Lucia and Amara led Amon into the hut next to Amara’s, where the most seriously injured and sick stayed. Amara could look over her patients more easily here, but Amon was relieved to see the cots lay empty tonight.

It was a rare blessing. He needed privacy for what he had planned. Anyone who knew what to look for would realize he was Casting, and no one could ever know his doings tonight. This wouldn’t be a light Casting he could pass off as sleep, either. He needed to completely absorb himself in a state of focused trance. He had no idea how he’d undone the storm, and no idea how he would recreate it. Still, if he’d somehow wielded enough power to end it, he must have the power to start it up again.

It would take everything he had, though. Total focus and an abundance of luck. Even then, it might cost him his life.

If I can fix this, no one will ever have to know what I’ve done.

Lucia gingerly peeled the muddy shirt off him, wincing at the sight of his battered back. Amara began prodding at his right leg, where Kessen had done the worst damage. It had swelled up even more from walking on it, the skin tight and swirling with purples and reds.

“You’re lucky. No broken bones,” Amara said. “The bruising is bad and you’ll be limping for a while, but you should heal fine. It could have been much worse and you should thank the Four you work in the Longhouse and not the fields.”

Amon nodded. Under any other circumstance, he would have simply dealt with the pain. Amara’s medicines came at great cost, the ingredients rare and difficult to source, but if he was going to enter a deep trance, he would need some of what she carried in her shoulder bag. “Can I have molliblossom for the pain? Something to help me sleep?”

Amara paused, narrowed her eyes for the briefest of moments, as if she saw right through him and his plan. She knew he often refused medicine, even when he needed it.

But her hesitation passed and a moment later she nodded. “I’ll give you molliblossom extract. It will help bring the swelling down, too.”

He wished for something even stronger – soldier’s balm, maybe – but there was no way we could ask for more without raising suspicion. He might have already made her suspicious as it was, so molliblossom would have to do.

Amara touched Lucia’s shoulder. “Can you help get him cleaned up? I’ll be back with fresh clothes. Then I want to hear what happened.”

Lucia nodded and both disappeared, though Lucia returned shortly with a bucket of fresh water from the stream and a few clean strips of cloth. He wrung one of the rags and began scrubbing at his arms. He hadn’t realized how much mud had stuck to him until he saw the water turning an ugly brown.

“Don’t tell her about Kessen’s… offer,” he said, as she reached for a rag herself.

She dropped it, frowning. “Why?”

“I’ll talk to her later. I… I just don’t want to upset her right now.”

Before she could respond, Amara ducked back into the room.

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The look Lucia flashed at him – her eyes squinting slightly, as if to better see inside his head – told him she didn’t like it at all, but she would hold her tongue for now.

He just needed to buy a bit of time to get his jumbled mind in order. That was all. A bit of time to think and at least attempt his plan. Then he could figure out what to do about Kessen.

“So,” Amara began, “are you going to tell me how you ended up like this?”

Amon jumped in and answered before Lucia could start. It was Kessen, of course, he said. Thankfully the man was cruel enough that no further explanation was necessary. Kessen hurt people for fun and all could point to plenty of recent incidents as evidence. Amara didn’t push for more, though the looks she gave Amon told him she had questions. Normally Longhouse thralls were at least somewhat immune from the cruelties the field thralls faced. Still, she didn’t push, at least not now. He would have to think of a better story before they spoke again.

Amara sent Lucia off as soon as he was clean. She applied herb-scented unguent to the worst of his bruises and produced a small bottle of molliblossom extract. She offered him a spoonful.

He swallowed the bitter-sweet extract and prayed it would do what he needed.

“I have to go,” she said, putting the cork back in the bottle and brushing a strand of silver hair from her face. “I’ll be back afterwards to check on you.”

“I’m fine,” Amon said. “Just a few bruises, that’s all.”

She reached for his hand, holding it the way she used to when he was sick as a boy. “You’re not fine. And you haven’t told me what happened at all. Kessen is half an animal. Everyone knows that. Still, something must have happened to set him off.”

“Later,” he promised.

“I would talk now but the Elders are meeting to discuss the news. I’m already late. Did you hear anything at the Longhouse I should know?”

He nodded. He didn’t want to admit he’d been spying on Odrin, but the news was far too significant. “They’re gathering a war party in Karrakdun already, Amara. I heard them say it. Odrin is sailing in a matter of days, just as soon as he can muster his loachs and ships. He means to lead, despite his health. He’ll leave Slaine in charge of the Chiefdom.”

She nodded, a bit of the light going out of her eyes. The news of Odrin’s plans and the prospect of Slaine ruling might have been predictable, but it didn’t make it any easier to stomach. It meant there would be no justice for Kessen’s violence, no one to rein him in. They could only expect more cruelty from the likes of him and Slaine.

Could I really betray her for Kessen?

“I’ll be back,” she promised again. “I’ll bring supper.”

The molliblossom was already beginning to seep through him within minutes of her leaving. It filled him with a syrupy warmth he rarely felt otherwise in a cold world, as his body and mind had been dipped into the hot springs, years of tension releasing. It wasn’t difficult to imagine how one could become dependent on it.

It gave him exactly what he needed. Calm and serenity were an essential part of entering the kind of trance needed for Casting. Amara often reminded him that achieving serenity was his weakest skill. With the day he’d had, he never would have found enough of it on his own. The molliblossom was a necessary crutch.

With the warmth and relaxation spreading through him, he fixed his attention to an icon on the far wall. It was a representation of the Cassadan saint, Rufus. The great healer, with his hunched back. He only needed a still point to focus his attention on.

Relaxation and focus. A balance of both. That was how Amara had coached him, though with five years of training under his belt it was still far easier said than done. Maybe if he had the luxury of living like a monk, learning to calm and focus his mind all day, the way the Cassadan mages supposedly did, he would have mastered it by now. Even with the molliblossom flooding through him, it took some effort to apply the right level of focus. Too much relaxation was just as determinantal.

In the end, it was a simple process, though. Every time his attention strayed – caught by sounds of village life trickling through the window, carried away by a thought – he gently returned it to the icon, until it burned bright and clear and everything else started to fade.

Time ceased to have meaning, melting away along with all else.

When the icon truly was all that reminded in his mind, it became a portal to the skies and he stepped through it.