“I have one ring,” Salo explains. “I couldn’t have cast that barrier without accessing a larger pool of energy.”
“So you took it from the future?” Tuk says, sounding incredulous. “That’s actually possible?”
“If you build your Axiom right, it is. Gives you one devil of a headache, though. Also means I can’t cast spells until the debt is paid.” With his hands clean, Salo sets the cloth aside and leans to take a closer look at Tuk’s injury. “I’m no healer, but I can dress it for you. I need to check for alchemical poison, though. Do you mind lifting your hand?”
Tuk shies away, still clutching his wound. “Don’t worry. It’ll heal. Atmechs are supposed to be weak, docile, and pretty, but we’re built to recover quickly from abuse. That way our masters can knock us about if they like.”
Salo holds his gaze for a long moment. “I’d rather treat it anyway.”
At this Tuk smiles, but his eyes remain stormy and threatening. “But I’m not weak. Not anymore. I’m strong now.”
“You’re very strong, Tuksaad, maybe the strongest person I’ve ever met, but you’re not indestructible. Let me dress that wound before it gets infected, all right? You might even be poisoned for all we know.”
A startling flash of red visits Tuk’s eyes for the briefest instant, but then he catches himself and shakes it off. His shoulders slump; he leans back against the crate and nods. “All right.”
Salo begins by scanning the wound with his talisman. Tuk watches curiously as the red steel serpent rears its head and flashes its crystal eyes at the wound, subsequently producing a mirage of diagnostic information above Salo’s wrist. Nimara would have known exactly how to interpret every line on the chart; Salo understands only those sections relating to infection and poisons.
At least he thought he did. Now he’s not so sure.
“Let me know if you need help,” comes Ilapara’s voice.
Salo glances in her direction and sees her settling down on a crate nearby with a waterskin in one hand. A sheen of sweat slicks her forehead. One of her long red dreadlocks has peeked out of her veil—the first Salo has seen of her hair—and some of the kohl on her eyes has been smudged. Besides this, she got away from the battle with barely a scratch. Now her hawkish gaze won’t stray from the newcomer. The Asazi, however, doesn’t seem bothered at all as she strolls around the deck, studying the ship with visible curiosity.
“I think I’ll manage,” Salo says, returning to the mirage.
“If you say so,” Ilapara replies distractedly.
Salo squints at the mirage, trying to make sense of what he’s seeing. He thinks Tuk has been poisoned with a particularly virulent alchemical toxin, but the levels of toxicity seem to be ticking down quite rapidly, which shouldn’t be possible without strong spells of Blood craft.
“I’m not sure what I’m looking at,” he says. “Hang on a second.” Following a hunch, Salo commands the talisman to scan the wound for active prose and is quite shocked when a window of rapidly shifting ciphers appears in front of him. “Dear Ama,” he gasps.
“What is it?” Tuk says.
“You have prose running in your blood, Tuk, and it’s . . . purging the poison on its own. This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Tuk flashes a sly grin. “Why, thank you. I get that a lot, actually.”
Ilapara snorts. “You’re so full of yourself.”
“The universe is not kind to the timid, my dear Ilapara,” he says with a smirk. “One must be confident in one’s own assets.”
“A big ego is one of yours, I see.”
“Yes, and uncommon beauty is another,” Tuk says, which makes Ilapara roll her eyes.
Still mesmerized by the ciphers displayed in the mirage, Salo shakes his head. “Your blood has so many built-in charms I’m not sure there’s anything that could make you sick.”
Tuk blinks at him with green eyes. “I did try to tell you.”
“We’ll dress the wound anyway,” Salo decides and sends his talisman to sleep. He begins by wiping the gash with a cloth soaked in one of Nimara’s antiseptic tinctures. Tuk hisses in pain the instant it touches him, which makes Salo smirk. “The pain will go away when I apply the flesh-knitting salve.”
“That would be much appreciated,” Tuk says and then sighs, stretching his feet out in front of him. “But I deserve this for letting myself get distracted.”
Salo feels a blush spreading down his cheeks. “That was my fault. I shouldn’t have . . . shrieked like that.”
“No, I should have paid more attention to my surroundings. A mistake like that in the heat of battle can easily become the last you ever make. Unacceptable. I have to do better.”
“You handled yourself well, in my opinion,” Ilapara says, echoing Salo’s thoughts. “You must have killed, what, twice as many of those things as I did? And your footwork is amazing. What kind of weapons are those swords of yours, anyway?”
“Flashbrands.” Tuk splays his hands to show the fancy golden rings on his middle fingers. They are different from each other in design, though Salo senses magic-infused cores of moongold in both rings.
“They’re Void weapons,” Tuk says, “with a little illusion and lightning mixed in. They can take a range of different shapes, and the best part is they weigh almost nothing.”
“More specimens of Higher technology, I presume,” Salo says.
“Probably the most iconic,” Tuk says. “Flashbrands are status symbols in the Enclave. You’re not a proper aristocrat if you don’t own one.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a look at them at some point.” When Tuk’s eyes dim somewhat, Salo begins to walk back his request. “It’s fine if you don’t—”
“No, it’s not,” Tuk cuts in. “You can look at them whenever you want. I insist.”
Clearly there’s a story there, but Salo decides not to pry, and so does Ilapara.
For a time, Tuk watches the Asazi as she inspects the vessel’s wing structures across the deck, and then he says, “So you communed with the Lightning Bird, huh. How’d that go?”
Salo sets the bloodied cloth aside and starts applying the healing salve, smiling when Tuk releases an almost comical groan of relief. “I know how the waterbirds work now.”
“You do?”
“There’s an immensely powerful mind stone at the bottom of the lake. It’s home to the Impundulu and many lesser waterbird spirits. Powerful enough to move ships even from hundreds of miles away.”
“But what did you see?” Ilapara says, joining the conversation. “And why the devil did you jump?”
“I don’t remember jumping,” Salo says. “I remember falling asleep, and then I had this dream . . .” His cheeks flame at the memory of that dream. Was it why he jumped? “Anyway, I’m not exactly sure what I saw down there. It was a story about the Lightning Bird. He was a king, I think? And then there was a war and a princess of the stars—” He stops talking when he sees Tuk wincing and rubbing his temples with his good hand. “What is it? Is it the poison?”