Unto Dust

006.

When they touched down, Fiona collapsed in a heap, the very breath driven out of her. It felt as though her lungs were being crushed. Her fingernails dug into the tender skin at her neck as she struggled to take a deep breath. She had little else to blame other than her own stupidity. Inhalation before transportation and exhalation after touch-down were two basic elements of magicked transportation. The precautions she had taken with binding her name to the creek in Gead were whisked into a small corner of her mind as her body convulsed with the need for oxygen.

Her eyes met Orithin's, who appeared mildly concerned at her distress.

"I am out of magic, but do you need help?"

Her head bobbed up and down. The edges of her visual field were growing dark.

He sank down next to her, his cloak billowing behind him like dark clouds. With one hand, he cradled the back of her head and gently but firmly led her to the ground, until she lay flat on her back. He tilted back her chin and pinched her nose closed.

With nary a moment's hesitation, he bent down, sealing his mouth over hers, and blew a gust of dearly needed oxygen down into her lungs. He repeated twice, then thrice util she was able to breathe again unassisted. She lay there, gasping, as the darkness at the edge of her vision faded away.

As she righted herself into a sitting position, a wave of nausea floated up from the pit of her stomach. Her mouth went dry, then flooded with saliva.

Orithin, correctly interpreting the expression on her face, pointed to a nearby bush. She was able to crawl there on all fours, then ejected the contents of her breakfast from her stomach.

---

Fiona stared into the mug of harv tea. The herbs would settle her stomach. It had been an act of medical urgency, she had to remind herself. She knew she should thank him but all that she could think about was revulsion. Underlying the disgust was a sliver of embarrassment. What a way to show the first friendly (she hoped) mage she'd come across in ages her magical prowess.

"I did not think it would surprise you so," Orithin said. He looked appropriately somber but a tiny smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "I was rapidly losing magic and traveling down into subterranean soil requires strong concentration. And if you are not used to the distance, the vertigo it triggers is worse than usual. My greatest apologies."

Fiona took a sip of the tea, saying nothing. She did not know who to assign blame to. Him for surprising her, or herself for being surprised? "What do you mean by 'losing magic'?" she asked at last. "I don't entirely believe that is possible. To lose magic."

"It is more a manner of speaking. At the sentencing---when I was made a Wanderer---my magic was sealed away. The folkway returned it to me but not in its entirety. I have certain limitations, mostly concerning duration. I will regain control within the hour. As you might imagine, it is quite bothersome."

She nodded without truly understanding. There was a part of her that did not wholly believe him. It seemed a convenient inconvenience, to 'lose' magic when he did.

She cast her eyes about Orithin's place. There was something haunting but quaint about this house built underground. No sunlight reached to such depths. The house was perched in the center of a dark body of water---obeying Silence and Water. Perhaps house was a misleading description. Orithin lived in a stone tower---cylindrical, extending straight into the ceiling of the cave. This completed the third principle. For how strange it looked, Orithin's place was perfectly aligned with the three Cardinal principles. Any spell cast here would be complete and thereby more powerful.