Rowan and Alaric rode straight back to the compound, following the thread of the moonlit path in total silence. Lysander and Nicasi accompanied them despite the late hour, no doubt to escort the souls of their fellow practitioners as far as they could. No one spoke, not even to ask a single question about what had happened by the river. When Rowan had emerged from the woods to drag himself over the protective boundary, they'd all taken one look at him and let whatever words they may have had stay hidden behind their eyes.
Halfway back to the compound, the moon disappeared, and a steady rain began to beat down on them in the darkness. The others cast their spirit lights in a bubble around themselves to serve as protection from the chilly rain and to illuminate the path ahead. Rowan rode next to Alaric at the front of the group, but he might as well have been alone. He could barely see any of them through the residual magic that fogged his brain.
All he could feel was the rain on his head, which cooled the magic-fever that raged behind his eyes and soothed the body that ached with the after affects of absorbing so much death energy.
And the warm pulse of the garnet soul-seed against his chest.
It was always like this when he worked a harvesting. He absorbed the death, released the life, and either transformed or released the soul. But he'd never worked magic on this scale. To offer himself up as a vessel to be abused to the point of shattering, obligingly filling himself with something he could only be described as poison. Those creatures should have destroyed him.
Maybe they really did. He did feel like he was holding his own soul by the thinnest of threads…perhaps he would still die from this, after all. Despite his abilities, he was weak. Isn't that what Ciprian had always told him?
From the tattered edges of his awareness, he sensed Alaric's spirit light brushing over him, growing to surround Rowan's horse in its misty-bright aura. Rowan waved it away, His arm screamed in protest as he mustered a quick burst of magic to send the spirit-light back to Alaric. He urged his horse ahead and quickened the pace.
He didn't realize until they'd crossed the compound gates that he'd finished the journey with his hand cupped over his chest to shield his locket from the rain.
Some novices ran out to greet the party. They helped Lysander and Nicasi from their horses and escorted them to the Reception Hall.
"Rowan. Get down."
Rowan blinked, finally noticing that Alaric stood before him, while he was content to sit on his horse in the rain, mind wandering in the fog. Through the fog, one thought had floated over and over to the surface, gleaming like blood in the moonlight. How had the garnet-colored soul healed him? What was it?
When Rowan didn't move, Alaric nudged him with his magic as if to shake him awake, a strange look crossing his face. The fog lifted, and Rowan began to shiver, partly from being drenched to the bone, and partly from pure exhaustion. His teeth chattered, and the shivers turned to shudders.
Alaric stepped forward, almost as if he were going to physically help him, but he stopped short. "You have to get down."
Still clutching the locket through his soaked shirt, Rowan slid from the horse. His legs buckled when his feet touched the ground, and he tumbled to the hard, wet earth.
Alaric stared down at him, brows furrowed. "Come on…you have to get up. I can't help you, you know that."
"Get down. Get up. Make up your mind." Rowan's teeth clacked together as he grated out the words. "Am I dead?"
"No. Get up. Now." Alaric's tone changed, suddenly full of a command that would not be ignored.
Obediently, Rowan somehow dragged himself to his feet and haltingly walked behind Alaric to the Reception Hall. Alaric mumbled, "You're freezing. I bet the short sleeves aren't looking like such a good idea anymore, are they?"
"Short or long, I'd be wet either way."
"Not if you'd let me shield you." Alaric's responding snort sounded a lot like a snicker. "You haven't changed at all. You are still a fool…a dangerous, impossible, fool. You have always done the opposite of me just to prove you could. To think that I am stuck with a liability such as yourself…"
Ciprian was waiting for them in the Reception Hall, grim-faced in his ornately embroidered white robe. Lysander and Nicasi stood in front of him in the contrasting blue and red of their respective Branches, one with eyes like ice, one with eyes like fire. They turned to watch Rowan as he made his way over to them.
He could only imagine what he looked like, hair drenched, wet clothes streaked with mud. His freckles had turned a dark reddish-brown from all of the death he'd absorbed, but underneath the dusting of spots, his skin had drained of color from the overuse of his abilities.
"Excuse my presumption, Master Ciprian, but do you think he really should be allowed to sully the hall in his condition?" Nicasi spoke directly, but his tone was humble. For once.
Lysander shot him a cool look out of the corner of his eye.
"Sully? I've just been cleansed by rain for a good two hours straight," Rowan grumbled.
Alaric sighed next to him.
Ciprian cut off any further commentary with a wave of his hand. "Just tell me what happened."
Alaric proceeded to recount the story, filling in the details of what had transpired in a dutiful voice. He stood straight as always as he informed Ciprian that two children had required a cleansing because of Rowan, and how it had delayed the entire party by over two hours.
Ciprian's cold blue eyes bored into Rowan. "I apologize on behalf of the Core for the embarrassment and inconvenience the Caretaker has caused. I take full responsibility for his actions, and I assure you, his serious disregard for the balance of Order will be addressed immediately. Rowan, show some contrition."
Of course Alaric had no choice but to tell the Master what he had done. He was duty bound to make sure Rowan stayed in his place, only to be pulled out when useful. Rowan had never expected anything less.
Rowan didn't bother wasting what little energy he had left explaining why he had helped the children in the first place. No one cared. Instead he knelt and bowed his head, showing his contrition in the way Ciprian had trained him to do.
"Please forgive me, Brothers. I was selfish and heedless of the danger my presence poses. I am grateful that you were there to assist Alaric with restoring the faith and security of that mother and her children." Words were just words. They wouldn't change his mind that he had done the right thing.
Nicasi pressed his lips together and pretended that Rowan was invisible, but Lysander nodded graciously.
Rowan remained on his knees, waiting for Ciprian to indicate he could stand. The indication never came.
"What happened at the massacre site?" Ciprian said.
Alaric looked at the others. "Rowan will have to tell us."
All four faces turned to him. He didn't really feel like reliving the night, even in words. But duty was duty.
"Those were not humans."
"Not humans…what are you talking about? Alaric saw them himself. Rogue practitioners." Ciprian narrowed his eyes.
"What Alaric saw with his Orderly vision and what I saw with mine were two different things. Those were not human beings. Living things, yes. Human, no."
"What were they, then?" Nicasi said, deciding that Rowan was no longer invisible.
"I don't really know. They looked like men, but their souls were so…difficult. I've never felt anything like it. So black and cold. There were close to twenty of them." Rowan's voice grew quiet. "I released them, but they fought me."
He looked down at his arm, which had been brutalized by the things—whatever they were. The skin was pale and clammy, yes, but otherwise whole. No one would believe him that when he was done with his work, the flesh had been lashed raw, covered with welts and bruises to the point of not looking like an arm at all.
"That sounds like…could they have been some sort of creature of Disorder?" Lysander asked Ciprian.
The older man frowned. "I really don't know. A creature should show its true form once it's been killed. These maintained the shape of men. I will have to consult with the Acolytes. Please tell them I request their presence here as soon as possible to discuss this…situation."
Lysander and Nicasi bowed their heads.
"Are you certain you were able to dispatch every one of them? No lingering energy?" Ciprian watched Rowan's face.
"Yes, but not without difficulty." Anyone could look at him and see that was a gross understatement. "I have absorbed all residual energy, and I swept the area to make sure it was completely transformed."
"And the souls of our fallen?"
He pulled out his locket and pressed it between his two hands. "Six souls. Harvested and ready for the journey to rebirth."
With a slight smile he opened the locket behind his cupped hand and peered inside. Six pearl-white seeds, and one the color of blood. They all glowed with pure spirit, with the garnet seed far surpassing the others in beauty. He covered the garnet seed—no, really it was more like a jewel—with his thumb, holding it in place as he poured the others into his open hand.
"Good." Ciprian nodded when he saw the souls. "Adept Lysander, Adept Nicasi, I request on behalf of the Core that you entrust the growth of these souls to the Caretaker. If what he said was the truth, we will certainly need to call back our fallen practitioners as soon as possible."
Rowan stiffened. If what he said was the truth? After everything he'd been through, everything he'd suffered for the good of the Order, Ciprian was going to imply that perhaps none of it happened. He thought he was going to die, he still thought he might die.
But maybe he wasn't being truthful.
He wanted to get up off his knees and leave this place. Let them figure out what the truth was without him. He needed a hot bath and a long sleep. Peace and quiet with his flowers and birds. Damn them all with their condemnation and condescension.
Instead he placed the soul seeds back in his locket and waited.
"Is there anything else?" Ciprian asked.
He should tell them about the garnet-soul, but for some reason, the words wouldn't come.
Not a single thank you. Not a single inquiry about his well-being. If he would have died, would they even bother to say a word about the things he'd done to help? Or would he just be a stain erased from the Orderly cloth?
Rowan could feel Alaric's eyes on him, some sort of implication lingering in his gaze. In that moment, he realized Alaric knew he was hiding something.
And Rowan didn't care.
He didn't know what the garnet-soul was or who it belonged to, but he knew that it had helped him. It had touched him and healed him, and its warmth against his chest had kept him from losing himself completely to the fog on the ride back. He wasn't going to share it with the others. Duty or not.
They'd asked him to harvest six souls and dispatch the Disorderly energy of the place. He'd done just that.
"No. Nothing else." He lifted his chin. "I will begin caring for these right away. Thank you for allowing me to be of service."