03 Morgawr by Brooks Terry

Author:Brooks, Terry [Terry, Brooks,]
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2010-04-10T10:41:50.336000+00:00

Because he had never done this before and had no real idea of how to do it now, Bek Ohmsford did not rush himself. He proceeded carefully, taking one small step at a time, watching Quentin closely to make certain that the magic of the wishsong was not having an adverse affect. He called up the magic in a slow humming that rose in his chest where it warmed and throbbed softly. He kept hold of Quentin's hands, wanting to maintain physical contact in order to give himself a chance to further judge if things were going as intended. When the level of magic was sufficient, he sent a small probe into Quentin's ravaged body to measure the damage. Red shards of pain ricocheted back through him, and he withdrew the probe quickly. Fair enough. Investigating a damaged body without adequate self-protection was not a good idea. Shielding himself, he tried again and ran into a wall of resistance. Still humming, he tried coming in through Quentin's mind, taking a reading on what his cousin was thinking. He ran into another blank wall. Quentin's mind seemed to have shut down, or at least it was not giving off anything Bek could decipher. For a moment, he was stumped. Both attempts at getting to where he could do some good had failed, and he wasn't sure what he should try next. What he wanted to do was to get close enough to one specific injury to see what the magic could do to heal it. But if he couldn't break down the barriers that Quentin had thrown up to protect himself, he wasn't going to be able to do anything. He tried a more general approach then, a wrapping of Quentin in the magic's veil, a covering over of his mind and body both. It had the desired effect, Quentin immediately calmed and his breathing became steadier and smoother. Bek worked his way over his cousin's still form in search of entry, thinking that as his body relaxed, Quentin might lower his protective barriers. Slowly, slowly he touched and stroked with the magic, his singing smoothing away wrinkles of pain and discomfort, working toward the deeper, more serious injuries. It didn't work. He could not get past the surface of Quentin's body, even when he brushed up against the open wounds beneath the bandages, which should have offered him easy access. He was so frustrated that he broke off his attempts completely. Sitting silently, motionlessly beside Quentin, he continued to hold his cousin's hand, not willing to break that contact, as well. He tried to think of what else he could do. Something about the way in which he was approaching the problem was throwing up barriers. He knew he could force his way into Quentin's body, could break down the protective walls that barred his way. But he thought, as well, that the consequence of such a harsh intrusion might be fatal to a system already close to collapse. What was needed was tact and care, a gentle offering to heal that would be embraced and not resisted.

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