19. Nineteen #3
“Is someone there?” she called out, taking a cautious step further into the dim alley. She received no reply, but the crying continued. Bracing her palms against the walls on either side of her, she steadied herself, blindly navigating the uneven ground.
The cries grew louder as she went, and a faint blue light appeared.
A moment later, she came upon a young boy sat upon a low stoop, a lantern with a flickering blue flame resting on the step beside him.
Were she in the Human Realm, she would have guessed he was about six years of age.
Tilting his head back, he gazed up at her, tears shimmering like gemstones in the corners of his eyes before rolling down his round cheeks.
“What’s the matter, child? Are you lost?” Nova asked, pitching her voice in the soothing singsong she typically reserved for horses.
The boy wailed, squeezing his eyes shut and opening his mouth wide.
“There, there,” Nova murmured, crouching down in front of him. “Whatever it is, we can sort it out.”
“It’s—” The boy hiccupped, struggling to catch his breath. “M-my hands.” His gaze fell to his lap.
Assuming he must be injured, Nova reached out to inspect them. But where she expected to find the soft, chubby fingers of a young child, she found something cold and hard instead. Nova lifted the boy’s hands, squinting to see them in the low light of the blue flame.
His hands—they were wooden.
Nova gasped. Still, she couldn’t help but marvel at the fine artistry of the boy’s hands, carved from pale yew wood and remarkably detailed. The boy continued to weep, a bit quieter now that he had her attention, shed tears collecting in the intricate lines etched into his palms.
“How did this happen?” Nova met the boy’s gaze, his watery eyes red rimmed and impossibly green.
“The crone that runs the apothecary,” the boy explained, pausing to take a shuddering breath. “She h-hexed me.”
“Why would she do that?” Nova tutted.
He dipped his head sheepishly.
“Th-thieving,” he said finally. “But only once, and nothing of great value. Please, miss, you must believe me.” He raised his hands in front of him, his face twisting and going red as he beheld them once more.
Nova shushed the youngling, stroking his cheek with the back of her fingers as she considered how she might help him. A hex, she figured, was more or less a curse. She hadn’t yet wielded the Light of Illora intentionally, but perhaps it was time she tried.
“Hush, now,” Nova murmured, brushing the child’s hair, deep brown and sweat-damp, from his forehead. “Perhaps I can help.”
The boy ceased his crying at once, sniffling loudly. “How?”
Nova frowned as she took hold of his wrists. “I’m not exactly sure.” She exhaled sharply through her nose, resolved to do what she could for him. “Now then, lad. Close your eyes, and stay as quiet as a mouse.”
The boy nodded enthusiastically, then closed his eyes and pressed his lips together in an exaggerated expression, as if he’d licked a lemon.
Nova shook her head against a laugh before closing her own eyes.
She called her struggle against Bryn to mind; the moment she’d unleashed her ability before she even knew she possessed it.
She could recall nothing she’d done to draw it out, only the white mist gathering at the edges of her vision before the flash of blinding light.
Lady Samira had said folk call the gods’ power to them in order to wield it.
Cradling the child’s wooden hands in her own, Nova latched onto the memory of the white mist. Asked Illora for aid.
Invited her in. All at once, her heart seized, a choked gasp escaping her lips as pure white light flooded her mind’s eye.
She’d no notion of how much time had passed.
By degrees, she returned to herself, slowly taking stock of each sensation.
A chill seeping through her cloak as she sagged against the stone wall.
The boy’s joyful laughter, bell-like, rising above the droning hum in her ears. His warm, soft hands upon her face.
“Wake up, miss. You’ve done it!”
Her eyelids fluttered like butterfly wings; the child’s round face hovered close to her own.
She planted her palms on the ground and straightened her back against the wall.
Groggy, she glanced to where the alleyway opened into the busy street.
Folk milled past, none taking notice. The boy cupped her cheeks and guided her to look at him.
“I owe you one, miss.” Before Nova could speak, he snatched up his lantern, scampered down the alley, and disappeared into the crowd.
Moments ticked by before she felt capable of getting to her feet.
She leaned against the building briefly, then attempted to walk.
Steadying herself with her palms dragging along the narrow walls, she, at last, reached the street.
Nova scanned the area, but the child was nowhere to be seen.
Inhaling a deep breath, she emerged from the shadows and returned to where the horses stood tethered just as Callan emerged from the inn.
“They’ve found us a room,” he said, “and we can house the horses in the stables at the back.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Nova sighed, untying Shade’s lead from the post. “I’m nearly spent.”