Twisting Every Way

Chapter 6

Alone once more, Emya resumed her practice while Azo left to find Gabek-Fen. She concentrated on the fire. The flames twisted, grew, and shrank with her will. One day she would be able to create fire with magic, so the Kings said.

A gentle shuffling of tired feet over slate disturbed her concentration as the Shadow appeared next to the fire. Despite the heat from the fire and the summer weather which turned the throne room into an oven, the young man always seemed to be cold. His pale, bony hands shook as he held them close to the flames. His greasy brown hair fell over his deathly white face as his bloodshot, golden eyes squinted in the light. He licked his dry, cracked lips.

She tried to ignore him and concentrate on her magic, but she couldn't help glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. He shivered violently, wrapped his arms around himself, and leaned closer toward the fire. Without warning, his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell forward.

"Whoa," Emya jumped up to catch him before he could fall into the fire. His eyelids fluttered and opened when she grabbed him. He stared at her in confusion. She lowered him to the floor and felt his head. He was ice cold, corpse-like. Emya pulled her hand away, revolted.

"You're an undead monster!" she accused him. He shook his head weakly.

"I'm not dead," he mumbled. It was the first thing she'd ever heard him say. Moaning, he rolled onto his side and reached for her.

"Please," he whispered. "Water."

Emya stood up and backed away. She wasn't supposed to help him, but he might not leave her alone if she didn't. She dashed out to the well, tossed in the bucket, filled it halfway, and pulled it up quickly.

Inside, a water basin in the corner used for drinking water waited to be filled. The Kings became angry if she let it dry up, so she had to fill it anyway. After pouring in the water, she dipped a shallow bowl in the basin and brought it to the Shadow. He'd managed to get himself into a sitting position, but he shook so violently that she wasn't sure he would be able to hold the bowl.

As she approached he looked up at her with surprise and gratitude. And mistrust. He held out a trembling hand to take the bowl. Emya shook her head and gently pushed his hand down. She held the bowl to his lips and carefully tipped it, spilling the contents into his mouth and down his chin. Adjusting the pitch of the bowl, she held it while he slurped small sips.

His trembling slowed as the bowl emptied. When he was finished, he wiped his mouth with a steady hand. Rising to his feet without a word, he limped back to the corner. She hadn't noticed his labored gait before. Watching his wretched, skinny form fall into a heap once more pierced her heart with pangs of sympathy.

She stood up and took a few hesitant steps towards him. The wooden doors burst open. Emya whirled around as the Kings sauntered in.

"You've practiced enough today," Gabek-Fen, the blunter of the two, said with a motion for her to leave.

Azo sat down on the throne, still absorbed in the object of power. "The festival starts tonight. You must go to it."

That was the last thing she wanted to do, but it wasn't a suggestion.

"Is there anything you would like me to do there?" she asked, hoping for some task she could complete and be on her way quickly.

"The villagers," he said, "keep working on them."

An impossible task.

Scurrying out of the throne room, she strode the short distance to the 'castle' in which the Kings had instructed her to live the day she left Kamala. She would have preferred her old house, which was still unoccupied, but was happy to have a place of her own. It wasn't much, but it allowed her privacy.

The castle had two rooms, a kitchen and a common room she used for sleeping and not much else. She lit a candle with a match from a little wooden box. It was one of the few items she'd rescued from her parents' house, and now it was nearly empty. After using her long-buried magic to twist and bend fire at will lighting candles the old-fashioned way was frustrating. She was anxious to progress to where she could light a fire with a snap of her fingers. Until then, the matches would have to do. At least with the festival she would be able to buy a new box and replenish her supply. The family that made them would almost certainly be there. Their neighboring village lay against a small forest of carefully cultivated trees, and beneath the soil were minerals that would burst into flame with not but a spark.

The annual festival had been her single reprieve each year. The visiting villagers had no idea she could use magic, and her people had no intention of revealing such a shameful secret. As a result, the visitors treated her like anyone else.

It wasn't likely that the visitors would notice the strange behavior neighbors displayed towards her now, as it wasn't much different from how they treated her during festivals past. Leaving her house that evening before sunset, she dragged her feet to the north border where the visitors were arriving and setting up for trade the next morning.