The Hidden Crystal

Chapter 9

Iris. Iris. Wake up. Iris.

She was cold. So cold. She felt nothing else, not even her own body. All that existed was the cold.

The cold, and the voices whispering in her head.

Multiple voices. Voices she didn't recognize; some with strange accents, some speaking in languages she didn't know; but somehow, she knew they were all saying the same thing.

Wake up. Iris. Iris.

They were getting louder. It was like they were crowding in, closer and closer, blocking out the voices she heard outside of herself.

"I don't think she's alive."

She couldn't quite make out who was speaking. It was hard to hear over the whispering in her head.

Iris. Wake up. Iris. Iris.

"Does she even have a pulse?"

Wake up. Wake up. Iris. Wake up.

"Yeah, it's there, but it's faint. We need to get her inside."

Iris. Iris. Wake up. Iris. Iris. Iris!

"Char, Rath, you finally decided to show up. What the—is that a human?"

Iris. Iris. Iris!

The whispers were getting even louder, drowning out the sudden shouting and cursing on the outside. It was unrelenting. She wanted to shut everything out, stop the noise, allow the cold to pull her down into the darkness where it was quiet, but the voices wouldn't let her. The whispers were shouting.

Wake up! Wake up! Iris, wake up!

She gasped for air. Suddenly, she could feel.

She was shivering uncontrollably; the cold had soaked through to her bones. Thousands of stinging, icy needles pricked her skin wherever warmth touched her: the arms under her back and her knees, the chest against her cheek. They burned like fire. But there was a comfortable, soothing warmth, too. She held it in her right hand. It touched her heart, her fingertips, flowing gently outward to the rest of her body.

"Char, drop her! The amulet is glowing!"

Rath. That was Rath's panicked voice. She was having trouble following the words, but she could recognize his voice now, and Char's, too, rumbling through his chest and into her ear.

"She's using it on herself, not me. Look, I'll explain everything—after I take care of her."

"And she's a mage? Get her out of here!" a third voice shouted.

She didn't know that one.

"She's only used her magic to protect or heal. It's never destructive," Char replied, his voice calm and steady among the anger and fear. "Where do you want her?"

"I don't want her. If all this mess is because you saw a pretty face—"

"That isn't what's going on here," Rath interjected. "I had my suspicions when he first told me about her, too, but after seeing how he handled her last night, I can say without a doubt she's just a prisoner to him. Nothing more."

"Where do you want her?" Char repeated. "The sooner I deal with her, the sooner you'll have your explanation."

"And that explanation better be darn good. Srot may die because you two went off script—again. Thrak, take her."

"No way," another unknown voice said nervously. "I'm not touching a human mage."

"Wait, Srot's injuries were minor," Rath said. "Just some scratches between his scales from a few lucky arrows."