had put him through over the years.
"I can sense the regret in you," he said. "Quit it. I chose the woman I love over being pampered at court. Deal with it."
Elsie breathed a faint laugh. Sometimes she forgot that their Talents could communicate. He knew her on a deep, quiet level that spoke beyond the physical realm.
Giving her a real smile, Dorian kissed her. She leaned into him, forgetting about Magic and the ark and Winslow.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Winslow wasn't certain what bothered him more: the fact that he still couldn't heal himself, or the damned walking stick he was forced to use. By mutual agreement, they had decided it was time to move again, injury or no injury, and he clumsily negotiated the tracks with the thing. He'd never endured a wound for this long and he suddenly had a healthy respect for the Untalented.
Pain spiked through his leg and shoulder at every step, and he imagined his body was justifiably angry with him for the movement. Not even the verue plant concoction slathered over his shoulder was much help.
"Tell me about the Tre`ow," he grumbled, grunting as the toe of his boot snagged on a bit of rock. He over-corrected, jarring his body and intensifying the pain. "Mother, Maiden and Crone!"
"Do you need to rest, Lord Agoston?" Fayree asked.
"No. If I rest I might not get up again." Winslow continued forward and slanted a glare at her. "Distract me. Tell me who the hell you really are."
Fayree glanced down at where Mirabella kept pace beside her. The little girl's green eyes were wide with wonder. He got the distinct feeling that this was a story she hadn't been told before. That seemed a bit curious, but Mirabella was still very young. It was possible that Fayree was trying to shield her daughter from the revelation. Still, he couldn't feel any remorse for asking. Even at their slow pace they would reach Three Points by midday the next day, unless a rescue train came for them.
He wondered what was taking the personnel at Three Points so damned long to get out there.
"I'm not sure how to explain this to you," Fayree said after a long moment. "Your own history books cannot recall a time without the Pillars. You have no concept of the culture you come from, and even if you did, you wouldn't recognize it. Magnellum has grown into a culture of its own, with customs and traditions far removed from its origins."
Winslow kept hobbling forward, frowning as he digested her statement. "You mean to tell me that Magnellum was once a part of the Wild?"
"Yes," she said. "A very important part."
"Is the land sacred or something?" Winslow could picture some kind of religious motivations spurring the Wild to attack them. It would explain why the Wild continued to assault the Pillars , he thought. But it also meant there would be no end to that assault.
"No," Fayree said. "But there is something sacred to us here."
"Well, what is it?" he asked. "Whatever it is, I'm sure we can return it. Anything for peace . . ."
"Magic," she said grimly and he faltered. "Magic itself is what we hold sacred."
"But . . ."
"And time."
"Time?"
"Outside the Pillars, time has stopped."
Winslow paused to lean on his stick some more. His shoulder flared with dizzying pain and he had to take several breaths to steady himself.
"That's impossible," he said. "You can't stop time. Life would cease to exist."
"Nothing grows," Fayree said quietly. "We live and breathe and consume, but nothing new grows. There are no new births. Our children do not age. If time has not stopped for us, then it is moving at such a slow pace that we may never see our old age."
Winslow felt a shiver crawl over his neck. Somehow, this seemed far worse than religious motivations. But how? he wondered. How could they have lost time outside the Pillars and what good did it do them to attack Magnellum?
"How is that possible?" he asked.
"It happened the day Magic was taken from the Host tree," she said. "We were a great people once, the Tre`ow. Skilled
"I can sense the regret in you," he said. "Quit it. I chose the woman I love over being pampered at court. Deal with it."
Elsie breathed a faint laugh. Sometimes she forgot that their Talents could communicate. He knew her on a deep, quiet level that spoke beyond the physical realm.
Giving her a real smile, Dorian kissed her. She leaned into him, forgetting about Magic and the ark and Winslow.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Winslow wasn't certain what bothered him more: the fact that he still couldn't heal himself, or the damned walking stick he was forced to use. By mutual agreement, they had decided it was time to move again, injury or no injury, and he clumsily negotiated the tracks with the thing. He'd never endured a wound for this long and he suddenly had a healthy respect for the Untalented.
Pain spiked through his leg and shoulder at every step, and he imagined his body was justifiably angry with him for the movement. Not even the verue plant concoction slathered over his shoulder was much help.
"Tell me about the Tre`ow," he grumbled, grunting as the toe of his boot snagged on a bit of rock. He over-corrected, jarring his body and intensifying the pain. "Mother, Maiden and Crone!"
"Do you need to rest, Lord Agoston?" Fayree asked.
"No. If I rest I might not get up again." Winslow continued forward and slanted a glare at her. "Distract me. Tell me who the hell you really are."
Fayree glanced down at where Mirabella kept pace beside her. The little girl's green eyes were wide with wonder. He got the distinct feeling that this was a story she hadn't been told before. That seemed a bit curious, but Mirabella was still very young. It was possible that Fayree was trying to shield her daughter from the revelation. Still, he couldn't feel any remorse for asking. Even at their slow pace they would reach Three Points by midday the next day, unless a rescue train came for them.
He wondered what was taking the personnel at Three Points so damned long to get out there.
"I'm not sure how to explain this to you," Fayree said after a long moment. "Your own history books cannot recall a time without the Pillars. You have no concept of the culture you come from, and even if you did, you wouldn't recognize it. Magnellum has grown into a culture of its own, with customs and traditions far removed from its origins."
Winslow kept hobbling forward, frowning as he digested her statement. "You mean to tell me that Magnellum was once a part of the Wild?"
"Yes," she said. "A very important part."
"Is the land sacred or something?" Winslow could picture some kind of religious motivations spurring the Wild to attack them. It would explain why the Wild continued to assault the Pillars , he thought. But it also meant there would be no end to that assault.
"No," Fayree said. "But there is something sacred to us here."
"Well, what is it?" he asked. "Whatever it is, I'm sure we can return it. Anything for peace . . ."
"Magic," she said grimly and he faltered. "Magic itself is what we hold sacred."
"But . . ."
"And time."
"Time?"
"Outside the Pillars, time has stopped."
Winslow paused to lean on his stick some more. His shoulder flared with dizzying pain and he had to take several breaths to steady himself.
"That's impossible," he said. "You can't stop time. Life would cease to exist."
"Nothing grows," Fayree said quietly. "We live and breathe and consume, but nothing new grows. There are no new births. Our children do not age. If time has not stopped for us, then it is moving at such a slow pace that we may never see our old age."
Winslow felt a shiver crawl over his neck. Somehow, this seemed far worse than religious motivations. But how? he wondered. How could they have lost time outside the Pillars and what good did it do them to attack Magnellum?
"How is that possible?" he asked.
"It happened the day Magic was taken from the Host tree," she said. "We were a great people once, the Tre`ow. Skilled
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