Two Worlds of Provenance

by Angelina J. Steffort

  “How long have you been awake?”

  “Just a moment,” he said with a smile, eyes still closed, “or two.”

  He straightened up so he was level with her face, looking somewhat sheepish as his eyes popped open, absurdly bright against the darkness of the room.

  “You startled me,” Maray complained in a weak voice. Her heart was pounding against her ribs.

  “Didn’t mean to.” He loosened the grip on his sword to reach around her shoulder with his arm and pulled her to his side. “Keep your hands to yourself,” he advised with a grin, and Maray knotted her fingers.

  As she slid from the armrest, half into his lap, the tension eased from her limbs.

  “We should rest while we can,” he murmured into her hair, making her shiver. “We’ve got a lot ahead of us.”

  “That’s unlike anything I’ve ever heard of,” Langley said with a shake of his head.

  Maray felt weird. Everyone in the small room was staring at her. Heck with the amused curiosity that only Heck could pull off, and Jemin… Jemin’s face was unreadable, his gaze going back and forth between her eyes and her hand, which was halfway across the table, palm up, for Langley to examine.

  “She physically burned you?” he wanted to know for the third time, apparently unable to believe it—or unwilling. “You are certain it wasn’t just an illusion?”

  “I can’t tell about the color of my cheeks,” Jemin said with a frown, “but I assure you the pain was real.”

  Maray wanted to shrink under the table.

  “The magic I know,” Langley spoke as he eyed her closely, “is illusions, visual make believes. And of course transferring powers into objects—magic keys, healing spells, potions.” He glanced at Jemin’s bracelet. “This looks like it could need a refill by the way.” Without warning, he placed his hand on Jemin’s wrist and closed his eyes. Jemin didn’t stir as Langley’s lips moved silently, but Maray could tell he wasn’t entirely comfortable with what was happening.

  “There,” Langley patted his wrist and let go. “All set.”

  “Thanks.” Jemin’s eyes narrowed as he glanced up at Maray. It was difficult for her to hold his gaze. Something about it was off. Like he was upset about something.

  “That’s quite some magic you did there.” Langley interrupted their silent exchange, claiming Maray’s attention. “I have no idea how you achieved this, but physically harming someone…” He raised an eyebrow, and Heck shifted in his chair. “Using your hands as a weapon…” Langley didn’t finish his sentence but leaned back and ran his fingers over his beard down to the lowest tip, where he twirled until it was a bushy spiral of white hair.

  “I didn’t mean to harm anyone,” Maray defended herself.

  “Oh, I can see that,” Heck commented under his breath as he looked back and forth between her and Jemin.

  Maray wanted to kick his shin under the table but managed to control her impulse by merely looking Jemin in the eye as he marginally moved his head left and right. The composure hadn’t returned to his features the way it was before. Some of the aspects of his appearance she’d observed on him during the night had lingered in his expression, and they became more prominent each time she caught him staring at her.

  “Gan Krai explains in his ‘Revelation of Warlock Practice’ that magic cannot transcend through someone’s skin without a vehicle—a magic weapon, a potion, anything that penetrates the skin or is absorbed through the digestive system.” To her surprise, it was Heck who schooled them about limitations of magic.

  “And in Maray’s case, the magic went right through Jemin’s skin,” Langley added. “At least it tried to.”

  Jemin absently rubbed his cheek as he spoke.

  “But I didn’t do magic.” Maray still couldn’t explain how her hands could have burned him. “I had no idea I was hurting you—I would never hurt you.”

  Jemin raised an eyebrow at her words, not exactly looking like he believed her.

  “Not intentionally, at least,” she added, thinking sheepishly of how he had cringed away from her touch, an afterthought, almost as quiet as her breathing.

  “You discovered your magic only recently?” Langley asked, politely ignoring the tension between her and Jemin.

  “A couple of days ago.” She thought of Corey’s reaction when the crystal had lit up under her touch. And now she had done it again without even realizing she was doing it. “How can I make sure I won’t harm anyone?”

  “You’ll need practice so you don’t accidentally fire at people,” he said sternly. “But honestly, I can teach you only the basics. I have no idea how to do what you did or how to prevent it. All I can give you is a little bit of a jumpstart.”

  Maray looked down at her hands. They looked the same as they had the day before. Only now, they felt unsafe. She folded her arms across her chest and tucked her hands under her cloak. It wasn’t necessarily cold enough in the underground hideout to wear a cloak, but Jemin and she had agreed that they should get ready to leave at any moment—just in case.

  There hadn’t been any sign from her father, and she was beginning to get slightly nervous. How long could they wait until they were sure something was wrong? And if something was wrong, how would they get him out of trouble?

  “When can we start?” She was eager to learn—even if it was only the basics. Everything that helped her navigate through this storm was welcome.

  “We can later today.” Langley nodded as if agreeing with a thought. “But for now, I need to make sure all our guests arrive safely.”

  “Guests?” Jemin tensed beside her, hand automatically flipping down to his sword.

  On her other side, Heck copied his movements. “I thought we’d be alone here until Ambassador Johnson arrives.”

  “The revolutionaries are curious, Hendrick Brendal,” Langley informed him as if his words should have special meaning.

  “Curious,” Maray repeated.

  “They want to see for themselves if what they’ve heard is true.” Langley’s face had changed just enough to make her feel suddenly uncomfortable.

  “Heard from who?” Jemin inquired, looking instantly dark and dangerous, eyes narrowed into slits and lips pressed into a hard line.

  Langley shrugged and got to his feet. “Coffee, anyone?” he asked as if the atmosphere in the room hadn’t just frozen.

  As Langley turned to the stove and reached for a pot, Jemin laid his free hand on Maray’s arm and glanced at Heck with a look that seemed like a secret language only they understood. At his glance, Heck eased the grip on his weapon and gracefully slid out of his chair. It wasn’t the same type of gracefulness as Jemin’s movements, but a more bouncy type like a circus acrobat, while Jemin’s was a cross-breed between lion and parkour runner. She had watched those in D.C. as they’d jumped walls and climbed houses, never stopping for any obstacle. The same determination and able physique was there in Jemin.

  “I think I’ll pass,” Heck said and joined Langley at the stove. “We really need to get going if we want to find Ambassador Johnson.” He placed his hand on the old man’s shoulder in a gesture that seemed all friendly, but from her angle, Maray could see how tense he was underneath the friendly face. “You’re coming, right?”

  Jemin pulled at Maray’s hand while they were waiting for Langley’s response, indicating he wanted her to get to her feet and leave. She carefully pushed out of her chair and followed Jemin to the door without asking questions. A moment ago, she’d thought something was off, but now it was obvious that the boys were trying to get out of there without making a scene. She didn’t get why they didn’t trust Langley all of a sudden. But it was obvious they didn’t. And their body language urged her to remain silent and follow their lead. Questions would have to wait.

  “You sure you can’t stay for coffee?” Langley was handling water and some powder that looked like the instant coffee she’d gotten on the flight to Vienna. “I’m sure Gerwin will be here soon.”

  Jemin sho
ok his head for all three of them and pulled Maray to the door. “Thank you for your hospitality, Cardrick,” Jemin bowed slightly and opened the door, never taking his eyes off Langley, while Heck slowly moved toward them.

  “You can’t leave,” Langley said in a tone that was almost too sweet for a diplomat. “We have things to discuss, plans to make.”

  “And we will,” Jemin replied, sounding as if he meant what he was saying. “Just not now.”

  As Heck was only a step or two from them, Langley’s body started shaking and blurring, and Maray felt nauseated for a second until it stopped, and a silvery-grey Yutu had replaced the old man.

  “Get out,” Jemin hissed and pushed her out through the half-open door.

  She wanted to object, but he had pulled it shut behind her as quickly as he’d pulled his sword.

  Maray stood, stupefied, one hand reaching for her dagger, the other for the door, but stopped on the doorknob. She needed to do something. Go back inside? Run? Jemin had kicked her out for a reason. He had noticed something wrong with the situation, and she couldn’t tell what it was. Heck could obviously see it, too, or he wouldn’t have worked together with Jemin like that. What was she missing besides Langley’s reluctance to let them go and the boys’ sudden dying need to get her out of there?

  While she was still debating, a growl behind the door tore into the silence. It rumbled through the corridor, echoing off the walls and chilling Maray’s bones. The door rocked in its angles as something smashed into it inside the room, making her pull her hand back in shock. There was a scream and a thud. Then, all went silent.

  Her heart stopped. Who had screamed? She couldn’t tell; by the unsettling sounds, it could have been either Jemin or Heck. Had Langley attacked them? Had they attacked him? Her mind was racing.

  Maray stood for what felt like a minute, afraid of what she might see when she opened the door. She didn’t think she could bear the sight of an unconscious Jemin again, or Heck. Readying herself for any scene that might unfold behind the door, she pulled her dagger. It seemed to resonate with power as her hand touched it. She glanced over her shoulder in the half-light, then took a deep breath, and finally reached for the door again.

  The first thing she saw was blood. Lots of blood. It had pooled right in front of the space where she had set her boot. A long trail of crimson led to the back of the room.

  Maray forced herself to look. She knew she didn’t really have a choice. She couldn’t run and leave the boys behind. As her eyes slowly followed the blood, a gurgling breath came from behind the door, and her eyes flickered there first.

  Jemin lay sprawled on the floor, eyes searching the room. He didn’t seem to be bleeding, but his torso was oddly angled. She swallowed. She’d seen this in pictures in her first aid course. There was something wrong with his spine.

  “Don’t move,” she said as she rushed to his side and checked his pulse with two fingers on his wrist.

  “Heck,” he breathed.

  “It’s me,” she said and leaned closer, “Maray.”

  He moved his head to the side an inch, chin pointing behind her. “No, Heck.”

  She realized he wasn’t deliriously mistaking her for Heck but that he meant for her to check on him.

  “Don’t worry about me,” he rasped and coughed, which made him wince in pain.

  Maray didn’t move.

  “Heck,” he repeated, weakly. “Please—”

  Finding it irritating to turn away from him as he was suffering, Maray looked over her shoulder, her fingers still resting on Jemin’s wrist.

  At the end of the blood trail was a heap of fur. She had seen that before when Jemin had killed the Yutu when they’d first met, and with another Yutu the night before. There was no sign of Heck.

  Maray held on tighter to her dagger as she straightened up and searched the room with her eyes. There was no Heck. Not on the bed, behind the table, or on the floor behind the bed where the straw was covering the corner.

  “Langley,” Jemin said quietly.

  Maray set one foot after the other, careful not to step into the blood, until she stood in front of the Yutu. It was enormous, its back reaching up as high as the table even as it lay slumped on the floor. The silver fur was smeared with blood at the side where the beast’s ribs must be, and there, covered by a gigantic hind-leg, lay Heck.

  “Oh, my God, Heck,” she said as she dove toward the furry limb and checked which way to best get it off of him. Heck’s motionless legs stuck out from under the claws of the beast, and his arm and part of his chest were visible between the paw and the masses of fur that hung down its flanks. His head had to be directly under the heel.

  Dreading what she might find once she’d freed Heck, she climbed in between the Yutu and its paw, careful to not step on Heck’s arm, and grabbed the paw with both hands—it was large enough to cover most of both her forearms. Cautiously at first, then since she couldn’t get it to move even an inch with all her force, she shoved until it eventually slid outwards off of Heck’s chest, uncovering the rest of him.

  There was blood all over him. She couldn’t tell if it was his or the Yutu’s, and he didn’t seem to be breathing.

  “Heck.” She got down on her knees and slid further, suddenly unimpressed by the red stream behind her and the Yutu. “I found him,” she called over her shoulder and waited for Jemin’s response while she gingerly searched his wrist for a pulse. “Can you hear me, Jemin?” She leaned forward a bit, hoping to catch a glimpse of Jemin, but the view of him was covered by the gigantic wolf-bear which had once been Cardrick Langley.

  Jemin wasn’t responding, and neither was Heck as she pinched his arm, hoping for any sign he was alive.

  “Heck,” she repeated. “Please, be alive.” She searched for his pulse on his throat, checking for his breathing—there was none.

  “He is not breathing, Jemin,” she informed him, hoping dearly he was not slipping away over there on the other side of the beast.

  The bracelet was supposed to heal them, wasn’t it? They both had those on their wrists. They’d be fine in a minute. Even though she knew that was what was supposed to be happening, she wasn’t willing to wait and find out she was wrong.

  There was a weak pulse under her finger, just enough to convince her Heck was still alive. What had she learned… rescue breath…

  She lowered herself over Heck’s face and wiped the blood off his skin with the sleeve of her cloak before she opened his jaws and closed his nose with two fingers. With a small sigh, she inhaled a gust of air and lowered her mouth onto Heck’s to blow a stream of air into his lungs. Her eyes were on his chest, waiting for it to rise and then fall again. His shirt wasn’t damaged, she noticed with relief. At least this wasn’t his blood… unless there was a giant gash on his back she couldn’t see at the moment. She blew in another breath.

  Under her, Heck flinched, making her tear away from him to check if he was alert.

  He was staring at her with chocolate eyes, a smirk on his face and teeth flashing white against the blood-smeared skin. “That’s not how I imagined our first kiss.”

  Maray felt the urge to punch him unconscious at his statement and, at the same time, to hug him with relief.

  He lifted his head with caution, reaching behind it with one hand, and winced.

  “Shattered skull?” Maray asked with a fake edge, and Heck laughed.

  “Too much awesome thinking.” He winked at her. “Do you think being a hero comes without a headache?”

  Maray was glad he was recovering, and as she felt almost at ease, she remembered there was a second person to save. “Jemin,” she said, alarmed.

  Heck frowned. “Wrong,” he said and pointed at himself. “Hendrick Brendal.”

  “Jemin might have broken his spine,” she clarified and watched all smugness leave Heck’s face before she jumped to her feet, picking up the dagger in the process.

  She climbed over Yutu-Langley’s motionless front paw, praying in her mind tha
t Jemin was okay. But, when she could see past the fur, she thought Jemin looked worse than before. First of all, his eyes were closed, but there was more… he was incredibly pale, like the linen towels in the bathroom at the end of the corridor.

  “Jem,” Heck’s voice startled her as he sped past her, almost looking as if he had never been smothered by a giant hind-leg.

  He crouched down on the floor beside Jemin and grabbed his hand, going rigid.

  “Does he have a pulse?” Maray knelt down beside him and took Jemin’s hand into hers, checking his vitals again. His pulse was there, but he didn’t seem to be conscious.

  “Jemin,” she addressed him, hoping that her voice might make the difference and he’d wake up.

  Jemin

  Jemin heard Maray like she was speaking through a haze, “He is not breathing, Jemin.”

  Heck. He needed to help Heck. Heck had killed Langley—in his Yutu self—while he had been petrified into the corner. That hit of Langley’s paw might have killed him. He’d been incredibly lucky to be thrown into the door and not the hard edge of the doorframe. It would have split his head.

  “Help him,” he wanted to say, but his voice failed him.

  Then there was Heck’s voice; just the sound of his voice, no distinct words, but enough to reassure him Heck would be all right. He had his bracelet on, and that would heal him. As long as he had a pulse and was breathing. Once his heart failed, there would be no reversing the damage.

  As he was still pondering the meaning of Heck’s voice, he felt the darkness slowly swallowing him. He wanted to call out for Maray to let her know he wanted her by his side… just in case. A soldier had to always be prepared; and until today, he’d thought he was. Then, after last night… after feeling Maray’s silken lips and the fire in his chest as she had climbed onto his lap… he felt like a different man—a man, not just a soldier. The burn marks on his cheeks had been totally worth the wake-up call their kisses had meant. And this wasn’t about his teenage infatuation with a portrait of Queen Rhia. This was about Maray—her silent patience when he struggled with his contained emotions, her lapis-lazuli eyes that looked deep into his soul, her wit and her bravery. All of it combined, and she could sweep any man off his feet, and she had chosen him.