Page 21 of A Spark So Bright
"Magic."
Of course it was magic. Gunnar settled down onto the floor at her feet, crossing his legs as though preparing to meditate and staring up at her calm features. Her eyes remained locked on the wall behind him, but he was certain she would move if he ordered her to do so.
"Raise your right hand," he said, narrowing his eyes.
She did so.
"Put your finger in your nose."
And again, she did. If she had been acting, surely that would have been enough to cause her to break even a little. He didn't believe she was acting, but a man had to be sure.
Sighing, he ordered, "Remove your finger from your nose and brush your hair away from your ears for me."
The body moved, hollow and far too easily ordered around. She moved her hair to the side and revealed tiny, pointed ears. Not large enough for him to think she had a high blood content of magic—perhaps more than most, though.
"You should know better than to use magic like this. There are too many people here who would take advantage of a hollow form." He had been here long enough to know that.
Or perhaps that was the point. She disappeared from this realm to escape the reality of what was going to happen to her. He knew there were many gladiators in this place who would take advantage of whatever pleasure they could find.
Places like this made monsters out of good men.
He had not fallen so far. Gunnar decided she likely wasn't going to come out of this trance for a while yet, so he stood and settled onto the cot behind her. Back to back, he knew his skin would at least give her a little more heat than that blanket.
"My name is Gunnar," he said, bringing one knee up to his chest and wrapping an arm around it. "I grew up in Trollveggen, which is not a place you are likely to know the name of. I don't even know what you all call it. Never cared to ask."
He'd always been good at talking. So that was what he did. For hours on end. He told her his story. How he had always wanted to follow in Tindra's footsteps, to become a warrior that everyone would look up to. He was a fighter, always had been, and was scrappy. That was why he'd stayed alive in this labyrinth when he knew many of the warriors who had been stolen with him had not made it.
He told her about being a Bone Keeper and how important the role was. By the time he'd managed to tell her all about Ragnar, their king's hope for peace, and how that had all exploded in their faces in a rather dramatic way, he was nearly falling asleep.
Only then… she shifted. He felt the slightest movement of her shoulder blade against his. A simple movement, but one that told him she was back in her body.
Gunnar didn't want to frighten her. So he didn't change the cadence of his tone as he changed what he was talking about mid-sentence. "Ragnar has never been a very good— Move slowly, lass. Your body is going to be stiff after staying so still for such a long time."
Her form turned to stone. "I apologize. I do not usually wake like this in the middle of a gifting. I will return to my state shortly."
"I'd prefer it if you didn't."
"I cannot control it. My mind does not need to be here for you to seek your pleasure."
"No, it doesn't. But it does need to be here to sleep." He let the words hang between them for a moment before softly adding, "I will gladly watch over you, lass. Your mind may not believe it needs rest, but your body does to survive."
"I..." She clearly didn't know what to say. There was almost a hint of frustration to her tone, though, and he didn't understand that.
"Rest," he said, a little more firmly but still trying to remain gentle. "We don't even have to move. But you need sleep before they come for you again, so you can keep fighting."
He thought perhaps she would argue. Instead, he felt her sagging against him inch by inch until she settled into what he thought was actually sleep. He couldn't imagine how exhausted she must’ve been.
His heart warmed in his chest. This labyrinth hadn't taken his kindness from him, and even now, small creatures knew they could trust him. The fact that she slept while he was here? It was the greatest gift he could have been given.
As he drifted off with her, he vaguely remembered a time when he had met a dark-haired priestess. One who had begged him to save a pale-haired woman. And he… well. He hadn’t taken the job back then.
But maybe he should have.
Nine
Rose
Rhydian worked with her on a problematic translation that had made her head spin. Plenty of the books he had access to were ancient. Some of the dialects made it almost impossible for either of them to make out what was being said. Of course, she did her best with contextual clues. There were ways for her to guess at what the elves wanted others to know.
