It's a shorter chapter today, but still sweet! We return to Samn's perspective.

Chapter 15 - Samn

I'm getting antsy.

Sir Cawle's decided we should stay up to wait for them to return, but I just want to curl up in my cot and forget this whole day. Whatever the queen gave me for my shoulder, I can barely keep my eyes open because of it.

Speaking of which, it still bites under all the numbing. It's actually starting to get a bit itchy. I want to squeeze the cut, but I know it'll only make it worse.

I feel… guilty's not the right word. I suppose just embarrassed. But there is a tinge of guilt, somewhere in there. Is the queen regretting her choice to lie to protect me? If only we could just stop everything right where it is. The minute Graie, Ravne, Duss, and Fiyr hit their growths, it's all going to come crawling out of the shadows. Girl, girl, girly girl.

And I obviously can't even use my life-force properly.

"Well? What knowledge did the blessed Starlaxi have to grace us with today?" Sir Cawle asks as Fiyr, Graie, and the queen finally exit the cavern. He's still playing his little life-force game with himself; throwing a coin into the air and sharpening it to a knife-sharp tip, then as it plummets towards his hand, dulling it into a round disc once more.

"I suspect we'll all know soon enough," Queen Bluelianna murmurs.

It's almost midnight; whatever the Starlaxi told the queen, it can't have taken too long to get across. I'm almost painfully curious; a wonderful distraction from the real pain of my shoulder and internal struggle.

Ravne's been sitting next to the campfire, watching it intently, and only looks up when Graie and Fiyr plop down next to him. Graie and Ravne strike up a friendly, low-voiced conversation but now it's Fiyr entranced by the fire.

I look away, only further reminded. Queen Bluelianna and Sir Cawle are speaking rapidly and quietly by the entrance to the Temple, and—a trickle of unease running down my back—I hurry away to sit next down by my fellow squires.

"So what's it like in there?" I ask gruffly after a moment, my pride crumbling under the weight of curiosity.

"Giant. Kinda old," Graie volunteers. He's already got a lump of food in his mouth; it's like he can pull it out of thin air.

"Incredible," Fiyr says, sounding dazed, still fixated on the fire.

Figures he'd be a vague little shit about this, I think vindictively. To hide my jealousy, I feign casual indifference. "Cool. The Starlaxi tell you anything?"

They both shake their heads.

Graie swallows and adds, "But the queen seemed pretty freaked out about whatever she saw in there."

I glance sharply back towards Sir Cawle and Queen Bluelianna, still locked in deep discussion, and feel the same twinge of unease. What could he be so eager to know?

"Why is the Starlaxi's Temple so far out?" Fiyr asks suddenly. "Why isn't it in the solstice pavilion, closer to the kingdoms?"

Graie is chewing still. Sighing, I answer. "Too strong; the combined power of the Lunar Crystal and the pillars of the four kingdoms would have… er, weird effects on the surrounding area."

"Like what?" he questions.

Ugh. "Giant trees, rivers bursting from the ground, frequent and devastating storms… the maiorum had kingdoms closer to it. Their castles—"

"Maiorum," he echoes. "Someone was talking about those at the Gathering; what are they?"

"We're descended from them; greater beings with stronger magic. There were three kinds; Mers, the ones with the Trace, Sers, the ones with the connection to the Starlaxi, and Wers, the ones with physical strength and sword fighting," I explain, remembering dull history lessons with Sir Strommer. They won't be boring now that the queen to teach me! A thrill of excitement returns to me at the memory of the change in mentorship.

"What happened to them?" Fiyr questions, breaking me out of my reverie.

I grit my teeth. "Full of questions, aren't you?"

"Oi, watch it, Sandy," Graie snaps back, seeming to have finished off whatever he was chewing on.

I whip around to deliver a snap of my own, but Fiyr's already talking. "Come on, Graie, he's probably just tired."
I look away awkwardly. Since when does he defend me? "I can defend myself," I grunt.

Awkward silence hangs in the air until Ravne of all people breaks it. "When did you first demonstrate, Fiyr? In the gods' manor?"

The red-haired boy glances at him. "Demonstrate? I—er, that's…"

He seems to be floundering, and I'm not eager to jump to his aid. So… is he trying to say he didn't demonstrate? Then how did he know he had power in the life-force? I'd almost forgotten all about the strange moment on his first day. The queen said something strange about his life-force… what was it?

It's a strange situation; god-toys aren't supposed to have any life-force ability; the gods supposedly clip their spirits when they're young to avoid them being able to use the life-force, but evidently that didn't happen to Fiyr. Why is he being so cagey about his demonstration, then?

"Could you use it when you were at the gods'?" I ask off-handedly, but it's a loaded question. Everyone demonstrates before the age of twelve. He came to Thundria when he was twelve, so if he didn't demonstrate before that… then there's something really weird going on.

"I—demonstrating?" he asks weakly. We've had life-force lessons together before; he knows what demonstrating is. I let out an exasperated sigh through my teeth. But if it helps us to figure this out, I'll humour him.

"Demonstrating is the process by which the innate life-force in a young child manifests itself in a giant show of life-force," I rattle off. "It is a measure of the strongest life-force access they will attain in their lifetime. And I'm wondering when that happened to you."

Fiyr's green eyes dart from side to side. "Well, er, it was—"

Graie jumps in. "Look, why does it matter?!" I squint at him, evaluating. He doesn't know what Fiyr's hiding, but he'd still defend it?

I narrow my eyes at Fiyr, hoping to intimidate him. "I'm simply asking."

It must have been rather magnificent. After all, at the age of fourteen, he's got surprising power. In a few years, I have no idea what he'll attain.

Brindellia's told me stories of my demonstration. A sandstorm, that raged for days, ending with heaps of prey outside the castle. It's something to work towards, something to remember when Fiyr's being oh-so-wonderful at life-force. But his demonstration…

"Look, I don't want to talk about it," Fiyr mumbles, crossing his arms and staring into the fire. As we sit in silence, it begins to twist and spiral, almost like dancing.

Yeah, yeah, you're great at life-force… I think bitterly, looking away and staring across the land towards Wynnd's moors. Whatever.

Graie chuckles to himself and throws out a hand. From the base of the campfire spirals a thin strand of gray, then another, then more as the ashes rise in a dance mimicking the fire, like a pale shadow.

Ravne claps his hands with a childish laugh. "You two are made for each other." He lifts up a hand delicately into the air and as the fire flickers across it—illuminating and then releasing it to the shadows—it illuminates a sleek black body.

With a little cry of greeting, the raven ruffles its wings and settles onto Ravne's hand with a pleased little caw.

"Alright, show-offs," I grumble.

"You can do sand," Fiyr says blankly.

"Brilliant observation," I retort. "What's it to you?"

He stretches out a hand, inches from the fire, and a ball creeps out to land in his palm. He stares into it, concentrating, but nothing's happening to it. "Try putting some sand in this fire!" he exclaims suddenly.

Rolling my eyes, I flick a lump off the ground around us and land it in his hand.

"Ow!" he exclaims as it lands. "Hot! Make it float above my hand!"

"You don't have to order me," I snap, raising it off of his palm. A glowing ball floats above his hand, ensconced in flame.

"Can you model things out of sand?" he questions, still staring into the sand that's now glowing orange.

"I suppose," I reply coolly, waving my hand and shaping the sand - which is hardly sand at all anymore - into a small songbird.

Before I can wonder if I should have picked something more… manly? Fiyr releases the flame and a small, clear object drops into his hand.

"Hot!" he yelps again. I flick it back up into the air, noting that it's far from sand anymore. "What… did you do?" I squint at it.

"Glass!" he exclaims proudly.

"You just melted it; I did all the work," I snip to cover my curiosity. "What, you want me to make you a necklace or something?"

He giggles. "No, I just think it's cool!"

Ignoring him, I slowly let the glass figure drop into my palm. It's warm, but not scalding. Examining it in the firelight, I note the imperfections along the wing. Too much rounding, doesn't look like feathers…

I toss it to Ravne. "Work your birdy magic on it."

"You want me to turn it into a bird?" he demands, turning it over in his hands. "I don't think I can do that- ow!"

Sir Cawle's looming behind us suddenly. I look at Ravne's palm, drawing a sharp breath at the glistening pearl of blood that has bloomed on his hand. I must've made the beak too sharp. Or…

"Get some rest. We travel back at dawn," Sir Cawle orders.

Our life-force demonstration contest cuts off immediately and we all prepare hurriedly for sleep. After midnight until dawn? We'll all be dead from exhaustion.

As I lie down, my shoulder pulses, reminding me of the soulpath. We're not out of the woods yet… the journey back might be just as bad. Or worse.

Lo que yace en las sombras es el presagio de la luz.

Darkness, all around me, a mirage fading under the blazing heat…

I snap awake.

It's early in the morning; too early. The sun isn't up yet, the sky is dark gray and glittering with stars. Fiyr, Graie, and Ravne are all slumbering peacefully in their cots, and Sir Cawle and the queen are asleep on rush mats a couple feet away.

I sit up, and an unpleasant squirm in my stomach rushes down. Wait.

As I sit, fear begins to crawl through my ribs, into my heart, and a claw of pain sinks into my stomach. Ouch! What in the blacklands is that?!

Staring down at my bedsheets, I spot a dark stain. Fuck! I'm bleeding? My shoulder must be—oh… blessed Starlaxi.

I scramble to my feet, panic beginning to needle my thoughts. No. No. Brindellia Faise said she got hers at sixteen, why is it here now?!

Glancing back at my fellow squires, I suddenly feel nauseous. Stumbling into the bushes around the camp, I double over and the rations from last night get thrown out of me as I vomit. Shit! What's happening? I thought it's just supposed to be blood! Why does it hurt like this?

"Samn." I feel a breath of relief rush out of me as the queen's voice emerges softly from behind me.

"Your Majesty," I croak, stomach twisting. My body feels too hot; like it's boiling inside my skin. I need to pull it off, need to cool down…

"You're alright." Her steadying hand lays itself on my shoulder, and I take a deep, sour breath.

"I—I—it hurts!" I groan, clutching my ribs. It's like a knife wedged in my torso.

"I'll get you some poppy seeds to help you sleep. I brought some along just in case," Queen Bluelianna promises. "I suppose you didn't feel the cramps at first because of your shoulder…"

I huff, standing and wincing, trying to let the cool air soften the blazing uncomfortable state I'm in. My thoughts have been mostly reduced to: It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

"Here. Take these." I don't think I've ever heard the queen's voice so soft. "Take the water."

I take the small black seeds and drop them onto my tongue, washing them back with the water in the tight waterskin. The effect isn't immediate and I groan, doubling over again.

"I'm sorry; I didn't bring any bandages," the queen informs me regretfully. "We'll find them for you when we return to the castle. Until then, do you have an extra undershirt that you could take a strip of fabric from?"

"I—I think so," I mutter, still feeling nauseous.

"Is everything alright?" Damned Blacklands. It's Sir Cawle.

"He's just a little nauseous from all the riding," the queen tells the knight smoothly without missing a beat.

I breathe a sigh of relief as he nods and retreats back to his mat, but I don't miss the tiniest narrowing of his eyes. How much did he hear? Not enough to figure it out, surely.

The queen doesn't look worried so much as… resigned. Without any warning, she wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me tightly to her chest. I hug her back awkwardly and wait for the pain to dissipate.

When I wake up, I already know that today is going to be dragged straight from the deepest, darkest crevice of the Blacklands.

I could only guess how bad it would get.

Thanks for reading chapter 15! Please follow and favourite this story and leave me a review with what you think!

~Akila