Ahead of me, the ground is rocky and barren, an open plain that stretches about a hundred paces wide with a gentle incline that leads up to the mountain range.
The mountains themselves extend left and right as far as I can see, forming a circle around the wasteland. They reach up so high that I have to crane my head in an attempt to see the top of them.
The pass that Thaden described must be up ahead, somewhere amidst the rocky crags, but the ascent to reach it is daunting.
As far as I can see, the landscape consists only of stone. There is nothing living in it. No trees, no greenery in crevices, not even any moss. The stones look loose, as if they’ll roll away under my feet. Given that I’ll have to pull the stretcher along that uneven and unreliable ground, I judge it could take me another two hours to reach the caverns Thaden described.
By then, night will have fallen.
I take a step out onto the stony plain, but that’s when my knees buckle. I find myself leaning against the nearest tree, which, by some miracle, has a solid enough trunk that it bends under my weight instead of breaking. Somehow, I’ve kept hold of the stretcher behind me.
I lower it to the ground before I drop it, my right shoulder grazing down the solid bark of the tree when my legs wobble violently.
Once the stretcher is safely on the ground, I collapse against the trunk, turning so that my back grazes it as I slide all the way down.
I’m faced with the fact that the additional strength the medallion gives me can’t overcome my body’s basic needs.
I’m dehydrated. I haven’t drunk a drop of water since I left the city before dawn. Since then, I’ve fought multiple battles and survived an inferno and dragged the Vandawolf through the mud for hours.
I’ve pushed my muscles beyond their breaking point.
I need water and I need rest, both of which I won’t get until I reach my family. They took all of the supplies with them, including mine. Certainly not their fault, since I left everything with them when I went to fight the monstrous wolf.
For a wild moment, I wonder what might happen if I press my left palm to the tree I’m resting against and command it to turn to water.
Could I drink it? Or would it be somehow poisoned with magic?
Malak was the first Blacksmith to change the nature of any living thing with his power. He transformed an ordinary apple tree to make its bark sparkle brightly at night. Until then, no Blacksmith had attempted to change the nature of organic material. Let alone succeeded.
Malak created something beautiful, but it triggered a quest for power that became ugly.
I’m so thirsty that I cast caution to the wind, not caring if the water I create will be poisoned. Twisting and planting my left palm against the tree, I send a command through the medallion.
Water.
It’s a testament to how groggy my thoughts are that I don’t consider for a moment that turning the solid object I’m propped up against into water will only land me on my face.
Liquid explodes up into the air around me. I fall clumsily onto my side, my outstretched arm buckles beneath my weight, and I bang my head on the rocks.
Fuck!
Water splashes down onto my face and chest. When my tongue darts out, I find the liquid slimy and as stagnant-tasting as the bog smelled.
I suppose it’s just as well I didn’t get a mouthful of it.
Self-loathing fills me as I stay where I am, a cruel laugh forming on my lips.
How fucking stupid. As if I could do anything good with this power.
I roll onto my back, ignoring the stones that bite into me. Now that I’m facing upward, I can see the clear sky and the first few stars twinkling to life in it.
It’s brighter than the night sky above the city, clear of the thin haze of magic that hangs over the entire wasteland.
But I may as well be lying at the bottom of a dark pit.
I tell myself I can crawl out of it.
I have to.
