The fire was bliss against my damp feet. We had been trudging through the swamplands until the sun began to set, and the heavy, uncomfortable silence between the void mage and I lingered even now. Every few paces I braved a glance sideways to his face, only to be met with a sour, hardened glare.
He had set up a small fire on a tiny patch of dry land far off the path of the underground, hoping the smoke would draw any soldiers our way as well as giving us a time to rest. Doris, tiny again, was patrolling the area around us, ready to warn of any outsiders approaching. Aixel remained silent, poking the flames idly, clearly still annoyed. Whether it was my presence or with the tedium of the task, I was not sure.
As we waited in the silence, with the steady hum of insects beginning to crescendo with the dark, my thoughts began to drift to Ciro. To see him there on the ground, blood fresh and dripping, and I couldn’t help but to be reminded of when I last saw him wounded. He may not have died this time, but there was still a sting of guilt that began to curdle inside me. Could I have done something different? While the rest of our small party took on three or four hardened warriors at a time, I was stuck, barely making it through one.
“Are you… crying?”
I looked up to see the bewildered yet obviously judgemental Aixel staring back at me through surprisingly tear-warped eyes. I didn’t realize I was crying.
I swallowed hard.
“Sorry - it’s just. Ciro…” I stammered.
The corner of his lip raised.
“Ciro? You’re worried about Ciro?” he laughed. “Yeah, I’m sure he’ll be just fine.”
Another moment of heavy silence passed as I wiped my face dry, embarrassed. The last thing I needed was to have this odd unlikely companion dislike me any more than he already did.
I had so many questions for him.
What was true of the stories? What were lies made up by the guardians?
A void mage.
My eyes trailed down to my still blackened hand.
“What could I have done differently?”
Aixel looked up, confused blackened eyes dancing with the firelight.
“I know the ring stopped you last time. But is there anything else I could have done? Or is there no use fighting it?” I asked, hesitant.
Aixel was quiet, but surprisingly serious. He then shook his head.
“Your first mistake was opening up your magic. When you raised your hand to absorb me as a blood mage, you revealed yourself,” he paused, seemingly considering his words, “I usually have to directly touch someone to corrupt… But not when a blood mage opens the path for me.”
I nodded, remembering Ciro’s words from before.
“So after the connection is made, there’s nothing else you can do?”
His brows furrowed, concentrating, considering.
“Not unless I’m met with another void mage or another type of void magic,” he looked up, eyes squinting, “The only reason I stopped at your ring is because it had ancient fae traces and wards - far more complicated than anything I had ever encountered.”
I considered his words, listening to the crackling fire.
“Can you teach me?”
“Teach you?” he let out a short laugh.
I did not laugh in return.
“Oh, you’re serious,” he frowned.
Great mages of the age were able to take lessons from all schools. Of course, it was not easy, but it was possible. We often find what type of magic we are adept to at a young age. Usually, it’s quite clear what school and disciple will choose you, like when Limenta began to talk to animals when she was a child. But, if one really wanted to, with a lot of hard work and dedication, they would be able to use magic from any of the chosen disciples. It was incredibly challenging, akin to learning a new language without the luxury of hearing the words.
If it was possible with all the other types, why not void magic?
“It’s not pleasant,” he shook his head, “The little you experienced with your hand is just a taste of what I have lived with every waking moment since birth. Most of us don’t survive. I was lucky.”
He was silent for a moment, but I did not dare risk interrupting him.
“When a void mage is born, you can’t hide them. If the screams don’t give it away, the eyes do. So the parents either ‘send them away’ to the judges - out of sight, out of mind,” he sighed and shook his head, “Or, they brave their way to the Barrens, leaving us in the high grass, hoping some other wandering void mage finds us and takes us under their care.”
I shook my head, horrified. Any words I had now buried in my tightening throat.
He suddenly stood, expression serious.
“Raise your hand. Open your magic. I want to see something.”
I swallowed hard, nervous at the anticipation of pain once again while I got up off of the ground. I raised my blackened hand, still barely able to move my fingers, and opened the path once more.
He looked surprised.
“What?” I asked, hand still raised.
“You didn’t even hesitate.”
“Why? Are you going to try and kill me again?”
“Maybe.”
He raised his hand, and I watched mesmerized, as the skin began to crack and dissolve away, revealing the familiar swarm of black gnats where his hand once was. It swirled for a moment before coming towards my outstretched fingers. I braced myself, waiting for the familiar pain, teeth clenched.
It started with the same familiar prickle, like thorns, at the tips of my fingers, and a wave of cold washed over me. My eyes met with Aixel’s, waiting for any further instruction, but he remained stoic, blackened eyes impossible to read.
“Remember this feeling - remember the cold. That’s your magic being corrupted by the void,” he said, voice loud over the buzzing.
I nodded, fighting back tears as my jaw strained tight with the pain. It may not have been as painful as the first time, but the sensation was not pleasant.
“Find your magic. Find your warmth and power. Find the last breath you stole.”
My mind flashed to the dragonrider, crawling backwards against the rocks. I remembered the warmth, tantalizing rush after I inhaled. The magic pulsing within me.
“And push against the cold?” I said through clenched teeth.
“No. Corrupt it.”
“What?”
“Corrupt it. Turn it cold. Stab it and stretch it and mold it until it’s an abomination of what once was.”
I shivered then looked at my hand. My fingertip looked even more shriveled than before. I then focused on the remaining warmth in my palm, searching for any signs of magic. I felt nothing.
“I can’t find it,” I struggled.
“Focus.”
“My magic - it’s not - I’ve never…”
“Quickly now, or I’m taking another knuckle,” he said with an odd, measured calm.
He wasn’t bluffing.
The pain amplified, sending shocks down the length of my arm, and I let out a little cry.
I searched the length of my arm, feeling desperately for any sign of my magic, closing my eyes in concentration.
There. There it was.
I could sense it, if only for a moment. I could see it there, in my mind’s eye, like a sweet fog beneath the surface of my skin. I felt it pull and stretch, tension building as it breached my fingertips before it turned into a clouded, distorted mess. But just as the sensation came, it left again.
“Careful now, I almost have your entire pinkie finger.”
“Wait - no - I almost had it,” I shouted.
I grimaced, desperately searching again.
There.
My entire body screamed at me to pull away - to use the remaining magic in my hand to fight at the intrusion. But no - I knew that wouldn’t work. I closed my eyes tight once again, finding the seams. Just a tear… That should be enough.
I felt a small shudder, a ripple, sending a cascade of fresh new pain down the side of my body, and a scream escaped my lungs. My hand finally dropped, and my knees hit the ground as I collapsed. It was only then that the buzzing stopped.
I looked up, shaking with eyes wide and watery. Aixel was standing there, not looking at me, but at his reformed hand as he stretched and examined his fingers. His face remained stoic, bored even as I sat crumbled before him.
“Interesting,” he said as he wiped away some debris from the ground before sitting again.
“Did I… did I do it?” I choked.
“Just barely. You’ll need to practice more before it becomes useful. A void mage can take a body in an instant, and blood mages are especially vulnerable.”
I let my breath slow as I held my hand close to my chest, watching the flames dance in the now charcoal filled fire.
“Does it ever get easier? The pain?”
“No.”
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