Page 39 of Sons of Sorrow
We stared at the parchment, its tangles and scrawls of ink, the sounds and shapes left by the forces of nature.
“If nothing else,” he continued, “this parchment is evidence of true mastery. An understanding of the mysteries of the elements themselves. It would be marvelous if its contents weren’t so horrifying.”
Ember’s mouth moved as he dragged his finger along the parchment, tracing the markings. I leaned in closer. He was muttering to himself.
“Friend Ember,” Sylvain said, peering at the parchment. “Are you reading? Do you understand any of this?”
“A little,” he said, looking up at us, his hand still on the parchment. “It looks bad, I’ll tell you that much.”
Well, damn. Didn’t Alister say that only the strongest of elementals could read the writing? Maybe Ember was more powerful than we thought.
“Don’t read the rest of it,” Satchel said, nudging his head away. “That’s how the Withering gets you.”
“There you go talking about this Withering again,” Ember said. “Is it really that important?”
Mr. Brittle nodded. “So important that your summoner friend here ventured into the Oriel of Fire to seek out someone willing to read it. But it truly is a matter of great importance, for all of us. The Withering is a deadly plague that affects us all. This parchment may be the key to finding a permanent way to stop it from infecting all forms of life.”
“But that comes with a price,” I told Ember. “Anyone who reads it may well become infected themselves. You’ve seen the Wispwell, haven’t you? Its water can be used to cure the Withering, but we’re hoping the parchment will offer more answers, help mages design protective spells and enchantments. It might even point us to the source of the plague.”
Ember’s eyes, huge and questioning, flitted between each of our faces. “And what would happen if you did find who was responsible for it?”
“Retribution,” Sylvain said. A single word, but it held his grief, his anger, and his relief.
It might be a while yet before the rift between him and Queen Aurelia could be repaired, but he almost lost her that day. If we were to find the perpetrator behind the Withering, Sylvain would definitely want his turn smashing their kneecaps with the proverbial baseball bat.
Ember clambered to his feet, his bangles jangling as he dusted off his trousers. “I’ll read the parchment.”
My heart twinged. Again the littlest among us proved to be the biggest and bravest of all.
Satchel clasped his hands, gazing up at Ember with adoration. He could have said “No, don’t do it,” something to that effect. Instead his expression screamed “My hero!”
“You can’t be serious,” I said. “Ember, this is very, very dangerous magic to be tampering with.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” He sniffed, his chest thrusting out even farther. “Someone has to do it. I may not be one of the deep elementals, but at least I can read it, bring you one step closer to solving this big mystery of yours. Unless you have any better ideas?”
I really, really didn’t.
17
Ember saton our breakfast table with his legs spread. His bangles jingled as he patted his belly.
“I’m stuffed. Thanks for the food. Don’t think I’ve ever eaten this well in my life.”
I beamed, watching as Satchel did very much the same, the pair of them stretching their legs out on the table like a couple of propped-up dolls. I loved how our oddball family kept growing. Sylvain picked at what was left of his lemony cake, savoring every last bite.
Dinner had involved an enjoyable balance of fresh vegetables and meats. A Mediterranean salad to start, with Ember marveling over olives the size of his head. Baked chicken breasts and pasta in a rich tomato and caper sauce for the main, and for dessert, a tasty citrus olive oil cake, as moist as anything.
A puff of smoke heralded the arrival of Cutler, the kitchen imp. I shook my head, still savoring my cup of cardamom tea.
“Not quite done yet, buddy,” I told him, a hand over the rim of my cup.
Cutler waved his hand and scoffed. “Not here to clean up, kiddo, don’t worry. Just wanted to chitchat. Didn’t get a chance to talk much after I delivered your grub.”
“That’s a really cool thing you’re wearing.” Ember pointed up at Cutler’s wool vest. Black as night, embroidered with flames licking up from the bottom, a grandma’s knitted biker jacket with the sleeves ripped off.
“Oh, this?” Cutler said, puffing his chest up. “Hell, yeah. Satchel over here made it for me special.” He strutted down the table, maneuvering his way between Sylvain’s cake plate and my cup of tea. “I’m the envy of the imps. They’re all saving up for their own Satchel customs now.”
Satchel blushed, scratching the side of his face. “I’m trying not to price anything too high for now. I’m just starting out, after all.”
