“Hot, cold, it’s all the same for us,” she told him as she examined his hands. “These don’t look good. You might lose them. Your feet are probably just as bad.” Then she reached up and touched his cheek. “The cheeks too. You’re going to be very ugly if you don’t die.”
“Can you heal me?”
Tailtiu appeared to give it serious thought, then responded, “The easiest way would be if you ate some of my flesh.”
“Not blood?”
“That would be too slow. You need something more substantial.” She held up her hand, wiggling her fingers. “Like this, or a foot.” When she saw the look of revulsion on his face, she moved her hand across her chest. “Or perhaps you would prefer something softer?”
The very thought made him want to vomit. “I don’t want to become like you,” he said after he had wrestled his stomach back under control.
“How rude,” remarked Tailtiu, then after a minute her look of outrage melted away and she began to laugh. “Mother said I shouldn’t tease you too much.” He could see turyn flowing around her, growing brighter and more concentrated around her hands. “I can heal your injuries, but as bad as they are it will probably be very painful.”
Will didn’t like the sound of that, but he didn’t have much choice. He nodded to indicate his willingness.
But Tailtiu wasn’t done with her warnings. “There are men on the mountain not far from here. If you scream, they’ll hear us. Were you trying to hide from them?”
He was almost certain the ones she was referring to would be Darrowan scouts. “I don’t think they’re friendly. Why didn’t they see your light then?”
“We are hidden by my magic to all but the closest observers.”
“Couldn’t you hide the sound of my yells?”
She shook her head. “My magic is good at helping one remain hidden, or to move without sound, but if you scream it won’t be effective. Mother could do it with some of the human magic she knows, but I have never learned such things.” Leaning close, she added, “I can put you into a deep slumber, where perhaps the pain cannot reach you.”
“All right,” said Will, and then he felt her turyn begin to move, sinking into his body. Seconds passed into minutes, and while he felt a number of strange sensations, he remained wide awake.
Tailtiu frowned. “Don’t fight it.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are,” she insisted. “You’re eating my magic.”
Eating it? What did that mean? Perhaps his body was converting her turyn into his own as soon as it entered his body. Concentrating, he tried drawing his turyn inward, compressing it around his tiny source and leaving most of his body empty. When that failed to help, he expanded it once more and tried releasing his hold on his source, allowing it to return to what had once been a normal level of turyn production.
That seemed to work, and he began to grow drowsy, though it still took several minutes before her magic pushed him into unconsciousness. The world darkened, and he sank into oblivion. How long he remained that way he couldn’t have guessed, but a searing pain brought him back. It felt as though flames enveloped his entire being.
He fought the flames for some period before his consciousness returned. He had a vague memory of wrestling with the power that was tormenting him, but he wasn’t entirely sure what had happened. It wasn’t until he heard Tailtiu’s screams that he finally awoke fully, and his eyes snapped open.
The ground was ice cold beneath him, as he was no longer floating. Sitting up, he saw his aunt writhing in the snow nearby, her body marked by ugly black lines that covered her from head to toe in a jagged pattern. As he looked, the turyn connecting them disappeared; her movements slowed, and the screams tapered off into a soft groaning.
“What happened?” he asked as he moved closer. He reached out toward her, but she scrambled back, a terrified look in her eyes.
“You nearly killed me,” she accused, keeping her distance. Her breathing was returning to normal, but the flesh near the black lines on her skin was becoming red. In some places she seemed to be bleeding as well. A fresh spasm of pain shook her, and she curled into a ball.
“How? I was unconscious.” Even as he said it, though, he remembered fighting with something before he had awoken. As he spoke, he noticed his hand, which was no longer blue and purple. The skin was a fresh pink, and although it felt tender and sensitive there was no sign of the damage it had possessed earlier.
He heard a shout in the distance. The Darrowan scouts were beginning to search, having heard Tailtiu’s cries. He glanced around. The magic Tailtiu had been using to hide them was gone, along with her light. They were in a slight depression beside the same rock he had collapsed against earlier, but otherwise they were completely exposed. Only the night hid them, and with a half-moon above that wasn’t nearly enough.
“We have to move, or hide,” he told her, but his aunt didn’t respond. Will shook her, trying to get her attention, but her body was limp and her skin was as cold as the snow beneath her. Is she dead? he wondered. Did I kill her somehow? According to his grandfather, that wasn’t supposed to be possible. The fae were immortal. Even if you cut one of them into a dozen pieces, those pieces would survive until they were reunited. Smaller wounds would simply regenerate.
The voices were getting closer, and Will could just make out dark shapes moving against the grey-white of the moonlit mountain slope. A surge of panic rose within him, causing his mind to go blank. Before he knew what he was doing, he began to kick snow over Tailtiu’s body to conceal it.
An idea came to him then, and he stopped. Brushing the snow away from her, he moved her slightly so she would be more easily visible. Then he moved to the other side of the boulder to hide. Once there, he removed his cloak and scooped as much new-fallen snow over it as he could manage, and then he eased into a low crouch beside the rock and pulled the snow-covered cloak gently up and over himself. Some of the snow fell away, but he thought enough remained to disguise him as a snow drift in the poor light. He clutched his staff in his right hand and touched the sheath on his belt to make sure his knife was still there. Then he waited.
Despite their nearness, it took much longer for the scouts to reach Tailtiu’s body than he had expected, and Will’s hand began to burn with the cold where it gripped his staff. His entire body felt extraordinarily sensitive, and it was a struggle to remain still, much less contain his shivers.
There were two men approaching and one of them held a lantern. Both were wrapped in heavy cloaks, and neither seemed to be expecting an ambush despite the strange sounds they had heard. Will bowed his head and closed his eyes to preserve his night vision. His ears would tell him when they were close.
The crunching sound of boots in fresh snow grew louder, and then a man’s voice called out. “There’s someone here.”
“Where?” answered the man’s companion.
“Over there, near that big rock.”
The steps came closer, and Will heard the sound of blades being drawn from scabbards. That wasn’t something he’d wanted to hear. It was a stupid plan, he told himself. Of course they would draw their weapons. He doubted he’d have much chance against two armed and wary soldiers.