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CHAPTER 64
Nathan blinked his eyes and woke from a bottomless pit of pain into even more pain. He lay back on the hard table as his thoughts returned to him. His consciousness swam up from the bottom of a deep ocean of inky oblivion.
As the light gradually grew brighter in his eyes and he flickered back to wakefulness, he feared what would be waiting for him when he returned to life. He swam in a dull half sleep, struggling to sort his thoughts, trying to understand where he was, but the agony in his chest was overpowering. He surrendered, sliding back into a deep sleep.…
Some time later he tried again. Unbearable pain ripped through his bloodstream, his muscles, his mind, but eventually it became almost tolerable, and he called upon his own strength, making himself brave the darkness. Wherever he was, he had been here too long.
He reminded himself he was Nathan Rahl. He had been a powerful prophet and a magnificent wizard. He was a scholar, a lover, an adventurer. He was not one to surrender, no matter how much pain he had to endure. Without stirring, he marshaled his thoughts and his energy, realizing that he heard a faint drumbeat in his ears. As he concentrated on the rhythm, it was slow and even, growing louder.
Thump, thump.
Thump, thump.
Like war drums calling an army to battle, it was ominous, insistent, powerful.
Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
No, he realized. Not drums. It was something more primal. A heartbeat—his heartbeat, pumping strong and even, thudding within his chest.
The shock and horror of returning memories almost pushed him back into that black pit. He remembered the mangled body of Chief Handler Ivan frozen on the cusp of death, and Fleshmancer Andre prying the big man’s chest apart, as if he were peeling the rind off a fruit … reaching inside to scoop out Ivan’s still-living heart. Then he had turned to Nathan as he lay paralyzed on the table, unable to stop this horrific process. Andre had grinned down at him before pushing his fingers right into Nathan’s breastbone, cracking it open, and spreading his chest. He had wanted to scream, but he could not flinch.
Now, using all of his effort, he managed to blink. Once.
When his eyes were open and filled with light again, he saw that he lay in a dim room surrounded by indigo hangings, cloths draped on the walls separating parts of the room. The fleshmancer’s studio.
Nathan felt weak and exhausted, his body like a wadded-up scrap of parchment discarded into a puddle. He breathed in a gasp of air. His throat was parched, and when he tried to speak, his voice sounded like a rasping tear that could form no words.
Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
His heart was beating, his new heart—Chief Handler Ivan’s heart.
“Ah, you are awake now, hmmm?”
Nathan couldn’t turn his head, but he saw Andre leaning over him, his braided beard sticking out from his chin like a long brush. The fleshmancer grinned, and his muddy eyes sparkled with delight. “I predicted you would wake this afternoon. In this, as well as all of my other efforts, I am exactly correct.”
He patted Nathan’s chest, and the touch of the fleshmancer’s fingers sent jolts of renewed pain through his heart, through his bones. Nathan winced.
“You feel that? That means you’re alive. I told you so, hmmm?”
Nathan managed to croak, “How…?” He couldn’t form any more of his sentence, but the word itself invited so many possible answers.
“How?” Andre mimicked. “How proud am I that you survived the experiment? How long will it be until you are a full-fledged wizard again?”
Nathan drew a painful breath and managed to force out, “How … long?”
“Oh, it has been some time. Several days. But you needed the recovery. Rest assured that your heart is beating with great strength. I’m sure you can feel it. And since you now have the heart of a wizard—exactly as I promised—you should be able to find your gift again! The lines of your Han have been restored. Here, I’ll let you see.”
Andre disappeared from view, and Nathan could hear him rustling among papers and scrolls. The fleshmancer returned holding a white sheet on which colored lines were etched in powder that had settled into new patterns. A new Han map, apparently made while Nathan lay recovering. Where previously the lines had shown a void around Nathan’s chest, they now showed a gray web, lines restored, but without color, like the other paths of his Han.
“It may take some time, but you can see, here and here.” He traced the lines on a picture of Nathan’s chest. “This may be Ivan’s gift, or some new pattern of Han entirely. Your loss left an empty spot within you, and now the magic is trying to refill it.” Andre poked at Nathan’s chest with his forefinger, sending jolts of pain. “You’ll just have to figure it out, hmmm?”
Nathan felt his strength gradually returning. He was more awake now. The world around him had sharper edges, brighter colors. Tentatively, fearfully, he let his thoughts sink into himself, tracing his heartbeat, the steady drumbeat. Yes … he felt a trickle there, a tingle of the gift that he remembered so well. The magic had been a part of him for all of his life, century upon century. Its loss was still a raw wound within him, and he rejoiced to feel even a glimmer of the gift again.
He hesitated. The last few times he actually used his gift had been a debacle, as his magic twisted and failed. He had tried to heal a poor dying man after the Norukai massacre at Renda Bay, and the gift had betrayed him, lunging out in a destructive backlash that caused exactly the opposite of what Nathan intended. Rather than healing the wounded victim, the magic had ripped him apart.
When Nathan had attempted magic again, tentatively trying to summon the wind when he was alone out in the forest, the resulting near cyclone got out of hand, smashing branches, uprooting trees. It was all he could do to dampen it again before the destruction became widespread enough to level the forest.
The only time the backlash had worked to his advantage was in a final burst of desperation while the Adjudicator attempted to turn him to stone. With nothing to lose, he had released all restraint, all control of his gift, and the magic had ricocheted outward, turning the Adjudicator’s magic back upon him. Nathan had not expected that, but he had survived.
Now, considering the new Han map and the fact that his new heart came from Ivan, a gifted wizard of Ildakar, Nathan wondered exactly what his restored gift would do.
As he listened to the drumbeat in his chest, feeling the blood flow, sensing the life within him, he also felt an intrinsic anger there, a dark energy. It must have simmered within Ivan for all his life. The chief handler had used that darkness to coerce obedience from the arena animals he trained. How much of Ivan’s core personality remained within his heart? And how much was now within Nathan?
He knew he needed to rest and regain his strength before he attempted to use magic. He was not ready, but Nathan didn’t want to admit that he was afraid. He stirred, raising himself slightly, to the delight of Andre.
“You will be back among us in no time! I cannot wait to show you off to the other wizards.” He leaned closer, grinning. “You’ll join us on the duma. We need new members now, and if you show sufficient gratitude to me, I will be your advocate. You have a great future here in Ildakar, Wizard Nathan.”
“Can’t … stay,” Nathan said. “Other missions.” He blinked, drew a deep breath.
Andre said, “Of course you’ll stay. The shroud has been restored. No one can leave Ildakar. The sovrena has an even grander plan for a tremendous bloodworking in two nights, which should make the shroud permanent. You will be here for a long, long time.”
Alarmed, Nathan stirred, but didn’t have the energy to sit up or swing his feet off the edge of the table. He gasped at the pain, caught his breath, panting heavily. His vision swirled around him, but then he grew steady once more. “Where is Nicci? I need to see Nicci.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, dear Nathan.” Andre clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Quite a lot has happened while you were asleep.”
Nathan felt dread building up within him. “What’s wrong? Where is she?”
“Nobody really knows,” Andre said. “At least, no one has found her body.” Nathan tried to struggle to his feet as the fleshmancer continued, “Your sorceress friend is quite impulsive. She’s powerful, no arguing with that, but she was upset because of a stray sand panther that was captured and brought to the training pits. So she challenged Sovrena Thora for the leadership of Ildakar.”
Andre’s eyes were bright, and his smile widened. “Ah, you should have seen it! Quite the battle up in the ruling tower. First, the sovrena appointed Adessa as her champion, and the morazeth battered Nicci to within an inch of her life. Then the sovrena—in an example of poor sportsmanship, I must admit—used her own magic to blast Nicci out the high windows, and she plummeted down into the city below.” He clucked his tongue again. “We keep expecting someone to discover her broken corpse any day now.”
Nathan collapsed back onto the table. “Nicci … is dead?”
