Chapter 47 Life Debt
LIFE DEBT
Hazel attempted to peel her eyes open, but her skull shuddered with pain.
She turned onto her side and vomited violently onto the ground.
As she rolled to her back, her mind raced, head feeling like it had been split in two.
She grasped her head in her hands as though she could will the pounding headache away, but it was no use.
A cough racked her entire body, the pain almost unbearable. It was the aftermath of the tournament all over again. A terrifying thought consumed her, and she shot up, ignoring the wildfire of pain coursing through her body.
Had she dreamed all of it? She took in her surroundings. No, she was in a large canvas tent, appearing to be some sort of medical bay. She wasn’t shackled or bound, and her external wounds had been tended to. Perhaps she was in good hands.
Memories flooded her, and she was overwhelmed with emotion.
Her mind replayed the last scenes of her consciousness: the commander poised to end her life…
her inability to pull her magic… Slaide coming to her rescue…
the cat—her cat—launching into the fray.
No. No, please let him be okay. That damn cat was a nuisance as much as he was a loyal companion.
And if she didn’t know better, she’d swear he was protecting her.
Where was Slaide? Where was she? She rolled over and vomited again. When she was finished, she noticed her necklace on the pillow beside her head.
The tent flap rustled, and a striking woman with cloud-like blond hair the color of pale moonlight and a silky, dark brown complexion entered, carrying a tray of what looked to be food, drink, and what were likely vials of medicine.
She was dressed plainly and in very comfortable-looking clothing, not unlike the pants and tunics Hazel was used to at home.
She startled when she discovered Hazel was awake, nearly dropping the tray.
Hazel sat up, not knowing if this stranger meant to help her or harm her.
But as she got a good look at the woman, she noticed something strange.
There was an aura about her, and she radiated magic, as though her entire body was overflowing with it.
Seeing her essence flow so freely… it could only mean one thing.
She would ask about that later. Being in the presence of someone who clearly had strong magical ties was soothing, disarming.
Surely, a witch wouldn’t harm one of her own, right?
Assuming she was a witch. Hazel was more than aware there were many other magically inclined beings outside her own species.
Perhaps she was a druid or a dryad, and not a witch at all. Would she still protect Hazel then?
When she spoke, Hazel thought this must be a goddess descended from Caelis, for surely no mortal could have such a spellbinding voice. The honeyed notes poured over her. It was music to Hazel’s ears, and all she’d done was speak.
“I am Mori. You are safe here, for now. Mother will want to speak with you when you are feeling up to it, and from there, your fate will be decided. For now, please eat.”
Hazel coughed, and the pain spasmed through her ribs, sending her spiraling into an unrelenting hacking fit.
Mori offered her a vial from the tray with an opaque liquid inside. She nodded toward it reassuringly as Hazel took it in her hand. Hazel’s fingers shook with the memory of her time in the castle, when Nemsen had kept her drugged. He, too, had claimed it was for her own good.
But she’d do anything to shake this cough racking her body and to stave off the pain a while longer. So, she tipped the vial to her lips and downed it in a single swig.
Her throat was instantly ablaze, the burning sensation tracing all the way into her stomach, and Hazel was certain she would puke it all back up. She shot an accusatory glare at Mori, who only watched.
Poison. It was poison, and she’s waiting for me to die. She pointed a finger at the woman, but before she could attempt to speak, the inferno receded. She was fine. Not dead nor dying. And her cough was gone. She lowered her finger, and Mori smiled.
“Think you were going to die?”
“I did. Why are you helping me? Who are you?” She wiped her mouth on the back of her sleeve.
“I already told you that. I am Mori. As for why I am helping you, you are a witch, are you not?” She cocked her head to the side as if observing a wild animal.
“I-I don’t know what I am. I have powers, but I can rarely call on them when I need to and when I do…” She looked at her hands, betrayers of her own body and soul.
“You burn out,” Mori finished for her.
“Is that what this was? Is that why I’m here? Everything went black and I…” Her mind raced. Slaide. “My friend. The man who was with me,” she lurched to her feet, the pain stifled to a dull reminder she’d been injured. Mori jumped back from her in alarm, eyeing her from head to toe. “Where is he?”
She scoffed. “Friend? Hmph. The Dark One, yes? He is being held by our people until we can bring you both before Mother. He is fine, uninjured except for a few minor cuts and scrapes he suffered in battle. However, he is not free to move about as you are. Not yet.” Her voice was stern.
She knew what that meant. They had Slaide in chains somewhere. She needed to get to him. “May I go to him?” She wasn’t above begging. He’d saved her life. Again.
Mori frowned and shook her head softly. She took Hazel’s hand in her own. “Mother was excited to hear a witch was brought to us alive, but when she realized who it was that delivered you, she almost killed him on the spot. The Dark One is not a friend of the witches.”
Right. Okay, she would have to deal with that touchy subject later. Slaide was alive and they would not kill him… yet. She changed the subject. “So, this burnout. What happened to me? How do I avoid it? I wasn’t even able to draw my magic up this time before I passed out.”
Mori nodded thoughtfully. “This is normal in untrained witches. You’ve not mastered your gift yet, and that is to be expected.
Now that you are here, you will learn. I cannot say you won’t burn out again, but at least here we can fix the problem immediately before it kills you.
To have it happen on the battlefield and live to tell the tale…
“Magic, specifically natural magic, is part of the balance of nature. Not to be confused with what the goddess-forsaken Magistry does,” she spat.
“Our magic pulls from the earth below us, the sky above, and every living thing in between. But there must be give in order for there to be take. One does not exist without the other. Trained witches prevent burnout by trading some of their life essence for the magic they wish to use, and they take only what they need.”
“What if a witch doesn’t want to forfeit pieces of herself?” Hazel asked, taking a bite out of a hunk of crusted bread from the tray of food. She was almost completely sidetracked by how good it was.
“They do not have a choice. As soon as you channel, as soon as you open your mind’s eye and tug on that glowing string of power, nature will siphon what it wants.
As I said, there is no take without give.
And if you take without giving willingly, well, nature still rights the balance with her pound of flesh.
Or your soul, in this case. You don’t want to make a habit of over-channeling. ”
“So how does one prevent over-channeling while they learn? With witches being persecuted as it is, isn’t it dangerous to risk losing even one in training?”
Mori smiled. “We are not so poorly numbered as your King wants you to believe. You’ll see soon enough.
As for your question,” she pulled a jeweled pendant out of her pocket.
It was a ruby gemstone set into silver. “We have these. These jewels are imbued to act as siphons, absorbing the magic at a rate that will not kill us. But we do not give them to witchlings, they must be earned. In the meantime, many will experience fainting spells. Occasionally one will die, but it has been many years since we have suffered that kind of loss.”
Hazel found herself enraptured by the many-faceted gemstone until Mori returned it to her pocket. They locked eyes, and Mori raised a brow.
“Anyway, that is enough questioning for now. Finish eating and then bathe. Mother awaits.” She turned to leave through the flaps of the tent.
“Mori, wait… uh, please,” Hazel called after her. Mori paused, looking over her shoulder as though she had a much better place to be. Hazel shrank under her gaze. “Just one more question before you go.”
Mori sighed and gestured for her to continue.
“When we were ambushed, I was traveling with a small companion. A, uh, well he’s a cat. I know it seems stupid, but he actually saved my life back there and—”
The woman laughed. “Yes, yes, I know. I heard all about Roshi’s exploits on the battlefield as a cat, of all goddess-forsaken things. She’ll live. She’s just… bruised. Now go, wash up.”
She turned without another word, leaving Hazel alone and blinking in confusion.
Mori and another similarly dressed attendant, with darker, curlier hair and piercings about her nose and pointed ears, walked with Hazel between them.
Where Mori had been the face of a kindly healer before, she now wore the mask of a devastating warrior, bedecked in jewelry that Hazel now knew was for siphoning and controlling magic.
It was the most elegant, sophisticated form of weaponry she’d ever seen.
Not to mention easy to transport and hide from unsuspecting eyes.
Hazel was taken aback by their home. It was a city among the trees, with tree homes scattered throughout the canopy and semi-permanent canvas tents along the forest floor. The atmosphere was cool and earthy, with moss carpeting the ground wherever there weren’t walking paths.
Mori caught her gazing around in awe. “It is beautiful here, isn’t it? Our own oasis,” she preened.