Chapter 11 #2
A sudden savage shaking has us clutching one another, trying to keep our balance. We can barely stay upright as the world shifts and snaps in all directions.
Dust puffs from brick walls and canal water slaps angrily against the banks. Sheep bleat in wild panic, and in the distance, aklas and aklos rush into Frederica’s courtyard, shouting to be heard over the tremors.
It’s not the first time the ground has stirred, but this feels wrong. The sharpness of it, its violent persistence, and the rhythm. It’s . . . disjointed, like a sick pulse—or a frightened one.
A tree tips in the distance, toppling with a groan, and the one over us rains crimson leaves.
I press a hand to the earth, the quakes vibrating through my palm, through me. It can’t be magic, can it? No mage would do this—why would they harm the earth that they draw their power from?
And yet, dread writhes in my gut: this doesn’t feel natural.
When it all jerks to a sudden halt, Akilah and I rush towards the manor. The people of Frederica’s household are shaken, but otherwise unharmed. They check the integrity of the walls and when it’s deemed safe, we head inside.
Frederica is in crisis mode, sending aklas out for supplies and aklos to deliver urgent messages to the capital.
Akilah and I trundle sacks of oats and potatoes in wheelbarrows from neighbouring farms to our storerooms. Collect canvas sheets and tenting poles.
Shift well water to storage barrels set around the manor.
All morning and afternoon, we work amidst lighter shakes of the earth.
In the early evening, while Akilah is taking a few minutes break slumped in exhaustion in the shade outdoors, I head to the dining-turned-disaster-planning room. Frederica looks up from a cluttered table.
“Anything else we can do?” I ask.
She sets down her wax seal. “The last time the earth shook like this, we had thousands come here for shelter. One can never fully prepare for that. We’ve stocked food. We have canvas for tents.”
She lifts an envelope and looks at me over the top of it. Her gaze strays behind me and snaps to mine again. “Now we need voluntary vitalians.”
I step back with a loud snick of my boot heels against her wood floors. “I—I can help gather herbs and concoct teas for the volunteers. I can clean buckets, wipe blood. Keep the sick company.”
“Can you tend the wounded?”
My breathing quickens. What if more die because I overlook something? What if Akilah or my little nieces are the ones made to face the consequences with me?
I shake my head and rock back another step.
An unfamiliar aklo rushes past me and bows his head to Frederica. “The dam has cracked—landslides are blocking all roads into Castorvra. The people there are trapped.”
“Water will fill the entire valley,” Frederica murmurs fearfully. “What routes can be used?”
“The cliff path I took is still wide enough for a horse, but the ground is unstable. The canals are our best chance, but we need more boats. And . . .”
“And?”
Aklo bows his head again. “Some are wounded. They can’t be moved until their injuries are tended.”
I stumble another few backwards steps until I’m grabbed around the hip and a growling voice in my ear has all my senses prickling, “Where do you think you’re going?”
I whip around to Quin, still loosely holding my hip, staring down at me with intense disappointment.
“How long have you been here?” flies out of my mouth.
“Long enough.” His hands move quickly, blurring with speed.
He tugs me by the cloak, pulling me towards him until our noses almost collide.
As I suck in a shocked breath that tastes of his familiar mystical scent, his fingers jab my forehead, then my chest three times, each one a dose of power that swells inside as it breaks my sealed magic open.
Fizzing heat cascades through my veins and I buckle under the force of it.
My hand instinctively reaches for balance—
Quin pulls his cane back a few inches and I crumple to the floor.
I glower up at him.
He glowers back, then looks past me to Frederica.
“I came as soon as I got your message. I have men and supplies. I’ve sent boats in for the villagers, but to give them time to get out I must get to the dam. We’ll have to go over the pass. We’ll ride out immediately.”
Frederica gasps. “Going yourself is too risky—”
Quin’s gaze flashes to me. “If you can help others, you have a responsibility to do so.”
I shut my eyes, swallowing.
Quin barks orders to his aklo and tells Frederica to prepare a saddlebag of herbs and water, to be brought to the stables.
He hauls me upwards by my elbow and I follow him, jaw tight; when Akilah tries to intersect, Quin tells her to be at Frederica’s side, help however she can. He’ll return me soon.
Her worried gaze seeks mine and I nod; she watches us go, tracking our progress as Quin silently leads the way.
Two horses—one black, one white—await us. Aklo tightens the girths and leaves at Quin’s order.
Quin eyes me, his frown judgmental. I look away. “You shouldn’t have wasted magic on me.”
“How else will you heal the injured?”
“I can’t.” Heat prickles behind my eyelids. “I caused two deaths! One hadn’t lived his life yet.”
Quin’s jaw quirks. His lips flatten as he stares towards the horses.
“What if it happens again?” I say quietly.
He lifts his chin. “It will happen again. People will die, Cael. It’s inevitable.”
“It was my fault. My negligence.”
His head whips towards me. “And what do you call this but the grossest of negligence?”
“There are other vitalians.”
“Hours behind us! On the horse, Cael.”
My hands won’t stop shaking.
The air whips around Quin, strong and steady, and magical currents lift his body gracefully into the air. He flips his hands, controlling the wind, and lowers himself onto the black horse, its pelt as dark and gleaming as his eyes and hair. His voice: “On the horse!”
I grab the reins of the white horse, step into the stirrup and throw myself into the saddle. He looks at me with an approving nod; after checking the saddlebag, he rides out into the open fields and southeast. He doesn’t bother to check if I follow.
The pass rises steeply into barren hills, the road narrowing further with each step until it becomes a thin ledge clinging to the mountainside. Far below, a canal slices through the cliffs, its waters dotted with boats hastily fleeing down its length.
Dirt and debris scuttle down the cliff face.
I tighten my hands on the reins and my horse skips around skittering stones in a dance, but after a glance at Quin I remember myself and relax my grip.
His back is straight, his breathing even and calm; he moves with his mount as it steps serenely along the ledge.
My horse calms, taking its example from Quin’s, bravely ignoring the abyss that descends alongside us.
I push down my fear and straighten my back.
Sliding dirt spills onto the path and we hurry our horses through it. Quin glances back as the landslide continues. We’re on a one-way journey. The only way out now is via the canal.
After a hairpin turn, the path broadens. Quin steers his steed alongside mine.
“You always pull the reins too hard.”
“How many times have you seen me turn my horse?”
His lips curve faintly. “Enough to notice.”
I snort, throwing back, “You’re reminding me of someone else I once knew. He also thought himself the king of horsemanship.”
“Was he?” Quin’s gaze flickers toward me with spark.
I huff. Maskios, king? “I was on top of him! I’ll always be on top of him.”
A dark laugh rumbles out of him, low and knowing. My words don’t fool him, and somehow, that makes my cheeks flush.
“I grew up playing drakopagon,” I snap, trying to claw back dignity.
“Is that so?” There’s no surprise in his voice at all, almost like he’s bored. It grates.
“Just focus on the path before one of us tumbles into the abyss.”
His dark chuckle stirs something sharp and uneasy inside me. “I’m clever enough not to fall, Cael. The question is, are you?”
His words dig deeper than they should, unsettling my confidence. The cold wind tugs at my cloak, and I remember how easily he’d seen through me before—the way he tested me at the academy, uncovered my lies, forced me to face truths I wasn’t ready to face.
The memories slip in unbidden: the little girl’s wide eyes, the herbs I’d tossed aside, her body limp by the river. A life wasted, a soul I sabotaged.
Quin’s voice cuts through, soft but pointed. “I was harsh, earlier. You’ve lost someone dear to you.”
My hands ball around the reins.
He speaks again, voice gravelly, as if the words weigh on him too. “Other people’s someones are waiting desperately for our help. Scared children, dying ones.”
Futures shrinking by the second.
I can’t stop the ache in my throat, the flush of shame crawling up my neck. How could I have refused? How could I ever pray to my forefathers again?
The wind howls as we ride on in silent contemplation.
The village appears, nestled in a deep valley surrounded by rock and forest, as we round a tight bend.
A large dam perches on the quarry walls above it like a giant bird bath, a zagging crack down its middle.
If—when—it breaks, water will drown everything, all that might remain visible the peaks of the tallest houses.
A chain of fleeing villagers scrabbles towards the canal. So many. And dozens still trapped, needing magic before they can be moved. My heart hammers hard and I spur my horse forward.
Quin curses and reaches out, grabbing my reins to slow me. “Not so fast. Unstable ground. You’ll get yourself killed.”
I lift frustrated eyes to his and look away again. “I hesitated to come here.”