Chapter 18 #2
A murmur came from somewhere down the hall a moment before Dacha strode into view. He still wore the baggy trousers and gray-blue uniform shirt, but they were now spattered with blood. He must have had to take a few Mongavarian soldiers down at close quarters.
After seeing the conditions the ogres had been held in, Fieran didn’t feel any remorse at wiping out the entire complement of enemy soldiers here.
When Dacha’s gaze landed on Fieran, his forehead scrunched, and he broke into a jog. He fell to his knees next to Fieran, his eyes darting over him. “You do not look well, sason.”
“Don’t feel so great.” There was no point in lying, now that they’d liberated Ludin.
Dacha nudged Fieran’s shirt up, then tugged back the bandage. “Your wound does not appear infected.”
“Didn’t think so.” Nothing was going to survive getting blasted by Dacha’s magic, not even the things that would cause his wound to become infected. Fieran squeezed his eyes shut, resting his head against the wall behind him.
Footsteps came closer, then someone else knelt at Fieran’s other side. “You were hooked up to the machine, weren’t you?”
Fieran tilted his head and opened his eyes, finding Pretty Face next to him. It was still a shock, seeing Pretty Face so unrecognizably gaunt and bald.
Behind Pretty Face, two ogre women, one about Pretty Face’s age and one elderly, stood with near identical impassive expressions.
They both were as bald as Pretty Face, but the green skin of their heads was inked with designs.
The older one even had inked designs stretching down both of her arms as well.
Fieran gave a short nod. “Yes. We both were, but only mine was turned on.”
The elderly ogre moved to stand in front of Fieran as Dacha shifted out of her way.
She knelt, her dark brown eyes locked with his.
She spoke in a creaky voice in her language, but the other younger ogre woman translated the words.
“We of the O’gresha have the ability to interact with magic itself.
For some, that manifests in the ability to deflect magic.
But for others, we can reach into a person and touch the very heart of their magic. ”
“That’s the magic in those machines, isn’t it?” Fieran broke eye contact with the elderly ogre woman to glance up at Pretty Face. “You had already crashed by then, but the Mongavarians used a bunch of these magic-stealing machines to take down the Wall.”
“We heard about the Wall coming down.” Pretty Face’s jaw worked. “The Mongavarians were rather jubilant their invention had worked, and they doubled down on their efforts here.”
The younger ogre woman spoke in a low tone, likely translating the conversation.
As she finished, the elderly woman’s eyes flashed, her posture stiffening.
When she spoke again, her voice held an extra snap to it, one that the younger ogre woman matched as she translated into Escarlish.
“Yes, that is our magic, but it was stolen and twisted. Several years ago, the empire of Mongavaria began probing our borders and capturing some of our people. They soon realized the ways our magic could be exploited, and they set out to do just that.”
“That was the reason for the invasion of Groyria earlier this year.” Dacha gave a slight nod, his eyes flinty. He spoke in Escarlish rather than elvish. “Mongavaria needed to begin exploiting your people on a broader scale. They needed your magic to combat mine.”
There was a pause as the younger woman translated.
Then the older ogre woman gave a short, sharp nod, the eyes she turned on Dacha just as flinty as his.
“My people’s magic has long been exploited.
Humans have done so. The elves did so, in an age so long ago even the elves have forgotten.
We can detect magic in the young and control the magic of those newly come into their power. That is our true purpose.”
Something like that would, indeed, be powerful. An ogre with that magic could find out what type of magic a person would have while he or she was still a baby. The ogres could keep magic in check in a way few others could.
Dacha tipped his head to the elderly ogre. “I am sorry for what has been done to your people.”
The ogre nodded back, something in her eyes softening.
Time to turn the conversation back to the machine and what was happening with Fieran.
Not that all this history wasn’t fascinating, but Fieran couldn’t appreciate it as much as he probably should while he was swallowing down his nausea and trying not to pass out with pain every time he breathed.
“So all that to say, is there something you can do to fix whatever is going on with my magic?”
The younger ogre woman straightened and spoke, her words her own instead of translated. “Of course she can. My grandmother’s magic is strong. So strong that they put her on the machine several times, and they never could take her magic from her. She fought it off.”
Fieran gaped at the elderly woman in front of him. That was impressive. He knew better than anyone just how powerful that machine was when it came to clawing out magic.
The elderly woman gestured to him, and the younger ogre woman translated, “Unbutton your shirt.”
Fieran worked to unbutton his borrowed shirt with shaking fingers. When he gave her a nod, the elderly woman placed her hand on his chest, right at the same spot where the dots of dried blood marked where he’d been hooked to the machine.
Her hand didn’t glow or do anything else to indicate that she was using magic. Yet he felt the moment her magic reached deep within him, grasping that aching place inside him.
He cried out, lurching away from her as his magic rose inside him in a stab of pain.
Dacha’s hand gripped his shoulder, holding him steady. Yet his dacha also tensed, as if poised to defend Fieran from the ogre woman if she did anything to him.
The ogre woman’s magic retreated for a moment, although her hand remained on Fieran’s chest. “You are strong. The machine did not take your magic. But your magic is now dislocated within you, like a shoulder that is out of joint. You have experienced great pain in using it, yes?”
“Yes.” Fieran nodded, struggling to draw in a deep breath to settle his whirling head and churning stomach.
Dacha’s fingers tightened to near painful on Fieran’s shoulder. “Can you help him?”
“Indeed. I will move his magic back into place.” The ogre woman turned to Fieran, her granddaughter translating for her.
“But it would be best if you refrained from using your magic for at least three days—a week would be better—to allow your magic to resettle back into its proper place in your body.”
A new bolt of fear and dread jolted through his stomach and increased the pain in his chest.
A week without using his magic—there was no way his dacha would let him use his magic before that—while they were here in enemy territory.
Dacha flexed his fingers on Fieran’s shoulder and cleared his throat. Even then, his voice was rough. “Will he have any long-term effects from using his magic while it was dislocated? My dachasheni died of a disease of the magic.”
“No, I don’t believe he will suffer any ill effects. But if he had not used his magic, then he would have needed only a day or two for his magic to resettle rather than a week.”
Good to know he wasn’t dying because of this—well, he was pretty sure he would die eventually if his magic was left as it was. But this ogre woman seemed pretty confident in what she was talking about.
Would refraining from using his magic for a week put Dacha in danger? Or Pip, wherever she was?
“Enough talking about it. Please just fix it.” Fieran gritted his teeth and pressed himself more firmly against the wall behind him.
The elderly ogre woman glanced from Dacha to Pretty Face, her words translated into Escarlish by her granddaughter. “Hold him still. This will hurt.”
Dacha changed his grip on Fieran’s shoulder to pinning him against the wall. With his free hand, he pinned Fieran’s hand to the floor. Pretty Face matched Dacha on the other side, his grip on Fieran’s shoulder and arm much less firm than Dacha’s.
Fieran squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself. “I don’t know why everyone always warns that stuff is going to hurt. Of course it’s going to hurt. It doesn’t really make—”
Her magic stabbed into his chest, clutched his magic, and shoved.
Fieran screamed and thrashed against the hands holding him. With the ogre magic so firmly wrapped around his, he didn’t even have to try to hold his magic back. It was incapable of rising to defend him.
Then the foreign magic released his, retreating from his body.
He slumped against the wall, and when he gulped in a deep, gasping breath, it didn’t hurt.
Sure, there was a faint ache, but it felt the same as the ache of healing magic working on a bone or the ache of a muscle after a good workout.
The good kind of ache instead of the tearing pain of before.
“Okay, yes, that hurt.” Fieran peeled his eyes open, working up the energy to grin. The dizziness, nausea, and pain in his chest were gone. He was still deeply exhausted in a way he hadn’t been since he’d been recovering from his crash. “But that helped. I don’t feel like I want to barf anymore.”
Dacha immediately released him, rocking back on his heels.
Pretty Face patted his shoulder once before letting go. “There’s the Capt. Laesornysh I know.”
“It’s Maj. Laesornysh now, actually.” Fieran drew in one last, deep breath and thought he might have the energy to sit up somewhat straighter. “Although it is hard to tell right now. I’m rather out of uniform.”
“I’ve missed a lot while away.” Pretty Face’s smile turned somewhat strained, his eyes going hollow again. “But before you tell me all about it, you should get some rest.”
“We should get moving. There’s no telling how long it will take the Mongavarians to notice this facility isn’t responding.” Fieran braced himself against the wall as he tried to totter to his feet.
Dacha took his arm over his shoulder and pulled him the rest of the way upright. “You need rest, sason. Nor are you the only one. We have enough time. Rest for an hour, then we can meet to discuss our plan.”
“And you…” The younger ogre woman pulled Pretty Face to his feet, pulling his arm over her shoulder. “Your back needs tending.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Pretty Face leaned against her, a gentle smile on his face that Fieran had never seen before.
Had Pretty Face…fallen for someone? Not just the surface-level flirting Fieran had seen from him before, but actual falling in love?
Now wasn’t the time to ask. But he and Pretty Face were really going to need to have a talk, either here or once they were all safe in Escarland.