When the family was comfortably situated around the fire, Kel smiled warmly and knelt in front of the boy. She gave the mother a questioning glance, and the woman nodded, still not letting go of his hand. Kel placed her hands gently on the boy’s temples. He flinched, and the woman said something soothing in a language Kel couldn’t understand. It sounded like one of the languages of the people to the south, on the other side of the mountains. They must have travelled for weeks to get here.
Kel closed her eyes, concentrating, and reached out, sensing what she could of the boy. His heart fluttered rapidly in his chest. Thoughts in that same language darted here and there, but he breathed in deeply and they settled. His mind was filled with noise, with the way his home sounded when it was full of people, and when it was empty. When everyone had gone out to work. He knew the feel of the reeds that he wove into baskets. He knew he wasn’t earning his keep, wasn’t contributing as much as he was taking. She felt his loneliness as he heard the eager footsteps of the boys—the young men—his age striding out of camp, heading on their first hunts alone. Heard them come back, dragging their kills. Heard the fat dripping into the fire, smelled the charred flesh that meant that everyone would eat.
The food choked in his throat. He heard the laughter of those around him, felt his mother’s hand, as always, find his, but he pulled away. Felt the hot tears on his cheeks, knowing that everyone would see. He hated his eyes. Stupid eyes that were only good for crying.
Cold tears slipped down Kel’s cheeks, too. She felt the veins of his eyes, like roots, the nerves that ran from there deep inside his head, to that complicated magical dance of lightning that Kel did not understand.
Those pathways, those links from his eyes to that sparkling place, full of thoughts, they were dark, shriveled. Likely he’d been born that way.
Her stomach became heavier. The eyes were so complicated. She couldn’t regrow them, couldn’t understand the complicated link they had with the mind. Finn had asked her to fix the eye he had lost. And she’d caused him so much pain in trying that she’d thought she’d killed him.
But this family had come so far. The whole family together, and the boy. That sense of worthlessness, of helplessness, of being a burden to everyone around him, tugged at Kel’s heart.
She laid a hand on his arm gently.
“I’m going to try,” she said to him, and then again to the group. All eyes except his were locked on her. “This will hurt,” she said, mimicking pain, and looking apologetically at the mother.
The woman nodded, said something to her son, who straightened and gave a quick nod, clenching his fists.
She closed her own eyes again, reached in, felt that crumpled root, that pathway, and nudged it. The boy gasped, but quickly shut his mouth, clenching his jaw tightly.
As gently as she could, she nudged it again. A tremor went through the boy, but he didn’t make a sound.
The fire popped in the grate, sending off a shower of sparks, and Kel started, but quickly regained her focus.
Now, she opened a tiny thread from herself to him, connected a bit of her own energy, straight from her own eyes to his, encouraging them. Like this, she thought, giving them the tiniest of suggestions.
The boy began to shake. His mother gripped his hand and his shoulder. Partly to comfort, partly to hold him in place.
Kel opened the channel a little wider, pouring a bit more of herself into that shriveled place inside him. And it started to work. A light flickered, and the boy gasped again. The roots began to swell, growing larger, puffing up. Tears poured out the boy’s eyes and he cried out in pain; he jerked, tried to move, but his uncles came on either side, holding his arms tightly.
Kel wished she could spare a bit of power to keep him from feeling the pain, but it took every ounce of strength to keep her attention on the delicate task. The slightest misstep could cause a bleed, or damage that delicate and intricate structure which was only a finger’s breadth from where she worked.
She pushed harder, opening the channel as wide as she could. The pathways swelled and sparked. The boy screamed and shook, but the men and his mother held him steady.
They were near the breaking point, sparks flying off them. They were swollen and full to bursting now. Gently, Kel eased off the pressure. Slowly, ever so slowly, she decreased the flow. Hoping that what she’d given them would hold, that they would grow in the way that she’d asked them to.
As she pulled back, the right eye gave a shudder, and the whole thing disintegrated. First the nerve, then the eye itself crumpled in on itself. Kel reached back inside, grasping for it, but it had completely disintegrated.
No.
The other eye, though, it held. Little flickers of light ran along it, little signals of energy were now moving from the eye to the mind.
Kel shifted, sitting back on her heels, and looked closely at the boy’s face.
His eyes were open, his face deathly white, the eyes and lips red-rimmed. Tears were flowing down his cheeks, and his whole body shook uncontrollably. The right eye was shriveled, black and dead, like an unripe berry on a broken branch.
But the left eye. The pupil was dilated, wide and black, and as Kel watched, it shrunk to a pinpoint, then back. It darted here and there, and there was something about this darting that was different than the empty gaze from earlier.
Kel looked at the family grouped around the boy and nodded. They let him collapse. He curled in on himself, sobbing and holding his head. His mother stroked his back slowly and gently as he shook.
But the cries of pain were not the sounds of despair, and only a few seconds later, the boy, still white and shaking, was sitting up, his head tilting, his brow furrowed.
His mother said something, and the boy responded, wonder in his voice.
Kel darted briefly into his mind, saw strange, swirling masses of color. Indistinct. She could feel the mind struggling to make sense of what it was seeing. That she couldn’t help with. It would have to learn to make sense of it on its own. She withdrew, patting him gently on the arm and smiling encouragingly.
The family clustered around the boy, everyone speaking at once.
Kel moved back to give them space, found that she was shaking, too, weak and exhausted from the effort. She moved to a chair at the side of the room and sat, watching the family.
Eventually the mother approached. There were tears in her eyes, and she was smiling. She handed Kel a silk bag, and Kel smiled, nodding at the woman. She could feel the seeds it contained, ready to be planted.
“Thank you,” she said, nodding. The woman looked uncertain, then leaned forward, wrapping her arms around her in a hug. She stood back quickly, laughing and wiping a tear out of her eye as one of the men behind her said something that Kel guessed was along the lines of “careful you don’t choke her,” or “leave the poor girl alone.”
The woman glanced down at the bag, then pulled a silver ring from her finger and handed it to Kel, too.
Kel shook her head and tried to give it back, but the woman was insistent. She took some coins from her pockets and laid them on the table next to Kel, too.
Behind her, the boy approached, still white and clearly barely able to stand. His one remaining eye focused uncertainly on her face, and shaking, he bowed deeply. He held the bow for several long seconds.
“It’s all right, you’re welcome,” Kel said. “I’m glad I could help.”
Kel showed the family out, many of them still crying and stopping to hug her or grasp her hands. She took a moment to take a long, deep breath, watching them go, and then invited the next person in.
Hours later, Kel felt slightly faint as she showed the second to last person out. Just a simple broken bone. One of the mages had tripped down some stairs that another mage had iced. Taking another deep breath, she went to the waiting area.
The last occupant stood and turned to face her, and Kel’s face split into a wide smile. She took in his mud-spattered boots, his dark hair and beard and his wid
e green eyes, crinkled with smile lines at the corners.
“Nate!”
She crossed the space between them, and he wrapped her in a big hug. After several seconds he held her away from him and looked at her seriously.
“Kel, you’ve been doing it again. You’re exhausted.”
She shrugged a shoulder, nodding. “You’re right, I know. I can’t help how many people show up, though.”
He hesitated, the concern evident in his face, but then patted her on the shoulders and smiled.
“Are you hungry? Do you have some time for dinner with an old man?”
She laughed and shook her head. “You’re not an old man. But yes, always.”
“Good. Because I brought food.” He gestured to the leather satchel he carried slung over one shoulder.
She led him into the back room where Smoke continued to sleep by the fire and tidied up while he got out plates and silverware and arranged the food on the table.
They sat down and Nate picked up a roll, started buttering it.
“How are William and Jack?” Kel asked, helping herself to some soft white cheese.
“They’re great.” The corner of Nate’s mouth curled into a smile as he finished buttering his bread. He set it back on the plate and ladled some stew on top of it.
“Looks like William’s going into the family business, unfortunately,” Nate said. “Joined up with the watch last week. I’d say give him a month before he’s running the place.” He shook his head. “No idea where he gets his ambition. It’s not from me. Or Jack. Unless you count painting. Jack’s been doing these murals now…” He shook his head in admiration, speared the bread with his fork and sawed off a soggy chunk. “When was the last time you came by?”
Kel thought back. “Last year?”
Nate looked off into space. “No, no it was two years ago. I remember, William’s arm was broken then. That was when he’d joined that terrible fighting school.”
“Right.” Kel nodded and looked down at her piece of cheese. Her stomach felt… nonexistent. She was hungry, she knew she must be. But it was past hunger, an empty exhaustion. She picked up a raw carrot and nibbled the end of it.
Nate eyed her, chewing his mouthful of stew-soaked bread. He looked down, swallowed, then took a swig of ale.
“You sure you’re all right? You look… completely exhausted, to be honest.” He scratched his beard. “Everything OK?”
She set the carrot down and picked at it, shrugging a shoulder. She half smiled. “Everything’s fine.” She paused.
“I mean,” she blushed. “I just… Everyone here is wonderful, but…they look at me like I’m way older than they are…”
Nate watched her, not chewing anymore, just listening.
Kel looked down, played with her fork. “The students who come here are the same age as me, but they all treat me like I’m one of the teachers or something. And the teachers treat me like…” They didn’t avoid her, exactly… “I don’t even know how to describe it.”
“No, I get it. It’s OK, you don’t have to.” Nate smiled sympathetically. “You’re immortal. You’re half human, half Ael. You’ve been doing magic since you were six, and all the new mages who come here who are your same age just got their powers.” He reached over and patted her hand gently.
She waved her free hand. “And, I understand. But… I don’t know…I’m just… too different.” She blushed again.
Nate looked at her thoughtfully. “You know, we all think we’re weird.”
“Yeah, but…”
He lifted his hands, palms up towards. “No, no, I get it. You actually are weird. You can work with all the types of magic. But, you’re still half human. And the thing is, thinking you’re weird is actually one of the human parts.”
She glanced up at him, and saw his eyes were wide and earnest, his smile soft.
“Really. We all think we’re weird.”
She bit the inside of her cheek. “Yeah, but I actually am weird.”
“So is everybody else.”
“You’re not.”
He laughed and stabbed his bread. “Do you know the number of people who’ve called me a crackpot?” He gestured with the bread. “I’m a 47-year-old man who still legitimately believes in the fundamental goodness of human beings.”
“That’s not weird.”
He smiled widely. “And that’s why we get along. Well, part of the reason, anyway.” He looked at her more seriously. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to downplay what you’re going through, it makes sense that you feel like… like an outsider. But I guarantee you’re less of one than you think. Despite how weird you are.” He grinned and she shook her head, laughing in spite of herself. “They just don’t know you. You’re intimidating, yes. It was a lot easier when you were short, I’ll give you that. Now you’re all tall and terrifying.” He lifted his heavy dark eyebrows at her. “Have you tried talking to them?”
She thought back. “I mean, yes, I have…”
“Keep trying. Be yourself.”
She grimaced.
“Sorry. It’s good advice, though. You might have more in common with us lowly humans than you think.”
Kel shrugged again, smiled, and changed the subject. It wasn’t bad advice. She would try.
After Nate was gone, she noticed the silver ring sitting on a side table where she had left it earlier. She picked it up and examined it. It was simple and pretty, and there was something about it she just liked. Without thinking more about it, she slipped the ring onto her finger and forgot about it.
4
Merriny
Merriny skipped over a puddle, her tiny shoes soaked, and did a small pirouette. She pointed a finger, and a large raindrop plummeting towards her vaporized.
“Would you stop it?” Cris gave an irritated sigh.
Merriny turned to her companion. The rain parted neatly just above his head, pouring down either side of him. His shoes were muddy, the edges of his cloak soaked, his tunic and hair damp, and he glowered at her.
Sticking her tongue between her teeth, she pointed at him and attempted to do that thing Finn had showed her. Cris’s tunic ignited. He shrieked, and reflexively doused himself. When he was sure the fire was out, he glared at her.
“Thanks. That’s real helpful.”
Merriny hopped again, cocking her head to the side and squinting at him. “Let me just—”
“No,” Cris snapped, wrapping his now sodden cloak more tightly around himself. “Stop messing around and let’s just get there, all right?”
Merriny shrugged, clicked her fingers, and the moisture on her own hair exploded into steam. Her curly brown hair frizzed out into a huge, staticky cloud. She squinted down into a puddle. Maybe it looked cool that way.
“It looks insane,” Cris said.
Merriny ran her hand over it, but it wouldn’t lay flat, and glanced back at Cris. The water was once again parting right above him. Merriny didn’t mind being wet. It was a nice safety precaution for practicing.
Best not to bother him. That’s what her mother would say. Let him stew. Quiet. I’ll be quiet…
“How much farther do you think it is?” Crap. It just slipped out.
“Miles,” Cris said gloomily.
They’d taken the wind runner to Westwend but then had to hike the rest of the way to Copper Creek.
The narrow forest road was nearly deserted. They’d seen no one the whole afternoon. Large maple trees towered above them, thick droplets dripping off their leaves and splashing into puddles on the road.
Merriny skipped happily around another puddle. She breathed in the fresh forest air. The plains were so dry. The Table was impressive, and had been her home for five years now, but she missed the forests. These weren’t the dry pines and heather of the Uplands, the land she deeply missed, but these were still nice.
“Is it good to be back home?” she asked, then remembered she was supposed to be not talking.
He gave her a sidelong look.
>
“The last time I was here, I was beaten so badly I could barely walk, and they’d just branded this into my face.” He pointed at the crescent moon tattoo in his left cheek. “So, no. No, it is not nice to be back. I’d just as soon not be traipsing around through the rain on some stupid mission to help the people who threw me out.”
Would he be mad if I hugged him? He would. Definitely. He really looks like he needs a hug, though. She moved towards him, her arms lifting, but he shrugged his shoulders and pushed past her. She dropped her arms, pouted for a moment, then skipped after him. Right. Quiet. Just let him be. He’ll come around.
They camped in the woods, set off again at first light, and by midmorning they were finally at the gates of Copper Creek.
Merriny shifted nervously from foot to foot, smoothing her hair and readjusting the clasps on her uniform. It was the uniform Finn made them all wear, to identify them as mage initiates on their pilgrimages.
“Will you stop fidgeting so much?” Cris muttered.
“Aren’t you excited?”
“I told you. No.”
“They’ve got a house for us to stay in and everything, and we’re going to stay here a week and build things for them!” She grinned and her eyes lit up, imagining all the things they were going to make.
“It’s not going to be how you think it’s going to be.”
“Why be a mage if you’re not going to use it?”
“I didn’t have a choice. If I’d had a single choice in any of this, I would be home, not a mage. If I’d had a choice after that it would be to stay at the Table, minding my own business. At least when I’m there, people aren’t actively trying to kill me.”
“I’m not actively trying to kill you.”
“I’m torn between saying ‘You could have fooled me’ and ‘Well those people are.’”
Shadow Mage Page 4