Flecks of Gold (13 page)

I concentrated as hard as I could on remembering something pleasant and hit upon the time Mom and I had bought hot fudge sundaes and stayed up all night watching chick flicks, laughing at the sappier moments together. It was better than thinking about my current pain.

“Mom.” Tears leaked from my eyes.

Fingers brushed my arm. “Mary, can you heal yourself?” someone asked.

“I can’t, I can’t.” I said the words through gritted teeth, my concentration fully focused on not fainting.

“Mary, you must give me permission to heal you. I can’t do it otherwise.”

What had he said? It was hard to hear the man through the pounding of blood in my ears. The world was turning dark, and I decided to let it fade. Perhaps then the pain would go away.

“Mary!” The person holding me shook my shoulders hard, and the black receded slightly. “Look at me,” he said, turning my head toward his. “You must give me your consent. Please, Mary, just say ‘yes’.”

Alarm bells went off in my head.
Kelson
. The memory of cold blue eyes flashed to the surface of my mind.
I have to resist him, have to get away
, I thought in confusion. “No, no. I won’t let you take her,” I whispered. I shook myself, trying to get out of Kelson’s grasp, but a wave of hurt ran through me. Gasping, I stilled.

“It’s me, Breeohan. It’s Breeohan. Kelson is gone. Please, Mary, please trust me.” The voice sounded full of emotion. I tried to look at his face. Purple eyes stared intensely at mine. “Please, Mary. Trust me.”

There was no guile in those purple eyes, only worry so intense it smote me inside. Not blue eyes, purple. Breeohan. “Yes, heal me. I trust you, Breeohan.” That was all I could manage to say before the world closed in on me.

I
felt light behind
my eyelids but didn’t want to open them. My body was still tired, but my brain started processing images. Swords, thugs, a knife in my side. This thought woke me fully, and I quickly moved my hand to feel my left side. No pain struck me, and no bandages pressed my skin. There was a soft mattress under my back, and I looked around to see stucco gray walls and an open window across from the bed, letting in a warm breeze.

“So you’re finally awake.”

I turned my head to see Breeohan sitting at the side of my bed on an actual wooden stool. This was the first time I had seen any sort of chair anywhere in Iberloah. It gave me hope for better things.

“What happened?”

“You were stabbed. I healed you.”

“I gathered that. Did you, um, take out all those guys by yourself?”

“Yes.”

I was careful not to ask if they were dead. “So how does this work? Could you heal me whenever you wanted now, or do you have to ask permission every time?”

“Once permission is given, there is no need to ask again.”

“That’s a scary thought. Could you do anything besides heal me?”

“No. You only granted me leave to heal you, nothing else.”

“So in an enchantment, the magician tries to get permission to do whatever he wants with you?”

“Yes.” After a moment, he added, “You can tell me that I am no longer allowed to heal you, and then I won’t be able to.”

“Could anyone do anything harmful with the permission to heal?”

Breeohan considered for a moment. “I can’t think of anything, but I have never tried to think of any way to twist that grant. Would you like to take back your consent?” He sounded a bit defensive.

“No. I told you I trusted you. Well, I think I did.” My memory was a bit fuzzy.

“You did.” He smiled, and his smile was warm. It lit up his face, and I noticed for the first time that he looked tired and worried.

“Why are you tired? Didn’t you just heal me and then sleep?”

“It was a little more complicated than that. I wasn’t sure about all the lacings involved in your wound. I had to move carefully so that I wouldn’t make the stab worse or kill you by accident.”

“Ah-ha, so you
could
kill someone if they gave you permission to heal?”

“I suppose so.” He looked thoughtful. “But then again, maybe I wouldn’t have been able to kill you after all, since I only had your consent to heal you. I didn’t think of that last night, though. It would have saved me a lot of worry.” He looked sullen. “How do you think of these things?”

“Maybe I just see this lacing stuff with a different perspective than you because I haven’t lived with magic my whole life.”
Or maybe I just don’t trust anything I don’t fully comprehend
, I added silently.

“Oh, here. Eat this.” He thrust a bowl of gooey brown soup at me. I didn’t really want to chance it, but Breeohan looked so expectant that I reached hesitantly for the spoon he offered. It tasked like runny meatloaf. I like meatloaf when it’s solid, but soup meatloaf doesn’t quite cut it. I ate it anyway because I was hungry and Breeohan was watching, but I tried to will my taste buds to stop working.

I still felt weak. How much blood had I lost? The thought hit me suddenly that without Breeohan’s magic, I would be dead.

“Breeohan, I don’t think I thanked you yet for saving my life.”

“No, you didn’t, but I knew you would come to it eventually. You’re welcome.” There was an odd sort of silence between us then. I couldn’t think of what to say, and Breeohan looked rather uncomfortable as well.

“Well, I’ll leave now so that you can get some more sleep.” He quickly got up, almost knocking over the stool. He grabbed it before it fell, and then strode out of the room. It made me smile to see Breeohan acting ungraceful, and I briefly wondered why, but then felt too sleepy to think anymore.

The next time I woke to urgent needs, so I reluctantly levered myself out of the cozy bed. I was still uncomfortably dirty and greasy, but was glad Breeohan hadn’t done anything other than heal my wound. On standing, I noticed that the blister on my foot was also gone. After relieving myself in the chamber pot by the bed, I got rid of the evidence. My shoes were in the corner with my bags, so I pulled them on. I ached for a bath, but when I found the innkeeper, he said he could only sell me a pot of water for washing. I went back up to my room and tried to think of a lacing that would clean me completely.

I thought of myself clean, remembered as hard as I could what it had been like at home when I could take a real shower with soap, shampoo, and conditioner. It had to have a pattern, but it was hard to find a lacing from only a memory. I had to refocus in a sense, but it finally appeared. I was so dirty I almost didn’t care if I accidentally blew myself up by tweaking the wrong lacing string. I focused on the one that seemed right to me, twisted . . . and felt the dirt, smell, and griminess fall away into nothing. It was as if I’d just taken a shower at home. I felt indescribable relief. Next, I used it on my jeans and shirt as well as my Iberloahan outfit. Cleaning the native garb did not make the knife hole disappear, however. I tried to remember how they had looked when they were new, hoping to find a way to restore them to that state, but finally I realized that they had probably been used when Ismaha bought them for me.

Well, I’ve certainly bought my fair share of new clothes in my life,
I thought. I decided to remember my own clothes when they were new, to see if that would help. The thought gave me a wrenching longing for home. I took a deep breath to calm myself. Crying wouldn’t do any good. I needed to concentrate on finding the pattern for new clothes to distract myself from maudlin thoughts.

I found the pattern while remembering my jeans crisply pleated and dark blue on the store shelf. One strand of the pattern blazed more clearly than the rest, so I concentrated on my jeans, and jerked that line. Suddenly my jeans lay on the bed, as stiff and dark as when I’d first bought them. I did a little jig.
I’ll never have to buy jeans again
, I thought, but then stopped dancing abruptly as I remembered that I might never
be able
to buy new jeans if I couldn’t get back to civilization.

Fixing all my other clothes to their original newness made me feel much better. The Iberloahan garb fell neatly on my body, and my hair was snarl-free for the first time since reaching Iban. The cleanliness lacing left it fresh and straight, as if I had blow-dried it, and I could almost smell the rose scented conditioner I used at home. But that was probably just my imagination.

My newfound cleanliness gave me the courage to go downstairs and roll the “what kind of food will I get this time” dice. Clean, I could face anything—even soupy meatloaf. In the common room I looked around for Breeohan but didn’t see him until he stood up and waved from a corner table. His ability to go unnoticed reminded me of my own strange ability to not attract attention if I didn’t want to, and I wondered if that had something to do with lacing magic as well.

Thinking of magic made me think of the attack, and for the first time since waking, I considered the significance of the lead thug’s words to Breeohan.

“Why were those men looking for you?” I sat down next to him as if we had been in the middle of a conversation and I was simply resuming it.

He looked kind of stunned. “You look . . .”

“Clean?” I helped.

“Yes, but no. You look . . . nice.” He glanced around as if he couldn’t remember where he had put something. “Uh, do you mind if we fade into the background before we start discussing things?”

“Okay.” We sat there, trying to act like pieces of furniture, not worth notice. I thought for a minute, remembering what I’d done before if I wanted to be ignored. The pattern I must have instinctively used in the past sprang to life. I twisted a strand and saw the hint of gold flash in the back of my mind.

“You never cease to surprise me,” Breeohan said.

“I try.” I showed him what I’d done, and he copied me, becoming hard to see. We weren’t really invisible, just chameleonlike, blending with the area around us. “So why are people after you?” I asked.

“I have no idea. I don’t have any enemies that would want me dead. At least, I thought I didn’t. I couldn’t ask the men who attacked us; I was too busy with you.”

“Sorry,” I said, hoping that meant he hadn’t actually killed anyone.

“Don’t be. It was me they were after. It was my fault that you were injured. I’m starting to wonder about our attack in the canyon as well. Do you think they could have been connected?”

“It’s possible. I thought I was just imagining things, but one of the attackers from last night looked familiar to me. So let’s assume that the two fights
were
connected. The first guys failed to catch you, so they sent a message somehow for the next group or something. That’s possible, but I still don’t see why. Are you sure you can’t remember any enemies with major grudges?”

“That isn’t something I would likely forget. We will just have to stay inconspicuous until we get to the palace and can consult with the king and other magicians. He didn’t ask if my name was Breeohan, just if I was a magician.”

“Are there many people in Iberloah with purple eyes?”

“No, it’s a less common color.”

“So their attack could have been more than a random act of violence against magicians,” I said.

“Yes. I know of only one other magician with purple eyes.”

“Any with golden eyes?” I asked, curious.

“There are certainly a lot of magicians and non-magicians with a bit of gold in their eyes, like mine for example. But no one has eyes quite like yours.” Though it was hard to focus on Breeohan’s expression, he sounded strangely evasive.

“Are my completely gold eyes a sign of evil or something? Why did both you and Ismaha jump when you first saw them?”

“It’s a little hard to explain. Do you mind if I wait to tell you until we’re safely out of town?”

“Fine. We should go as soon as possible, but could I get a little food first? Ever since you healed me I’ve been ravenous. I guess I need a lot of energy to replenish my red blood cells.” I knew he was aching to ask me what red blood cells were, but I discarded my “ignore me” pattern and signaled a waitress. Breeohan was forced to remain silent as a girl came over looking puzzled, probably wondering why she hadn’t noticed me before.

“What would you like?” she asked politely.

“What do you have?” She rattled off a list of foods I’d never heard of before. I decided it’d be safest to just get bread.

After she left I was startled when Breeohan said, “I will get my things and meet you in your room. I think it is safest if I stay less noticeable.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I had to watch closely to see the ripple of movement he made against the chair as he got up and left.

When the bread arrived, I headed quickly for my room. I didn’t see Breeohan, so when he spoke, I nearly jumped out of my sneakers.

“Don’t do that,” I said, angry.

“Sorry.” He was laughing.

“Yeah, you’ll be sorry when I turn you into a newt,” I mumbled.

“I wouldn’t put it past you to figure out how, though it has never been thought possible before.”

“Don’t worry, you’d get better,” I said, thinking of Monty Python. It was really annoying to not have anyone understand my jokes. They weren’t all that funny anyway, so it didn’t matter, but I suspected my jokes made Breeohan think me very odd.