by Mark Ryan
The earlier panic fluttered in Tetra’s chest. “What do you mean?” The dog started licking Tetra’s palm, whining softly at the change of the boy’s mood.
“We’ll be listening for your call.”
“No. What about my not being any better off? What did you mean by that?”
Petrius patted Tetra’s shoulder. “There’ll be plenty of time to talk when you’re healed up.”
“What aren’t you telling me?” Tetra moved his hand away, scratching at the dog’s nape, behind his ear. Try as might, he couldn’t calm himself.
Petrius looked at the floor. He finally met Tetra’s eyes. Tetra read guilt there. “You were terribly injured. Three of the bones in your lower back were crushed, and fragments cut into your spine. I don’t believe you’ll ever walk again.”
Tetra’s throat went dry. His pulse pounded in his temples. He drew his hand away from the dog, clenching his arms around his stomach. “What? But … you healed me.”
In the silence between the two, the dog hopped onto the bed, curling up next to Tetra and shoving its nose against Tetra’s arm. With his head laying on Tetra’s stomach, he stared soulfully up at the hurting boy.
“I can only do so much.” Petrius shook his head. “If I’d been there when you were injured, I might’ve been able to do more. I’m very sorry. I didn’t want to tell you yet. You should thank the Aspects that you are alive at all, I didn’t think you would make it.”
“But I—there’s a chance then … when the medicine wears off?” Tetra refused to hear the truth in the doctor’s words.
Petrius looked away. “I’m sorry. No.” He picked up the tray and shuffled from the room. His hound cast a last mournful look at Tetra before hopping off the bed and following.
By the Aspects, it couldn’t be. Tetra stared at the ceiling, trying to deny the surgeon’s words. Jaegen … his family … now his legs. What more could he lose but his life? Tears burned in the corners of his eyes, but he clenched his chest and refused to let them come. Crying would just be giving in, surrendering … How easy it would be to take the doctor’s medicine and lose himself to sleep once more. To not have to fight.
Instead, he took the grief and added it to the stone at his core, accepting it as part of himself. He lay there for hours as the last of the medicine wore off. Petrius—Doctor Alma—had spoken truthfully about the pain worsening, but being able to move his arms fully again made it worth the extra agony. Not feeling like he was swimming through honey, fighting for every motion, lifted his heart.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the grief in his gut turned into stronger determination. He pushed himself to sit up straighter, vision going gray from the effort.
The healer had been wrong about one thing. He would walk again. Even if he had to crawl through the underworld and back again, he would walk. No matter how long it took, no matter how much it tortured him. What did more agony matter if everything already hurt? Halli needed him, and he’d die before he let her down. Yes. Only death would stop him now.
Without waiting for the nausea to ebb, he grabbed the thin, gray cloth of a pants leg. Grunting with effort, he swung his right leg over the edge of the bed. He bit back against another surge of pain, letting it pass over and through him. Hauling his left leg over next to his right, he braced a hand on the bedside table and the other on the edge of the bed. Taking a deep breath, he shoved off, immediately collapsing to the floor, back blossoming in pain.
He forced himself up onto his elbows, looking around the room. A million thoughts raced through his mind, none able to pierce the veil of agony. He floated on a river of agony, unable to think a clear thought, driven only by intent. Reaching forward, he grabbed the floor. Reflexively, his magic went to work, shifting the density of the stone as his fingers came down. Instead of stone, his fingers dug into dusty grooves as the pressure from his hands powdered the floor beneath his fingertips.
Hand over hand, he pulled his body across the floor, dragging himself toward the door. He pushed the door open. Just beyond, the healer’s hound sat alert in the otherwise empty hallway. It watched him, ears cocked. A guard dog? He prayed it wouldn’t alert the Healer. It padded up to him and licked his face. “Good boy.” Tetra managed to rasp.
Containing stones forged by Vulcans into everlasting light fixtures, a few volamps illuminated the hall with an orange glow, steadier than the exterior torchlight illuminating the room behind him. Sweat beaded his forehead as he crawled forward, pulling himself along with his elbows and fingers, his magic digging furrows in the stone as he went.
Cold air chilled his damp skin as he made his way into the nearby courtyard. The immense fortress reared around him, backlit by moonlight—but he only had eyes for the practice yard off to the right. He heard voices, but ignored them.
The hound padded alongside him as he crawled across the courtyard. He cursed his scrapes and bruises, considering them one more enemy to be defeated. His huffs echoed about, while pebbles ground beneath him with each haul forward. His legs dragged behind, senseless, useless. Through it all, his felt like it was being torn apart by a ravager.
With another grind of an elbow against stone, he lay over the threshold to the training yard. He pressed a hand against the archway, preparing to shove through. When he pushed, though, his palm slipped and he flopped flat. Fire coiled up his back and ate away the last of his strength. His cheek slapped stone, and darkness swallowed him whole.
***
Chapter 20
Tetra Bicks
Damn fool boy.”
Tetra lurched awake, flailing an arm for balance. Doctor Alma leaned over him, scowling. A young woman stood nearby, looking pensive. At Alma’s wave, she ducked out through the door, leaving him alone with the healer.
Tetra glanced around. Back in the infirmary. Torchlight flickered in from the windows, tantalizing him, mocking his failure. They must’ve hauled him there themselves after he collapsed. But how did they …
His gaze fell onto the hound sitting by the bed. Its tongue lolled. With a quiet bark it stood and came forward to lick his hand. He pulled away, not wanting sympathy from anyone, much less a dog, right then. Especially a dog that had given him away.
Alma finished pulling the sheet back over his lower body. He straightened and laid a hand on the hound’s head. “If Kafa here hadn’t led me to you, you might’ve frozen out there overnight. Even so, you just made your back worse, despite my catching you and immediately healing the new damage.”
Tetra frowned. “You always set guard dogs on your patients?”
“He’s not a guard dog, just a loyal pet. And he’s obviously smarter than you, lad. What were you thinking?”
Tetra patted one of his dead legs. “Just wanted to go for a walk.” It wasn’t easy, feigning nonchalance in the emotional and physical maelstrom he was in, but he refused to give ground. Refused to acknowledge what the doctor had said. He would walk again.
The healer shook his head. “Not even a day aware of your surroundings, and already you’re trying to get yourself killed again. Pretty sure I checked your skull for any cracks, but maybe I overlooked something.”
“I’m not stupid or insane,” Tetra said, firming his back to make it stop twitching. “I just know I can do this. I need time. I need practice.”
Alma sighed and plopped into the nearby chair. “Look, lad, there’s hope and then there’s hoping for the impossible. You already survived what should’ve been one impossible injury—”
“Then why can’t I beat another?” Tetra choked on the words, struggling to maintain his façade. Tears threatened to burst forth.
“Aspects give me patience.” Alma scrubbed his forehead. “Are you a Geist? Hm?”
“No, but my sister is.” He felt for the small knot of her presence in the back of his mind. She was there. “I’ve seen her deal with all sorts of injuries and illnesses, and I know the body can heal itself over time even without magic.”
“Not the same thing,” Alma snapped. “Just
because you’ve felt her affinity at work doesn’t mean you have any idea of its limits or those of the body. Nor would I believe she has the lifetime of experience I do in treating wounds, nor in dealing with corpses. I’ve done what I can for your wounds, and I’d rather not see you become a corpse after expending that effort.”
Tetra made a fist. “Are you me?”
The healer frowned. “What? No, what’re you talking about?”
“Just because you’ve seen limits in others doesn’t mean they apply to me.”
Alma leaned over, forearms on his knees. He blew out a long breath. “I’ve been looking over you for weeks now, do you realize? Ever since Sergeant Reynolds brought you in, practically dead. He’s the one who rescued you, did you know?”
Tetra stared quizzically at the old man. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“You should be grateful. Your life was saved. Others have placed great effort into making sure you live. And gratitude means giving your elders a measure of respect and authority.”
“So what does this Reynolds think about my chances of walking again, then? Does he think I should be bedridden the rest of my days?” Tetra knew he was being ungrateful, and mean. It didn’t stop him though. Fear about the loss of his legs far outweighed his upbringing’s demands of civility.
Alma’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not in the habit of asking soldiers their opinions on medical matters. He trusted me with your life, and so I’m asking you to trust my insights. Your condition is still incredibly fragile. Strain it too much now, and you could lose control of your arms as well. Or worse.”
“I know what’s worse,” Tetra said, clenching his jaw. “Giving up. Surrendering. Letting my sister and the others be oroc slaves.”
Sorrow deepened the lines on the healer’s face. “I’m sorry, Tetra, but there’s no evidence your sister or any others from your village are still alive.”
“I know she is, at least.”
“How?”
Tetra licked his lips, trying to think of how he could explain the bond twins had, his ability to sense her and even tap into her affinity across the distance between them. Would the healer believe him or just see it as another sign of his being knocked a little crazy? “I just do. And I have to find a way to rescue her.”
“Even if she lives, you’re no good to her like this,” Alma said. “And you will be even worse for her if you kill yourself dragging yourself around the castle.”
“Then let me work to get better!”
Alma stood and thrust a finger at him. “The only way you’ll get better is to rest, eat, and nothing more. That’s an order.”
Tetra turned his face away, knowing he sulked, but unable to stop. “You can’t stop me from trying.”
That raised the healer’s brow. “Can’t I? Hear me on this, Tetra Bicks. If I catch you trying another stunt like tonight, I’ll tie you to the bed, set Kafa on a real watch, and post guards outside the infirmary. I have Lord Drayston’s authority on such matters, and I doubt he’d appreciate it if I let you die because of your own foolishness.”
Tetra started to say what he thought of Lord Drayston. The man who’d let the orocs slaughter the village without resistance. Who was supposed to have protected those under his rule. He caught his tongue, recognizing the foolishness for what it was. Insulting the healer’s master wouldn’t make it any likelier for him to get permission to continue training. On top of that, it wasn’t the Lord’s fault. That was just anger ruling Tetra’s mind.
Looking relieved at the lack of protest, Alma checked him over once more, muttering about children and silly notions. “I am an old man, Tetra. I am going to sleep. Do the same. You need to heal.” He left the room, taking the lamp with him. Starlight and flickering torchlight from the courtyard filtered in through the window, softly illuminating the darkness. Kafa snuck a last lick of Tetra’s hand before following.
Left alone in the dark, Tetra focused on his legs. He was exhausted, true, but wasn’t ready to give in and sleep. He prodded, pinched, and slapped them all over, desperate to regain any sensation, any control. If they wanted to be stubborn and refuse to obey him, then he just needed to be more stubborn and disregard what his would be overseer ordered. H would walk again.
The trick now lay in figuring out how to accomplish this without the healer turning him into a prisoner of the infirmary.
***
Chapter 21
Halli Bicks
Halli huddled in a corner of the cage, arms wrapped around her knees as she fought to keep from shivering. More than a month had gone by since their capture, and she still couldn’t make any sense of their situation or surroundings. The weather continued to cool, signaling the encroaching winter. While the thick forest shielded them from the brunt of the chilly weather, the vines and tree roots of the cage still let in every brisk breeze.
The girls had moved their makeshifts bed closer together, and at night they slept huddled together. For now it was working, keeping them alive, but Halli was not sure they would resist the elements much longer.
Kat remained unconscious, barely breathing, no matter how much Halli plied her affinity. The other girls could use their affinities to help the sick girl drink and swallow their daily gruel, but nothing changed her condition. Halli still felt her spirit living in the body though, and refused to give up. It was as though some other force was lending her strength, firming her will.
While Halli felt stronger than ever, the other girls were showing signs of growing illness—from uncontrollable coughs, to fevers, to skin discolorations. With the strength of her affinity, Halli should’ve been able to keep them all well, but more of them slipped into sickness each day. How could she be failing them like this? The obvious answer was that the orocs were underfeeding them. Without the strength and sustenance to do more than sit around all day, using an affinity was difficult. Just like any other exercise, it required energy.
Healing took a toll on both the Geist and patient, drawing from the body’s stores. The orocs fed the prisoners, but just enough to keep them alive. But Halli was strong. Beyond strong. Growing up she had heard the whispering that she might grow up to be an Archmage, an opportunity stolen from her brother with his childhood accident. Even the low food rations shouldn’t keep her magic this weak. It was as though a layer of ice separated her from her affinity.
She’d fallen into the habit of studying their captors. Her natural curiosity distracted her as she puzzled out what went on around them. Distraction was not all she sought though. If there was hope of escape, or even of survival, it lay with understanding their situation.
Their cage sat near the middle of the settlement, with massive trees rearing all around and a leafy canopy blocking out most of the sunlight, casting the area into a golden-green hue. Halli knew there were six other cages, though they were not in her line of sight. A nearby ridge held a series of caves, which the orocs used for storage and communal gatherings. Other than that, they lived in the trees themselves, with vines and branches woven into sturdy platforms connected by ropey bridges and swings.
Halli didn’t fully understand why the orocs lived up there. With their strong earth affinities, using magic to craft homes from the earth should be a simple task. The taboo on fire she understood, at least. If she lived in a tree, she’d be wary of fire as well.
Several hundred orocs lived within the settlement. At first, she found it difficult to distinguish between male and female, or even the young and old. Much of the tribe distinguished itself more by their roles, with warrior-hunters coming and going almost every day, while artisans and crafters remained within the village. After a while, Halli figured out that the vines, leaves, and mosses covering their bodies weren’t actually part of them. Instead, they carefully cultivated these living adornments, which acted as the equivalent of human clothing.
She also began to note how those she determined to be female wore far more of these foliage decorations, including leafy headdresses over otherwise bald
scalps. Once she figured that out, she counted more female members of the tribe than male. Yet they shared the same roles as the males, with many women going on hunts, constructing new shelters, or training their young in combat.
The orocs possessed powerful affinities, most of them connected with the earth. This let them mold tree and stone and dirt to their will, using the environment like a natural tool as they forged a life from the forest. Somehow they were able to use Geist to mold and move plants as well. That was well beyond anything Halli had ever learned, but she studied intently as the days and weeks went by.
Another shiver ran down her back, returning her focus to the present. She didn’t know if studying their captors would actually help anything, but she was tired of being ignorant and feeling helpless. If any scrap of knowledge she gleaned could better their situation, then she’d keep her eyes open and mind active.
One of the girls started coughing in her sleep. Halli looked over as the coughs turned to hacking, until the girl sounded close to choking. It sounded like there was something wet in her lungs. The other girls drew back, expressions terrified.
Halli hurried over and laid her hands on the choking girl. When she started to buck and writhe, Halli spoke quietly to the rest, “Hold her down! I need her still.” She wanted to scream, to yell, but she was afraid of attracting the attentions of their captors.
Girls huddled around, as many as could fit, helping to keep the girl pinned. The rest got up and moved to the edges of the cage, trying to shield Halli from the rest of the camp. Halli probed through her body and spirit, searching for the problem. She had a light fever and aching stomach, but it wasn’t until Halli studied her chest that she spotted the problem.
Water in her lungs? That wasn’t right. Not water, but it was some sort of fluid buildup. How to heal it? Halli cast her affinity deeper, using it to restore balance to the girl’s body. She worked on instinct, feeling for the broken elements and encouraging them to heal over. To her relief, the liquid dispersed back into the girl’s body. Her coughs eased and her breathing steadied. However, Halli sensed an illness still rooted in her flesh, one she didn’t know how to cure. Given enough time, the fluid would return and threaten her life again.