“I wanted so badly to just run away with you the night we watched the movie at the apartment, but someone had caught sight of Ilyan that morning, and he didn’t want to risk being followed or trapped. If only we had...” She jabbered on and on, and even through the accent, I could tell she was the same old Wyn. Hearing this bit of normalcy made me smile. It took the edge off the desperate panic I felt with Ryland’s situation, and the crushing depression over my mother. I sighed deeply and leaned into her, grateful for the emotional support.
“Can you forgive me?” she pleaded, pulling me away from her to look at me. Her eyes were so off putting; the all-encompassing blackness of them, combined with the dark tattoos, made her look ominous. I moved my hand up a fraction of an inch, as if to touch her skin, but put it down again. The movement didn’t go unnoticed.
“I know I look a little... odd. You’ll get used to it. It took me a hundred years to come to terms with my new face, so take all the time you need.” She smiled widely at me, but I could tell it still made her a little sad.
“A hundred years?”
“Yeah, I am a ripe old lady. I was born in about 1795 and received the marks on July tenth of 1867.”
“1795?”
“Yeah, and exiled before my hundredth birthday. That’s why Ryland didn’t recognize me; we’ve never met, and I highly doubt Timothy ever spoke of me after he marked me. So in a century or so you can tell me if you think they suit me or not.”
“Wait, what? A century? I can’t possibly live that long.”
“All magical beings possess some realm of immortality, Joclyn. But it’s kind of contingent; if you don’t use it, you die. So, I guess, no, you won’t gain your immortality unless you actually start to use that magic of yours.”
I had accepted the fact, almost without question, that Ryland and Ilyan, and even Wyn, had and used magic, almost without question. In the back of my mind, the idea that I really possessed a magic of my own still felt like some kind of joke.
“But you won’t be living until the world ends unless your back is healed. I apologize in advance.”
Wyn lifted my sweater and placed her hand firmly on my bare back and instantly began to spread her magic into me as she checked my spine. I shuddered involuntarily. Her magic felt like ice inside my veins; it was the polar opposite of the relaxing warmth I got from Ilyan and Ryland.
Ryland.
“Will Ryland be all right?” My question was that of a child, and I knew it. I needed answers; I needed to know exactly what was going on so that I knew how to save him.
“He will if we get to him in time.”
I shivered, my shoulders jerking uncomfortably. I wasn’t sure if my jolt was due to Ryland’s fate or to the icy magic that was moving through me.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “The magic of a Trpaslík tends to be very cold. Of course most of my kind use their magic to kill rather than to heal, so that may be why.”
I could almost hear the sarcasm in her voice.
“A Trpaslík?”
“Yes. Once, a very long time ago, my kind were the keepers of the fire magic.”
Ironically, I shivered as the icy cold of her magic continued to move into me, chilling every part of me.
“Sorry, I’m almost done.”
“Why is your magic so cold if you used to keep the fire magic?”
“I was told as a child it was taken from us by the Sk?íteks, and in the absence of heat, we froze. But I don’t believe that anymore. Everyone here is a Sk?ítek; I am just the odd man out.”
“A Trpaslík.”
“Yep.”
“So why have different names at all, if you all look so much like humans?” I asked.
“It relates to our magic. Sk?íteks are the keepers—or the warriors—of all magic. They were once a powerful army that kept balance over the rest of us, but have since been almost driven to extinction. The Trpaslík are destructive by nature; our magic relates more to earth elements, and we can control them at will. Vil?s were the givers of emotions, and kept the humans from their vices. The names relate to what we do, not who we are.”
“Then why do you still call yourself a Trpaslík if you no longer live with them?”
“Because I am destructive above all else.” She grinned menacingly. “Trpaslíks are very good at making things explode. I’ll show you sometime.”
I couldn’t help the shiver that spread up my spine. She enjoyed that reaction and smiled even more.
“Well, your back feels fine.” Wyn jumped off the bed and flung the covers off me. I still wore the mysterious fleece pants and Ryland’s sweater. I sat and picked at the soft fabric. Thinking of Ryland had made me edgy, like I needed to go run a marathon. My soul called for him, begging him to be okay, to wait for me.
“Broken back, huh?” I asked quietly.
“I know, hard to believe, isn’t it? It actually broke in two places. Right here,” she placed her hand at a spot right between my shoulder blades, “and here.” Her hand slid down to rest a bit above the small of my back. “If it wasn’t for Ilyan, you would have died.”
I only nodded. Ryland had saved me, too. The images of Ryland’s beaten face and my mother’s broken body filled me. I felt my heart constrict again in its futile attempt to control the waves of emotion behind the dam I had built. I tried to push the heartbreak away; I needed her to be proud of me, wherever she was.
“Are you okay?”