32. Intro to Mycology
The volcanoes weren’t happy. Their energy pressed against mine.
My usual medical magick had never agitated them when I’d used it before, but that had been rudimentary healing.
Creating blood, creating living cells, required a deeper power, one that pulled on the invisible string between me and Skalterra’s mantle.
But Ciarán and I both had enough blood to travel comfortably now, though catching a steamcart was out of the question.
With Una’s help, we reached the next city in just over a day.
Barony guards swarmed around the city gates, checking each traveler entering or leaving the city.
Word had spread of the new Saergrim and her Grimguard, and the Baron wanted us both.
We doubled back into the trees, which had turned from stone to wood at some point in our travels. I kept my eyes on the space between Una’s green shoulders as we rode down the cart-beaten roads, still unable to bring myself to look up the trunks of real trees since graduation night.
Linsey’s recent transformation made the anxiety all the worse, but I kept my head. I had to. We didn’t have time for panic attacks when Orla, Iseult, Tiernan, Fana, and Jonquil were all unknowingly headed to their deaths.
Wood turned into rolling prairie, and I was shocked at how quickly the mountains at our backs receded. Una was making great time, but the farther south we traveled, the more breaks she took. She probably needed another Barony guard to replenish her energy, but we were fresh out.
Admittedly, it was nice getting to stretch my legs after being on Una’s back all night, but every second was a second lost in the race to beat the others to the doorway.
I studied Mom’s handwritten instructions by the light of the rising sun when we’d settle to rest in the mornings and before resuming our trek in the afternoons.
After our fourth night of travel, I nearly had the words memorized, but I continued to pore over them anyways as I gnawed on a bit of venison jerky.
At least, the animal Ciarán had dragged into our camp the night before looked sort of like a deer, despite its taloned paws, so venison was the best word I had to describe what it was I was eating.
A creek babbled over rocks and pebbles, and a low hanging fog over our ravine kept us hidden. Percolating sun turned our camp gray, and Ciarán’s eyes seemed all the more orange against the dull colors.
“They’re probably still trying to get a boat,” Ciarán assured me. He sat next to Una’s sleeping form, running his fingers through her wiry jade coat absentmindedly. “There aren’t a lot of seafarers in Skalterra, even on the coast. Even then, most of them are owned by the Baron.”
“They’ll find a boat. They might already have one.” I kept my eyes on the notebook, as if reading Mom’s handwriting might slow our friends down long enough for us to catch them.
“We’re going as fast as we can.”
“I know.”
“Una can only—”
“I know!” I snapped. A jolt of surprise traveled down the tether, and I set the notebook down to bury my face in my hands. “I’m sorry. I know we’re doing our best.”
“I’m stressed too.” It was more of a commiseration than an admonishment, and I tried to smile in response. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
I laughed, but the sound was bitter. “Go back in time and tell me not to be so self-important?”
“You saved Willow’s Grave.”
“At the cost of my friends’ lives!”
“And possibly the fate of both our worlds.” He weighed a rock in his hand, and then skipped it upstream across the surface of the creek.
“How is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“It’s not, but I thought you could do with the reminder that there is more at stake than Orla.”
“I know that!” I bristled. “Besides, Orla’s mad at me.”
Ciarán stood and took a swig of Skal. “I can’t go back in time and tell you not to martyr yourself, and clearly you aren’t going to sleep. How about a lesson instead?”
I rolled my eyes and leaned against the rocky stream bank. I wasn’t in the mood for a lesson, but maybe keeping busy would be good for my stress levels. “Sure. Teach me.”
Dual single-handed scythes formed in Ciarán’s fists.
He sliced them through the air, moving through the forms and stances of imaginary combat.
The orange glow of the weapons shed with the movement, and when he came to a pause in his performance, Ciarán’s scythes were no longer made of glowing Skal, but metal.
He straightened up and held them out for me to see.
“Corporeal. I’ve told you before, not all Skal constructs glow. They take a stronger will to create and they cost more magick, but they last longer.”
I stood and took one of the scythes from Ciarán. Its handle was warm to the touch, but it didn’t burn me like usual Skal weapons would.
“Why bother with Skal weapons at all then?” I asked.
“The magick cost of creating a corporeal weapon is more than ten times that of a Skal replica. Not to mention the volatile nature of a Skal weapon burns anyone who isn’t the Magician behind its creation, which you know can be an advantage in a fight.
That and most Magicians can hardly manage cheap tricks, let alone form anything corporeal. ”
“And what? You’d like me to try?” I scoffed. “I only just figured out how to make anything other than a flail.”
“You know better than to underestimate yourself, Blue.” He stepped close and pressed his hand over my lower ribs where Kamryn’s dagger had cut me open.
“Besides, it’s best you use as little magick as possible until the threat of volcanic explosion has passed.
So, no. I’d like to teach you how to properly fight. ”
“Fight—?”
His leg was suddenly behind me, and he knocked me backwards over his knee with an arm across my chest. I landed on my back in the pebbles along the stream bed, staring up at him still trying to process what had just happened.
“Yes. Fight.” He bent down and pressed his lips to the tip of my nose. Heat flushed my face. “If you get good enough at this, I’ll show you how to use the scythes. Now you try.”
He pulled me to my feet. I stared at his legs, trying to work out just what he’d done to topple me over so effortlessly.
“But how?” I asked.
He shook loose strands of hair out of his face. “Watch carefully.”
He went through the movement slower, showing me how he lined his leg up with mine to get the best leverage and then exactly where to push to get the take down. He lowered me more gently to the rocks this time.
“Who exactly am I supposed to use this against?” I asked, still on the ground. “Ferrin likes to turn into a giant bug monster with sword arms when he fights.”
“The guard who tried to kill you was just a man,” Ciarán said darkly. “I won’t always be nearby.”
“But you’ll probably be nearby.” I staggered back to my feet.
“I wasn’t last time.”
“And I was stabbed before I could fight back. I don’t think knowing this would’ve helped.”
“Try it, Blue.”
I lunged, placed my foot behind Ciarán’s leg, and swung my arm up to try to knock him over to no avail.
“Your leg needs to be closer to mine. It’s a lever. If the fulcrum is too far—”
“I know physics.” I shifted my leg closer, grabbed onto his far shoulder, and heaved.
He fell, but I got the sense it was because he allowed it to happen rather than because of any skill on my part.
“Good,” he lied. “Again.”
The movement got easier each time I tried it, and Ciarán started changing his stance, forcing me to feel out how to best position my own legs to gain leverage over him. When I took too long, he struck, throwing me to the pebbles.
It morphed into a game, seeing which of us could fell the other first, something our tether made extra tricky. I had to move without thinking, otherwise Ciarán received a warning on his end of the bond.
But it helped the exercise become second nature until we both fell to the pebbles, laughing.
I rolled into Ciarán’s chest, hiding there and letting exhaustion finally pull at the edges of my consciousness.
“You’re never far,” I said into the folds of his tunic. “And I do just fine in a fight. You don’t need to worry.”
“To be honest, I just needed you tired enough to fall asleep.” His arm tightened around me. When I pulled away from his chest to scowl at him, he laughed. “What? It worked, didn’t it?”
I relaxed back into him and breathed deep to inhale the smell of his shirt. We probably both smelled awful, but at this point in our journey, I couldn’t tell anymore.
“Maybe,” I conceded. “Ciarán?”
“Hmm?” He was quickly nodding off.
“You’ll stay in Keldori, right?”
His arm went rigid around me.
“What do you mean?” he asked, though I got the sense he already knew. It wasn’t exactly a confusing question.
“After we reseal my grandmother, are you going to stay in Keldori with us? Iseult said it’ll be too dangerous for Fana, Orla, and me to pass back through the secret door since our bloodlines are linked to the seal on the Rift. But you’ll stay too, won’t you?”
He thumb traced a circle on my back as he thought. And whatever thoughts he was thinking, they were loud. They buzzed at the back of my head, vibrating with anxiety, and suddenly I found myself worried about Ciarán’s answer.
“I like you, Wren,” he finally said, and his thumb ceased its circling so he could dig all five fingers into the folds of my hoodie. “But I’m selfish, and I don’t think I like you enough to stay if I can’t be with you the way I want.”
“Excuse you?” I pushed away again.
“You’re a Saergrim, and like you said, the Rift will depend on the longevity of your bloodline.” His pale cheeks flushed.
“Okay? And? What does that have to do with you?”
“Nothing! And that’s the problem. If you don’t have children, the Rift is in danger, and the thought of hanging around to protect you, your children, and whatever man—”
He cut off as the blush in his cheeks deepened, and mortification mounted in my stomach.
I hadn’t given my bloodline much thought.
“But I don’t know if I want kids. I’m only eighteen!” I sat up, my panic deepening. “And I definitely don’t want kids if they’re not—”