Chasing the Prophecy
Ferrin nodded, as if the information fit his understanding. “Zokar brought the torivors to our world and established dominance over them. He subjected them to his will. Maldor wears a black jewel, the Myrkstone, which is somehow connected to the torivors. How he controls them is a secret, but it exacts a toll. He has been seen vomiting blood after sending torivors on a mission. He never dispatches them lightly.”
“What if we could free them? Would they rebel against Maldor?”
Ferrin chuckled. “You have quite an imagination. Hard to guess how the darklings would respond to freedom. Nobody knows enough about them. Maybe they would turn on Maldor. Maybe they would go on a wild rampage. Maybe they would leave our world.”
“Where are they kept?”
“At Felrook. Nobody is certain exactly where. Nobody wants to find out. Torivors are trouble, Rachel. The worst kind of trouble. They can sense our thoughts. You should put them out of your mind.”
“I didn’t invite them,” she reminded him.
“I know.”
She fingered her charm necklace. “I don’t plan to take this off anytime soon.”
“Probably wise. Has Copernum visited you lately?”
“No. I haven’t seen him in days.”
“That is for the best. Under no circumstances should he be trusted.” Ferrin stood. “What are your plans for the remainder of the day?”
“I was hoping to brood. Then maybe mope a little.”
“You keeping up with your Edomic?”
“Yeah. Three hours this morning. I’ll work more tonight.”
Ferrin nodded, hands on his hips. “I’ve been trying to devise some practical applications for your abilities. I want to have some spheres crafted the same size as standard orantium globes. We should put a little stone inside to help the replicas match as best we can. I want to find out how effectively you can manipulate them. It could prove significant in battle.”
“Good idea.”
“And locks. I want to teach you how locks work. You keep pushing around larger and larger objects. I think you should also experiment with some delicate finesse. Shouldn’t require a lot of clout, just knowledge of where to push.”
Rachel grinned. “That could be useful.”
“I expect it might. Want to give it a try?”
“Sure.”
Ferrin took her hand and helped her to her feet.
CHAPTER 12
WINDBREAK ISLAND
Jason stood outside the small cabin, bracing himself for the smell. The stench of vomit always made him want to puke, and losing his lunch was not likely to help Corinne feel any better. He had volunteered to deliver the news because he felt guilty about not visiting her very often. Maybe he should have found another way to show his concern. Straightening like a soldier, he knocked with two knuckles.
“Yes,” came the reply. She was trying to sound normal but not quite succeeding.
“It’s Jason. Can I come in?”
“Just a moment.” He heard her scuffling around. “All right.”
Jason opened the door and found Corinne sitting on the floor against the wall. One of the cracks between the planks had left a straight mark on her cheek, so he knew she had been lying down. Her hair looked stringy, her lips chapped. A glowing length of seaweed cast green light on her pallid features. The smell was less terrible than he had expected. Her puke bucket was empty.
“Not using the bunk?” he asked.
She shook her head, a careful motion. “The floor feels best.” Her lips quivered and she squeezed her eyes shut.
“Lie back down.”
Nodding faintly, she spread out on the floor and pressed a damp cloth to her forehead. She seemed to be perspiring, though it might have been moisture from the rag. He watched her breathe.
“Can I get you anything?” Jason asked.
“Water. Barrel. Corner.”
He went to the cask in the corner, lifted the lid, and dipped in a little tin cup. He set it beside her on the floor.
“Sorry,” she said. “Hard to talk.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Propping herself up on an elbow, Corinne lifted the cup and took a tiny sip. She paused, as if assessing how it made her feel, then tried a bigger sip. She started coughing, leaned over the bucket, and retched.
Stomach churning, Jason turned away. There was no escaping the smell. As it hit him, the room suddenly seemed warmer and more cramped. He clenched his teeth.
“Sorry,” Corinne apologized wretchedly.
“Don’t worry about me,” Jason replied valiantly. “I’m sorry you’re so sick.”
Corinne picked up a rag and wiped her mouth. “I can’t suppress the nausea. I can’t will it away. Everything I eat comes back up sooner or later. I feel a little better right after I throw up. It never lasts long.”
“I have good news.”
She perked up a little. “What?”
“We can finally see Windbreak Island.”
She gave a tired smile. “Dry land?”
“Dry land. Of course, it means we’ll have to deal with the Maumet.”
“Anything to get off this boat,” Corinne groaned. “Maumets, lurkers, you name it. Have we spotted any other ships?”
“Nothing yet. If the emperor has learned our destination, Aram is worried ships might hide on the far side of the island.”
“Why does it have to be an island?” Corinne lamented. “The only way off is more sailing. If we defeat the Maumet, maybe I’ll just stay there, live in the library.”
“I know you like books,” Jason said.
She nodded, then grimaced. Her hand cradled her abdomen. “I’m already feeling queasy. . . . It never stops.”
“Rest,” Jason said. “We’ll get you to dry ground soon.”
She closed her eyes tightly and gently lay on her side, head cradled on the crook of her elbow. “Thanks . . . news.”
Jason exited the cabin and walked away, grateful to escape the smell of her puke. He wished he knew how to comfort her. Whenever he visited, it seemed like Corinne would rather be alone. She either wanted rest or she was lost in her suffering. When he tried to talk to her or console her, he ended up feeling like a nuisance. He couldn’t blame her. He hated the sensation of nausea. She hadn’t had much of a break from it in almost a week.
On deck Jason went to the bow and peered ahead at the island, gray with distance. Jasher stood there as well.
“How long?” Jason asked.
Jasher glanced up at the sails. “The wind is dwindling again, and the direction has been inconstant. Could take most of the day. Could take longer.”