Reign of Shadows - Deborah Chester [42]
Caelan frowned and took a wobbly step away from the bed. “Why can’t I go to the kitchen? I’m fine.”
He tried to walk, but gave out by the time he reached the end of his bed. Beva steadied him, and Caelan found himself glad of his father’s help. Beva made him sit on the bed.
“You must not tire yourself,” Beva said sternly. “You are not yet ready for activity. Take things slowly.”
While his father walked away to call for the house keeper, Caelan looked over at Old Farns. The man’s face was sunken and gray on the pillow. His breathing came in quick, shallow rasps.
“What happened to Old Farns? Is he ill too?”
Beva returned, his eyes watchful and curiously eager. “Don’t you remember?”
“Remember what? He looks bad. He’s going to be all right, isn’t he?”
“Perhaps,” Beva said, still watching him closely. “Winter is a hard time for old men. He was caught outside in a snowstorm, trying to cut peat for our supplies. Foolish and stubborn, our Farns.”
Caelan rubbed back a yawn, then stared at the bandage on his hand. “What happened? Did I cut myself?”
“Frostbite,” Beva said. He reached out and smoothed Caelan’s hair. “Your hand will heal quickly.”
Caelan picked at the bandage, trying to see beneath it. “It hurts when I flex my hand.”
He flexed it again as he spoke. Something about the resultant pain stirred his thoughts. The snowstorm ... yes, he remembered being outside at night, trying to get back to the house. Farns had been with him ....
“Caelan!” his father said sharply.
He looked up with a blink.
“I think you should lie down and rest now.”
Beva pushed at Caelan’s shoulder, but restlessly Caelan shrugged him off.
“I’m not tired. I’m not sick, either. Am I?”
“You have been. You should rest. I will make a potion that will help you sleep.”
“No!” Caelan said. “I don’t want it. I’m fine.”
But he felt strange—hollow and somehow emptied inside, as though an important part of him was missing. What had he and Farns been doing cutting peat at night in a snowstorm? Had they been caught unexpectedly by the weather?
No ... he remembered darkness and the walls of the courtyard. They had been trying to hurry. They had been afraid.
Caelan caught his breath sharply and looked at Old Farns with fear. “Wind spirits,” he whispered.
“No!” Beva said forcefully. He shook his head with peculiar urgency. “No, Caelan. You are mistaken. There were no wind spirits.”
Caelan stared at his bandaged hand. The pain called to him.
“Listen to me,” Beva said harshly. His tone was like a net, surrounding Caelan and drawing him in. “You have frostbite in your hand. You forgot your gloves and stayed outside too long. We feared lung sickness for you, but you are better. That is all. There is nothing else to remember.”
Beva went on talking, but Caelan felt as though he were floating on the words. Strange, compelling words. The ward shrank around him, becoming distant and small. He could feel the cold rush of severance, cutting him off from everything except his father’s voice.
Caelan thrust out his hand and knocked it accidentally against the bedpost.
Agony flared from his palm, and with a jolt he remembered holding the warding key. Wind shrieked around him, sounding almost alive.
It was alive. And the key was burning his hand, burn ing the life from him . . .
No!” he shouted, jerking from his father’s hold. Terror seized him, breaking a cold sweat across his skin. His heart thudded, and he found himself on his feet, his clenched fists held up as though to ward off an attack. “No! Get it away! Get it away!”
“Caelan!” His father caught him and shook him hard “You’re safe. Stay within severance and be safe. Hear my words, Caelan. Stay within severance.”
Caelan closed his eyes, feeling the terror fade by degrees. His father was taking away the fear, taking away the memories one by one.
From a long distance, he heard Master Umal’s dry, boring voice delivering a lecture within the hall of Rieschelhold: “Relinquish memories one by one. When they are gone, then knowledge will go, piece by piece, until there is nothing