by Amy Hopkins
“Hey, it’s the size of a fucking nail!” Taven called, lingering out of sight up above. “It’s a pisser, too!”
A hand darted out over the edge, squeezed into a fist. A steady dribble of tiny red droplets spattered on the ground.
“Hey!” Bastian yelped. “That’s fresh-cut pine you’re bleeding on!”
The hand disappeared, and a chagrined ‘sorry’ sounded from the upper level.
Bastian cursed and leaned down to inspect the damage. A messy stain covered one of the planks and dripped down the side.
The boards were to cover his office walls. Though he’d increased his floor plan on Julianne’s advice, he still intended to keep the room plain. To him, that meant comfortable.
“Pre-loved torture chamber isn’t exactly the look I was going for,” he muttered as he scrubbed at the mark with his sleeve. “Pigs balls! It’s already soaked in.”
As he straightened, the ground rumbled below his feet. Bastian jerked his head up, eyes locking on the structure above.
The upper level wavered and shook. He scurried backwards, tripping over his robe in his rush to get away. “Brace!” he screamed. “Brace yourselves!”
The building collapsed. Dust clouds rose from the wreckage, stinging Bastian’s eyes. Over the creak of settling timber, he heard screams.
Immediately, he reached out with his magic. He grit his teeth as his mind locked onto the workers. His pain sensors went into overdrive as their agony flooded into him, and he hunched, trying to center himself and temper the sensation.
My legs. My legs, I can’t feel them.
IthurtsithurtsithurtsohgodI’mdying.
Wha—what happened…
Bastian sorted through the mental ramblings of the fallen men as other workers rushed towards the wreckage. As they started pulling posts and boards free, one of his mind-connections wobbled.
“STOP!” Bastian screamed. “Stop! It’s unstable! Samuel’s trapped under there.”
The men jumped back as Jakob stumbled over, face pale.
“Bitch strike me!” He gasped. “I thought the noise was just my guts turning over!”
“What?” Bastian looked over and saw the wet stain on Jakob’s shirt.
Jakob closed his eyes and rested a hand on his stomach. “I knew I wasn’t right—I don’t normally get tired that fast. Guess I shouldn’t have eaten that ham for breakfast. It smelled funny, but I thought I’d...” he turned and vomited on the ground.
“Fuck a dead remnant,” Bastian groaned. “Jakob, go home. You can’t use magic in that condition.”
Jakob squared his shoulders and made to protest, but Bastian cut him off.
“Three men are trapped. One wrong move, and they’ll be crushed. I can’t afford mistakes, Jakob.”
Jakob spat the sour taste out of his mouth. “Fair enough. But I can still ride—I’ll send for help.”
Bastian gave a short nod as Jakob ran off, the other man already banished from his thoughts. Bastian could still feel the pain of the fallen men, but it had faded to a dull throb. Their fear prickled at his soul, though.
Stay calm, he thought, sending out a wave of comfort and security. The fear ebbed a little, but Taven’s thoughts drifted further away. The man had a head injury, Bastian was sure of it.
It made the situation even more urgent. “Right!” Bastian barked. “We’re going to take off one beam at a time. Carefully!”
Summoning every ounce of concentration, he reached out to Jessop and Andy. Once his mind had connected with theirs, he pointed. “These two will do the lifting. No one else is to touch the rubble—just be ready to take pieces off them when they ask.”
The remaining four men clustered around. Carefully, Jessop and Andy lifted a long pole.
I don’t have the energy to talk, Bastian explained. But I’ll guide you.
Bastian sent another wave of calmness towards Samuel and Jayne, dampening their panic as they felt the rubble pinning them begin to shift.
He nudged Jessop away from a beam that shifted the pile, pressing down on Samuel’s torso. When a different plank relieved pressure on Jayne’s arm, Bastian felt Jessop and Andy strain to lift it.
He pushed out a short, sharp breath, then reached his magic out to a fifth man. Help them, he sent to Lior.
With a start, Lior jumped in and grabbed Jessop’s end of the beam. Together, they levered it up and shifted it to the right.
No, left! Bastian sent urgently. The men changed direction and pulled off the beam. Hold it—HOLD it! He sent a burst of determination towards them.
Free… Jayne saw his chance and pulled himself towards the opening, then collapsed back as pain engulfed him. Ohfuckohfuckohfuck. Despair clustered in around the agony as tears streamed down the man’s face.
Bastian’s own eyes began to leak as Jayne’s helplessness reached him. You can do this, Bastian sent.
Barely aware of the voice in his head, Jayne groaned. Can’t move. Hurts.
I’ll help, Bastian sent. You have to move. Now!
The men above heaved deep breaths as they held the large beam still as Bastian whispered a spell to take away the sharp, biting pain in Jayne’s leg.
Normally, that would go against every rule the Temple had taught. Taking away the body’s ability to recognize pain meant a man could exceed normal limits—leading to further injury.
If Jayne didn’t move, he would die under the stack of planks and pillars. Go. Now! Bastian gasped a word through gritted teeth and filled Jayne with urgency, a feeling so strong it overrode his fear and despair.
Jayne scrambled out, dragging one limp limb behind him. As soon as he was free, Jessop, Lior, and Andy lowered the beam with shaking hands.
“No time to rest, boys,” Bastian said. “We’ve got two more men to free.”
I’m sorry, Samuel, Bastian sent. Taven is losing consciousness, we have to get him out first.
Reading the resolute patience in the team leader’s mind, Bastian sighed with relief. Samuel was in pain and gripped by the same fear every worker would know facing death, but he put his friend’s lives first.
Keep them safe. Bastian heard the wisp of thought just as he withdrew from Samuel’s mind.
I will, Sam, Bastian thought to himself. He steadied his lock on Taven’s thoughts, a task growing harder by the minute as the man’s mind wandered farther and farther away.
Stay awake, Taven! Bastian snapped in the man’s head. A startled Taven responded with thoughts of his father yelling at him for daydreaming.
Bastian hurried his workers along, ushering them into position. The strain of holding the three workers and forcing Taven’s mind to stay conscious sent biting spearheads into his temples. “Lior, just follow the others. Don’t grab anything before they do.”
He let go of the spell that linked him with Lior, letting him see through the man’s eyes and communicate with him by feel.
“Right.” Bastian took a moment to center himself—a difficult process while holding so many mental threads. “Start at the top,” he directed Jessop.
The old man gave a quick jerk of his head and gingerly pulled at a wee sheet of board. Bastian carefully cradled Taven’s mind, letting himself feel what the trapped man felt.
The space he was trapped in was musty and smelled of damp soil. Bright pricks of light scored his eyes where sunlight peeked through gaps. His skin shuddered and trembled as the rubble pressing his flesh was disturbed.
“Not that one,” Bastian whispered.
His speech was reflexive—the thought behind the words was sent directly into Jessop’s mind. “Yes. Careful…”
The ache of burning so much magic, stretching his mind so far while inflicting it with the agony of the injured men, prickled at his skin. He fought for control.
Taven’s world shuddered and slipped as a stack of planks slid off the pile, freeing him.
As the pressure faded from his body, Taven slipped away.
Bastian collapsed. “No…” Kneeling in the dirt,
he stretched for Taven… and didn’t find him. Bastian prayed the man was only unconscious.
Jessop nudged his shoulder. “You ok there, mystic? Still a man to go.”
Bastian nodded. He clenched his fists and cleared his mind, reveling in the brief lapse that let his mental muscles drop the burden for just a few moments. “Samuel.”
The name grounded him, brought images of the man as Bastian had last seen him. Coarse and surly, running his small building team with a no-nonsense approach. A strong work ethic had etched lines into Samuel’s tanned face and built muscles that looked more suited to a man half his age.
Bastian muttered a word and reached for the mind that matched the image in his head. Samuel ached with a resignation that broke his heart—the man had already accepted his likely death.
“Jessop,” Bastian whispered.
Beside him, someone stepped forwards. The scent of fresh-cut pine, stale ink, and fresh sweat reached his nostrils. Yes, that was Jessop.
The cavalry has arrived! Need a hand?
Danil’s silent voice washed over Bastian like a cool balm, filling his body with life and energy. The razed nerves in his head calmed, easing the searing pain.
Bastian nodded, knowing Danil would see it no matter how far he was.
Closing his eyes and working purely by the sight and feel of the two men he held in his spell, Bastian put Jessop to work.
One beam came free, then another. When Jessop tugged at a third, Bastian sent a blast of control, freezing him into stillness.
Jessop carefully turned his head and worked his mouth. Bastian let him, but held the muscles from his neck down in a tight grip. “How bad?” he asked in a low voice.
“That beam,” Bastian said, just loud enough for the man and those around him to hear. “It’s holding everything. If you move it an inch…”
He didn’t need to finish the sentence. They knew what would happen if the pile collapsed.
Danil’s consciousness slid around Bastian’s mind, carefully evaluating the situation. There’s only one way to save him, Danil sent. I’m sending in Sir Puke-a-lot.
Danil pulled a tendril of Bastian’s mind along with him, gently draping it over Jakob’s mind. Bastian had to throw up a hurried mental shield to stop Jakob’s nausea emptying his stomach.
Sorry. Despite the tension, Danil’s voice held a thread of laughter. Should have warned you about that…
“Jessop, don’t move,” Bastian called. “But when I give you the signal, get the hell out of the way!”
Jessop nodded.
Unfolding images in Jakob’s mind, Bastian showed him Samuel’s predicament.
Jakob’s face screwed up in concentration. “I’ve got this.” He blew out three fast breaths.
The pile of rubble exploded. It shot in the air, hung still for a moment, then swept off to one side, slamming against a partially collasped wall before crashing to the ground.
Jessop staggered and fell backwards. Bastian’s tenuous link with him meant he felt the sharp crack as a post clipped the old man’s chin. It hurt, but not enough to worry about Jessop’s safety.
Bastian rushed forward, his spells falling away. Samuel’s body lay on the dirt, in a barren circle surrounded by wood and debris.
“Sam!” Bastian yelled, skidding along the dirt on his knees. He stumbled to a stop at the team leader’s side.
Samuel propped himself up on one elbow. “Bitch’s oath,” he muttered. “That’s one way to clear a mess.”
The sounds of violent vomiting erupted behind them. Bastian winced, and swallowed to keep his sympathetic stomach from turning.
“How’s Taven?” Samuel asked.
Bastian glanced back over his shoulder. To his surprise, he saw Rhea bent over, tending to the two injured men with Mathias watching over her. The girl’s training was far from complete, but he knew she at least had some healing ability.
“He’ll be just fine,” Bastian said with a grin.
Samuel’s face wrinkled.
“Are you hurt?” Bastian asked quickly. “I’ll get Rhea over to—”
“I’m fine,” Samuel said grumpily. “But this Bitch-damned worksite is a mess! Look at those men, standing around like starved fish. This isn’t a tits and ass convention!” He yelled at some watching workers. “Clean this shit up before someone trips over it.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Marcus kicked at the gnawed stump that jutted out of the ground. He’d come to the building site with Julianne, the rushed trip made at Danil’s request. The damage had been obvious once the fallen debris had been cleared away.
“I don’t know what made those teeth marks, but I don’t want to meet it in a dark alley,” he said.
Francis glanced over and nodded. “Bastian, you’ve seen nothing?”
Bastian shook his head tiredly. Julianne, one hand on the back of his neck and her own eyes shining bright white as she examined him, clicked her tongue. “Stay still!” she chided.
“Only the little varks,” Bastian said. “It would take one weeks to chew through a beam that size, let alone five of them.”
“Nah, tiny teeth like that would leave different marks,” Jessop insisted. “This was a big’un. Not even a vark the size of a bear’s apples would do that.”
“Bears apples?” Marcus queried, looking at Bastian.
“Balls,” he said. “He means a bear’s balls.”
“Well, if you want to be unimaginative about it,” Jessop sighed.
“Not even the stick creatures that are coming through the portal could do this,” Francis said. He bent down at one of the other damaged posts—this one hadn’t been chewed all the way through but had snapped, leaving sharp splinters protruding into the air.
Jakob sauntered over. “Let me at it. I’ll take the bastard out.”
“With your smell?” Marcus called.
Francis edged backwards. “Most definitely. Any creature that comes near the mighty Jakob would die in a single breath.” He pulled his shirt up over his face.
Jakob shrugged and grinned but backed off. “At least I’m not tossing my lunch anymore. Nice of you to catch, though Mathias.”
A shirtless Mathias leaned against a tree. “Fuck you. Seriously. That was my best fucking shirt! Next time, you can shove your rotten spew-inducing ham up your—”
“I said sorry!” Jakob protested. “It’s not like I could help it.”
“You could have aimed better,” Mathias grumbled.
“I know you two are having fun,” Julianne broke in. “But we need to think of the implications. Something is running about, eating through solid posts. What if it’s in Tahn or Muir?”
Silence fell as the men digested her words.
“We’d best head home,” Mathias said with a glance at Jakob.
Jakob nodded. “We’ll inform Lord George. You’ll stay in touch?”
Francis nodded. “We’ll send messengers.”
“I’m coming back with you,” Rhea said. She blushed when everyone’s eyes turned to her. “I can send Tabitha faster than any messenger.”
Tabitha? Marcus wondered.
Julianne sent the answer in a series of images, thoughts, and memories. They were getting better at communicating this way—to Julianne, it was almost like talking to another mystic, though Marcus couldn’t initiate the conversation himself.
She showed him that Tabitha was a small, orange fox. The animal had adopted Rhea while she was practicing her newfound skill on it, their bond deepening while Rhea trained her nature magic with Mathias.
Now, the animal acted as Rhea’s familiar, though Mathias had mentioned the bond was different to those he’d seen back home.
Mathias and Jakob said a subdued farewell and left together. Once they were gone, Francis took in a deep breath, then gagged.
“Oh, Bastard. Shouldn't have done that.” There were still several puddles of regurgitated bile in the grass nearby.
“I’m just glad Jakob came back,” Bastian said. “Sam
uel wouldn’t have made it out if he hadn’t.”
“You were doing great!” Danil exclaimed, clapping Bastian on the back. “The level of skill and depth of power you displayed was… well, dare I say it… almost as good as I’d have done!”
Bastian punched Danil lightly on the shoulder.
“Just remember to take it easy for a few days,” Julianne reminded Bastian. “You were pushing right up against your limit there. I don’t need you burning out on me, ok?”
Bastian nodded, then winced. “With a head like this, I don’t think I’ll even be tempted to cast a spell anytime soon.”
“A head as ugly as that should ache,” Danil quipped. “Anyway, there’s nothing we can do here. I’m going back to Tahn before I lose any appetite I have left.”
He swung around and planted a foot down with a wet squelch. Danil froze.
“Uhh… guys?” A sickly green color washed over his face. “Tell me I didn’t just stand in Jakob’s breakfast.”
“What the fuck is that smell? Ye been guttin’ week-old fish here or somethin’?” Bette stomped up the trail towards Danil, Garrett following close behind.
She looked down. “Ye seem to have a bit o’ chuck on yer boots, lad.”
Danil fled, and Julianne had to shield against the wave of sympathetic nausea that trailed behind him.
“Bette, I’m glad you came,” Julianne said. “Sorry about the stink—Jakob’s breakfast didn’t agree with him.”
“Agree with him?” Garrett chortled. “It looks like it beat him up from the inside, then punched him in the face on the way out.”
“Please,” Marcus gasped, one hand over his nose and mouth. “I’ve been sucking in that stink for an hour. If we keep talking about it, I’m going to join him.”
“Just my luck to be stuck with a bunch of sympathetic spewers,” Julianne said. “But we do have more important things to talk about. Come and look at the damage to those posts.”
She led the rearick over to the chewed beams. “Do you have any idea what could have done this?”
“Beaver,” Garrett said proudly. “Did I get it right?”
