The silver magic curled around her then, kissing her skin and ruffling her robes.
The silence was unbearable after that. Iryana tried to calm down, to shove it all back down, but she couldn’t. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
The Keeper retrieved a plain woolen bag from the pocket of his robe. From inside, he first pulled out a shard of bone that was as long as her fingers, wide and flat on one end and thin and pointed at the other. Next came a hooked hammer, the wood shining from use.
“We can begin now.” He soundednearly as raw as she felt.
The Keeper had her lie down on the cot, adjust the robe until her back was exposed to him.
“This sort of story must begin behind your heart,” he said. And she knew that was the truth.
She felt a prick as the Keeper placed the needle on her back, and then a pinch as he used the hammer to drive it into her flesh. A strange sensation accompanied the pain, and she knew the Keeper was feeding the metal magic into the marks. He was fast; the needle dragging over her skin and the hammer pounding in a steadytap,tap,tap.
It burned, but the pain was nothing compared to the turmoil filling the rest of her.
She wanted to be alone, to lick her wounds until she forgot the pain again. Iryana squeezed her eyes shut and gripped the edges of the cot with trembling fingers. Had she ever truly forgotten the pain, though? Or had it always been sitting there while she just grew used to it?
The constant tapping and burning along her skin eventually proved distraction enough for Iryana to let a soothing numbness sweep over her. She welcomed it gladly, focusing on the pain instead of the thoughts that tried to creep up from time to time.
It was hours before the Keeper finally stopped.
“I fear going further,” he said.
“What’s wrong?” she groaned, throat raw.
He hesitated. “Your body is still soaking up the magic. Normally, I know to stop when the body slows drawing it in. If Noshtiz’s magic overpowers yours, it will never find balance with your own, and you’d never be able to wield either again.”
“Then why stop?” She felt groggy, bone-tired.
“The magic of the well is fighting now; it would require more sacrifice to keep going. It is best to stop and not risk going too far. You will still have some raw magic leftover, but you will have plenty for your forgings.”
Iryana sighed with relief and nodded. The thought of tearing herself open further—no, she agreed it was bestto stop.
“I will teach you to forge once we’ve washed the tattoos and rested. It’s already nearly morning.” He slowly stood, wincing as his joints likely protested.
“Thank you for helping me. Can—can I see it?” she whispered, almost afraid to know if others would see her pain in it.
Iryana clutched the robe to her chest as she tried to lift herself, the back still gaping open over her shoulder and back. She was sure the edges were stained with blood, like the rags that filled the basket beside the cot. The Keeper helped her up, and Iryana’s knees shook. They ambled to the side of the room where the Keeper pulled one panel aside to reveal a large mirror.
Her eyes fell to the floor. The tattoos were already there; there was no getting rid of them, but she resisted facing them.
The Keeper retreated, mumbling an excuse of needing to clean his tools, but Iryana felt like he was giving her privacy.
With a steadying breath, she turned and drew her eyes up to see what the Keeper had marked her with.
Her breath caught when she saw the dizzying myriad of symbols all over the side of her back.
The tattoo was clearly centered behind her heart. The lines there were so thick and overlapping that she could barely see any red skin peeking through. Symbols erupted from that spot like poisoned veins, mostly arrows and spears driving away from her heart, but the further they got, patterns emerged. The symbols spiraled away like whips, some trailing down her spine, others wrapping around her side, a few curling over her shoulder or around the back of her neck.
She heaved in a breath and tore her eyes away. It was not like the words she had spoken were written across her skin, but the pain was unmistakably etched into her. The Keeper had said her past was already a part of her, but instead of being hidden deep inside, it was now on the surface.
She had faced the truth though, and would hopefullynever have to do so again.
In the morning, the Keeper roused her from the side chamber she had slept in.
The remainder of the night had passed slowly, despite her exhaustion. She couldn’t help but wonder what Hadima had said in her own forging. What she had said about Iryana. What Misha would say when she forged. That had kept her up for hours until she’d finally cried herself to sleep.
Now she just felt on edge. Raw.
