Chapter 21 #2
Fieran nodded, trying not to think about all the grandparents he’d missed out on knowing.
He’d had his grandmother on his mother’s side for his younger years, but she’d been gone by the time Tryndar was born.
At least they all still had Machasheni Leyleira, who was Dacha’s grandmother, but she was the only elven grandparent they’d had until she and Taranath married a few years ago.
Taranath had already been filling the role of dachasheni even before he’d officially become theirs.
Even then, Fieran had grown up with far more family than his dacha had. He, at least, had both parents. He’d had two grandmothers. He had aunts, uncles, and cousins in abundance.
Still, there were gaps in the generations. Missing pieces that couldn’t fully be filled.
What would it be like for Fieran’s children, growing up with both parents, all their grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, several generations deep?
“Yes, it will be.” Fieran glanced at his dacha, still thrown by the sight of him with short hair and wearing a Mongavarian uniform.
His parents would make excellent grandparents.
Young as they were, they’d likely see their grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and possibly even great-great-grandchildren.
If Dacha survived the war. If they all survived this war.
Fieran would have to make sure he did, despite the fact that he would sacrifice his soul, his life, and even his hair, for his children. Dacha needed to be there for Ellie, Tryndar, and all the future grandchildren he might have.
Enough serious topics. Fieran shot a grin at his dacha. “Just no more siblings, okay? I don’t want any siblings younger than my own children.”
Dacha raised his eyebrows. “There was some discussion on whether we wanted five children or seven…”
“Dacha…” Fieran’s ears were burning. “Never mind. Forget I brought it up.”
Still grinning, Dacha slowed the truck and pulled it off to the side of the road. The truck jounced over a few ruts, but there weren’t deep ditches here.
“Wha—” There came a few other indecipherable moans and mutterings from Aaruk as he woke up to the bouncing and bumping.
Dacha pulled the truck behind a stand of trees and scrub brush. “This will do for the night.”
They didn’t have much to set up for camp.
They didn’t light a fire since that would be far too visible.
The straw mattress remained in the back of the truck, and Fieran managed to convince Aaruk to claim that sleeping spot.
The young ogre was still rail thin after his ordeal. He deserved the best bed.
Dacha and Fieran spread their bedrolls—Mongavarian ones they’d scrounged at the facility—underneath the truck where they would be protected from dew.
Once they finished setting up their meager camp, Fieran leaned against one of the truck wheels, his legs stretched out in front of him, as he munched on the cold rations of smoked meat and dried biscuit.
Dacha jumped down from the cargo bed, holding their medical kit, a canteen, and a human-magic-powered torch they’d found at Ludin. He knelt next to Fieran. “We should check on your wound.”
Fieran sighed, stuffed the last bite of meat in his mouth, and lifted his shirt, holding it out of the way.
With his other hand, he took the torch and positioned it on the running board so that it provided a dim light.
He could tend the wound himself, but it would make Dacha feel better to fuss over him.
After untying the bandage and unwrapping the extra from around Fieran’s waist, Dacha tugged on the section of bandage directly over the gash.
Fieran sucked in a breath through his gritted teeth. “Ouch, that hurts.”
“We should have taken the time to change the bandage more frequently.” Dacha sat back on his heels for a moment as he regarded the bandage. “It appears to have dried to the wound.”
“Yeah.” Fieran released a slow breath and braced himself. “Perhaps you need to just rip it off?”
“That would risk reopening the wound.” Dacha uncapped the canteen and dribbled water over the bandage, using the excess bandage to keep the water from simply running off. He gave another tug.
Fieran hissed and pressed his back harder against the wheel behind him. His magic rose in his chest, sending another twinge of pain through him. He tamped down on the magic, gasping at the competing stabs of pain.
Dacha halted. “Are you all right?”
“Fine. I’m fine,” Fieran gasped between his clenched teeth. “Don’t get your magic half-yanked out of your chest. It’s uncomfortable.”
“We should check on your magic as well.” Dacha braced a hand against the running board of the truck and pushed to his feet.
Aaruk’s soft snores echoed from inside the vehicle. After setting up camp and nibbling on a biscuit, he’d collapsed on the mattress and gone right back to sleep.
Fieran reached for Dacha’s arm but missed. “Don’t…”
Dacha was already climbing into the truck, disappearing past the canvas flap.
Fieran closed his mouth and just breathed for a long moment. It wouldn’t do any good to protest that his magic was all right. It just hurt when it tried to lash out. Dacha was too worried to listen, and checking on Fieran’s magic was one of Aaruk’s main reasons for being on this trip.
Aaruk’s snore ended in a snort before his sleepy voice came from the back of the truck. Moments later, Dacha exited, followed by Aaruk.
Still rubbing sleep from his eyes, Aaruk knelt in front of Fieran and held out a hand. “May I?”
Fieran nodded. “Sorry to wake you.”
Aaruk shrugged as he placed a hand on Fieran’s chest. “I should’ve thought to check before going back to sleep.”
Ogre magic tickled within his chest, and he struggled to keep a hold on his magic so that it didn’t lash out painfully once again.
To distract himself from the wiggling discomfort, Fieran forced a smile. “Ogre magic is pretty impressive. I never thought there could be a magic that could overpower the magic of the ancient kings.”
Aaruk grinned, even as his gaze went a little distant in that way of someone focusing on their magical senses. “That’s because our magic doesn’t try to overpower it. It can’t. Your magic is too powerful. We, instead, use the power of other magic against itself.”
“Ah. That makes sense.” Fieran had, after all, been able to overpower and disintegrate the deflecting magic eventually.
But it had been when he hadn’t tried to overpower it but instead had used its deflecting power against itself, such as forcing those aeroplanes to the ground or shoving back Mongavaria’s tanks.
Dacha was nodding, his eyes contemplative as if he, too, were thinking through the magical theories and ramifications. “I can see why your magic would have been both exploited and feared in ages past. It is remarkable.”
“Yes.” Aaruk grimaced, although it didn’t appear directed at Dacha.
“Hiding has become our way of life, so deeply ingrained in our culture that, even when we were under attack by Mongavaria, we didn’t reach out to take the hand of friendship the Alliance offered us.
There were those of us in the younger generation who wanted to, you know.
I’ve visited Escarland. I believe it’s time to come out of hiding and rejoin the wider world again. ”
“It seems your grandmother might be reconsidering her stance on the Alliance.” Fieran breathed a shallow breath past the continued tickle of ogre magic in his chest.
“Perhaps. It was a big deal that she agreed to head for Escarland rather than return to Groyria.” Cutting off his magic, Aaruk withdrew his hand and sat back on his heels. “Your magic is settling in nicely. You must have exerted quite the claim on your magic while fighting the machine.”
Releasing a breath, Fieran nodded. He’d learned a great deal about his magic this past year, and he likely wouldn’t have been able to hold to his magic so tightly if he hadn’t come to the place of owning it as his. “Thanks.”
“Then unless you need something else…” Aaruk stood, making a motion toward the truck.
“Go on. Rest. Linshi.” Dacha waved toward the truck in a dismissal.
Aaruk climbed back into the truck, and it rocked on its tires as the ogre got settled.
Fieran smiled at Dacha. “See. I’m fine. I just need rest, that’s all. And this bandage changed.” He motioned to his wound, where the bandage was still fused.
After another moment of hesitation, Dacha reached for the bandage again. He was able to peel some of it away, but it was still rather stuck.
Sucking in a hiss of pain, Fieran gripped the truck’s running board with one hand, his other hand still holding his shirt out of the way. Perhaps he should find another piece of leather to bite.
Dacha sighed and shook his head. “I think I might have to incinerate it with my magic.”
“That would probably hurt a lot less than ripping it off.” Fieran squeezed his eyes shut and locked his magic deep within his chest. Even better, his dacha’s magic would sanitize the wound rather than leaving bits of bandage stuck to it.
The blue of his dacha’s magic flared, visible even through Fieran’s closed eyelids. When Dacha’s magic swept over Fieran’s wound, it was a familiar and comforting tingle rather than the burning of that morning, and it eased something both within his chest and in his muscles.
After a moment, the blue magic vanished, and Fieran opened his eyes. He swept a glance over the gash, now free of the bandage, before he met Dacha’s gaze.
Dacha’s eyes searched his face. “You did not flinch.”
“Of course not. I’m not afraid of your magic.” Fieran didn’t look away, hoping Dacha heard the depth in his words. Dacha had done what he needed to do to help Fieran by cauterizing the gash. That didn’t change how Fieran saw his dacha or his magic.
Dacha turned away first, busying himself with cleaning the wound. “It seems to be healing well. If only you could have had more of the healing magic.”
The rescued ogres had needed the healing magic more than Fieran had, and they’d divided it up between the worst of the injured.
“The little I had helped, I think.” Fieran swallowed back a cry of pain as Dacha touched a wet rag to the gash. He didn’t want to disturb Aaruk again nor risk any passersby hearing and coming to investigate. “How long do wounds take to heal without magic?”
“Much, much longer than a few days, I am afraid.” Dacha’s mouth pressed into a tight line, but he gave a little shrug, as if even he didn’t know how long it would be.
He likely didn’t. Neither of them had ever recovered from injuries without an elf healer stepping in. Fieran’s first aid training in the army had mostly consisted of how to deal with an injury until one could get the wounded person to a healer. There hadn’t been much on long-term wound care.
Funny how relative pain could become. After the whole dislocated magic thing and, even before that, crashing and breaking nearly every bone in his body, a little scratch like this was nothing.
Once Dacha had spread a salve, he wrapped a fresh bandage around Fieran’s middle.
Fieran let his shirt fall over the bandage again. “I can take first watch. I got a lot of sleep earlier, and I doubt I’ll fall asleep for a while yet.”
Dacha opened his mouth as if he wanted to protest. But then he sighed and nodded. “I will take the second watch. We will have only two watches tonight.”
That made sense. Aaruk needed rest and to regain his strength before they trusted him to stand watch at night.
As much as Pretty Face had trusted Aaruk, he was still a stranger. Neither Dacha nor Fieran would feel comfortable sleeping while he was on watch until they knew him better.
While Dacha returned the medical kit to the truck, then lay down on his bedroll beneath it, Fieran settled in more comfortably against the wheel, trying to ignore the ache in his freshly bandaged wound.
He tilted his face toward the sky, taking in the array of stars twinkling far overhead in the vast darkness.
Could Pip see the stars where she was at? Was she all right?
As Dacha had said, she was strong and capable. He had to trust that she would be fine.
That still didn’t make being separated from her while in an enemy kingdom any easier to take.