"Critter don't seem very idle to me," Maxell said as the little eidolon flew circles around his head.
Thad chuckled. The big pirate pronounced the word as "idle one" and Thad saw no need to correct him, since he didn't know what the word meant either.
Beside him, young Leo shook his head. "You're more of a mage every day, Shipman. Now you've got a familiar."
"I don't know that I'd call her that," Thad said. He whistled through his teeth and the tiny blue girl zipped over to him, settling into the unraised hood of his cloak as they walked toward the harbor. He adjusted the cloak as the slight weight of the eidolon pulled it off one shoulder - it was far too cold a morning to go without it - and the two pirates who'd come to fetch him led him on.
In the harbor, the Sahagin Prince rode high on the water, its hold empty of trade goods and their food stores all but spent. Crescent Lake had no inn, not anymore, so the small pirate crew remained on the ship most days, repairing and refitting things while they were docked, but some of the crew, braver than the others, had taken to doing odd jobs around the village despite the cultural fear of mages that all pirates seemed to have in common.
Captain Gabbiani was one of those who stayed with the ship. He stood at the top of the gangplank, waiting for Thad as he arrived. "Thank 'ee for coming, Shipman. We didn't know what else to do about him."
"It's fine," Thad said. "Where is he?"
"This way," the captain said. He motioned Thad across the deck, toward the captain's cabin, but when Thad reached for the door, Gabbiani held up a hand for Thad to wait as he pulled a key from his pocket.
"You keep him locked up?" Thad said, surprised and, yes, angry. He remembered the hold of his father's ship, the heavy door he couldn't open from inside.
Gabbiani shook his head. "Have to. He just keeps wandering off."
"He still manages to get out," Leo said from behind them. "Falls overboard every few hours. We find him screaming in the water, crying. Doesn't know how he got there, and we'll be damned if we know either."
"We're thinking he Teleports, maybe? Like master Jack can do?" the captain said, his voice questioning.
Thad frowned. He knew Sarda had never been able to cast spells before. He shrugged. "Could be."
Inside, he found the old prophet huddled in the bed, weeping. "Sarda!" Thad said, hurrying to his side, hugging him. "Sarda, I'm so glad you're safe! I was worried when we couldn't find you!"
"I was lost!" Sarda said, crying into Thad's shoulder now.
"Well, you wouldn't be if you'd quit wandering off! How are you getting off the ship?"
"I'm not!" he said. "The ship keeps leaving without me!"
Thad looked to the captain, lingering in the doorway. Gabbiani shrugged. "Ain't moved from this spot," he said gruffly.
"It was gone!" Sarda insisted. "The ship was gone and I was still here! But I wasn't here."
"You're not making any sense," Thad said.
"He just keeps going on like that," Gabbiani said, shaking his head. "Scares the men with his rambling, but scares 'em more when we find him half-drowned outside, wailing like a banshee. I'm worried he'll drown himself proper if he stays here."
Thad blew out a breath, but he nodded. "You're right. You're right. I'll find another place for him to stay. Somewhere away from the water."
"Seems best," the captain agreed.
"Come on, Sarda," Thad said, tugging at the old man's shoulders, but it took several minutes for Sarda to stop crying and let Thad lead him off the ship.
Kane drifted, directionless. He didn't know how long. He couldn't move, couldn't think, without the pain crowding in, a blinding, hot and cold sensation. He could feel it everywhere, even on top of his head. He could hear voices - Lena's, Wrede's - and then he felt hands on his ankle and the pain shot through him anew, blinding him.
"What are you doing?" he asked. It came out in a croak.
"Shh," Lena said. He felt her hands stroking his head. "We have to work on your leg some more."
He whimpered. "But you just did!"
"That was yesterday," Lena said. "Here. Drink this." He felt the vial she pressed to his lips, drank it obediently. Then he clenched his jaw to keep from weeping, clenched his fists as he tried to keep still.
He wanted to pass out again, but he couldn't. The pain was too constant. He thought he could feel every fragment of bone. They did things to his ankle that made his entire body ache. He wept without shame as Lena continued to stroke his hair, her hands glowing as she worked her spells.
He felt near to unraveling like an old carpet when Wrede finally straightened and turned away. The man's hands had been inside Kane's leg, and Kane felt their absence like a cool breeze against a sunburn. "Enough for today, I think," Wrede said from the counter, where he poured things from bottles over the bandages before he carried them over to Kane.
"I want to see," Kane said.
"You don't," Lena said. "Don't look."
"I want to see," he repeated, struggling to raise himself up on his elbows, to look down his body and assure himself that he was still whole.
Lena relented, helping him lift himself, and where Kane thought to see his injured leg, he saw... Well, he wasn't sure what he was looking at. His torso was covered with only a thin sheet. It covered him to the thighs. Below that... His right leg was there - he wriggled the toes to prove it - but the left... Flesh, he thought. Nothing but mangled flesh. "Is that me?" he asked.
Lena lowered him down, stepping around the table so that she stood between him and that view. "You're going to be alright," she said, pulling another vial from the pocket of her robe. "Drink this now. It should make you more comfortable."
He drank it down, hardly tasting it, but he felt the effects within moments. Dizzy. Sleepy. Lena stepped away, doing something at the potions counter, and when she did, Kane tried to look at his leg once more. It was covered in a red-tinged bandage. He didn't remember Wrede placing it there, couldn't tell if that color was his blood or some sort of potion. Then he was drifting again.
He dreamed of Sarah. At one point, he heard his father's voice and was almost certain that was no dream, but when he struggled to open his eyes, he was alone. No, not alone. A candle burned nearby showing one of the white mages, one of the women, sitting on a stool, reading a book. "Rest easy, young man," she said, closing the book and setting it aside. "It's the middle of the night."
"My father-?"
The woman stood, leaning over him, prying his eyes open to inspect them. "Left at sundown. He's been at your side all day."
"Where's Lena?"
"Sleeping," the woman said. She pointed to the side of the room where the beds were, and Kane saw that one was occupied, though he couldn't see Lena's face in the deep shadows cast by the curtains. "Just there. Say 'ah'," she commanded, pinching his chin to open his mouth and peer inside. "Good." She nodded, seeming satisfied with whatever she'd seen there. "It's my turn to watch over you, though I must say you're not very entertaining." She chuckled. "My name's Moira. Here, now. I've cooked you up a little something special."
"What is it?" Kane asked.
"Drugs," she said. "Strong ones. You'll get no spells tomorrow, only rest. So we don't have to worry about my potions interfering with our work."
Kane nodded. He let the woman raise his head so he could drink what she gave him, then drank the water she offered him afterwards. Kane settled back against his pillow while Moira did something, checked something, near his leg, and he was asleep again.
When he woke, the pain had subsided. Not completely gone - he wasn't sure it would ever stop completely - but noticeably less, and other things, humiliating things, competed for his attention. For one thing, he became aware for the first time that he was naked under that sheet. And filthy. He could smell himself, the sharp scent of sweat mingling with the metallic scent of blood to form something not unlike the smell of the barracks after his troop had had a hard day of training in full plate armor. He felt his face twist into a grimace.
When he opened his eyes, his father stood beside him. "How are you feeling, son?" Redden asked.
"Sore," Kane said. "And greasy."
"Hmm," Wrede said from nearby. Kane could see him near the counter, his back to them, bottles clinking as he worked. "We could try a sponge bath, if you're feeling up to it. You're a big man, but between your father and me, we could manage it."
"I think I know how to bathe myself, thanks," Kane said.
Redden chuckled. "Your leg is still split like a log, son. You'll not be doing anything for yourself for awhile yet."
Kane cursed, lifting his head to look down his body, expecting to see what he'd seen before, but his injured leg was elevated on an angled block and covered in a fresh bandage.
"We've nearly finished our work on the bone," Wrede said, wiping his hands on a cloth as he came to stand beside Redden. "Have to give it time, see if your body's taken over where we've left off, but as soon as we see sufficient signs of new growth over the breaks, we can start closing the flesh. There's a bit of that already, so it won't be long."
"That's wonderful news," Redden said.
"Yeah, sure," Kane said, but the other thing that had drawn his attention, the humiliating thing, was growing harder to ignore the longer he put it off. He cleared his throat, tried to be casual as he asked, "Where's the piss pot?"
Wrede bent down and retrieved a bed pan. "You know how your father said you wouldn't be doing anything for yourself?"
Kane cursed again. "I was afraid you'd say that."
He wasn't avoiding Lena. At least Jack told himself he wasn't avoiding Lena. Again. It was just that he was busy with the aetherite. And he knew she was busy, healing Kane. And he didn't need to be visiting Kane yet, not in his current condition - he was still at risk of infection, after all, at least until the mages closed his leg - and Jack would just be in the way. It had nothing to do with the way the clinic made him feel or his memories of his time there. And it certainly had nothing to do with the way Lena made him feel or the way he kept thinking of her aura brushing against his as he held her...
"It's not going to work, you know, just staring at it," Fiona said. "You actually have to cast a spell first."
Jack frowned, setting down the stone he'd been holding. "Sorry. Just thinking."
"Worried about your friend?" she asked. She held another stone up to eye level as she worked with it. The chunk was nearly as big as her head, but Jack knew it weighed little more than a few ounces despite its size. Fiona's hands were motionless, but in his aether sight, Jack saw the spells she folded into the stone, the same focus spells that had been in his old staff - the staff had been Fiona's work as well. Now, despite the complexity of her task, her work didn't waver as she spoke. "How is he?"
Jack shrugged. "I haven't checked on him. But I'm sure I'd have heard if anything had gone wrong."
He watched as Fiona twisted the aether, melding it to the stone in such a way that stone and spell became one. That last step was the hardest, the one Jack couldn't replicate. He could shape the spells, he could hang them over and around the stone, but he could only attach them superficially. Any mage could make a focus object, but it took a certain inborn talent to make them permanent, a skill that couldn't be taught.
Jack sighed, leaning back against the table as he looked out across the workshop. Here was where all of Crescent Lake's focus objects were made. Not the tools themselves - the Lake had woodworkers and smiths just as anywhere else did - but the spells that made those tools unique. Here was where those with the talent, Fiona and those like her, learned their craft.
At tables and workbenches throughout the room, six masters and ten apprentices worked with the aetherite. Eleven, Jack corrected, if he counted Fiona's daughter, Robin, asleep in the corner. Robin would be her mother's apprentice were she not a mere four years old. It would be years yet before anyone knew for sure if the girl shared Fiona's talents, but there were hints even now. The girl's aether sight was exceptionally keen, for example, and she used it constantly, one of the reasons she slept so deeply now in the middle of the day. Aether sight was exhausting enough even with a lifetime of training behind it.
Those with that training studied the stone, analyzing the shape of the aether in solid form without casting any spells into it. Only three of the masters, including Fiona, worked their focus spells on a few pieces of the aetherite that they had singled out as the purest. Their work could not be undone, after all, and they had only a limited supply of the stone to work with. The master craftsmen had spent the first day debating which particular focus spells they would try. They all agreed - and Jack shared their opinions - that the four orbs Jack and the others carried likely functioned as some kind of focus objects, though they couldn't figure out which kind. The masters had settled on some they felt were similar enough, hoping to recreate the orbs somehow.
Fiona worked a simple water ward on her piece of aetherite; Lena's orb, the inspiration for her project, sat on the workbench nearby. At the next table, Konrad infused his own stone with the same combat spells that had once been in Jack's staff, drawing his inspiration less from the earth orb itself than from the sword that held it. At another table, farther away, a man named Brend spent as much time staring at the wind orb as he did casting his spells, stopping from time to time to glare at Jack. Brend was one of Lukahn's oldest friends and supporters, so Jack kept his distance, but he knew the man's spells were some of the most complex. The weather-based wards required a full cycle of the moon to complete, with different spells cast each day and left to set into the stone by moonlight each night.
Jack sighed, turning back toward his own work. Ignoring the raw aetherite, he instead studied his own orb, the orb of fire, trying desperately to see the spells it contained. He could work all three of the other orbs, but this one, the one he had carried most of his life, still eluded him. He prodded it with the aether, scrutinized it through his aether sight, but nothing he did gave him any indication of how the orb worked, what it was meant to do. While he hoped these master craftsmen would make some discovery, some breakthrough with the other orbs that would be a clue as to how this one worked, Jack couldn't help but fear that his inability to unlock this orb's power was holding up their progress on the other three. He watched their work, demonstrating the other orbs for them when they asked, but he worried all the while that none of it mattered.
He'd been staring at the fire orb for several minutes when he became aware of the feeling he was being watched. He looked around, and then down, to find little Robin staring up at him, still squinting from her nap. "Yes?" he said, unsure what else to say. He didn't have much experience with children so young.
"That's the prettiest," she said, pointing at the fire orb. "I like the red."
"Thank you," Jack said, squatting down so that he didn't loom over the child quite so much. He held out the fire orb to her. The girl stepped forward, admiring the orb in his open palm, but she didn't touch it. "It belonged to my mother."
"That's my mother right there," the child said, pointing at Fiona now. From her own workbench, Jack heard Fiona chuckle.
"Yes, I'm aware," he said.
The girl stuck her face right up to the orb, peering at it, into it. "Pretty," she said, nodding as though she were the final authority on the matter, then she turned to her mother. "Can I go see uncle now?"
"Only if Patrice will take you," Fiona said.
Robin flounced off and tugged at the sleeve of Patrice, an apprentice at a workbench nearby. The young woman had carved up one of the most impure chunks of aetherite and was running experiments on the pieces. The apprentice smiled, took the girl by the hand, and left.
"It never stops surprising me," Fiona said as Jack watched them go. "The way Phin dotes on her. He was such a wild boy when we were children, never once expressed an interest in our baby cousins. But I could see it in his eyes the first time he held Robin. They're the best of friends."
"That's nice," Jack said, nodding, but something tugged at his brain, a stray thought he couldn't quite articulate. It belonged to my mother... Why had his mother had the fire orb to begin with? "Are there focus objects for white mages?" he asked.
Fiona shrugged. "Not as such. Focus objects, they're a bit... Well, they're like funnels, aren't they? Help you draw the aether, help you aim what you've drawn. And since white mages can't draw the aether, they've no need of one."
He remembered his mother in her white robe, holding the fire orb aloft as she cast... something. "But they could still use one, couldn't they? For the casting?"
"To what end?" Fiona asked, shrugging again. "White mages form their spells from their own souls. Their power is already within them. It's not as if they can increase that power mid-spell."
"But what if..." Jack paused, unsure what he was asking. He thought of Fiona's brother, Phin, a white mage who, like Wrede, had been born a black mage. He thought of his mother, who had wanted Jack - a dark mage - to be a white mage himself. Like her. Had she really been a white mage? Dark magic was hereditary. What if she, too, was a dark mage?
Beside him, Fiona still worked the aether, imbuing the aetherite with her focus spells. Jack thought of his old staff, the one Lena had broken in Pravoka, and of the shopkeeper who had told him it couldn't be fixed. Shattered from the inside out, when the spells had been drawn from it by mistake. But Lena stubbornly insisted she was a white mage. Well, and why not? There were black mages who couldn't draw the aether, after all. Why shouldn't there be white mages who could? "Are there white mages who can draw the aether?" he asked.
"Like Phin, you mean?"
"No," Jack said. "A true white mage. Does it ever happen?"
"It does," Fiona said, nodding. "Rarely. But it's very bad for them in the long term. Something about the raw aether that their souls can't process. Builds up in them, like a poison."
Jack nodded. Matoya had told him something similar about dark mages.
Fiona went on, still casting her spells. "I'd imagine giving a mage like that a focus object would only kill them faster. Look what happened to Iris, after all. She never used a focus object that I know of, and she was only in her twenties."
Jack's next question died on his lips as Fiona's words sank in. He felt a cold sensation spreading through the pit of his stomach. He stared at Fiona, but she hardly paid him any mind at all until she flicked her gaze toward him and a look of concern crossed her face. She raised an eyebrow at him inquiringly.
"What..." Jack stopped, licked his lips, tried again. "What happened to Iris?"
"Didn't you know?" Fiona said. "Oh, child. The sickness that took her? It was poisoning. Poisoned from years of drawing the aether. That's how she died."
"But he was awake today, at least?" Miss Dahlia asked, sitting down with her own steaming bowl like the one she'd placed in front of Thad, some sort of vegetable soup with a spice he didn't recognize.
Thad nodded, trying to blow on the hot soup that was already in his mouth. "Mm hmm," Thad said, swallowing while it was still too hot. "Awake and talking. He asked about you. You should go see him."
Dahlia shook her head. "A man like Kane doesn't want people to see him when he's weak. He'll feel better for it if I wait a while longer." She shrugged. "Besides, I make Wrede nervous when I impede on his workspace." She watched Thad wolf his soup down as she raised her spoon, blowing on it to cool it. "Hungry this evening?" she asked. "Are you getting proper meals when you're not with me?"
Thad shrugged, stifling a yawn. The truth was all of his meals came from Miss Dahlia, though she couldn't have guessed that. The previous dinner, a full day ago for her, had been only a few hours past for Thad. The days went quicker when you could skip all the boring parts, and Thad was getting better at that.
The healing went quicker too, at least for him. He just wanted Kane to be better. Yes, he knew the time wasn't passing any faster for Kane - Kane still had to endure whatever the white mages were doing to him - but he was a little better every time Thad checked on him and, truly, Thad couldn't handle seeing his strong, heroic friend so helpless, so beaten. He dropped in on the clinic in the afternoons when he knew the healing would be done for the day, and he chatted with Moira if she was there, or Kane if he was awake. Then he would head to the Randells' for his dinner.
Their dinner, he thought. Technically, this was his lunch. He'd slept - when? Two days ago? - and this was his... second meal since then? Or was it his third? Maybe it is dinner, after all. He tried to count back his waking hours without using his fingers for the math - Dahlia would have noticed that for sure - but he lost track somewhere after twelve. And twelve hours isn't that long to be awake, he told himself. Except that he was sure there had been a few more hours in there that he couldn't currently account for.
Dahlia eyed him as he yawned. "You're still sleeping on that pirate ship? Why don't you stay here tonight? I believe Redden's staying at the clinic this evening. And Jack will be late at Fi's lab waiting for moonrise. You'd have Wrede's old room to yourself."
Thad frowned. It was tempting. The sun hung low in the windows, announcing the evening, and the way the wind scattered the leaves outside said it would be another cold one, perfect for snuggling up in a quilt and sleeping long and late. But Thad shook his head. "No, thanks. I'm alright. Don't worry about me."
"I'll worry as I please, young man," Dahlia said, but she shrugged. "Suit yourself. At least finish your soup before you go."
When his second bowl was eaten, and a third, he helped Dahlia clean up, then he carefully carried a bowl out to master Randell's workshop next to the house where the old sage was working late.
It was full dark when Thad set out from the house. At the Randells' gate, he whistled, and a bright spot in his aether sight showed him the eidolon zipping toward him out of the trees. The little blue girl didn't care for staying indoors, not when there was a warm fire going, but she was always waiting for Thad when he stepped out into the cold. "Did you have adventures?" Thad asked.
The eidolon alighted on Thad's shoulder, chirping in his ear, a puff of chilly air against his face.
Using his aether sight to keep to the trail, Thad walked not toward the harbor or his ship but down to the lake as he'd done the past four nights. Though he no longer had to fear the dark, he still didn't like it. And now... well, now he had the means to cut it short.
He found the little copse of trees near the north shore still undisturbed since his last visit, with no trace of any auras except his own. He settled down between the trees, tucked away and hidden. It gave him a clear view of the lake, but it also kept the wind off. He raised his hood, pulled his cloak close around him, and pulled his knees up underneath it. "We ready?" he asked.
The eidolon chirped.
Thad nodded, breathed in, and exhaled, sending his will out into the aether, feeling it dance away from him at his push. The wind rose, moving faster now, but only for him. A full night of cold hit him all at once. Above him, stars flared to life then dimmed as the moon came up over the lake, outshining them. It rose higher and higher, and was only just going down again when the eastern sky grew rosy and pink, brightening to orange as the sun peeked out from between the trees. It slowed its descent, then seemed to stop and hang in the air as Thad breathed in, unclenching that part of his mind, letting the spell go.
The eidolon chirped happily at him as he caught his bearings - there was always a moment of dizziness when he dropped back into normal time - and then she sat primly on top of his head as he rose to his feet. "Alright. Let's go check on Sarda," he said, beginning his rounds again.
The grass crunched and glittered beneath his feet as he walked to Lukahn's. He hadn't noticed the frost in the dark. None had settled on him. Thad wondered what would happen if he sped time up for himself during a blizzard, if he would find himself buried in snow between one breath and the next. Probably best not to try that, he decided. As it was, the frost faded quickly as the sun rose. Thad figured it would be a nice day, not as cold as it had been the day before. Which was moments ago, Thad thought, trying once more to tally the hours he'd been awake. I really will sleep this time, he thought, after I've checked on things.
He'd timed his visits with Sarda for Lukahn's mid-morning nap. Jack's sour old guardian rose early, like Jack did, but he slept through much of the day, usually right after his breakfast and again in the afternoons. Lukahn was still trying to be nice to Thad, but Thad wasn't having it. He didn't trust Lukahn. If the old man hadn't been a prophet, Thad would have found someone else to care for Sarda. No matter how Thad felt about the man, Lukahn was the only person in this village who understood Sarda's condition, and he seemed to be doing a better job with Sarda than the pirates had. Regardless, Thad avoided Lukahn as much as possible.
It seemed like it wouldn't be possible today, though. Thad heard raised voices before he even reached Lukahn's yard. The man definitely wasn't napping, nor was he in a good mood. Thad slowed as he neared the house, made uneasy by the shouting, reminded of his father. I'm not afraid of Lukahn, he told himself. I'm not. I'm not. I'm not. Atop his head, the eidolon chirped encouragement at him, but still his feet seemed heavier on the path.
He was at the door before he realized the other shouting voice belonged to Jack, not because he recognized the voice but because he could see Jack's aura even through the closed door, his aether sight reaching ahead of him where his feet didn't want to go. No, he wouldn't have recognized Jack's voice at all, shouting as he was. Thad had never heard Jack like this before. His friend was livid.
"You should have told me!" Jack was saying. "Surely I deserved that much? I loved her. We were family."
"You're no family of mine!" Lukahn shouted back. "And you were none of hers! You were a mistake! If not for you-"
"Don't you dare suggest I caused her death!" Jack screamed in reply, truly screamed, his voice twisted and distorted by such incalculable rage that Thad nearly turned and ran.
Only Sarda kept him there. Thad imagined the crazy man locked in the room upstairs, trapped there, unable to escape that shouting. He stood with his hand on the doorknob, breathing, just breathing, trying to force himself to open the door, trying to block out the sounds of the argument inside. It's only Jack, he told himself, focusing on the mage's familiar blue aura. Only Jack, and Jack would never hurt me. He took one last breath, turned the knob, and then...
And then he turned his aether sight toward the room upstairs and he immediately knew the room was empty. Forgetting his fear, he threw open the door and dashed up the stairs to Lukahn's room. Lukahn, who always slept in his chair by the hearth, had given his own bed to Sarda during his stay, along with stacks of papers, drawing supplies, and a rotating assortment of illustrated books from the library. That had been enough to keep Sarda occupied, at least until now. "Sarda?" Thad called as he reached the still-closed bedroom door, hoping he was wrong somehow, but there was no answer from within, and no glimmer of Sarda in the aether except as a faint trace to show where he'd been.
Lukahn had the key, but Thad jimmied the lock in seconds. Sarda's drawings littered the floor, scattered by the wind from the door as Thad burst into the room, empty but for the furniture and the papers, so many papers. The drawings covered every surface - the bed, the dresser, even stuck to the walls somehow, but Sarda himself was gone. "Oh, no!" Thad said, burying his face in his hands. "Not again!"
"Thad?" Jack asked, coming up the stairs behind him, looking over his shoulder into the messy room. "What is this? Sarda was here?"
Lukahn labored up the stairs behind him, his old joints creaking louder than the stairs. "I planned to tell you when you arrived," he said, looking at Thad.
"What happened?" Thad said. "You were supposed to be watching him!"
Lukahn snorted. "Well, I have to sleep sometime, don't I?"
"You said you had warded the door!"
"And I did!" Lukahn said, crossing his arms over his chest. "And the hall, and the stairs! Don't you take that tone with me, young man! I did nothing wrong here!"
"Then where is he?" Thad asked. The eidolon chirped in agreement, bouncing on top of his head.
"I don't know!" Lukahn snapped, raising his voice. "He tripped no wards as he left, and I can't trace his trail."
Thad studied the stairs, seeing no trail at all. Sarda's muddy-colored aura both began and ended in the bedroom.
Jack seemed to have noticed the same thing. "He's got to be Teleporting," Jack said, shaking his head.
"And you think my wards wouldn't have detected a spell of that magnitude?" Lukahn shouted again. "I am a black mage, you impertinent pup! I was black mage before you were ever a blight upon this world!"
"Then where did he go?" Jack shouted back.
In the doorway, Thad started shaking. He always did, when there was shouting. His father-
The eidolon chirped sharply, tugging at his hair, pulling him back to the situation at hand.
"-could be anywhere!" Lukahn was saying. "If his body's come unmoored from the present along with his mind-"
"That's not possible!" Jack said.
"Then how do you explain his disappearance?" Lukahn yelled.
"Stop it!" Thad shouted, surprised when Lukahn's mouth snapped shut, when both he and Jack turned their gazes to Thad. "We..." He licked his lips. "We have to find him! We have to find Sarda. If he's lost in the aether like you said-"
Lukahn shook his head. "We don't have to do anything of the sort. His fate is in the hands of the gods. Nature will take its course." He shrugged, as if that were the last word on the matter, then he turned and headed back toward the stairs.
"Screw fate!" Thad yelled after him. "And screw the gods! And screw you, old man!" Then he choked on a sob and hid his face in his hands.
He felt Jack's hand firm on his shoulder, steering him toward the paper-strewn bed. "Sit. Sit here. You're shaking." There was no trace of the anger that had suffused his voice mere moments before. Locked away, Thad thought, remembering the method Jack had explained to him once. At the moment, he wished he knew the trick of it. As it was, he couldn't stop crying. He sat on the bed, and Jack sat beside him, gently patting Thad's shoulder. "Just breathe," he said.
Thad shook his head. "I just... I just wanted to keep Sarda safe, you know? Lena's got her healing to do, and you've got the orbs. I thought I had this. I can't seem to do anything right."
"It's not your fault, Thad. We're all of us stumbling, alright? Do you really think Lena's feeling triumphant right now when Kane's still in so much pain? And me..." He scoffed. "I'm next to useless in that laboratory. I've never seriously studied enchantments before. I'm learning as I go." He sighed. "I should have been helping you. If I had come here sooner..."
"Why did you come?" Thad asked. "You didn't know Sarda was here, right? What were you fighting about?"
Jack glanced at Thad and away again. "Old business," he said, his voice flat. "Forgive me, but I don't think I can speak of it, not now." He stood, walking to the wall, leaning in for a closer look at the pictures that hung there. "Sarda's been busy," he said. "How long has he been here?"
"Four days," Thad said. "Nearly five." His eyes roved over the drawings stuck to the walls. Beeswax, he realized. He could see the pot of it on the dresser, tucked among more haphazard piles of paper. He looked at the drawings on the bed beside him, those on the floor, the walls. Monsters. All sorts of monsters. Imps, Scarlet in her vampire form, sahagin, others Thad couldn't identify.
He stood, wandering toward the dresser. The drawings above it, and there were plenty of them, showed the lich, Lord Eldieme, from numerous angles. Beside those, There were several studies of a hideous tentacled monster, not an ochu, but something Thad had never seen before, like an octopus mated to those fanged fish that turned up in the nets sometimes. There was one drawing, and Thad looked away from it as soon as he realized what it was, of the tentacle beast gnawing through the belly of a mermaid. Another showed it fighting Leviathan, its tentacles locked around the great serpent as the two beings bared their fangs at each other.
He was starting at the pictures as he walked, not watching where he was going, when he bumped right into Jack. Jack was stopped at the next set of drawings, the woman with fire in her hair. She had six arms, each holding a weapon, and in place of legs she had the tail of a snake. Slowly, Jack reached out, taking one of the pictures and plucking it from the wall. He stared at it, eyes void of all expression.
"He's drawn that a lot lately," Thad said. "He's been obsessed with the Sisters. Redden says it's probably because so many people here worship them."
"What?" Jack said, turning those blank eyes on Thad as though Jack were staring right into him, right through him.
Thad felt his shoulders hunching away from that gaze. "The Sisters," he said, pointing at the drawing Jack held. "That's supposed to be the Bane."
"This?" Jack said, looking at the paper again. He stared at it without blinking for a long time, like he was in some sort of trance.
When he did blink at last, Thad realized it was only because there were tears in the mage's eyes. "Jack?" he said, reaching out for his friend's arm.
Jack shrugged away. "I have to go," he said, voice hoarse. He tucked the drawing into his coat as he hurried out of the room. Thad didn't even think of following him. There had been something in Jack's expression, in his eyes, that frightened Thad as much as the shouting had.
He stayed in the room, wondering about Sarda, wondering if he was alright. Where could he have gone? He studied the pictures, hoping for some clue, but he found only monsters there, monsters and more monsters. Beside the window, he found a single drawing of Ffamran's dragon - Thad recognized that, of course. He'd seen plenty of drawings of it before, both from Sarda and from other artists. Thad pulled it from the wall, careful not to tear it as he pried it free of the wax. The dragon roared, each of its five mouths open and snarling, as it loomed over a man with a sword. The man stood in a ready stance, only his back visible from this angle. Thad knew it was supposed to be Ffamran, but it was so easy to imagine that it was himself. That he was capable of doing the heroic things he'd dreamed of. That he could take care of people. That he could do just one thing right.
"Look this way," Moira said, motioning toward her left ear. Kane, still prone on the operating table, focused on that spot as Moira stared into his eyes. "Good. Now look up."
"What's the point of all this?" Kane asked.
"The eyes are the windows to the soul," Kane's father said, standing just beside his shoulder, looking down at him. "You can tell a lot about the state of a man's health from them."
"Yes, that's right." Moira nodded. "And if you're healthy enough, we can finally move you to one of the beds."
"Gods!" Kane was nearly sick to death of the stiff operating table where he'd spent the past several days. Big as he was, the mages had been reluctant to move him too frequently lest they make his injury worse. Lena, who was passed out in one of those hospital beds even now, had told him they weren't particularly comfortable, but compared to the table they looked absolutely luxuriant. "In that case, I'll look at whatever you want," Kane said, following Moira's instructions.
Apparently finding Kane's eyes healthy enough, Moira moved to the foot of the table. Kane tensed up immediately. "None of that, now. None of that." Moira laid her hand on the underside of Kane's left foot. "Just relax. Try to bend your knee, please."
Kane gritted his teeth, focused on his muscles - what was left of them - and tried to lift his leg. He grunted from the effort. Gods, but it shouldn't have been this hard, shouldn't have hurt so much. He moved mere inches, and he knew he couldn't have done even that much were Moira not assisting him.
"Yes!" Redden said, and Kane was ashamed of the pride in his father's voice over so small and simple a thing. "That's the way, son!"
With a whoosh of breath, Kane lay back exhausted. Pathetic, he thought, berating himself. So tired already. He glanced to the side, saw Lena sleeping. She'd worked so hard getting Kane this far, and here he was hardly able to bend his leg.
Moira, though, smiled and patted his foot. "Good," she said. "Very good. The bones are knitting well, and the muscles are sound. I think we're ready to seal it up."
Kane tilted his head up at that, looking down his body at the open gash that covered much of his leg. "What? Seriously?" Despite the pain, the exhaustion, he felt a smile creeping over his face, saw the same joy in his father's expression.
"Lord Redden, would you do the honors?"
Redden's smile froze, replaced by shocked surprise. "Me? But I'm no white mage!"
"Hmm. Neither am I," Moira said. "But your Cures are stout enough for this, and I suspect it would mean more to you to see this done. Is that right?"
"Yes!" Redden said breathlessly. "Yes, I- what do I do?"
Moira chuckled. "Just cast your spells. I'll help you guide them. Do you need a moment to prepare?"
Redden shook his head. He shuffled toward the foot of the table where Moira gently took his hands and placed them on Kane's calf. "Whenever you're ready," she said.
"Son?" Redden asked.
Kane nodded.
His father's hands began to glow white, and that glow seeped into Kane. Moira stood nearby, and though she didn't touch Kane her hands glowed as well, working her own spells from a distance. Kane felt his breath quicken as the edges of the incision began to tingle and itch, as the skin began to close over the exposed muscle. It hurt as it closed. It felt for all the world like a knife slicing through him, the reverse of the pain he had felt when they cut him open, but this was a warm and welcome pain, the pain of sore muscles relaxing after a hard job well done. And then the pain faded, the white glow faded, and Redden pulled his hands away revealing a fresh, pink scar.
"Ha!" Kane barked for joy, his head falling back against the table. He felt like laughing, but his throat closed over it. He pressed his lips together to keep from sobbing even as he smiled so broad his cheeks hurt.
"Lord Redden?" Moira said.
But Kane's father shook his head. Kane saw the unshed tears in his eyes as he turned for the clinic door and walked out.
"Hmm," said Moira. "Not much for expressing his emotions, is he?"
"That's putting it lightly," Lena said.
Kane looked over, found her sitting up in the hospital bed, smiling at him. "Lena!" he said, his voice hoarse. He wiped his hand over his eyes, ashamed of his tears, but he was still smiling. "You're awake!"
"I've been awake," she said, tying her hair back with a ribbon she'd retrieved from somewhere. "Just avoiding your father."
"Still?" he asked.
She shrugged. She slipped out of bed, tugged her robe straight, and padded across the tiled clinic floor to him on bare feet. "I'm so happy for you," she said, taking his hand. "You've done so well with all this."
He snorted. "I haven't done a damn thing," he said.
"Nonsense," Moira said. "You've taken great care of your body up 'til now. It's made our job much easier." She poured a thick liquid over his leg and began rubbing it in with heavy strokes. The liquid burned against his skin, both hot and cold at the same time, a bizarre sensation, but a pleasant one. "This'll help with circulation."
"We couldn't have even attempted this on a weaker man, Kane," Lena said. "Healing takes a lot out of people."
"That explains why I feel like passing out," Kane said.
"Go ahead," Lena said. "You've no other pressing business." She smiled, tucking the sheet around him as Moira stuffed a cushion under his leg.
"I was promised a bed," he said.
Moira chuckled. "As if we could move you. Rest now. When next you wake, we'll see about arranging more comfortable accommodations."
"It isn't that far," Kane said, looking at the empty bed beside the one where Lena had been. He tried to sit up, but his senses were so dulled. He didn't resist when Lena gently pushed him back down.
"Too far for you to walk," she said.
I'm not that tired, surely, he thought. He just needed to catch his breath first. That was all. He was asleep again before he did.
He became aware later of Thad's voice, a constant, steady comfort. He didn't know how long it had been going on before he began to make out the words, a story of battle.
"'And, lo, did the dragon roar, each head a bellows stirring the wind as its tail thrashed and its claws tore great rents in the very walls. There Ffamran, flanked by his valiant companions, stood his ground. Sword held before him, catching the light, he-"
Thad stopped as something chittered and squeaked. The eidolon, Kane realized. He opened his eyes, saw Thad seated upon the stool nearby, a book open in his lap. Moira worked at the counter, her back to them as she brewed something in one of the smaller cauldrons.
"I'm getting to it," Thad said, waving an irritated hand at the little blue creature on his shoulder. "'Sword held before him, catching the light, he shouted his defiance, saying...' Gods, really? No one talks like that!"
The eidolon squeaked again, insistently pointing at the page.
Thad sighed. "'Saying, "Face me, foul beast, and know your equal."' I swear, it's in every version of this story!"
"Maybe that's really what he said?" Moira asked without turning around.
Thad snorted. "It's dumb!"
"I kind of like it," Kane said.
Thad started, nearly dropping the book, but he recovered quickly. "Hi!" he said, smiling wide.
The eidolon made a whistling, trilling sound as it flew over to Kane, circling his head twice before it leaped onto his belly, sending his breath out in a surprised grunt. Kane pushed it up to his ribs, where the poking feet were less bothersome.
"Ah, good," Moira said. "Now you're awake, I'll just nip down to the house for Steffan and Jasper. The two of them should be able to get you into one of the beds."
"Jasper?" Kane said. "He's one of the pillocks that guards the Circle Chamber, isn't he?"
Thad giggled.
Moira smiled wryly. "That 'pillock' is my stepson," she said.
Kane cringed. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean-"
Moira's smile remained, a genuine smile. "No, you're right: he's none too clever. Strong, though, and you're a heavy one."
"The bed's not that far," Kane said, gauging the distance.
Moira laughed. "You've not moved from that spot in a week, young man. I think you'll find it takes more effort than you imagine to get your body used to moving again."
Kane frowned at that. Testing, he tensed the muscles in his leg, tried to bend his knee. It still seemed harder than it should have. "I thought it was healed!" he said, half growling.
Moira patted his leg. "There's more to healing than putting things back together. It'll be some time yet before you can walk on it." She nodded at Thad. "Keep an eye on that pot for me. Don't let it boil over."
"Yes, ma'am," Thad said.
Moira stepped out, leaving them alone.
Kane sighed. The eidolon shifted, poking his ribs as she moved. Kane reached down, petting the eidolon's head with his thumb. The creature felt cold all over, like petting an ice cube. It chirped in response. Kane looked over at Thad. "Were you reading to it?"
Thad rolled his eyes. "Yes, I was reading to her," he said, emphasizing that last word. "And she likes it."
"Huh," Kane said. "I'm surprised it hasn't gone back to its cave by now."
Thad shrugged. "I think she likes us."
Kane shook his head. "I can't fathom why. I've met us."
Thad snorted at that. He whistled, patting his shirt pocket, and the little beast flew back to him and ducked inside, only the top of her head peeking out. Thad smiled down at her, then back at Kane again. "I'm calling her Shiva," he said.
"From the Ffamran stories?" Kane asked. He turned his head side to side, checking the room, but the two of them were alone.
"They're my favorite." Thad shrugged. He seemed to notice Kane looking around. "Lena's not here. Miss Dahlia took her and Wrede to make sure they ate something."
"My father?" Kane said.
"Haven't seen him," Thad said.
Kane nodded, then laid back against the pillow. He concentrated, trying again to lift his leg. It felt like a weight was tied to it, like it was all he could do to bend his knee an inch. He let it fall again, muttering frustrated curses. Thad was watching him, his face serious, and Kane snapped, "What are you staring at?" He regretted it instantly, for only then did he realize the boy was about to cry. "Ah, hell. I'm-"
"I'm sorry," Thad said over him. "I'm so sorry! It's all my fault!"
"What?" Kane said, surprised. "How is this your fault at all?"
"Because you saved me. You fell saving me." The boy covered his face with his hands. "I should have seen! I was distracted by the aetherite. If I'd been paying more attention to where I was stepping-"
"Stop it," Kane said. "That's not your fault, Shipman."
Thad shook his head, choking on his sobs.
"Thad," Kane said, grabbing Thad's arm - he could only reach one - to pull his hands away from his face. "Listen to me. Yes, I saved you. I chose to save you. That's not on you. Even if I had known this would be the result, I'd have chosen it anyway."
"But I'm not worth it," Thad sniffled.
"You are," Kane said. "You're a Warrior of Light, Thad."
"But what if I'm not?" the boy wailed. "I'm just a kid! A thief! I'm not like you!" He pulled his arm free and covered his face again.
Kane reached for him again. The boy was just far enough away that he had to sit up to do it, and his leg screamed at him as he raised himself up, as he bent at the waist, but he got an arm around Thad, pulled the boy closer to cry on his shoulder as the eidolon squeaked in protest, squeezed between them. "Thad," Kane said, "you are like me. You're just like me. You're my friend."
"But why?" Thad said. "I can't do anything right! I got you hurt! And I still can't draw the aether! And I've lost Sarda!"
"Sarda's not your responsibility," Kane said.
"Isn't he, though?" Thad said. "He's a helpless old man! If we're supposed to be the Warriors of Light, aren't all the helpless people our responsibility? We're supposed to save the whole world! How are we supposed to save the whole world, Kane?" Then he buried his face in Kane's shoulder and he wept, great wracking sobs from deep in his belly.
"I don't know," Kane said. He gritted his teeth. He wanted to lay down again - his leg was sending waves of pain all the way up to his left shoulder - but he stayed where he was. He hurt so much, but he could be strong. He had to be strong. We're supposed to be the Warriors of Light, he thought as his muscles began to shake from the mere effort of holding himself up. What happens if we're the helpless ones?
Author's Note: 7/2/21 - When I had my emergency surgery all those years ago, I was surprised by how everything hurt. Like, okay, my stomach had been cut open and operated on, of course that hurt, but everything else hurt too. If I twitched my toes wrong, it would aggravate my wounds. You don't realize how connected all the parts of your body are to all the other parts until you have a serious injury.
And the helplessness. Hoo boy. When the doctor said I had to get up and walk around the recovery ward at least twice a day… That was hard. It was so hard. And the nurses would praise me afterward like I'd run a marathon - "Good job! We knew you could do it!" - which would have felt condescending if the simple lap of the building hadn't been so damn hard. All these things, simple things, that you spend your life doing without thinking, and suddenly you can't do them on your own: go to the toilet, wash your hair, stand at the sink long enough to brush your teeth. And you're torn between feeling humiliated and feeling overwhelming gratitude for the people who help you through it because, did I mention? Everything is so freaking hard.
So, yeah, Kane's having a tough time right now.