The Magicians - Lev Grossman [175]
Footsteps in the darkness. Somebody was coming, walking. The figure’s hands were glowing with a light charm. Wearily, Quentin started in on yet another Magic Missile spell, but before he could finish he realized it was just Eliot. He let his hands drop and sagged to the floor.
Neither of them spoke, they just leaned together against the wall, side by side. The cold stone soothed the little divot of pain the arrow had punched in Quentin’s back. Eliot’s shirt was untucked. His face was all smudged with soot on one side. He would have been furious if he’d known.
“You all right?”
Eliot nodded.
“Fen’s dead,” Quentin said.
Eliot took a deep breath and ran his glowing hands through his thick wavy hair.
“I know. I saw.”
“I don’t think there’s anything we could have done,” Eliot said. “Big Red back there was just out of our league, that’s all.”
They fell silent. It was like the words had spun off into some void where they had no meaning. They’d lost any connection with the world; or maybe it was the world that had peeled away from the words. Eliot passed him a flask with something strong in it, and he drank and passed it back. It seemed to restore some link between him and his body.
Quentin drew his knees up and hugged them.
“I got hit by an arrow,” he said. It felt like a stupid thing to say. “In my back.”
“We should go,” Eliot said.
“Right.”
“Backtrack. Try to meet back up with the others. Penny’s got the button.” It was amazing that Eliot could still be so practical after everything that had happened. He was so much stronger than Quentin was.
“That big glowing guy though.”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe he’s still back there.”
Eliot shrugged.
“We have to get to the button.”
Quentin was thirsty, but there was no water. He couldn’t remember when he’d dropped his pack.
“I’ll tell you something funny,” Eliot said after a while. “I think Anaïs hooked up with Dint.”
“What?” In spite of himself Quentin smiled. He felt his dry lips crack. “When did they even have time?”
“Bathroom break. After that second fight.”
“Wow. Tough break for Josh. But you have to applaud their initiative.”
“Definitely. But hard cheese on Josh.”
“Hard cheese.”
It was the kind of thing they used to say back at Brakebills.
“I’ll tell you something else funny,” Eliot went on. “I don’t regret coming here. Even now that it’s all gone to shit, I’m still glad I came. Could that possibly be the stupidest thing I’ve ever said to you? But it’s the truth. I think I was going to drink myself to death back on Earth.”
It was true. For Eliot there hadn’t been any other way. Somehow that made it a little bit better.
“You could still drink yourself to death here.”
“At this rate I won’t have the chance.”
Quentin stood up. His legs were stiff and achy. He did a deep knee-bend. They started back the way they came.
Quentin didn’t feel any fear anymore. That part of it was over, except that he was worried about Alice. The adrenaline was gone, too. Now he was just thirsty, and his feet hurt, and he was covered in scratches he couldn’t remember having gotten. The blood on his back had dried, sticking his shirt to the arrow wound. It tugged uncomfortably every time he took a step.
It became apparent pretty soon that he didn’t have anything to worry about anyway, because they couldn’t even find their way back to the banquet hall. They must have taken a wrong turn somewhere, maybe several. They stopped and tried some basic path-finding magic, but Quentin’s tongue felt thick and clumsy, and neither of them could seem to get the words quite right, and anyway they really needed a dish of olive oil to make it