The Sorcery Code (The Sorcery Code #1)(52)

Gala doubled her efforts, heedless of any injury to herself.

The sword swung down with deadly force, and the thief’s agonized scream pierced the air. Bright red blood sprayed everywhere, covering the stone platform and splattering on the overseer’s elaborate clothing. The guard released his hold on the girl’s arm, taking a step back.

Stunned, Gala saw the girl’s severed hand fall to the ground next to the bread—and felt something inside her snap again.

“No!” Every bit of her outrage poured out of Gala in an ear-splitting shout. All around her, the crowd seemed to stumble, most spectators falling to their knees and clutching their heads. All of a sudden, Gala found herself free to move, and she ran toward the bloody slab of rock where the girl was huddled, moaning and crying.

It seemed like there was blood everywhere, the metallic scent permeating the air. How could there be so much blood? Then Gala saw that the girl was not the only one bleeding. Everyone around them was holding their ears, trying to contain the red liquid trickling out.

And Gala realized with sick horror it was her fault—that her shout had somehow caused this awful occurrence.

Dazed, she approached the thief, who was practically bathing in blood at this point and clutching desperately at her stump of a wrist. Driven by some unknown instinct, Gala put her arms around the girl, hugging her gently. And in that moment, it was as though their bodies became one.

With every fiber of her being, Gala reached out with love and kindness to the victim of this unspeakable injustice. She could feel warm energy slowly flowing from her body into the girl’s. Everything inside Gala was focused on one goal and one goal only—to undo the damage that the executioner had caused. She could feel the girl’s pain, and she took it into herself, freeing the young woman of that burden. The feeling was agonizing and illuminating at the same time; until then, Gala had had only a rudimentary, book-learned understanding of pain and suffering. Now, however, it was real to her, and she vowed silently to make it so that there would be less of it in the world.

What was happening now was being done by the part of Gala’s mind that she had no control over; she was vaguely aware of that. But it didn’t matter, because Gala could sense that it was working, that the girl’s pain was slowly dissolving and ebbing away. When there was no more pain left, Gala let go of the girl and stepped back.

The young woman stood there, her dirt-streaked face serene and joyful, showing no trace of pain or fear. The bloody stump of her arm was no longer gushing; instead, as Gala watched, the hand slowly re-grew itself, each bone, muscle, and tendon gradually lengthening and thickening. Soon, the fingers appeared, and the hand was as it had been before, slim and feminine—and very much alive.

When Gala looked back at the crowd, she saw that everybody was kneeling, the expressions on their faces strangely blissful. There was blood on their clothing, but nobody seemed to be bleeding or in pain anymore. She had done this too, Gala realized with relief. She had not only taken away the girl’s pain, but also that of others in the vicinity, undoing the harm she herself had inadvertently caused.

In the distance, she could see Esther and Maya approaching the edge of the crowd, but Gala knew she was not done yet. The guard and the overseer were next to the girl, kneeling in the same position as the rest of the crowd and rapturously staring at Gala. She came up to them, knowing what she had to do.

She started with the overseer, putting her hands on his temples. She needed to understand why he had done something so horrible. “How could you?” she thought, letting the question reverberate in her head, over and over, as she lost herself in what felt like a series of Life Captures.

He was a small child of rich parents—a child who looked nothing like his father, a child who wished daily that he had been born to a different family. The child relived the many cruelties he had suffered, the endless beatings and demeaning words. Time sped forward, and the child was a young man who acted more like his father with every passing day—a young man who needed to lash out at others to cope with the pain left inside. As the young man matured, he found himself becoming someone who craved power, someone who needed to control others so nobody could hurt him again.

Now Gala understood. The cruel man was as damaged in his own way as the unfortunate girl he’d tried to hurt. The warm, sharing feeling from before came over Gala again, and she reached out to the man’s broken mind, trying to mend it as she had healed the girl’s hand. The mind resisted, and Gala understood that by doing this, she would be changing the man fundamentally, making him become someone else. Deep inside, she knew she might not have the right to do this, but the instinct to heal was too strong. She needed to do this so he would not hurt anyone else in the future. Gathering her strength, she pushed harder into the overseer’s mind and felt it finally letting her in.

“Gala! Gala, are you listening to me?” Maya’s voice penetrated the haze surrounding her, bringing Gala out of her mindless state.

Blinking, she stared at Maya and Esther, becoming aware for the first time of the deep exhaustion overtaking her body.

“Come,” Esther said, reaching for Gala. She looked anxious, and Gala let her guide her away, too weary to resist as the two women led her out of the square. All around them, she could see the spectators slowly coming out of their strange bliss-like state and starting to look around with confusion. Maya quickly wrapped the shawl around Gala’s head again, covering her with the thick scratchy material.