Ash and Quill(98)

And it was still oddly peaceful.

Jess spread the blanket, and they sat on it, with another wrapping the two of them together. Cold, clean air cut hard into his lungs and plumed out as he exhaled, and somehow, Jess imagined that vapor was cleansing him of everything still left of toxins and terrors. They looked up at the stars in silence for a few moments. Then Jess turned his head and saw her watching him.

"Can it stay like this?" she asked. "Just like this?"

He leaned close and kissed her. Gently this time, but a kiss that lingered. Her lips were cold, but so soft. "I wish it could."

She took his hand in hers and held it to her cheek-his fingers warm, her face chilled. Contrasts with her, as always. "It's beautiful here, you know."

"It's nearly winter."

"No, really. Look." Her grip on his hand tightened, and he felt something strange twinge inside him, almost a pain, and then his head began to ache as well . . .

And he saw. Exactly what he was seeing was hard to fathom; the world around him took on form and space, colors, shifting lines. None of it made sense, but all of it had a shimmering, breathtaking, living sort of beauty. He watched the leaves of a hedge across from them blur and shake and shift colors, saw the sap rising red through the trunk and branches, saw the life of it, muted by the cold . . . and then the pain in his head took on the sharp edge of an axe cleaving his skull, and he cried out and closed his eyes.

Suddenly, it was all gone. The headache drained away like water from a broken glass. Morgan's hands touched his forehead, smoothed the last of the pain away, and she whispered, "I'm sorry, I didn't know that would hurt you."


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"Is that-" He could barely speak, and his throat felt strangely dry. "Was that what you see? What Obscurists see?"

"I have a gift for it; at least Wolfe's mother said I did. The colors you see, that's the quintessence, the element of life. It exists in everything, living or not. The difference between living things and nonliving things . . . it's smaller than you might think. It's only a matter of . . . activation. Or removal. We are all made of the same eternal material."

"Did they ever teach you this in the Iron Tower?"

"No. They taught us just the opposite, but as usual, they lied. Layers and ages of lies, until nobody recognized the truth anymore. They warned us we'd all go mad, we'd become Gilles de Rais if we questioned their rules, but it isn't true. Quintessence isn't good. It isn't evil. It's just a force, like fire. And they never intended us to really use it for what it was." She hesitated a moment. "I need to show you. Come with me."

He followed her to a stone bench under the tree. He sat, but she didn't.

"Stay there. No matter what. Understand?"

"Why? Morgan, what are you doing?"

"You remember the fields?"

The memory grabbed him deep. The smell of dying things, rotten crops. The despair and anger of the people. "That was a mistake," he said. "You're better now."

"It was a mistake then. I spent my time on the ship learning. I won't hurt anyone by accident anymore." She walked to the center of the clearing. "Stay there, Jess. It's important."

Morgan held out her hands. There didn't seem to be any effect at first, and then he saw a mouse creep from the shadows. It was a field mouse, a small one, and it hesitantly made its way across the dried grass toward her. It stopped a few feet away and rose on its hind legs, nose twitching.

A larger movement. A rabbit, hopping out into the clear space and stopping around the same distance. Then another mouse.

"That's enough," Morgan whispered. "Forgive me."

Suddenly, the mouse on its hind legs twitched, rolled, spasmed, and fell flat on the grass. It went still. Jess shot to his feet, heart pounding, and he didn't know where to run-toward her. Away. He only knew that there was something powerful and dark happening in front of him.

"Jess, stop! Stay there!" Morgan's urgency froze him in place, and the rabbit slumped and rolled over. It shivered and went limp. Then the other mouse. Something plummeted out of the air above her: a night-flying bird, graceless as it landed broken on the grass. 

Dead.

Insects were not exempt, either. Beetles struggled to the surface and died. Worms thrashed and went still. He could see the glimmer of tiny bodies like jewels thrown across the grass.

Morgan opened her eyes and breathed in sharply. Her eyes seemed flat and lifeless for a moment. He didn't dare move, and she didn't speak. It was only when he saw a moth flap past her, unharmed, that he rushed forward past the invisible boundary in which the dead things lay.