The Unspoken: Book One in the Keres Trilogy (37 page)

“
Someone strong. Someone with fire for blood. Someone fragile. Someone who looks at me with starving eyes. Someone who can put me in my place. Someone with a tattoo I
’
m dying to taste.
”

“
Frehn?
”

“
Keres?
”
his bottom lip brushes against mine as he says my name.

“
Do you want to kiss me?
”

“
More than anything.
”

“
You
’
ll have to catch me first,
”
I duck quickly out from under his arm and run at top speed towards the Quad. I hear him curse as I take off. Frehn chasing me, his laughter mingling with mine as I slam into Wex, just emerging from the canteen to look for us.

“
There you are, we
’
ve got a table on the far end,
”
he says, pointing.
“
What
’
s so funny?
”

“
Nothing,
”
Frehn and I say together, trying to stifle giggles.

Wex looks at us suspiciously, but as he is about to open his mouth to say something, a pack of Mothers glides up to the canteen and Wex is forced to hold the door for them with a polite smile. Frehn and I follow them in, Wex hot on our heels. Sitting at the table between Doe and Merit, directly across from Wex, I can feel his foot tapping against my shoe. He
’
s nervous about something. Frehn is deep in conversation with Harc about the prospect of a netball game against PG3453 that evening, winking when he catches my eye. I grin and turn my attention to the bowl of shellfish and vegetable stew on my tray. I feel almost giddy looking at this new world of interaction that has opened before me.

I meet Zink on the way back to the hall after lunch. I ask him what he thinks of Loshee on our way down in the elevator. I want to know if this notion of love and desire is something that only people like Loshee and Frehn know, the people who are confident in who they are, the ones who know how they fit into the makeup of Chelon.

“
She
’
s just after some fun. Her Banded partner is not a nice guy I hear and she doesn
’
t get a lot of support from her Play Group, so it
’
s understandable,
”
he says offhandedly. Thinking about Loshee being Banded and therefore possibly already having a child makes my stomach clench. I can
’
t picture her as part of anything but the weapons hall. Loshee as anything but a hyperactive humming bird armed to the teeth is unimaginable.

“
She
’
s harmless, just likes to talk. But I wouldn
’
t be on the receiving end of her staff for anything in the world. Journer tried to get her to help me with the offensive magus like Abbot has you doing, but I wouldn
’
t go near her alone. She wanted to go hand-to-hand with me, so to speak,
”
he says ending in a laugh. Zink savors the memory of hand-to-hand combat with Loshee for the rest of the ride down, a sly smile perched on his lips. His mouth works like he is rolling the image of Loshee around on his tongue, tasting every aspect of her.

Abbot is waiting for me in my den with a stack of books and charts on the desk. While I
’
m changing, I can hear him bang nails as he starts hanging the charts around the walls.

“
Time to take off those training wheels, Keres,
”
he announces when I open the bathroom door.

“
I
’
m ready.
”

“
You aren
’
t, but that
’
s neither here nor there,
”
he scoffs.
“
Your body is in the best shape it can be now, so it
’
s time we caught your throwing up to speed. An intusmagus should be in complete control at all times. Over your emotions, over your power, over every aspect of throwing magus. We all start by learning to pull a magus with our thumbs, holding it in our palms with four fingers until we are ready to throw it. Right?
”

“
Yes,
”

“
That was rhetorical, don
’
t interrupt. Now that your body has caught up to your ability, we can start pulling magus with fingertips. They are harder to control than the thumb because they are more sensitive and they are further away from the palm.
”
He is pointing to different parts of the charts as he talks. He assumes I
’
m following every word. I, however, am completely lost.

“
You trace the tattoos with your thumb to activate the ink, with the fingertips you brush over the ink, flicking the magus up to your palm. Watch me.
”
Abbot brushes the ink on his arm lightly with his fingers and a set of glowing black throwing knives shoot from his palm into the center of the practice target at the back of the room.
“
It
’
s the same principle as pulling the magus through your weapon. We are applying that to our fingertips instead.
”
he says moving around the desk.

“
I
’
m not even sure how I do that,
”
I say.

“
Doesn
’
t matter. Point is, you can do it. So you can do this. Magus becomes weaker as it travel through the thumb and is held in the palm. The longer it spends between the ink and the target, the less effective it becomes. And milliseconds count tenfold. With the fingers, you flick it up in its raw form and throw it twice as fast. Downside is-
”

“
There
’
s always a downside,
”
I interrupt.

Abbot glares at me,
“
Downside is, it burns twice as hot.
”

“
I can handle pain,
”
I say, squaring my shoulders.

“
Let
’
s hope so,
”
he says, more to himself than to me.

I move to the center of the room and try brushing a Contundo magus off my right shoulder.

“
Fingertips only, Keres, you aren
’
t cleaning crumbs off your sweater,
”
Abbot says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

I try again, this time lightly grazing the absolute ends of my fingers across the snake that winds around my shoulder. As my palm comes up, a jet of dense green and brown smoke shoots forward wrapping around the target, crushing it in two. At the same time, I fall to the floor pressing my hand to the still-glowing ink. Something must have gone wrong, my shoulder feels like it
’
s burning from the inside out. I expect my hand to be bloody, even coated in pus, when I pull it away, but there
’
s nothing on it. Abbot nudges my head and holds out a wet cloth to me.

“
It
’
s cold,
”
he says.

I press the icy cloth to my blistering shoulder and bite my lip to keep from whimpering.

“
Tried to warn you.
”

“
You said twice. That was a lot more than twice,
”
I say tremulously.

“
I may have misspoke.
”

“
Misspoke or misled?
”

“
Same thing.
”

Unbelievable.
“
Does it hurt less the more you do it? Like getting stamped?
”
I ask hopefully.

“
Nope. Like red hot irons every time,
”
he says with satisfaction.
“
Sometimes more, depending on the magus. You just learn to deal with it. Seven months ago, the burn would have spread through your whole body, not just the nerve group you used. Muscle mass acts like a firewall, keeps the heat from spreading. When you
’
ve finished
‘
handling the pain,
’
Keres, I
’
m ready to watch you try again.
”

I struggle to my feet, inwardly cursing his unknown mother for giving birth to him, and begin again. I alternate between different nerve groups this time and allow the Contundo group to cool off. As my body burns internally, my suit starts to cool down. The fabric begins to feel like soothing aloe and ice against my raging skin. The hotter my skin becomes, the more comfortable the suit feels against it. I make a mental note to kiss Juwas
’
feet before sunset.

Alternating magus and applying the icy cloth, I practice for hours while Abbot directs me. He shouts orders to correct my form, peppered with the occasional word of praise. I am able to throw a magus from every one of my tattoos in quick succession before we stop for the day. Pouring sweat, I catch my reflection on the way to the bathroom and pause. My body is actually smoking. Every bit of ink is glowing, curling gray smoke winding upwards from my exposed skin. In the dim light of the den I look like a chunk of lava cooling off. I sizzle when the cold water from the shower hits my body, washing the faint smell of burnt flesh down the drain.

* * *

A few days later, Wex and I are the only ones who stay for the game of Viking on the slushy lawn after dinner. I
’
m jumpy from the long day of pulling magus with my fingertips. Pain still echoes around my body, and I need to relieve the tension built up in my muscles. Wex stays with me when the others protest against the cold. We are well into early spring and the melting snow and ice make everything damp and uncomfortable.

“
That
’
s all your shields down!
”
Wex calls to the two members of PG3460 across the field, and he takes aim for the king block in the center. He launches his wooden battle axe game piece in a perfect underhanded arc, knocking the king block neatly over to one side. We trot out to the center of the pitch to shake hands with our opponents, then gather our packs from the nearby benches.

“
Good throw,
”
I say to Wex, taking a long drought of water from my bottle.

“
Thanks, not bad yourself. Except, of course, that unfortunate overthrow that nearly took out the girl.
”