Page 54 of Skalterra By Nightmare
“Yes, you have. You watched me turn my tree trunk into tree legs, remember? It needs to be sharper.” The metal of the pipe was thick, but it looked like copper, a relatively soft metal. I willed my steel fingernail to be stronger and sharper, then pressed into it.
The point punched through, and I grinned at Orla.
“Bottle.” I held my free hand out to her. She gulped, but unclipped a rounded bottle from her belt. I imagined a small channel running through my fingernail, and the Skal flowed.
It poured out as a glowing pale-blue liquid that was thinner than water but thicker than steam. It fell into the bottle with a soft whisper, filling the glass with both liquid and gas that swirled up towards the bottleneck. Despite the weightless appearance of the Skal, the bottle felt heavier than I would have expected once it was full.
“Next.” I passed the bottle and its swirling contents off to Orla. She traded me for an empty bottle.
“Does Ferrin know you can do this?” she asked.
“The fingernail thing?” I frowned at my makeshift siphon. “I’m not sure. Tiernan does, I think. He saw me make bone spikes on my arms when we fought the Grimguard. But if I can imagine it, I can be it. Or, at least, I haven’t found the limit yet.”
Orla was quiet for a moment.
“You can do all that, and yet you can’t make a decent sword,” she finally said.
I laughed.
“Forget making flails and swords out Skal,” I said. “I can make flails and swords out of my arms!”
She flashed a reluctant smile, and traded me a new bottle for the filled one I now held.
“That would be good for fighting, but probably not much else.”
“Good thing fighting is all Galahad needs me for.” I grinned at Orla, but her smile had dissolved into a tight frown. She focused on the bottle in my hand.
“You’re good for more than just fighting,” she said. “You’re also a good friend.”
“Would you still be my friend if I had flails for arms?”
She smirked.
“Yes, Just-Wren.” We traded bottles again. “And you’d still be a better friend than Tiernan. Because you’re right. He is garbage.”
“He is! Thank you!” The Skal flowing through my steel fingernail was making my hand warm. “Poor Fana, getting stuck with that guy.”
“Especially after she had someone as wonderful as Caitria as her primary Riftkeeper. You would’ve loved Caitria,” Orla insisted. “I hope the Grimguard killed her quickly. I hate to think about her in pain.”
“I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say. “I wish I could’ve known her too. I’m sure she went down a hero.”
The face of the dead woman on my first night in Skalterra was still burned into my brain. I’d tried not to think about it since coming to terms with the fact that Skalterra was real.
That had been a real woman lying dead right in front of me.
“What do you think you’re doing?” A gruff voice pulled me out of my reverie. A man in a maroon vest with matching goggles stared at us from the mouth of the alley.
“Oh,” Orla gasped. “That’s bad.”
The man charged at us, and I tried to pull my fingernail from the pipe, but the heat of the siphoned Skal must’ve expanded the steel tip, because it didn’t budge.
“By order of the Grand Barony, you’re under arrest!”
“Orla!” I hissed. I yanked harder, but I was properly stuck.
“Make it smaller!” Orla yelped.
I tried, but it was hard to focus with the man in maroon bearing down on us. A bright red staff of Skalmagick erupted in his hands.
