by Indie Gantz
Tirigan’s hand suddenly grabs my wrist, and my eyes fly down to look at him. His thoughts are noticeably clearer, less strained. It must be working.
I can’t heal completely. If they see that, they’ll suspect something. I know he’s right, but it feels wrong to leave him with a hole in his gut. It’s better now. Really.
The world comes rushing back as I pull my hand away from Tirigan’s body. At some point while I was concentrating on healing Tirigan, Vi and Kor returned. Vi is frantic behind me.
“What happened!? Is he okay? What’s she doing!?” Vi asks, and Oleander tries to answer her.
“An accident. I’m not sure. I haven’t a clue, helping him heal maybe?”
“That’s incredibly advanced, though. Didn’t they say they were relative novices to their elements?” Vi pauses, but I keep my eyes on Tirigan who is taking slow and measured breaths.
When no one says anything, I turn my head and answer, if only to stop her from asking more questions.
“Just a little bit of healing, keeping pressure on,” I lie with a thin smile. “Our father was a healer, so I did learn a couple things from an early age. When he got sick, I took care of him as best I could.” The deceit slips out easily. I’m extremely grateful that I chose Gi as my public element. “He isn’t completely healed, but he will be okay to get to the train. I can try again after I’ve had some rest.”
I’m glad for the memory that Téssera need rest after powerful casts and hope that sells my lie. Kor hasn’t said a word. He keeps staring down at Tirigan with a nearly blank expression, but I can still see the wheels turning in his mind. It’s unnerving. I turn back to Tirigan and give him a hopeful look.
“Do you think you can stand?” I ask him. Tirigan doesn’t look convinced that he can, but he nods anyway.
“Here,” Avias says from behind him, still holding Tirigan’s head, but coming to his feet. “Let me help you.”
Tirigan doesn’t say anything to stop him, but I can tell the close proximity is bothering him.
Please let him help you. I don’t think I can lift you completely on my own.
I didn’t say anything.
I know but I-
“I can try.” Tirigan’s voice cuts me off.
“Okay.” I let out a breath. “Let's do it.”
“Are you sure you should be doing this?” Bo’s voice is somewhat shrill behind me. “He just had a knife stickin’ out of his gut not two minutes ago.”
“I’m all right,” Tirigan assures her. “Charlie healed me some.”
We share a nervous look, something I hope no one notices, before Avias and I help Tirigan to his feet. He lets out a few painful gasps, and I don’t think they’re for show.
Is it really bad still?
It’s not horrible, but not exactly pleasant either.
“He should change.” Kor finally breaks his silence. “His clothes are covered in blood. They won’t let him on the train like that.”
Tirigan looks down at himself and cringes. I just bought these.
“The least of your worries right now, Sarrum,” I mutter, unthinking.
“Sarrum?” Bo echoes, her voice still not quite her own. “What’s that mean? You guys speak another language too?”
My eyes do that thing Tirigan’s do when he is forced to think very quickly about something he’d rather not have to. They blink incredibly rapidly until my mouth produces a sound.
“King,” I reply honestly, then purposely make my struggle with Tirigan even more pronounced. “It means king. Tirigan was named after a very ancient Aplos king.” I start walking towards the tent, pretending not to hear the second question. “I call Tirigan “Sarrum” whenever he is being particularly…” I hoist Tirigan up, adjusting my grip on his body, and a small whimper escapes him. “… Regal.” Tirigan groans and I use it as a way out of this conversation. “All right, I’ll help Tirigan change, and then we’ll go. We should try to get him back to lying down as soon as possible.”
Somehow, I keep the shakiness out of my voice, even though I’m nothing but uncertain. I can tell Kor is suspicious of what just happened, but what was I supposed to do? Just let my brother suffer, possibly even die if he didn’t heal fast enough with just his Anunnaki blood alone? No, I couldn’t just do nothing.
Avias helps me take Tirigan to our tent and leaves us while I help Tirigan out of his blood-soaked clothes. The wound is now an open gash, still bleeding profusely. I take out the t-shirt my mother had packed for me and rip it into three pieces, tying the ends together. I wrap it around Tirigan’s stomach to form a makeshift bandage.
They must suspect something is off now. No matter your explanation.
I know. I help Tirigan into fresh clothing and we try to figure out our next move. You’re still hurt, though. That should help with the idea of me not being that powerful. It’s not like we healed you completely.
You should act very tired and weak. Maybe even pretend to faint when we leave the-
No, I’m not faking something like that. I’d probably mess it up, and everyone would just stare at me like I’m some kind of freak.
Well, at least act like you need rest. Téssera require rest after major casts and healing me on your own, like they believe you did, that should have tired you greatly.
Yeah, I can do that. I stuff the rest of our things in our bags and roll up our sleeping bags as Tirigan sits as still as possible.
I can still feel myself healing. It’s not as fast as it was with the water, but I can still feel my body regenerating.
You’re going to have to act more hurt than you are then. You’ll probably be healed by the time we get back to Pacoa, and that will look really suspicious. Don’t you think?
Not if you pretend to heal me again on the train.
Right, okay. That makes sense.
When I’m finished packing up the rest of our things, I stop and look at Tirigan. I feel like I haven’t really come down from the high of what just happened. Adrenaline is still pumping hard and fast through my veins, and my breath is still coming quicker than it should.
Are you ready?
Tirigan gives me a calculated stare from his place on the floor of our tent. Are you?
I shrug. As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.
There isn’t anything we can do but go back out there and act as if everything that just happened was completely normal. We’ll ignore the mysterious stabbing that nearly killed my brother. I’ll go out there and act tired, even though I feel like I could run a marathon, and Tirigan will act like his wound is far more severe than it really is. We’ll pretend like everything's okay, and hope that we didn’t just expose ourselves to the very people we need to trust us the most.
Interlude V
Day Forty-Two: Tirigan
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
When Language Fails
"What is the meaning of this? Send that girl here to declare and demonstrate her element, or we will be forced to retrieve her ourselves,” the weak Gyan shouts to us. Bo’s calls of fury can be heard through the glass. The group in front of us tenses noticeably.
“There is no need,” Kor replies steadily. “After our little gambol, my daughter will be free to declare and demonstrate her element at her leisure.”
Charlie and I both begin to move forward, Charlie aiming for Oleander’s other side while my intention is to stand between Kor and Avias.
“Gambol?” the green haired woman asks as we move closer.
“Yes,” Kor nods. “Gambol. Dance. Waltz. However you wish to define our upcoming interaction.” Kor adjusts once I am at his side so that he is still ahead of us all, taking point in our V formation.
“Waltz?” the weak Gyan repeats. “There will be no waltz. There will be no frivolity of any kind. Now, you two come declare and demonstrate. The youngest shall go last.”
“Oh, you misunderstand,” Kor continues with a smile. “I wouldn’t waste your time with frivolity, sir. No, our intention is more serpentine. Perhaps
even… temerarious.”
The eyes on us are wider, more alert. Kor’s confidence unnerves them.
“It doesn’t matter how many letters you add to your words, Aérasian,” the green haired woman jeers. “You are outnumbered and overpowered. Comply or you will be put down.”
Kor stares at the woman and says nothing more.
“Why not let the last three declare?” the powerful Gyan asks. He steps closer, his muscles flexing in an attempt to intimidate. “What do you hide, Aérasian?”
“A great many things unfortunately,” Kor answers with a sigh. “It’s rather pathetic, actually.” He pushes additional thoughts at the wall around my mind.
Open mind: Kor
Keep your mind open to me.
All right.
“Well, T, go ahead and show them what you got,” Kor commands softly, looking at me.
The scarred woman carrying the bag looks to me expectantly, and I step forward as if intending to comply with their demand. Charlie is aggressively trying to enter my mind, but I push her away. Not only do I not need her emotions clouding my judgment or focus, I’m also unable to let her in when Kor is already there. I must learn how he does that.
With my eyes on the scarred woman and my energy focused on the dark-skinned Gyan man, I continue forward. When I am close enough to reach inside the bag, I lift my hand as if preparing to grab a stone then jut it out quickly towards my target. Just as my fist collides with the Gyan’s jaw, I summon as much Aérasian energy as I am physically capable of collecting and push it through my knuckles.
The Gyan’s neck snaps back violently as his body soars up and over the line of Téssera he arrived with. Within two heartbeats of the sound of the Gyan’s neck breaking, I am aware of what I have just done. I had assumed I would need all of my power to overtake the Gyan. An incorrect assumption. I cannot see the man in the sand in the distance, but I have no doubt of his fate. The Gyan is dead. I killed him. Fear. Guilt. Confusion. Remorse—
I don’t have time to think more about this.
On the third heartbeat, the green-haired Fotián attacks. Her fist collides with my cheek. Fire singes skin. There is rapid movement behind and in front of me. The others entering battle. All I focus on is the fire in the Fotián’s eyes. As my cheek slowly begins to heal itself, I cast a shield that pushes the flames the Fotián sends my way back towards her. The shield keeps her from advancing. Take the offensive. Pulling silica from the ground, I manipulate it to wrap around the Fotián’s body. I do not, however, make to transfigure the particles to a more durable plastic; I can only express one element publicly.
The blue stones on the Fotián’s stomach glow brighter, and then there is water pushing away the sand that encircled her. The bursts of water from the stones fight against my shield, threatening to break through. Something sharp and hot hits my left arm, but I do not have time to find the source. The Fotián’s water assault requires all of my focus.
The first of the four blue stones on her stomach begin to dim after fifteen seconds. No more than forty-five seconds left.
Down!
I thrust my body downwards at Kor’s telepathic command, making myself vulnerable to the green-haired woman still trying to break through my shield. The assault ends abruptly as the Fotián is thrown backwards and into one of her comrades. They both tumble to the ground roughly.
A petite woman with lilac hair charges past me and toward our vehicle where Bo still bangs against the window, begging to be let out so she can help. Kor is occupied by two competent-looking Téssera. He is dominating them at the moment, but a distraction could tip the odds in the hostile’s favor. A quick look around tells me that everyone else is similarly occupied.
I turn back towards the vehicle, and push my power towards the petite woman, intending to push her away from the car. However, her hand is up in an instant, counter-acting my cast. An Aérasian. She reaches for the door handle and the only other weapon at my disposal is one I’d rather not have to use. The door handle doesn’t budge. Before I can feel a hint of relief, the Aérasian has her arms out wide. The car shakes violently at her command.
I reach down to the knife in my ankle strap, retrieve it, and set up to throw. It feels good the moment I release. The Aérasian is too distracted by her cast to notice the weapon flying towards her. The knife whips forward and stabs into the Aérasian’s right hand. She lets out a scream as she cradles her hand to her chest, her cast on the vehicle immediately removed. Unless they have a healer, the petite Aérasian will be out of commission for at least a short period of time.
To my left, Oleander is battling the scarred woman. She has him pinned to the ground with her knee on his neck, but Oleander twists out of the position and creates a large piece of cement with a flick of his wrist that he sends flying into the Aérasian’s stomach. Her breath leaves her in a single choking sound, and Oleander transfigures lines of sand from the ground to wrap around her wrists and ankles. No longer millions of particles of silica and limestone, the sand acts as a rope and holds the heaving Aérasian in place. With a quick wave of my hand, the stones on the scarred woman’s body rip away and fall to the ground.
The weak Gyan is dispatched quickly by Calor, who harnessed the sun’s rays and sent searing flames along the sand. The man had fallen to his hands and knees previously and was burned very badly, forcing the Gyan to retreat. Invalidated. The angry Néroian approaches me next, but without a water source and only the stones littering her body to battle with, she is easily dealt with. I dodge a series of fireballs she sends from the stones on her wrist, and then forcibly pull away the stones remaining on her skin. She charges me, but I send her flying backwards with just a glance. She lands on the green-haired Fotián, who was just starting to get up from the ground.
I have the mind to check on the petite Aérasian’s progress at recovery, as she is undoubtedly recovered enough to continue battling, but before I can locate her, I receive a harsh blow to the head, and everything goes dark.
Black. Stars. Ground. Pain. Sand. Charlie. Avias. So much pain. Danger. Get up. Stand up. Too weak. Push. Come back. Focus. What is happening? Concentrate.
Bo is shouting in the car. Ignore. Kor’s mind is sharp and still open as he battles. Ignore. I am suddenly burying a woman with straight black hair and glowing cyan eyes in the sand. No, not me. I am seeing through my sister’s eyes for the first time. Ignore. Avias’ mind pushes at mine to allow him entry, but I am unable to let him in. Kor blocks Avias’ mind easily, but he cannot block my sister’s visual connection. Ignore. Try to get up. Can’t move. Trouble breathing? Yes, labored breathing.
“Tirigan! Are you okay?” Avias’ voice is strained, out of breath.
I manage to turn my head. Blinding pain. Sand whips against my eyelids. Don’t open them. Warm sticky fluid. Blood. Hands on my body. Don’t touch me.
“Tirigan, can you stand?” Avias asks. “Tirigan, are you-? Tirigan! Water! We need water!”
His concern is troubling. Grave injury.
Kor’s voice in my head jerks me further into consciousness.
Oleander’s ankle strap.
“Oleander,” my mouth supplies. The sound is very far away.
“Ollie! I need your ankle strap! Now!” Avias shouts. I shift, try to lie on my back. Avias lets out what I can only describe as a sob. “No, don’t move. Stay still.”
A few seconds later, Néro stones are held to my injury. I can feel the hardness of them, pushing against something much too soft to be my skull. Crushed skull. Cerebral hemorrhage.
Open eyes.
Blue sky, going grey in the East. The true color of Avias’ eyes. Sandstorms all around, bodies moving quickly. Battling. Fighting. Dying? Possibly.
“Concentrate,” Avias says, eyes locking with mine. “Heal, Tirigan. Heal.”
Cool water flows against the warmth of my injury, and I focus on healing myself. With plenty of practice at this point, the process takes three minutes and fifty-seven seconds, over the course o
f which Avias is forced to deflect several harmful casts in our direction.
Are you all right? Kor questions, concerned.
Yes.
Your powers?
Rejuvenating quickly.
I’ll need them. Charlie’s too.
I’m ready.
“Help me stand,” I request of Avias, who, despite the obvious hesitation in his expression, nods and helps me to my feet.
The battle continues around us, but there are fewer opponents to contend with. Many bodies lay immobile on the ground, none of them belonging to our group. A few of the defeated bodies are covered in blood. One of them is the petite Aérasian. She lies still on the ground, her neck broken. We’re killers.
Calor is aiding Kor in trapping two Téssera in a glass coffin of sorts, their stones buried in the sand around them. Oleander is facing off with a well-muscled Fotián, who looks stronger, but not faster, than him. Equally matched. The Fotián man stomps at the ground after landing a kick to Oleander’s face, igniting the sand before Oleander can create a shield for himself. The fire is abruptly stopped before it reaches Oleander’s feet, flickering out as if it were a simple candle and saving Oleander from serious burns. Avias’ hand is raised beside me, his eyes on the scorched sand.
Oleander’s next attack, a sandstorm, is more irritating than effective and only manages to further enrage the Fotián. He burns through Oleander’s storm quickly and charges toward him. My hand rises alongside Avias’ and with our combined force, the Fotián cannot get closer than six meters to Oleander. We hold him there.
Of the nine original elemental hostiles, there are only four remaining. The others are unconscious or incapacitated. Or dead. Now is not the time to contemplate that further. Instead, I begin to formulate plans for our escape. The possibilities are not endless. Finite. There are three viable ones that I am willing to entertain longer than the instant it takes me to discount the others.
