Chapter Twenty-Seven
An unhinged laugh caught in her throat as she looked over to the Keeper.
Why?
“Because I am just like him! He had been good, but he hurt everyone around him and pushed them away. He couldn’t help it because he was broken.
I try not to hurt people, but if I let them in, they can see that something is wrong with me.
” Her voice rose to a scream that echoed through the chamber.
“And if I let them get that close, they end up dead! Or they will leave just like my mother did!”
The silver magic curled around her then, kissing her skin and ruffling her robes.
The silence was unbearable after that. Iryana tried to calm down, to shove it all back down, but she couldn’t. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
The Keeper retrieved a plain woolen bag from the pocket of his robe. From inside, he first pulled out a shard of bone that was as long as her fingers, wide and flat on one end and thin and pointed at the other. Next came a hooked hammer, the wood shining from use.
“We can begin now.” He sounded nearly as raw as she felt.
The Keeper had her lie down on the cot, adjust the robe until her back was exposed to him.
“This sort of story must begin behind your heart,” he said. And she knew that was the truth.
She felt a prick as the Keeper placed the needle on her back, and then a pinch as he used the hammer to drive it into her flesh.
A strange sensation accompanied the pain, and she knew the Keeper was feeding the metal magic into the marks.
He was fast; the needle dragging over her skin and the hammer pounding in a steady tap, tap, tap.
It burned, but the pain was nothing compared to the turmoil filling the rest of her.
She wanted to be alone, to lick her wounds until she forgot the pain again. Iryana squeezed her eyes shut and gripped the edges of the cot with trembling fingers. Had she ever truly forgotten the pain, though? Or had it always been sitting there while she just grew used to it?
The constant tapping and burning along her skin eventually proved distraction enough for Iryana to let a soothing numbness sweep over her. She welcomed it gladly, focusing on the pain instead of the thoughts that tried to creep up from time to time.
It was hours before the Keeper finally stopped.
“I fear going further,” he said.
“What’s wrong?” she groaned, throat raw.
He hesitated. “Your body is still soaking up the magic. Normally, I know to stop when the body slows drawing it in. If Noshtiz’s magic overpowers yours, it will never find balance with your own, and you’d never be able to wield either again.”
“Then why stop?” She felt groggy, bone-tired.
“The magic of the well is fighting now; it would require more sacrifice to keep going. It is best to stop and not risk going too far. You will still have some raw magic leftover, but you will have plenty for your forgings.”
Iryana sighed with relief and nodded. The thought of tearing herself open further—no, she agreed it was best to stop.
“I will teach you to forge once we’ve washed the tattoos and rested. It’s already nearly morning.” He slowly stood, wincing as his joints likely protested.
“Thank you for helping me. Can—can I see it?” she whispered, almost afraid to know if others would see her pain in it.
Iryana clutched the robe to her chest as she tried to lift herself, the back still gaping open over her shoulder and back.
She was sure the edges were stained with blood, like the rags that filled the basket beside the cot.
The Keeper helped her up, and Iryana’s knees shook.
They ambled to the side of the room where the Keeper pulled one panel aside to reveal a large mirror.
Her eyes fell to the floor. The tattoos were already there; there was no getting rid of them, but she resisted facing them.
The Keeper retreated, mumbling an excuse of needing to clean his tools, but Iryana felt like he was giving her privacy.
With a steadying breath, she turned and drew her eyes up to see what the Keeper had marked her with.
Her breath caught when she saw the dizzying myriad of symbols all over the side of her back.
The tattoo was clearly centered behind her heart.
The lines there were so thick and overlapping that she could barely see any red skin peeking through.
Symbols erupted from that spot like poisoned veins, mostly arrows and spears driving away from her heart, but the further they got, patterns emerged.
The symbols spiraled away like whips, some trailing down her spine, others wrapping around her side, a few curling over her shoulder or around the back of her neck.
She heaved in a breath and tore her eyes away. It was not like the words she had spoken were written across her skin, but the pain was unmistakably etched into her. The Keeper had said her past was already a part of her, but instead of being hidden deep inside, it was now on the surface.
She had faced the truth though, and would hopefully never have to do so again.
In the morning, the Keeper roused her from the side chamber she had slept in.
The remainder of the night had passed slowly, despite her exhaustion. She couldn’t help but wonder what Hadima had said in her own forging. What she had said about Iryana. What Misha would say when she forged. That had kept her up for hours until she’d finally cried herself to sleep.
Now she just felt on edge. Raw.
He carefully cleaned her back while she tore into a bowl of porridge. Her back once again aching, she let him help her into a soft woolen robe.
“Is it time to begin forging?” she asked, feeling eager to begin. To have something to distract her.
The Keeper chuckled but led her back to the room where they completed the Binding and to the back wall, where the largest of the doors stood carefully sealed shut.
“Only those Bound to Noshtiz’s magic are ever allowed into the inner chamber of the well.” His voice was almost reverent as he slowly undid the locks.
Iryana held her breath as the door opened and the Keeper lit the torches lining the room.
It was decorated similarly to the outer chamber, but this room was much larger, with so much to look at that she struggled to choose what to take in first.
Her eyes gravitated toward the center of the room, and she immediately understood why the magic sources were called wells.
In the center of the floor was a ring of stone almost as high as her hips. A faint glow rose from within, and Iryana slowly approached. It was a much larger version of what had been in the outer chamber.
Leaning over the side of the well, Iryana saw magic-drenched earth. It reminded her of the gravies she sometimes made with milk, flour, and minced meat. It had the same texture. She could sense the magic, even stronger now that she was bound. Excitement and wonder thrummed through her.
Iryana looked around, trying to note everything.
Around the back side of the room and the well was a setup that reminded her of a blacksmith’s. There was a great anvil made from an extension of the stone from the well, a grindstone, and even an enormous machine similar to a printing press.
The stone on the opposite side of the well jutted out into something similar to an anvil, one of the tools for forging, she assumed. A few other anvils of different shapes and sizes sat against the right wall, along with two sturdy worktables and a wall covered with various hammers and other tools.
The left wall was lined with thick stone shelves covered with boxes of different sizes.
A few of the boxes were stone, but most were made of wood.
A few larger boxes—some nearly as tall as she was—were stacked on the floor.
She didn’t know what they were for, but she wasn’t ready to stop for questions just yet.
On the back wall, directly across from the door, hung a huge tapestry. The main symbol of each element was stitched in a ring, with lines connecting each element to the others. Some lines were doubled, some single, and some dashed.
“Are you familiar with the workings of blacksmiths and normal forges?” The Keeper asked.
“I’ve never worked in one, but we had a blacksmith at the Kleesold post, and one of my cousins liked to help. I’ve always enjoyed watching them work when I had cause to visit.”
He gestured around the room. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed, the methods we’ve developed for forging our raw magic with that of the wells’ has been heavily inspired by traditional forging.”
“It makes sense,” Iryana said.
The Keeper moved next to her and looked down into the well.
Like he had with the smaller well, he pulled a tendril of magic to dance before them.
“Our raw magic is unwieldy; we can really only push it out and pull it back in. The magic in the wells is different, more fluid. It is controlled more easily but unless it is bound with our own magic, it will return to the well, and we can’t pull it into ourselves. ”
Iryana focused on the magic in the well and found that she could touch it. The magic resisted her until she tried to pull it up like she did her own magic. Another dark tendril, smaller than the Keeper’s, rose out of the well.
The Keeper’s eyes lit up. “Very good.”
They worked together on controlling the tendrils until Iryana could make it dance and wave like him. It felt good, and she realized she was smiling.
“What do you want to forge?” he asked. “I assume your officers assigned you something?”
Iryana nodded; she had thought about it a lot on the walk to the temple. “Do you think I have enough magic to forge a dagger and both a beast spear and a bow?”
The spear worked well against the dakii, and she felt comfortable with that kind of weapon after training with Vaneshta.
It would give her range, which was critical when fighting the dakii.
It had to be a higher priority than a bow, although until recently she had always thought she would end up with an air-forged bow. She pushed the thought away.