Page 37 of Agor the Merciless
Lyra shook her head. “Not yet. I need to look deeper.”
She walked forward into the dead woods, her boots sinking into the black dirt. After a few steps, she stopped and closed her eyes. Her hands went up in front of her, palms out. Words came from her mouth in their old language. Light appeared around her fingers, a blue glow that spread between her hands. The spell grew as she continued to speak, the light spread around her, changing with each word. The ground under her feet reacted, energy rising to meet her magic.
Agor and the others watched Lyra work. They didn’t understand the spell, but they knew she looked for hidden things.
Sweat formed on the mage’s forehead. Her voice stayed steady, but her eyebrows furrowed, and her fingers shook. When she finished speaking, the blue light went into the ground. Lyra opened her eyes and turned to her companions. Her face had gone white, and she breathed faster than normal. She walked back to the group, carefully making her way through dead twigs that tried to trip her.
“What did you find?” Agor asked when she reached them.
“The air itself is a trap. It has his parasitic magic in it. With every breath, we are weakened.”
***
Light faded from the garage as the sun dropped behind the mountains. Zoe had worked through the day without stopping, her hands moving steadily while Grol and Tarn worked beside her. The broken engine sat half-rebuilt on the workbench, its parts organized in neat rows. But as evening came and her body grew tired, the distraction started to fail. Her fingers slipped on the wrench in her hand, forcing her to readjust her grip. A drop of sweat fell from the back of her neck onto the engine block. Cold spread across her skin despite the stifling heat of the garage, and her shirt stuck to her back as more sweat seeped out of her pores. Zoe wiped her forehead with her arm. She felt too warm one moment, freezing cold the next. She positioned the tool against the next bolt, but her fingers refused to close properly. The metal shifted in her grip, sliding in her suddenly damp palm. If she continued like this, she would end up having an accident.
The craving hit her, not as a thought, but as a pain that ran through her very blood. It grabbed at her stomach and chest, demanding attention. Zoe gritted her teeth and focused on the engine part. Just three more bolts to secure the housing. Three simple tasks she had done thousands of times before. Her arm muscles burned with the effort to keep steady as she pushed down with all her concentration. The wrench slipped free from her fingers and hit the dirt floor with a loud clang that echoed through the garage.
Grol and Tarn turned from their work and saw her hunched over the workbench, hands trembling at her sides.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Zoe gripped the edge of the workbench, her knuckles white from the effort to stay upright. Her teeth chattered and sweat dripped down her temples. Everything became blurry, and no matter how many times she blinked, the blurriness wouldn’t go away. Finishing what she’d started was impossible. She couldn’t even think about the work anymore. The memory of the magic salve was a palpable thing. She smelled it among the garage odors of oil and metal. It was scary because it wasn’t there, but her mind created it anyway.
It was as if she could feel Agor’s hand on her back, though he was miles away. Her skin remembered his touch, the sting of the belt followed by heat, and then the cool relief of the ointment that lasted for a few seconds before it ignited her boy. Her arms prickled with goosebumps.
“Zoe,” a voice called from nearby. “Zoe.”
She looked up, her eyes unfocused. Grol stood a few feet away, not approaching.
“I’ll call for help,” he said. “You’ll be fine. Just wait.”
“I don’t need help,” Zoe said. “I need…” She stopped herself. She wouldn’t say it, wouldn’t give power to the need by naming it.
“You’re shaking,” Grol pointed out. “Your body fights the magic. It’s normal.”
“Normal.” Zoe laughed without humor. “Nothing about this is normal.”
Grol took a step back. “Tarn, keep watch. I’ll go get the females.”
Tarn nodded, then looked at Zoe, unsure of what he could do if things went south fast and there was no one else to help. He was a teenager, after all, and he knew nothing about whatshe was going through. He didn’t entirely understand how she’d gotten in this situation.
Zoe turned away from the young orc, hating that he saw her in such a vulnerable state. Her head dropped as she tried to control the tremors running through her body. Footsteps echoed across the dirt floor as orcs entered the garage. Too many orcs, so Zoe didn’t look up. She gripped the workbench harder, wishing she could disappear. What was happening to her was utterly embarrassing.
“Zoe,” said Hestra the Hunter. “We’ve come to help.”
“Go away,” Zoe muttered. “All of you. Just go.”
“We won’t leave you alone,” Zana the Tanner said.
“The captain put us in charge of your care,” Hestra said. “We take this duty seriously.”
“I don’t need care,” Zoe said, raising her head to look at them. “I need to be left alone.”
“You need food,” Pira said, approaching her carefully. She had a pot of something in her hands. “And drink. Your body needs strength to fight.”
“I’m not hungry,” Zoe turned away again. Her stomach growled loudly, betraying her.
Pira chuckled. “Your stomach disagrees with your mouth.”
