn’t try to grab me again, or even to walk beside me—trailing a few steps behind instead.

  When we arrived, I headed straight for my room, exhausted but not wanting Lucas to see it. I collapsed straight into my bed, but I wasn’t able to stay there long. An insistent knocking on my door soon drove me up again.

  “Lucas, I don’t—” I flung the door open and choked off the words.

  Standing on the other side was Acacia, not Lucas. And she looked furious. She stalked into my room, carefully closing the door behind her before turning back to me.