There was a pause as Reeve stared into her eyes, but then he dropped his gaze to look past her shoulder and admitted in a tight voice, “No. She died.”
Viri’s lips thinned with disgust, along with an unexpected dose of disappointment. But she pushed aside what she was feeling and said, “So there it is. You’ve siphoned before, you know how to do it, so just”—she waved toward Sage and Jonas again—“do it.”
Reeve shook his head. “I told you, it’s not an option. I don’t siphon anymore, end of discussion.” Before Viri could object, or ask how in Elders’ name he’d destroyed the nullicuffs and knocked her out with magic if he didn’t have access to stolen ellixen—not that he could have used it for that anyway—he turned to Jonas and asked, “What should I expect as the poison spreads?”
“I can’t say for sure,” Jonas said, looking anxiously between Viri and Reeve, “but if it works like nonmagical poisons, then it could induce any number of symptoms before it starts to shut down your internal organs and then, ultimately, kills you.” Hestraightened his glasses and continued, as if reciting from a book, “It could be fast acting or slow spreading. It could cause tingling in your extremities, numbness, fevers, chills, dizziness, abdominal cramping—”
“Let’s say I already have most of those,” Reeve said, wiping his brow and pressing his hand to his stomach—not his bloodied side, hisstomach. “Is there a way to slow it down?”
“It’s not just the poison that’s the problem,” Jonas said, indicating his red-splattered couch. “Whatever magical toxin was in the grimblade, it seems to be stopping your wound from clotting. You’re bleeding out. If the poison doesn’t kill you first, that will.”
“Fabulous,” Reeve muttered, and then, before any of them could react, his face lost what little color had remained and he lurched forward to vomit all over the floor.
Sage cursed and jumped backward, but Viri froze at seeing the unnatural blackish bile Reeve had spewed out.
“Thatreallyisn’t good,” Jonas said, sounding panicked. “Reeve, can you tell me exactly what you’re feeling—”
Jonas didn’t finish before Reeve’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he slumped over on the couch, unconscious.
“Reeve?Reeve!” Sage cried, avoiding the puddle of sick to reach out and shake his shoulder, but he remained unresponsive. “Jonas, talk to me,” she said urgently. “What are our options?”
Jonas ran his fingers through his blond curls, making them look even wilder. “We need someone who knows about these kinds of things. Someone with medical knowledgeandmagical knowledge. But that person doesn’texist.”
Viri’s heart began racing, not just at the sight of Reeve looking like he was at death’s door, but also because of what Jonas had said. She licked her lips and shared, “Actually…they do.”
Sage and Jonas spun toward her, and for a moment, she wondered what the hell she was thinking. Then she looked at the unconscious Reeve again, seeing his sweating, shivering, bleeding form, and suddenly, he wasn’t an eighteen-year-old reaper, but instead the eleven-year-old boy she’d once considered her closest friend. He’d saved her life tonight—she couldn’t ignore that. But even if he hadn’t, he was stillReeve. She couldn’t let him die, no matter what kind of monster he’d become.
“I know someone who might be able to help,” Viri said. “Quick—get him up, and follow me.”
The Journal of Celestial Mage Kadmus Castro
Seventeenth Sun, Tenth Cycle, Twelfth Age
The fabricator mages have built wardstones.
“Obelisks,” they’re calling them—four obsidian pillars, placed toward the north, south, east, and west of the now fully formed city. Or uppercity, as it’s known, with many residents having relocated inside the mountains and to the undercity beneath the surface. I don’t understand the appeal—I’d much rather feel the sun on my skin and the breeze on my face, but to each their own. I can, however, acknowledge that the underground and inner-mountain design is a marvel, even by fabricator standards. For shallows who have never experienced magic-made architecture, let alone our wayportals and ellixen-infused elevators, I understand why they might be charmed enough to want to live in such places.
But the wardstones—the “obelisks”—I’m not sure how I feel about those.
Because they’ve suppressed the power of the Hallow Stream.
What was once a flood of unruly magic is now a trickle. Submissive, subdued, silent. Just like back on the mainland.
Part of me is relieved, since it means my ellixen is no longer reacting in unpredictable and temperamental ways. It’s nice not to wonder whether I’ll heal a bruise or accidentally turn it into a broken bone, summon a book or have it burn to ash, unlock a door or trap myself in a sealed room. But another part of me is…grieving.
I never told anyone—I’ve barely even admitted it to myself—but I’d secretly hoped I might one day be able to use the raw magic emanating from the Stream to increase the power I draw from celestial events. I think I alreadywasto a degree—I think the Stream was helping me,that itwantedto help me. Because unlike on the mainland, the strange, residual power I’ve experienced with each new ritual has stayed with me for hours afterward. Sometimes days.
I’ve never felt anything like it before, not in all my years of practicing celestial magic.
It’s addictive.
And I want more.
But with the wards from the obelisks taming the Stream’s magic, I already know things are going to change. More and more shallows have been attending my ceremonies over the last few months, hungry for my blessing rites that amplify their ellixen, but now the celestial power I summon will no longer be as strong or as lasting—for them or for me. They’ll eventually stop coming to my rituals, stop needing me, stopwantingme. It’ll be just like on the mainland, with my role as Priest slowly but surely becoming obsolete.
I blame Tephryn Alemedes. She’s the reason the fabricator mages decided to build the obelisks—she came up with the idea, taking inspiration from the natural wards that surround the two Hallow Streams on the mainland, then infusing the towering obsidian pillars with her own experimental suppression magic. Of course she did—only an alchemist mage would be so reckless. Transformational magic is dangerous, and infusions, especially, can be deadly. There’s a reason why alchemy is so carefully supervised during training, and why so few mages choose it as their specialty. The discipline it takes, thesacrifice…not to mention the risks and consequences when it goes wrong…
I’m not sure if I abhor Tephryn or admire her. I think it’s a combination of both—though I’m also self-aware enough to know her physical appeal is swaying my bias, since it would be much easier to dislike her if she weren’t so beautiful.
