Chapter 14 #2
He half-carried me out, and it felt like an odyssey.
A swarm of lanternflies and moths followed us.
An eternity later, we made it to the Medical center.
I flopped onto a chair near the entrance, mollifying the ankle by keeping it raised off the floor, silently thanking Papa for the rudimentary Medic knowledge he’d taught me.
Every muscle in my leg trembled as I tried to hold it aloft.
Someone let out a low moan from a nearby bed. There was a Skinscripted woman washing the unconscious man who’d moaned with a dirty rag as she murmured prayers over him. A trainee I didn’t know rocked back and forth on a cot, a charred strip of skin peeking over the edge of a bandage concealing it.
Instructor Penbrook hurried over from another bed when he saw us enter.
His appearance gave me the impression of fragility, even though he was robust enough to have solid health. There was something in the fine trim on his beard and sallow skin.
“What happened?” He demanded, probing my ankle. I stifled a cry of pain.
“Just put too much weight on it while training in the Fitness center,” I explained.
“She was overdoing it,” Izaiah oh-so-helpfully interrupted. “Her roommate and I both warned her, but she wouldn't stop. Not even to take a break.”
Instructor Penbrook made a tsking noise under his breath. “Trainees,” he admonished. “Always trying to prove that they're the best.”
My indignation flared up at the remark. “I was trying to prepare for the midterm.”
He made another gruff noise. “And now you'll be lucky if it heals in time to even participate, even with my help.” He gently turned my ankle this way and that.
I clamped my mouth shut and squinted my eyes shut against the sudden pain. A thin whimper and tear escaped.
“Well congratulations, you've rotated your ankle.” He stood and went to a nearby cabinet, pulling out a roll of gauzy material. Setting it on the floor beside me, he bent down to examine my ankle again. “Please hold still for a few seconds.”
Before I could ask him what he was doing, he reached up and pressed his Skinscripted palm to my ankle.
A rush of hot agony shot through me, so much that I jerked my ankle away from his hand. His other hand caught it and held it in place against his palm.
It hurt so much, I couldn't think past the pain.
And within moments, it was over.
“Whoa,” Izaiah breathed. “Never seen that before.”
My whole body shuddered, a fresh sheen of sweat coating me. Instructor Penbrook didn't appear the least bit sympathetic to my pain as he twisted my ankle again like he had before. This time, it was tender but not painful.
My brain worked its way past the pain long enough to connect the dots. “You are Touched.”
I'd never met someone Touched, but they were spoken of having a gift from the Devourer, the ability to heal. I’d always thought they were a myth, something spoken of during worship like the magical land of treasures in the sky, or the trapped immortals beneath the miasma.
But he had laid a hand on me and healed my injury.
It was miraculous, almost unbelievable.
“Hmph, hardly.” He picked up the gauze and began to unroll it.
“Touched is a local legend to explain something that the general masses don't, and shouldn't, understand. But you’re both trainees, so you'll find out about this soon enough.
What you experienced was a rare form of Skinscript, 'Restoration'.” He flexed the fingers on the palm he'd pressed to my ankle as if to stretch it.
Unlike every other Skinscript glyph I'd seen, this one didn't look like a single symbol. It extended out over the front and back of his entire hand, webbing up around his fingers as well. By far, it was the most intricate Skinscript I’d ever seen.
My mind whirled. Were any of the other legends real? Were all of them? How many religious myths were based on Skinscript’s magic?
And this was magic. Raw, powerful, unadulterated magic.
He was wrapping my ankle by the time I tuned back into the conversation that was still going on between him and Izaiah.
“—incredible. Can I get a 'Restoration' Skinscript like that too?” The awe was thick in Izaiah's voice.
Instructor Penbrook made that tsking sound again.
“I've already given you more knowledge than you've earned.
You'll learn more in your lessons. By the time you graduate,” he shot me a look of reproach, “if you're able to keep yourself intact long enough for that.” Focusing back on me, he pointed an inked finger at my face. “Now listen, and no back-talk.”
I blinked, still jammed full with unanswered questions. Remembering Instructor Garcien's warning, I kept my lips pressed together.
“You have no sense of self-preservation, this was sheer self-induced stupidity. You over-exhausted yourself, beyond reasonable limits. What I restored for you,” he huffed out a breath, choosing his words, “it took far more from me than it should have. Even Skinscript has limits. Which tells me you had more going on than this twisted ankle.” A guilty flush rose my cheeks, thinking about the reduced sleep and increased training I'd been doing to push myself.
Now that he mentioned it, the soreness from exercising these last few weeks had vanished with the pain in my ankle.
His eyes narrowed. “If you show up here again before graduation, I won't restore you.” My mouth fell open. “No matter what type of injury it is. If you are foolish enough not to take proper care of yourself, it is a waste of my time and energy when I could be helping those that need me. And who don’t abuse their own bodies.”
“I—I didn't mean to—” I wanted to defend myself, point out that I wasn't strong enough yet to pass the upcoming midterm without the rigorous training I'd been doing.
I wanted to rage against the fact that I hadn't chosen to be here in the first place; it had been forced upon me by the Ascendancy.
None of that changed the truth of what he'd said though. I wasn't taking care of myself.
My mouth snapped shut.
“Good, you have a pinch of common sense,” he observed, tying off the ankle wrap.
“Stay off your feet. There will be no training of any sort for you for the next two days. I’ve healed the worst of your injury, but you need to rest so the repairs I've made don't come undone. I will communicate it to Instructor Tyrell.”
Immediately I wanted to reject his advice. I desperately needed to train so I could pass the midterm. What Veridiana had said came back to me, that I had no hope of passing if I injured myself again, which was exactly what would happen if I continued to disregard my limits.
On the bright side, at least I'd be saved from interacting more with Zevrial for a few days.
“Fine,” I agreed, “I will stay off my feet until then.”
“Good, there's still hope for you. Off you go now.”
Izaiah helped me back to my room, where Sarina rushed to fuss over me. She was wearing the bracelet again.
Weird as fuck, indeed.
Even after socializing with them both, the mild sting persisted, both to my pride and ankle. But as I drifted off that night, it occurred to me I had something here that I had never had before.
I had people who I trusted.