by T. A. Creech
Zusah laughed, high notes telling of her delight. “You are unique, as far as mages go, Catli. Let no one say any different.”
“Thank you, I think, but you know what I mean.” Catli smiled for his leader. He never was sure if her assertion was an insult or not. Whichever way she meant it, he took no offense. He was an odd one and knew it. He personally felt no hurt when his strangeness was pointed out, though others might feel such a sting.
“You’re welcome.” Zusah must have felt she shouldn’t move any closer to his patient, because instead of her customary pat to his arm, she smiled and popped a short wave. “I shall leave you to work, since my question is answered. You will tell me if you need help, or if this man becomes a danger, yes?”
“Of course.” That was an easy promise to give. No one in the village had his skills with medicine, and Hoalnia checked on him several times in a day. If Catli was in danger, Hoalnia would deal with the stranger with a minimum of fuss, mage or no.
Zusah left with Catli’s word and he carried on his duties. It was shaping up to be a busy day.
* * * *
Twitching muscles and a pained groan brought Catli back to the patient’s side hours later with the pain cream already in his hands. Some piece in his heart contracted with a hard spasm as he shushed the man with nonsense words of comfort. Until the burns were healed, there was no real relief for his patient. Toa maimed deep and the damage was supposed to hurt for a long time after the fact. That’s how the God-Child made sure Its lesson stuck, though Catli had no idea what the lesson was about.
Eyelids fluttered as he dabbed the salve on the constellation on the stranger’s face first. Catli caught peeks of pale brown between the gold lashes. The color was washed out in the same way his flesh was. Maybe the almost colorless skin wasn’t a sign of a man used to the indoors. Eyes faded that much were a symptom of a deeper problem. Backlash.
Fire mages of all strengths ran hot, a byproduct of the type of power they used. All mages had some byproduct. The first symptom any healer looked for when backlash was suspected was a fever. Why hadn’t he checked? Foolish!
Catli darted back to his work sink and drew out all the cool water available, filling close to a dozen bowls. He yanked open his linen cupboard and snatch out all the big pieces he had. The long strips he started soaking, but the big squares he dunked in the water until they were sopping.
They got a cursory wring for drips, and then Catli peeled them to their fullest extent and laid each cloth over as much skin as he could. His patient jerked, whimpered as the water drew out some of the fever heat. The problem was Catli had no idea what his patient’s normal temperature was. Fire mages varied in a wild extreme. Some rose a couple of degrees, some were unbearable to stand next to, and most fell in between.
Eyes snapped open as he spread one of the long strips over the left arm, so washed of color they were nearly white. A pale hand snared Catli’s wrist in a feeble grip. Catli didn’t pull away. This man had no power to hurt him, if the weak hand didn’t tell him then the haunted expression did.
“Gadal,” the rusted, worn voice came out of the stranger. “My girls. Did it work?”
Catli’s jaw dropped for a second, at a loss. “I only found you. Let me get you some water.”
The man stuttered out a whimper. Catli stayed still. “I failed.”
“I don’t know?” Catli was baffled. The tears welled swift and blurred the man’s eyes. The Powers save him; Catli had no idea how to deal with tears from anyone. This stranger, crying on his table, was not expected.
Fingers slipped from his wrist and banged on the table with a dull thump. Eyes clenched shut, before they smoothed out and his patient’s face slackened with unconsciousness again. Catli’s snapped his mouth shut. It was best if the man slept, after being unconscious for days, a true rest. A little of the knotted ball of worry in his chest loosened. The stranger would pull through.
Night dragged on in a slow parade of dripping cloth and cold water on sunless skin marked by the volcano. He fought down the fever in his patient with steady hands, but his mind was all over the place with questions. He’d have to wait for answers until the stranger was awake and aware enough to give his story to Catli.
Something bad had happened, that much he knew for sure. Bad enough to drive this man to Toa and suffer the backlash of an unknown magic. Enough to risk his life and suffer the God-Child’s wrath for it.
Catli was sure of one other thing. If his first thoughts on waking were of someone else, family by the way he talked, the stranger wasn’t here to do harm to the villagers or the island. He looked so sad when Catli couldn’t answer his question, that he was found alone. Catli’s heart, already hurting on behalf of the other mage, cracked, just a little, from sorrow.
There had to be something he could do to lift even a fraction of his patient’s burden from him. A way to make him want to carry on, without trying whatever had brought him again. Catli had a sneaking suspicion his task wouldn’t be easy at all. When family was involved, and he felt the truth of that guess down in his marrow, people became unpredictable and erratic.
But he was here, with Catli. That piece of his heart, cracked like an overheated pot, felt an attachment to his patient in a way he had never encountered before. The feeling was new and it frightened him.
He followed the impulse of his heart though.
Catli would do whatever it took to save this stranger.
Chapter 4
Someone had plucked the fiery stars from the night sky and smothered their brilliance in his flesh. With malice aforethought. On the most uncomfortable bed he’d ever had the misfortune to meet. And the grease streaked across his skin was unnecessary, in all fairness.
Alegan’s eyes cracked open to the sight of a fibrous ceiling in a pale tan and no memory of why he was on such an uncomfortable bed. Naked too, because the coarse cloth draped over his hips to thighs was not his usual wear. Wood registered pressed against the back of his hands, distant to the stars of discomfort pulling in a random pattern on his skin, and he rethought his place. A table. A good-sized one since his feet weren’t dangling off the end. What had happened? Goodness, he was parched.
He sighed and swallowed around the dry throat. Hopefully his minder was close by. “Hello?”
For a stomach churning moment, Alegan thought his voice had abandoned him forever and all he had left was a breathy, husky whisper for his effort on the slopes. His throat clicked when he swallow once more. “Hello?”
A little louder that time, though still husky in a way he was not pleased about. Would he be stuck like this forever?
Hazel eyes, glittering like citrine in the bright desert sun, appeared above him, capturing his complete attention. They were soft and sharp at the same time. Concerned, maybe? The rest of the man’s face came into focus in the next second, but the rounded cheeks and easy curve of the jaw were a distant detail in his mind. There was only a hint of a smile folded into the corners of his lips.
“Good afternoon,” the stranger said. “I’m Catli.”
Stranger no more. “Alegan,” he croaked and winced as the way his name was shaped from his mouth tugged on the painful part of his cheek.
Catli smiled in truth, the relief plain in his sigh. When the man turned his head, reaching for something beyond Alegan’s sight, he noticed the blood red stars circling his forehead, partially hidden by strands of dark hair. A fellow fire mage. That was a relief.
“Where is the healer?” Half his face pinged his awareness, the painful jolts as he asked. A fuzzy bit of the puzzle slotted into place. Cinder drifting hot on the air from a glowing hole in the mountain side. A volcano, his memory supplied. Toa.
“I am the healer in this village.” Catli gave him a hard, narrowed stare as he brought a red jar up to chest height, where Alegan could see it, and dipped his fingers in. “You have extensive burns, so I am applying this salve for your comfort.”
“Thank you,” Alegan breathed. The first cool touch
was right above his eyebrow on the right and a blissful numb feeling erased the spot from existence. It was a temporary relief, he knew that. Knowing didn’t stop the near inaudible groan of relief from tumbling out of his mouth.
Catli’s smile deepened above him, lines of happiness breaking apart the concentration stamped on his rosy brown skin. More dots of pain vanished in short order as the careful fingers of his healer moved down his cheek to the top of his chest. Alegan kept his eyes on Catli. He felt the injuries keening; he didn’t need to see what had happened just yet.
It was obvious his spell had failed. If he’d managed to pull it off, Gadal would be right there with Catli, tending to his wounded soul while the healer worked on his body. His eyes ached, however no tears came. Maybe he was beyond them, or he was too dehydrated to cry. The lead ball where his heart was supposed to be spoke more to the former reason.
Silence was the one comfort he had. Catli didn’t seem to be in any hurry to question why he was on the island, or how he was injured. Alegan was grateful. There wasn’t a rush to explain, to relive his failure. The questions would come, at some point, but it looked like he had a reprieve to gather his frayed mind and nerves before he was forced to tell Catli, at least, what happened. If he remembered his scant study of the island’s inhabitants, his fellow fire mage was probably the second highest member of the village. Catli had the authority to ask those questions. Had the authority to decide his fate on the island.
When Catli pulled away, Alegan took stock of how he felt, physically anyway. His heart and thoughts were a mess, without a doubt. There was a dull ache in his veins, too much power in a body not designed for it, and his whole body ached from pushing too far. The stars had stopped burning, which was a good thing.
Catli came back into his line of sight with another vessel and set it down just out of reach above his head. “You need to sit up and drink.”
Those soft hands slid under his shoulders, bringing Catli very close. Hot ash and the ocean breeze filled his senses in a rush, left him a little dizzy. It soothed his fragile nerves.
Alegan had no strength to help, but the mage made him sit up with very little strain. Every muscle quivered like flowers in a breeze. He barely found the coordination to slump forward. The red bowl, maybe cup, appeared before him, half full of clear water. It was a beautiful sight to his dry mouth.
Alegan’s arms trembled, his hands shook, as he managed to raise his arms. They went up a couple of inches before his strength ran out and his knuckles flopped with painful force on his thighs. He huffed and dropped his eyes to the cloth over his lap, ears on fire all of a sudden.
“It’s fine,” Catli murmured above him. The cup-bowl lifted to rest, butterfly light, against his bottom lip. A cool hand ran from his shoulder to the nape of his neck, a stable point to rest his skull against as the vessel tilted a fraction. Water seeped over his lips at a trickle. The sweet taste chased the phantom of gritty ash away from his senses and soothed the painful burn in his throat. Oh, the Powers could only find one thing better than this in all of existence. Alegan’s breath hitched on the thought. Water spilled out of the container and ran in a fast torrent down his chin.
Catli pulled the water away, out of sight, and returned with a cloth. Alegan’s faced burned to match his ears as his healer dabbed away the liquid from his face. Like he was helpless, a child unable to care for itself. How had his life come to this?
The water came back. At least he didn’t have the energy to lift his head. He could avoid Catli’s eyes and save what little of his pride remained. Still, Alegan kept his thoughts pushed back and just existed in the moment. He would wait until Catli had taken his leave to mourn his obvious failure.
As the last drop passed through his lips, Alegan was guided back down onto the unforgiving wooden table. He wished he had the energy to turn away from Catli’s piercing eyes. Anything.
“I need to step outside for a while,” Catli said, voice soft and smooth. Alegan had the impression his fellow mage was modulating his tone in deference to him. The vowels were too long for any other reason.
Alegan tried to nod, tried to give Catli an indication that he understood and he appreciated the few minutes of privacy he’d gain. His head jerked back and thumped on the table. Damn. He was weak as a newborn. “Thank you.”
“No need to thank me.” Catli tapped his fingers on the back of Alegan’s hand and slipped away, out the door with a basket he picked up from somewhere around Alegan’s ankles.
Once alone, Alegan stared up at the woven ceiling. His eyes blurred. The noise in his head jumbled into one long, rushing sound. There was nothing left. No family to return to. No students to teach during the days. Nothing.
Failure.
* * * *
Days stretched on and only Catli’s routine gave Alegan any way to define them in the perpetual candlelit hut.
The first evening he’d awoken, Catli forced a heavy broth down his throat, in defiance of Alegan’s private wish to starve to death. He didn’t share the wish. His healer seemed just as determined to see Alegan whole and on his feet. If he had the energy, he might have walked back out into wilds of the volcano and ignored his body until it withered away to dust.
But every time Alegan turned his face away from the other mage, Catli started to talk about the most ridiculous things. The sentience of the volcano was the first thing Alegan learned Catli believed, and Alegan could not help himself. He argued back that volcanoes weren’t really alive. At some random point in Alegan’s refutation, Catli surprised him with a spoon stuffed in his mouth.
It worked. Continued working too, because Alegan proved that first meal how much he was willing to debate a point into the ground. Catli also proved mages didn’t become Masters if they weren’t able to learn. Catli learned Alegan’s basics at a frightening pace.
Healing was a messy business. The tube and bowl portion was ingenuous, though humiliating, and Alegan was bound by his dignity to regain enough strength to hobble to the toilet on his own by the second day. Broth was exchanged for gruel by the third. After a week, Alegan was able to sit for a proper meal at Catli’s tiny dining table in the back rooms of the hut.
Except for arguing esoteric knowledge, Catli and Alegan didn’t trade much information about themselves. Alegan knew his own reasons. What point was there befriending a man when he had given up on life? The first night, after understanding his failure, he’d carried the heavy weight of his loss in the very pit of his soul. It dragged at him, choked him to silence more than once, made the world blur and fade at random.
But Catli seemed to be waiting for something.
The same night he was able to sit and eat a meal, Catli ushered him to what Alegan thought as a guest room. It wasn’t very big. There was a squat bed big enough to accommodate him, a tiny table next to it for a candle and maybe a book, and wooden rail suspended from the wall for clothing. Sparse, in the extreme, but Alegan didn’t need much. Catli left him after a quiet good night.
As beds went, it wasn’t comfortable. Better than the great table Catli had him on since finding him on the mountain slope, though. It was stuffed with the same fiber the baskets were woven with and it gave in all the right places, but the closed wooden frame kept it off the floor by a good couple of feet. The pillow was marvelous, filled to capacity with bird down, the species unknown. All in all, Alegan had a dreamless night of some comfort.
Dawn broke through the window of his room and painted the wall in rusty colors. Perhaps the colors were purer, prettier, without the flat brown of the wooden wall. Alegan lay still for a few minutes. The exact hues of the sunrise never revealed themselves, but faded away as minutes rolled on. Alegan gave up and put his feet on the cool floor.
Alegan would murder for a proper wash. No stench clung to his skin, exactly, since he’d been bed bound until yesterday, but he felt grime over every inch of his body, nonetheless. He wandered out of his room into the silent house and wandered toward the toilet area, taking the time to
scrub his hands and face after he’d finished with his personal business.
There was no bath in the closet-sized room, nor any exit into another chamber. The short hallway boasted three doors in total, his room and the bathroom being two, and he assumed Catli’s was behind the third. So how did the villagers get clean?
He moved toward the little cooking space and the table it held at the other end of the house. Catli was standing at the potbellied stove, a pot steaming on the flat top of it. His host turned as Alegan shuffled in and offered a smile. “Did you sleep well?”
At least Catli had the sense not to wish him a good morning. “I need a bath.”
“Oh.” Catli’s gaze narrowed as he looked Alegan over. He shifted foot to foot under the hazel eyes, self-conscious. Now that he was on his feet, more or less, cleanliness once again became a source of icy embarrassment. “I will show you to the baths once you’ve broken fast.”
Maybe his wife watched over him from Serena’s great fields, that Catli wasn’t going to demand he wait until he was further mended. The burns on his body, and the scorch marks in his veins from the backlash, had cooled to a faint, dull throb in the back of his awareness.
Alegan shuffled forward and looked in the bubbling pot as Catli moved away to fetch dishes. More hot cereal, bland beige, something close in flavor and texture to oats. Crockery clattered when Catli came back and Alegan finally stepped back as the other mage dipped a ladle into the thick concoction.
“What are those, anyway?” Alegan pointed at the red vessels sitting stacked on the sideboard Catli kept close to the stove. “They’re not quite the size of a standard bowl, but are larger than a cup.”
“This is a standard size bowl.” Catli’s expression folded with confusion.
“But…” Alegan trailed off as a thought came to him. Maybe this was the standard bowl on Toa. He was used to servings on the mainland, with bowls having wide flat rims and a deep depression to hold food. The red bowls here were shallow and the perfect size to cradle with both hands, which was surprisingly practical, now that he thought about it. Such a design made getting that last bit left at the bottom easy to get, instead of repeated struggles scooping out the dregs with a spoon. He came to another question. “Do they all come in red?”