Winter's Edge

Chapter 62 - Thrown In

Ian

MY heart yanked me back into the physical realm. An intense pain surged through my being like high-voltage electricity. Pain unlike anything I'd ever experienced.

All of the joy and peace I'd had before violently ripped out of me. Every muscle in my body contracted, then released. Even my eyelids ached, so much so that I was afraid to open them at first. I lived once again, and all the weight of life had crashed back into me with an overwhelming sadness. Ironically, I longed to feel death again and its incredible sense of life and vibrancy. Everything in the waking world now seemed like an illusion, and death was the true reality.

I blinked a few times and winced. It really did hurt as bad as I thought it would. My chest tensed as a blurry figure above me cleared up. The frightening monk who'd commanded the storm stood over me, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched hard, hands on my chest.

The electricity surging through me retracted from all my extremities toward my heart. It surged upward and exited my body through my chest, into the monk's hands. If I understood the situation correctly, he'd just defibrillated me without a defibrillator.

His eyes opened and went wide as they met mine. A broad smile crossed his face. And with the vibrancy of a jovial child, he said, "Wonderful! You're back."

I tried to jerk back, but my body wouldn't respond. "What did you do to the storm?"

"Oh, we're old friends." He wore a delightful smile with eyes as excited as his tone, like a grandfather sharing an intriguing secret with a young child.

Despite my fear, something about the bald, fifty-something-old man made me want to embrace him. He gave off this wonderful child-like vibe as if the whole of life were exhilarating to him. It made me want to smile, to let down my guard. The fear even began draining from me.

"The sky and I have an understanding," he said.

I frowned at his answer, confused.

"I asked the storm to stop. It refused." His voice didn't change. That seemed to be his normal way of speaking, as if to a small child, but not in a belittling way. Just this wonderfully exuberant way. And his eyes still carried the same excitement as his voice. He leaned in closer. "So the Light asked me to use my authority over it to command it to stop."

Fear inched its way back through my flesh like stalking jackals. This man was incredibly powerful, but he was one fry short of a happy meal. Did he even truly understand how he'd done what he'd done?

"The Light?" I said. "You mean...God spoke to you?"

"Of course." The monk smiled cheerfully.

I'd never seen what happened to a person with powers who'd gone mad. Until now, that is. Madness was the only explanation for his incredible power and bizarre demeanor.

"I'm in a lot of pain," I said.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry." The monk reached for me. "Let me help with that."

My eyes went fearfully wide, but I couldn't move. What was he going to do to me?

The monk paid my reaction no mind and laid his hands on my chest. I managed a flinch, scared he might defibrillate me again. He closed his eyes tight, put his head down, and breathed deep.

Pain drained from my limbs and into his hands—into him. He gritted his teeth, jaw muscles flaring. Then a sort of reversal happened, and energy and strength came from his hands, feeding into my body, spreading like a slow-moving wave of ease and comfort.