Chapter Twelve Kian #2
I find Markus, who is in Svena’s room, which looks exactly like my own, except her quilt is composed of soft pinks, purples, and greens.
Markus works with soft-spoken Ziba, the youngest of the keeper elders as far as I can tell.
They hover over Svena, Ziba observing as Markus rewraps her bandages.
He and Ziba half nod to me in greeting, but continue with their work.
Svena waves feebly.
While not totally healed, her side looks significantly better than it did just after she was attacked, much more so than it would on a natural healing timeline. Markus obviously has quite an affinity for healing.
“Looking better, Svena,” I say. Her typically light-brown skin is sallow and deep-purple circles sit beneath her eyes. Her breathing deepens and I realize she’s fallen asleep. I hope Markus’s efforts will return her to herself soon.
When he’s done and has cleaned up his supplies, Markus turns to me, his face alight. I grow leery. While Markus and I aren’t mortal enemies or anything, we’re also not what I’d call friends. “Let me see your back.”
Now I realize why he’s so keen to see me. He moves behind me, motioning to Ziba to follow. They do.
Except I can’t feel the wounds. I pull at my robes and the tunic beneath, and the fabric moves freely. It isn’t stuck to any pus or blood that oozed and dried in the night like it has been since the lashing.
Ziba helps, gently pulling the neckline away from my body. “Why would you need to see his back?” they ask Markus.
Markus makes a noise of surprise, tugging my clothing down so far that the front chokes me. “That’s strange.”
I try to see over my shoulder, but I can’t twist far enough around, especially with the phoenix half blocking my peripheral vision.
“Did you have someone heal you already?” Markus asks.
“Who could?” I point out.
Sarai wears a unicorn, and Roberta a pegasus. Neither can heal a scratch. Nor would they, since one is responsible for the wounds and the other an accomplice to their creation.
“Maybe the phoenix imbues healing,” Ziba offers. “It’d be an unexpected trait of a creature called a firebird, but in my experience, the goddess has her own sense of humor when it comes to these things.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, a little impatient. They’re not being rude per se, but they’re being awfully cryptic. “Will you just tell me what you see?”
Markus slaps my back, and I wince, but it’s out of instinct, not pain. “Your back is smooth. Except for the scars, but they match the old ones well.” Scars I also earned from Sarai’s lash over my years as a novitiate. “Funny,” I reply.
They’re moving on to help some of the keeper children who were attacked by the cath palug. I say my goodbyes. While my back has been my first indication of what my powers may be, if healing is a part of it, it’s entirely unconscious and I’m hoping there’s significantly more.
My next stop ought to be Jasmyn, working on creating illustrated manuscripts in the library; or Illia, whom I see working with Redonna at the edges of the village.
They’re focused on the border that supposedly keeps creatures out of the village, but apparently isn’t working, given that the cath palugs got in easily enough.
Time is getting away from me, so I move directly to Ulric in the fields. Here is where I truly want my power to unleash its full potential.
I find Ulric with the head of the keeper elders, Petra. She is watching him closely, and I don’t blame her. His power was a bit… overabundant when dealing with the cath palug.
At least we know he’s strong.
When I join them with a nod of greeting, I see that his fire is coming in starts and stops. He waves his hands around, and tiny sparks form on the end of some dried weeds.
He looks to Petra like a kitten presenting her first kill. And like anyone who has found a dead mouse on their pillow at bedtime, she’s unimpressed.
“What are you trying to accomplish?” I ask. Maybe aiming small is the goal here.
Petra gestures to the large field around us, full of dead grasses and other plant matter. “We want to clear this, to prep it for planting.”
He tries again and he gets even more lackluster results. But at least there’s still a spark. A whiff of smoke. Ulric pouts. “It’s going poorly, as you can see.”
I try to mimic him, waving my hands around. I think about fire. Starting fire. Just a little spark of fire. Nothing happens.
“Just feel it,” Petra encourages. “You’ve done this already. You can do it again.”
Ulric stands up tall and raises his arms and then drops them dramatically as if he’s the Spinner’s choral director, performing for the masses on a feast day. More dead weeds light.
“Pretty,” I say honestly. He does a little dance of joy. Then a breeze trickles by and smothers them.
I raise my arms and then drop them quickly. Nothing.
“Tell me what it feels like for you,” I say. “When it works.”
“You know what it’s like when you pop a pimple?”
I stare, thinking he’s fucking with me, but of course he’s not. It’s Ulric.
“It’s like that. There’s a buildup of pressure and then a little burst when the magic goes out. And if there’s a bigger buildup, there’s a bigger burst.”
He makes an explosion gesture with his hand and I think of another bodily function where there is a buildup of pressure and then an eruption. And how sometimes, the moment of climax is better when you hold back for longer.
“Have you tried intentionally holding back and letting the pressure build?” I can’t help myself. I have to torment him a little bit. I smirk. “Like edging.”
Petra laughs and a high-pitched, anxious giggle bubbles out of him then quickly subsides as he turns his attention back to the field. He concentrates, and I can see a new sort of flush rise, darkening his ears and neck.
I can feel his power building. Hairs stand up on the back of my neck, and my skin tingles.
I wonder if some of the pressure is my own magic starting to respond.
I begin to try to focus it when Ulric unleashes a torrent of magic with a moan.
The weeds in front of us incinerate, as does the field surrounding us. And then the next, and the next.
The fire spreads quickly. If only it were traveling in the direction of the matching hut, he would take care of my problem for me.
“It’s too much!” Petra says as the fire gets closer to the village. If it catches the houses, who knows what kind of destruction it will do, or how quickly. “You control the flames. Draw them back.”
He’s frozen in some sort of daze, not processing. I try to do it myself. I imagine the pressure building in me and try to call the fire.
Nothing happens.
There is no tingle, no movement. He has to do it.
I get up close in his face, putting my hands on either side of his head and bring his face close to mine as if to kiss him.
It wouldn’t be easy to accomplish with the creature skulls, but kissing is not my intention.
He always said he liked my voice, especially when I praised him.
I make myself calm. I drop my tenor. “Ulric,” I say.
“You’re brilliant. You’ve done such a good job. You can do this.”
His eyes lock on mine instead of into the middle distance. They are panicked, but present. It’s not magic, just connection. One human to another.
“Ulric, call the fire back to yourself.” I lean even closer until I can feel his breath mingle with mine. “Do it now.”
Ulric closes his eyes and, with a shudder, does. The fire goes out in the fields, and the tiny flame of hope inside of me is also snuffed out. If I have control over fire, it is buried deep, but I suspect whatever my magic happens to be, it’s nothing that will help me burn creature bones.
I’ll have to find another path to vengence.
Until I can find that path, I can’t face Aunt Ujvala.
Instead of heading out to the forest, I cross the burnt fields on my way back to the village.
Time to visit Adela’s friend, and see if her research has revealed any secrets to the power of the phoenixes.