The group were so tightly gathered that their shoulders were touching, crowded around Arrow. For a moment she could not breathe, wards wanting to rise in response to her distress. Too many Erith. Too close to her. Dangerous.
“What can we do?” Kester asked again, breaking into the panic that threatened to overwhelm her.
“Keep as close as you can,” she told him. The cleansing spell she needed was there in her mind’s eye. Not that complicated, it still required several runes. She would need plenty of blood to power the spell.
She set the blade against her skin, the heel of her hand, the skin swollen and hot, and for a moment could not move, the memory too fresh. The tense waiting around her, people waiting for her to act, held her frozen. The weight of expectation. The fear of pain. The fear of losing her own mind.
And the thought of what could happen if she did not act. If she did not manage to cleanse them, there would be no one to stop the temple. No one to help the heartland.
The knife bit into her skin and she bit her lip, hard, hissing a breath through the agony of the blade’s path. Her face was wet with tears by the time she had a long enough slice to draw enough blood.
She dropped the knife, hand shaking, and dipped her finger into the blood, tracing the first rune in the air. Then the next. And the next. Speaking the spell as well, to be sure of it, silver power binding with the blood.
Then the spell was done. Her vision was fading around the edges. Her hand was on fire, the wound trying to close. But there was still something to do. One last thing. If she could only remember what that was.
Runes danced before her fading sight. A spell. Pretty. Silver and red. Shapes that made no sense to her eyes apart from being pretty. Shiny.
The soft, invisible touch of a hand at her shoulder. A murmur in her ear. Pretty. But dormant. So much better if they were alive.
She did not know what to do to make the shapes dance.
The murmur came again. The bright silver inside her needed to go out.
That was it.
She poured her power into the spell, activating it, the spell lifting her hair with its power, silver light cascading over everyone and everything gathered around her, scoring her skin under clothes.
The spell and the power left her. Her vision faded to black. Her knees gave out and the last thing she saw was a forest of legs moving out of the way as she fell.
CHAPTER 19
“I like that young man of yours,” the lady said. She was settled on the beach, knees drawn up, resting on her hands behind her, head tilted back to the sun above, hair stirring in the breeze and tangling with the sand.
“I like him, too,” Arrow answered. She was lying on the beach, fine sand shifting around her as she sat up, disoriented, the fragments of the cleansing spell still before her mind’s eye. She remembered the blank confusion of not knowing what to do and ice crept through her despite the sun overhead. If it had not been for the hand on her shoulder and voice in her ear, she would still be standing in the jungle, fascinated by the pretty lights even as everyone around her lost their minds. She opened her mouth to thank the heartland, interrupted as the lady continued.
“He is kind and generous.” The lady turned her head, slanting a smile at Arrow. “Handsome, too.”
“I had noticed,” Arrow answered, acid in her tone. Even though she had never met Alisemea, it was still strange to see her face being worn by something else.
“Will he give up the Taellan for you, do you think?”
“I would not ask him to.”
“It may not be up to you.” The lady sighed, sitting up and sifting sand through her fingers, seemingly fascinated by the individual grains that fell.
“What do you mean?”
“Politics.” The lady shrugged a shoulder. “Petty squabbles. Everyone convinced that what they want is so important.”
“Juinis wants Kester to conform,” Arrow said slowly, puzzling it out. “He does not realise that Kester has never really conformed. And Juinis made an error, in many ways, having Kester appointed to the Taellan. It gives him a higher profile than he would have had by merely being a younger brother-by-vestrait.”
It was strange to say her thoughts aloud. Stranger still to know that the lady was not particularly interested in the petty squabbles she had referred to. Which made Arrow wonder why the lady had brought the matter up at all. The heartland could be whimsical but, trapped on this beach, Arrow did not think there was much time for indulgence.
“What do you think Kester wants?”
“I do not know.” A bare few months ago, the whatever-it-was between her and Kester had not even been a dream, it was so impossible. Now, there was something there. Something that warmed her even more than the sun overhead. She tilted her head, turning over the lady’s words. “I should ask him.”
“And tell him what you want, too.”
Arrow frowned at the lady. Surely the heartland had not just called her here, to this beautiful prison, just to dispense relationship advice.
“Something has changed,” Arrow said. The words were out before she had really looked around. When she did look, her breath caught in her throat. Changed, indeed.
The enormous cliff face was even higher, almost reaching the sun above, and extended further, creeping round to either side so that it cut off the expanse of beach.
“Saul is getting stronger,” Arrow realised.
“I can hold him off for a while longer,” the lady assured her with a toss of her blond curls that Arrow was almost certain had come from Alisemea. It seemed the sort of thing the wilful Regersfel daughter would have done. Probably to purposefully annoy her father.
There was a tug at her senses, something calling for her attention.
“We are on our way,” Arrow assured the lady even as the bright sun faded, replaced by dark.
~
“Arrow, are you alright?” Kester was kneeling beside her, face reflecting concern. “You are freezing.”
She opened her mouth to answer and coughed instead. She was freezing. Shivering, teeth chattering together.
“Here.” Kester pulled her up to a sitting position and wrapped his arms around her. “We are not needed for the moment.”
Arrow turned her head, peering past his shoulder and saw that he was right.
They were still in the space near the hunter’s hut. The others had somehow managed to find enough wood to make a decent sized fire and, more surprisingly, had found or made a cooking vessel of some kind which Orlis and Gilean were tending as carefully as a newborn child.
“All the potions in Orlis’ bag were corrupted by the memory dust but he thinks he can brew the counter-agent,” Kester told her, lips close to her ear.
She was warming up, the shivering fading.
She turned her head to a more comfortable position resting on his shoulder, and laced her fingers through his, only realising then that her arm was healed, the swelling and pain gone.
“The warriors are searching the area. Someone brought our belongings here. They are hoping to find traces. The Prime said he sensed other Erith nearby. He is looking for them.”
Arrow relaxed against him, absorbing his warmth and calm. There was no mention of Seivella in his summary. She wondered where the lady was.
“Is Juinis trying to remove you from the Taellan?” she asked.
His whole body tensed and the fingers laced through hers tightened for a moment.
“Something like that,” he said after a lengthy pause. “He takes his position as head of the House seriously.”
“He was head of the House when you were made Taellan,” Arrow objected, then frowned. “But he did not think it through. Not really.”
“No.” A soft laugh blew breath across her skin.
“What do you want?” Arrow asked. It was blunt. She was not sure how else to ask.
“Many things,” he answered, voice low, sending curls of warmth through her. His thumb, calloused from work, moved across her palm, marking a trail of s
ensation across her skin.
“Be serious.” She shook her head.
“I am.” He laughed.
“So, you would not mind not being a Taellan anymore?”
“No.”
“But Juinis would likely find something else for you to do.”
“Yes.” His voice was heavy. “Even if I was not Taellan, I was still White Guard.”
Arrow thought about that for a while. She had a fair idea of how Juinis’ mind operated. “House Halsfeld has not had many warriors. They have been politicians. Artisans. So he would want you in the House.”
A ghost of a laugh stirred her hair. There was no humour in it. He did not speak, though, and after a moment she realised that he would not. He was still a member of the House. Members of Houses did not speak out against the head of the House. Not if they wanted to stay.
“The Taellan is under strain,” she observed. The sort of comment an Erith might make. Kester drew a long breath. He was far better at politics than she was.
“Yes. The summit. The surjusi lord. The conspiracies. And no monarch. Seggerat would have simply continued as normal. But we have numbers missing.”
“And everyone is frightened,” she guessed.
He did not answer, tightening his hold on her for a moment. A frightened Taellan. The head of House Halsfeld considering removing the younger lord from the Taellan. Things not working as smoothly as they should within the Erith government. She remembered the lack of co-operation from the mages to bring Duraner’s body back to the heartland. And Kallish’s comment that she had been finding it hard to focus. Perhaps it was not just the poison they had been given. Perhaps it was the heartland fading, affecting everyone.
She was not cold anymore, not really, but she shivered slightly. None of it was her problem. Not really.
“You could leave,” she speculated, drawing back so she could see his face.
“It would mean leaving the Erith.”
Arrow watched him with a frown for a moment. He had thought about it, she saw. Thought about leaving the Erith. Thought about what that would mean. From the depth to his expression, they had not been good thoughts.
“The Collegia would be delighted to have a new weapons instructor,” she said slowly. That was not his whole value. But it was the first thing that came to mind. And it was true. He was not offended, his dark expression lifting, mouth twitching.
“Is that so?”
“They are supposed to be combat magicians,” she reminded him, trying not to roll her eyes. “And the human world is not so bad.”
“No.” His mouth curved in a smile. “It definitely has-”
“If you are quite finished,” Seivella’s voice cut through whatever Kester had to say. “Orlis could use your help.”
Arrow looked up to find the lady standing nearby, face pinched in displeasure.
“You really are very rude,” Kester told the teaching mistress, rising to his feet in a fluid movement, and helping Arrow to her feet.
“And you think the middle of a jungle is the best place for courting?” the lady snapped back.
“Where would be more appropriate?” Arrow asked, curiosity spiking.
“Oh, you are impossible.” The lady threw up her hands, turned and stalked away.
“I am sure we can find better places,” Kester told Arrow, mouth close to her ear. She choked on a laugh and shook her head slightly.
“Perhaps when we are not at risk from baelthras and death monkeys, we could discuss it further,” she suggested, walking with him to Gilean and Orlis.
“Definitely.”
Gilean and Orlis seemed absorbed in their tasks, not looking up as Arrow and Kester approached.
“Seivella said you needed our help?” Arrow said.
“Did she?” Orlis seemed distracted. “Well, perhaps. I cannot get this mixture to settle.”
“What have you tried?” Arrow asked.
Orlis listed the ingredients he had tried, and the order.
Sometime during the debate that followed, Willan joined them and Kester drifted away, on a seemingly casual wander around that looked, when Arrow glanced up, like an informal patrol.
“Two war mages, a healer and a shadow-walker,” Gilean said in disgust a while later. “We should be able to make this work.”
“Has anyone actually tried the mixture?” Arrow asked.
“No. It will not settle.” Orlis glared at the liquid in the cauldron. A small healer’s pot, Arrow realised. It had probably been in his bag.
“You are expecting this to behave like mercat?” Arrow asked.
Orlis looked up, his red-tinted eyes wide.
“Oh, I am an idiot. Of course.”
“Well, try it, then,” Willan suggested. “We have plenty more ingredients.”
Orlis found a wooden beaker in his satchel and took a cupful from the mixture in the cauldron. There was perhaps another cupful left.
While they were waiting for the mixture to cool enough for him to drink, Willan turned to Arrow.
“You said that the heartland was diminished. Something wrong. What?”
Arrow hesitated, drawing sharp glances from the others. Kester drifted to stand nearby.
“Do you know about Duraner?”
“Undurat’s brother?” Orlis frowned for a moment, then his skin paled. “He was tainted.”
“Yes.”
“He was a Gardener,” Willan added, also paler than he had been.
“Which means that the Garden is corrupted.”
“And the head Gardener made the sword react,” Arrow told them, only then realising that she was not wearing her sword, kri-syang or messenger bag.
“They are over there, with the other weapons,” Kester told her, seeing her glance around.
“He is tainted?” Willan was shocked. “He seemed wholly Erith.”
Arrow hesitated again, drawing more sharp glances. She turned away, fetching her belongings and taking a moment more to settle her kri-syang and sword before coming back to the others. They were waiting, bodies tense, white around Willan’s mouth. The six had existed in the surjusi realm for longer than Arrow had been alive. He knew, first hand, the dangers of taint.
“I have had … nightmares,” she told them, voice soft. No one asked her to speak up. “I could not remember them when I woke. But here.” She touched the mark on her cheek, the heartland’s curling leaf that marked her apart from most other Erith as surely as her silver power. “The heartland is under attack. Someone has called surjusi into the realm. And she is being trapped, weakened.”
“The temple,” Gilean said, face white, bones standing out. “When there is no monarch, it is the focus.”
“Someone corrupted the temple.” Iserat’s voice startled Arrow.
She turned to find that most of the warriors had returned, gathered in a loose group around them. The Prime was there, Xeveran beside him.
“Yes.”
“We need to get back,” Kallish said, as pale as the others.
“Yes,” Iserat agreed. “We are near House Sena’s lands, if I read the signs right.”
“Oh.” The exclamation from Orlis made them all look. The journeyman was cross-legged on the ground, hair even more tangled. His eyes were closed and he looked vaguely sick. Then he opened his eyes, and bright amber shone.
“You have your magic back,” Gilean said, kneeling beside Orlis. The war mage’s voice was soft, and he linked his hand with Orlis’, the two exchanging a silent communication that seemed intensely private. Arrow glanced away, eyes travelling to the cauldron.
“How many mouthfuls did you take?” she asked.
“Four.” Orlis sounded drunk. “Oh, that is lovely. I have missed my magic so much. Here.” He handed the cup to Gilean. “There is enough there for another dose, and probably two more in the pot. I can make more. Now I need to lie down.” As Gilean took the cup, Orlis lay back, not bothering to untangle his legs, amber wards dancing around him for a moment. Arrow thought that he laughed.
She smiled and found that almost everyone else was smiling too. The Erith identified themselves with their magic. To be deprived of it was worse than having a limb removed.
Gilean finished the potion in the cup, and handed it to Willan before he lay down beside Orlis.
“That is quite unpleasant,” Gilean commented a moment later. “Probably best to lie down when you have taken your dose,” he said to Willan.
“Mages first,” Iserat said, refusing the cup when Willan offered it.
Seivella appeared and snatched the cup from Willan’s hand before the mage could drink, taking her dose, then stalking out of the way, settling against a tree.
“I should have said war mages first,” Iserat said, sending a frowning look to the lady. She glared back at him, jaw set.
“I can fight,” she told him.
No one said anything in response and she tilted her chin up, jaw set, before closing her eyes and settling back against the tree.
“We should gather more morias,” Arrow told Kallish. “We probably have enough, but if Orlis has his powers back, he can use that for more healing.”
“Yes,” Kallish agreed, and sent her junior third on the hunt.
By the time that Willan had taken his dose, the last in the pot, and he, Gilean and Orlis had recovered from having their magic released, the junior third was back with handfuls of morias. Orlis commandeered the junior third to fetch and carry for him, bringing more water from the nearby stream, fetching more ingredients for the counter-agent, grinding more of the plants down to steep in the mixture, fetching more wood for the fire. He would have everyone’s magic restored before long, Arrow knew.
“If we are near House Sena, we should go there for horses,” Iserat suggested.
“We do not have anything to bargain with,” Kallish answered absently, her mouth twitching at Iserat’s surprised expression. “You have not met the current head of House, I think.”
“Neith? He was the younger son when-”
Iserat’s words were cut off by more arrivals.
CHAPTER 20
Iserat moved forward before Arrow had recognised the newcomers, steps light, relief on his face, Willan a pace behind him. The remainder of the six, Pateris, Yvan and Ronath, all looking worn but in one piece. The same could not be said of Evellan and Miach, more or less carried into the clearing by Pateris and Yvan.
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