One day late in the winter, Mrillis was assigned to the laundry for the afternoon, to haul water and firewood. Though she was too small and young to be assigned chores, Ceera came with him. The steam that rose from the huge copper cauldron that sat over the fire fascinated the little girl. She was constantly climbing up the steps that let the water bearers pour buckets into the cauldron, to look into the slowly churning water. She begged repeatedly to be allowed to turn the crank that lifted copper buckets of hot water for the laundresses to use. Mrillis thought he spent more time bringing the child down out of harm's way, than he spent hauling wood and dirty clothes.
Mrillis was on the other side of the room, bent over to put another armload of wood into the bin, when Ceera shrieked.
Time slowed as he turned and saw her tumble off the steps, falling straight into the fire. He reached for her, though she was twenty steps away. He seemed to step sideways, inside and yet outside his body, pushed by panic and terror. Flames bit at his fingers and all the colors left the room. A blinding bright spider's web filled his vision. He saw the threads of the web warp and wrap around Ceera. He heard her call his name just before something popped, deep inside his head, and the world went black.
When the light returned, Mrillis thought he had fallen down every flight of stairs inside the Stronghold. He ached, all over, skin and bones and deep inside his head. Just moving his head made him nauseous. Opening his eyes was an effort, but he had to see something besides the spider's web imprinted on the dark side of his eyelids. Where had it come from?
"Are you awake now, my lad?" Le'esha's whisper echoed like a shout inside Mrillis' head. It wrung a moan from him that made his throat hurt. "There. Be still. You will feel better soon."
"Ce--a?" he managed to say, without earning more pain.
"She's fine. Terrified for you, but unharmed, otherwise." Her cool fingers caressed his forehead. Sparks danced at the edges of the darkness and his vision cleared, so he could see her pale face and green eyes floating above him. "I suppose you want to know what happened?" Her hand slowly stroked down his throat and the scorched, battered feeling faded. "You grabbed hold of your imbrose to save Ceera, all unknowing. Like reaching for a stick for the fire and finding it is already on fire."
Mrillis grinned crookedly. It was all he could manage, when he wanted to leap off the bed and howl for glee and turn somersaults. Only six years old, and he had used his imbrose. There were boys in the Stronghold twice his age, who studied on Wynystrys, and couldn't even find their imbrose, much less use it.
"Ah, yes, you do have a right to be proud." Le'esha slipped her hand under his shoulders and lifted him enough to slide a pillow under him and prop him up, reclining. "But do not celebrate so quickly. Do you feel burned and bruised inside?"
"Hurts," he whispered.
"Do you remember what happens when you try to help a flower open before it is ready?"
He started to nod, but that movement hurt. Mrillis remembered what had happened when Ceera had tried to open rosebuds last spring. The petals had torn and the roses had withered and died.
"There are places in your body which merge with your soul, to protect your imbrose and guide the use and flow of it." She put a cup to his lips and trickled honeyed water into his mouth. "They are only half-grown, like flowers waiting to blossom. If you try to use the imbrose too soon--"
"I won't. Ever." Mrillis closed his eyes, aching deeper than the effort of speaking could have caused. |
