Phony Potions

Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

Silence spread thick across the hours. It felt like Mallow and I were separated by some otherworldly jelly. The frustration with the Avalon's had one good side effect; Mallow foot was no longer injured. The steady thudding of her steps was even and healthy. Despite this unforeseen blessing, her lips were pressed tight in a bitter refusal to speak to me. I fished for conversation, but she was at such an age that attempting to do so was making her continue to snub me out of spite.

I gave up trying to discuss what had happened and stared ahead, more alert than I had been earlier. I wasn't particularly worried about being attacked again, but it was hard to doze off with the shooting pain jolting me. For the first hour, every trot the horses took felt like I was being skinned with a sharp, fine blade, opening up a shallow but stinging wound. As time wore on, I became dulled to it, and it was more like a finger tip-tapping. The blazing hot sun soaked up the remaining dregs of last night's rain, lifting it into the air. The air was humid, sagging into my clothes and slicking down my skin. Without our usual idle mockery of all those we encountered, I was left with nothing to do but fixate on the miserable state of my own sore and sweating body. Whenever the bitterness would threaten me to inaction, I would reach down and touch the edges of my sash, feeling the coin purse. Then, I would have the strength to keep on for another twenty minutes or so.

I silently rejoiced when the sun began its gradual crawl toward the horizon. Heat and light are gifts and yet often it was too much. Perhaps if I could draw the heat from my own body and cast it out into magic, like the sorcerers did, I would appreciate the excess more. Red faded into deep purple, the heat shifting into a series of mild breezes. We continued to ride through the dusky evening, and the moon soon rose above the landscape. Mallow's glow became more pronounced, mirroring it. Her body language softened as the stars blinked to life.

She mumbled something, and I couldn't quite make it out over the rolling of the wheels on the uneven road.

"What was that?"

Mallow huffed as if I had started the conversation.

"You're injured. Let's make camp so I can bleed and heal you," she said. She somehow managed to make it sound as if I had been nagging her despite the fact that she had offered. This annoyed me.

"I'm fine," I said. "It's skin level stuff. You know I hate it when you cut yourself."

"But it's for your own good half the time." Mallow scoffed. "I heal everyday. You're the one without even one tiny enchantment."

If she was going to be like that, I didn't want her help.

"No. In fact, I forbid you from healing me."

"You'd rather suffer then let me get my way?" It sounded like she was biting back a smirk. Hex it, she knew me too well sometimes.

"Yes."

"You need to be healed... come on, Dad," she said, and the annoyed edge fled her final word. Her body language was different from earlier. Instead of striding, she was shuffling, despite the fact that her foot was no longer injured. Her shoulders were hunched. What I had mistaken for hostility was actually insecurity.

I slowed the gait of the horses with a tug at the reins.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing," she said. She yanked a lock of hair down so that it slipped across the side of her face in one white, knotted curtain.

"You can tell me. It's obviously something."

"No, not really..." She averted her orange eyes. Then she released a heavy sigh.