“It’s tried,” Mandoran said, voice grim. He had one arm around Terrano’s shoulders as if to steady him. “Terrano’s so warped and twisted he’s used to body parts that seem entirely at odds with what they should be. He doesn’t think Shadow would infect you—not with the Marks of the Chosen as protection.”
Squawk.
“Yeah, yeah, you too.”
“Can he expel it?”
“That’s what he was doing.” Mandoran hesitated. “I don’t think the Shadow is sentient, for what it’s worth. It’s just another type of poison.”
“How much are you willing to risk on that?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
Kaylin nodded, but not with any relief. There was something off about this Shadow, something wrong. Terrano was pale, probably due to loss of blood—but blood loss was the one thing she couldn’t easily heal. Wounds, yes. Broken bones. Injuries caused by rampant disease or fever. Blood loss had always been difficult.
“Can you speak safely?” she asked Terrano.
“I can, now. Thanks,” he added, the last word barely above a whisper.
“What are you doing right now?” His body was shifting, almost like a wave of flesh that was becoming undone, reasserting itself, and falling apart again in rapid order. In any other person, this would have been a grave, grave emergency. In Terrano, it was a weekday.
“I’m trying to make sure I’m not dangerously contaminated? I can’t cross back to our normal plane—not while trying tosafelycontain the Shadow. But Mandoran can pull you back once the wound is closed. It’s the wound that’s killing me.”
That hadn’t been Kaylin’s game plan. “What are you going to do?”
“If I can contain whatever this is, I intend to carry it to the Avatar of the High Halls.”
She was almost—but not quite—shocked.
“He’ll know what to do with it. And he’ll be able to see me and hear me in a way most of you can’t.”
“Not sure that’s safe,” Mandoran said.
“It’s safer than bringing it back to our reality. Shadow doesn’t have the same purchase where I usually walk—but it clearly has some.”
Hope squawked several times before smacking Kaylin’s face with the wing he’d placed over one eye and pushing himself off her shoulder. She almost shouted in warning: if Hope wasn’t attached to her, he might be lost in this parallelplane. Luckily, she kept the words to herself. Hope had a bit of a temper.
The familiar inhaled.
He exhaled a cloud, which caused Terrano to shout; he’d been hit by it once, and he hadn’t particularly liked the results.
“Stop being a baby,” Mandoran snapped.
“Let him breathe on you, then!”
Hope squawked loudly. Kaylin was grateful he wasn’t sitting on her shoulder, right beside her ear. Whatever he said, the two Barrani immediately abandoned the beginning of their sibling argument. Mandoran often spoke out loud if people who weren’t part of the cohort were present. Terrano did it more as an aside.
They both looked toward Hope, and then toward Kaylin.
“Fine,” Terrano told the familiar, obviously pouting.
Hope exhaled. This time, his breath was almost, but not quite, invisible; Kaylin could see the sparking particles that comprised the clouds that often came from his tiny mouth. To her surprise, the exhalation grew denser as it plumed around Terrano, who flinched but didn’t otherwise try to break free of Kaylin’s hands.
The familiar’s breath gathered in a cloud—a miniature storm cloud that seemed almost like a crystal ball. It absorbed some of the light of Kaylin’s Marks and all the wisps of Shadow that had escaped Terrano’s wound—a wound that was now closed.
Hope, squawking like an angry bird, came back to his favorite perch: Kaylin’s shoulder. Mandoran was the only person with one free hand. He glanced at Hope, his expression the definition of dubious, but grimaced and used that free hand to grab the condensed ball that now hovered in the air near Terrano. His eyes widened in surprise as he turned to look at Hope.
The familiar lifted a wing and smacked Kaylin’s face with it but kept it across her eyes.