Galen shivered and hugged his knees to his chest. He was naked, huddled as close to the fire as he could get without burning, while his soggy clothes hung from a makeshift drying rack nearby.
The stranger was naked, too; but unlike Galen, he seemed uninhibited by his nudity, and went about gathering fuel and building the drying rack as if it were business as usual.
Galen kept his eyes on the flickering flames, and struggled to stay awake.
He failed, and startled at a touch, the stranger's hand hot as fire on his chilled skin.
"Are you unwell?" he asked. "You ought to be warming up by now but you're cold as ice."
Galen shrugged off the hand. "I'm fine," he said, hunching in on himself defensively. "My house burned down, my father is in jail, a whole town wants to kill me, I've been kidnapped, shot at, and almost drowned. But yes, I'm fine."
The stranger breathed a laugh. "I'm glad to see your spirit is intact, regardless. My name is Sevhalim, if you did not remember it, but most who know me call me Sev. I regret the way things have unfolded; if I had only played a cooler hand at your father's house, we might be safe at sea by now."
He looked up as the distant baying of hounds reached them on the crisp, pre-dawn air, carrying over from the river's far shore.
"We can't stay here long," he said. "There've been boats on the river already, and while I don't know if we are the hunter's quarry, I would not bet against it—especially with the send off we got from your friend."
Galen rested his forehead on his folded arms and shut his eyes. "Darek's not my friend."
Sev snorted. "No; that much is obvious, now. But that is what he led us to believe. We met him first at the town gates. It seemed we might not gain entry at all, given the unwelcoming atmosphere, but when we asked after you he was most obliging. Led us right to your father's house."
"No wonder you found me so quickly."
"Indeed. For a brief moment, I thought this would be easy; then our luck ran out and it's been hell since. After your father began hurling furniture and expelled us from his house, the townsfolk drove us back to our ship. From there, I sent word of a reward for information, and Darek offered his services again. By letter, he told us to wait at night near the large drain, claiming he could convince you to meet us there. I take it he did not 'convince' you with words?"
Galen didn't answer, and hugged his knees to his chest as he shivered again. He knew he should hate Darek for what he'd done, but at the moment his heart and mind felt as numb as the rest of him.
He'd started to drift again when Sev's hand settled on his brow. The heat of his touch felt so good that Galen leaned into it reflexively.
"This chill isn't natural," Sev said quietly. "You must tell me if you are injured in some way. I'm no medic, but I have a small talent for healing."
Galen meant to laugh, but it came out a sigh. "So do I, apparently."
Sev's hand moved from his brow to the back of his neck, and more shivers shook Galen's shoulders.
"What do you mean?" Sev asked.
"My friend was hurt," he whispered, keeping his eyes shut. "Harrald said I'd done it before, though I don't remember. And with everyone saying I had magic... I had to try."
"And you succeeded?" The other man's tone was quiet, almost careful, though laden with curiosity.
"Yes."
"Then you are p'yrha," Sev muttered. "You must be."
Galen shook his head, though the motion was so slight it might have gone unnoticed. "I don't know what that means."
Sev settled at Galen's side and began rubbing a hand up and down his back, warming him with friction. His palm was slightly rough and calloused, and Galen bit back an embarrassing sound as exquisite heat sank into his skin.
"As I attempted to explain at your father's house," Sev said, "p'yrha are born to high priestesses of Pyrr, conceived through sacred communion with the god himself, supposedly. Only a single p'yhra has ever existed at one time, and their purpose is to restore and maintain the balance of magic in the world. During the Great Purge, the temple of Pyrr was razed and most of his acolytes slain. Those who survived fled to Jana Val and joined the Order—the surviving remnants of the ancient schools of magic from across the empire. No p'hyra has been born since, and some believe this is because one still lives. When I saw your pendant and your appearance, I wondered if I had found him."
Galen lifted a hand and grasped the pendant, which was the only thing he wore. He'd once believed it brought him luck, but all it had brought him was trouble. Then again, the quakes would have visited Dern regardless, and if not for the strangers and Darek's treachery, he might be hanging from the town gallows right now.
"So you're one of them?" he asked. "This 'Order?'"
"I'm what they call a 'Hand,'" Sev answered. "The Masters of the Order are scholars and priests, reclusive and removed from the wider world. When they want something done beyond the walls of Jana Val, they use their 'Hands.'"
"What will they do with me?"
The hand that still rubbed warmth into Galen's back gentled a little. "Train you, probably," Sev said, though he sounded unsure.
"What if I don't want to go?" Galen asked in a whisper.
The hand stilled, and the warmth retreated.
Sev hesitated, then said, "It is my duty to bring you there."
"Then I guess we understand each other," Galen murmured, and said nothing more.
After a moment, Sev patted his shoulder and got to his feet.
"I'm going to gather more fuel," he said. "Our clothes are nearly dry."
-✵-
An hour later, the sun had risen, and they were clothed once more. The chill had retreated from Galen's body, though the bone-deep weariness remained. He felt sick and dizzy when he tried to move, and stayed seated by the fire, which Sevhalim fed with small branches that burned fast and hot.
Occasionally, they heard the baying of hounds, but the sounds came from the other shore, and Sev had not pressed Galen to move, just yet.
When a whistle like the call of a bird came through the trees, Sev stilled and listened. It came again, with a slight variation, and Sev's shoulders slumped with relief. He rose and mimicked the whistling call, and moments later four figures—a woman and three men— emerged from the trees.
"Thank the gods," Sev said, greeting them each with a clasp of hands and a quick embrace. "I feared I'd lost you all."
"No such luck." The woman grinned, but she wore a bloodied bandage about her brow, and each other others sported some sign of injury as well. She glanced past Sev to Galen and nodded. "And you've got what we came for after all, I see. Good work."
Sev shot her a look as the others came to gather at the fire. They carried cloths sacks, which seemed to be loaded with provisions, and within moments passed around rough wooden plates loaded with food. Sev handed one to Galen, who took it uncertainly. It contained a peice of rustic bread, a slice of cheese, a hard-boiled egg, and an apple.
"All stolen, I presume?" Sev commented around a bite.
The woman rolled her eyes. "Obviously."
"And the ship?"
"Lost, along with everything on it." This was said by a lean man with wiry blond curls and a beard. His hands looked strong and calloused, as if accustomed to hard work. "Water's not deep where it sank; we could dive the wreck, but we'd be shot on sight, and the townsfolk are picking it clean, already."
He extended a hand towards Galen.
"I'm Oberik, by the way, but everyone calls me Obi."
Awkwardly, Galen shook his hand. "Galen. But you know that."
Obi winked. "That we do, but I don't expect you to remember ours. That's Rea." He pointed at the woman with the military posture, who was busy binding her hair into a tight braid. "And that's Iksthanis."
The large, muscular man at Galen's right nodded. He was bald-headed and had dark skin for a Sakkaran. From his jewel-blue eyes, Galen wondered if he had some Naqqiri blood.
"Iksy, to my friends," he said, in a deep, resonant voice.
"I'm Zenir," said the last man, who was more slender than the others. He had wavy auburn hair, a prominent nose, and a gentle-looking mouth. He moved his head when the others spoke, but never looked directly at them, and after a moment Galen realized he was blind.
"Zen's a poet," Obi said, "and he's got a gift for song, but his second sight is why we bring him along."
Zenir smiled. "My sight failed us this time, I fear," he said. "Perhaps I'm losing that as well." Turning in Galen's direction, he said. "My gift is minimal and requires interpretation; more often than not, I'm wrong."
"But when you're right, you save our skins," Obi countered. "And in the meantime, your songs aren't bad—even earned us a free meal, once or twice."
"Speaking of," Iksy broke in, "we've no money and no ship. Worse, there's bounties out for all of us, and word has likely spread up and down the river by now. Who did you piss off, Sevhalim?"
"The wrong person, apparently," Sev said, glancing at Galen. "Does our 'friend,' Darek, have such influence?"
Galen winced. "His father is Captain of the Guard."
"Wonderful," Rea huffed. "I told you it was a bad idea to offer a reward. Money greases wheels, but it brings the sharks like blood in water. How are we supposed to get home now? Piracy?"
Sev rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "No. We'll go by land. Straight west, through the Wild Green and over the mountains into Sakkara, then up to Tal P'Nir. From there, we can take horses to Jana Val."
There was silence for a moment, then Obi spoke. "Zen? Anything?"
Zenir gazed upwards towards the bright morning sky, though he did not see it. He shook his head. "Nothing. But it feels better than the alternative. I've a feeling we'll hit trouble if we try the river."
"Good enough for me," Obi said.
"It's late to cross the mountains," Rea commented. "A few more weeks and the passes will be snowed in. And the Wild has dangers of its own."
"You're all free to go your own ways," said Sev, "but I'm going by land."
"Then so are we," Iksy said, and that seemed to settled it.
Galen admired their loyalty, and wondered what he might have said himself, if he'd had a choice.
With their meal finished, the others re-packed their things, and Sev extinguished the fire and erased all trace of it.
"We won't be going far today," he said, helping Galen to his feet. "Just a few miles into the woods. We'll find a well-concealed spot we can rest until nightfall. Then we can cross the farmlands after dark. Once we reach the Wild, I doubt anyone will dare to follow us."
A troubled look crossed Zenir's face, but he said nothing.
"Is he hurt?" Obi asked, as Sev slipped an arm around Galen's back, taking some of his weight.
Sev shook his head. "Mage-sickness. It will pass."
"Mage... Then he's...?"
"The p'yhra. I'm certain of it now."
The others expressed excited surprise, and asked many questions as they walked slowly through the brightening woods, but Galen noted that Sevhalim had not sounded particularly happy, at all.