Sevhalim sat a little apart, watching the others talk and eat.
Another day had passed. They had slept late, enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, swam or fished in the lake, and packed up camp around noon. After a few hours easy walk through meadows and light forests, up dusty granite slopes, and into a broad vale dotted with small glacial meres, they halted again in a little hollow at the base of a hill.
Over a bright, merry fire, they boiled noodles seasoned with spices and roasted vegetables and the fish they had caught in the coals beneath.
Everyone had, more or less, recovered from their ordeal in the pines.
Zenír remained quiet, but he was calm and wore an expression of peace, and he ate and drank with the others. For the moment, his 'faith' served him well, though Sev worried what would happen when reality set in. He had spent much of the day searching his mind for ways Iksthanis might have survived the fall and the rapids beneath, but he could not see one.
Meanwhile, Galen remained his primary concern. The boy and his friends had proven far more resilient than he had expected—especially the girl, Triss. She would have made a worthy Hand, had that been her fate. As it was, her bow had done as much as Rea's to keep them safe, and her heart was strong.
Likewise, the other boy, Behn, had struck Sev as soft and ill-suited for life on the trail, but he had proven his mettle. He was no warrior, certainly, but he had good spirits and kept the others' spirits up in turn, and that was worth more than weapons in dark times.
Rea was steadfast and focused, and would be fine as long as she had something to do, while Obi had a softer heart but a level head.
As for himself, he was not concerned. He had only been forced to use the Hand once, against the boar that had taken them unawares, and the effects had been limited. He'd been ready to unleash himself against the barrowlings, but Iksthanis had spared him that choice. Still, he feared that—sooner or later—he would be pushed into using the Hand again. When that happened, he hoped his companions would not pay the price, and that Rea's aim would be true.
They had made a pact, long ago: whichever of them fell first to the Hand, the other would carry out the duty of a friend. He had been lucky, so far, but even the best luck runs out, eventually; he had witnessed it.
Putting such thoughts aside, he refocused on the present as Galen approached and handed him a bowl of noodles topped with vegetables and fish.
"Are you well?" Galen asked.
"Yes, thank you." He smiled. The boy had warmed to him in the last day or so, though he was not sure why. Perhaps a reaction to the sorrow of a shared tragedy.
Galen settled at his side. "I'm worried for Obi," he said.
"Obi?" Sev was surprised.
"He's hiding it well, but he's in pain. The bite on his hand is infected."
Sev looked to where Obi sat, talking with Behn as he ate, and saw him wince as he adjusted his hold on his bowl.
"I've seen a few herbs that might help," Galen continued, "and a few places to look for more. Will you allow it?"
"Allow?"
Galen flushed slightly. "Will you come with me, I mean."
"Ah. Of course." Sev hesitated and ate a few bites of food before he spoke again. "You're not my prisoner, you know; you may do as you please."
"Except go home, or wander off on my own, or decide I don't want to go to Jana Val," Galen said.
Sev laughed lightly. "Point taken. But in all other regards, consider me your servant, not your jailor."
Galen looked away, and when he spoke his voice was soft. "I'd rather you were neither."
A coolness clouded Sev's heart, but he was not surprised; he could hardly expect the boy to like him after what he'd put him through. "I am sorry for the circumstances, Galen," he said. "You don't deserve—"
"I'd rather we were friends," Galen finished, surprising him. "I understand your duty; I've come to see it is mine as well. It seems trouble follows me—seeks me, even. I'm a danger to those around me, yet I know my friends won't leave my side. I will do all I can to keep them safe."
Sev nodded. He understood the feeling well enough, and from whence it sprung.
"You noticed, too; those barrowlings did not act naturally."
"I don't know what is natural for barrowlings," Galen replied, "but it made little sense for so many to swarm, in daylight, for so small and dangerous a prize. We must have killed two or three dozen of them—many times our number if they had managed to take us all—and yet they would not break off their pursuit."
"Indeed," Sev agreed. "They were drawn by more than the promise of a fresh meal. They were drawn to you."
Galen shivered. "Will they still follow us, do you think?"
Sev shook his head. "We are beyond their territory; if any had followed, we would know it by now. Here," he set his bowl aside and stood, offering Galen his hand. "If you want to look for herbs, we'd best go while there is still light to see by."
They made their way off among the trees, and Sev kept guard while Galen let his feet lead them where they would. He watched as the boy wandered from place to place, seemingly at random, picking leaves, flowers, and tender mosses, and even peeling strips of bark from young trees.
"You are well-versed in herb-lore," Sev remarked, as Galen washed a tapered root clean in the waters of a small stream. "From whom did you learn?"
Galen shrugged and gestured at the woods. "I didn't learn. I just know."
Sev's brows lifted. "How?"
Galen considered. "The plants...tell me, I guess. I can see their natures, in a way—whether they will help or harm, and what uses they may have." He rubbed the center of his chest and held up the root. "This one, for example, is good for the heart."
"Can you 'see' into other things, or just plants?"
"Animals, and people, a little bit," Galen admitted, almost shyly, as if it were something he didn't often share. "People are much more complex than plants, of course—they don't just have one nature. They may be kind in one circumstance, cruel in another; 'help' and 'harm' become subjective. But... overall, I have a sense of what lies within."
"What do you see in me?" Sev asked curiously.
Galen looked at him, head tilted a little to the side. "You're...different. You, and Rea. She's difficult to read—like a closed door. You're...hollow."
"Hollow," Sev echoed, and smiled ruefully. That was about right; it wasn't as if he had a proper soul, anymore. He decided he was sorry he had asked.
"Come on; let's get back."
He turned and led the way through the trees.
Behind him, he heard Galen whisper, as if to himself, perhaps thinking Sev could not hear.
"Hollow, and filled with fire; darkness, and light."
Sev shivered; perhaps it were best the boy not look too closely, after all.
- ✵ -
In the morning, Obi's hand had grown swollen and red. Rea swore as she helped Galen unwrap the bandages, apply a fresh herbal poultice, and wrap it once more.
"Barrowling scum. Who knows what shit they've got between their teeth—if not literal shit."
"It's another way they hunt," Sev said. "Ambush, bite, retreat. Wait for the prey to fall ill and grow weak. Then feast at leisure."
Obi shuddered. "Great. That's nice, Sev. Thanks."
They walked throughout the day, aimed towards the mountain pass. Obi kept up, but by evening he could no longer hide the fact he was unwell.
Galen frowned as he inspected the bite, cleansing it with a tea-like wash. When he finished, he rose and pulled Sev aside.
"I'd like to try healing him," he said. "The poultice isn't working as it should, and if the infection gets worse it could spread to his blood."
Sev hesitated and looked westward towards the slopes of the mountains, looming large and near. "What if the mage-sickness takes you again? We can't afford much more delay," he said. "The weather has held so far, but it can change in a day."
"And what if Obi gets worse?" Galen challenged. "Will you leave him behind?"
"Of course not."
"I don't believe you."
Sev flinched. Was it because of what he'd seen inside him? Or what he hadn't seen?
"All right; you can try."
Galen nodded and returned to where Obi sat, resting with a blanket draped over him. He spoke, soft and low, and then settled at his side.
Sev watched with the others as the boy slipped into the meditative state they had practiced together, and felt a surge of pride and wonder as the green glow of his magic flickered like soft flames in the palms of his hands. He placed his hands over Obi's wound and released a slow, steady breath. The green fire sank into the other man's skin, and Obi gasped softly in wonder as the punctures in his flesh sealed shut.
Galen released him and took several short shallow breaths as the green fire flared bright beneath his bronze-toned skin before fading once more; a light sinking beneath waves within. Finally, he opened his eyes, and—looking tired but otherwise unaffected—gave Sev a triumphant smile.
Sev helped him to his feet, and was about to congratulate him on a successful use of magic, when a distant noise distracted him. He paused, listening.
A few seconds later, the others heard it too.
"What is that?" Behn asked. "Water?"
The faint rushing sound grew steadily louder, increasing to a roar. Sev looked up and saw the tops of the trees tossing fitfully.
"No," he said. "It's wind."
"Sev?" Rea said, pointing upward. "This isn't natural."
The sky darkened rapidly, the air cooled, and something white drifted past Sev's eyes.
Snow.
"Fuck," he swore.
They were at the feet of the mountains; blizzards could hit this early in the year, and they could hit fast. But Rea was right—this change was too sudden. Had Galen's use of magic affected the balance somehow? Was this an attack? Or was it something else entirely?
There was no time to puzzle it out now; the last thing they needed was to get stranded in a snowstorm at night.
"Everyone up!" he yelled, shouting over the wind that now ripped and roared through the branches overhead. "Grab your things! Rea, help Obi and Zenír. Triss, stick with Behn. I've got Galen. We need to find shelter, fast!"