a miserable group. My
dismay reflected in everyone’s face. And it wasn’t due to the putrid and acidic smell.
Leif’s shoulders were scratched raw and bloody, and the skin on Moon Man’s arms
looked shredded. Blood dripped from his hands.
Moon Man’s breathing rasped. “Go back. We should…go back.” He panted.
“Bad idea. Bad idea. Bad idea.”
I suppressed my worries about Cahil. Connecting with the power source, I
gathered a fiber of magic and sought Moon Man’s mind. A claustrophobic fear had
pushed logic and reason aside. I probed deeper into his thoughts to find the strong
unflappable Story Weaver, reminding him of the importance of our journey. A
Sandseed Story Weaver would not let himself panic. Moon Man’s breathing settled
as calm reclaimed his emotions. I withdrew from his mind.
“I am sorry. I do not like this cave,” Moon Man said.
“No one does,” Leif muttered.
Keeping my thread of magic, I focused on Moon Man’s arms. Large chunks of
his skin had been gouged out. My upper limbs burned with pain as I concentrated on
his injuries. When I could no longer endure the stinging fire, I used magic to push it
away from me. I swayed with relief and would have fallen to the floor if Leif hadn’t
grabbed me.
Moon Man examined his arms. “I could not lend you my strength this time,” he
said. “Your magic held me immobile.”
“What’s this?” Leif asked.
He raised my hand into the light. Blood streaked my skin, but I couldn’t find any
damage. When I had helped Tula, one of Ferde’s victims and Opal’s sister, Irys had
speculated that I had assumed her injuries then healed myself. I guessed it had been
the same with Marrok’s crushed cheek. But seeing the physical evidence turned
Irys’s theory into reality. I stared at the blood and felt light-headed.
“That’s interesting,” Leif said.
“Interesting in a good way or bad?” I asked.
“I don’t know. No one has done that before.”
I appealed to Moon Man.
“A couple Story Weavers have the power to heal, but not like that,” he said.
“Perhaps it is something only a Soulfinder can do.”
“Perhaps? You don’t know? Then why have you led me to believe you know
everything about me?” I demanded.
He rubbed his newly healed arm. “I am your Story Weaver. I do know everything
about you. However, I do not know everything about Soulfinders. Do you define
yourself strictly by that title?”
“No.” I avoided the title.
“Well then,” he said, as if that settled the matter.
“Let’s go,” Marrok said through his shirt. He had covered his nose and mouth to
block the smell. “The Daviians’ trail through this muck is easy to follow.”
With Marrok in the lead, we stepped with care. About halfway through the bats’
cavern, I sensed an awakening. Sending a thin tendril of power, I linked with the dark
minds above me as they floated toward a collective consciousness. Their need for
food pushed at me, and, through them, I felt the exact location of each bat, of each
wall, of each exit, of each rock, and each figure below. They launched.
“Duck!” I yelled as the cloud of flying creatures descended.
The drone of beating wings reached a crescendo as black bodies flew around us.
The air swirled and filled with bats. They deftly avoided knocking into us or each
other as they headed toward the exit, seeking the insects and berries of the jungle.
My mind traveled with them. The instinctual exodus of thousands of bats flying
through the tight tunnels of the cave was as organized as a military attack. And like
any well-planned event, it took time for all the bats to leave.
The muscles in my legs burned when I finally straightened. The flapping and
fluttering sounds echoed from the tunnels then faded. I looked at my companions.
No one appeared to be hurt, although a few of us were splattered with dung.
Marrok had dropped his torch, and his arms covered his head. He puffed
dismay reflected in everyone’s face. And it wasn’t due to the putrid and acidic smell.
Leif’s shoulders were scratched raw and bloody, and the skin on Moon Man’s arms
looked shredded. Blood dripped from his hands.
Moon Man’s breathing rasped. “Go back. We should…go back.” He panted.
“Bad idea. Bad idea. Bad idea.”
I suppressed my worries about Cahil. Connecting with the power source, I
gathered a fiber of magic and sought Moon Man’s mind. A claustrophobic fear had
pushed logic and reason aside. I probed deeper into his thoughts to find the strong
unflappable Story Weaver, reminding him of the importance of our journey. A
Sandseed Story Weaver would not let himself panic. Moon Man’s breathing settled
as calm reclaimed his emotions. I withdrew from his mind.
“I am sorry. I do not like this cave,” Moon Man said.
“No one does,” Leif muttered.
Keeping my thread of magic, I focused on Moon Man’s arms. Large chunks of
his skin had been gouged out. My upper limbs burned with pain as I concentrated on
his injuries. When I could no longer endure the stinging fire, I used magic to push it
away from me. I swayed with relief and would have fallen to the floor if Leif hadn’t
grabbed me.
Moon Man examined his arms. “I could not lend you my strength this time,” he
said. “Your magic held me immobile.”
“What’s this?” Leif asked.
He raised my hand into the light. Blood streaked my skin, but I couldn’t find any
damage. When I had helped Tula, one of Ferde’s victims and Opal’s sister, Irys had
speculated that I had assumed her injuries then healed myself. I guessed it had been
the same with Marrok’s crushed cheek. But seeing the physical evidence turned
Irys’s theory into reality. I stared at the blood and felt light-headed.
“That’s interesting,” Leif said.
“Interesting in a good way or bad?” I asked.
“I don’t know. No one has done that before.”
I appealed to Moon Man.
“A couple Story Weavers have the power to heal, but not like that,” he said.
“Perhaps it is something only a Soulfinder can do.”
“Perhaps? You don’t know? Then why have you led me to believe you know
everything about me?” I demanded.
He rubbed his newly healed arm. “I am your Story Weaver. I do know everything
about you. However, I do not know everything about Soulfinders. Do you define
yourself strictly by that title?”
“No.” I avoided the title.
“Well then,” he said, as if that settled the matter.
“Let’s go,” Marrok said through his shirt. He had covered his nose and mouth to
block the smell. “The Daviians’ trail through this muck is easy to follow.”
With Marrok in the lead, we stepped with care. About halfway through the bats’
cavern, I sensed an awakening. Sending a thin tendril of power, I linked with the dark
minds above me as they floated toward a collective consciousness. Their need for
food pushed at me, and, through them, I felt the exact location of each bat, of each
wall, of each exit, of each rock, and each figure below. They launched.
“Duck!” I yelled as the cloud of flying creatures descended.
The drone of beating wings reached a crescendo as black bodies flew around us.
The air swirled and filled with bats. They deftly avoided knocking into us or each
other as they headed toward the exit, seeking the insects and berries of the jungle.
My mind traveled with them. The instinctual exodus of thousands of bats flying
through the tight tunnels of the cave was as organized as a military attack. And like
any well-planned event, it took time for all the bats to leave.
The muscles in my legs burned when I finally straightened. The flapping and
fluttering sounds echoed from the tunnels then faded. I looked at my companions.
No one appeared to be hurt, although a few of us were splattered with dung.
Marrok had dropped his torch, and his arms covered his head. He puffed
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