Page 22 of Rogue Familiar

Her feet touched bottom, the rock she’d hoped for catching her feet. The trick was not to react too soon. And not to yield to the urge to take a breath. Allowing her weight to settle, her body to compress, she thought about her muscles, the texture of the mud, Val whinnying for her—anything but air and the lack thereof. She didn’t dare hope she’d have enough in her to allow a second slow sinking, another desperate push upward.

She’d have once chance at this.

Bending her knees, tensing her calves, her thighs, her entire lower body, she waited one agonizing beat longer, then pushed.

Going up was faster than going down—something true only in the sinkholes of the marshes. Mud going down; water going up. Her upturned face broke through the surface sooner than anticipated, and she sucked in a great, gasping breath, trying not to choke on the clumps of mud and plants that came with the blessed air. Wasting no time, she struck out sideways. It didn’t matter which direction, the sinkholes were never that big and all she needed was one slim handhold of solid ground. Without that, she’d go under again.

Her flailing hand sank down, along with her spirits. Giving up already? Jadren asked, shaking his head. Some brilliant metaphor of yours this is.

The metaphor works, she thought fiercely at him. You’ll see, you nervous Nelly!

In her mind, he guffawed. Heartily. Not dead or wounded at all. Nervous Nelly? he echoed in astonishment. Are you mentally twelve years old after all?

Ignoring him, she made herself move slowly. Swimming, not flailing. She reached, trying to see through the darkness.

Not there, Jadren said with impatience. There. An arm’s length to your right. Next time, Nelly, consider using your magic.

Not daring to hope, to trust that any of this was real, she figured following the advice was only practical. It wasn’t as if she had a better plan. Moving carefully to maintain her fragile buoyancy, she moved an arm’s length to the right.

And put her hand on not only solid ground, but a muddied hoof and horsehair above it. Vale lowered his head and snuffled her hair. Sobbing her gratitude and relief, Selly extracted her other arm from the muck and wrapped both hands around Vale’s leg, beneath the matted fall of his once-luxurious fetlock. The gelding’s training held true—another reason to thank Gabriel—and Vale began backing up slowly, not shaking her off, but dragging her along.

Selly collapsed on the soggy, but decidedly solid ground and caught her breath. She needed to get up, get them both clean and warm, but no sense in charging off into trouble again. Waiting for Jadren’s sardonic agreement, she heard nothing. He seemed to have abandoned her again. If he’d been anything more than a figment of wishful thinking to begin with.

Vale whickered, nudging her shoulder with his muzzle. Yes, she needed to get up and handle this, which she should be able to do. She’d made her way safely through this landscape when she’d been out of her mind; she could do it with her wits about her. Or perhaps a combination of both.

Next time, Nelly, consider using your magic. She wasn’t sure if she’d heard that—then or now—but it was good advice, especially since she knew a great deal more about her magic than ever before. Of course, anything would be an improvement over “nothing at all,” but still…

Getting to her feet, she leaned against Vale’s solid bulk and wiped the mud from her eyes. She was surrounded by water, and Nic had said that Selly almost certainly generated her magic from water and moonlight, as the theory went that familiars grew their internal magic from the world around them, able to drink in and feed on magic in ways that wizards couldn’t. By contrast, wizards generated their own magic to some extent, but nothing like familiars did, especially powerful ones like Selly, Nic had explained.

When Selly had asked if the mysterious brain-thing that made them unable to wield magic might be less of a dysfunction and more of a talent in a different direction—generating magic as opposed to venting it—Nic had looked briefly bemused. Then she’d pronounced Selly as bad of an optimist as her brother and resumed the lecture.

Keeping in mind Nic’s lessons about passive fields of magic, and trusting her instincts honed over those years of surviving on her own, Selly felt her way through the shadows. Letting her magic draw on the surrounding water, she mentally tasted its nature. Show me where solid ground is, she willed it, and a path opened up before her as if highlighted in moonlight. Beyond pleased with herself—and deeply relieved that she wouldn’t be sinking Vale and herself in another bog of doom anytime soon—Selly picked her way along the path, gaining confidence as she went.

Soon she wasn’t fighting to lift her boots from the sucking muck with every step, though they were filled with the goop, disgustingly squishy. Vale’s labored breathing eased as he followed her with more alacrity, his hooves actually making reassuring soft thuds on ground that didn’t give with every step. Letting the water show her high ground, Selly led them to a place of grassy peace under the spreading limbs of a tree with palm-sized leaves casting silhouettes against the silvery sky. Good thing, too, as the air felt dense and heavy with the onset of rain. Sure enough, as she unburdened Vale of the packs and his tack, a low rumble presaged the opening of the clouds, and rain thrummed on the thick canopy above.

She gave Vale a cursory rub-down, but figured the rain would remove the majority of the mud and she’d finish the job in the morning light. He seemed happy grazing on the lush grass, keeping her company as she stripped down and stood in a clearing to rinse herself and her gear. Nothing but a real bath would get all the grit out of her hair, but she felt better afterward.

No building a fire tonight. A memory tugged at her with a sweet ache, reminding her of that night she and Jadren had argued whether or not to have a fire. She’d won the argument, but then hadn’t been able to bring herself to get in the box Jadren had made to ward them against the dangers of the night. Then hunters had attacked, the event that had launched them on the tangential adventure that brought her to this moment.

Alise had assured Selly that her spirit spies hadn’t detected any hunters on Meresin lands, and Gabriel had sent out descriptions of the vile creatures, too, asking that any sightings be reported to the house. So, she and Vale should be safe for the night. Still, she felt oddly alone. And lonely. Stupid to feel that way, since she’d lived for years alone and had enjoyed Jadren’s company for only a few days.

But she missed him. Dreadfully. Wrapped in an oiled cloth—and grudgingly sending mental thanks to Gabriel for bullying her into taking it along—she ate a cold meal and listened to the rain fall in the darkness, the splashes and night-songs of life around her making the island that much more isolated. Vale cropped grass quietly nearby, and her long blade and bow and quiver sat on either side of her, easily reached. Afraid to be disappointed yet again, but unable to resist, Selly reached along the fine thread that her bond to Jadren had become. As of late, it felt as if it spun off into nothingness, tethered nowhere, simply vanishing into an attenuated point in the far distance.

The bond hadn’t disintegrated completely, however, so there was hope. As long as it remained, even connected to apparently nothing, that had to mean Jadren was out there somewhere. She couldn’t imagine what condition he must be in, that he hadn’t regenerated more than this yet. It had been more than a full day since she felt him die. Jadren should have healed somewhat by now and the fact that he hadn’t…

Worry consumed her and she considered the possibilities of where Jadren might have ended up. She didn’t kid herself that he’d be found at the end of this trail she followed, waiting for her to show up. If his mother had captured him again—a strong possibility, as she’d have been seriously unhappy about his escape and would no doubt send people after him—he’d be back in one of those glass-walled cages she maintained for her experimental animals. That might or might not explain his failure to heal.

Or if he was at the bottom of a lake or in some other situation that kept destroying his body as rapidly as it healed. She felt vaguely ill contemplating those possibilities, and what Jadren might be suffering, so she set the thoughts firmly aside.

She simply must follow this tenuous thread of connection until the end. Hopefully whatever she found there would give her direction for her next steps.

Dark arts make it so.

Selly awoke, fully alert, to thickening birdsong and thinning mists as dawn brightened the marshes. It took a bit longer for her to shake the cloying dregs of the dream. Jadren, his body broken beyond belief over a scatter of sharp boulders. He barely looked like a human being at all—more like a smear of blood and bone at the bottom of a steep cliff. Nobody, not even her semi-immortal wizard, could survive damage like that, so it must have been a nightmare, born of her wild imaginings before sleep.

Setting aside the sick dread and worry, she made herself replace those dream images with others of Jadren from her memories. His black eyes full of wicked mischief as he teased her. The taste and feel of his lips on hers, the glide of his hands over her skin. With that shimmer of remembered erotic connection, she fancied she felt a sense of him, as if he were actually present. Could it be?

Yes, the bond felt stronger. And, at the end of it, instead of billowing nothingness, there was… something. Not quite Jadren as he’d felt before, but a definite presence. A wafting scent of him, as if she’d just walked into a room he’d recently left. He was alive. No matter what horrible condition she might find him in—please don’t let it be the cliff—he would live. Repeating that to herself, she rose and briskly prepared to get moving.

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