Howl's Moving Castle Fan Fiction ❯ The Kindred Cycle ❯ Chapter 2 ( Chapter 2 )

Falling.

Falling into nothing.

Spinning so swiftly he couldn't think. Couldn't breath. Everything was every which way at once. And he was empty. Until he broke through the clouds. A moment of clarity struck him as the mountains resolved out of the storm. The great toothy points of granite and ice that grew larger with every passing second as the shrieking wind tore at his face, yanking his hair, ripping at his clothes, pulling him down. Down. And quietly he watched oblivion rush up to meet him.

Until something dropped past him like a stone.

In the waning light he watched it paused beneath him.

Nalir saw her then. Her hair caught up like a pennant of fire.

Theresa rolled over onto her back, looking right up at him.

Effortlessly riding the air as though she was flying.

But she wasn't flying.

She was falling.

Just like him.

Throwing out her arms and legs, the wind caught her, hurled her up to meet him, like the distant earth waiting for him below. She grabbed as they collided; catching his arm, struggling to pull him to her as the wind buffeted and bucked them apart.

“Hold on!” She screamed, scrambling with something at her waist.

A tickle of magic shivered through Nalir as Theresa pulled a long garden hoe from her pocket. They stabilized the moment she threw her leg over the pole. He followed suit, arms wrapped around her middle as she yanked up on the handle with all her might. But still they dropped. The slopes of the mountains suddenly pushing back the sky as they lifted around them.

“We're going to fast!” Theresa yelled in dismay, “I can't stop!”

Nalir grabbed the post and pulled with her.

Letting his will uncurl through his hands.

Magic flowed through him in bright vines of light.

But there were no longer falling.

Curving instead.

And the insides of his chest pressed inward dizzyingly as the sky seemed the crush down from above.

“That's it! Keep doing whatever you're doing!”

Theresa was leaning low over the haft of the garden hoe, skillfully navigating the punches of wing that crashed off the dangerous flats of the mountains below. His heart sank as they missed the nearest plateau, tipping over the edge. Herbalist's Apprentice kicked off a cliff face that tore up beside them, pushing them away from the jagged arms of stone.

A sea of white waited at the bottom of the chasm.

And they dropped low, pulling up at the last minute so the ice surged by his feet, following the frozen belly of the canyon. Nalir's heart leapt into his mouth as the ground hovered so close. Although it jolted back into a free fall of fear as Theresa put out her feet, skiing the ice with her heavy boots, trying to slow even more. Because they were still going much to fast.

She screamed as her toe caught something in the drifts.

They flipped, swatted to the ground, tossed from the hoe.

The world went white as he collided with terra firma.

Slowly, Nalir realized he was staring at the darkening sky. Boiling clouds surged over the edges of the canyon above. Bitter cold bit at him from behind. But he lay there motionless, half buried in snow, afraid to move. Because the world still seemed to rush by and Nalir was afraid he was still falling.

“Nalir!?” Theresa gasped anxiously. Dusting him with snow as she bent over him. Now that her hat was gone her hair returned to its wild state. It invaded his face, ticking his nose.

“A-are y-you alright-t-t?” He managed to stammer, attempting to upright himself. But he gasped as waves of pain rocked through his skull.

“No, no. Stay still.” Something was moved against his scalp and it wasn't her gentle hands. “I think you hit your head on something.”

“I think it was a mountain.” Nalir pointed blindly, “That one.”

“Goose.” She managed a weak smile; put his hand back to his chest, “Can you feel your feet, Nalir?”

“I can't feel anything right now. I'm still spinning.”

Fear pinched her face, wild in her eyes. Her hands closed on his insistently, “This is important, Nalir! Can you move your feet!?”

“Of course I can.” He wheezed irritably, folding up his knees as proof.

“Thank the Gods.” Theresa dropped her head onto his chest, points of hot wetness burning the bare skin of his freezing hands.

He sat up then, putting his arms around her. And she burrowed into him, her arms tightening around his waist as though she was afraid she'd be torn away. But a sound called his eyes back to the sky. Something loud enough to be heard above the wind. A petulant whine that grew louder and louder, until the air itself was vibrating with its passing. Theresa lifted her head, falling stock still as the snow clouds over the head of the canyon suddenly went dark. Something passed through the mists, mirroring the sky incandescent with yellow orange fire.

“No…” Theresa was on her feet, waving as if she could direct them to safety, “No! NO!”

But the shape plummeted onward, screaming as it arched by. And the canyon rocked as the dying airship collided with something in the distance. Red blossomed up, dissolving the veiling clouds as a shock wave heaved through the ground.

Nalir screamed as the clouds turned black and heavy with belching smoke.

Bent and clutching at his head.

Because he heard them in their last moments.

Heard them scream in terror and agony.

Felt them die as they winked out.

Theresa caught him as he foundered, holding him upright as he cast about, trying to find a place to put the pain that filled him utterly. But there was nowhere.

“Nalir!”

The panic in her voice tore him away from the horrors in his head. And he only then noticed that the ground was still vibrating. Humming so violently that the frigid kernels of ice were leveling out, filling in where their feet had left impressions. And a wind was roaring down from the north, bringing with it the stink of burning metal. Theresa was pointing. Through the snow he saw the boiling wall of ice as it surged down the mountain slope, pouring over the edges of the canyon.

Coming right at them.

Too high and too fast to escape.

Nalir shoved Theresa behind him just as the wave of ice reared over them, roaring like the daemon above the shielding of the Royal Palace years ago. He'd been helpless then. Shielding magic was not his forte. And because of his weakness he'd almost lost his mother. But that was a long time ago.

And he had been practicing.

Punching his hands up at the avalanche, the Mardan sorcerer snapped a shield into place just as the light blotted out, replaced by the bone grinding snarls of the heaving landslide. The force of it was overwhelming. It crushed him to his knees, wearing away at the edges of his shield.

Pressing in from all sides.

Like the eerie premonition he'd felt in his Mother's hallway.

Still he fought, straining to hold it back.

Even as it drove him down into the snow.

Dragging him backwards.

Slowly burying him in the ground.

It was too much.

Too much to hold back.

He wasn't strong enough.

But he had to be.

Because she was behind him.

Her arms wrapped around his middle.

Pulling every last stitch of strength he could summon, Nalir anchored his magic into the rocks below and shoved back. Not with brute force, but finesse. Smoothing the snow as it coursed by overhead. Willing it to arch by and find the path of least resistance. Things popped inside his head as hot wetness poured from his nose. But it was working. He felt the erosion on the boundaries dwindle as he shifted the shield, letting it become a teardrop rather than a circle. The pressure eased overhead as the roaring of the passing snow quieted.

Growing more distant.

Until it stopped.

Or perhaps he just passed out.

 

***

Theresa was screaming.

And Nalir jolted awake only to find bare stone under his head.

Pitch black greeted his open his eyes.

“We're trapped!” She shrilled madly, in an absolutely panic, “Help! Help!”

“Theresa!?” He grabbed at her as she nearly trampled him, “Theresa, calm down!”

The herbalist's apprentice screamed again, tripping on him, flailing. She punched him right in the face. And Nalir went down as firecrackers sparkled in his eyes. He stayed there as swimming agony sloshed inside his head. It intensified to the point of torture as he gathered up the tiniest splinter of magic, tossing the spark above him.

Icy walls reflected the mage light.

Doming over them like a perfect sheet of opaque glass.

Just enough room to stand.

The shielding must have compacted the snow as it pushed them down all the way to the ground. Lucky for them, otherwise they would have been crushed when he passed out. Theresa was pressed against the far wall, dusted with snow as if she'd rolled in flour. Blinking rapidly as she shielded her eyes from the tiny light. And her blind panic melted.

“Nalir!” And she scrambled to his side, face pinched and pale with disquiet. “You're bleeding!”

He put a shaking hand to his face. It came away sticky.

“That happens…”

She cringed into him as the mage light flickered, grabbing his arm.

“N-no! Don't let it go out!

“Please…” Nalir rasped, “Please don't touch me. Everything hurts.”

“I'm sorry…” She snatched back her hands, holding herself as she shivering convulsively. Her eyes all whites in the gloom, shimmering with terror. “I… I don't like the d-dark!”

It did not bother Nalir so much.

Neither did the close walls of the thought of everything above them.

But then again, this was not the first time he'd been buried alive.

What did bother him was the bitter taste of the air and the labored sounds of Theresa's breathing. And cold understand seeped through him as though the frost had spread.

“Theresa.” He began gently, smoothing his hand over hers, “I need you to calm down. Try to slow your breathing. Take shallow breaths. Otherwise we're going to run out of air very quickly.”

“We're going to die…” She whispered, folding in on herself.

“Were are not going to die!” He snapped. Theresa started; look at him like he'd slapped her. At least he had her attention. “Remember, you've faced much worse than this. Now pull yourself together!”

Anger hardened her gaze as she stilled.

Good.

It was a far better emotion than fear.

She didn't help him as he struggled upright; clenching his teeth against nausea that kicked him in the stomach as his vision swam. Nalir managed to put his hand on the dome wall. It was rock solid. Luck was with them again.

“I need to make an air hole.” He explained shortly as the burn in his chest ignited. Stealing his words as he choked and coughed, “The dome is strong right now... But piercing the walls might compromise that… I… don't know how much snow is above us.”

“Can't you just call for help?”

“We'll suffocate before they come.”

She went as white as the walls, but kept herself in check.

“What can I do?” She whispered earnestly.

“Just stay back.” He pointed at the fat end of the teardrop, “There. That's where it's strongest.”

Theresa folded herself up in the corner, eyeing him nervously.

“Be careful.”

“I am always careful.” Nalir muttered absently

They needed a hole about the size of a Crown. But it had to be in just the right spot. He did the math in his head, calculating the exact center of the dome. Although he was having difficult holding still. Shivers wracked his body, making it more and more impossible not to cough.

Nalir found a rock about the size of the Ingarian coin and put it on the ground directly below the spot. Inside the pebble he planted an ember of magic and ignited it with his will. Theresa gasped as the rock began to glow. The heat condensing under his concentration, growing hotter and hotter until it turned molten, retaining its shape only because he willed it to.

His vision swam dizzily as blood trickled from his nose.

But he had to do this.

Otherwise she would die.

Slamming his hand onto the ground, the molten stone shot off the ground like a bullet from the barrel of a gun. It hissed like a cat at it penetrated the ceiling, and Nalir chased it with his mind, forcing it faster, higher. Steam poured from the tiny hole, filling the dome with warmth. And all at once his ears popped as the pressure changed.

Cold air and a sprinkling of snow filtered down the hole.

“You did it!” Theresa cheered.

But he didn't hear her.

The ground tipped as the gray sparklers returned.

And he fell back into the dark.

***

 

When Nalir work up he was warm.

Well, warmer.

At least no one was screaming.

Lights swam in front of his eyes as he stirred. One light actually. A candle? But arms tightened around him. Willing him to be still. Not that he wanted to move. Every fiber of his body ached. Especially his head.

“Its okay, Nalir. I got you.”

Theresa's voice ticked against his ear. He could hear her heartbeat under his ear. It was swift with the worry that tightened her voice. Although the brass buttons of her jacket prodded at his ribs, he was very comfortable. Then he realized he was curled up against her breast, a soft swell rising and falling beneath his cheek. Somehow he couldn't manage to summon the strength to be mortified.

“Are you alright?” He croaked thru a cough that rattled his whole body.

“That's the second time you've asked me that.” She adjusted the blanket that covered them both

“Why does it smell like an herb closet?”

Sharp green smells were itching his nose, making him want to sneeze.

“It smells like an herb closet because we're in one.”

“What?”

Nalir lifted his head just enough to take in their surrounding, which where definitely not under forty feet of ice. As Theresa said, they were tucked into the corner of a supply closet. The space was about four feet deep, four feet wide, and nine feet tall. A candle was burning on an up-turned box beside them. And the shelves overhead were bulging with blankets, bandages, baskets, bushels, and bottles of every color and shape imaginable. Hoes, rakes, and shovels hung on the opposite wall. A pair of mud boots poked from a large bucket. The heels gaping open like fish at the market. He tried not to look at the delicate objects hanging from clothes lines overhead.

Frowning he wiggled his frozen toes. His feet were wedged against the wooden door. And he could feel the cold streaming under the threshold.

“Where are we?”

“In my pocket lining.” She explained clumsily, “I tore it out of course.”

“Huh?”

“A while back Markl gave me a special pocket Uncle Barimus gave him on his 13th birthday. Technically I'm not supposed to have it because I'm not a Magi. So it stitched it into the lining of my pants to try and hide it.”

“You have an entire closet in your pocket?”

“Wouldn't you?”

Nalir replied by curling in on himself as a dry hack seized him, leaving him dizzy and sick with nausea. All the while Theresa held him, much like Merra had. But this felt entirely different. Her hands were warm. And with the herbalist's apprentice he actually felt safe.

“You fly like a madwoman,” he rasped.

“Well you fall like a stone!” She shot back hotly.

And Nalir let out a weary sigh, trying to pull his smart ass mouth in check. “What I'm trying to say, and botching royally, is thank you.” He repeated it earnestly, “Thank you, Lady Theresa, for saving my life.”

She fidgeted beneath him, as if not quite sure to make of that.

“So, we're even.”

“I haven't saved us yet.”

“You will.” She answered without hesitation, “I have faith in you.”

At least someone did.

It brought a lump into his throat which made him feel exceedingly childish. Hastily he pushed away. But a door had been opened there. Given their current predicament, what was the harm in talking? More and more Nalir was realizing he actually liked talking to Theresa. She was smart and to the point.

“I used to think you hated me.”

“You could say the same in reverse.”

“I never hated you. When I was younger I was absolutely terrified of you. Especially Lady Martha. But I never hated either of you.”

She snorted, making his cheeks burn as her chest rose and fell.

“Well… I did try to take off your head with a garden hoe. I'm not going to say you made it easy for us to like you.”

Nalir managed a wan smile, “I am a bit of an ass, aren't I?”

“You said it.” She was trying not to smile, “Not me.”

“I am trying…” He added diffidently.

“I know. We see it.” Again, she replied without hesitation, “Markl especially, but he spends the most time with you.”

All kinds of peculiar emotions began percolating in Nalir's chest: good and bad. But it was hard to break old habits. And anger came bubbling through at the forefront, making him cough and retch.

“I wish he'd been with you instead of me! You wouldn't be here right now! You'd be safe! Home! Not stuck here buried under feet of snow with a useless magus who can't even fly.”

“Nalir,” She began softly, “I'd be dead right now if it wasn't for you.”

“But I can't get us out of here!” He was shivering violently now, “There's probably good forty or fifty feet of snow piled on us. I can't move all that!”

“And I can't get us out of here either!” She cut him off, holding him tighter as his teeth chattered audibly, “But you can do things I can't. Like call them here to get us. Markl says you can mindspeak all the way to Tyrn. How many Magi can do that?”

“Only me…”

Gods, sometimes he was such an idiot.

With a long slow breath, Nalir opened up his mind, making ready to reach out to Master Barimus. Only to encounter a sea of pain. He gasped and reeled as he fell over against the floor, clutching at his head. Something fell from above as Theresa pawed through the shelves, coming back with a gauze pad.

“You're bleeding again!”

He took the cloth and pinched it over his nose

“I… I can't… I can't hear anything! There's just static inside my head!”

“I'm more worried about you.” She tried to turn his face to her, “Your nose bleeds are becoming more frequent.”

He batted her hands away, grabbing them so he could get her to sit still, “You don't understand, Theresa. I can't hear them! That means I can't call to them. I can't tell them where we are!”

That took a moment to sink in for them both.

And suddenly it was Theresa who was holding his hands.

They were shaking to match the rest of him. But not because of the cold. The Herbalist's Apprentice had gone all white again as well, trying not to let it show, being brave for him. She put the blanket back over his shoulders, settling in beside him.

“They'll find us, Nalir. They have to.”

***

Merra burst into Yewin's office.

She let herself in downstairs too, disarming the alarms without difficulty.

Yewin's gifts were not strong in enchantments.

At his desk the fat bearded Magi looked anything but jolly in his Healer greens. Many compared him to Father Winter. He decked himself in holly and ivy on the Solstice, handing out toys and goodies to the youngest apprentices. But Merra knew the better of his blithe pretenses. Yewin was a snake through and through.

But as it was he was bent over his desk, face in hands. Shoulders knotted up with anxiety. And he looked up in surprise as she barged in. Caught him off guard. Enough so that he had to scramble to shield as she hurled two fist-fulls of fire right at his face.

Sparks exploded through the room,

Burning the furniture, smoldering the rug, and singing the walls.

His chair toppled backwards under the impact.

Sending him ass over feet onto the floor.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?” She screeched.

Surprisingly lithely for a man of his size, Yewin righted just in time to catch her fire, smothering the blaze between his hands before tossing them out. A wall of force slammed her back against the wall, holding her there, pinned like a butterfly. Yewin was a far better offensive sorcerer than she. That she managed to deal even a single blow was astonishing.

“Calm yourself, woman!” He barked, eyes blazing with fury, “The servants will hear!”

“My only son! My Nalir!” She seethed, struggling to free herself, but his will was stronger in spite of the disquiet pinching his round countenance.

“It was not supposed to be him!” He snarled back, finally letting her drop to the floor. Her black skirts pooling around her thin frame. Black for her dead husband. And now perhaps for her son.

And he waved off her pain. “You went along willingly when we first arranged Nalir to become Barimus' successor! And you know as well as I do that he will never choose Nalir as long as the Wallmaker's son is a candidate.”

“Involving the Herbalist's Apprentice was never part of the agreement!”

“How else was I to secure the boy's presence!?” He rounded on her with clenched fists, and his façade cracked, showing an edge of the monster beneath. Merra cringed back against the wall as Yewin stood over her. Nothing but cold and calculating in his eyes. No remorse.

“I never agreed to murder! Politics and intrigue, yes! But never murder!”

He looked on her outburst with open disgust. “All's fair in love and war, my dear Merra.”

“We're not at war, Yewin.” She spat back, “Or have you forgotten!?”

“Quite the contrary, my dear. We are at war. And we're loosing. Every day the authority of the Council is undermined by the common and the monstrous, we're at war. Ingary is a festering wound. It must be lanced before the sickness spreads and consumes us all.”

That zealous light was in his eyes again. Merra shivered before it, turning back to her sorrow. Crying openly. Not caring if Yewin saw.

“My boy… My beautiful boy…”

“There is still a chance they live.” Yewin turned away, grinding out the embers eating at his rug, “Apparently that girl had flight charmed artifact.”

“If he is dead then I will kill you myself.” She hissed, closing her fists as though his fat neck were between them, “Or worse… Perhaps I'll give you to the Red Wizard!?”

He paused.

Fixing her with a serene smile that did not match his treacherous eyes.

“Betray me and we will both go to the cell block!”

“What makes you think I care anymore!?”

“Oh, you care, Merra.” Nonchalantly he turned back to stamping out embers, “Because I gambled and failed. The error will be discovered. We must keep our wits about us lest we be discovered. We're still Mardan. We may go to prison. But, if you son lives and we are discovered, he will go to the gallows.”

 

***

“When we get home I'm going to put a real brazier in here.” Theresa leaned over to poke the fire with an unbent coat hanger, “And a whole crate of charcoal.”

The candles were gone, although there was plenty to burn in the closet. But they couldn't build anything too big and risk damaging the dome. Theresa rigged a little fire in the bottom of her steel yard bucket suspended from a tripod of rakes and shovels. Nalir'd supplied the starting spark. But it meant they had to keep the closet door cracked. And the cold poured in from outside, radiating through the walls, ceiling, and floor. Their breath stood out in great white plumes.

She was boiling snow in a small pot, gathered from the piles outside. Brewing a soup cobbled from the few edibles in the closet's small larder. Carrots, herbs, and a glass jar of peas. It smelled really good.

“If Markl were here…”

“Will you stop saying that!?” Theresa snapped, vigorously going to work on grinding some herbs with a mortar and pestle, pausing from time to time to warm her hands around the bucket, “Markl's not perfect if you haven't noticed!”

Nalir surprised himself with the sudden urge to defend his apprentice brother, “He's just afraid. You know that. He's always been reticent. And last I check he has absolutely no experience with these things.”

Theresa went flame red to match her hair, “Don't make excuses for him. And I'm not talking about that.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

She let out a ragged sigh, mixing the herbs into a cup of water she'd set aside, “Shut up and drink this.”

He took the mug and sipped the bitter medicine, trying not to make a face, “I'll drink this, but I won't shut up.”

“You're a pain in the ass, you know that!?”

“We've already established that, Lady Theresa.”

“Will you stop calling me that!?”

“Why?” He shot back just as hotly, “I think it's about time people started thinking of you as someone other than the Herbalist's apprentice.”

Nalir tried not to look smug as she gaped at him, suddenly finding herself without words. Theresa very quickly busied herself with feeding the fire and stirring the soup. Then she stood and fussed with the shelves, straightening things that had no need of being straightened.

“Back in the garden you said something that made no sense.”

“Oh?” He replied archly, almost gagging on the green medicine.

“Are we going to talk or are you going to be an ass!?” She tossed a wadded up hand towel at him.

“Sorry…” He feigned meekness, handing back the cloth. “I'll be good.”

“I doubt that.” Theresa snorted, although she did smile if only for a moment, folding the towel and putting it away, “You said you understood. What did you mean?”

Nalir blanched. Me and my big mouth. And he smoothed at his tangled hair, self consciously straightening his robes.

“Well?” She pressed, crossing her arms.

“Patience, woman! DO you know how hard it is for me to talk about these things!? What I meant was I know what its like to be stuck some place you don't want to be! And I understand what its like to have the people you care about most depending on your remaining exactly where you are.”

She blinked, frowning, “Nalir, you're not making a lick of sense.”

“I don't want to be Royal Sorcerer! There! That plain enough for you!?”

Theresa was staring at him in shock. Heat climbed up into his cheeks as anxiety tightened his chest. He'd said too much.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“But… But what about that mess back at the end of the Daemon War?”

“My mother's doing. Not mine.” He remarked frostily

“How could you be unhappy? I've never seen Barimus treat you poorly.”

Nalir cut her off, continuing with all the refined indifference he'd learned from Merra. It was the only way to hide the pain he was really feeling.

“And you never will! Master Barimus and Lady Martha are kinder to me than my own mother. Master Barimus accepts me, but he does not want me! He had never wanted me. You have no idea what he did to avoid accepting me! But I know! I know what I cost him. I'm a burden on them both! Do you know what that's like? To have a Master who doesn't want you?!”

“But… But you could give it up if you don't want it, right? You don't have to be Barimus' apprentice.”

“Do you really think I'm that cruel!?” Nalir snapped, his temper getting the better of him. Theresa jumped, looking utterly lost.

“I don't understand…”

“Markl doesn't want to be Royal Sorcerer either! If I leave he's stuck with it. The Wallmaker already has Akarshan half-way in the Otherworld. Great black bricks, do you really think I'd do that to him!? He can barely live in the palace let alone function during Court.” Nalir closed his eyes, “One day Master Barimus will see that. Will see how unhappy this is making Markl. I just hope it's soon.”

“But… But what about you?”

“Sometimes we don't get what we want, now do we?”

She started as he handed back the very words she's used with Markl. Wordlessly she sat down beside him, staring long and hard at the fire.

“I… I'm sorry. I didn't know.”

“My life has never been my own. I've learned to live with that.” Nalir shrugged, trying not to feel like a liar. Yes, he'd learned to live with it. But it was slowly but surely eating him away. “But I'm not the only one with this problem.” Nalir sniffed and smelled copper, dabbing again at his bloody nose, “So be patience with Markl.”

“I don't know if I can.” She whispered, sounding eternally sad.

“Oh?” Nalir's insides went cold as he tried not to look askance at the red-haired woman. There was the weary look she'd worn in the loading bay when he came aboard in Markl's place.

“I've been patient for six years, Nalir.” She muttered angrily, picked out one of her curls, running it back and forth around a finger, “I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of doing all the work! You know I've only kissed him once!? When I was thirteen! And I kissed him! Six years ago! I'm an old maid by Ingarian standards!”

Nalir flushed, avoiding looking at her, “No… I wasn't aware of that. But he is so very shy.”

“Around everybody else, yes! But he's not with me. Markl doesn't want things to change, because the way things are between us right now, they're easy and safe. But I have changed! Maybe it's selfish, but I want more. I told him so too, but just like everyone else, he doesn't seem to hear me.”

Theresa fed the fire, tearing pages out of an old Farmer's Almanac. Like in the boardroom, she looked tired and no more at peace. So he played the last duce left up his sleeve.

“He loves you, Theresa. You have to know that.”

Theresa went very still and then chucked the whole book in the bucket. “I know he does. And I love him too. But I'm not sure if it's the right kind of love anymore.”

Shit.

There was nothing he could say to that to help either of them with that.

Nalir fumbled in his sleeve for a handkerchief and held it out to her as she began snuffling.

“Thanks,” She took it and wiped at her face, leaning against his shoulder as though her weariness had finally gotten the better of her, “Thanks for listening.”

“I promised to take care of you. And I will.” He blurted out, and then frowned awkwardly as she went very quiet, “I, ah… I hope that didn't sound condescending. Because I most certainly did not mean it that way.”

“Shut up, Nalir.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

On a whim he lifted his arm. Wordlessly she fitted herself against his chest, tucking into the crook of his elbow. Theresa rubbed her nose against his velvet robes, like a bird tucking its beak into its wing. And a spark kindled there, spreading warmth inside him that reached beyond the tiny fire. It frightened him enough to make him consider getting up. But there was no where to go. Not that he wanted to get up. In fact, moving was the very last think Nalir wanted to do. Softly he hummed the lullaby Merra used to sing to him as a child. And she stirred against him.

“Hush, little bird...” Theresa whispered distantly, “My mother used to sing that song. My first mother. Back in Marda.”

“Would you like me to sing it for you?”

“Yeah… Would you?”

She was asleep before he even reached the chorus.

***

 

Theresa knocked against him, jolting him awake.

The fire had gone out. And he kindled it with a spark of magic, earning himself another stomach ache. He'd drained himself nearly dry pushing back the avalanche. It would be weeks before he would be able to cast without difficulty.

The light cast hard shadows up and down the closet walls. They played back to Theresa's curls, turning them to burning coils in the dark. She'd tipped him over at some point while they were sleeping. Back to the floor and knees drawn up so he could fit diagonally with her tucked beside him. She'd annexed the blankets and his cloak, although she was putting out more heat than the fire ever had.

Once again the brass buttons of her coat were digging into his ribs.

Once again he didn't care.

But she was dreaming poorly. Making small, unhappy noises as her eyes roved back and forth beneath their lids. He smoothed his hand over her hair, marveling at how soft the mess of curls actually was.

“Nalir?” Her hand closed over the front of his robe.

“Mmmm?”

Then he realized she was still dead asleep.

Ryden talked in his sleep too. They'd shared a room at the Academy before he and Markl became apprentices. Gods above, that skinny wizard could babble all night about the stupidest things. Girls mostly. The letch.

“You're falling, Nalir… I need to catch you…”

“It's okay.” He murmured soothingly, “You caught me. I'm okay.”

“No, it's not!” She whimpered, “They're on fire…”

Nalir tried not to think about the explosion.

Tried not to remember the voices he'd heard screaming in his head.

But they remained in memory.

Would probably never go away.

And he would not be able to go back to sleep.

Airships were troublesome contraptions, especially sky kayaks. They exploded all the time for no reason at all other than bad steam differentials. Perambulators were just as bad. The streets of Kingsbury were full of potholes and not because of traffic. Nalir's seen his share of airborne catastrophes, but never had he seen a ship go down so swiftly. The secondary levitation systems should have kicked in. Magic was a standard fail safe. Rarely did the larger ships ever crash unless due to massive structural or magical failure. Both were present, as was evident by the craft's violent leftward list within seconds of the first blast.

Cold came creeping into his heart as his mind began to race.

Jumping ahead of him.

Until just like the images in Suliman's orb, things snapped into place.

And he knew. He just knew.

Because Markl was supposed to be on the airship.

Theresa's presence had been the seal on that bargain.

Requested by Yewin himself.

Oh, Gods… What had they done?

“Nalir?” Theresa stirred again in her sleep.

He jolted back to himself as her hand wandering across his chest, nails drawing idly at the fabric. The spark she'd planted there earlier ignited beneath her fingers. Turning his insides molten as she cuddled closer, hooking her knee over his thigh. His face burned as his hand found its way from her shoulder to the curve of her waist. His palm fit perfectly, and he barely resisted the urge to squeeze. He did, however, turn his face toward the crown of her head, breathing in the sweet spicy smell of her hair. Camphor and cinnamon. Taking a slow, shuddering breath, Nalir removed his hand and stared up at the smoke collecting at the top of the closet.

This…

This was completely unexpected.

“Shit…” He murmured to himself.

Fighting the burn in his chest. But this time it had nothing to do with his cough. The pain spread quickly, like wildfire, devouring his insides, nothing stood in its wake. He was hollow after it passed. Weary and sad.

Until she took his hand and put it back on her waist.

Nalir went stock still as Theresa's head lifted from his shoulder. She was wide awake, propping herself up to stare at him. He looked back, at a loss, straining to see her liquid green eyes, to find some clue of what he should do. Her face was obscured in shadow by the mass of her curls; although her hand remained spread in the middle of his chest. He could feel each of her fingers through his robes, just like he could feel the weight of her knee on his leg.

What should he do?

Shit. Shit! What should he do!?

“Theresa?”

Her name came out in a croak, an ungainly question, or perhaps a desperate plea. But for what he didn't know. Her hand lifted, stopping whatever words might have spilled out after that. And the contact sent a delicious shiver unfurling through his body, right to the pit of his stomach. Thank the gods it was dark!

Although he never expected her to lean in.

Never expected her hand to trace across his mouth, up his jaw to his neck.

Never expected her to pull him up to kiss her.

But she did.

And their lips met in the dark.

She was right. He was on fire. Sitting up to wrap one arm around her waist, pulling her against him with all the strength he could summon as the other went right to her hair, smoothing, touching. Gods, he loved touching her hair! But she nearly bowled him over as she grabbed the front of his robes and pulled right back. She was hungry. So very hungry. And he indulged her, drawing his hands up into her hair, working his mouth against hers. Until she was making small needful sounds, clutching his shoulders, bent back to the point where he was holding he upright.

It was not his first kiss.

But it was the best kiss.

And her absence left him reeling as they broke apart. Pluming the air with white as they gasped to catch their breath. Nalir had her slung across his lap. The flame in the bucket had roared up in response to his excitement. And he could finally see her face. Her green eyes were wide with amazement. The mirror of his own. And a shred of apprehension must have betrayed him. Because they turned resolute, her hands lifted to his face, smoothing away the lines in his brow, running through his hair.

“Mmmm…”

He hummed as she continued, dropping his forehead onto her shoulder. Turning his face to run his lips across the soft skin of her neck at the collar of her jacket. Again she gasped, arching up into him as he held her fast, nipping her ear.

“Nalir!” She sang his name smolderingly.

And he loved the sound of it on her lips.

“Theresa…” He murmured back.

Pressing tiny kisses across her forehead. Her closed eyes. Her nose. Making his way back home. She moaned; pulling him down beside her as their lips met up again, no longer strangers. Theresa yanked at the brass buttons on her jacket, struggling to shrug out of the stiff military coat. They popped free under his encouragement, giving way to soft white silk bloused tucked into her voluminous trousers. Trembling, his hands hovered just above what his cheek had already been acquainted with. Small. High. They would fit perfectly in his hands. And he hesitated, battling with propriety. Until Theresa took charge, putting the where they longed to be. Proving him right.

But her hands were not idle either.

They found the hook and eyes at the front of his tunic, then the ties of his black sill undershirt. Nalir sucked in a breath as frosty air stole over his bare skin, only to go rigid with pleasure as the fabric parted. His was forced to free a hand to keep upright as his eyes clenched shut; teeth gritted against a moan as her hands stole beneath, spreading across his smooth chest, down his solar plexus to the hard hollow of his stomach. Her hands stopped at the clap to his waist band. And his opened his eyes to find her looking up at him, flushed with wanting, lips red and full from kissing. And her green eyes burned for him, but not without a shred of fear.

“I've… I've never done this before…”

A shock of lust went straight through him at just the prospect of this.

Nalir was no virgin.

He'd shed that last shred of childhood in a broom closet with a maid named Elise. She was blonde, Tyrnian, and older than him by three years. She liked to sneak him beer and stay up all night playing chess. He called her Ely. He charmed her a starling that could speak Tyrinese. And she'd taught him more than any questionable book could ever describe.

But this was different.

This was no fumble in the broom closet.

Although, this was indeed a broom closet.

“Theresa,” He sat back on his heels, taking her hands to kiss them both, “You don't have to do this now.”

And that stubborn light went on in her eyes as her jaw hardened. Gods, she was beautiful when she was pissed.

“What if all we have is now?”

Anger bloomed in his gut. He used it to smother the fear that she might be right. Kissing her hands again, speaking with quiet passion, making his words a promise, “There will be plenty of time.”

But her hands tightened on his as she sat up, nose inches from his with her head tilted back. Challenge flickered in her emerald eyes. The silk of her shirt brushed against his naked stomach. Instantly his legs went weak.

“I'm sick of waiting, Nalir. I want you now.”

He couldn't not kiss her after that, following her back onto the blankets, shrugging out of his long robes as she yanked on them.

Because she was right.

Given their current predicament.

All they had was now.

 

***

“Are you alright?” He murmured against the soft skin of her neck as Theresa stirred beside him. She was tucked into his arms, her back to his stomach, head pillowed in the curve of his bicep. Fitting perfectly.

“Goose… Stop asking that.” She muttered, stretching like a cat that's gotten its cream, “A little sore, but I'm more than fine.”

“Oh, really?” Nalir nuzzled her ear, rewarded as she leaned into the contact, humming happily.

“Well, I didn't expect that the first time around.”

His turn to grin, “You did look a little surprised.”

She elbowed him playfully, “Pleased with ourselves, are we?”

“Ouch! Careful! I'm delicate, remember? But I am pleased. I wanted your first time to be good…” He turned serious, “Was it?”

“Yes.” His heart smoldered at her reply. And she flipped over, snuggling into him so that her words tickled against her chest, “Not many girls can say that.” She paused for a long moment, playing with the fine red hairs that fuzzed his chest, “Have there been many?”

It took every inch of self control not to snort. Black bricks, what a thoroughly female question to ask.

“No.” He smoothed her hair, “Only one other.”

“Really?” She actually seemed surprised.

“I'm a bit of an ass, remember?” He grimaced sardonically, “I may be pretty but I'm not very popular.”

Theresa was frowning, “What happened?”

Nalir blinked, at a loss, “I… I don't know. One day she was just gone.”

“Why? She must have said something?”

“I said I don't know!” She went very still against him. Remorse shot through him like a bitter draught as he tightened his arms around her, resting his forehead on her shoulder with a weary sigh. “Sorry… I didn't mean to snap. Asshole, remember?”

“No, I'm sorry. I was being nosy.” She relaxed against him, “And you're not an asshole.”

“So you say…” Nalir was quiet for a long moment, because this was a different kind of intimacy. Intimacy of the mind was far more terrifying than intimacy of the flesh. He never thought he'd want it so desperately. It was hard to admit he was lonely, to admit weakness. It was unseemly.

“My mother sent her away.”

“What?”

He turned bitter, feeling the familiar anger gnawing at the back of his throat. “It's impossible to keep anything hidden from her. She found out and didn't approve. I'm almost positive that's what happened. It's easy to get a maid discharged from services. Especially if you a Magi from the Tri-Council. No one would dare question her word.”

“That's awful!” Theresa was stunned, “How could she?!”

“Have you met my mother?!” Again he spat the words like poison.

“Oh… Yeah.” She replied uncomfortably, trying not to say anything that might offend him. Not that she could. He had more choice words to describe his mother than probably anyone she'd ever offended.

“Well then. There you have it.”

“But… Why didn't you go after her? You know…”

She wiggled her fingers vaguely.

It was true. He's though about scrying her on more than one occasion. Maybe tried to find some way to send her some money. But he'd always balked. Afraid of what he'd find. Sometimes he worried about her. Reconstruction Ingary was relatively safe. But there were many places that were not. Like so many of them, she didn't have anything.

She'd come here for a chance to make something for herself.

She was a hard worker. Smart. Funny.

Where had that gotten her?

Nowhere.

And why?

Blind, stupid, prejudice.

He should have gone after her. But he didn't.

Something else to hate himself for.

“At first I was angry. Really angry. I didn't understand. I thought she'd left me… I was a royal pain for about six months after that. You probably remember. That's when Markl and I blew up one of the brand new practice rooms. I got mad at him about something. Can't even remember why. It was something stupid. And I destabilized the spell.”

“Oh… I do remember that.” Her eyes went far away with memory.

“I've never seen Master Barimus so angry, but Master Howl just laughed.”

“Yeah… He does that.”

“I didn't understand.” But he wasn't talking about his Masters. It was hard to swallow the tightness in his throat. It was like that whenever he thought about Elly. “But then I figured it out. By then it was too late to do anything. And I couldn't look. Sometimes knowing was worse than not knowing.”

She was still frowning, her eyes fixed on his chest. “I had no idea.”

“And you never would.” He looked past the top of her head, watching his breath curl up into the frosty half-dark.

She propped her head up, nose inches from his, staring at him intently, much like she had earlier in the garden. At least she didn't ask him to stick out his tongue.

“Why do you do that?”

“W-what do you mean?”

“You're hiding.” And he blinked, shrinking from her scrutiny, looking away, because he felt completely exposed. It was terrifying and wonderful.

“What if I am?” Nalir replied carefully.

“Why?!” She seemed incredibly frustrated, like she wanted to shake him. And he let out a long ragged sigh.

“I burned a lot of bridges when I was younger, Theresa. I was a stupid little shit. And a lot of people still don't like me because of it: Royals, Magi, and Country folk alike. I hear them. Every day I hear exactly what they think of me.” He tapped his head wearily, shifting to his back to look up at the smoky ceiling of the herb closet, “It's hard to change people's minds once they're made. At least then they leave me alone. I get more work done that way.”

The hollowness was back inside him.

But it filled with warmth as Theresa settled back on to his arm, tucking the cloak and blankets over him, spreading her hand over his chest.

“You'd be surprised how easily you can change someone's mind.”

Rubbing her chilly nose on his shoulder, she planted a kiss there. Stoking the helpless feelings inside him as her bare skin slid softly against his.

Then her stomach growled. Loudly.

Normally he would have laughed.

Instead his insides went cold. Brittle with fear.

“You should eat something.” He whispered, thinking of how little there was left in the soup pot. Theresa had already been all through the close. Whatever she found has gone into the can, stretching it as far as it would go. What was left was either medicinally poisonous or truly inedible.

“I'm saving it for later.” She replied efficiently.

But he heard the quaver in her voice and knew what it meant.

It had been three days. At least what he could count as days. It might have been longer. Still, nothing but red hot agony inside his skull. He'd tried. Tried so hard until blood poured from his nose and Theresa made him stop by threat of an even worse thrashing from her. He must have truly damaged something, which sent his insides colder still. Because that was all he had, his only real magic.

Useless. He was absolutely useless!

Adding insult to injury, his cough started up, forcing him to roll over onto his side, hacking and gasping around what felt a lungful of flaming dust. And Theresa held him from behind. The cloud of her hair tickled his bare shoulders.

“It's okay…” She whispered, smoothing his hair as he retched and sobbed, “It's okay.”

But it wasn't.

He had to get her out of here.

And his mind raced as she quieted, falling asleep beside him.

Not long after he could feel the gentle warmth of her even breath on his back. Carefully so as not to wake her, Nalir got up and got dressed. Leaving his cloak with her and feeding the tiny fire before slipping through the crack in the closet door. The pitched black beyond was a bit unnerving, like being trussed up in a laundry bag. But he found the mouth of the pocket by following the cold. It breathed at him like a northern gale, surging through a tiny hole. This he pulled at, stretching it larger and larger until he could pop through out into the ice dome.

Nalir called up the barest mage light, watching as the pocket snapped back behind him, reverting to its original size. And he stared at the tiny pouch, watching as a thin stream of smoke filtered from it mouth, making it look like a tiny monster. He followed the curling tongues as they drifted up to the air hole above. Listening to the distant whistling of the wind far, far above. Already his teeth were chattering, but he ignored the cold, ignored the pain in his head and the nagging cough that seemed to sap away all his strength. Thinking so hard his skull felt about ready to burst, he stared between the pouch and the air hole.

The pouch was small enough. Light enough.

If he could move a pebble he could move a pouch.

He'd only have to make the hole a little bit larger. Fist sized.

At least he could get her out.

Then what, you idiot!? He seethed, pacing to keep warm. Send her out she could freeze to death in a snow storm?!

No. She was more resourceful then that. She had the herb closet to keep warm. He could magic the bucket with an ignition charm so that anything she put in would burn. It would wear off eventually. But they'd find her by then. They had to be looking. Markl had to be tearing apart the whole of the Wastes by now. Besides, it was the only chance she had.

Back into the pouch, he stoked the fire, kneeling beside Theresa to gently shake her awake. She groaned and rolled over, burrowing like a little red squirrel beneath his cloak. His heart swelled as she tucked up beneath his hands. So small. So very precious.

“Wake up, Theresa.” He urged.

“Wha'-huh?” She mumbled sleepily. And her head popped out, bleary eyes and pinked from sleep, her hair a glorious mess. But her face grew troubled as she took in his determined expression. “What's wrong?”

“Get dressed.” He commanded

“What!?” She sat up, holding his cloak to her bare chest.

“Get dressed,” Nalir repeated briskly, stepping over her to test the shelves, turning to circle his hands over the ashy muck bucket, setting lines of magic all around the brim.

“Don't worry about running out of matches. I just put a fire charm on the bucket so whatever you put into it will burn. And I'll fix the shelves with rigidity charms so nothing comes crashing down.”

She was on her feet now, naked beneath his cloak, grabbing him, spinning him around so she could look him straight in the eyes, “What are you on about you silly wizard!?”

He took a deep breath, looking back, knowing she would argue.

“I'm getting you out of here.”

Her face pinched with fear, “What do you mean we're getting out!?”

“Not we.” He corrected calmly, “You.”

And before she closed off entirely he launched into a description of how.

“I'm going to widen the breathing hole to about the size of my hand,” He held up a clenched fist, “It should be just big enough for me to get the herb closet through. With you inside of course.”

She jolted, shock wiping her face absolutely blank. And like clockwork her jaw hardened, stubborn popping on in her eyes like one of the electric light bulbs in the spire room.

“No.” She pronounced, hands going to her hips.

“Yes.” He countered, crossing his arms and drawing himself up.

And she crumbled, just a fraction, just enough to let him know she was listening. “Why can't we go together!?”

“Because I can't get the closet to move from inside.” He stabbed his finger at the floor, explaining slowly, as clearly as he could, “There's interference in here, Theresa, from the shaping spells that keep this thing intact. I can feel them all around me, like bits of string and twine tied to every surface. If I try to cast on this place from the inside I'll damage those strings. And the closet could collapse. It's shielded from the outside. I checked. You'll be perfectly safe.”

“B-but… But the ice could collapse too! You'll be crushed! And you'll freeze to death if I take the closet! It's bloody artic out there!”

She had a point.

But he wasn't about to let her know that.

Better than letting her stay and starve to death.

“You know I'm right.” He just looked at her, trying to be cold and calm. But that was becoming increasingly difficult when he was near her.

“I won't leave you!” She choked, grabbing a hold of the front of his robes, shaking him. She was crying. Her shoulders shaking as bits of hot wet soaked through the front of his shirt, “I won't!”

It was his turn to crack. To give in. And he pulled her against him, breathing in the smell of her hair. Because she was hugging him fiercely as if afraid she'd be torn away.

“You're not leaving me.” He shook her gently and she went still, “You're going to save me, Theresa. No one else can.”

She looked up at him. Face red and puffy with tears, twice as stubborn.

It only served to temper his resolve.

She'd forgive him some day. Hopefully they all would.

Leaning in so quickly she couldn't protest Nalir kissed her; passionately, desperately. Trying to make it tell all the things churning through his insides. Things he'd never be able to put into words. Then he pushed her away, out the door and slamming it behind him. Planting a kernel of magic in the latch. Temporary locking it solid. It would wear off in less than five minutes. Just enough time. It rattled under his hand but stayed fast as Theresa screamed from the inside, pounding on the wooden planks.

“Nalir, you bastard! Open this door! OPEN THIS DOOR!”

“Put out the fire.” He instructed, “And hold on. This will be bumpy.”

Her voice cut off as he was out of the pocket, standing in the ice cave. Calling up a mage light, turning to business as he stared at the air hole. Picking up a nearby rock he rubbed it in his hands, permeating it with what little magic he had conserved over the days. Massaging and shaping it out into a pendulum, dismayed by how simple an act could exhaust him. And he worked out the physics in his head as best be could as doubt came creeping into his heart.

Would the shielding on the pocket be enough? He hoped so.

Turning back to the stone dart in his hands, Nalir fed it with the fire in his heart, stoked it with all the will he could summon, turning it red hot with his need to succeed. Sweat poured from his brow and his hands were blistered by the time the stone was glowing white hot. It hissed as he set it on the floor, melting the pile of snow directly below the air hole.

“GO!” He thundered at the thing, slamming his hands onto the ground.

His head swam as it exploded through the ceiling, spraying him with steam and water, leaving him coughing and sputtering. But light poured down from above.

Clear cold light followed by a blast of fresh air.

But his exultant cry died on his lips as a crack splintered its way off the rim of the oculus. Snatching up the pouch, he marveled at how light it was. Almost weightless. And Nalir blanched. This was a problem. One he hadn't considered. It might not be able to generate enough momentum to clear the hole. He fell to his knees as his legs dissolved.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Nalir jerked himself free of his self-castigation as the crack snapped audibly, fracturing into twins. Hastily positioning himself beneath the hole, Nalir hurled the pouch upwards with all the strength of magic he could summon. Up it went. Going. Going!

And then light overhead blotted out.

“NO!” He howled in dismay as the cave plunged into darkness.

Sure enough it had gotten caught. And he couldn't just send another rock up jetting up the pipe. The impact could kill her, if not tear the pouch to shreds. And the dome was cracking more and more with every passing second. The passage would collapse with the walls, trapping her in ice.

Think, damn you, THINK!

Steam!

The epiphany hit him like a shot to the back of the head. Like a cork bursting out of a bottle, ejected by the pressure beneath.

Slamming his hands down onto the bare stone floor, Nalir pumped whatever was left in him into the floor beneath him. Willing it hotter than hot. And it worked. The room flushed with steam as the walls began to drip, water evaporating the moment it touched the ground. And he could barely breathe in the sweltering clouds, coming closer and closer to a swoon.

Then his ears popped.

The steam sucked up out the hole.

And light poured through the oculus.

Just as the cave collapsed.