Page 79 of Skalterra By Nightmare
“No.” Galahad frowned behind his messy beard. “You’ll be fine.”
“But—”
“You are not leaving until you learn to feel and stem the flow of magick that you draw from me. I will not be killed because you don’t know how to pace your appetite for Skal.”
My face burned at his words.
“Sure, you won’t be killed, but who gives a crap if some kid from Keldori dies?”
“If you die, it will be in service to the Riftkeepers, and you will be remembered with honor and prestige for your sacrifice.”
“I don’t want honor and prestige, I want to go to college!” I forced my fingers back into talons, and Galahad grimaced.
“Careful,” he warned in a low growl.
“If you don’t want me taking your magick, then don’t let me take it!” Hard scales worked their way up my arms, and Galahad faltered as I drew more of his magick in.
The tiny Skalspring in my chest, it was a tether. Magick ran along its length, connecting me to Galahad and the Skal he’d just drank. My bone shards grew to their full length, and I worked to mentally adjust my tunic as my muscles swelled and my legs lengthened.
Talons forced their way through my fingertips, and muscle rippled under my tunic until I loomed over Galahad. I had no idea what I looked like in this form, I could tell by the way his jaw gaped and his eyes widened that I must be horrifying. He fell to his knees, and I could feel it—the flow of buzzing magick leaving him and filling my every molecule.
I was powerful. I was unstoppable. I was hungry.
I wanted more.
Ineededmore, and I wondered if I ripped Galahad apart with my talons, if I’d find more Skal inside him.
And then, like a dog finding the limits of its leash at the end of sprint, something yanked me back and choked me. I tried to strike out at Galahad with a muscle-swollen, serrated arm, but some invisible force held me at bay.
Magick receded, and I thrashed against Galahad’s influence.
He was taking the magick back.
“Galahad,” I choked. I withered as Skal vacated me, and I collapsed in a huddled, weak mess on the deck of the boat. Post-adrenaline fatigue was nothing compared to this post-Skal rush, and I lay shaking in nothing more than a white tunic and brown trousers. My armor and boots faded to ash along with my bone spines. Scales and talons reverted to skin and fingers, and I shuddered, hugging myself with weak, useless arms.
Galahad stood over me, triumphant.
“Did you forget which of us is in charge?” he growled. “I’ll admit, I forgot too, for a moment. But you’re right. The magick between usdoesflow both ways, and only one of us is an actual Magician.”
The door to the main cabin creaked open, and Ferrin’s voice, though groggy with sleep, set my racing heart at ease just slightly. He wouldn’t let Galahad hurt me.
“Galahad, what’s happening? What’s wrong with Wren?”
“She’s fine,” Galahad thundered.
“I want to go home.” I curled in on myself, and my hair fell over my face. I hid there, not wanting to look at Galahad or the rotsbane howling on the cliffs. Their song sounded like someone screaming inwards, violently inhaling over strained vocal cords.
“You will. When you finish what I called you here to do. Fana is inside. She needs guarding.” Galahad’s stomping boots echoed against the wooden planks as he retreated. “I’ll be in my room. Have Orla bring me a tea, would you? I’m parched.”
Careful hands pulled me into a sitting position, but I kept my head bowed so that I could continue to hide behind a curtain of blue hair.
“Wren, what happened?” Ferrin asked. “Are you alright?”
I was still shaking from the aftereffects of so much magick deserting me so quickly. My pride smarted, and my anger flared. But there was something else there too.
Fear.
Not towards Galahad, nor towards the rotsbane that still sang their ghastly songs overhead.
