Page 60 of Fortress of Ambrose
“I can tell you read a lot of books.”
“I can tell you meant that as an insult.”
“Magic strengthens with use, they say. But what theydon’t sayis that dark magic senses your deepest desires. It is strengthened by the veryurgeto use it. No action required. Because of that, it can’t be lied to. Think of toushana as your conscience. It knows you. Better than you know yourself. And you have alotin you.”
“You’re saying it knows what I’m feeling?”
“It does, and it feeds on your deepest, most desperate feelings.”
“That’s preposterous!”
“Clearly I don’t know what I’m talking about. Either way, don’t be too down on yourself. Whatever happens.” Zecky removes the bulbed tool and grabs one with pincers. I look away and grip the table.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The great gift of the magic city—Misa—wasn’t its existence, where everyone used all kinds of magic out in the open. It was its fall. That’s when people fleeing for their lives reallypushedmagic to its furthest extremes. Which ignited the foundation for our research. Tragedy is a gift. Because of the change that follows.”
I fight the urge to sit up. “That’sruthless nonsense! You’re saying I am a tragedy in the making? Aren’t you healing me?”
He winks. “We can pretend this wound is your only problem, if you like.”
My side cringes with pain. Zecky removes the tools, and the pressure releases. He slides his hands over my rotting ribs, and the air beneath his fingers shifts. Sweat beads on his head as my skin pulls together. The dry, dead parts flake off as the healthy skin grows in to replace it.
When Zecky finishes, the night sky outside is brightening. My skin’s color has returned. The flesh is healthier and only a bit bruised.
“That should do it.” He glances at the sky, which has only just begun to bleed from black to deep blue. “And ahead of schedule.”
“Is there anything I need to do to it?” I ask.
“The bruise should fade in a day or so.” Zecky smiles oddly, as if his lips don’t quite know what they are doing. “But toushana is anchored in emotion, as I was saying. It feeds on the feelings we bury. And it ignores our inhibitions. And you have a lot of it inside you. To keep it calm, feed it if you can.”
A deep unease settles over me. “What do you mean, exactly?”
“What your toushana urges you to do is what you reallywantto do, deep down.” He tosses me my shirt. “Your most desperate feelings, the things we think of in a fleeting moment but dismiss, feed our toushana like a warm ocean feeds a hurricane.”
“You talk about it as if it’s something that can be controlled. If it could be controlled, the Order would have never decided that those born with it should be executed.”
“You have too much faith in the Order.”
“I have zero faith in the Order. That just seems logical. What does the Order gain by committing genocide?”
“This is a game. Everyone’s playing. And genocide is checkmate.”
I blink. He thinks the Order has only been after power all these centuries? “I can tell you don’t read very much. Particularly history. Power is used, for better or worse, as a means to an end.”Beaulah taught me that.
“Power gives the Order control. You think the Uppers didn’t know toushana could be controlled? They knew. They were the ones who buried that secret. Then they ordered everyone with it to be executed.”
I get up despite the pain stabbing my side. “Butwhy?” The answer hits me like a punch in the chest. To create a system thatcan’tever be overthrown, you eliminate any weapons that can be used against it.
Getting rid of those born with toushana wasn’t abouthavingpower.
It was aboutkeepingit.
Now the power is mine. How can destructive magic exist safely when Darkbearers would use it so terribly? There has to be a way to create something better than the Order did. Or is Zecky right, and both sides of magic are destined to vie for power endlessly until they devour each other? The walls feel like they’re closing in. Everyone has a different opinion about magic. Zecky, Willam, Beaulah, the brotherhood, Quell. Too many opinions.
“More questions, be sure to reach out. Now, please, try to twist your torso.”
I start to turn at the waist, and it feels like a sledgehammer has been taken to my ribs. But the decayed flesh is gone. Progress.
