glistened on the
back of his forearm, bubbling wetly. Carefully, he touched a finger to it. The
blood felt warm, but not unpleasant.
“Remarkable,” Amos
breathed. “It isn’t hurting you, is it?”
Kael shook his
head. He looked back at Amos’s fingers, at the angry white blisters rising up
on them. Why didn’t the magic hurt him?
“We’ll have
plenty of time to figure this out later,” Amos said. He picked up his bowl and
situated himself at the table next to where the girl lay. Then he looked at
Kael expectantly.
“No.”
His voice was
hard. He felt the wall rise up in his heart — the one that always rose
when Amos tried to get him to use his gift. Healing was the weakest of the
three schools of whispering. And in Kael’s opinion, Fate gifted him just enough
to thoroughly ruin his life. So he vowed to ignore it. He tucked it away and
pretended to be normal.
“If you don’t
help her, she’ll die,” Amos countered.
Blast it all.
Kael flung the
dirty cloth against the wall and stomped over to the girl. Her face was smooth
as she slept; her chest rose and fell steadily. For some reason, the peace on
her face calmed him.
In the deepest
part of her wound, he could see where her skull was cracked. It was an angry,
scarlet line no longer than a fingernail. But he knew even a small crack could
turn deadly if left un-mended. Blood might leak inside, which would surely kill
her.
He took a deep
breath and put his finger in the wound. Warmth, wet and the hard, slippery
surface of bone — those were all familiar. He knew the textures, he knew
how they all fit back together. Slowly, he ran his finger along the line,
holding a memory in his head.
It was a memory
of his childhood. He used to spend hours playing in the ponds near the village,
building Kingdoms out of clay. It was an unsteady material, but clay had its
virtues: if one of his castle walls cracked, he could simply push them back
together.
With one finger
on her skull, he closed his eyes and thought: You are clay .
When he opened
them, he was no longer looking at a complicated mass of muscle, skin and bone:
it was all simple clay.
Now the bone of
her skull slid together when he pushed it, sealing under the force of his
thought. When the crack was healed, he pushed the folds of skin back towards
each other. Blood leaked out and washed over his fingers as he pinched the gash
closed. It was much warmer than normal blood, but it didn’t scald him.
When he’d sealed
the wound, all that remained was a thin white scar. He didn’t think the girl
would want a scar on her head, so he brushed it with his thumb until it
smoothed away.
“Very good,”
Amos said when he finished.
Kael didn’t
realize how focused he’d been. Amos’s voice sounded like it floated in from
miles away. He sat up and let the fog drain from his ears before he frowned at
the smug look on Amos’s face and said: “Now what?”
His frail
shoulders rose and fell. “Now we wait, and hope she wakes up.”
Chapter 4
The Sovereign Five
Across the
mountains and miles away, the great fortress of Midlan stood undefeated.
Its outer wall
was a colossus of stone: a great, gaping jaw that rose from the earth and
consumed the land around it, hemming every tree and blade of grass into a giant,
fortified circle. High towers stood along this wall like pointed teeth, their
heavy shadows draped over the barracks that covered the ground beneath them.
The middle wall
was actually an impregnable keep. It leered from behind the cover of its iron
towers, its many slit windows stared unblinkingly — watching the four
horizons.
At the top of
the keep loomed another citadel, one designed to survive any blast or siege. It
was out of the archer’s reach, too powerful for the catapult and warded against
every spell. And it was from this highest, insurmountable point that King
Crevan enjoyed the view of a man with ultimate power.
From where he
watched, the soldiers of
back of his forearm, bubbling wetly. Carefully, he touched a finger to it. The
blood felt warm, but not unpleasant.
“Remarkable,” Amos
breathed. “It isn’t hurting you, is it?”
Kael shook his
head. He looked back at Amos’s fingers, at the angry white blisters rising up
on them. Why didn’t the magic hurt him?
“We’ll have
plenty of time to figure this out later,” Amos said. He picked up his bowl and
situated himself at the table next to where the girl lay. Then he looked at
Kael expectantly.
“No.”
His voice was
hard. He felt the wall rise up in his heart — the one that always rose
when Amos tried to get him to use his gift. Healing was the weakest of the
three schools of whispering. And in Kael’s opinion, Fate gifted him just enough
to thoroughly ruin his life. So he vowed to ignore it. He tucked it away and
pretended to be normal.
“If you don’t
help her, she’ll die,” Amos countered.
Blast it all.
Kael flung the
dirty cloth against the wall and stomped over to the girl. Her face was smooth
as she slept; her chest rose and fell steadily. For some reason, the peace on
her face calmed him.
In the deepest
part of her wound, he could see where her skull was cracked. It was an angry,
scarlet line no longer than a fingernail. But he knew even a small crack could
turn deadly if left un-mended. Blood might leak inside, which would surely kill
her.
He took a deep
breath and put his finger in the wound. Warmth, wet and the hard, slippery
surface of bone — those were all familiar. He knew the textures, he knew
how they all fit back together. Slowly, he ran his finger along the line,
holding a memory in his head.
It was a memory
of his childhood. He used to spend hours playing in the ponds near the village,
building Kingdoms out of clay. It was an unsteady material, but clay had its
virtues: if one of his castle walls cracked, he could simply push them back
together.
With one finger
on her skull, he closed his eyes and thought: You are clay .
When he opened
them, he was no longer looking at a complicated mass of muscle, skin and bone:
it was all simple clay.
Now the bone of
her skull slid together when he pushed it, sealing under the force of his
thought. When the crack was healed, he pushed the folds of skin back towards
each other. Blood leaked out and washed over his fingers as he pinched the gash
closed. It was much warmer than normal blood, but it didn’t scald him.
When he’d sealed
the wound, all that remained was a thin white scar. He didn’t think the girl
would want a scar on her head, so he brushed it with his thumb until it
smoothed away.
“Very good,”
Amos said when he finished.
Kael didn’t
realize how focused he’d been. Amos’s voice sounded like it floated in from
miles away. He sat up and let the fog drain from his ears before he frowned at
the smug look on Amos’s face and said: “Now what?”
His frail
shoulders rose and fell. “Now we wait, and hope she wakes up.”
Chapter 4
The Sovereign Five
Across the
mountains and miles away, the great fortress of Midlan stood undefeated.
Its outer wall
was a colossus of stone: a great, gaping jaw that rose from the earth and
consumed the land around it, hemming every tree and blade of grass into a giant,
fortified circle. High towers stood along this wall like pointed teeth, their
heavy shadows draped over the barracks that covered the ground beneath them.
The middle wall
was actually an impregnable keep. It leered from behind the cover of its iron
towers, its many slit windows stared unblinkingly — watching the four
horizons.
At the top of
the keep loomed another citadel, one designed to survive any blast or siege. It
was out of the archer’s reach, too powerful for the catapult and warded against
every spell. And it was from this highest, insurmountable point that King
Crevan enjoyed the view of a man with ultimate power.
From where he
watched, the soldiers of
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