He turned back to the map-covered table.
Caldan frowned at Devenish’s back. He glanced at cel Rau, and the swordsman gave a minute shrug.
“Come on,” growled Kristof once more, and he strode to the tent flap. He opened it and looked at Caldan expectantly.
Caldan hesitated. He had so many questions—about Joachim, the Touched, sorcery, his parents, even. The answers were at his fingertips, he could sense it. But he could also sense that those answers were going to remain just out of reach for the time being. It was frustrating, with so many unknowns whirling around him: Miranda, Amerdan, why he was feeling this way, the denser-men . . .
He was a patient man—the monks had trained him in that, if nothing else—but there was only so much longer he would play their game.
Caldan nodded to Thenna and left the tent, Tamara following at his heels.
Kristof set off, limping through the camp. Around them, soldiers were gathered into groups, talking and repairing equipment, sharpening weapons. There weren’t as many as when Caldan and cel Rau first came here. Most of them must have been out patrolling or fighting the jukari, although he also knew many of them probably didn’t return from the first encounter with the monsters . . . and Bells’s havoc. A few of the soldiers noted Kristof passing and kept their eyes on him, whether out of curiosity, fear, or something else, Caldan was hard-pressed to decide.
Caldan’s nausea subsided until it only niggled at him. A couple of times, he stumbled, and Tamara came to his aid, steadying him with a firm grip. He thanked her when she did, and she smiled in return.
They followed Kristof until they came to a bunch of tents separated from the others. They were larger than the regular soldiers’ tents by a good margin, and beside each was a wagon. A wide clear space surrounded them, and the tents were all facing inward toward a smoldering fire. Situated around the fire were seven stools, and on two of them sat a man and woman conversing in hushed tones.
“Here we are,” Kristof said. He limped over to the fire.
“Where is here, exactly?” asked Caldan. “I want to know what’s going on.”
By the fire, the man and woman stood. Both were nondescript, clothed in shirts and pants any commoner would wear. The man wore a short sword at his belt, while the woman sported numerous daggers. What marked them as different to Caldan were their adornments. Like Kristof, they carried a number of trinket rings and an amulet or two, if what he sensed was correct.
“What’s this, Kristof?” said the woman. “You know strangers are to keep away from our area.”
Kristof grimaced and rubbed his hip. “Tamara you know, and this is Caldan. He’s one of us. Don’t know where he’s from yet.”
“A feral one, eh?” she replied with a smirk. “That’s rare. You’ll have your work cut out for you.”
Enough, thought Caldan. He was tired of being treated like a child. They were obviously Touched, as he was.
Maybe I am in the dark about a lot of things, he thought, but do you all know you’re going to be used up and drained of your blood? A final indignity; your reward for a lifetime of service.
Surely they didn’t, or they wouldn’t be here still serving the emperor. But how do you tell someone that? How could he possibly make them believe him, let alone ensure his revelation didn’t lead to his own death?
“All I know,” Caldan said, interrupting their conversation, “is that one of my ancestors was someone called Karrin Wraythe.” He felt that was enough for now—he kept the trinket ring to himself, keeping the hand wearing the ring firmly in his pocket. These people weren’t sorcerers—he couldn’t sense a well in any of them—so chances were they didn’t know he had a trinket. He felt better among these strangers knowing they couldn’t craft, while he had access to his shield crafting and beetle automaton. With these, he doubted they’d be able to do anything to harm him.
“Never heard of her,” said Kristof in response to Caldan’s declaration. “I need to rest. My leg is killing me.” He sat on one of the stools. “Caldan, sit with us. We probably have a little time to fill you in on some details. Tamara, you can set your things in my wagon over there. You’ll need to prepare a few mixtures.”
The physiker nodded and bustled off to the wagon. She climbed inside and busied herself with her kit, taking out bottles and vials and a mortar and pestle, with which she began grinding herbs.
The man and woman resumed their seats. Both stared at Caldan, as if thinking he might make a break for it at any moment.
But where would I go?
Caldan kept his hand in his pocket, touching his shield crafting, and sat across from Kristof. He tried to appear at ease, stretching his legs out, but the truth was that he was anxious for . . . something. Anything. Action, information, a test.
Anything.
“Are you all Touched?” Caldan asked.
“In the head, maybe,” the other man muttered, and the woman laughed. Kristof just shook his head at them before returning his attention to Caldan. He pointed at the man. “Edelgard here, and his sister, Lisanette”—the finger moved to indicate the woman—“are. As am I. We were raised in the capital, though, as are most of us. It is . . . unusual for someone to come into our ranks from outside.”
Because the emperor keeps a tight control on the bloodlines, and anyone who tries to escape is killed—like my parents.
But it wasn’t his place to say that, at least for now. “Why is that?” Caldan asked, affecting a puzzled frown.
“Whatever you think you know about your abilities is probably wrong,” growled Kristof. “You don’t know what you don’t know. And that’s dangerous. For you, for me, for everyone. If Devenish is right, and he almost always is, you’ll learn something over the next few days. A lesson we’ve all had to learn. So . . . tell me what you think you know.”
Obvious facts only, Caldan warned himself. “We’re different somehow. What it is, I haven’t the faintest idea. It’s passed down from generation to generation. All I have to go on is what I’ve experienced. It’s like my blood heats up . . . I can feel it pumping through me, beating like a drum. I get hot. And I can move fast.” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Lisanette nodding. “And I must get stronger, too. When I’ve used a sword, it seems to weigh less. Others around me move so slow compared to me. It’s an almost overwhelming advantage. But I can’t control it. Can you?”
“Sometimes,” said Kristof quickly, as if he wanted to answer before Edelgard or Lisanette did. “There are ways. Techniques you can use, and items.”
He means trinkets, thought Caldan. Though Kristof obviously didn’t want to reveal too much to him.
“But what you may not know,” continued Kristof, “is that we walk a knife’s edge. Tell me, Caldan, how many times has this happened to you? The heat, the speed? And what transpired the first time?”
An image of Caldan’s wooden sword sticking out of Marlon’s chest flashed in his mind. The first time was when he’d almost killed Jemma’s brother. Oh, Jemma. She felt like so long ago now. Did he really care about her anymore? Honestly, did she ever really care about him? He was pretty sure it didn’t matter, because what he had with Miranda felt more real to him.
Now, thinking about her and the condition she was in—being cared for by some nurse in Riversedge—definitely brought on deep feelings. For a moment, he forgot Kristof’s question.
“I blacked out,” he said finally. “For a long time. Almost two days. Since then it’s only happened a few times. But with the jukari, it lasted much longer. It wasn’t like the other times, when it left me as quickly as it came.”
“What happened when it left you before? Did you feel sick?”
Caldan thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No, not really. Weak, a little dizzy, maybe. And . . . hungry.”
Kristof grunted. “Lucky is what you’ve been. You didn’t look well in Devenish’s tent, and you stumbled on the way here.”
“I’m fine—”
“No, you’re not. You got away
with it a few times before. I don’t know how. But an extended use of your abilities, as Devenish described with the jukari, is going to affect you. This is one of the main reasons we are beholden to the emperor and the warlocks. They have trinkets that can help us. Only they can provide them. But they need to be earned.”
So that’s it—my trinket. And because Kristof doesn’t know about it, he assumes it’s all been luck. But, actually, it explained so much. Caldan had felt it bite into his finger when the heat of his abilities came over him, but afterward, when he’d taken the ring off, his skin remained unbroken. One of its uses, perhaps its only one, had to be mitigating the aftereffects of his Touched abilities. So far he’d recovered well, but the nausea and weakness he’d felt recently made him wonder if that meant it wasn’t coping now. Which went a good way toward explaining why the three Touched around him had multiple trinkets. Rewards, yes. But rewards that also bound. Gifts to be used that remained the property of the emperor.
And Kristof said that only the warlocks could provide them. Why was that the case? Did the warlocks know the secret of creating trinkets? It was a possibility.
A cramp twisted in Caldan’s stomach, and he bent over, grimacing in pain. If he hadn’t been sitting, he would have fallen to the ground. “By the ancestors,” he muttered. He pressed his hands into his stomach and tried to massage the pain away. After a few moments, it subsided, and he looked up to find Kristof, Edelgard, and Lisanette staring at him.
“Is this what I can expect? More of these cramps? And what do these trinkets do? How would I earn one?”
“You have many questions, I know,” replied Kristof, “and we’ll try to answer them as best we can. But for now, I’ll need to be brief. Being Touched means your body has changed. You eat more, you put on muscle, and you’re actually heavier than a normal person of the same size. Your body needs to do this to cope with the stresses your abilities put on it. And the heat, as we call it, accelerates certain functions of your body. It amplifies those changes, but there’s a cost, as you’re clearly feeling now. Wear and tear.”
Like a crafting, realized Caldan. Touched abilities put a body under unusually high stresses. There would be corrosion, irreparable damage.
“That’s why you limp,” he said.
Kristof blinked in surprise. “Yes. The more you use your abilities, the worse it gets. Trinkets go some way to helping limit the damage, but they’re not perfect.”
Caldan nodded. “So, if I want to stay alive and in good health for as long as possible, then I really have no choice, do I? I have to join you.” And if I don’t, then I’ll likely be killed.
Although, if I do, I’ll likely be killed when I’m worn out and they take my blood.
Damned if I do . . .
Tamara approached bearing a wooden cup, which she held out to him. “Drink this,” she said sternly. “All of it. I put some honey in, but it’ll still taste bitter.”
Caldan took the cup and swirled the contents. It contained murky water with a thick layer of ground herbs floating on the surface. He sniffed it suspiciously, recognizing the astringent scent of neem root, usually prescribed for swelling, along with the old-sock smell from tiny foxberry leaves, which helped to relieve anxiety. “What’s in it? Apart from neem root and foxberry leaves?”
“I see you know something about physiking,” remarked Tamara, impressed.
“A little. From where I was raised.” Master Hagan had taught herbalism. He was a kindly old man who liked to take them into the countryside to collect specimens and replenish the monastery’s stores. That seemed like a lifetime ago.
“There are eleven additives to this tonic, some of which are to relieve pain and swelling, while others help settle the blood. Some of them are extracts from rare plants and flowers. Very expensive, and paid for by the emperor. He looks after you, as he does us all.”
Kristof cleared his throat. “Best to do as she says, Caldan. Without a few trinkets to mitigate them, you’ll be feeling the side effects of your abilities soon. The nausea, cramps, and dizziness are the start.”
If they meant to do me harm, they could have already, Caldan reasoned. And if they were all Touched and in control of their abilities, they could force the concoction down him anyway. The aftereffects Kristof hinted at wouldn’t be pleasant, and if they thought he needed help to weather what was coming, it had to be bad. He smiled wryly and gulped the mixture down, coughing at the bitterness.
What honey?
A furry film of ground herbs was left in his mouth, and Caldan swallowed as much as he could.
“Edelgard,” said Kristof, “can he lie down in your tent for the night? I’d prefer it if we had rooms in Riversedge for our use, but I’m working on that issue. You’ll have to sleep in Lisanette’s, but I’m sure that won’t be a problem.”
His tone indicated it better not be.
Edelgard inclined his head in acquiescence. “As you wish.”
“Caldan,” continued Kristof. “Edelgard will show you to his tent. It’s just for tonight.”
Caldan ran his tongue around his teeth to wipe away the last remaining bits of herb, swallowed, and stood. “I have many more questions . . .”
“Tomorrow,” replied Kristof. “You’ll see things clearer then.”
Always tomorrow. Always later.
That’s starting to get old.
But another cramp hit him, and he was pretty sure tomorrow sounded like a good idea. Although he did wish Edelgard hadn’t started chuckling at Kristof’s last remark.
Lisanette shot her brother an annoyed look.
“I’ll show him,” she said. “Tamara, will you want to stay for the night? I assume you’ll need to look in on Caldan.”
Tamara nodded.
“Good. You can stay with me, then. Edelgard can find somewhere else.”
Edelgard shook his head ruefully. “Don’t worry, sister. There’s plenty of tents to share.”
Lisanette took Caldan by the elbow. Up close, he smelled a whiff of lavender from her hair, but his breath caught in his throat when he noticed one of her rings. It was exactly the same as his: a knotwork pattern with stylized lions and onyx eyes. So his wasn’t unique. That was interesting.
With a final farewell to Kristof and Edelgard, Caldan accompanied the two women to another tent. Inside, rugs covered the ground, and there was an actual bed with a straw mattress, as well as a chest of drawers, a writing desk, and a chair. Now he understood why each of the tents had a wagon. It was apparent the Touched held a privileged position and had luxuries denied most others, especially those in the army.
Tamara sat him down on the bed.
“Take your boots off and get under the blanket. You’ll become quite cold soon, if I’m any judge.”
Caldan followed her instructions as Lisanette poured a cup of water from a jug on top of the desk. She placed it on the rug next to the head of the bed, where he could easily reach it.
“That’s for you,” she said. “You’ll need it. The men always hedge around the truth, as if somehow not knowing makes it easier. It doesn’t. So I’ll tell you: it’ll be bad. You might want Tamara to mix you something a little stronger.”
“I’ll see,” replied Caldan tentatively.
“Just don’t try to brave it out. If you think you’ll need something soon, tell Tamara, don’t wait.”
Caldan nodded. He’d been keeping the hand with his ring out of sight and had to resist the urge to twist it on his finger. He bit his lip and swallowed nervously. Surely she was exaggerating?
“All right,” said Lisanette. “I’ll leave you alone. Tamara will stay with you for a while, though.” She was almost at the tent flap when she stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Word reached us of what you did. How you used your abilities, and sorcery, to protect people fleeing the jukari. Putting yourself in harm’s way to clear a path for them.”
“It wasn’t just me,” Caldan mumbled, heat flushing his face. “There were others.”
“Y
ou’re the talk of Riversedge. They say you’re a Protector wielding trinkets and sorcery unknown since the Shattering.”
Caldan shifted under the blanket. Neither the Protectors nor the warlocks would be happy with those rumors. Moreover, what did it mean that she’d heard such talk and hadn’t asked about his trinket? Did it mean she didn’t care?
For some reason he doubted that, and continued to keep his hand hidden.
Lisanette left the tent and closed the flaps behind her. Caldan heard her walk over to the fire, where Kristof and Edelgard were talking quietly.
“Try to relax,” said Tamara. “It’ll make it easier for you.”
“It’s hard to relax when everyone tells me I’m in for a rough time.”
“I know. Just rest, then.”
Caldan tried to follow her advice, lying back on Edelgard’s soft pillow. He had a lot to think about already.
Another cramp ripped through his stomach, and he gasped. Then his legs and arms began to ache. A ripple of agony threaded its way from his calves to his head. He drew his knees up and pressed his palms to the side of his head.
“I think . . . it’s started.”
His muscles burned with a fire hotter than a crafting forge, and his joints ignited as if a thousand needles jabbed into them. He gave a wordless cry of agony.
And then the real pain hit.
CHAPTER 7
Felice covered her mouth with a hand and tried to suppress a cough. It was immune to her will, though, and she almost bent double as she hacked up phlegm. She looked around and, seeing no one was close, spat onto the cobbles. She was recovering slowly. Too slowly for her liking. But a physiker had told her the worst was over and given her a pouch of vile herbs to make tea from. Every morning and every night, she followed the woman’s directions and drank a cup of the bitter brew. She was paying a heavy price for her brief splash into the Stock.
Still, it beat torture at the hands of the God-Emperor and his cronies.
It was just past midnight, and Felice was dressed in a motley assortment of clothes: stained and patched pants and shirt covered by a tattered cloak with a hood. She looked like a thousand other people wandering the streets—not well off, and not someone to bother, unless you knew them.
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