her breath rasping in her dry throat, and woke to still more hallucinations. As the healers closed the shutters for the night and supper was brought to those who could eat, Briar learned more about Flick’s early life than he ever wanted to. He wished, tiredly, that he could find the monstrous mother who figured so vividly in his friend’s cries.
Worse, he wished that he’d never heard of Flick. He hoped that she would die so he could get some rest. That last thought made him despise himself. Her life was surely worth more than his winks. He was a monster to think it. As penance he fought her to drink more liquid. When she refused, he helped tend those on either side of her. One of them was Orji, the other homeless man who had come in that second day. He slept lightly, muttering in his dreams, but he drank when he was told, and he wasn’t as hot as he’d been.
Just after the Guildhall clock struck midnight, Flick went stiff, her body turning into a bow. Just her head and feet touched the bed. She collapsed as Briar and a blue-robed healer ran to her cot, then arched again, unbreathing, eyes rolled up in her head.
“Get her feet!” snapped the healer. She threw her body across Flick, grabbing her wrists. While Briar hung on to the girl’s feet, the healer took a breath and exhaled. Her magic surged like fast-growing vines through Flick’s arms and into her straining chest. Flick collapsed, gasping as she tried to suck air into her dry throat.
“Breathe,” the healer urged Flick. “Breathe as hard as you – ”
Flick whined. Her back arched as her eyes rolled up. Now the healer sent power racing through her, filling the girl’s skin with magic only Briar could see. The magic’s light fluttered; in Flick’s arms and legs it receded, trickling back into her body almost as quickly as it had filled her limbs.
This time Flick’s convulsion was shorter. “Breathe,” chanted the healer softly when she went limp. “Breathe, breathe – ”
Briar was confused. Why was it important for Flick to breathe? Wasn’t it Henna –? Yes. She’d said that in long moments without air, parts of the brain died. People with seizures forgot to breathe. Urda, no, thought Briar, scowling at his friend. Don’t leave her an idiot.
Flick tensed again. Two more seizures followed, the healer never once loosening her grip. Each time it took her more effort to thrust her magic into Flick’s body, and it never lasted as long inside the girl’s skin as it had the first time.
When Flick had lain quiet for a while, the healer let go. Briar, who’d been knocked repeatedly into the bedstead, was happy to release the girl’s feet.
“Could I do that?” he asked the healer as she gulped down cold water. “Put my magic in them to keep them going?”
“Are you a healer?” the woman asked tiredly. “Can you run your power through another human being?”
“Only my mates – these girls I know – and Rosethorn.”
The healer looked at him – really looked – for the first time. “Yanna bless me, you’re one of the four, aren’t you? The boy, the plant-mage?” Briar nodded. The healer massaged her temples. “You might do it with those girls and Rosethorn, but we would have been told if any of you could heal.”
“Could I try?” asked Briar as the healer lurched to her feet.
“Try all you like,” she replied. “Nothing will come of it.” She hesitated, then touched Flick’s head. Once again Briar saw magic, but its gleam was just visible – the woman was nearly drained. She pursed her lips.
“Flick’ll be fine,” snapped Briar, annoyed by the healer’s rejection of the idea that he could do this kind of magic.
“I hope so,” she replied, moving on to the next bed.
Sitting beside his friend, Briar held her wrists as the healers did. Magic was magic. It could be lent to other mages; he’d seen that, had done it himself. Let him bleed off some now, when there was some good to be had.
His store of power
Worse, he wished that he’d never heard of Flick. He hoped that she would die so he could get some rest. That last thought made him despise himself. Her life was surely worth more than his winks. He was a monster to think it. As penance he fought her to drink more liquid. When she refused, he helped tend those on either side of her. One of them was Orji, the other homeless man who had come in that second day. He slept lightly, muttering in his dreams, but he drank when he was told, and he wasn’t as hot as he’d been.
Just after the Guildhall clock struck midnight, Flick went stiff, her body turning into a bow. Just her head and feet touched the bed. She collapsed as Briar and a blue-robed healer ran to her cot, then arched again, unbreathing, eyes rolled up in her head.
“Get her feet!” snapped the healer. She threw her body across Flick, grabbing her wrists. While Briar hung on to the girl’s feet, the healer took a breath and exhaled. Her magic surged like fast-growing vines through Flick’s arms and into her straining chest. Flick collapsed, gasping as she tried to suck air into her dry throat.
“Breathe,” the healer urged Flick. “Breathe as hard as you – ”
Flick whined. Her back arched as her eyes rolled up. Now the healer sent power racing through her, filling the girl’s skin with magic only Briar could see. The magic’s light fluttered; in Flick’s arms and legs it receded, trickling back into her body almost as quickly as it had filled her limbs.
This time Flick’s convulsion was shorter. “Breathe,” chanted the healer softly when she went limp. “Breathe, breathe – ”
Briar was confused. Why was it important for Flick to breathe? Wasn’t it Henna –? Yes. She’d said that in long moments without air, parts of the brain died. People with seizures forgot to breathe. Urda, no, thought Briar, scowling at his friend. Don’t leave her an idiot.
Flick tensed again. Two more seizures followed, the healer never once loosening her grip. Each time it took her more effort to thrust her magic into Flick’s body, and it never lasted as long inside the girl’s skin as it had the first time.
When Flick had lain quiet for a while, the healer let go. Briar, who’d been knocked repeatedly into the bedstead, was happy to release the girl’s feet.
“Could I do that?” he asked the healer as she gulped down cold water. “Put my magic in them to keep them going?”
“Are you a healer?” the woman asked tiredly. “Can you run your power through another human being?”
“Only my mates – these girls I know – and Rosethorn.”
The healer looked at him – really looked – for the first time. “Yanna bless me, you’re one of the four, aren’t you? The boy, the plant-mage?” Briar nodded. The healer massaged her temples. “You might do it with those girls and Rosethorn, but we would have been told if any of you could heal.”
“Could I try?” asked Briar as the healer lurched to her feet.
“Try all you like,” she replied. “Nothing will come of it.” She hesitated, then touched Flick’s head. Once again Briar saw magic, but its gleam was just visible – the woman was nearly drained. She pursed her lips.
“Flick’ll be fine,” snapped Briar, annoyed by the healer’s rejection of the idea that he could do this kind of magic.
“I hope so,” she replied, moving on to the next bed.
Sitting beside his friend, Briar held her wrists as the healers did. Magic was magic. It could be lent to other mages; he’d seen that, had done it himself. Let him bleed off some now, when there was some good to be had.
His store of power
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