Fey 02 - Changeling (82 page)

Aside from the occasional pouch used in Domestic spell development, none had been used since those poison experiments.

"Wait until I get back before you try anything," Touched said.

"Of course," Rotin said.
 

The boy's lower lip trembled.
 
He was afraid of Rotin.
 

"I mean it," Touched said.
 
"Don't start without me."

Rotin nodded.

Touched went through the doorway leading into the hall.
 
The Warders cabin was larger than many of the cabins, with storage rooms in the back, and two sleeping rooms used by any Warders who worked too late.
 
The sleeping rooms were usually empty now, unless Rotin used too many herbs, but when the cabin was first built the rooms were always full.
 
Touched had spent many nights in those rooms himself, dreaming of complex and beautiful spells he could never quite remember when he awoke.

The first storage room was orderly --filled with bowls, pipes and other supplies.
 
It was the second room he went to.
 

The room had a faintly dry odor to it, as if death waited here.
 
Piles and piles of pouches littered the floor, the counters, the walls.
 
The Red Caps had left a thin path as they stored the pouches.
 
Touched stopped at the edge of the path and stared.
 

The bloated, faintly pink pouches were all that remained of hundreds of lives.
 
Inside, stored and preserved, was skin, muscle and blood from dead Islanders.
 
The third storage room had pouches containing Fey material.
 
Most of the pouches dated from the Battles for Jahn almost six years before.
 

A Domestic spell he didn't understand kept the material fresh until the pouches were opened.
 
Then the Warders had a day, maybe two before decay set in.
 

Touched grabbed six pouches.
 
They squished under his fingers.
 
He winced, faintly disgusted.
 
This was the part of his profession that he liked the least.
 
The pouches always felt vaguely alive to him, as if some part of the dead being remained within.
 
It would have helped if he understood Domestic spells, but he did not.
 

The pouches themselves gave off the dry dusty odor.
 
It coated him.
 
He tucked his six pouches under his arms, and headed back to the front room.

Rotin remained in her chair.
 
The boy hadn't moved either.
 
They were staring at each other.
 
Touched could feel the tension in the air.

She was toying with him.

When he had asked her not to.

Quietly, he set the pouches on the floor, then stood.
 
The boy's eyes were wide.
 
If Touched squinted just a little, he could see light bouncing off the boy's shields.
 
Rotin was having less success than Touched did.

Rotin frowned as she tried again.
 
Her half-second of concentration was all Touched needed.

He sent a wall of light and set it up before the boy's.
 
Rotin's spell hit it, and Touched sent it back to her, doubled.

A large bolt of light zoomed toward her.
 
She shot Touched a frightened, angry look before diving from her chair.
 
The light hit the wall, leaving a scorch mark the size of an adult Fey.

The boy still stared at the spot as if that were a way he could maintain his intense focus.

Rotin put a hand on the table and pulled herself up.
 
Her face was flushed with fury.

Touched decided to attack first.
 
"I told you to leave him alone."

"Oh," she said, standing and brushing off her robe, "I thought you wanted me to wait the actual experiments for you, not my double-checks."

"There's no need to double-check me," Touched said.
 
"I was right."

"So you were," Rotin said with just the right amount of surprise.
 
"Give me the pouches."

Touched crossed his arms over his chest.
 
"That spell you sent would have knocked over an adult."

"Only when you doubled it," Rotin said.
 
"Now, let's get to work."

He still wasn't sure enough of himself.
 
She might have been right.
 
He would keep an eye on her, but follow her for the moment.
 
As he reached for the pouches, he let the wall he had placed in front of the boy go down.

The pouches slid away from his fingers.
 
He stared at them.
 
Then he glanced at Rotin.
 
She grinned at him.
 
Domestic games.
 
It had been years since one of the Warders had taunted him with his lack of simple skills.

But he would show her.
 
He would prove to her that he could do as well or better than she could at everything else.

He picked up the pouches and tossed them at her, one by one. She caught them as if she had expected him to do so, then set them on the table.

The boy hadn't moved.

But his eyes took in everything.

When Touched had tossed her the last pouch, he stood and walked to her side.
 
The entire room smelled dry now.
 
Not even the lingering odor of the herbs or of the woodsmoke could cover it.

Rotin put the pouches on the table, and they jiggled slightly.
 
The boy was shaking.
 
He didn't show it, but it was very clear.
 
He was afraid.

And why wouldn't he be?
 
He was a child.
 
An Islander child, but a child all the same.

Touched had been a child when they first tested him for Warding powers.
 
But that had been only a test.
 
They waited until he hit puberty before actually working with him.

It had been scary then.

It had to be terrifying for someone of the boy's age.

Rotin untied a pouch and the iron scent of blood filled the room.
 
The scent was so strong that Touched could almost see it.
 
The boy buried his nose in his knees.
 
Rotin pulled out a piece of skin.
 
It was long and thick as Touched's finger.
 
The Red Caps had flayed it from the bone --had the Foot Soldiers done it while the victim was still alive, the skin would have been so thin it curled.

"Good choice," Rotin said.
 
"We need the thicker skin."

Light flickered around the boy.
 
He hadn't perfected any of his skills.
 
His terror would burn out his shield.
 
He had it at full strength now.
 
He probably thought they were going to skin him too.

Rotin pushed a pouch at Touched.
 
"Here," she said.
 
"Let's begin."

He sighed.
 
He hated this part of Warding.

He took the pouch to the side of the table closest to the boy.
 
Rotin went to the other side.
 
She placed the piece of skin on the boy's barrier.
 
It hung in the air, glued to the barrier by the blood, curving an adult arm's length away from the boy.
 
The skin looked as if it were floating, except for the drop of blood that ran along the shield, marking it.

Touched opened his first pouch, wincing at the stench.
 
This one had been taken from a body at least a day dead.
 
Barely viable, and probably useful only for experiments like this one.
 
He reached in, coating his fingertips with slime, and grabbed the first jelled mass he could find.
 

The skin came out, pale and thick, covered with dark blood.

Heart blood.

No wonder they had harvested this.
 
It had strong magic.

He laid the skin on the shield.
 
On this side also the boy had maintained protection arm's length away.
 
The dark blood ran down, staining the table, and marking the side of the shield.

A child, even an enchanted child, normally had shields that were attached to the body, not feet away.

Rotin looked at Touched and straightened her eyebrows in surprise.
 
Suddenly she was as interested in this boy as he was.

He hoped that was a good thing.

The shield sparkled as the boy tried to strengthen it.
 
Rotin put pieces of flesh on all sides, then top to bottom, working quickly.
 
Touched did the same.
 
The boy was too young to think his way out of this predicament.
 
If he had dropped the shield and moved, he wouldn't have been trapped, but now, because they had touched the shield on all sides, he couldn't drop it.

Although he could punch a hole in it and crawl out.

Touched moved rapidly, blood running down his hands and into the sleeves of his black robe.
 
His fingers were red, the nails black with blood.
 
The stench had grown worse.

Rotin opened her second pouch.

The boy had buried his head completely, apparently placing all of his concentration on keeping the shield in place.
 
The shield's shape was becoming apparent.
 
It was a half-bubble around him with good curve and strong form.

The bubble seemed to end on the table.

But the boy was smart.
 
Touched remembered that much from their earlier encounter.

He opened his second pouch and crouched, placing the pieces of skin under the table.

Sure enough, the bubble was complete.
 
It put the boy in a protective circle.

Rotin saw what Touched was doing and did the same.
 
They worked quickly and silently, slapping long pieces of skin on the bubble and creating a crazy patchwork in the air.
 
Blood dripped from the bottom of the circle onto the floor.
 
The floor was slightly uneven, and as the puddle formed, a small trickle ran toward the door, as if part of the boy were trying desperately to escape.

Touched finished the bottom first.
 
When he stood, he could barely see the boy through the gaps in the skin.
 
The skin was flat and had adhered so well to the bubble that it was beginning to look as if the boy were trapped inside a circle of flesh.

Rotin had opened her final pouch.
 
She pulled out the strands of skin and pasted them to the gaps in her side of the shield.
 
As Touched worked, he could see the underside of the skin.
 
It looked like a blood-covered river, with tiny tributaries and dry patches.
 
The skin was translucent, so the light in the room filtered through.

The boy watched Touched as he finished placing his pieces of skin on the gaps.
 
The last strand covered an area about as big as Touched's hand.
 
The boy raised his head, his mouth open as if to protest, as Touched covered the last visible spot with skin.