Clash (The Arinthian Line Book 4) (77 page)

The moment of the spell arrived in blinding fury. “IMPETUS PERAGRO!”

Yet just as the ripping arcane forces began tearing him away, an arrow struck him in the back with a sickening squish. His body yanked a split moment later as the rest of the barrage destroyed the arena floor. Almost instantly, he smashed into the wall of the tunnel, feeling multiple teeth come loose and who knew how many bones break. His blood splattered the stone as he bounced off, crumpling in a jagged heap on the ground, vision obscured by something hot and sticky. But physical injuries aside, he knew something deep in his core was very wrong. Arcane overdraw had snapped something in his being, something crucial.

Leera loosed a frightened shriek upon seeing him. She grabbed him with both hands and yanked him to his feet. He was a loose puddle of bones and blood and flesh. Nothing worked right. Everything was filled with searing and grinding pain. The expression on her face when she grabbed him said it all.

It was sheer horror.

Past the blood that dripped from his brows, Augum saw that two Legion soldiers lay in a heap behind her. At the far end of the tunnel, Temper stumped about in a haze of confusion. Bridget wobbled near a portal, eyes unfocused, hair and robe blowing from its wind. She had successfully cast it and apparently suffered from the curse of breaking library rules.

He also noticed one other thing, clutched in his numb paw—the divining rod. Somehow, miraculously, he had maintained his grip on it.

“Help me, Aug—” Leera said with gritted teeth as she heaved him toward the portal. He stumbled and heard multiple bones cracking and scraping together. His entire body was an acutely throbbing mass. It was so intense he would have rather died, as if a thousand knives were stabbing him at once.

But the look in her eyes kept him going. It was a look of love and terror. He forced his legs, which barely worked, to move. But it was difficult, very difficult to get anything to work right. And Centarro was fading fast, quickly jumbling his thoughts. The glass of clarity was slowly shattering.

“Get Bridge,” he mumbled, though what actually came out was a sickening gurgle. Somehow though, Leera understood. She shoved him toward the portal and reached for Bridget.

And all that remained between safety and death was the few short paces to the roaring black oval, versus the blistering speed of his father’s blurred form.

He took one bone-cracking step and saw the hissing form take ten. A second crunching step and the form took another ten.

One … last … step …

The hiss was now so loud it was almost all he could hear, except for Leera’s screaming battle cry from a final heaving effort—she plowed into him, Bridget clutched in her arms, careening the three of them into the portal.

Aftermath

Silence. Long, cold, quiet silence. In time, that silence gave way to a gentle sound—that of soft rain splashing a nearby stream. Soon, the rain could be felt dully and subtly on his body. And as feeling returned, so too did pain. Searing, throbbing, excruciating pain.

Augum finally opened his eyes. The sky was cloudy and dark. Drops gently splashed on his cheeks. A grove of trees surrounded his blurry vision, the canopy swaying in a stormy wind.

Someone was weeping nearby. He tried to move his neck but couldn’t without experience a grating jolt.

Leera’s blurry face appeared over his. “Aug—? Say something—”

He tried to speak but all that came out was a gurgle. He tasted the coppery tang of blood in his mouth. It was a pool of blood. He gasped and choked, exploding it over his face.

“Don’t you die on me—” she said in a shaky voice. Her face disappeared out of sight. “Bridge, stay here, all right? Look at me. Stay. Here. I’m going to get help. I’ll be right back—”

He could hear her run off, sobbing, footsteps splashing puddles in the soggy grass. He lay there, body throbbing sickeningly, wanting to throw up. He listened to the rain plink off a wooden roof, to the sound of a dribbling nearby stream. He tried to move again but only felt the jarring of bone-on-bone, and couldn’t help but let out a gurgling yelp. His body simply did not work. He kept seeing momentary flashes of something eternally ancient and dark and cold. It beckoned to him in tendril whispers.

A face appeared above his. “Hi,” Bridget said, examining him curiously. She covered her mouth and burst into a giggle, before her face changed to a look of child-like curiosity. She waved at him with floppy fingers and gave a silly smile. “Hi.”

Augum wheezed. Oh, Bridget …

“Hi,” she repeated. Her head tilted left as she kept looking at him. Then it tilted right as she began rocking, playing with something on his chest. His heart ached. The repercussions of casting a borrowed library scroll. Poor, brave Bridget …

She picked up the object on his chest to examine it closer. He saw that it was black and studded with seven polished stones.

The divining rod. Thank the Unnameables …

Nana, can you hear my thoughts? It’s safe to return now. Nana, we need you more than ever. Please,
please
, if you can somehow hear me, come to us. We need you so much, so very, very much …

The rain continued unabated. There was no teleportation noise. Instead, there came the sound of rushing feet. Soon familiar faces appeared—Mr. Goss and Mr. Okeke and Jengo, and even Haylee. All went ashen upon seeing Augum. Haylee burst out a horror-stricken cry, a shaking hand over her mouth.

“How bad is it?” Leera asked in a weak whisper.

Mr. Goss placed a gentle hand on Augum’s neck. He gave her a dark look and did not reply. But Augum’s consciousness was rapidly slipping away. He felt weak, weaker than he had ever felt before. His vision shrank and shrank, until it was nothing, and he was nothing.

* * *

Augum woke in a small and dim candle-lit room. A fire crackled gently in the next room. The window above the bed showed that it was night. Wind howled overhead. He could hear the trees rustling outside, and rain pelting the roof. It was a comforting sound.

His body was on fire, like a thousand needles were pricking him. He felt light and nauseous, as if he was swimming upside down. His breaths came out as shallow wheezes. Unable to move, he moaned.

Bridget’s face quickly appeared above him. Her hair had been washed and tied back in a ponytail. She was wearing a nightgown.

“Hi,” she blurted, drooling. “Hi.”

A door squeaked open and feet padded in. Jengo’s smiling ebony face soon appeared above Augum. He lifted a tray of steaming soup. “You’ve been out for a long while,” he whispered. “Day and a half. Been storming the entire time. And Leera hasn’t left your side even once. She’s quite distraught, let me tell you. I’ve been trying to get her to sleep, and here she is finally catching a snooze.”

He put the tray down. “Easy, Bridge, you’ll have some.” Augum heard her trying to reach for it, but each time Jengo had to gently pry her away. Jengo then shook someone nearby. “Augum’s awake.”

Leera immediately snapped into his vision. She wore a traditional blue robe, their favorite. The numerous tiny cuts on her soft cheeks had scabbed over. She was also clean-looking, hair washed and shiny and hanging around her face. But there were purple bags under her bloodshot eyes.

“Oh, Aug …” She leaned down and gently kissed his forehead. “You’re a mess.”

He moaned, smiling with his eyes, though all he felt was a horrible grating and throbbing pain.

“Mrs. Stone hasn’t returned, no,” she said. “We think she doesn’t know it’s safe to come back yet. Who knows how long it’ll be.” She glanced at Bridget. “And … and Bridget’s kind of … gone simple. From casting that scroll, that is. I … I don’t know what to do. Nobody does.” She sniffed as a tear rolled down her cheek. Augum wished he could wipe it away. He wished he could gently hold her in his arms, cradle her close.

Jengo placed a slender ebony hand on Augum’s forehead. “Still hot,” he said to Leera, before turning his attention back to him. “Father, Mr. Goss, and a whole bunch of others are on a quest to find medicine. Your whole body is in a splint, basically.” He smiled. “I think you broke every bone possible.” His hands twisted. “Err, everyone’s very concerned, but we’re keeping visitors down to a minimum. The village is basically on lockdown. The Legion’s in a right state, yes they are. A right state. And the kingdom …” He leaned closer, voice conspiratorial. “There’ve been riots, Augum,
riots
. And the Legion are using a heavy hand to quell—”

“Not now, Jengo,” Leera snapped.

“Right, of course, that can all wait.” Jengo bit his lip. “Say, I wanted to try something. I’ve been studying up on healing and—”

“I told you, no, Jengo—”

“But if you’ll just let me—”

“I
said
, NO!”

“Of course, my apologies,” he mumbled. “Uh, why don’t I leave you to it then.” Jengo quietly excused himself from the room, which Augum finally recognized as Mr. Okeke’s. It had a nice spruce truss above that reminded him of Sir Westwood’s thatched house.

Leera rubbed her face. “I’ve been short lately. Patience ain’t exactly my strength as you know.” She lifted a bowl of potato and leek soup and dipped a spoon in. Despite the many pains, the smell made Augum realize just how hungry he was. He couldn’t even recall the last time he ate.

Leera gave the first spoonful to Bridget, then had to wipe her mouth. She sighed and brought Bridget to sit in her lap. “Poor girl, what are we going to do with you?” She fed her another spoonful of soup. Bridget made a yucky face.

Leera brushed hair aside from Bridget’s cheeks. “You have to, I know you’re hungry.”

Bridget shook her head. “Nuh-uh.”

Leera sighed again. “Fine, let’s feed Augum.” She gave him a wry grin. “Like two babies over here.”

He tried to smile but it hurt too much.

“We’re all hoping Mrs. Stone comes back soon.” Leera held onto Bridget while carefully pouring a spoonful into his parched mouth. It tasted divine. “Maybe she can heal you. It has to happen soon though, before the damage sets, or whatever. You remember Haylee …”

Augum thought of Haylee and how she still limped even after receiving arcane healing. It was an imperfect art. He wondered if he would have to resort to flying around in a chair like Lien Ning.

“I tuned to the Exot Orb,” Leera continued, feeding him another spoonful. “I’ve been in touch with Caireen in Antioc. City’s a mess. Even the constabulary went up in flames.” She froze thoughtfully, spoon hanging in mid-air, while Bridget squirmed in her grip. “I can’t believe we survived,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Your father … I
saw
him. He arrived the moment I shoved us into that portal. It was a giant roaring blast.” She chuckled nervously. “Pretty sure the tunnel came down behind us.”

Augum moaned—all he wanted was that spoonful. He hated being immobile and useless. He hated the pain, the discomfort.

“Right, sorry.” Leera fed it to him. Then she went on to tell him how everyone was doing. Malaika and Charissa still had not returned. Mr. and Mrs. Haroun were worried sick of course, the latter irate. Mrs. Haroun had even accused Leera of withholding information, and had to be led away sobbing by Mr. Haroun. Leland was with the Agonex all the time now, and he was acting strangely, though Leera didn’t clarify, and Augum couldn’t exactly follow up with questions. Haylee and Chaska were doing all right, though they still argued now and then. Apparently Chaska was taking his town watch thing very seriously, patrolling every moment of his spare time. Devon was with him every step of the way. He and his father were also busy making evacuation plans in case the Legion arrived, though she thought that was a waste of energy, as the kind of warlocks they’d face would quickly overcome any local resistance. And of course, everyone was dreadfully worried about him and Bridget, and hoped Mrs. Stone would return soon.

After feeding him, Leera put the bowl away and had Bridget lie on the floor, telling her, “Go to sleep, okay? Bridget? Go to sleep.” She made a head-on-pillow gesture. “You know—sleep,” and soon Bridget was snoozing peacefully.

Leera appeared by his side again, face troubled. “I miss holding you,” she whispered, stroking his neck.

I miss you too, he wanted to say.

She sighed and curled up beside him on the bed, still stroking his neck, and soon both of them fell asleep again.

The Abyss

Augum was startled awake, thinking he had heard a familiar reverse-sucking sound—that of someone teleporting. The Legion were here! Someone do something! But he couldn’t move or make a sound. He was deteriorating, he could sense it. His body felt hot and shaky. A flu was coming on, a strong one.

The candles had all gone out during the night. The room was as dark as the window. Rain pelted the glass. It plonked against the roof. Wind whistled through the cracks in the beams. Outside, trees swayed and rustled. Leera snoozed away peacefully by his side, nuzzled into his flank and covered by a blanket, while Bridget’s slow breathing could be heard nearby.

The floorboards creaked.

That wasn’t the Legion! Mrs. Stone had come! Finally! Now all that had to—

But it was Jengo’s face that appeared silhouetted in the starlight. A finger was over his mouth in a
Shhh
gesture. He gave a furtive glance at Leera before whispering, “Will you let me try healing you?”

Augum’s hopes crashed like waves against a rocky shore. Where was she? Why hadn’t she come yet?

Jengo nodded, imploring Augum to trust him with those caring eyes of his. At last, Augum blinked once, fearing a moan would wake Leera. He hoped Jengo knew what he was doing.

Jengo placed a gentle hand on Augum’s jaw, making him wince. He closed his eyes in concentration, then began mumbling an arcane phrase. A soft light shone from his palm and Augum felt a warmth slowly spread from his jaw through his face.

It was working! He could feel that wonderful buzzing, akin to a thousand ants working away, on his jaw and face, and then his chest and back. Jengo’s brow began to sweat and he winced, abruptly stopping the spell. He collapsed immediately with a painful moan. In the same moment, Leera jolted awake.