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I shield my eyes with one hand, focusing on the three tornadoes I’ve willed into existence. I imagine them contracting. When a tornado is done, it very often rises back into the sky then disappears and that is what I will to happen, hoping that if anything is left of the creatures they will move on to easier prey.
The whirling funnels rise, then there is a popping sound and they’re gone and along with them the creatures are gone too. The instant its over my knees go weak and I’m dizzy. I lurch forward but Dugald and Moira catch me before I fall.
“Sorry,” I say, rubbing my hands over my face.
My face is numb and tingly. My limbs feel like they’ve been asleep, all pins and needles as blood flow returns. It’s a momentary sensation that passes as fast as it came.
“Ach, it’s fine lass,” Moira says, the thickness of her accent belying the calmness with which she speaks.
“Are you okay?” Dugald asks.
“Yes,” I say, then I remember his wound. I straighten and turn to him. “Your arm.”
He looks down at his left arm. The thing took a bite out of him and blood pours from the open wound. I assess it quickly like I was taught in pre-med. It needs a tourniquet to stop the bleeding and fast. He may not be a human, but I’m certain that even Fae need their blood to remain inside, not pour out on the ground.
“It’s fine,” he says, shrugging, but weaves on his feet even as he speaks and his color is ashen.
“Moira, I need a stick or something long and sturdy,” I order as I gather the hem of my skirts.
I try to rip off a length, which is always so easy in the movies and books, but in reality isn’t so slick. I attempt to tear, and nothing happens. Alesoun’s weaving skills are more than sufficient to stop the cloth from tearing with only my hands.
“It’s never as easy as you expect,” Dugald chuckles softly.
“Helpful,” I say, then remember the small blade tucked into my waist I used for harvesting plants.
Using it I’m able to get a strip of cloth cut off the bottom of my skirts. Moira returns with a stick that looks too thin to be useful. I take it and bend it, or attempt to, but it’s surprisingly strong. I wrap the cloth around the top portion of Dugald’s bicep, then place the stick across the top of the cloth before wrapping it around two more times. I tie it off then twist the stick to set the tourniquet. Dugald grunts as I do but the bleeding stops.
“You could try to heal him,” Moira says.
“Now that he’s not going to bleed out, yes,” I agree. “I wasn’t sure if it would work or not and I didn’t want to lose him.”
“While I appreciate that,” Dugald says grimly. “We need to move.”
“Give me a minute,” I say.
I place one hand on the shoulder of his wounded arm and the other on his forearm. I close my eyes and reach deep for magic. There is something there. It’s different than what I’m used to, but awareness is enough. I imagine the arm healed. At first the image in my head isn’t clear but I continue to put it there, focusing until part of it seems real. Once I have that I build the rest.
Dugald’s arm, in my mind’s eye, becomes more and more real. Almost as if it’s becoming more solid the more I put into it. Distantly, outside this magical realm I’m finding in my own thoughts, I hear him grunt. When I have it perfectly imagined it feels like it snaps. Dugald gasps.
“Ach,” Moira exclaims.
I open my eyes and Dugald’s arm is perfect; not even a scar remains. He stares, flexing his bicep then bending his arm and waving it around. Only after he’s tested it every way imaginable does he look to me.
“Quinn,” he says. There is a mix of awe and admiration in his voice that makes me uncomfortable.
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s a far cry from nothing,” Moira says. “No magic I’ve ever known could have done that. I didn’t even feel ya draw any in.”
“I didn’t.”
“How?” Dugald asks.
I shake my head. “I don’t know, really. Mab says this realm responds to what you bring to it. What you imagine becomes real.” I shrug, feeling uncomfortable with their attention. “We need to get moving. There’s no time to waste.”
Dugald wants to say more, that much is clear, but instead he nods agreement and the three of us resume our journey. We travel in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts. Heading, as ever, towards the tower. Because there are no distinguishing landmarks between it and us it’s impossible to judge progress.
Despite my success in dealing with the creatures and healing Dugald’s arm, doubts still fill my head. Doubts that I’m good enough. That I’m ready for this. That I’m the one. It feels as if it’s all a bad dream and at any moment I’m going to wake up and this will all be over. I’ll find I never traveled in time, never met the Fae or the MacGregors. All a crazy real dream.
