COP S1.6 Don’t Drink the Water
At this point, if she ever ended back in the town, she might skip being sick and die immediately. Just from fear.
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Previously on…
In the morning, Lyn bought supplies and decided she and Steffan would ride out of town rather than going by ship. She manages to bribe her way through the changes and get Steffan to agree, though the woman is anxious to leave by any means before she falls ill or dies. They both leave, Lyn riding Spiri through the rain to catch up to a frantic Steffan.
We were well outside Kenuport when we caught up with Steffan. She’d pushed the horse hard, much harder than she needed to. I guess my bintinn scared her more than I’d thought. At this point, if she ever ended back in the town, she might skip being sick and die immediately. Just from fear.
She still rode the animal, trudging along the stone road at a snail’s pace. I pulled up beside her. “Let’s take a break, eh? There’s a set of ruins a few minutes ahead.”
“How about you stop telling me what to do?” She urged the horse to move ahead faster.
It refused.
I stifled a laugh. “I can be a bit much sometimes. How about I ease up on telling you what to do and you give that poor horse a break at the ruins? But only if you want to.” I looked away, like I couldn’t care less whether she agreed or not.
I’d passed by the ruins on my way to Kenuport. There had been no need to stop then, but I had noticed how the road curved away from the piles of rubble.
We rode on in silence, but when the crumbled stone walls appeared off to the left, she turned down a path leading toward what might once have been a gate. The path was clear, but disused. Weeds grew through the spaces between cobbles, waving in the light breeze. We continued on, passing the remnants of outer walls and smaller buildings into an open courtyard.
The rain had already passed through the area, but I heard a soft tinkling of water in front of us. Steffan’s horse must have heard it too as it trudged a little faster.
I followed until Spiri stopped.
The hair on my neck stood up.
We were right outside what was left of two massive walls made of black stone, a topless archway between them. Steffan had already gone through and out of sight. I backed Spiri up a few paces and the sensation went away. Going forward again, Spiri stopped in the same place.
Some kind of magic still existed, probably residual from whatever the building used to be. And it was strong. Usually, I can sense anything that powerful from quite a ways away. This popped out of nowhere. I closed my eyes and tried to sense what I could about it.
All magic has patterns. They vary by individual and by type. Before I was cast out, I’d studied them in secret. Since then, though, I’d managed to learn from everything around me. Plus, I’d lucked out in meeting Sientin. He’d given me access to the Agarty library in exchange for doing jobs for him. That’s how I got my start. It turned out I had a talent for pattern recognition. Even when someone tried to mask their magic, I could see their pattern. The Lahmand Force even tried recruiting me. It was hard turning down the steady work, but I liked my freedom too much. It hadn’t been long before that when they were imprisoning magic users rather than using them to solve crimes.
I didn’t recognize the pattern of magic coming from the building. Nothing about it was familiar. Unknown didn’t mean bad. In fact, it was exciting. Sientin was always rambling on about his theories on the origin of magic and his desire to find the historical source, hoping to understand its evolution.
I leaned forward and whispered in Spiri’s ear. “What do you see, girl?”
She scraped her hoof on the cobbles and shook her head. Sometimes I could catch a sense of what she was seeing or thinking. This time all I could see was that it was making her nervous.
“I’m sure it’s ok. Just a little old magic—”
Steffan screamed.
Spiri reared and turned away from the sound. “Whoa!” I rode her a short distance away until I felt her calm down. “Wait here.” I rubbed her neck, trying to assure her all was well.
Leaving her behind wasn’t my preference, but we’d been together long enough that I knew when to respect her instincts. Sensitive didn’t mean weak. Her fighting spirit meant that this magic must be really bad. And I was a fool for going after Steffan. But she was here, at least in part, because of my doing, and I felt responsible for her.
I extended my staff and ran to the fallen archway. Beyond it was a courtyard with bits of collapsed walls scattered around where they had fallen and shattered. A pristine fountain of white marble bubbled at the center.
Steffan lay prone in front of it, her flask on the ground next to her hand.
Don’t drink the water. Maybe don’t even touch the water.
The magic emanating from the fountain was strong, unsettling. Mostly because it was something new to me, but also because of the pressure behind it. It was like something wanted out, to burst through the water and into our world. The pattern appeared to me something like a cityscape, the way Pela appears when you top the mountain pass. It had tall and short bits, but mostly it seemed to go on, as if the city it resembled continued into the depths of the earth. I felt myself falling into it, pulled by its power. Its mystery.
I blinked.
My hand hovered over the water, about to scoop up a refreshing drink. I didn’t remember walking across the courtyard to the fountain. A wave of vertigo took over, like I’d just been pulled up from a deep hole. Then the magic swept away, as if the tide had shifted out to sea.
It left a mark though, something that lingered, then faded. I recognized it, then shoved it down with all the other memories I’d been trying to ignore until I was far enough away.
I dropped next to Steffan, fearing the worst. She still breathed, but she was cold, her lips blue. Healing magic was one of the few things I’d found I was terrible at. Well, healing other people, at least. At best, nothing happened. At worst…I hadn’t killed anyone yet.
She needed a proper healer. A local one who would probably know about the fountain.
Through a break in the wall, I saw her horse grazing in the field outside the ruins, somehow it must’ve sensed the magic too and run away. I hesitated to get it. Though the magic was gone now, perhaps entering and leaving the space triggered it. Or perhaps it would come back in time. I couldn’t stand there debating with myself, wasting time I didn’t know if I even had.
I scanned Steffan for residual magic. She seemed clear, except for her face. The pattern there shifted, blurred and changed. It seemed she’d be safe enough to pick up provided I avoided her face, just it case it would spread.
The pattern on the flask wouldn’t settle down either. Whatever remained on or in it made me uncomfortable, like standing at the edge of a cliff and leaning over to see the bottom. I tapped my staff, and a hook appeared at one end. The chain that held the cap to the base of the flask proved easy enough to grab. The hook retracted just enough to hold it firm.
There was no way carrying Steffan wouldn’t be awkward, especially having to hold the staff too. But I got both outside the black wall.
Then it hit me. Or I should say it left me.
Steffan felt lighter. I felt stronger. Free.
I rushed another dozen steps, then put Steffan down and called Spiri, who coerced Steffan’s horse over too. I dropped the flask into a bag I kept especially for cursed items, then packed it on Spiri so that the bag didn’t touch her or me. One could never be too careful with curses. Then, after a few protests, I slung her over the horse and rode us both away.
***
After an hour of riding, Steffan’s lips had turned a dark shade of purple. The first town we came to, Hofton, didn’t inspire much hope for a cure. A small collection of hovels, it was hard to even call it a town. I could only hope that being so close to the ruins, they’d have some idea of how to help.
A gangly youth sprinted out from the first house. His bright eyes met mine, and I stopped. “‘Ave a horse to return to Feogin Stables?” He shifted his gaze to Steffan’s horse. “I’ll fres’en ‘er up good for a ‘alf gull. Master Hartar will charge ya two for wearing ‘er down.” He stepped around me to grab the horse’s reins, but pulled his hand back and gasped when he saw Steffan’s face.
“Have you seen anything like that before?”
“N-no.” His head shook so vigorously I thought he would scramble his brains. After a moment, he bounded back towards the house.
“Wait!”
He didn’t.
The door slammed, shaking the whole building.
“I need a healer,” I screamed at the top of my lungs, hoping someone would come.
The door to the boy’s house cracked open and a plump woman squeezed her way out. She pressed herself against the door, still ajar, as if the ground between us was on fire. The boy’s face was visible above her short frame.
“No one ‘ere can ‘elp you. She’s been touched by a frust demon. Best say your goodbyes.” She lowered her eyes and shuffled back into the house. The thud of a heavy door bolt ended the conversation.
The few other people who’d come out to see the ruckus retreated inside. I couldn’t hear them, but I was sure their bolts were firmly in place, too.
Yiat was still another few hours away. I wasn’t ready to say my goodbyes. We’d barely even met, and I still didn’t know who she really was. I had no choice but to ride as fast as I could.
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