Crimson Fury

by Mirren Hogan

  Tabia could understand that. She was one of very few who could channel magic directly through the air. Few people understood how she did it, even other air channellers. An earth or water channeller could hardly advise her on how to best use her skills. Still, if she didn’t try then nothing would change.

  “We’re a defiant lot, aren’t we?” Harshal grinned.

  “Especially you,” she replied. “Who runs away from their training to follow another sorcerer across to another continent?”

  His grin only broadened. “At least I got training here. It might even be better than I could have received at the hall.”

  “You’re still insolent,” she retorted. “You’ll be the perfect, arrogant sorcerer someday.” Which was of no small amount of concern to her. She adored Harshal. Apart from Isobel, he was her dearest friend. She’d lost enough of those along the way; she didn’t want to lose him too.

  “That’s what I’m aiming for,” he said cheerfully. “But with enough restraint that I don’t end up splattered against a wall.”

  “Ever the poet,” she said dryly. He always did have a way of being disrespectful to just about everyone, without being mean-spirited.

  “Really? I missed my calling.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Perhaps I could be the first sorcerer-poet. Let’s see . . . There once was a girl from Chaq, who didn’t give a—”

  “Harshal.” She cut him off. “I think we should go and see Adina and Darai.”

  He gave her a quizzical look. “Is that wise? I mean, if the kid blames us . . . ”

  He was powerful enough and rash enough to hurt them, should he want to, but he couldn’t be ignored or left alone forever. Sooner or later they’d have to face him, and she would have to convince him that he had to stay and be trained, for everyone’s sake.

  “The sooner the better.” She put down her cooling kawaha and opened the door. It was later than she’d realised. She hadn’t even seen the city lights come on, although she’d been standing at the window. She really must be agitated.

  The corridors were lit with torches every couple of feet. The guild had long lamented their lack of ability to light the building without the use of fire, or the need to have sorcerers holding magic in their hands for hours for illumination. The former was considerably more practical, although it required staff to maintain the torches and keep them burning. The airless corridors also smelled constantly of smoke.

  Several sorcerers bustled down the corridor in the opposite direction. They gave them both suspicious looks and a wide birth.

  “I see that word has gotten around already,” Tabia remarked, keeping her voice low to prevent echoes. She stopped and turned to look at Harshal, who waved over his shoulder at the pair as they glanced at them. They both frowned and hurried on.

  “You can’t help yourself, can you?” But she smiled at him. Even at the darkest times, he was able to find humour in the situation. It wasn’t always appropriate or in good taste, but he supplied levity when there was otherwise none to be found.

  “Yes, I can,” he replied lightly. “But would you really want me to?”

  Her only reply was to roll her eyes at him and smile. “Come on, sorcerer.”

  He gave her a bow. “Yes ma’am.”

  Resisting the urge to swat him, she resumed walking, taking a wide, shallow flight of stairs down to the infirmary.

  Generally speaking, and with some recently notable exceptions, sorcerers were a tough lot, so the infirmary was small and usually occupied by non-magical staff. It consisted of a main foyer of only several feet across, one large, long room for non-urgent patients and four smaller rooms for those who needed to be kept separate for their own safety or comfort. Anyone for whom rest was vital to their recovery, for example, was housed in one of these rooms. A healer, often a sorcerer skilled in the art of fixing the human body, was usually stationed nearby, administering small doses of magic when needed to aid in recovery.

  Tabia had some skill in healing, but preferred to leave it to others. Every time she’d had to use it, she remembered having used magic to kill. Throwing a fireball was one thing. Using magic to probe into a person and stop their heart, that was another. The memory gave her another surge of nausea. Killing Tarang had ultimately saved many lives, but she’d done it out of hatred for him, not to be noble. She’d relished squeezing his heart, feeling his blood stop flowing, seeing the shock in his eyes. No, she’d leave the probing to others.

  Darai and Adina had been brought to the room on the end and only allowed to share a room because they’d been unconscious and seemed to share some kind of bond. The young woman also seemed to be the only one capable of talking Darai out of doing anything rash. That he adored her was obvious for anyone to see, but whether that would be enough, only Zuleso knew.

  Tabia took in a deep breath as she stopped in front of the door. She contemplated drawing in some magic, in case Darai struck out at them. She dismissed the thought immediately. He might perceive her as a threat and retaliate. It’d be better to enter carefully, but as benignly as possible. He wasn’t a fool, he’d know what she could do, but it was best not to put him on edge from the outset.

  She almost snorted at herself. As if the young man could be put on edge any more than he already was.

  “Ready?” She felt Harshal’s hand on her shoulder and nodded. Curling her hand around the door knob, she twisted it and opened the door.

  The first thing she saw was Darai’s despondent face and the glow of magic on Adina’s. The magic winked out quickly, but not before she fully understood. Adina was a water channeller and would want to stay and be trained. Any chance Darai might have had of talking her into leaving was gone.

  CHAPTER 24

  Adina stepped backfrom the water jug. Although she’d only held onto the magic for a matter of seconds, it left her feeling warm and tingly. She wanted to go back, try again, and see what she could do with it. Although not as rare as air channeling, she knew her ability was uncommon. It was also impractical, she could see that already. Water wasn’t always available, much less accessible quickly enough for her to defend herself. One question had been answered, but it left a dozen more.

  She felt Darai bristling behind her and didn’t have to turn to know he’d be ready to strike if need be.

  “What do you want?”

  Adina flinched at the tone of his voice. He was certainly not the naïve boy she’d met only a short time ago. He was harder, like the crust on a bread after it had been sitting in a hot oven. The harder it got, the more brittle it became. What would it take before he broke? She’d have to try to ensure that didn’t happen. How was just another question to add to the list.

  “To see how you are.” Tabia raised her hands in a conciliatory gesture and walked forward slowly. “But I see you’re doing better.” She smiled at Adina, then carefully drew magic, and lit a candle on the table near the jug.

  Adina heard Darai step up beside her, but the magic winked back out in a matter of several heartbeats, and the light was welcome. She blinked a couple of times while her eyes became accustomed to it.

  Perhaps trusting the older woman was foolish, but Adina did. She remembered Tabia’s concern during the removal, and knew it was genuine. The memory of the magic overwhelming her was vague at best, but she was sure that if Tabia could have done what Darai did, she would have.

  She smiled back. “We’re both fine, aren’t we, Darai?” She glanced over to see him glaring at the two sorcerers.

  “What?” His eyes shot to her. “Yes, we’re fine. No thanks to them.” Darai pointed accusingly. “They would have let you die.” His eyes narrowed. “Admit it,” he growled.

  “Yes,” Tabia conceded. “But only because we didn’t believe there was anything we could do. This hasn’t happened before in our lifetime and—”

  “More excuses. We’ve both been attacked now and you just make excuses. Have you caught the magula? Have you even tried?”

  “We—” Tabia looked uncomforta
ble.

  “No,” Harshal replied. “Not yet. We have to learn more about it first.”

  Darai snorted. “You learn and learn and still don’t know anything. Why did the magic try to kill Adina?”

  Adina wondered the same thing. She still wanted to believe that most removals were safe. That little boy before her had seemed to enjoy the experience.

  “I think I can answer that,” Tabia said softly. “Adina is a water channeller.”

  “And?” Darai demanded. “What the gods does that have to do with it?”

  Tabia replied patiently. “Magic comes from around us, earth, air, and water. Earth channellers need a conduit to the earth to use it. Air channellers can touch the air directly, but a water channeller needs to touch water to bring the magic into themselves.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Adina admitted.

  “You also need a conduit for magic to leave,” Tabia said. “You had no water in the room with you. At least, none you could access and use. Once the magic was unbound, it had nowhere to go.”

  “Except into me,” Darai said.

  “Yes, and then into the air.”

  “So, you could have prevented it?” Darai asked accusingly.

  “Had we known, yes, it’s possible,” Tabia conceded. “If we’d suspected she could channel via water, we’d have provided some.”

  “And if she’d been an earth channeller?”

  “Her feet were bare,” Harshal reminded him. “Between them touching the stones and Feko’s staff, it could have been redirected. Instead it rejected the wood and surged back into Adina until you touched it, and her, directly.”

  “It probably responded to the proximity of your blood,” Tabia added carefully. “From what I’ve read, a water channeller can’t use her—or his—own blood to draw magic. But that of others . . . ”

  Adina’s hand flew to her mouth. “The magic went into the water in his blood?” Her eyes widened in horror at what might have happened. She glanced at Darai, whose dark skin looked paler than usual. His hand went to the bandage on his chest.

  “It’s possible.” Tabia stepped further into the room, letting more light spill in from the corridor. “Where Feko hit him—” her voice was tight as she said that, “—he was bleeding. If not for that . . . ”

  Adina lowered her hand. “Oh gods.”

  “I think the gods have forsaken us,” Darai said. “Magic can’t have come from them. Can’t you see?” He turned to Adina. “This is wrong. Everything about this place is wrong. Magic, magula, all of it. They’re playing with something they don’t even understand and they’re displeasing the gods. That’s why the Outpouring happened, to punish us all for what they’re doing!”

  Harshal looked bemused. “Magic has been around since before the gods.”

  Even Tabia gasped at this. Adina could only stare at first one man and then the other.

  “I don’t believe this,” she replied, filling the silence which had followed Harshal’s statement. “Magic is a tool, like a—” she paused to think of a comparison. “Like a spear.” As soon as she said it, she regretted the analogy.

  “Spears are for killing,” Darai said. “And only to be used by those who know what they’re doing. These people are children, they play with a weapon they can’t even grasp.”

  “No, they don’t,” Adina argued. “They know a lot. Just not—everything.”

  Darai snorted. “Their lack almost killed you.”

  “Darai, we—” Tabia started to say.

  “No.” He cut her off with a sharp word and gesture with his hand. “No more lies. I’m going home.” He looked expectantly at Adina.

  She frowned at him. “You can’t just leave. You have magic, you need to learn how to use it.”

  “I don’t care.” He shook his head. “I won’t use it.”

  Adina startled when Harshal burst out laughing.

  “Qiva’s left teat! You think you can avoid using magic? You can’t even stop yourself from spirit drifting. The next time something happens, you’ll lash out, or leave your body. Your own magic will kill you, if someone else doesn’t first.”

  “Harshal,” Tabia said, putting a hand on his arm.

  He shook it off gently. “No, he needs to hear this. He’s right about one thing: magic is bloody dangerous. Didn’t you once almost drown a ship full of people because you thought you could clear a storm away?” He turned to Adina and Darai. “Every time you use magic, there are consequences, especially if you don’t know what in the name of the hells you’re doing. And you—” He pointed at Darai, “—will not be able to stop yourself. You’ll get yourself, or someone you care about, killed.”

  Adina glanced at Darai’s face and saw only a stony determination.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “You can’t stop me from leaving,” he said coldly. “Is there a law? Will you lock me away and hope I comply?”

  Adina saw Tabia shudder.

  “No, we can’t force you to stay,” the older woman said. “We can only ask that you think about it, for the sake of everyone, including you. Take tonight and consider it. If you’re still bent on leaving in the morning, then we won’t stand in your way.” She glanced toward Harshal, who shrugged.

  “Please, Darai.” Adina put her hand on his shoulder. “Think about it. Sleep on it. Things might seem different in the morning.”

  He didn’t shrug her hand off. She took that as a good sign. He looked tired, his face strained by the events of the last few weeks. She didn’t blame him, it had hardly been serene. It was more like a bad dream, but they’d survived it so far.

  “I’ll stay for one more night,” he said slowly. “But you must agree to think about leaving with me.”

  Adina opened her mouth to refuse, but she saw the earnest look in his eyes. He was scared. So was she. She had no desire to leave, but if he’d seriously contemplate staying, then she’d consider going with him if he decided he couldn’t stay.

  “All right,” she replied. “I’ll think about it.” She wasn’t sure he really believed she would, but his mind was made up already; she doubted anyone would be able to convince him to stay.

  “You can leave now,” Darai said, nodding to the two sorcerers.

  Harshal raised an eyebrow and looked amused, while Tabia looked surprised, before a flash of anger crossed her features. Evidently the assemblywoman wasn’t used to being ordered around. Well, not anymore. Adina knew, as everyone did, that Tabia had been a slave. Some of the sorcerers failed to give her the respect she was probably due, Adina had seen that in the way Feko had addressed her, but they gave her some measure of courtesy. More than Darai had just shown her. She probably hadn’t been spoken to like that in years. The last thing Adina wanted was to put her and Harshal off side.

  “Please,” Adina added on his behalf, giving him a quick frown of recrimination. “We should both get some rest.” She covered her mouth as she yawned. “See?” She followed that with a nervous laugh.

  Harshal put a hand on Tabia’s arm and her anger visibly faded. Clearly, he had some influence over her, as well as she over him. Tabia gave them both a curt nod and the older sorcerers stepped out of the room before Adina closed the door behind them.

  “Are you really thinking about staying?” Darai sat back on his bed and frowned at her.

  “Are you really thinking about leaving?” she replied, doing likewise and tugging the blanket over herself. It was brown and warm, knitted in a similar style to the one her mother used. It made her think of home. A sudden wave of homesickness washed over her. She longed for the smell of their little house, her pallet on the floor near the fire, her siblings running around and kicking an ancient leather ball.

  She could almost taste her mother’s cooking: roast vegetables on a bed of grains, with a sweet and salty sauce made with a combination of spices and a dash of sugar. She felt a cup in her hand, holding the water she was supposed to use to wash down her dinner. Instead she imagined herself slipping a finger
into the water and teasing out the magic which resided within. Did the cup get emptier when she used the magic there? She yearned to know the answer and there was only one way for her to discover it.

  “Yes, I’m thinking of staying,” she said when he didn’t answer the question she’d asked of him. “There’s too much I don’t know, that I want to know. I miss home, but this is where I belong now, at least for a while. I can learn everything they have to teach. I can help my family. Apprentices get a stipend; I could send mine home. It’d be more than they’d see in a year.

  “I can study and support them at the same time. They’d be so proud of me.” She knew they already were, but she’d exceed all of their expectations now. She’d have to write them a letter, if she could find someone to help. Her reading and writing were basic at best. Maybe she could learn that too. Her family had never had a scholar in it before, she’d be the first. She could be like Tabia and be on the assembly someday. Or she could teach apprentices, or heal people, or . . .

  “You could help your family too, if you stay.” She raised her head to see why Darai wasn’t responding. She sighed when she realised he hadn’t heard a word. He was fast asleep.

  CHAPTER 25

  Darai was dreaming, or so he thought at first. Everything was hazy, the room dancing as though he were seeing it through a cloud of smoke. The candle flame flickered wildly and almost went out. Obscurely, he found himself unperturbed. The shadows in the darkest corners of the room weren’t deep enough that his vision couldn’t penetrate them.

  He saw a crack in the wall beside his bed and followed it all the way up until the top of his head grazed the ceiling. He felt no pain, just a realisation that he was floating. Was he dreaming, or spirit drifting again? How could he tell? Pinching himself would reveal nothing, he’d be ethereal either way.