Tinkermage (Book 2) (23 page)

Armed and armored insects. Brilliant!

Termund turned to her and waved from his seat, laughing at her shocked expression. He motioned her over, and Niksabella approached the machine with reverence, taking a long look at the flexing legs, taking note of the materials, and examining the exposed hoses and pipes visible at the joints. She ran her hands along the side, feeling the metal and the vibrations that reverberated through her hands all the way her shoulders.

“You were saying something about incompetence, milady?”

Niksabella grinned at the magnificent thing beneath her hands, but she wouldn’t let Termund win that easily. “Standing in place is one thing. What else can they do?”

“Come up and see.”

Niksabella had just taken Termund’s hand when a commotion from the back of the line stole their attention: a struggle, shouts, and the high-pitched cries of a distressed gnomestress.

Niksabella’s brow furrowed. “I know that voice.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“The winter birds have come down from the mountains.” Fara placed a wiggling bundle on the table and peeled back layers of blanket to reveal a feathery ball with big, wide eyes and snowy, white wings. It cooed, fluttered, and fluffed itself.

“Is winter that far along then?” Nikselpik twiddled his thumbs and looked nervously about. He tapped his foot on the floor.

Lili whipped by, carrying a bundle filled with laundry,
his
laundry. To his credit, it wasn’t his idea. While he’d tolerated the gnomestresses going through his house and restoring some sort of relative order—they’d even helped see to the stocking of those thirty cases of Perry’s Maze in the cellar—he
did
try to stop them from performing a complete overhaul of his residence.

They’d been good about it, dusting his macabre decor and straightening up his obscure artifacts even as they made ugly faces at them. They had razed his cellar, stocking it with all sorts of foodstuffs likely to go bad from his lack of cooking skills and the fact that he rarely ate anyway. At least not a proper meal.

But he supposed if it made them feel better to clean and cook and worry over him, that was fine. Lili would probably want to move in after this, and dammit if he couldn’t find a reason to keep her from it.
Getting soft.
At least he was making good progress in his necromantic studies despite a lack of news on the Raulnock front. There’d been more sabotage: stores burned, an armory sacked, and even Inkrator’s scribe supply had been razed to the ground.
That
had hurt.

And they still had no true leads. It was like chasing a ghost.

Elwray would not turn him loose.

“You know we’re well into it, Nik. How long have you been alive? Fifty-seven years?”

“Yes,” he replied gruntingly to Lili. “It just doesn’t feel fifty-seven, I suppose.”

“Well, you were as good as unconscious for well past fall solstice. If only someone could have knocked
us
out too, having to put up with you the way we did.”

Fara chuckled.

Normally an offensive remark, one that he would not have let slide, the new Nikselpik nodded and soaked up the warm contentment. Amazing someone, some-
two
, cared about him this much. Perhaps he needed to incorporate some basic principles of caring, as well. Not just inside but outwardly, too. No, he was
sure
of it.

“Thank you. Both of you.”

Lili halted at the threshold to the hall and dropped the bundle of laundry to the floor, her head cocked to one side. “What?”

“I said thank you, Lili. You’ve been wonderful to me these past few months and even before then. Since I met you both, really. I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done. Fara, you too.”

Facing the study, Lili sighed and wiped at her face. And then, without turning, she stooped and picked up the bundle. “You’re quite welcome, dear.” She straightened and proceeded down the hall to the launditory.

“Interesting,” Fara murmured as she placed several white candles around the table. The bird watched the cleric’s every move, head twitching as it nestled comfortably in its blanket. He’d let her into his study after quickly putting away anything relating to his new field of study: gristle paste, bone fragments, and… other things.

Grrr. Now that I’ve thanked them, I’ll never hear the end of it. Next thing you know, I’ll be apologizing left and right.
“Do we really need the candles?”

Fara gave a single, deep nod of agreement. “Normally, no. But you’re a beginner, and candles
always
help beginners. Plus, there’s a strange smell in here.”

Nikselpik ground his teeth.
That would be coming from the closet.
“Very well. Candles it is.”

After lighting the wicks, Fara held her hands open on the table. “Come.”

Nikselpik slid from the chair and knelt on the floor, robes gathering beneath him in a lump. He took Fara’s hands. Not normally one for the floor, he had to admit it was a quiet, peaceful setting. He looked up at everything from the soft, bearskin rug. If he was going to heal something, this would be the place to do it.

“You read the book I gave you?
Principles of Boneweaving
?”

Nikselpik gulped. “Yes.” He
had
read it but wasn’t sure he’d learned a single thing. Too busy scoffing so much at the inferences of peace and love toward his fellow gnomes—as Evana would have her acolytes revere above all else—that he wondered if he had an ounce of caring in his body.

“Good. I expect you have good control over your wellspring and focus.”

“Yes, I didn’t lose either of those.”

“Okay, wonderful.” By Tock, her smile was captivating. “What we’re going to do today is help this little snow bird. His wing is broken, not by much but enough to ground him, poor thing.”

“Yes. Poor thing. What do we do?”

“Not we.
You
.” Fara squeezed his hands, which were slick with sweat. There was no going back now, damn her pretty, curly-haired head for making him do this. “But I need to check something first.” Fara squeezed twice and closed her eyes. “Open your mind to me.”

Easy enough.
“Are you sure you want to see what’s inside?”

“I don’t favor it. But I’ve been there once, so it shouldn’t be too terrifying. Besides, I just want to gauge your emotion. I want to make sure you’re in the right frame of mind to do this. It’s very important.” Fara sighed, and her breath smelled like fruit. The gnomestress always ate healthy, and it showed. Her skin was flawless, her eyes as deep and rich as the skin of a roundleaf tree. Damn if he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Fara’s eyes snapped open. Her face turned a sharp rose color. “Well, there is certainly
some
positive emotion in that thick skull of yours.” She let go and took her book from her knees, eyes flashing Nikselpik an interesting glance before she broke the small tome open and placed it on the table.

“It is only through Evana’s love can we accomplish true healing—”

“It’s hard for me…” Nikselpik sighed.

“—but you
can
still soothe a burn, ease a swelling, or mend a wing. You don’t need complete devotion for that. Evana also recognizes true intention,
good
intention. She’s willing to work with you. That’s what I’m trying to say.”

“Nice lady, your Evana.”

Fara gave his hand a playful slap. “You did read the book, didn’t you? Because if you didn’t, you’re wasting this poor bird’s time. And mine, too.”

“No, no. I read it.” And he had read it, but as he feared, the teachings ran counter to his core being. It wasn’t so much the messages of love Evana had for her followers since her arrival on Sullenor several thousand years ago. It was the pretext of subservience running throughout that bothered him most.

It was counter to the
other
things he’d been filling his head with lately. Words of power in those secret necromantic texts. He’d not slept well for days, dreams of darkness filling his head. Both gnomestresses had commented on his downward turn, both looking at him with a slight degree of well-deserved mistrust. He wouldn’t trust himself, either. But he hadn’t been bugging. Had hardly thought about it.
Hardly
.

And if either Fara or Lili had access to his study before he’d cleaned it up, they’d know exactly what he’d been up to. They would have found it littered with the corpses of birds, rabbits, and cats, things he’d found in gutters or poached from the market fresh for the stew. Even a rat or two.

He wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for his unexplainable attraction to Fara. Most others Nikselpik would have sent scooting along without a second thought, but something wanted him to stay close to the cleric. And he believed Lili liked Fara as well. They’d become rather chummy.
If I can just heal this wing and be done with it, perhaps she’ll leave me be with this nonsense.

“
Okay, then. Here we go.” Fara’s eyes scanned the first passage, her finger on the page.

“Shouldn’t I be the one reading it?”

“No. I’ll guide you. Don’t worry.”

Great.

Fara began. “Holy Evana, we are here today to acquaint you with a gentle gnome who wishes to channel your healing touch. Evana, goddess of gnomish healing, you came to the world of Sullenor to impart your healing wisdom. As proof of your almighty glory, your gentle deliverance, bring this gnome into your heart, and guide his own so that he may see that there is only one path in life, a path of healing and love and obedience to your word. Here kneels a wizard of substantial prowess, following a treacherous path his entire life, who now wishes to humble himself before you and receive your gift.”

She glanced up. “Place your hand gently along the bird’s back and slide your fingers on either side of its neck. These are gentle birds, but this way, it won’t be able to peck, just in case.”

Nikselpik did as he was told. The bird shivered at his touch but quickly nestled into the crook of his fingers. Soft feathers brushed against his palm. The white, spotted head tiled inquisitively in his direction. The animal was far too calm, too trusting, with its cooing and innocent ways.

A sudden hunger overtook Nikselpik. Not the craving for food but something very akin to his previous addiction: a hollow emptiness, so painfully obvious his entire body ached to fill it. Somehow, this little bird had what he needed.

He almost jerked his hand away but stopped himself. What would Fara think?

No. You’re in this up to your ears now. Just heal the little bastard and be done with it.
The anger was uncontrollable, unexplainable, but present like a snake that might strike at anyone around him. He was starving for life. Had been since the time he’d taken some from Raulnock. Since he’d tried to animate those putrefied bodies in his closet.

He did pull away then, and his head instantly swam.
What in the futtering Hells is wrong with me?
Perhaps it was time to take a break…

“What’s wrong, Nik? You’re sweating.” Fara found a kerchief and wiped his brow. “You look absolutely horrible. We can quit if you want…”

Even Fara’s touch through the cloth send a surge of excitement through his system, and when she pulled her hand away, a wave of nausea punched him in the gut. Nikselpik looked at the bird, trying not to appear
hungry
.

“No. That’s okay. I can do this.”

Fara smiled with a touch of uncertainty. “Only if you want to.”

“I do.” And he reached out and put his hand over the bird once again. This time, he was overwhelmed with its warmth, heat radiating like a coal beneath his fingers. A war raged inside him. Was he was doing this to impress Fara, to allay any suspicions she might have that he’d been tampering with the dark arts, or did he just want to
feed
? It was a terrible way of putting it but true. And he knew the answer.

Fara went back to it, her voice filled with the sort of reverent lust most clerics demonstrated when speaking to their gods. “Goddess, Evana, you are so full of love. I know you can reach through this vessel, Nikselpik, and touch this creature, who has broken a wing and can no longer fly.”

“Is there always this much ceremony?” Nikselpik wiped his sleeve across his forehead. He was sweating profusely, yet he felt chilled, freezing even. He clamped his jaw tight to keep his teeth from chattering.

“The goddess needs to get to know you, Nik,” she whispered. “And the only way to do that is through prayer and focus. You are focused, right?”

He nodded, closed his eyes, and tried to center her voice in his head as she ran through passages wrought with words of imploring devotion. He tried to feel something for this tiny thing under his hand, tried to make some connection with the greater power of Evana, like the teachings said, but all he could think of was its warmth and how a strange, cold had stolen over his body and how he wanted so desperately to stave off the cold before it froze him to his core.

“Now, Nik,” she said, tilting her head as if sensing a change in the room. “I can feel you’ve tuned into something.”

“Yes.”
Indeed.

“Now, align yourself to the bird’s heartbeat.”

He focused, more intently than he thought possible, yet not surprising given his predatory hunger. There was the heartbeat, a tiny, quick pattering. The sound grew impossibly loud in his head. Demanding.

“I have it.”

“Think of the goddess. Her purity. Her face.”

He almost smiled then because he
did
see something: a light behind his eyes that formed an image, a face he’d seen carved into numerous statues, colored in hundreds of framed paintings all around Hightower: the goddess Evana, hair raven black with a single streak of white where it fell from her temple to her breast. Eyes full of intense peace, a sort of chaotic devotion to her followers. She
saw
him. She
loved
him. And then, as sudden as a moody summer storm, she exuded overwhelming sorrow.