“You know about my gift?” I say hesitantly.
“Yes. But I don’t care. You don’t hold things back from friends.”
I smile, then shyly shake his cool, wrinkled, welcome hand.
Kernel is off by himself, doggedly monitoring Juni’s position. The rest of us are duelling, practising our skills, learning. It’s difficult to define your magical limits. Magic is a mysterious, ever-shifting force. You can test yourself in certain ways on Earth, but you never know how far you can stretch until circumstances compel you to improvise.
Sharmila told me that when Kernel first came to this universe, Beranabus threw him at a flesh-eating tree to establish his magical potential. When his life came under threat. Kernel reacted and he fought free. If he’d been of lesser potential, he’d have perished. That’s a cruel way to test a person, but there’s no easy alternative. Magic is part of a harsh universe. Those who wish to channel its power must accept that.
Beranabus sends twin balls of fire shooting at Dervish and me. I turn the ball aimed at me into an icy mist, but Dervish isn’t as swift. He disperses the flames, but not before they singe his beard and redden his cheeks and lips.
“You’re slow,” Beranabus grunts while Dervish repairs the damage.
“So are you!” Sharmila shouts, hitting Beranabus with a burst of energy from behind. He shoots forward, yelling with surprise, and smashes into a tree, sending bones flying in all directions.
r /> “That hurt,” Beranabus complains, staggering to his feet and rubbing the small of his back. He bends to pick some splinters out of his bare feet. We’ve all got rid of our shoes—they hinder the flow of magic.
“Be thankful I was not aiming to kill,” Sharmila says coolly. “We are all slower and weaker than before. It is the penalty of old age. No one can avoid it.”
“I’ve done better than most for a millennium and a half,” Beranabus growls.
“But time catches up with us all eventually, even you.”
Beranabus twists slowly left, then right, working the pain out of his back. “I suppose you’re right,” he grumbles. “I’ve known for a long time I’m not as quick or powerful as I once was.”
He waves a hand at Sharmila and her artificial legs snap apart. She collapses with a yelp of shock and pain.
“But there’s life in the old dog yet,” Beranabus shouts triumphantly, before guiltily hurrying to Sharmila’s side to fix the damage.
Kernel has kept himself distant, sitting in the open with his legs crossed, tinkering with the lights that only he can see, keeping tabs on Juni. Beranabus told me his bald assistant finds it hard to focus these days. Since he got his new eyes he’s been seeing patches of light which were invisible to him before. He can’t control the new patches and they distract him. He’s been trying to ignore them, but I often spot him scowling and cursing, waving an irritated hand at the air around him.
In the middle of another dry, lifeless afternoon, as the others are resting while I leap from tree to tree testing my powers of flight, Kernel uncrosses his legs and stands.
“She’s moving,” he says.
We’re by his side in seconds. His bright blue eyes are alive with flickering spots of light. He looks nervous.
“Where did she go?” Beranabus asks.
“Earth.”
“And Lord Loss?”
“He stayed in his own realm.”
“Can you tell where exactly she is?” Dervish asks.
“No.” He frowns. “I should be able to, but I can’t place it.”
“Is she close to Grubbs?” Dervish presses.
Kernel concentrates, then shakes his head.
“Well?” Sharmila asks Beranabus.
“Kernel and I will investigate. The rest of you stay here.”
“Nuts to that,” Dervish huffs.