piece of wood I set my sights on.
I increasingly itch to touch dead wood, to feed what is increasingly feeling like some overpowering addiction that I have no control over, my yearning for wood seeming more and more like Ariel’s yearning for the drug nilantyr.
To fight the urge, I clench my wand hand so tight that my nails dig into my palm, even though the longing grows stronger through my resistance. After using that wand, I finally know this compulsion of mine for what it truly is.
My access to unspeakable power that I yearn to release.
I’ve grown especially afraid to touch the Wand of Myth, which is rolled up in a coarse cloth and stuffed into the side of my left boot. I can sense its presence, sense the starlight tree reaching for me in the back of my mind, but I fight against the pull, scared of it.
Scared of all wands.
Scared of myself.
I lie there on my thin bedroll, thinking on these things, as I listen to the high-pitched scrape of Ni Vin’s knife on stone, the blade catching the firelight and flashing in unspoken warning.
We’ve both been gravely silent for most of the journey, my power like a menacing third companion that we can’t shake. Every so often her narrowed eyes flicker in my direction, and I wonder if she’s imagining dragging the sharp edge of her knife across my throat.
She’s known the true nature of this power of mine for some time. It’s an enemy as familiar to her as her own melted hand and ear. And now I know it for what it is, as well. It bears no resemblance to the romanticized magic from the tales of my grandmother’s battle adventures. It’s the fire that killed most of Ni Vin’s family, that terrorized and destroyed entire villages filled with her people. I remember how she once said that she was “cursed to live.”
As she continues to scrape the blade, I realize my life balances on the razor’s edge of her weapons. I should be frightened by the grim indecision in her eyes, but my resonating shock from having learned the destruction I’m capable of overrides all other concerns.
* * *
The next morning, traveling next to Ni Vin on horseback with barely a word spoken between us, I eat only to stay strong, barely tasting the square cakes of oily grain mixed with long shreds of dried fruit that have become our staple. I drink to stay alive, although the water is sour on my tongue, and all the time I wonder what evil thing I’m feeding.
Just before reaching the Southern Spine, we come to a sheltered riverbank, morning sunlight setting the water shimmering, the buzz of insects pricking at the air.
I let the heavy Vu Trin garb slide off my body with grim reluctance. The Noi weave offers protection from fire and the sharp points of arrows and knives, but almost as important, this garb provided the illusion that I could be accepted by a new people. That I could be something other than what I am.
I leave the clothing folded on the riverbank’s rocky ground, grit my teeth, and quickly submerge my faintly green-glimmering body in the river, the water so cold that it sets me shivering, rigid goose bumps rising on my flesh as Ni Vin watches, impassive, from where she sits on a flat boulder. The intricate black lines of the shield-safe rune my friend Sage marked on my forearm and the demon power–sensing rune she impressed on my abdomen stand out in sharp relief on my cold skin.
Memories of my reunion with Sage a few months ago in the Amaz lands trigger a sharp longing for friends and family.
Where are you, Sage? I wonder. Is your Icaral baby safe and did you make it to Noi lands? Are you there with my brothers and Diana and her brother Jarod and everyone else I love?
Are you there with Yvan?
I stiffen, forcing down the fierce yearning to be with loved ones until it’s buried deep inside.
My resolve steeled, I quickly finish washing. When done, I emerge from the river and wrap myself in a rough blanket then stand glaring at the fine Gardnerian clothes and cloak that Ni has set out on the flat, broad stone before me. Clothing Chi Nam was savvy enough to have at the ready in case I needed to flee.
The morning breeze picks up the edge of my blanket and sends a chill snaking around my ankles.
Feeling as