The Thief of Life and Colour (18)

I reached for the Art, and nothing came. There was no magic.

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The cold water seeped into my clothing, jolting my awareness. Soaked and shivering, I knew I needed shelter, but I could see very little through the low cloud — jagged stones, no trees at all, and no obvious place to wait out the storm. 

I reached for the Art, and nothing came. There was no magic. I was within the boundary of another Folly.

I screamed my rage into the storm, and the storm didn't care at all. 

Judging the wind, and the direction of the rain, I chose a boulder to huddle behind. It was hardly a shelter, but it blocked some of the wind's force, and some of the rain. 

The finest curses came to my lips, and warmed me in a way that fire could never have done. I would rather have had a cave and a fire, but I had my wrath.

The Fairie had nursed me back to health to fulfil his obligation to me, but then made sure I ended up in another Folly, safely out of the way. Zhalghumi meant me to perish here, along with whatever knowledge I'd gleaned from him, and I refused to give him the satisfaction.

Events played through my mind, over and over, in a way that I couldn't control. The escape. The pain. The draught of Fairie nectar. The voice ringing in my head without echo. Over and over, round and round, like swinging a bucket on a rope. 

I became aware that the wind had died down, the rain had stopped, and there was a little more light. I came to my senses, and looked around. My boulder sat in the middle of a valley, and three rocky peaks stood around me. I scrambled from my little nest, and hurried in the direction of the wind, and towards one particular rocky slope. The air was still thick with moisture and cloud, and I knew the storm was not over, that this was only a fleeting lull. I needed to make the most of it.

The upwind rock face had shadows, and that meant crevices, at least, and perhaps a cave. I stumbled past lichen-stained rocks, and around puddles and pools, tripping many times over little stones strewn across the uneven landscape. 

The rain returned before I reached any crevice, and the misty cloud drew close again. I pushed on, my attention on a certain shadow that seemed to hold the most appeal. I could still see it through the thickening gloom. 

The rain gathered force, the wind whipping it in my eyes, and I finally reached the rock face. A few more steps, and I was sheltered from the whole of the rain and most of the wind. My body shuddered at the cold, the ache of it in my bones. I huddled on uneven ground against the cold stone, and pulled my knees to me. I put my tunic over my head, breathing into the tiny tent-like enclosure it made, and the warmth of my breath seemed to soak back into me. 

My spirits lifted a little, and I reached out for my Arts once more, grasping, grappling for anything at all. There was nothing. I sagged in despair, and slow wracking sobs consumed me.

I awoke from a dream I already couldn't remember, and my stomach growled like some wild, untamed creature. The storm roared and rattled across the mountains and this rocky valley.

Out of pure desperation, I reached for my Art again, and pushed and pulled against my mind's corners, trying to gain some toehold onto magic. It just wasn't there. Not the slightest wisp of ether.

A new fear struck me as I looked at my white hair hanging before my eyes. Perhaps Zhalghumi had sucked the Art right out of me. Perhaps this was no Folly after all, and I was simply drained of any magic. And perhaps it would never come back. 

All I knew of Zhalghumi's forbidden magick was from folk tales, except for my own experience. The magick takes the most vital parts of a living being and consumes them in a flurry, a flourish, of energy. The danger, in folklore, is taking too much. Zhalghumi must have used up almost all of the energy within me. He must have almost extinguished me completely. 

If I could have farsended in that moment I would have connected to the Lanstone and gone home to Azillan, to face the anger or disappointment of my brother, but also to seek his forgiveness and forbearance, along with the safety and comforts of home. It shames me to admit it.

Instead, I cowered in my cold corner, for a day and a night, while the storm raged around me, and a different storm whirled within me.

Continue reading with Part 19.