Chapter 9 - Destruction
Galen fell to his hands and knees in the street as the ground bucked and rolled beneath him. Stones cracked, fissures split walls, and screams mingled with the rumble of breaking rock. It seemed to go on forever, but he counted only five breaths before the shaking stopped. Then, as the earth grew still, the cries and shouts grew louder, and the orange glow of flames lit the night.
Already, clouds of dust and smoke rose upwards in columns, obscuring the stars. Yells and cries for help, and running footsteps rang out from the streets above and below, and all thoughts of escaping the city fled Galen's mind.
He had to help.
He had to make sure Harrald was all right.
Turning, he took a few unsteady steps and tripped on an uprooted cobblestone, skinning his palms on the rough ground. He hissed in annoyance, clenched his hands into fists, and willed the pain to stop as he pushed himself up again. To his surprise, the pain faded almost at once, and when he opened his hands, his palms were smooth and undamaged, only a thin smear of blood left to show he'd been hurt at all.
A wave of dizziness washed over him as the earth trembled again, though much less violently than before, and he started off again. He'd almost reached the end of the alleyway when a desperate call drew him back.
"Gale! Galen? Where are you? Say something, please!"
It was Behn's voice, coming through the grill in the basement wall.
Galen bit his lip, hesitating. Then Behn called again, just as another small tremor, almost like an echo of the first, shuddered the ground.
The basement wasn't safe. The walls were only packed earth, shored up with stone and heavy beams. He had to tell Behn to get out of there.
Doubling back, he slid to his knees in the damp earth alongside the grate, bending to peer inside. He could see the beam of a lantern swinging back and forth.
"Galen!"
Desperate fright frayed Behn's voice, and Galen grasped the bars of the grill as he leaned down.
"Here!" he called. "I'm outside, Behn. I'm safe."
"Oh, gods!" Behn exhaled sharply and coughed, waving a hand in front of his face. Part of the far wall had collapsed, and the air was thick with dust. "Thank Thrynis! I thought you'd been buried!"
"Behn, get out of there," Galen said, low and urgent. "It's not safe. There could be another tremor, and—"
Even as he spoke, the ground heaved again, as if a shiver had run up the spine of the earth. Galen yelled for Behn to run, but it was too late. With a rumble and crunch, the ground beneath him collapsed as the wall of the basement caved in. Galen scrabbled at shifting earth and stone and rode the wave of debris as it tumbled down into the choking, dust-filled dark.
In the subsequent stillness, he blinked and coughed, rubbing grit from his eyes and spitting it from his teeth, amazed to find himself unhurt. In the gloom, he spotted the dim beam of the lantern lying on its side.
Crawling forward, he picked it up and lifted it, illuminating the piled rubble. There was no sign of Behn.
"Behn!" he called and coughed again. "Behn!"
A wheeze answered him, and he stumbled over the heaps of stone towards the sound.
Behn lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling with wide, unblinking eyes. Galen dropped to his knees, searching his friend's body for signs of injury. He seemed unhurt, except...
Except Galen's knees were wet, and a sweet, coppery scent filled the air.
"Behn?" he whispered, leaning closer. Behn's chest rose and fell with rapid, shallow breaths.
"Gale?" Behn's voice sounded small and frightened. "I think I... I think I fell on something."
Quickly, Galen checked him over again but found no sign of injury. It must be on his back.
"Can you sit up?" Galen asked.
Behn shook his head slightly, his face pale and frightened in the lantern's beam. "I don't feel so good, Gale," he said.
Galen swallowed. According to Harrald, he had the ability to heal. He had no idea how, but it seemed like he'd healed the scrapes on his hands a moment ago. If Harrald was to be believed, it was something he'd done instinctually, at least as a child. He had to try; because if he didn't, he was pretty sure his friend would die.
"Come on," he said, tugging at Behn's shoulders. "You can do it. Sit up."
Behn grunted, sat up and gave a whimpering cry as he collapsed into Galen's arms.
Galen looked over his shoulder and saw the problem.
A sharp, dagger-shaped piece of wood, maybe a bit of splintered beam, stuck from Behn's back. It wasn't large, but it must have hit a bad spot, judging from how much blood he'd lost already.
He was losing more as Galen watched, and he knew he didn't have much time.
Behn moaned against his shoulder and shuddered. "Hurts."
"I know," Galen said. "I know. It's gonna hurt more in a second, but I gotta get this out of you before I..."
Before he what? He didn't even know if he could do anything, but he had to try.
"Okay. On three."
"Okay." Behn nodded weakly.
"One..."
With a smooth, determined motion, Galen pulled the dagger-like fragment of wood from Behn's flesh. Behn screamed, and a crash and curses sounded from above, followed by heavy footsteps.
Behn sobbed weakly in Galen's arms, blood streaming down his back, and panic flared in Galen's chest.
He didn't know what to do. If he had healed Harrald with magic, he didn't remember it; and as for his hands, all he'd done was...
Another crash and more curses came from the floor above, and then the door to the cellar burst open and Behn's father descended unsteadily, lantern in hand.
"Wha' in the fish fuckin' sea is goin' on down here?" he slurred, obviously drunk. It seemed he'd slept through the earlier destruction and had only been roused by Behn's cry.
His blue, bloodshot eyes swept the heaps of rubble, and his lips trembled with rage. Then his eyes locked on Galen, and on Behn in his arms, and he stumbled towards them with a strangled yell.
"Devil! What have you done? Get away from my boy!"
As Behn's father charged toward him, Galen held Behn tight in his arms.
"Please, wait!" he cried. "He's hurt. I can help him, if—"
The earth shivered again, faintly, but enough to make Behn's father reel and catch himself against the wall.
Galen did not waste his chance. Wrapping his arms around his friend, he pressed his hands over the wound and let desperate hope flow through him. He didn't know what else to do, except to hope. He hoped with all his heart that he could help Behn—that he possessed some powers that could heal him. Because if he did not...
"Behn..." he whispered, stroking the other boy's sweat-dampened hair. "Please be okay."
"S'okay, Gale..." Behn's voice was weak, his body going slack as he slipped towards unconsciousness and the greater darkness beyond. "Doesn't... hurt so much... anymore..."
"No!" Gale gripped him harder, not just hoping, but wanting to heal him. He wanted it more than anything. He wanted...
A sudden heat bloomed in his core, like a spark igniting a flame. It rushed through him like a wildfire in his veins. It seared through his heart, and his breath caught as his lungs screamed for air. The fire threatened to consume him. He squeezed his eyes shut and directed it down his arms, into his hands, and into Behn.
It felt as if he'd been shot through with lightning.
His back arched, rigid, as his vision flared white. He gasped, but his throat locked around the breath, starving his lungs of air while his body burned.
Then, with a final rush, the fire left him, pouring into Behn.
In the ashes, Galen tasted iron on his tongue, spots danced before his eyes, and his lungs seized as he struggled to draw breath.
He blinked, dizzy with pain and fatigue, and tried to focus on Behn. He explored the site of the wound with his fingertips and felt the skin was smooth and healed. Behn gazed up at him, his blue eyes wide with wonder and a trace of fear.
Galen eased him to the ground, his arms trembling with the effort, and sat back, chest heaving.
"Gale... What did...?" Behn's eyelids fluttered and then closed as his body relaxed. Galen wasn't worried. Somehow, he knew his friend would be fine.
As for himself...
He struggled to his feet, dizzy and unsteady as a deep ache throbbed in his bones. It reminded him of the time he'd had a bad fever—bad enough Harrald had feared for his life. Everything had hurt, he'd felt as if he'd never be warm again, and all he craved was the oblivion of sleep. He reached out and steadied himself on a free-standing beam.
It buckled beneath his hand.
Straightening, he saw Behn's father watching him warily, still half dazed from the effects of drink.
"Get him out of here," Galen said breathlessly, pointing to Behn. "Quickly. Get out of here before the whole place comes down."
Behn's father squinted at him.
"Now!" Galen shouted, and the man startled, glared angrily, but obeyed. Fortunately, he was practically a giant and lifted Behn easily despite his drunkenness.
Galen watched and made sure Behn's father had carried his burden safely up the stairs before following.
He headed for the door when a huge hand closed on his arm. He turned to see Behn's father looking down at him from beneath bushy blond brows, his long hair messy as a clump of wet hay.
Galen sagged. He was so tired. All he wanted was to go home, fall into bed, and sleep.
If he still had a bed.
The thought of Harrald roused him a little, and he tugged against the grip holding him in place.
"Please. I—"
"Thank you," Behn's father said, his gruff voice rusty with drink, but sincere. "I may be drunk as a drowned man, but I know what I saw. You saved my boy."
"I..."
"Best be careful," he said, releasing Galen's arm. "Whole town's lookin' for you, now, witch."
Galen blinked and backed away, remembering what Behn had told him. The whole town—or at least the temple zealots—thought he was to blame for the tremors. He needed to get to Harrald, make sure he was safe, and then...
Then, he didn't know anymore.
One step at a time, he told himself, as he left Behn's house and stumbled up the street towards his own, keeping to the shadows.
The orange glow of flames lit the sky, cast by many fires, and shouts and screams rose on the chill night air.
Galen hugged himself and shivered. It shouldn't be so cold in summer.
Then he realized it wasn't the air that was cold; it was him. He was freezing, his skin like ice, as if all the heat in his body had—
As if all the heat had left him, suddenly.
Elements. Energy. Magic... Life.
Ideas swirled vaguely in his mind, and for a brief moment he thought he understood. Then it all fell away, like a sandcastle destroyed by a wave.
Because as he rounded the curve of the street, he saw Harrald's house was in flames.
People milled about, helpless as the fire roared, consuming wood and cracking stone. There was no sign of Harrald.
Galen took a step forward, a cry on his lips. But before he could make a sound, a hand closed over his mouth and someone pulled him back, deep into the shadows of an alleyway.
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