The Severed Empire Collection

Chapter 12

Mykal knew he was dreaming. He was once again sinking into the depths of the Isthmian. He struggled toward the surface arms moving and legs kicking, but his efforts got him nowhere. His lungs burned, demanding air.

Below him the Creature, still with the arrow through its mouth, swam up at him. Only this time, in the dream, the thing was twice as big, with teeth twice as large. He would not escape its attack in the dream. It would get him.

He looked down at it. It opened its mouth so wide that the broadhead on the arrow pulled free. At its current size it would have no problem swallowing him whole.

Only, it wasn’t interested in swallowing him whole.

The Creature gnashed its teeth once, and then again, as though letting him know death was going to be painful. It planned on chewing him up.

He still panicked—dream or not—and kicked his legs harder, moved his arms faster, all to no avail. He wasn’t any closer to the surface than he had been moments before, not that reaching the surface would offer any true safety. The Creature was inches from his feet, mouth stretched wide, teeth bared…

He wished the serpent dead.

The serpent caught on fire just before jaws closed on him.

Despite the salty sea water, the serpent was engulfed in flames.

Mykal lurched awake. He struggled catching his breath, but couldn’t fill his lungs with air. He shot forward and yanked away the covers. His body was dripping in a cold sweat. He swung his legs over the side of the bed. Blood rushed either to his head, or from it. Things became blurry, blinking and shaking his head only made him dizzier. He fell to the floor’s oak planks, panting and coughing. He was finally drawing breath, but not normally.

“Mykal! What are you doing out of bed?” It was Blodwyn. “Here, help me get him off the floor.”

“I think I killed that serpent, Wyn. I think I burned it up,” he said.

“I don’t know what that means.” Blodwyn reached under Mykal’s arms.

“The serpent should have killed me in the sea. I shouldn’t be here. I should be dead.”

“You’re not dead, Mykal.”

“Because I killed it. I don’t know how I did it, but I know I did. I know it was me that killed the serpent. It caught on fire. I burned it alive. I killed the serpent.”

Mykal attempted to right himself. Instead, everything went black.

His head felt cool, damp.

Mykal opened his eyes and felt the rolled up cloth on his forehead.

While the days were still hot and humid when the sun was out, signs of autumn ending were evident. Outside, it was raining again. Soon, the temperatures would drop and snow would fall instead of rain. The seasons changed fast. There was little overlap when it came to the weather.

He knew better than to sit up too quickly.

Remaining still, he applied pressure to the cloth. The heat under his skin subsided further. He cleared his throat.

Legs from a nearby chair scraped on the floor. “You’re awake.”

“Wyn,” he said.

“Don’t try to talk. Not just yet. Are you thirsty?”

The room was dark except for a lone, lit candle on the nightstand. “Parched.”

“Don’t talk.”

Mykal felt a hand slide under his neck and lift his head off the pillow. A cup was placed to his lips.

“Don’t drink too much. Just tiny sips. I don’t want you getting sick.”

Mykal did as instructed. His stomach growled. “I’m starving.”

“That’s a good sign.” Blodwyn was nodding, and smiling. “I will get you some broth in a moment. I just want to make sure you’re doing better.”

“My mouth feels really funny.” Mykal stuck out his tongue and reached for it with fingertips.

Blodwyn grabbed his arm. “Don’t do that. I’m going to need you to lie still for a minute.”

Mykal spoke with his tongue out garbling his words. He crossed his eyes trying to see. “Why? What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

“This won’t take but a few seconds,” he said.

“What won’t,” Mykal said, gripping the sheets with both hands.

Blodwyn reached in his leather bag, and removed a long stick. He held one end over the candle flame until it caught.

“What are you going to do with that?” Mykal asked.

“Be still now. Don’t move,” Blodwyn said, leaning over Mykal. “Open your mouth wide for me.”

“I don’t like this, Wyn,” Mykal said. He put his tongue back in his mouth and shut his lips as tightly as he could.

Blodwyn placed a hand on Mykal’s forehead. “Stop being a child and open your mouth!”

Mykal wanted to close his eyes, but didn’t. He opened his mouth a little bit, and his eyes wider.

“Open it!”

“I am.”

“Stick out your tongue.” Blodwyn commanded forcefully. Mykal had heard it before, many times, while training. Blodwyn was done playing around; this was serious.

It made no difference to Mykal. They’d been friends far too long for him to be intimidated by the tactic, yet because of that friendship, Mykal obeyed, opening his mouth as wide as possible.

because“Now be still.” He kept the one hand on Mykal’s forehead, pressing his head against the pillow.

The stick still on fire, Blodwyn poked it into Mykal’s mouth, touching it to his tongue, only it didn’t burn him. He tried not squirming, that is, until something fell into the back of his throat. He gagged.

Blodwyn removed the stick. “Stay still.”

“I swallowed something.”

“It’ll pass. There are a few more. Open wide.” Blodwyn waved the burning stick.

“What will pass?”

What“Shush!”

After several moments, Blodwyn blew out the flame. “There. Good as new.”

“What was inside my mouth?”

“You don’t want to know. Have some more water.”

Mykal took a long draw, then pressed fingertips against his throat. “What did I swallow?”

“How are you feeling?” Blodwyn asked, changing the subject. “You’ve had us quite worried. I almost gave in and went for the curer.”

“Have I been out the entire day?”

Blodwyn wiped the once-lit end of the stick with his tunic, and replaced it in his bag. “The entire three days.”

threeMykal turned his head. Blodwyn’s staff leaned against the wall, never out of reach. “Three days?”

Blodwyn nodded. “Three and a half, seeing that dawn is just a few hours away.”

Mykal closed his eyes and rubbed his hands over his face. “All because of some snake in the sea.”

“Some snake? Have you never heard the stories of the monsters in the sea?”

never “I thought they were just stories.”

“And now?”

Mykal laughed. “There are definitely monsters in the sea.”

“Definitely.” Blodwyn smiled and clapped his hands together. “How are you feeling?”

“Very sore. Every muscle and bone in me aches. I would swear one of the horses kicked me in the gut.” He wrapped an arm across his stomach, and sat up unable to get comfortable.

“Here, let me help you.” Blodwyn hoisted Mykal into a better position, situating the pillows behind his back. “And we should probably talk about the mysterious woman you met on the beach.”

“Karyn,” he said, as if talking to himself.

“Who?”

“The girl on the beach,” Mykal said. “I wanted to tell you about her, about our encounter. Seems I fainted before getting the chance.” There was something about Karyn he couldn’t figure out. Blodwyn had nailed it when he called her ‘mysterious’. It was more than just what she’d said to him. There was something exotic about her. Maybe it was the royal bloodline?

“Can you … describe her?”

Before Mykal could answer, the bedchamber door opened. Galatia walked into the room. “Why didn’t you tell us he was awake?”

“He just woke up,” Blodwyn said.

“Who’s that?” Mykal said. “And why is she wearing my mother’s blouse, and my pants?”

“Because they fit,” Galatia said.

“You didn’t see what she was wearing when she first got here.” Blodwyn looked at Galatia, one eyebrow arched. “Isn’t this the woman you met on the beach?”

“No. She’s not.”

Mykal had never before seen the woman who stood at the foot of his bed wearing his only cloak. Her voice was familiar, though. He couldn’t explain how. It reminded him of music when she spoke; the strings of a guitar gently strummed, or of a flute lightly played with practiced breath. She was beyond lovely, likely the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He thought he could stare into her eyes forever without blinking. And her hair… its green should seem odd, but fell about her shoulders as naturally, as right, as a rose bush’s foliage. He felt the need to climb into his last clean pair of pants, toss on his tunic, and, since he wasn’t planning on asking for his cloak back, he’d wear the dark leather vest he’d made—the shoulders jutted out, the collar was stiff and rose away from his neck.

only Grandfather now sat by the window. He somehow seemed years older since Mykal had last seen him, although only days had passed. Wrinkles creased his forehead more prominently; his cheek’s jowls sagged, pulling his lips into a perpetual scowl.

Blodwyn was standing by the nightstand with its candle, hand on his staff.

“I am not sure how much time is left,” Galatia said. Her green hair and red lips a sharp contrast against pale skin. “I am here to ask for your help, Mykal.”

“My grandson isn’t able to help. He’s sick,” Grandfather said. He looked at Mykal, his eyes silently begging for support.

“Mykal is not sick,” she said.

Grandfather raised a defiant hand. “What are you talking about? He’s been unconscious for days. He only woke up this night.”

“Remove the bandages on your stomach, Mykal.”

Her request was simple. Mykal felt the weight of her words. He looked up at Blodwyn as he reached for the tucked end of the wrap and peeled it away. The laceration was gone. There was no sign of the attack whatsoever.

“And your leg,” she said. It was not a question.

Mykal pulled the blanket away from his legs. Blodwyn stepped forward and unwound the cloth. Again, there was no sign of an injury. “I don’t understand,” Mykal said.

“You were cut up pretty badly,” Blodwyn said, touching Mykal’s leg.

“I remember that,” he said. “But you said I was out of it for three days?”

“Nearly four,” Blodwyn replied.

Mykal looked from Blodwyn to his grandfather to the woman, then back. “This doesn’t make sense. I saw and felt the deepness of the wounds. If anything, I should be scarred. I should be bearing the marks from the dorsal fins to my grave. Am I wrong?”

“You healed your body.” Galatia put her hand on Mykal’s foot. “The power you used drained your energy. Using magic is like using muscles. The more it is practiced, the stronger you will get. The fatigue becomes less and less. Then your body will become more adept at spending the energy needed.”

“Power? Magic? I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.” Mykal almost, instinctively, pulled his leg away. Her touch sent a vibration from his toes up his legs and throughout his body. There was nothing unsettling about the odd sensation, and yet he felt suddenly calm.

“Breathe slowly. In through your nose and out through your mouth,” she said.

After a moment, Mykal closed his eyes and did as instructed. The rhythmic breathing along with the steady hum inside his body from her touch relaxed every muscle in his once-tense body.

“How is that?” she said.

“It’s better.”

“I don’t like this,” Grandfather said. “This is going to lead to trouble. All of it. They have ways, I’m told. They know when magic is being used inside the kingdom. It’s like a beacon. Someone uses magic, and the king knows. He’s not going to like this. Knights are probably mounting horses as we speak. They’ll be here. Sooner or later they’ll come for you.” Grandfather stared at Galatia as he spoke.

Ignoring the rant, Galatia smiled at Mykal. It appeared genuine. Her eyes squinted kindly. “You healed your own wounds, Mykal.”

He almost laughed, but stopped at a crooked smile. “What does that mean? How did I heal myself?”

“You, Mykal, are a wizard,” she said.

YouAnd now Mykal did laugh.