Shock and confusion rattled through Jade at this abrupt one-eighty from the “duty and destiny” rhetoric the nahwal had started with. “But I thought the harvesters—”
“Don’t just be a harvester,” the nahwal interrupted. “Be yourself.” Abruptly it surged forward and grabbed her wrist, its bony fingers digging into her flesh. “Find your magic,” it insisted. The place the nahwal was touching began to burn, and the gray-green mists around them roiled.
Through the billowing mist, Jade saw the nahwal twitch and shudder, felt it start to yank away, only to grip harder. “What’s happening?”
“Go,” the creature hissed at her, its eyes neither alive nor dead now, but somewhere in between. It let go of her and staggered back, moving jerkily. “Go!”
The gray-green fog began spiraling around Jade, making her think of the funnel clouds several of the others had experienced within the barrier—terrible tornadoes that could suck up a mage and spit him or her into limbo. The others had escaped from their plights, but they were warriors with strong magic. She wasn’t. Yet even as panic began to build inside her, something else joined it: a spiky, electric heat that lit her up and blunted the fear. It felt like magic, but it wasn’t any sort of power she’d ever touched before. Had the nahwal given her a new talent? A glance at her wrist showed the same two marks as before—one hand outstretched as though begging, another clutching a quill. Those were the same bloodline and talent marks she’d worn since her first barrier ceremony. But the hot energy inside her was magic; she was sure of it.
Biting her tongue sharply, she drew a blood sacrifice. Pain flared, the salty tang filled her mouth, and a humming noise kindled at the base of her brain. For a split second, she thought she saw another layer of organization to the mist-laden barrier and the rapidly forming tornado—a layer of angles and structure, the metaphorical computer code beneath the cosmic chat room. Then the perception was gone and there was only the terrible funnel cloud that spun around her, threatening to suck her up. The mists whipped past her, headed for the gaping maw; wind dragged at her, yanking at her clothes and hair as she braced against the pull. Around her, within her, that strange, mad energy continued to whirl and grow. She wasn’t sure whether it was a memory or real, but she heard the nahwal cry, in what sounded like a lone woman’s voice, “Go! ”
It was the same voice she’d heard before, telling her to beware.
She wanted to stay and demand answers, but didn’t dare. She had to get out of there. Spitting a mouthful of blood into the whipping wind, she threw back her head and shouted, “Way! ”
This time, the response was instantaneous. Red-gold magic slashed through her, out of her, twisting the barrier plane in on itself and folding her in with it. Gray-green mist flew past and she had the disorienting sensation of moving at an incredible rate of speed, while also being conscious that she wasn’t physically moving at all. The sense of motion stopped with a sickening jolt, and she was lying sprawled on her back, still and chill, bathed in the rusty light from the flat-screen TV that took up most of one wall.
She was back in Lucius’s cottage, back in her own body.
And thank the gods for that, she thought, blinking muzzily. She didn’t know how long she’d been out-of-body, or what time it was, though it was still full dark outside. The sense of emptiness in the room told her that Lucius wasn’t nearby. No doubt he’d made it back from the library and had gone to get Strike and the others, so they could wake her. Except that she’d awakened herself. She’d made it home.
She lay blinking for a moment, then let out a long, exultant breath and sat partway up. “I did it.”
She’d cast the “way” spell by herself, had rescued herself from the barrier. “I did it!”
More, the magic was still inside her. It hadn’t stayed behind in the barrier. And it was showing her things. Where before the glyphs on the TV screen had only hinted at another layer of meaning, she now saw that the text string wasn’t illiterate gibberish at all, but a fragment of a spell . . . or rather a blessing, she realized, though she didn’t know what would have been blessed, or why.
I’m a spell caster, she thought, using the alternate meaning of the scribe’s talent mark, the one that had never before felt accurate. Her throat tightened with the raw, ragged joy of it. Or if I’m not now, at least I’m heading in that direction. The nahwal had triggered her talent. It seemed that Lucius wasn’t the only one to get a jump start tonight.
Still staring at the screen, as happy laughter bubbled up in her chest and stalled in her throat, she put down her hands, intending to push herself to her feet. Instead of finding the floor, though, she touched cold flesh.
Letting out a shriek, she yanked her hand back and spun, her heart going leaden in her chest.
“Lucius!”
He lay where he’d been before. Even in the reddish brown light his skin was an unhealthy gray, his lips blue. For a long second, she didn’t think he was breathing at all. Then his chest lifted in a slow, sluggishly indrawn breath. After another agonizing wait, it dropped as he breathed out.
“Lucius?” She reached out trembling fingers to check the pulse at his throat, steeling herself against the chill of his flesh. She couldn’t detect his heartbeat, but stemmed the rising panic. If his heart weren’t beating, he wouldn’t still be breathing . Instead of settling her, though, the thought brought images of animated corpses with glowing green eyes.
No, she told herself harshly. The makol is gone. Lucius isn’t. I won’t let him be.
Heart pounding, she scrabbled around, found the earpiece, and keyed it to transmit. “Hey, guys.
Need some help in here.” Her voice was two octaves too high.
“Are you okay?” Jox asked immediately, his voice full of a winikin’s concern.
She tried to keep it factual, tried not to let her voice tremble. “Lucius is out and fading. I think we’re going to need Sasha, and maybe Rabbit.” Sasha could heal him. Rabbit, with his mind-bender’s talent, could follow where Lucius’s mind had gone. Maybe. Hopefully. Please, gods.
There was a murmur of off- mike conversation, and then the winikin said, “Sit tight. Strike and the others are on their way.”
“I’m on mike,” Strike broke in, the background sounds suggesting he was running. “Where is he stuck?” But they both knew he was really asking, Did he make it to the library?
“I don’t know.” She sketched out a quick report of her and Lucius’s out- of-body jaunt to Xibalba.
She’d tell the others about her solo trip to the barrier after she’d had a chance to think about it herself.
By the writs, it was her right to keep her nahwal’s messages private, and she didn’t think her visit with the nahwal was relevant to the library. Beyond that, it had confused her. Some of what the nahwal had said made complete sense, and it seemed that the creature had given her the missing piece of her magic. But at the same time, some of what it had said jarred against Jade’s own instincts . . . although admittedly those instincts had been ingrained by Shandi, whose loyalty first and foremost was to the harvester bloodline, Jade had long ago decided, not necessarily to the needs and desires of her own charge. Which left her . . . where?