5(?) hours left to find Tanzi—
I wish I had more time. The workshop begged to be explored, with its three floors and running water—not Waterwitched, but with actual pumps and a spigot.
It was an absolute marvel of inventions. Some magical, some mechanical. Some theoretical and scrawled upon paper. Some assembled and ready to be used.
No dust coated the surfaces, no cobwebs clustered in the corners, and no moths had left holes behind. It meant a preservation spell rested over this space, like the ones that protected the records in the Crypts.
It also meant this place was old.
Old old. Judging by the spellings and grammar on each loose page, I would guess at least a thousand years old.
But there was no time to dawdle. No time to explore.
I found what I needed on the third floor. Not that I would have recognized it without the Rook to help.
A shrill caw as I stepped off the stairs, then he arrowed over to a rolled red leather pouch. It hung on a hook above a spigot (the fourth I’d seen thus far). A quick peek inside showed salves, creams, tinctures with familiar names, and even a handful of tinder with a strip of flint.
Another clever invention, for a small diagram sewn on an inside pocket showed how to start a fire by striking the flint against the pouch’s metal clasp.
Whoever had crafted this place, she—or they—had been a true genius.
I didn’t bother to roll up the kit before I rushed back down the spiraling flights of stairs and over to the Nubrevnan’s side.
He still lay flat on his stomach, his face crooked awkwardly to one side. Goddess, he was massive, and there would be no avoiding his blood while I flipped him over.
Yet he had to be flipped over. It took three tries and a full, groaning shout to manage it. Once on his back, though—once I was mere inches away and able to see beneath the grime that coated his skin and uniform—it hit me: I knew this young man.
He was the officer from the Nubrevnan camp. The one I’d watched bellowing orders and building a watchtower.
Perhaps it was the black oil that coated him, or perhaps it was simply the lack of a glass lens and distance to distort him, but either way, he looked different this close. For one, he was younger than I’d thought from afar. My age or near to it.
Plus, the bones that made up his gangly limbs were surprisingly slender, surprisingly soft. Elegant, even, like the marble statues stowed away in the Convent cellar.
Although marble didn’t bleed, this man most assuredly did. One of the shadow wyrms had slashed him from right shoulder to left hip, and though the clothing had sliced neatly, the skin had not. The edges were frayed and puckered, as if burned.
Or as if frozen.
He was lucky, actually, for the wyrm’s intense cold had cauterized most of the wound. Only the topmost quarter hung open and oozed.
I gulped, then turned briefly away. While I’d gone through the same healing classes as every other Serving Sister, I’d never been adept at them—and I’d never grown comfortable with the sight of blood.
On top of that, I’d never ever worked on a man before.
I huffed an exhale. “Firmly gripped upon it,” I whispered. Then l turned to the healer kit and got to work.
The minutes slid past, and without my hourglass to drip-drip, I had no concept of how many. I lost myself in the focus, and I swear by the Sleeper that I did not rush.
Yes, I wanted to save my Sisters, but the Rook had been right: I could not leave another human to die.
The bird watched from a nearby shelf as I washed water across the man’s wound. The oil—an almost tar-like substance—cleaned right off to reveal skin somehow even paler than the man’s face. Next, I rubbed in a Waterwitch healer cream to ward off corruption and followed with an Earthwitch salve to seal the wound and heal the skin.
Such a massive man, all thick shoulders and wiry muscle, required almost the entire tubs of cream and salve.
And finally, because I did not think it would hurt, I squeezed a few droplets of something called Cure-All directly atop the gash.
Already, the man’s breath came more evenly. Already, the sheen of sweat had left his face, replaced by something that could almost be called warmth.
As I returned the Cure-All to its pocket, I felt something else inside. Paper, waxed and folded. I slid it out—
“You’re certain this isn’t Hell?”
I snapped up my gaze, heart skittering, and met the man’s hooded, glassy eyes.
“You’re … alive,” I offered eloquently. Then I looked away once more.
He was close; I didn’t like it.
“Thanks to you.” With a grunt, he pushed himself upright.
Which brought him even closer.
“Are there any Airwitched smelling herbs?” He patted his chest—not where the cut was this time. “My lungs feel … weak.”
“No,” I answered, leaning away and towing the healer kit with me. “Also, you stink. Whatever you’re covered in, it’s disgusting.”
He nodded. “Stinky, but at least healing! Aside from my lungs, I feel better than I have since … since I woke up inside a glacier with no clue how or why.” A smile quirked on his lips.
It was much less scary than his previous grins.
“What’s your name?” he asked, eyebrows bouncing. He really did look a thousand times better than he had only minutes before.
That Cure-All must be special stuff.
“Ryber Fortiza,” I answered before I could think better of it.
“Ryberta Fortsa,” he murmured to himself. “Very Nubrevnan.”
“It is not!” I smacked the pouch shut for emphasis—or tried to, but the paper inside got caught. Forcing me to yank it out and try again. “Because that is not my name!”
He had the grace to flush.
“My name is Illryan,” I went on. “It’s RY. BER—no ‘ta’ on the end—and then FOR. TEE. ZAH. Not … whatever it is you just said.”
“Ry-ber,” he repeated, smiling once more. “For-tee-zah. Understood.”
“Hmph,” was all I replied as I finished fastening the pouch and stood. The room listed; my stomach growled.
There was nothing to be done for hunger, though. Preserving books and inventions was one thing. Food was quite another.
“Careful now,” the young man said, reaching for me.
I recoiled. “I’m fine.”
He winced, hand withdrawing. “Sorry. No touching. I should know better by now.” He tried for one of his smiles, but this one was strained.
“I don’t know your name,” I said, an attempt to change the subject.
“Something we have in common, then,” he replied. “I don’t know what my name is either.”
I blinked. “No idea … at all?”
“No idea at all.”
“I think I saw you,” I began, scooping up the healer pouch and folded paper. “You’re an officer in the Nubrevnan navy, and you were building a watchtower.”
“Perhaps.” He glanced down at his wound, the first time he’d shown any interest in it since waking. His forehead bunched tight, and I don’t think I imagined that the room turned suddenly colder.
Then I remembered. “You’re an Airwitch too.”
“Oh, right.” He lifted his left hand, where sure enough, mingled amid the oil was a diamond tattoo. “I saw that earlier, but if I have magic, I can’t seem to find it.”
“I don’t think that’s how witcheries work.” I stepped toward him, already planning all the ways we could use his magic to navigate the rest of the mountain. “A little time, and I’m sure you’ll be able to use it again.”
The Rook piped up then, crowing his agreement. Not that the man understood. He just nodded at the bird. “A pleasure to meet you too. And your name is … ?”
“He’s the Rook,” I answered.
“Very nice.” The young man saluted, fist to his heart.
The Rook liked this, for he instantly flapped over to the man’s side and started purring.
Traitor. He knew I wanted to leave. After all, I had healed the Nubrevnan. Now it was time to go.
I glared at the Rook—and at the man—but they were so wrapped up in crooning to each other, they didn’t notice.
My glower deepened, and I slapped the leather kit onto the closest table. Yet before I could return the paper to its rightful place, I caught sight of a single word scrawled upon its edge.
MAP.
My mouth went dry. Could it be? Surely Sirmaya would not favor me so. In a crinkling flurry of speed, I unfolded the page.
And sure enough, my eyes landed upon a map of the mountain.
It was all there. This workshop, the ice pathway from before. Even the shadow wyrm nest was marked along with the all the tunnels and passageways I’d tried earlier.
None of that interested me, though. All I cared about was what waited ahead. The massive spiral on the bottom-most corner of the map that said SUMMONING.
That was where the Sisters must go when Summoned, so that was where I needed to be.
My breaths turned shallow with excitement. There was a long route that would cut me all the way around, tunnel after tunnel, passage after passage, or there was a shortcut.
A blessed shortcut through a space labeled Paladins’ Hall.
According to the map, crevices, cliffs, and dangerous drop-offs filled the triangular cavern, but I had an Airwitch at my side. And though he might not know how to use his magic now, I was certain we could figure it out by the time we reached this Paladins’ Hall.
Grinning, I folded the map neatly back into shape and stowed it in a pocket right above my heart. Then I pinned my gaze on the Nubrevnan.
“I have to call you something,” I declared, marching toward him. “So what will it be?”
His eyebrows ticked up a notch. He paused his scratching at the Rook’s neck. “How about … your hero and savior? That has a nice tone to it—”
I smacked him on the head.
He laughed, which I had to admit was a nice sound. Though perhaps it was simply my own excitement brightening the moment.
“Are you always like this?” I asked as he stood, stiff yet surprisingly energetic. “Or is it the pain making you act this way? Or perhaps that tincture labeled Cure-All?”
“You mean, am I always this charming?”
“Ridiculous was more what I had in mind.”
“You wound me, Ryber Fortiza.” He reached a steadying hand to a table. “As for your question, I don’t know if I’m always this way. I cannot remember a thing.”
Again, the air turned frosty. My breath fogged.
“How about I call you Captain, then?” I pointed to his buttons. “That’s what the silver means, isn’t it?”
“Captain,” he repeated, his gaze turning distant. “I suppose … hye, that will work.” The faintest dusting of snow began to fall.
It landed on my face, a welcome cool against the scratches the Rook had left behind. And despite the sting on my cheeks, I grinned and grinned and grinned—for oh, yes, Sirmaya had blessed me indeed. A map and an Airwitch. I would reach my Sisters soon.
“Then let’s go, Captain.” I spread my arms wide. “Assuming you feel up to it, I’ve found a way out, and there’s no time to waste.”
“You mean you’re bringing me with you?” The snow stopped in a heartbeat.
“Of course.” I whirled around before I had to see his terrifying grin, and aiming for the stairs, I fastened the healer kit to my belt.
“I knew it!” Captain called after me.
I couldn’t help it. I paused at the bottom step and glanced back. “What did you know?”
And there it was: his smile. Although … it didn’t bother me as much this time.
“Admit it, Ryber Fortiza,” he declared with a twirling hand. “You do think I’m charming.”