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“This inn looks very sketchy.” Zack remarks as they arrive.
“But it’s cheap, and the hunters don’t come to this part of the city much.” Melissa says.
As soon as they step inside, Zack is hit by the scent of smoke, mixing with the alcohol in the air. The inn does not look any less sketchy on the inside. There are a few people at the tables, who ignore the group as they make their way to the bar and request a room.
Zack rests his hand against the counter. When he does, a burning pain shoots through his hand and he yanks it back up, hissing. He looks down at the counter, and sees a smooth nail head. Iron. “Ow, splinter.” He lies.
He doesn’t notice someone else in the tavern studying him.
That evening, they sit around a small wooden table near the bar, bashing their elbows together as they eat. The room is warm, and smells strong, and Zack soon finds himself overwhelmed and uncomfortable. “I’m gonna step outside.”
“Holler if you need anything.” Melissa says.
Zack opens the door, and the bell chimes. And then falls off, crashing onto the ground. He isn’t entirely sure if that was Murphy’s Law, or if the bell was just bad.
He leans against the wall and takes a deep breath of the cold night air. The street is empty, and surprisingly quiet. He walks a few paces, cloak slapping behind him.
Something touches his neck. Something cold, and metal, and sharp. “Stay still, little mage.”
Zack freezes, his heart stopping. A hand is holding onto his arm, digging in tightly enough to bruise. “Get off of me!” He demands, but he doesn’t struggle. Not with a knife right on his throat, lightly brushing against him. “Who are you?”
“A businessman.” The voice sneaks into his ear, cold and amused. “Now just stay still, there’s a good little mage. What kind are you? Not a very powerful one, clearly, or you would’ve tried something by now. But any mage fetches a decent price.”
Shit.
Milo told him about mage smugglers. It never ends well for the mage involved.
“I am powerful, so let go of me!” Zack tries, probably unconvincingly. But how powerful he is doesn’t matter. He can’t fight with his powers, so in this scenario… he can’t think of what to do.
“Oh really? Feel free to demonstrate. You will fetch a much higher price if I can prove that you’re worth it.” The smuggler sounds amused. “And if you’re not, then pipe down. We have places to be.” He starts walking, pulling Zack with him.
Zack sees a cart, and panic hits him. He definitely can’t let himself be put in there. “My friends are much powerful than me!” He says, digging his heels in. “I’ll yell for them, and they’ll ruin your whole operation.”
“You won’t say a word.” The smuggler presses the knife in, enough to hurt. Zack gulps, freezing. “Ah, but those four you showed up with are also mages? Interesting. I suppose we have room for some more cargo.”
Technically, only three of his companions are mages, but he decides pointing that out to the smuggler would be unhelpful. “If you go after them, you’re dead.”
“They may be powerful, but we’re experts at catching mages.” The smuggler laughs. He is being dragged closer and closer to the cart, and he is panicking more and more. He is a mage. A fugitive. He should be able to get out of this! “Actually, why don’t you call for them?”
Zack glances to the inn. He doesn’t want to put them in danger! But he trusts that they can fight these smugglers more easily than he can. And if he doesn’t yell, he might never be able to escape. “Guys! Guys, we have a problem!”
It isn’t long before his friends appear outside. They gasp, immediately starting forward. But the knife is pressed more into his neck, and he whimpers. He can feel blood trickling down. The cut knits together, but that doesn’t matter. The knife is still there. Still pressing, still hurting. A cold, sharp, painful warning.
Fire burns on Melissa’s raised hands. “Just let him go, or you’re dead!” She yells, but stays frozen in place.
“I think that if I let this little thing go, I will be dead before I can take a breath. So no, I will not be letting him go.” The smuggler’s voice is cold, so cold. Zack has no delusions that he might be hesitant to kill them.
They may be children, but they are also mages. And to most people, all that matters is that they are mages. They are monsters, inhuman, wicked and unholy and deserving of anything bad that is done to them. Better dead than alive, better captured than free. Better hurt than happy. The scars on his back itch.
“How about you put those flames away, and let my people chain you up? Or you might find your friend here getting very badly hurt.” It presses harder. The wound knits together. And Zack has an idea.
It’s a stupid idea. Gods, it’s such a stupid idea. If he told his friends, they would call him idiotic. He is risking his life, he knows that. He has never done it before, he has no idea if he can pull it off.
But the other smugglers are approaching his friends, who can’t fight them because of him. And he has a chance to save them. He can’t let them get captured by these horrible people. Who knows what would happen to them then?
Besides, if he messes up and dies… Dakota is right there.
“Guys, get them!” Zack yells, ignoring the threatening squeeze on his upper arm. “Trust me, just attack!”
His friends look at each other, puzzled. But Melissa throws out her arms to send fire at some of the smugglers, and Milo creates a shield in front of them, and Cavendish and Dakota swing their swords.
And the smuggler holding Zack slashes with the knife.
Zack collapses to the ground, a cry of pain lurching from his throat as he goes. He hits the ground hard, hands flying to his throat. Immediately, his vision starts darkening, spots dance in his vision. Hands try to pull him down, pull him into an unconsciousness he knows he won’t wake from. His healer’s instincts tells him that his wound isn’t something he could survive. Not naturally.
But he is a healer, and he has been called unnatural plenty of times.
He focuses on the wound with all of his might. Pours healing into it, blocking out the world and letting the magic take over like it used to. There is blood, so much blood, but he ignores that. He can heal this. He can survive. The pain is terrible, and all he can see is golden light, far too bright.
He can hear sounds, but like he is underwater. Definitely a fight. Yelling. Maybe… maybe crying? Something touching his arm, then his face, something warm and calloused and scarred.
His breathing is too shallow. He knows that is bad, but he focuses on healing. On the warmth flowing to his neck, on the agony that seems to be diminishing. Because of the healing, or because he is losing consciousness? He doesn’t know. He prays to any gods that will listen to a mage like him that it is the former.
The wound knitted together. He isn’t bleeding anymore. He is going to survive.
Triumph hits him like fire to the chest right before he passes out.
———
Zack wakes up to scratchy sheets and a pounding headache.
He tries to sit up, but he can’t move. It feels like those scratchy sheets are made of concrete, pushing him down into the hard mattress. He recognises the feeling of magic exhaustion.
“Zack!” Milo sounds so relieved. He manages to turn his head enough to see his friends sitting on the bed. He suddenly realises that Milo’s warm, calloused and scarred hand is holding his. It feels nice. “Do you want water?”
“Yeah.” Zack feels like someone poured sand right into his mouth. Milo helps him drink. “Are you guys alright? I couldn’t really see what was going on.”
“Yes we’re alright, we aren’t the ones who nearly got murdered!” Melissa sounds angry, which would make him jump if he was capable of that kind of movement right now. But he recognises it as protective anger. And realises that he is about to get the telling off of the century. “What the hell was that?! You could’ve died!”
“I was pretty sure that I could heal myself.” Zack offers weakly. He knows it’s weak. He knows how risky it was.
“Pretty sure isn’t good enough when it comes to getting your throat cut! Gods, Zack, I’ve got half a mind to kill you myself!” Melissa sounds really angry, which probably means that she was really scared. Zack has to admit that it was probably a scary sight. “Don’t you do that again, ever! I don’t care how pretty sure you are that you can heal yourself!”
Milo squeezes his hand. “We would’ve gotten away from the smugglers. You didn’t have to risk yourself like that.” Milo’s voice is soft, but with an edge. Anger, like Melissa. And fear. He hates making Milo worry. It feels like he has done something terribly wrong, when he manages to make the bravest and most positive person in the world worried.
“I won’t.” He promises. He certainly doesn’t want to do it again. It was scary. So scary. He was certain, for a few long seconds, that he was going to die.
But to protect his friends, he knows that he would do it again.
Cavendish is as worried-angry as Melissa, telling him off in a lecture so long and impressive that he nearly falls asleep during it. Magic exhaustion has a tight hold of him, trying so hard to drag him back into a long sleep. But he figures that after worrying his friends half to death by nearly dying in front of them, the least he can do is stay awake to listen to them. Milo spends the entire lecture holding his hand, and moving his thumb in a circle on it. It feels nice, although his face feels warm when he thinks about it and he isn’t sure why.
After Cavendish’s lecture, Dakota just ruffles his hair, hard enough to shake his limp head back and forth. “Don’t do that, kid.”
A silent understanding passes between them. They both know something that the others don’t. That if Zack had been wrong about being able to heal himself before he fell unconscious, Dakota would’ve brought him back. But that neither of them want that.
And then Milo says something about Zack needing rest, and Zack sighs with relief and thanks the gods for Milo. The curtains are drawn, and suddenly Milo and Zack are alone.
“I’m sorry for scaring you.” Zack says. “I couldn’t think of anything else.”
Milo sighs. He is still holding Zack’s hand. “I know. And it worked. But please, Zack, never do that again. I can’t…” He trails off, looking entirely uncharacteristically uncertain. “Please.”
“I won’t.” Zack tries to squeeze his hand, but is too weak to do it properly.
He closes his eyes and settles back, exhaustion pulling him down. He falls asleep quickly, and wakes up with a jolt after after what must be hours. The sky is dark again, which he can see because the both the curtain and curtain pole are on the floor. The window itself appears to have been boarded up at some point. His friends are all still in the room. Everyone is safe.
And Milo’s warm, calloused, scarred hand is still holding his.