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Even before he could announce himself, the fleshmancer came out to greet him. He had an eager, hungry expression. “Welcome, Nathan-who-would-be-a-wizard-again.” His braided beard stood out like a corn shock on the tip of his chin. “I look forward to continuing our research. After yesterday’s unfortunate showing in the combat arena, I am honor-bound to demonstrate my prowess in other ways.” He narrowed his glittering eyes. “Let us achieve a resounding success for your problem, shall we, hmmm? I am willing to do whatever it takes.” He leaned closer. “Are you?”
A few days ago, before he was more familiar with Ildakar, Nathan would have readily agreed. Now he felt uncomfortable, and he chose his words carefully. “I will work closely with you. It’s important to me to restore my gift.”
“And it is important to Ildakar. Come, we have body maps to make and experiments to perform.”
Andre led him through the separate wings of the large mansion. In the main laboratory studio, hung with indigo cloths, the tables had been scoured clean, scrubbed of any traces of blood from the two mangled warriors. The air still had a sour fetid smell. The tanks containing what Andre called “ingredients of flesh” simmered away, and the exotic, unnatural fish swam in its aquarium.
Andre hummed as they walked on a tiled pathway to an isolated courtyard behind the house. “We require open sunlight for our next measurement. I need to construct a map of the gift within you, the tangled paths in the fibers of your being as well as the scars of residue from when the gift fizzled away. We have to restore them.” He stroked his fingers down his knotted beard. “And that may take some doing, hmmm?”
Outside, overhanging vines stirred disturbingly without any breezes. Strange scaled palm trees rose tall above the roofline of the mansion. Their drooping fronds had razor edges, and their plated trunks reminded him of the hide of Brom, the gray dragon who guarded the bones of his kind in Kuloth Vale. Two of the palms stood six feet apart, and stretched between them was a vertical square of white fabric as tall as a man, suspended by gossamer white ropes. Beneath the blank fabric was an empty patch of smooth white sand.
“Here is the canvas on which we must work, my friend,” Andre said. “But it is not just a blank sheet. At the beginning of any project, an artist views the endless potential of his subject.” A low table in front of the stretched fabric held glazed clay pots filled with grainy powders of turquoise blue, rust red, brilliant yellow.
The fleshmancer gestured impatiently. “Stand in front of the fabric. How else do you expect me to make the map, hmmm?”
“I don’t understand this kind of map,” Nathan said, stepping forward hesitantly. “How is it created?”
“The powders and chemicals are my own proprietary mixture. When I cast them, they capture the lines of your aura. It is a way of marking your Han, tracing the lines of force. I cannot see it with my own eyes, nor can you, but the powders follow it, like iron filings mark out the lines of attraction around a lodestone.”
Nathan stood uncertainly in the soft sand, facing the blank fabric. “Like this?”
Andre crossed his arms over his chest. “You do insist on making things difficult, don’t you? No wonder you lost your gift!”
“What have I done wrong now?”
Exasperated, the fleshmancer waved his hands. “You must be naked, of course! How else can the powder find the tracks of your Han?”
“How else indeed?” Nathan muttered with a sigh, knowing not to argue. He shrugged out of his wizard’s robe and removed his boots, then submitted to the measurement.
Mumbling, Andre studied the powders in the jars. He dipped his finger into a pale blue mixture, sniffed it, then tried the yellow substance instead. Nodding, he scooped a handful of the bright powder and stepped up to his subject.
Nathan frowned. “What is it that you—”
The fleshmancer hurled the powder, and the spray of dust struck him in the center of his chest. Nathan flinched, recoiled, then sneezed, but when he looked down at his bare chest, none of the powder had stuck to his skin. It was gone.
Andre puttered among the jars, picked up the blue powder, and threw some of it, aiming lower. Nathan watched the powder strike him … and absorb into his skin. A tingle sizzled throughout his body.
Laughing, the fleshmancer seemed to consider it a game. Another handful and another, six different powders in all, but as each cloud of dust struck him and disappeared, Nathan realized he felt weaker. Something was being sapped from him.
“Now, again—but this time you must try to use your gift. Concentrate, do something easy. Create a flicker of fire in your hand.”
Nathan frowned. “Yes, that used to be easy.” He remembered trying to do that on the deck of the Wavewalker just before the storm and the selka attack. It had been the first indication that his gift might be waning. “But it could backfire. At times, the gift twists and releases magic altogether contradictory to my wishes. I might … I might burn down your villa.”
The fleshmancer snickered. “Come now, if I couldn’t stop that, then I am not much of a wizard myself, hmmm?” He raised his voice to a sharp, startling shout. “Use your magic!”
Nathan reacted, instinctively reaching for his gift to summon fire in his palm. He pushed, stretched his fingers apart, willed flame to ignite there.
Andre hurled more dust, emptying an entire pot against Nathan’s chest.
No magic came, not even a tiny flicker. The villa did not explode into flames, and the only increased heat came from Nathan’s straining. A drop of perspiration tingled on his brow, but that was all.
“Nothing. I’m sorry.”
“Even so, that is all we need.” Smiling, the fleshmancer slapped his palms together, brushing stray dust from them. “Now, let us admire our work, hmmm?” He nudged Nathan out of the way.
As Nathan stepped away from the white fabric, feeling his knees shake, he turned to look at the formerly blank canvas. Somehow, when Andre threw the powders at him, the essence had passed directly through his body and adhered to the fabric. Lines and swirls of muted colors created an intricate map like a seaman’s chart of currents, or a cartographer’s conception of all the streams in a mountain range. But these lines had the vague outline of a man—Nathan.
“Is that my gift?” he asked. “All the patterns within me?”
Andre nodded slowly. “It is an interesting suggestion of what should be. But you can see the problem.” He pointed to the colorful design. “Here.”
Unmindful of his nakedness, Nathan was fascinated by the result, not to mention the fact that the test had required no blood or pain. Andre indicated the center of what seemed to denote Nathan’s chest on the diagram. “You see how pale this is? The emptiness where your heart should be? That is where your gift has vanished. The Han permeates every blood vessel, every muscle fiber, every inch of skin, every shaft of hair. Except there. You can see what you have lost.”
Nathan felt a heavy weight inside of him. He did indeed see. The markings of the exotic map were plain. “It’s gone then?”
“Gone.” Andre snapped lids back on the assorted pots of colorful powders. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t replace it. We just need to find what is missing and put it back. I am, of course, up to the challenge.” Andre seemed intrigued. “And the other wizards will be pleased to hear that at least it’s not contagious. As I suspected.”
“I am pleased to hear that as well,” Nathan said.
“Restoring you is not beyond our abilities. As you know, the wizards of Ildakar have created tremendous things, hmmm?”
Nathan tried to keep the uncertainty out of his voice. “I’ve seen some of your work as a fleshmancer. Some might consider it … unorthodox. You call yourself an artist, but now you’re trying to heal my problem. Do you think of yourself as a healer too?”
Andre snorted. “Healers and torturers are both experts in the same art. Both are knowledgeable in pain and endurance, in life and death. I am a master of all aspects.” He waved his hands again. “
Now I have something to show you in another wing of my mansion. Dress yourself—I have no interest in seeing a naked old man unless I have to.”
Nathan smiled. “I am oddly relieved to hear you say that.” He donned his borrowed wizard’s robe again and sat on one of the garden benches to pull on his boots.
