The Grey Warden - Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Peering around the column, I looked down the hallway to my right, but the crowd hadn’t moved, and some of them had brown ink on their arms. Probably Fant’s friends. Walking through them to get out of the building would be dangerous. I’d have to leave out the back door even though it would add precious minutes to my rescue attempt.

I turned left and slipped down the hallway and away from the main entrance, sliding along the wall to remain out of sight. When I reached the hallway’s end, I glanced back and noticed Fant’s friends had disappeared from the front entrance.

I considered going back, but the rear entrance would be quicker now. Turning right down a darker hallway, I strode toward the back of the building. Thirty seconds later, I opened the back door and stepped out of the building.

The school building blocked the sun, and shadows cooled the air. A flowerbed of daisies, six-feet-long, lined the building to my left and gave the air a clean scent. Movement caught my eye as an earth weaver pushed away from the building and strode toward me, only fifteen feet separating us.

I turned to the right, but one of Fant’s buddies came around the building’s corner. Turning to reenter the building, I bumped into Fant, who had stepped into the doorway behind me. He hadn’t decided to let the incident go.

Fant raised his arms, probably to push me, and I considered pulling him forward and flipping him over my shoulder in a move Mom called Blowing Leaf. That would embarrass Fant, though, and increase the danger of this situation considerably.

As expected, Fant pushed me in the chest, and I carefully controlled my fall backward, not wanting to end up on the ground. I dropped my bag as someone grabbed me from behind, pinning my arms. I knew six combinations to escape the grip from behind, but held off for now. Fant already had an audience, which meant real trouble, and I didn’t want to make things worse.

My parents had explained the movements helped with my asthma and allergies, but that I should ever use them when others could see. Using them to fight might get me in a lot of trouble with them. Not to mention I worked for the Academy and fighting a student might get me fired. Or worse, my entire family fired.

“I told you to keep your mouth shut,” Fant said.

I risked a response. “But she would have died.”

Fant shrugged. “Who cares? That old woman could have made trouble for me.”

I couldn’t comprehend his selfishness. How could someone think like that? The idea that avoiding some small slap on the hand could equal another person’s life made my stomach turn.

I felt another one of Fant’s friends approach from behind and the bully holding me shifted his grip. The two behind me each grabbed one of my arms, and jerked them back, locking me in place. I didn’t have much time to escape this situation, and I worried doing so would only make it worse later. It would be better to take a couple punches here and put this whole thing me.

Fant raised his right arm so I could see his weave. Brown ink moved through his skin, forming bricks, one layered on top of the other, all the way up his arm. The bricks had little detail, which would weaken their power, but he had created so many that didn’t matter. For the first time I realized how badly I’d misjudged his anger.

Fant lowered his arm and quickly punched me. He had aimed for my heart, probably trying to smash it. I used my training to twist my body, protecting the soft organs in my torso, and took the blow on my left side.

A loud snap along with intense burning radiated from my left side. It felt like my chest had started on fire, and I struggled to take a breath. The boys holding me let go, and I fell to my knees. My mouth gasped for air, but my lungs wouldn’t work. A horrible wheezing sound came out instead.

“Fant, something’s wrong with him,” the boy behind me said.

“Yeah, he’s a Grey,” Fant said.

A few voices muttered concern, but none moved to stop Fant. Only recently had I finally started to grow, puberty seeming to take forever to find me, and the boys surrounding me were all stronger and bigger. Not to mention healthier. I couldn’t remember a time I felt good or moved quickly without wheezing and struggling for air.

I pressed my left arm against my side, trying to ease the pain. Looking up, I offered a lie in the hope of avoiding more pain. “I should have listened to you. I’m sorry.”

Fant nodded. “You will be.”

Fant’s arm, strengthened by ink bricks, fell like a battering ram. The short distance, coupled with the broken rib, made avoiding the strike impossible. The blow shattered my nose, and blood exploded outward, covering my stained shirt. I opened my mouth to scream for help, but nothing worked, and I collapsed. The ground felt cold against my cheek and side.

“You killed him,” one of them whispered.

“Hide the body,” Fant said.

I felt myself rise as the bullies picked me up, and then my stomach clenched as I sailed through the air. I crashed into the building and dropped to the ground.

“Let’s split,” Fant said.

I felt the vibration of their retreating footfalls through the soft earth against my cheek.

Ow! Thelt yelled. What’s happening?

I pulled away from my connection with Thelt, protecting him from as much of the pain as I could.

Ry?

My right arm stretched out in front of me, and daisies filled my vision. I couldn’t smell the flowers anymore, as blood filled my nose and mouth. For the thousandth time, I cursed my grey eyes and my skin that wouldn’t hold a smudge of ink. With the free ink circle everyone else received, I could have healed myself enough to get help. Why did I have to be so different? So powerless? It wasn’t fair. The world started to go dark.

I imagined what it would be like to have ink. I would weave an oak tattoo taken from the same book I’d seen the tattoo the spirit weaver used on Mirrah. The power from the tattoo would concentrate my power, the design amplifying and concentrating my magic until my body became whole.

The picture of the oak weave sat in my mind, and a sharp pain exploded in my chest. My broken rib had probably just pierced my lung. It wouldn’t last long now. On my forearm, inches from my face, a small grey daisy appeared.

I stared at it, confused. Had I already died? Another flower appeared, and then another. Daisies kept appearing until my entire forearm turned grey. The exact color of my eyes. The grey color on my arm shifted and the bumpy surface of a tree trunk appeared. Roots formed on each finger, and across the wide branches leaves materialized, each one perfectly formed.

The daisies had merged and formed the giant oak tattoo I’d just thought about.

Memories flooded my mind. The cool earth, rich with moisture, fingers extending down deep into the soil. The sun’s caress, its warmth bringing food to hungry leaves. The sound of wings as bees and hummingbirds stole kisses. And under it all, the canvas these memories were painted on, joy.

Is this what death felt like? Odd memories and impossible images as my brain convulsed in its last moments.

My breathing became easier, oxygen reached my brain, and my head cleared. I rolled onto my stomach, got to my knees, and forced myself to stand. My legs felt weak, and I reached out to the building to steady myself. The last of the grey color on my arm disappeared.

I gently pressed on my nose. It felt fine as if nothing had happened. I touched my left side where I’d heard a rib snap. It didn’t even feel tender. Had the beating been real? I pinched my shirt and pulled it away from my body. Blood still soaked it. It had happened.

I looked past my shirt at the flower bed where I stood. All the daisies had wilted and turned brown. I fell to my knees and ran my hands through them, but they broke off and crumbled.

Somehow I had done this. I had killed all these flowers to make myself better. The flowers’ happiness still echoed in my thoughts, and knowing I had destroyed them made my stomach turn.