by Mark Ryan
“Think about what they’re seeing. It has nothing to do with you, or your orders. They see a lad who was wounded near to death, who was told he’d never walk again, never have a chance to fight for what he cared about most … and now here he is, refusing to give up no matter how difficult it is. Refusing to surrender, no matter how much it hurts. That’s the kind of man we want guarding or fighting for this castle, Petrius. And if I can’t have him on active duty, then I want all thousand of the Drayston men to at least see him as an example.”
“Being an example could get him killed,” Alma said, frowning. “The cold, the ice, the motion—any of these things could kill him.”
“We all die sooner or later, no matter how well we’re healed. You talk of my being trained to kill, whereas you are trained to heal. I can tell you one thing. You worry day in and out about how people may die, but I know I will die, so I worry instead about how I live. Stop worrying about how the boy might die, and look at how he wants to live.”
Petrius stared at the sergeant. “You surprise me with your insight. … I find myself agreeing. He can train.”
Reynolds grinned. Not only had he succeeded in getting Alma’s agreement, but he felt as though he had started to get to know the man better. Perhaps they would be able to forge a friendship after all. “Thank you, Healer Alma.”
“But …” Alma straightened and shook a finger. “This doesn’t remain unconditional.”
The sergeant nodded. “Go on.”
“Let me at least make a back brace for him to lessen the chance of him being re-injured. In addition, I want to be present during his training sessions. That way I can monitor his condition and handle any serious wounds he takes.” He waved off Reynold’s dubious look. “I won’t coddle him, damn you. I’m not saying I’ll heal his every scratch and bruise, but if he starts bleeding internally because of a blow to the head, I will be there before the damage becomes permanent. He is an example to your men; let him be an example of my craft as well.”
“Very well,” said Reynolds. “Provide the brace and you can supervise whenever you want. But you don’t have the authority to stop the practice or drag him away just because you think my men are being too rough with him. He needs real opposition to toughen him up.”
As if to emphasize this, a harder blow sent Tetra tumbling. Alma winced, but the boy lurched back to his feet and resumed his defensive stance, though with one shoulder hunched as if he fought a stitch in his side.
“Agreed. And Sergeant?”
“Hm?”
“Aspects damn us both if he dies at our hands.”
“A risk I’m willing to take.” Reynolds turned back to his desk, more reports waiting to be signed off. “And one I believe he’s accepted as well.”
***
Chapter 36
Halli Bicks
A frosty gust of wind shot through the cave and the warmth from the vent wavered, withdrawing for a second before once more heating the cave. Halli huddled closer, head and body covered by a thick skin so just the tip of her nose poked out. Several orocs wandered by the entrance and their laughter cracked as they pointed elbows at the “thin-barked sapling.”
Halli ignored them, staring into the glow rising from the thermal vent, trying to imagine it as the hearth of her old home. On such a wintry night back in Jaegen, families would gather in their Heart rooms, enjoying warm dinners and warmer company. Tetra would complain about having to clean up from dinner, while their mother and father murmured to each other—words she rarely listened to, but had been comforted by the familiar background noise.
Another whip of wind pushed a pocket of hot air into her eyes. She hunched, squinting as she tried to scrub away the tears.
No more. Never again. Even if they somehow got rescued from this place, even if they went back and rebuilt the village, it’d never be the same. Halli didn’t even know if she’d want to return. With new homesteads and town halls replacing the ones that burnt down, it sounded horrible. The familiar curves of hills and steppes, the streets she knew, but with no one alive that was familiar. Too many echoes and ghosts wandering about, and she’d likely wake every night to listen in the dark for screams or sounds of an attack.
Instead, she thought of the Jaegen Seven, all of them training in the sun and making plans for Aldamere. Where would they be now if the attack hadn’t occurred? Gone their separate ways as they forged new lives of their own? Banded together within the Academy to take on all comers and challenges as a team? Astounding their teachers and fellow students with their feats of strength and mental prowess? Might they someday strive for that to be real again?
She let her thoughts drift, let herself have visions of rescue, hope, bright futures because … well … what else could she do? If she accepted her place here as a servant … as a slave … she’d stop looking for a way out. She might miss the opportunity they needed to escape as Malec and Pavil had, or even convince the orocs to let them go.
Over the past weeks, ever since the harvesters talked outside their prison, the tribe appeared increasingly divided about what to do with the human saplings. Some continued to incorporate the boys and girls in the daily chores, handing off more of the drudge work despite the children not being as strong, or enduring, as the youngest oroc sapling.
These orocs seemed to stand the human presence, while others made it a point to taunt and make their already miserable existences even more painful at every opportunity. Halli had been called over to the boys’ cave twice now to heal broken bones and deep cuts. Both times Sven had the worst injuries. He was getting beaten daily. Halli didn’t know what he had done to anger their oroc captors, but Sven was battered and broken.
Halli cast a look back into the cave recesses. She ought to rejoin the other girls, comfort them. She was the new “mother,” as both the eldest and the healer. But did they really care if she was there or not? Despite her best efforts, the hopeful light had quenched itself in many of their eyes. The hours they didn’t spend working for one oroc or another, they slept in the cave. They also had stopped talking. Even when they were first taken, they had talked during the mealtimes, reassuring each other, being friends. But no longer. They just ate in silence now. The silence weighed on her.
For a brief time, Halli had convinced some of them to play simple games or try to learn the oroc language along with her. Anything to keep their minds and spirits active.
When she offered to help Laney learn, though, the girl had blinked at her with dulled eyes. “Why would I want to know how these beasts speak?” she asked. “Why do you care what they say? They killed our families. That’s all we need to know about them.”
This, said in front of the rest as they bedded down one evening, had discouraged any of the other girls from joining the effort. Since then, a subtle distance had formed between the two. Halli and Laney still kept a constant watch over Leesa, doing what they could to stop her from slipping away, but they rarely spoke, never hugged, and sat in opposite corners of the cave with their bowls of mush.
The time neared to force Kat’s evening meal down her throat and give Laney a rest. Yet Halli hesitated, always hating returning to their chamber without answers or anything new to reignite hope among them. She wasn’t even sure if there was anything she could say, anymore. Would rescue even be enough, or would they be gone, hearts forever shattered by what they had been through?
She might be warmer back there too, but the relative coziness would just lull her to sleep. Here, the heat vent kept her bearably warm, while the nip of winter outside kept her focused enough to think. Every day, she tried to remain alert, despite the growing weariness. It never felt like she found any new answers, and often her mind just wandered from daydream to daydream.
Still, better than standing still and giving up, never finding the way out. Wasn’t it?
She jumped as a little hand pulled on the edge of her fur. One of the youngest girls had emerged and now shivered beside her, filthy black hair hanging in matted strings.<
br />
“Miss?”
“What’s wrong?” Halli asked.
“Laney fell asleep,” the girl said. “We can’t get her to wake up. Leesa is making bad noises and turning funny colors.”
Halli darted out from under the skin so fast she almost knocked the girl over. Her cheeks had flushed as she reached the room and took in the scene.
Laney lay slumped against a wall, thin cheeks pale. She breathed, though, praise the Aspects. Leesa lay in her little alcove, eyes still shut, jerking from side to side as she fought for breath. Her lips had gone blue and bloody froth foamed from her mouth.
Shrieking for Laney to wake up, Halli threw herself to Leesa’s side and placed her hands on the choking girl. Halli drew upon the deepest wellsprings of strength she had, channeling power from the depths of her soul.
Her mother had told her that the true power of a Geist was in the ability to manipulate the spirit of another. Any affinity could heal, but the Geist’s power lay in making a soul want to heal itself. A Geist could turn every ounce of energy in a body, in every cell, toward guiding the body to repair itself. But only to the limits of their power. And only if the spirit was connected to the body.
Leesa’s soul was almost gone. Every ounce of Halli’s power pushed towards holding that last connection in place, overcoming any natural resistance as she tried to force her to accept the healing. It was no longer a matter of guiding Leesa’s soul in repairing a damaged body. Every inch of ground gained had to be forced.
Halli anchored her own soul to Leesa’s, buying her a moment. It was risky. If Leesa died in this moment, she would take Halli with her. Halli stood frozen, aghast at everything she sensed. With their souls connected, she could feel the other’s body, not just sense it.
Her lungs had flooded, not just with water but also blood. The lungs themselves no longer pumped on their own. They were stretched taught, like overfull wineskins. Blood and water spilled over, draining into the breathing tubes and digestive areas. Something that didn’t belong was all over her lungs, some outside substance. It was attacking and killing everything in its path.
Halli jerked away, severing the bond between their souls. Leesa wasn’t dying … what Halli had just felt was a body and soul being held against its will. But she couldn’t just the girl die. The girl’s spirit flickered like the fire before a winter blast, and it took almost all of Halli’s focus just to keep it anchored to the body. Leesa’s heart no longer beat, and the twitching of her fingers and toes slowed with each instant.
“Laney! Help me!” Whatever had Laney under, this was no time for it. Halli hammered on the block to her power, shattering it with desperation. She threw her own soul at Laney, connecting instantly. Fumbling with more magic than she had ever used, Halli held Leesa’s life with one hand while fighting Laney’s unconsciousness with the other.
Halli felt her way instinctively. Laney’s soul was buried under layer of despair. Fusing the optimism of the daydreams she had been lost in earlier, Halli burned away Laney’s sorrow with raw hope.
Laney stirred and her eyes fluttered open. Then they snapped wide and she scurried over to Halli’s side. “What do we do? What do we do?”
Halli wrenched at Leesa’s core, searching for the center of the illness, seeking a way to drive it out … or even just hold it at bay a little longer. “Try to get her breathing again. Try to clear her throat and lungs.”
Laney held one of Leesa’s hands and focused. Leesa’s mouth gaped as she forced air down it, and her tiny chest swelled and dropped in a mockery of breathing. Halli grabbed the girl’s spirit, forcibly anchoring it to her body, refusing to let it leave. A fire burned beneath her clammy skin, one Halli couldn’t quench. She had become a burning building, and her spirit wanted to flee.
Nothing Halli tried worked. Leesa’s lungs and heart failed as quickly as she tried to bolster them. She tried adding more of her own spirit to the effort, but it felt like pouring water into a bottomless pit. Her stomach clenched, her muscles wavered, and her head swam, but still she fought for this one precious life.
Then Laney dropped the girl’s hand and fell back. She crawled away, shaking her head as tears coursed down her grimy face. “I can’t.… I can’t.… I can’t.…”
“Don’t give up,” Halli cried. “Please don’t.”
Halli crammed her upper body into the alcove, pressing herself against the other girl as if more direct contact could change things. She would give over everything within her if only it meant Leesa would live.
Then a hand grabbed her shift and yanked her away. Halli sprawled, but clawed to get back to the dying girl. Laney stood in her way. When Halli stood to shove by, she grabbed her hair and slapped her. “She’s gone, Halli! Don’t you see?”
“No … no …”
Laney gripped her shoulders. Forced her to look back. “If you keep trying, you’ll die or become like Kat. I know it. Don’t you go too. Please. We’ll all die without you.”
Trembling, Halli stared into her friend’s eyes and then past her to Leesa’s now-still form. The first sob dropped her. Laney went to her knees too, arms wrapped around Halli. As the two wept, the rest of the girls edged closer until they all mourned together in the center of their prison.
***
Chapter 37
Tetra Bicks
Tetra added a new pain to his growing list—blood blisters. Once he started adapting to old injuries, his body found new ways to hurt. His back and sides never quite stopped aching, but he knew how to ignore them. He’d figured out how to stand so they faded into a dull throb, how to use those pangs and twitches as prods to stand taller, to fight harder.
The wood and leather brace Healer Alma had surprised him with helped. It fit Tetra like a glove. A series of wide belts buckled around him from his waist up to his armpits. These strapped a shaped steel rod against his spine, easing some of the pressure whenever he moved too fast. At first, it was awkward, restricting his mobility. But Tetra soon adjusted to it. Once used to it, he found that it firmed his stances and let him absorb blows—without triggering back spasms.
He’d expected the healer to be furious on learning about the deception, but the man remained subdued and spoke to him with quiet encouragement. He even attended many of Tetra’s training sessions, watching from the sidelines. Afterwards, he’d give Tetra a brief inspection and then wander off, muttering to himself. He left the blisters untended, saying they’d heal on their own and he’d be better for it.
So Tetra’s hands continued to sting like he’d grabbed hold of a hornet’s nest. Calluses formed after the first couple weeks of swordplay with Corporal Mikkels, but they also tore wide after hours of training, and blood mingled with seeping fluids to stain his palms and the hilt of the wooden training sword. The freezing air of late winter didn’t help the sting of the burst blisters.
Their training sessions shifted to daytime, often coinciding with those of other soldiers who took to the court to hone their fighting skills. Corporal Mikkels remained his primary partner, always finding new flaws in his stances, his guard, and his attacks. As Tetra integrated each new instruction, the young guardsman shed his initial gruffness and settled into a patient, progressive style of training. With his keen eyes, he pointed out the next weakness to overcome and then drilled it until Tetra demonstrated at least a basic proficiency. Then he built on it, adding another level of complexity, and fighting theory, for Tetra to struggle with.
Tetra’s arm vibrated as Mikkels’ practice sword glanced off his round shield. Tetra had gained a few inches during his rehabilitation, leaving him just a hand shorter than the corporal. If he turned out anything like his father, he’d wind up taller and broader in the chest. If he took more after his uncles, he’d end up a giant—the size of a small oroc.
Clumsily deflecting another blow, Tetra backed away. Carefully, he kept his thoughts wandering, teaching his body to work on its own.
When he was well enough to write, he had sent letters to all of his fat
her’s siblings, but only Uncle Andros had replied so far. But this was not surprising, the others were all deployed to the far reaches of Promencia. Andros was a captain in the king’s army, rarely straying far from the capitol. His letter had expressed his desire to come to Drayston and help the Lord investigate the Jaegen atrocity. He especially wanted to search for the missing children. Andros had mentioned troubles in other parts of the kingdom and apologized that they kept him away, but gave no details. Tetra didn’t understand why the king hadn’t declared war. Why wouldn’t he just send a portion of his armies to Rocmire and deal with the orocs?
“Need a rest, Tetra?” Sergeant Reynolds asked from the courtyard’s edge.
“No, Sergeant,” Tetra called back. He grunted as Mikkels struck again. This time, Tetra reflexively moved the strike away with his blade. He relied on the shield less and less.
“Then stop drifting. Concentrate on where you are and what you’re doing.” Seemed like whenever Mikkels stopped talking, Reynolds jumped into the gap. “Lose focus like that in a real fight and you’ll have wasted all our time. None of us wants to attend your funeral.”
“Yes, sir.” Tetra locked away thoughts of family and devoted his attention to the sparring.
Reynolds got in one more dig to spur Tetra on. “You’re just lucky the corporal is taking it so easy on you. I would’ve given you a black eye for that.”
As if on cue, Mikkels increased the intensity of his attacks. Tetra couldn’t keep up with the flurry of blows and backed up to edge of the ring. He struck out in desperation. Mikkels responded with a twisting strike that sent Tetra spinning out of the circle. He hung his head, expecting a rebuke for the shoddy performance.
“Good.” He looked up in surprise to see Mikkels’ approving nod. “You switched to attack when your defense failed. Good instincts. If one thing isn’t working, try something else. If it doesn’t work either, at least you didn’t stay stuck in what you knew would fail for sure. That’s the way you grow.”