by Mirren Hogan
“Adina.” Darai’s hiss accompanied her step into the stone circle. She gave him a last look before lowering herself down to sit cross-legged. “I’m ready.” She saw his flash of anger, but knew it wasn’t directed at her. She didn’t like the situation any better than he did, but it would be over soon.
Feko glared at her as though she’d said something impertinent, but she just smiled at him in return. There was little one could do or say which would appease men like him. He reminded her of one of her uncles. He was always frowning and looking for fault in people.
“If you look for fault often enough,” her mother used to say, “you’ll find it in everyone.” Adina had learnt to brush it off, as she did now. She had done no wrong to Feko, she’d accept no recriminations, even silent ones.
Still, she had to keep herself from flinching when the magic snaked out from Feko’s staff. Was any of the magic rising up from between the stones around her the same magic he’d drawn from the boy? It would likely be as easy to tell as discerning a drop in the ocean from another.
Fighting the urge to close her eyes, Adina watched the free magic connect with that in her body. It tingled for a moment before starting to wriggle like an excited puppy. No wonder the boy had giggled. It was as though the magic knew other magic and was eager to greet it.
Although she hadn’t felt a tightness before, as such, she experienced a peculiar loosening sensation like untied laces, and knew Feko was removing the bond. The magic danced, distorting the faces around her as though she was looking at them through a curtain of crimson flame. She was slightly warm inside it, but strangely comforted; held by a warm blanket of magic. A moment later, it started to tighten and she began to feel constricted. Sure it was normal, she suppressed the urge to panic. Breathing became more difficult.
Through the curtain, Feko’s face looked strained. Adina saw Tabia move to stand beside him. They were saying something, but she couldn’t hear what. Tabia looked concerned, but Feko seemed to be brushing it off.
Darai rushed forward and grabbed a hold of Feko’s staff. The sorcerer jerked it away and struck him with it, tearing his shirt and leaving a trail of blood across his chest.
The tendril of magic connected to Adina blinked out.
“Oh Zuleso,” Tabia breathed. “What have you done?”
She watched in horror as Feko’s control dissipated. The magic raged around Adina like a tempest. Without the bond or the connection to the remover, the magic would consume her.
“Can you stop this?” she asked Feko urgently. Later, she’d deal with him having struck another man. She abhorred violence, but now wasn’t the time to deal with it.
“I could if that fool boy hadn’t . . . ” Beside her, Feko gripped his staff and drew up magic. Again it snaked toward Adina, but rather than drawing the magic from her, hers was sucking it in, hungrily drawing more and more power.
“Stop this, it’s going to kill her!” Darai shouted.
So much magic had built up that it was all but blinding. Tabia squinted. Inside the magic, Adina began to convulse, her body tossed back and forth like a cloth doll. Her arms rose and her back arched. She seemed to scream, but no sound escaped from the magic. Then she slumped to the ground.
With an audible snap, the magic flicked back toward Feko, knocking the sorcerer from his feet and throwing him hard into the wall. The impact shattered his staff, and from the crunch as he struck, his skull as well.
“We need to get out of here.” Tabia had forgotten Harshal until he spoke.
“We can’t leave her!” Darai shouted, seemingly oblivious to his own injury and the blood soaking into his shirt. “She’ll die!”
Tabia’s eyes left Adina for a moment to glance at Darai. “There’s nothing we can do.” If he hadn’t tugged Feko’s staff away, maybe then . . .
Darai swore profusely in a typically Dassane curse he must have picked up since his arrival and hurled himself at Adina.
“Darai you can’t—” Tabia started forward, but Harshal grabbed her arm, holding her back. She swung to face him. “Harshal, we can’t just let him—”
“Look.” Harshal nodded over her shoulder.
She turned in time to see Darai step into the tempest of magic and grip Adina’s arms. They were both consumed in a matter of seconds, bathed in fiercely dancing crimson light. His face was a mask of concentration as he strained to draw the magic from her. His head tilted back and he screamed, the sound muted by the raging curtain.
The room was lit by a flash that forced Tabia to shield her eyes and turn her face away. She’d never felt magic let off such heat; she felt as though her skin was burning.
From one heartbeat to the next, it was gone.
Tabia lowered her arm and watched the magic slither off Adina’s body and into the gaps between the stones as though it were ashamed of itself. She and Darai slumped to the floor, entwined, but alive.
CHAPTER 22
Darai woke with a pounding headache, the kind which made him feel as though his head would split in two. He half-wished it would, then the pressure might ease.
Wincing, he put his fingers to his temples and rubbed lightly before cracking his eyes open. Expecting to be inundated with light, he was surprised to find himself in a dark room. He could just make out the end of the bed and a door, under which a sliver of yellow light shone. His chest was bare but for a bandage covering the wound Feko’s staff had made.
He lowered his hands and sat up.
“Adina?” he whispered. He thought back to the removal. She’d survived it, that much he recalled. No thanks to those gods-damned sorcerers. His head ached worse just at the thought of them. The rational part in the very back of his mind reminded him that he’d grabbed Feko’s staff; he had forced the man to lose control of the magic before it could leave Adina. He could have killed her.
For the most part, his anger at their meddling in his life overrode the thought. They had done this to him and Adina. It was their fault, all of it. They should have controlled the Outpouring. If they had, there would have been no need for any of this. He’d have been home, hunting and providing for his family.
He curled his hands into fists and let out a growl.
“Darai?” Adina’s voice in the darkness made him jump and curse under his breath.
He peered over to see her darkened form sitting up in a bed beside his.
“Are you all right?” He wasn’t sure why he whispered. They seemed to be alone, but the gods knew who might be listening and how. Magic was far more dangerous and insidious than he’d even imagined. No one was safe from it, especially them.
“I’m fine,” she replied softly. “A little sore, but otherwise . . . ”
He thought he saw her shrug before she climbed off her bed and tiptoed to his. He felt for her hand and helped her to settle beside him.
“Is the magic gone?” He knew the answer; he couldn’t see the crimson glow alighting her skin, but still, he had to ask.
“I think so. I feel so—” she squeezed his hand, “—empty.”
He froze at the sound of those words and the tone she used to say them. “That’s not a bad thing.” His voice was terse. He was starting to sound like them. It made him hate them all the more. He was changing, and he didn’t like it.
He heard her swallow and release the pressure on his hand.
“It’s different for me,” she said softly. “I come from a small town in the foothills, no more than two days from here.”
He frowned. He’d never asked about her past, although they’d spent plenty of time talking about his. He let himself experience much deserved guilt while she continued.
“My parents wanted me to marry a nice man and have children. I wanted more, but—there was no more, not for me. I would never have run away, or let my parents down, or . . . ”
“I know.” He patted her hand. “But don’t you see, this is no adventure, no—”
She cut him off. “Oh, but it is. Not the part where I was almost swallo
wed alive by magic, but if I could draw it, and learn to use it, I could be someone, someone important. My parents would be proud and I . . . ” Her voice had risen in volume and excitement, but she trailed off for a moment before adding, “Do you understand?”
He wasn’t sure he did, not really. He yearned for the open air and the simple life, the skill in chasing and killing. Here, he felt like prey. The sensation made him uncomfortable. More than that, he felt enclosed, suffocated by so many people, buildings, and the constant noise and smell of the city.
“You want to be a sorcerer?” The idea made his stomach turn.
“If I can draw, then I am a sorcerer.” Her straightforward reply came like a stab. It made him breathless for her, and for himself. He knew what she was saying. He could draw magic; he was one of them.
“Should I try?” she asked. He felt her start to move away and grabbed at her arm.
“No,” he replied forcefully. “It’s too dangerous. Wait until—” Was he about to suggest that the sorcerers could keep her safe? They’d proven over and over that they couldn’t. Even Tabia, who he’d almost begun to trust, had been willing to stand back and let Adina die. But he’d drawn, and it seemed relatively simple. Of course, if she wasn’t an air channeller, then nothing would happen anyway.
“Wait until you’re stronger,” he added weakly. “You’ve been through a lot, you should rest.” He should probably grab her and run, but he wasn’t sure he was strong enough for that yet.
“I feel fine,” she argued.
Of course you do, he thought. Any idea he might have had about men being stronger than women had been disproven, and then some. Adina was tougher than any man he’d ever met.
“You’re going to try anyway, aren’t you?” He sighed. “What do you want me to do?”
“I think you should stand back.”
His eyes had grown accustomed to the low light, so he saw her hop off the side of his bed and move to the middle of the room. He scooted until his back touched the wall, vaguely aware of the cold stones against his skin.
“Ready?” Her voice was breathless with excitement.
“I suppose so,” he said, an unsuppressed current of fear audible to his own ears. He knew she wouldn’t blame him for that. Surreptitiously, he made ready to draw magic, in case she needed his help.
“All right.” She took a deep breath. “Here goes.” She raised her arms, palms turned upward. “Let’s see if the magic will come to me.”
Time seemed to stop for a minute, then two.
Nothing happened.
Adina’s hands slapped against her skirt as she lowered them back down.
“I was so sure.” She sounded despondent.
“There’s more than one way to channel magic.” Darai could have struck himself for reminding her, but the gods knew she’d remember on her own soon enough.
Adina clicked her fingers. “Right. I need a staff.”
“Or water.” He resigned himself to helping her find her method of using magic, if she had one.
“Water. Right. Maybe they left a cup or a jug—at least we could rule that out.”
“There’s a table behind you,” he said. He lowered himself off his bed and felt his way across the room to the shape which he’d correctly assumed was a small table. He waved a hand over the surface and almost knocked over a tall pitcher. Grabbing the handle, he lifted it to his nose and sniffed. It only smelled like water, but he knew some poisons had no smell. Sometimes they were used to ease the suffering of village elders whose time was close, but hadn’t yet been taken by the gods.
Adina must have heard what he was doing, because she said, “If they wanted us dead, they’d have killed us already.”
For a moment, he was glad it was dark; she wouldn’t be able to see him flush.
“You’re right.” The guild could have murdered them while they were out cold. He couldn’t rule out the addition of a herb of some kind to help control them, but the herbs he knew had a strong scent, or needed heat to be activated.
“Of course, I am,” she said lightly. “I know these people have—” she paused. “I’m not going to change your mind, am I?”
“They would have left you to die.”
“It didn’t come to that, thanks to you.” She took the jug from him and set it back on the table. She took both of his hands in hers and leaned over to kiss his cheek. After a pause, she moved slightly and kissed his mouth. It was a soft, gentle kiss, but his body felt as though it had caught fire.
“I owe you my life,” she said into his ear. For a moment he thought she’d say something else, but she moved away, leaving the memory of her touch lingering on his senses.
“All right, let’s try this then.” She moved her hand toward the jug.
He heard no sound of her fingers touching the liquid, but a tendril of magic wiggled up from out of the water, slid up over the side of the jug and onto her arm. Her face was bathed in crimson light, but she was smiling.
His heart sank.
CHAPTER 23
“What did we do?” Tabia chewed at her fingernail while pacing across the length of her work room. “Feko is dead and Darai will never trust us again. Adina either. As for the rest of the guild, and Dassane, when word of this gets out . . . ”
“Maybe it won’t.” Harshal handed her a steaming mug of milky kawaha.
The smell wafted, sweet to the point of being intoxicating. Today she could hardly bring herself to breathe it in, much less drink it. Of course, he’d taken the time to draw magic to heat the water for it, so she’d at least make an effort. She nodded her thanks and moved to the window, the mug cupped in her hands.
“You know it will. By the end of the week, half of Dassane will be ready to swear they were in the room at the time and that one of us killed Feko or assaulted Adina. Or they’ll paint it as an attempt to overthrow Sevele or summon demons.”
Harshal snorted. “That’s ridiculous. Everyone knows there are no such thing as demons.”
“Except magula. What are they if not demons?”
She watched the smile leave his face.
“They’re more tortured souls than demons,” he replied. “But don’t forget whose fault this really is.”
“Mine,” she replied immediately. “I shouldn’t have let him into the room. I knew the removal could be dangerous. Sometimes they go wrong and people die.” So, she’d read anyway. Once or twice every Outpouring, a removal went awry. No one knew why, but she should have anticipated this. If she’d just stopped to think about it for a day or two—not that she’d had a chance to.
“If Darai hadn’t stepped in, Adina would be dead,” Harshal stated. “Feko might still be alive, but there was nothing any of us could have done for her.” He didn’t say it, but she knew what he was thinking; no one would have stepped in to save her. Even Tabia, who prided herself on her compassion, wouldn’t have dared risk herself for a woman who, as far as anyone knew, might not even possess the ability to channel magic. The realisation filled her with shame.
Harshal continued, “If you had to choose, would you have saved Feko at the expense of Adina?”
“If I had to choose, I’d want them both to be alive and safe.” Tabia had no love for Feko, but the man had been a skilled sorcerer and understood Dassane politics better than most. His death would leave a gap in the guild which might be impossible to fill. It would also lead to an investigation, undoubtedly giving Tabia’s enemies leverage to remove her from the assembly.
As for Adina, she was an innocent young woman, caught up in a situation not of her making, whose life had come so close to ending. Thanks to Darai she might live a long life yet.
“Unless your skills include drifting backward in time, then we’re stuck with what we have,” Harshal pointed out. “Potential gossip and a dead sorcerer. So, what do we do? Pass the truth around?”
“When you know what the truth is, let me know,” she said wearily. “The magic was starting to overwhelm Adina, that’s all I can be su
re of. Feko should have cut the connection to keep himself safe. We should all have left that room until the magic had gone back into the earth, instead of letting Feko try again.” At her insistence, she remembered with regret. “He was feeding the magic around Adina. Why didn’t he stop sooner?”
“Maybe he didn’t realise it. Just because we could see it, doesn’t mean he could. And he was nothing if not proud. He wouldn’t like to think he’d messed up in the first place.”
Tabia had to concede that point. “He seemed perfectly calm until Darai touched his staff. He must have thought everything was fine until he tried to restart the removal. He probably never even saw the backlash coming.”
“There is another possibility,” Harshal suggested. “Perhaps he was simply so arrogant he thought he was in control the entire time; that he could cow the magic to his will.”
Tabia couldn’t deny the logic behind that. Feko, like many sorcerers, had been confident in his abilities. People had held him in great esteem, even fear. It wasn’t inconceivable that he had overestimated his skill and the amount of magic with which he’d been dealing. Still, thinking that way about a dead man—who had never directly done anything to harm her—didn’t sit well with Tabia. He might have been difficult, but he hadn’t been a bad person and she wasn’t one to hold grudges, except in exceptional circumstances.
“I’d prefer to think of it as nothing more than an accident,” she replied eventually, “and insist that sorcerers take greater care with the removal. Perhaps act only in pairs, with one to watch for any surges.” She felt a renewal in the sick feeling in her stomach, knowing it’d potentially save the lives of magic users, but not necessarily the harvested ones.
“You can tell Sevele that,” Harshal said, again leaving words unsaid.
Giving a recommendation to the head of the guild was one thing; he’d probably even listen and seek to implement the suggestion. Assuming any of the sorcerers skilled in removal would listen was an entirely different tome. Possibly even a different shelf. Magic-users were notoriously stubborn, possibly because no two sorcerers shared the exact same skills or power, so each had to learn to balance theirs. Of course, that made them the expert of this balance, and others telling them otherwise were often dismissed out of hand.
