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Torn between laughing and grinding my teeth, both of which would probably hurt, I pictured a nuclear warhead on my grassy hill and put a question mark next to it. My instructor rolled his eyes, but I caught a glimpse of the stars that brightened the blue of his eyes when he was amused.
“Nice picture, but words, please. We’re not babies. Tut, tut—keep the anger out. Emotion only clouds the water.”
How did he understand my words anyway—was he speaking English?
“Aha!” He beamed at me, resuming his measured pace around the room. “Now there’s our logical girl! No, we do not speak the same language. If you concentrate on only the sound of my voice and not the sense, you’ll hear that you don’t understand the words I’m saying. But because vocalized words are like ducks on the surface of the lake, you are hearing the sense of my words, not the actual words themselves. You should be able to understand anyone here, except those who are insane or withveryunclear thoughts. Also, someone who does not mean what they say will confuse you.”
Interesting. So maybe he didn’t say “nuclear warhead,” but something that I translated as my equivalent of whatever that would be here.
“Exactly. Congratulations, we can enter you into kindergarten now.”
I started lining up questions to ask, starting withWhere am I and how did I get here?but he held up one long-fingered hand. Again, out of proportion, fingers just slightly too long for the hand, the whole hand just a little too long for the arm.
“Still your thoughts, let your fish swim deep and listen. Let’s return to our original conversation. Answering all of your questions will take many days and we have more pressing concerns to attend to.”
He sat on the bed again, frowned at my right hand still chained up to the hook and reached up to release it. He laid my hand down to rest on my stomach, smoothing the small wound on my finger with what I would have called tenderness, if not for the cool remoteness of his face. I could feel anger that wasn’t mine, a low tone in the background, along with several other muddier emotions. They were coming from him. He was upset.
“No,” he said, hand still over mine. “There’s a great deal going on you don’t understand, little girl. Can we focus on solving the immediate problem, please? Since it isyourproblem, not anyone else’s?”
I tried to be still and thought of a calm lake, no fish.
“That’s a start. You’re still thinking ofsomething,but at least it’s something quiet for once.” He smirked at me. “Now, it may have escaped your attention, but you were recently savaged by a wild beast. You’re injured, you will not eat or drink—yes, I could hearthatfrom downstairs, speaking of shouting—and we cannot use magic to heal you without releasing you from the silver, at which point you would likely destroy us all by accidentally setting off your nuclear warhead.”
His words settled into my spinning mind, the implications finally becoming clear.I can do magic?I asked the question as quietly and clearly as I could manage.
He regarded me with a mixture of amusement and sympathy. “Yes. Of course. What did you think you were doing?”
I didn’t know. I suppose I’d done my usual thing and had avoided thinking about it directly. Not that I’d had much leisure for contemplation.
“The crux of it is, you are a natural sorceress, but you are not natural to this place. You are like a diseased predator—dangerous and unable to control yourself. That’s why you were stopped.”
His eyes dark, he leaned forward and gently touched my throat. I gasped and my head spun as the pain reared up. He stood abruptly. Paced across the room, steps a sharp clip. He returned from the far corner with a silver hand mirror.
“Allow me to elucidate.” He held up the mirror.
My throat looked like it had been torn out.
Chapter 4
In Which Quandaries Are Addressed
‡
Why aren’t Idead?
My instructor sighed.
“At last she comprehends.” He started to lower the mirror but I managed to grab it from him, the silver chain chiming softly, and hold it up for myself. “The short answer to that is because you don’t want to be. Also I’m reliably informed that it’s not quite as bad as it looks. But then, don’t you think those Healer types all say that kind of thing?” He sounded irritated but genuinely interested in my opinion.
I tore my eyes away from the reflection, trying to form a clear response from the swirl of my thoughts, but he waved his elegant hand at me.
“Never mind. I digress and you have better things to think about. Go ahead and look your fill.”
He resumed his measured pacing, which I’d already come to think of as characteristic, staying quiet while I examined the damage.
It did seem to be somewhat less awful than at first glance. Dried blood—with bright fresh dribbles here and there—formed a contorted mass that obscured most everything else. I reached up with my left hand to gingerly probe the tissue, hissing at the fierce sting. There were definitely deep holes where the teeth had pierced the skin deep into the underlying muscle. The ridge of my larynx stood intact but massively bruised. Why it wasn’t crushed or how the Dog missed my carotids on either side was a miracle. However, unless they communicated telepathically with bacteria here, making peace treaties with the little beasties, I would be looking at serious infection problems very soon. It seemed cleaning the damn wound would be a great non-magical first step and then maybe some old-fashioned stitches. I laid the mirror facedown on my belly and looked at the stone ceiling.
Okay, Instructor, what now?I tried to project gently.
