She snorted. ‘I thought not. I have though. I’ve lived a long life, seen many wondrous things. I’ve lived through some of the worst atrocities mankind inflicts upon itself, but the only memories haunting my dreams, dragging me from my slumber sweating and screaming, are those of Anomalies taken by the blight.
‘It starts as a niggle, a pain in the head that thunders through the mind, but I don’t need to tell you that, do I? I’ll explain the next stage, Sorrow, so you’re prepared.’
My fingers dug into the arms of the chair as I flinched. I wanted nothing more than to leave this dark room, where harsh, sour scents and eerie creaks from the jars assaulted me. I glared at the woman.
‘Your brain will turn to liquid, nerve by nerve, till it leaks from every orifice. I’m told there’s no pain comparable. And it’s slow, too. A nosebleed one day. Eyes the next. Your remaining sight will be lost. While that’s happening, the itching starts. At first, it’ll be on the surface and you’ll gouge every sliver of skin from your howling form. If that doesn’t kill you, it’ll travel within. Your heart. Lungs. Guts. Even the marrow of your shattered bones. If that new husband of yours tries to come near, the blight will convince you he suffers too. You’ll scratch and hack in your desperation to save him from your fate. And don’t think he’d overpower you, girl. All that unused magic will give you a strength even Vyrus would envy. By the time you’ve finally destroyed yourself, and the others who’ll either come to your aid or to put you out of your misery, there’ll be nothing left to bury. You’ll be washed away, but the stench of your blood? That won’t ever fade.’
I tried in vain to blink away the blotches from my swirling vision, my lungs burning with each sharp inhale.
‘Matthias Elmswood is right about one thing though: it’s a miracle you’re still here; but whatever sliver of magic you’reusing isn’t enough. That’s why you’re getting the headaches. So tell me. How have you stayed alive when you should have torn yourself to shreds years ago?’
Rubbing my face, I took a deep breath. I knew the effects of the blight, but hearing it here, now? I clutched the silks of my skirts. Perhaps I’d better listen to this woman. Maybe if I could control animals, harnessthatside of my gift, I’d be able to fight off the blight. I’d survived till now, hadn’t I?
‘Honestly? I’m not sure. I’ve always had a way with animals, but when I try to speak to them, communicate, something doesn’t…click and they panic, run away. It’s a rather pathetic gift.’
‘It is, but by the time I’ve finished with you, you’ll be an Anomaly to be feared.’ Glesni winced, rubbing her hip as she tried to stand. I leaned forward to help, but she batted me away.
‘Lupus,’ she said, grimacing as she stood, barely reaching my chest. Pablo whined and nuzzled her fingers. The old woman smiled, stroking the fur on his crown. ‘Yes, Pablo, like a wolf.’ She took a jagged step forward. ‘It’s a chronic condition. Means my body feels like I’ve been hit by a herd of diafols, but like you, I’m stubborn. I’d rather cling to my independence than accept help.’
‘We do have a few things in common, then,’ I said sitting back.
‘I imagine there’s more than a few idiosyncrasies we share.’
Glesni limped over to the table, opening a small match box before shuffling back.
‘We’ll start small. What happens when you try to control an animal?’
‘There’s a…a warmth, flaring within. Here.’ I placed my hand between my breasts indicating the part of me where the tangle of gifts writhed and coiled. I watched as Glesni raised a bushy grey brow. ‘I let it flare, burn, but then it blasts out of me. I get thefeeling I’m supposed to direct it, but it doesn’t matter how many books I read on the subject. It always goes wrong.’
‘You’re far brighter than I gave you credit for. I see why Matthias is so smitten.’
‘He’s not smitten.’
‘He is, child, but I’m not a marriage counsellor, so let’s focus on your threads. Try and grasp them before we try it out. You should see it.’
I glanced down at my chest.
‘No, no. Not there’ – she jabbed her finger at my head, and I yelped – ‘here, child.Here.’
‘Fine,’ I said, swatting her gnarled hand away and rubbing the pain. ‘Give me a moment.’
Closing my eyes, I craned my neck side to side and wriggled in the seat. The familiar flare lurking within rose as soon as I called it. Silver threads, belligerent and vexed, hiding among the ever-eager violet that I tamped down. Warmth flooded my chest. Directionless. Unwilling. Nothing happened.
I tried to ignore the way Glesni snorted. She waved at me. ‘You’re grasping without a tether. You have tograbthe thread.’
Blowing out a long breath, I scrunched my eyes tighter. Perhaps if I imagined a hand reaching through me? In my mind’s eye, a golden hand formed, stretching towards my core. I winced as the silver threads burrowed further out of the way.
Inhaling deeply, I tried again, and the hand pulled a silver thread from the core, the writhing mass that jostled below my thundering heart. I jolted, almost letting it go. The books I’d read talked of spooling, permitting each thread an exit with each exhale; so letting out the slightest breath, I watched as a thread slammed out of my chest towards the window.
Glesni huffed as the panes rattled, and a confused blue bottle bashed into the glass as it fled my gift.
‘Not bad, but you’re letting your gift control you.’ She shuffled towards me. ‘My threads are flames. I had no choice but to control them. Quickly. When you see them’ – I batted her hand as she jabbed my forehead again – ‘focus on how much you allow through. I have a door, a lid across my core. I slam it down to stop me from setting my pants on fire.’
Closing my eyes again, I grimaced. None of the books I’d read had ever talked of a lid. Perhaps that was the all-elusive key I’d been searching for?
I pictured the golden hand slipping towards my core, fingers brushing past the insistent purple and tugging out the silver. And then I pictured it: a solid surface, heavy and secure. I slammed it shut, and I exhaled sharply. There, within my tingling chest, lay the silver thread, set down by the imaginary hand. Shining, pliant and mine to control.
‘Got it?’
