“Excellent. You’ll be following me and doing the boring stuff. Come on.”
Avarie hurried down the hall, Ash plodded behind. They came to a quiet corridor, void of the bustling people that had filled the rest of the hospital.
“These are the patients that need special attention,” Avarie said. “And quiet.”
Ash nodded and followed her into the first room.
A woman lay on the bed, her left leg propped up and poking out of the end of her blanket. Raw red flesh glistened across her toes and the top of her foot, leaking red and yellow fluids to her ankle. Her eyes stayed closed.
“Graspelli,” Avarie whispered. “Fungal infection. She’s knocked out because the fungi hurts like you’re on fire.”
“I’ve never heard of it.” Ash leaned in closer for a better look.
Avarie placed a hand on his chest and pushed him away. “It’s only found around the Institute. No one quite knows why; although if you ask the herbologists, it’s because it feeds on magical run off.”
Ash’s eyebrows shot up.
“It’s a nasty bastard. But treatable if it’s reached in time.”
“What with?” Ash said.
“Our day is going to take a really long time if you ask questions every step of the way. We treat with cream of Aloe. It usually clears up in a few weeks. But it’s highly contagious, so stay back.”
Avarie took a jar of cream and a long swab from the bedside table. She spread it over the woman’s raw skin, careful not to let anything touch her skin.
“Clean up her ankle then empty the bins,” Avarie said. “I’ll meet you in the next room.”
Ash darted forward and collected the soiled cloth beneath the woman’s foot without letting anything touch him. Avarie watched him for a few moments before striding out the door.
The rest of the afternoon passed in much the same way. Ash rushed to follow Avarie’s orders and did his best to preempt her needs. He was all too aware that he could have been passed off to someone much less friendly. At least Avarie was willing to answer his questions and teach him more about healing.
By the end of the afternoon, his arms ached and he felt as though he were covered in disease and filth, but he’d learned a lot and maybe if he impressed Avarie, he’d be able to do real healing. He suspected there was more to it than herbs and bandages, but until Pulmen and Avarie trusted him, there was no way he’d learn what it was. So he kept his head down and worked hard, ears open for any speck of information.
46
“Right, you can go,” Avarie said.
Ash darted for the door. It was nearing sunset and he had to get out to Professor Yarrow’s tower and back before dark. The sun cast orange light across the Institute, reflecting off shining glass and polished stone.
Ash’s shoes scuffed on the pavement as he hurried down the twisting street that spilled out onto a narrow dirt road that led away from the main buildings and across a rocky expanse of bare ground. In the distance, far from any other buildings, rose a cliff-like hill with a lopsided tower that stood silhouetted against the setting sun. A crooked tree with no leaves spread beside it, like a skeletal hand stretching up.
Pebbles skittered away from Ash’s hurried feet. He squinted against the bright sun but the cliff and tower remained far in the distance. He couldn’t imagine an old Professor walking for an hour every day to get to and from the Institute, so why did Yarrow’s tower have to be so damn far away?
His heart hammered high in his chest; Yarrow had to know about the Faceless Monks. If he didn’t have the answers then no one would. Ash pushed the desolate thoughts away. He’d find Rae; he couldn’t accept any other possibility.
His chest ached. His connection with Rae had faded since the Faceless had taken her. He could sense her enough to know she was alive but try as he might, he couldn’t reach her, couldn’t talk to her or know where she was or what she felt. He couldn’t leave her for much longer while he wasted his time at the Institute. He had to learn as much magic as possible and find out where they were holding her.
By the time Ash reached the bottom of the cliff that housed the tower, his muscles ached and the sun had dropped close to the horizon. He didn’t hold any hope of making it back to the Institute before nightfall but he couldn’t bring himself to care. His one focus was finding out about the Faceless Monks, and if that meant walking home in the dark, so be it.
He dragged aching legs up a narrow path that wound around the rocky hill until he got to the top. The buildings of the Institute clustered together on the horizon, lights already shining from some windows.
Ash paused for breath between the bare tree and the tower, in front of a huge wooden door covered in jagged splinters. A metal knocker shone in the bright sunlight, carved into the shape of a grinning wolf with sharpened teeth. Uneven stones made the body of the tower which leaned to one side, as if a strong breeze would knock it over. The bare branches of the nearby tree scraped against each other, making a noise like dry laughter.
Ash swallowed and lifted his hand to the knocker.
His fingers hovered an inch away from the metal when the door swung open to reveal a wizened old man in a stained, gray robe. His white beard sprouted in jagged tufts from his chin and his eyes glowed with a dull purple light.
“Ash,” he said, stepping back.
Ash gaped at him, his feet glued in place.
“Are you coming in or would you like to stand outside all night?” Yarrow said.
Ash wrestled with the fear squeezing his heart and forced his left foot forward, then his right, until he crossed the threshold into a room lit by green flames. The whole room smelled of old books, a musty, moldy smell that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. A thin, wooden staircase ran around the edge of the room and disappeared into a small hole in the ceiling, which Ash presumed was the next floor.
“Tea?” Yarrow said, already pouring steaming water into two chipped mugs.
“Thank you.”
“Sit.”
Ash’s legs gave way of their own accord and he fell onto a wooden chair that he was fairly certain hadn’t been there when he walked in. Yarrow sat opposite him and pushed one of the mugs across the table. Ash wrapped his hands around it, letting the heat chase some of the chill from his fingers.
He glanced at the fireplace and the green flames. The wood looked normal enough.
“A simple trick,” Yarrow said. “But it creates a nice impression, doesn’t it?”
Ash frowned. “Do you get many guests to… uh… impress?”
“No. So I’ve got to make the most of it when it happens.” Yarrow winked.
Ash nodded, he was beginning to think he shouldn’t have come, especially not without telling anyone.
“I’ve heard you’re quite the channeler,” Yarrow said.
“So far.”
Yarrow chuckled. “No false modesty. Good.”
Ash lifted the cup to his lips and took a tentative sip. Honey and lavender filled his mouth, soothing his racing heart and easing some of his panic. “I have some questions,” he said, new courage filling his chest.
“I thought you might.”
“I want to know about the Faceless Monks.”
Yarrow’s expression froze but his eyes glowed brighter. He clicked his tongue. “That’s a dangerous topic.”
Ash shrugged.
“Why do you want to know about the Faceless ones?”
Ash broke eye contact and hid his face behind another sip of tea. “Curious.”
Yarrow shook his head and his uneven beard bounced across his chest. “Come on, boy. You can’t expect me to be honest with you if you’re not going to be honest with me.”
“I can’t tell you.”
“I don’t know any more about the Faceless ones than anyone else.”
Despite the tea, new panic seized Ash’s chest. “But I heard you were the oldest, most powerful sorcerer…”
“True that may be,” Yarrow said, twirling a spindly finger through
his beard. “That doesn’t give me mysterious knowledge.”
Ash slapped his mug down. Some tea splashed over the edge and created a pool on the table.
“Sorry.” Ash reached out with a sleeve to wipe it up.
“No matter.” Yarrow flicked his hand and the tea disappeared with a hiss.
Ash snatched his hand away and swallowed. “Please, sir, anything you can tell me.”
Yarrow placed his own mug on the table. “You look like a boy that enjoys books.”
Ash sat up straighter.
“Did you know the Institute has the biggest library in the world?”
“I had heard that—”
“Knowledge can always be found in books. Maybe you should start there.”
Ash’s gaze dropped back to the table. He’d thought about trying the library, but it was so big, he had no idea where to start, and it would take a lifetime just to read the titles of all the books held inside.
“It has of course been some time since I was there,” Yarrow said. “But I seem to remember a short aisle in the south-west corner devoted to the religious sects. Perhaps you should start there?”
A strange sparkle danced behind Yarrow’s purple eyes. Ash nodded slowly, sensing that Yarrow was trying to tell him something but couldn’t say the words out loud. “I will, thank you.”
Yarrow stood and pulled the door open. Ash hurried out of his chair.
“The Faceless ones have affected many lives,” Yarrow said as Ash passed. “Be careful.”
Before Ash could reply, the heavy door slammed shut, leaving him standing on the rocky hill. The sun had set while he was inside and darkness surrounded him on all sides. The bare tree laughed somewhere to his right and a cold wind whipped his shirt. The hairs on the back of his neck lifted with the sensation of being watched.
Ash swallowed and stepped toward what he hoped was the narrow path down the cliff. His foot landed on loose gravel that slid out from under him, dragging his leg and the rest of his body along with it. He stumbled down the hill amidst a small landslide of loose rocks that pattered onto his shoulders. He stifled a scream as his heart leapt into his throat and air rushed past his ears.
He imagined the ground rushing up to meet him. He’d land in a mangled heap, two broken legs at best. His arms spun and he scrambled for the side of the hill, panic fueling his muscles. Pebbles tore at his nails, doing nothing to stop his fall. Sharp rocks gouged his palms so they became slick with blood. He ignored the pain and fought harder for purchase. The tips of his fingers snagged on a rocky outcrop and he came to a gut-wrenching stop, legs swinging through empty air.
Sweat trickled down his face. Idiot! Loren had warned him not to come out to the tower in the dark and yet he hadn’t even thought to bring a damn candle. He’d be no good to Rae if he died at the bottom of a cliff. He took three deep breaths and reviewed his options. Lights sparkled in the distance, the Institute, but the path between here and there could hold any number of dangers.
He needed light.
He swallowed; there was one very obvious solution. Just that day he’d learned to create light from heat and he only needed a small glow to show him the path. But he couldn’t. With his lack of control he’d just as likely suck all of his own life out as light his way.
His arms ached but he could think of no other options. He closed his eyes and prepared to draw on his own body’s energy when a warmth against his chest made him pause.
Rae’s stone.
He loosened one hand from the rocky ledge and reached into his shirt for the stone. The remaining hand strained to hold his weight, his fingers aching. The stone’s warmth wrapped around his free hand, comforting, familiar. He closed his eyes and imagined the warmth turning into a gentle glow, willed it with all of his might.
Light burst from between his clenched fingers.
He grinned and it flared brighter, casting stark contrast over the surrounding rocks. Ash lifted the rock higher and looked over his shoulder. He couldn’t help laughing at himself. Solid ground spread out just a foot below his swinging legs.
He let himself drop the rest of the way and found the path snaking away from the hill. The light in his hand flared brighter and then died off before flaring again; he couldn’t control it. When it flared bright, the heat in the stone disappeared, only to return again when the light went dim. Ash resolved to practice the exercise Thimble had given him every spare second he had. If he wanted to channel properly, he had to control it, had to be able to use his own body’s energy without the risk of killing himself.
He traveled the rest of the way like a flashing beacon, a ball of light glowing bright then dark every few seconds. With a light, he didn’t have to worry about how long it took him to get back to the Institute and so his thoughts wandered; aside from controlling his magic, he had to find the books Yarrow mentioned. Then he’d have all the tools he needed to save Rae.
47
Ash spent the next few weeks hurrying between basic magic classes, the hospital, and the library. He spared just enough time for Loren to stop him from asking too many questions, but most of Ash’s free time was spent buried in the darkest parts of the towers of books.
One afternoon while Loren had his mechanical workshop class, Ash entered the external doors into the massive stone building that housed the Institute’s books. His boots echoed in the cold, marble entrance where a thin man with white hair nodded at him from a broad desk.
Ash nodded back and heaved open the imposing internal doors that towered two times his height. The scent of books and paper washed over him, making his head buzz.
He turned to face the rows of books that disappeared far in the distance. The library flourished like its own city. Bright glowing orbs lit the busy sections, filled with books on subjects like the History of Metalwork, or Common Treatments to Uncommon Maladies. The gentle murmur of lowered voices filled these sections. Other areas lurked in perpetual gloom, haunted only by less than upstanding students. Here the books made ragged, unordered stacks that hid browsers from prying eyes.
The shelves twisted and turned, feeding into other corridors and other halls, all filled with books. Stairs at all four corners led in tight spirals to the second floor where desks formed neat lines in the center while books towered along each wall.
Ash stalked past a rack of glowing blue orbs, available for students not proficient in channeling to light their way through the endless shelves. He cast a brief glance at a group of students gathered around a molding copy of A History of The Institute, but no one paid him any attention.
He ducked into a less-used row of books and strode toward the south-west corner that had become his second home. There, the glowing orbs on the walls became few and far between so that long shadows stretched between the shelves. He rounded a corner and went deeper until he couldn’t make out the shelves on either side, only then did he reach a hand into his pocket for Rae’s stone and allow a small flicker of light to bloom on his palm.
It still pulsed, not quite under his control, but at least it didn’t burst into brilliance and then die away like it had when he first started. He devoted every second he could to mastering his control; unlike channeling itself, it didn’t come naturally.
The orange glow in his palm lit up mildew-coated books, yellowed with age. He ignored these until he reached the far corner where stacks of books made an uneven pile on the floor. These he’d read and discarded.
Ash turned back to the rows of books and scanned the titles. History of the Sect of Kaim, A Short Essay on Religious Fanatics, Pauper to Priest. His eyes roved over these, discarding them without reaching out. On the next shelf his gaze caught on The Power Behind the Faceless.
He took it from the shelf and sat on a pile of cushions he’d smuggled from other areas of the library.
Each ragged page cracked when he turned it. Dust covered the outer jacket and puffed up into his face when he let the book fall open.
He stifled a coughing fit and ran his eyes dow
n the list of contents. His heart skipped; Chapter 3: The Origin of The Faceless Monks. This was it, the first mention he’d found after weeks of searching. He rifled through the pages, tearing some, to get to the third chapter.
He frowned. Chapter two ended with a brief summary of the Faceless Monks’ daily prayers, and then jumped straight to chapter four; Famous Faceless.
Ash flicked back and forth between the two pages. A ragged clump of torn paper dangled from the central spine. Someone had torn out chapter three. He gaped, uncomprehending.
He flicked through the rest of the book but chapter three was nowhere to be found. Chapter twelve and thirteen were also missing and when Ash turned to the contents list, his heart sank; Chapter 12: Monasteries of the Faceless, Chapter 13: Where the Faceless get their Power.
He let the book fall from his lap where it smacked against the smooth marble floor. Some of the pages tore loose and jutted out of the book but Ash couldn’t bring himself to care.
He smacked the cold floor with his fist and glared into the darkness beyond the circle of light that glowed from his hand. It flared brighter with his rage and turned a bloody red.
Ash erupted to his feet and kicked the tattered book toward the corner where it bumped into the piles of other useless books he’d found. He strode to the shelves and resumed his search. But, despite promising titles, he met the same problem time and again—missing pages.
After tossing aside four more books with entire chapters missing, Ash’s rage turned into a deep fear. Who would have the power and knowledge to destroy so many books, to erase every mention of the Monks, and why?
After hours of searching, his eyes stung as if they’d been rubbed with sand and a headache pounded near his temples. He laid the most recent useless book aside and shuffled to the next row of shelves. He paused, a newer book stood out against the older, dusty tombs.
He tugged it free. Advanced Channeling.
His fingers tingled. It wasn’t what he was looking for but he did want to read it.
Shadow of a Slave (The Blood Mage Chronicles Book 1) Page 25