Elisha Magus by E.C. Ambrose

Author:E.C. Ambrose
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2014-07-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

His wrist throbbed with every heartbeat, and he loosened his grip on the knife. No wonder Morag greeted him as friend, almost as a brother. “I am not with Death.”

“You may not have chosen it,” said Sundrop, the mist-man, “but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. Chanterelle did not choose her other self.” Sundrop gestured toward her, and a spattering of rain fell. She sank down to her knees, hugging herself. In a soft, solemn voice he continued, “There are only so many times a girl can be forced to the floor before she sinks right through.” The dirt that still clung to her body shifted and shivered on her flesh, forming a second skin from her shoulders to her knees.

Crows hopped down around her, tipping their heads, studying her, their mistress following. “Most don’t choose, not at first, my pretties.” She caressed one of the dark birds, and it bobbed up at her.

“Or they wouldn’t choose such stupid things,” Parsley, the cold man, snapped.

Elisha bristled at his harsh tone. The man must have a heart of—“Iron,” Elisha said aloud, leveling his knife at Parsley. “I’m surprised to find you in such company. Aren’t you afraid of rust?”

Sundrop laughed as if storm clouds had broken. “Ignorant, but not a fool. Knowledge, I’ll grant you. Sensitivity, yes—he’s even spoken through raindrops. But I don’t see how a man can be with Death. Even the ’mancers don’t claim that.” A speculative expression made the misty features suddenly acute—a young face, sharp and long-jawed. “Though the ’mancers might well wish to claim you.”

“Why do you?”

“We don’t.” The iron-magus flicked Elisha’s blade with a finger, bending it as if it were straw.

Sundrop splashed Parsley’s hand and he cursed, snaking back his arm. Tiny pits of red showed against his skin as he wiped away the water, glaring. “If the magi are a race apart, we are apart from even them,” Sundrop explained. “When Chanterelle suggested you might be one of us … well, some of us were curious.” His gestures, graceful and gray, took in his companions. “Some of us were furious. Mancers are no man’s friend. But a magus who walked with Death could be friend or foe—who could know?”

“How would I tell?” Elisha pressed. “How, if this were true?”

“How could it be?” Parsley the iron-man grated. “How can a man know death who hasn’t died and lived again?”

Elisha’s hand rose to the scar at his throat.

Sundrop’s eyelids fluttered shut, and he stretched out his hands. “There’s a drought in the chalk—they could use me now, but I’d have to go closer. Drought,” he repeated softly, with a subtle shift in posture. Elisha’s eyes grew suddenly dry, and he coughed, the moisture drawn away, the mist sucked down toward Sundrop until Elisha couldn’t swallow for the dryness of his mouth.

“Squalls along the channel,” Sundrop continued. “Bad for shipping. And here,”—the fingers of his left-hand stirred—“in London, now, it’s raining so gentle. Ah. Harder now. I can’t quite reach that far … The storm will move this way.

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