Chapter 19 Silver
Silver
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After who knows how long, I finally stumble out of the Broken Citadel and back into the hot desert.
I feel different. I feel . . . raw. Like every inch of my skin and every single nerve in my body have been rubbed with sandpaper.
But I stare down at myself and I don’t look different. At least, not that I can see. There will be no way to know if my eyes have changed color or my face has any new markings until I can get ahold of a mirror.
At least I’m alive, I suppose.
The sky is still a clear blue, which means that perhaps I’ve only been in there a matter of minutes. But for all I know it could have been days.
As I stagger forward, my legs feeling somehow heavier than usual, I scan the area.
The other people gathered around the Citadel drop what they’re doing and eye me warily, and their conversations turn to hushed murmurings.
Most likely, they’re wondering what I’ll do now that I no longer have vines in my eyes.
Or perhaps their caution is because they don’t know what manner of magic I might have come out with.
For that matter, neither do I.
I stop in place, the Citadel at my back, the magic tingling where it hits my skin in a way that it didn’t before.
Until this very moment, I haven’t spent much time considering what I should hope for. “Live through it” pretty much topped the list, but now that I’ve done that, I’m not sure what else I want to have happen.
I could be one of the ones who comes out with no power at all. Like some of the less-talked-about sons in the Jungle Realm. Like Mara was thought to be at first.
That would be a relief, right? The powers are often dark and always twisted. They weigh on their wielders. Mance sometimes speaks with longing of the way she was before. The way her father and her sister were before. It’s probably best to just avoid the whole thing altogether.
But the thought of that ignites a gnawing sensation in the pit of my stomach, one I recognize.
It’s that familiar nagging feeling that I’m not good enough.
Insufficient somehow, not meant for anything important.
It tells me that if I came out of that ordeal with nothing then I’m really not worthy. Not even for the Citadel.
And I don’t know how that feeling would sit with me long-term.
I swallow, dry air burning my throat, as I try to bludgeon those feelings with logic.
After all, at least that option is known. Disappointing, but in a familiar way. In a way I’m sure I can handle, because I’ve been handling it all my life.
If I had magic . . . who knows how that would change me? Who knows if I would even still be me anymore?
All these thoughts flit through my mind in a matter of seconds, and then movement to my left derails them. Someone is approaching, and I whip toward him.
As I suspected, I know this man. He’s the one who met the carriage just outside the gates of the Desert Realm, the one Kiar slipped something to.
Probably a seed to subdue me with when I came out.
Sure enough, I see him reach for his pocket, though he’s moving slowly, watching to see what I might do.
And I realize that if I do have magic, I need to figure it out fast.
Because in mere seconds, I could be under their control again. I could become a soldier fighting mindlessly at their command.
Has Mance suffered the same fate?
Did she figure out what happened to me? Did she follow? Did they stop her? Is she hurt?
Or did she carry on without me? Is she married right now?
The fact that I don’t know, that I’m not there with her, makes fear swell in my chest in a way that’s almost physical. So tangible that I look down, almost expecting to see it leaking out of my skin.
And then I do.
Fear, as it turns out, looks a lot like smoke. White and wispy and insubstantial, but undeniably there, becoming more and more solid the more I stare at it. Does that mean my fear is growing?
Probably, because my hands are sweating and my heart is pounding and I’m having trouble catching a breath.
I glance around to see if anyone else is alarmed by my skin suddenly emanating smoke, but I don’t see any changes in expression, and I don’t hear any alarmed cries. Which means I’m likely the only one who sees me as a human chimney.
Okay.
All right.
So I do have magic, then. I can see . . . my own fear.
Is that useful? Or just creepy?
The man withdraws his hand from his pocket and my fear smoke billows larger, even though he’s still sizing me up. I know I don’t have long. I have to figure out a way to make this work for me. Now.
Wincing slightly, I poke at the smoke with one finger. To my surprise, it winds eagerly around my hand and starts to feel almost solid, like silky threads or spiderwebs. I swirl my fingers deeper into the smoke until it’s wrapped tightly around my skin. And then I pull.
It doesn’t hurt. It feels like bleeding, but without any cut. Just the disappearance of some substance inside me.
But as soon as it’s not connected to me, it evaporates into thin air, and my actual subjective experience of fear evaporates with it.
My breaths come easier, my heart slows down, and the tension I didn’t even realize I was carrying in my back releases.
More importantly, the Citadel behind me doesn’t seem to loom so large anymore.
And the people flanking me, my enemies, don’t feel like such a threat.
They’re just people, after all. Even the one slowly approaching me with a seed clutched in his hand, gaining confidence now that it’s been several seconds without me showing any visible sign of violent powers.
As he gets closer, I feel something like a furnace in his chest. Actually, now that I’m focusing, I can feel a furnace in everyone’s chest, every single Forest Realm citizen staring me down. Most of them aren’t burning too brightly now. The embers dim the more time passes without me fighting back.
But instinctively, like the magic wants me to use it, I suddenly realize that I can change that. I could stoke their fires if I wanted to.
I fling my hand wide and the man in front of me stops in place, wary of what I might do. His fire burns a little brighter without my assistance.
With a flick of my fingers, I stoke it, and a heightened unease makes his eyes narrow and his mouth thin into a line.
I experiment for a moment with increasing and decreasing his fear in small increments until I know I can control it.
Until I have a handle on how much I can pull and how fast. Once I have that nailed down . . .
I clench my fists and I engulf him.
In fact . . .
I engulf everyone.
All around me, men and women fall to their knees, eyes wide with terror, skittering backward.
Some cry, some shake, some cower, and some make a run for it.
To my eyes, their bodies are billowing smoke like they’re burning from within.
Not a single one tries to come after me, too consumed by their terror.
A slow smile spreads across my face as I feel their fear wash over me like waves of heat.
Yeah.
I think I can work with this.