Where in the nine hells have you been?” Faxon demanded as Tionne entered the common room of the Dirty Magpie Inn.
The raw fury in his face gave her a moment of panic, her heart racing like a startled rabbit. Though she was mostly devoid of normal feelings for a girl her age, the dread that settled into the pit of her stomach was visceral. She wanted to run. To turn and run from the inn and not have to explain anything. Even in her panicked state, she knew that if she ran, he would follow and where would she go? Back to the safe house? That'd be even more dangerous than Faxon at his worst.
“Out,” she replied, with far more confidence than she felt, and tried to brush past him toward the stairs.
As she passed him, his hand flashed out and he grabbed her arm, hard. His fingers dug into her flesh and tears of pain sprang to her eyes. He spun her to face him, his fingers dug into the muscle and her arm started to go numb.
“You're hurting me,” she managed to gasp. The confidence was gone and now she was just a terrified girl in pain.
“ You think this hurts?” Faxon backed her up against the wall near the staircase.
He was apparently unconcerned by the stares of the few patrons who were in the common room. It was still early in the afternoon and the common room wouldn't get busy until later. Tionne wondered why none of them would come to her rescue. No one ever has before, she thought bitterly. Why should they start now? Another squeeze of her arm snapped her out of any conscious thought.
“ This doesn't hurt,” Faxon snarled, giving her a little shake. “Can you imagine what it would be like to be cut off from the Quintessential Sphere? You know that is what's waiting for you if you abandon your training, don't you? An inquisitor will come for you. They will hunt you down, find you, and tear out the part of your soul that makes you special. Is that what you want?”
The rage that welled up within her was sudden and engulfing. It coursed through her, replacing the pain with the fire of her own indignant fury. She wrenched her arm from his grasp, ignoring the flare of pain.
“What difference would it make?” she screamed at him. “My soul is mostly empty anyway! So what if an inquisitor takes the rest of it?”
Faxon spoke quickly. So quickly that Tionne almost had trouble making out the words. She was aided by the fact that his invocation was impeccable for the speed at which he was speaking. Too late, Tionne realized what he meant to do. She couldn't defend herself against what was coming. She'd heard the call to power for the censure ritual before, in the School of Academics. There they were taught the theory behind the complicated and ancient words. That was the spell Faxon was casting on her.
Something snapped deep within her and there was an emptiness unlike anything she had ever felt. Tionne had thought that she was as empty as she could be. She'd been wrong. Horribly wrong. The feeling in the back of her mind, the feeling that told her that she was a part of all things and the energy of the Quintessential Sphere flowed through her, was gone. Now she knew, with the clarity of experience, why most censured mages went mad or killed themselves. No one could exist this way and remain sane. Her knees went weak and she slid down the wall until she was slouched on the floor.
Tionne was vaguely aware of Faxon crouching down beside her. She heard a few words, then screamed. The pain that coursed through her was unimaginable. Her blood was fire in her veins. Then as quickly as it began, it was gone. In its wake was the subtle, subliminal hum that reminded her of her connection to the Quintessential Sphere. Faxon had severed the connection and held the ends of the cut thread that linked her to her power. Then, somehow, he'd made it whole. Focus was difficult, but she saw one of the men in the common room get to his feet and start toward them. Now he finds a conscience, for all the good it does me.
“
The raw fury in his face gave her a moment of panic, her heart racing like a startled rabbit. Though she was mostly devoid of normal feelings for a girl her age, the dread that settled into the pit of her stomach was visceral. She wanted to run. To turn and run from the inn and not have to explain anything. Even in her panicked state, she knew that if she ran, he would follow and where would she go? Back to the safe house? That'd be even more dangerous than Faxon at his worst.
“Out,” she replied, with far more confidence than she felt, and tried to brush past him toward the stairs.
As she passed him, his hand flashed out and he grabbed her arm, hard. His fingers dug into her flesh and tears of pain sprang to her eyes. He spun her to face him, his fingers dug into the muscle and her arm started to go numb.
“You're hurting me,” she managed to gasp. The confidence was gone and now she was just a terrified girl in pain.
“ You think this hurts?” Faxon backed her up against the wall near the staircase.
He was apparently unconcerned by the stares of the few patrons who were in the common room. It was still early in the afternoon and the common room wouldn't get busy until later. Tionne wondered why none of them would come to her rescue. No one ever has before, she thought bitterly. Why should they start now? Another squeeze of her arm snapped her out of any conscious thought.
“ This doesn't hurt,” Faxon snarled, giving her a little shake. “Can you imagine what it would be like to be cut off from the Quintessential Sphere? You know that is what's waiting for you if you abandon your training, don't you? An inquisitor will come for you. They will hunt you down, find you, and tear out the part of your soul that makes you special. Is that what you want?”
The rage that welled up within her was sudden and engulfing. It coursed through her, replacing the pain with the fire of her own indignant fury. She wrenched her arm from his grasp, ignoring the flare of pain.
“What difference would it make?” she screamed at him. “My soul is mostly empty anyway! So what if an inquisitor takes the rest of it?”
Faxon spoke quickly. So quickly that Tionne almost had trouble making out the words. She was aided by the fact that his invocation was impeccable for the speed at which he was speaking. Too late, Tionne realized what he meant to do. She couldn't defend herself against what was coming. She'd heard the call to power for the censure ritual before, in the School of Academics. There they were taught the theory behind the complicated and ancient words. That was the spell Faxon was casting on her.
Something snapped deep within her and there was an emptiness unlike anything she had ever felt. Tionne had thought that she was as empty as she could be. She'd been wrong. Horribly wrong. The feeling in the back of her mind, the feeling that told her that she was a part of all things and the energy of the Quintessential Sphere flowed through her, was gone. Now she knew, with the clarity of experience, why most censured mages went mad or killed themselves. No one could exist this way and remain sane. Her knees went weak and she slid down the wall until she was slouched on the floor.
Tionne was vaguely aware of Faxon crouching down beside her. She heard a few words, then screamed. The pain that coursed through her was unimaginable. Her blood was fire in her veins. Then as quickly as it began, it was gone. In its wake was the subtle, subliminal hum that reminded her of her connection to the Quintessential Sphere. Faxon had severed the connection and held the ends of the cut thread that linked her to her power. Then, somehow, he'd made it whole. Focus was difficult, but she saw one of the men in the common room get to his feet and start toward them. Now he finds a conscience, for all the good it does me.
“
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