The Breath -Sixth Whale Book 1

*20*

The Halves were more crowded than usual. The streets that were normally bustling with busy workers now had the addition of large quantities of rather miserable looking wizards. They sat in doorways and were lining the already far too narrow streets. The injured were crowded around a rather out of place looking cabin waiting for the witchfather. To what extent the injuries were caused by the mob in the city or by other wizards it would be hard for anyone to say. Already two had died. 

The population of The Halves didn't fully understand what they were seeing, or where Thandre had gone. The barrier was still up, so he had to be somewhere but after some rather tentative exploration of his home, nobody was entirely certain where. The wizards felt as displaced as they looked. Coming here had felt like a good idea, but with no food, or shelter and the oppressive dimness of the streets, they wondered if perhaps they should go back. Many felt surprised by the sheer number of wizards of all ages that had fled, others felt hopeful, with so many people unhappy enough to run, surely they could change things if they went back united.

Still for hours not one of them mentioned the possibility. They might have left the Guild but its hold was still there, years of being afraid and living in silence couldn't be overcome just by leaving for a few hours. Then there was the tension. Several of the wizards were from recovery and discovery, the department that found and brought most of the wizards into the guild. Occasionally they had saved lives, but for the most part, they bought and kidnapped any boy with so much as an inkling of magic. To know that they didn't want to be part of the guild either was stirring a mass of bottled and bitter feelings.

When candlelight illuminated the cabin everyone witch and wizard alike fixated on the light. The witchfather would fix things. He always fixed things.

Thandre was very well aware that things were different in the halves, he'd felt the sudden influx of magic inside the barrier and may have dragged Shae the long route back so that he could avoid dealing with whatever mess awaited him above ground. They had food to last for days after all. Then he remembered that his other apprentice was up there dealing with whatever mess was waiting for them and with great reluctance decided to return.

When he opened the door to the urgent banging it was worse than he could have feared. Neither Vern nor Donnie were anywhere to be seen, bells were ringing, there were wizards around every corner and somewhere something was burning. It didn't take him long to understand how the last three were connected. Part of him felt rather pleased about it. Perhaps he should have tried burning it down too. He would have to worry about the lads later, right now there were wizards quite literally bleeding through botched heals on his doorstep.

Donnie was still very much unconscious and his skin was pale and clammy. Magic skimmed over his scalp in tiny blue and silver sparks. Nobody else seemed overly concerned but it was starting to worry Vern a lot. Prebble had explained to him that Donni was just experiencing a bit of magical burn-out and would be okay soon, but he just couldn't believe that was all it was. Magical burn-out happened under circumstances similar to Donnies without a doubt, he'd seen it in some witches back home, however, this was on another level. He wanted to get Donnie out. He'd found him and it was clear that the other lad was not in good hands. None of the wizards had kindness in their eyes, just a sharp glint of suspicion. Miss Primm, Vern couldn't dare refer to her as Abigail, was sitting by Donnie now, her hand resting on his forehead.

He found her possibly the scariest of all. She was almost too put together, too perfectly ordinary and not once did her facial expression change from the well-honed look of patient boredom. As he watched her he noticed something that perhaps he shouldn't have. Golden sparks nearly too small to see skittered across Donnie's head and her palm for just a fraction of a second. If he'd blinked he would have missed it. It only left him all the more confused because there was no shadow of doubt in his mind when looking at her that she was anything other than a normal person. There was a complete absence of magic. Her eye's met his as she stood up and walked back to Prebble. Nothing had changed, Donnie was still looking seriously unwell. He must have imagined it, he'd been holding up the barrier for a good couple of hours, it was probably starting to get to him.

Donnie was dreaming and it wasn't fun. He was aboard a boat he'd never seen before, it wasn't the tiny one his family had travelled on but one much grander. Around him, the cloud sea was an angry roaring black, and the wind was making the boat drift off course. Thunder rumbled above and below, yet part of him didn't think the storm was so bad, he'd sailed through worse. Around him, people were shouting. Donnie didn't recognise the commands that were coming out of his mouth, nor the people who were following them. The wind made his long hair tangle in its ponytail and the lashing rain was soaking him through. Above his head, there was a tearing sound and the ship began to plunge into the raging clouds. A balloon had burst, the crew, his crew raced to fix it, but below in the hull he could hear the screams as the clouds began to envelop them all. He prayed. 

He woke up on the floor feeling far too warm. His vision was fuzzy and his head felt like a thunderbolt had struck it several times. His mouth was dry, he tried to look around but that made everything hurt even more. He let out a small groan that reminded many older wizards of the day they realised they couldn't quite handle their drink anymore. a few rolled their eyes and one muttered something under his breath about young wizards these days not knowing how to pace themselves. Although as far as his colleagues could remember it wasn't a skill the moaner had ever acquired. 

He decided to close his eyes again but now someone was touching his shoulder and shaking him. In reality, it wasn't an aggressive shake but it was more than enough for Donnie, who rather promptly emptied his stomach's content onto both himself, the floor and whoever was touching him.

" Gods dammit." A familiar voice cursed. 

Donnie closed his eyes again, his throat burned, his stomach was screaming and all his muscles ached. He'd never felt so sick before. He rolled away from the puddle of vomit, off the blankets and onto the cold stone floor. The movement wasn't a graceful one and he succeeded in spreading the foul-smelling mess over the floor some more. A woman sighed in the background and a door opened and closed, confident footsteps clicking on the stone.

" Donnie, wake up. Have some water." A voice urged pushing the wet rim of an overfull cup against his lips. He tried to drink but mostly he just spilt it and what little he did swallow came straight back up.

" He needs to be in a better position, if he's lying down like that he could choke on his vomit." Prebble had come to stand beside Vern, who was starting to look a little pale ass Donnie's most recent expulsion soaked into his sleeve.

" I'm going to move him now. Once he's in position try not to move him." Prebble took Donnie's right arm and moved it so it was a right-angle to his body, with the palm facing up. He then took the young man's other hand and placed it on Donnie's cheek with his palm facing outwards. He held his arm in place then used his free hand to bend Donnie's left knee and roll him onto his side. He checked the angle of Donnie's arms and legs then carefully tilted his head back and lifted his chin. He did a few more checks that Vern didn't understand.

" His airways are clear, hopefully, he'll wake up soon, but if he vomits like that again this should help reduce the risks. It's called the recuperation orientation. It's a useful skill to have if someone is unconscious and is at risk of choking like this lad." Prebble explained looking at his hands in repulsion. He stood swiftly and made his way to the nearest basin to rinse them off using one of the pitchers. 

" Miss Primm has gone to get some more sets of fresh clothes. Though she may find it more efficient to bring a whole wardrobe at this rate." Prebble chuckled too himself, but Vern wasn't feeling it. The smell of the vomit pool was making his stomach churn aggressively.

He looked around for something to mop up the mess. Ideally, before it made him feel worse. He looked at Donnie, despite being a complete mess and the occasional groan he was starting to look better. There was at least some colour in Donnie's face now and Vern took that as an enormous relief. Once Donnie was back on his feet he'd take him and run. So long as he kept a barrier around them they'd be able to get back home.

Right now he missed home, he missed the familiar dimness of the streets and the sense of safety. The Halves might have had its trouble with thieves and fights, but that was nothing like being in a building full of strangers surrounded by a mob that wanted to burn you alive.