their navel where their power was centered.
But spirit-glass arrows had other uses. Dangerous uses.
One of these was to start a fire, when all other fire-starting methods had failed. Once started, such a fire would burn of its accord, without fuel, for a day or more. But unlike a normal fire, one started in this way could potentially draw other Free Magic creatures to it, and the smoke was poisonous.
Given definitely freezing to death against only possibly drawing more enemies or inhaling the smoke, Ferin thought there was not much choice. Though as an added complication, such a fire would be quite capable of burning her reed raft to ashes, regardless of how wet it was. The fire from a deliberately broken spirit-glass arrow wouldcontinue to burn underwater. Or earth. It could not be extinguished, save by other magic, or the passage of time.
Ferin thought about that for some time, until she realized she was slowly slipping into a dazed sleep, a cold sleep from which there would be no awakening. There had to be some way to have the benefit of the fire, without burning the raft. . . .
Some time later, Ferin snapped back into consciousness again. She had gone to sleep, she didnât know for how long. She couldnât remember where the moon had been in the sky. All she knew was that she was very, very cold, and her legs, which were sodden and not covered by her cloak from the knees down, could only be moved with great effort, and she could no longer feel her feet. Even the pain from the wound above her ankle was only a dull ache, but this was not a good sign.
Ferin forced herself to move her recalcitrant limbs, flexing her feet backward and forward, wriggling her toes and fingers and arms and every part of her body that could move. The raft rocked a little, but though it was even lower in the water, it was steadier as well. After a few minutes of wriggling brought some life back into her hands and feet, Ferin managed to sit up without oversetting the raft.
She had to use the spirit-glass arrow to make a fire, she knew, and she had to do it very soon. Desperately she tried to get her cold and frozen mind to think of some way of containing the magical flames.
Slowly an idea did rise to the surface, rather like the lumps of ice that were popping up here and there in the river. Suddenly there, and then gone again. Ferin made sure this idea didnât go, concentrating all her willpower to both remember it and put it in action.
Fumbling with frozen fingers at her pack, she managed to get one strap undone. Reaching inside, she groped about until she feltâor thought she felt, because her fingers were so numbâthe ceramic pot of wound grease sheâd used before. Dragging it out, she wedgedit between two bundles of reeds on the floor of the raft, as far forward as she could reach. The pot had a wooden plug which it took great effort to pull out with uncooperative fingers, but she did it.
Then she took the spirit-glass arrow from the quiver. Removing the leather hood was also quite a trial, but she managed it. Holding the arrow high, she eyed the pot, focusing her mind. The trick would be to bring the arrow down with enough force to shatter the head but make sure all of it fell in the pot . . .
She was just about to try this when she realized the pot might shatter instead, and in any case, bits of arrowhead would go all over the place. There was an easier way; she was just so cold and tired the dramatic method had come to her first.
Settling the arrowhead over the pot, keeping her eyes somewhat averted so she didnât have to look at the fierce glow of the writhing figure trapped inside the dark volcanic glass, she took out her knife. Reversing it, she took a deep breath and struck the arrowhead hard with the pommel.
Spirit-glass shattered, the fragments falling into the pot at the same time a blazing white flame shot up to a height of several feet. Ferin flinched back, making the raft rock dangerously, and
But spirit-glass arrows had other uses. Dangerous uses.
One of these was to start a fire, when all other fire-starting methods had failed. Once started, such a fire would burn of its accord, without fuel, for a day or more. But unlike a normal fire, one started in this way could potentially draw other Free Magic creatures to it, and the smoke was poisonous.
Given definitely freezing to death against only possibly drawing more enemies or inhaling the smoke, Ferin thought there was not much choice. Though as an added complication, such a fire would be quite capable of burning her reed raft to ashes, regardless of how wet it was. The fire from a deliberately broken spirit-glass arrow wouldcontinue to burn underwater. Or earth. It could not be extinguished, save by other magic, or the passage of time.
Ferin thought about that for some time, until she realized she was slowly slipping into a dazed sleep, a cold sleep from which there would be no awakening. There had to be some way to have the benefit of the fire, without burning the raft. . . .
Some time later, Ferin snapped back into consciousness again. She had gone to sleep, she didnât know for how long. She couldnât remember where the moon had been in the sky. All she knew was that she was very, very cold, and her legs, which were sodden and not covered by her cloak from the knees down, could only be moved with great effort, and she could no longer feel her feet. Even the pain from the wound above her ankle was only a dull ache, but this was not a good sign.
Ferin forced herself to move her recalcitrant limbs, flexing her feet backward and forward, wriggling her toes and fingers and arms and every part of her body that could move. The raft rocked a little, but though it was even lower in the water, it was steadier as well. After a few minutes of wriggling brought some life back into her hands and feet, Ferin managed to sit up without oversetting the raft.
She had to use the spirit-glass arrow to make a fire, she knew, and she had to do it very soon. Desperately she tried to get her cold and frozen mind to think of some way of containing the magical flames.
Slowly an idea did rise to the surface, rather like the lumps of ice that were popping up here and there in the river. Suddenly there, and then gone again. Ferin made sure this idea didnât go, concentrating all her willpower to both remember it and put it in action.
Fumbling with frozen fingers at her pack, she managed to get one strap undone. Reaching inside, she groped about until she feltâor thought she felt, because her fingers were so numbâthe ceramic pot of wound grease sheâd used before. Dragging it out, she wedgedit between two bundles of reeds on the floor of the raft, as far forward as she could reach. The pot had a wooden plug which it took great effort to pull out with uncooperative fingers, but she did it.
Then she took the spirit-glass arrow from the quiver. Removing the leather hood was also quite a trial, but she managed it. Holding the arrow high, she eyed the pot, focusing her mind. The trick would be to bring the arrow down with enough force to shatter the head but make sure all of it fell in the pot . . .
She was just about to try this when she realized the pot might shatter instead, and in any case, bits of arrowhead would go all over the place. There was an easier way; she was just so cold and tired the dramatic method had come to her first.
Settling the arrowhead over the pot, keeping her eyes somewhat averted so she didnât have to look at the fierce glow of the writhing figure trapped inside the dark volcanic glass, she took out her knife. Reversing it, she took a deep breath and struck the arrowhead hard with the pommel.
Spirit-glass shattered, the fragments falling into the pot at the same time a blazing white flame shot up to a height of several feet. Ferin flinched back, making the raft rock dangerously, and
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