Page 20 of House of Marionne

Pencils scratch paper, but I can’t tear my eyes away.

“Now, for the bone.” She holds the bone, turning it in the flame, working her fingers up and down it, the stone of her ring still glowing. After several spins, she wraps the bone in a rip of fabric. Again, she turns it over the flame. I sniff for some sign of burning, but there is none. The fabric bubbles against the bone as Cultivator Dexler works her fingers, smoothing the bubbles out when the purple gleam of her ring stutters.

The flame swells larger.

“Ah,” she shouts as the fire goes out, and she tugs the ring off her finger, wincing. “Well, it’s a start. Magic is prickly.” She returns the ring to its locked box, then sets the bone in the middle of the table, and everyone leans over it. The fabric wrapped around the bone has changed to cylindrical fibers, like muscle. “That’s the leg of an ancient creature. And with enough time and focus and skill, we could recreate the entire carcass. That’s the skill of a Shifter, a master at transfiguring one material to another. Common Shifters manipulate solids. The rarer complex Shifter can manipulate liquids and gases. They can change the air you’re breathing into toxic gas with the right manipulation of their magic.”

All around the room, mouths gape at her.

“So don’t turn up your noses at the most prevalent specialization. Most of you will be Shifters, and they’re quite impressive.” She picks up the dead leg. “Now, if this creature were alive, to transfigure it, a Shifter wouldn’t suffice. We’d need an Anatomer.”

I stare in utter disbelief. She recreated the leg of a dead animal.

“Shifter magic is used to heal wounds. And to some degree, transfigure the body. So you Healer hopefuls, pay close attention. Your turn to try.” She claps and the session jumps into motion, not the slightest bit confused. I, on the other hand, am stuck in my chair. Can I do that? I glance at the door, then my bag, but curiosity pins me to my seat.

Dexler works at a small table in the back, passing out materials, and I hop in line to try. She gives everyone a kor already lit, fabric, and a bone. Once I have mine, I settle in a corner of the room to work alone. I do my best to gulp down my annoying fear of fire and rotate the bone over the flame, like she did, slow and careful, then wrap the fabric around it. Suddenly everything in me goes cold. The white edge of the bone blackens, turning to rot. I drop it, my pulse thundering through me, glancing around to make sure no one sees. I could never do this. Toushana is the only sort of magic I can seem to reach. And all it does is make a mess of things. I’d probably kill someone trying to heal them.

“You need some help?” Dexler approaches.

I stumble up. “No, I’m good.”

“Let me see what you’ve done.”

“No, really, it’s okay.”

But she picks up the bone, turning it. I’m rigid with fear.

“Well, that’s odd. I thought I gave you a fresh one. This one looks like it’s rotted.”

My heart thuds in my ears, too stressed to actually be relieved by her confusion.

“Here’s a fresh one,” she says, setting a new bone in front of me. My toushana rolls through me in a wave of chill.

“Now, again. Ready?”

Away, I tell my toushana, please, rubbing my hands together. As they warm, I replay the steps in my head. My fingers heat a moment, but chilliness chases the feeling away.

“The first time you use your magic, it burns a little,” she says, her expression eager. “But if you push through it, the magic will listen.”

Burns? My only experience with magic is bone-chilling cold.

“Thanks,” I say, giving my fingers another moment to fend off the cold before grabbing the bone. Warmth. Lean into warmth. I close my eyes and picture my toushana, buried deep down. But an iciness wiggles its way into my hands and out toward my fingers. I hold my breath and the air tight in my chest swells against my ribs as if I might explode.

“Ready when you are, dear.” Dexler hovers behind me, whispering, and I feel a hot rush of something seep into me, grainy and earthy.

It blooms, then crescendoes into a searing heat that thrashes around inside me like a pile of violently blown leaves. My toushana shifts against the inferno building in my chest. I focus hard, tightening my every muscle, imagining the feeling growing, winning. The wintry magic lurking in my veins retreats as my hands begin to warm.

Harder.

I clench my fist. My insides are fire. Again, I hold the bone over the flame, seizing the moment, rotating it steadily. The fabric ripples. It’s working! I rotate the bone more vigorously.

“Yes, yes, that’s it.” Dexler grips my shoulders, tight.

My fingers get too close to the flame, and I hardly feel the fire licking my skin.

“That’a girl,” Dexler says. “Steady now, just like that.”

The place where Dexler is touching me sears. The fabric wrapped around the bone bubbles, shifting. “Oh my god!” The threads elongate and become rubbery and fibrous.

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