All the Stars and Teeth(77)
“That makes it safe to drink?” I ask, and Zale nods with a smile curling on her lips.
“Not one person has gotten sick from the water,” she says with an air of pride. “And, even if they ever did, it wouldn’t be a problem.”
I follow her finger as she points to one of the buildings we pass. It’s larger than the others, and through the open door I see two kids sitting in chairs—one boy who looks like he’s about to vomit, and a girl who offers up a scraped knee. Two Zudians stand before them, dressed in long tunics that must have once been a bright opal, but have since dirtied into a murky gray. One places a hand on the girl’s knee, and the other on the boy’s stomach. At the hazy orange glow around their palms, I nearly choke. Ferrick echoes the sound.
“That’s restoration magic,” Ferrick says. “They’re using Suntosan magic.”
But it’s more than that; they’re using multiple magics.
I stumble as bile rises to my throat, making the camp spin. Practicing multiple magics is the threat the Montaras have spent their lives protecting the kingdom against.
I don’t bother to reel back my surprise, and Zale’s been waiting for it.
“Remember that we don’t live under the laws of Visidia,” she says quietly, her voice a fierce whisper. “Your father took the healers away from our island when he banished us. He left our people to suffer. What else were we supposed to do?”
“But it’s not just about Visidia!” My throat’s so dry that the words are almost painful. “Having too much magic is deadly. Using multiple magic is—”
“Necessary,” she finishes for me. “And look around you; do we look sickly? We’ve been practicing multiple magics for years, ever since we were banished. Despite the kingdom’s claim, nothing has happened to those of us who chose to wield more than one type of magic. If we wanted to survive, this was necessary.”
I tear at the skin around my nails as my vision bounces from face to face, taking in all the magic I failed to notice before.
The hands that manipulate water and build structures into the earth. That heat the flames and heal the sick.
There’s no way this could just be fine; this has been our law for centuries. If the danger of multiple magics was a lie, then how could the Montaras come to have our soul magic? How would King Cato have first established Visidia?
I don’t want to believe it, but as the young girl jumps from her chair with a healed knee and the boy’s color returns to his skin, there’s no denying what Zale says.
They can wield multiple magics. And their smiles certainly don’t look corrupted as they send the children on their way. They’re not suffering, or struggling from their bodies carrying too much magic. Their souls aren’t disappearing.
They’re fine.
Dozens of eyes settle on us as we cross through the site, most of them curious, but others protective. They try to catch Zale’s eye, and she ushers them away with a gentle shake of her head.
“I’ll be fine,” she tells them, and a tiny flame flickers in her palm when she says it, showing she’s willing to fight with a magic she shouldn’t even have.
I try not to focus on the multiple magics any longer, because if I do, I’m going to be sick.
Instead, I focus on the camp. Though there’s no absence of people here, there’s certainly an absence of noise. Even as groups of Zudians free-climb a cliffside with foot and hand holes carved out by Valukan magic, their movements and chatting are no louder than a gently sung lullaby. Not even the children scream as they run through the camp, chasing one another.
“They’re going over the mountain in search of food,” Zale says before anyone can ask, seeming to take pride in our awed faces. “We cursed the land to misdirect others—it’s the only safe area we have, but it’s a trek.” Something lingers in her words and the squint of her eyes, but she leaves it unsaid.
“Why’s everyone whispering?” Vataea’s thin brows sink low into her forehead. I’m glad I’m not the only one unnerved by it.
Zale’s sharp eyes flit to her. “Because if Kaven finds our camp, we’re done for.”
Vataea’s fingers press against her sides, nails scratching uncomfortably at her trousers. “How have you survived here so long? If there aren’t even fish in the water, surely your food supply can’t be doing well?” she asks as Zale waves us forward and into what I assume must be her home. There’s not much to the place—just a small table, a hanging bed made from ropes, and a few knickknacks—but it hides the bite of cool air from outside and settles my nerves. She motions for us to take a seat on the floor, soft and padded with smoothed white birch. Vataea sinks back on her hands, but Bastian is rigid. His focus is pinched tight.
“It’s been hard. We’ve a lake that’s beginning to run dry, so we’ve been trying to engineer new crops on the other side of the mountain,” Zale says as she lowers herself to join us on the floor. “But the land isn’t taking to it well. I’ll admit it’s been a struggle, but if we venture any farther out, we risk capture.” She looks toward the door, shoulders slumping. “My mother was one of Zudoh’s best scientists. She studied plants, and tried to find ways to make them larger, or even grow quicker. She’s the one who founded this camp, and did most of her experiments here.