His staff plowed furrows in the churned soil as he walked deeper into the woods to follow the traces of a horse’s trail. It had only been about twelve hours since he’d fought and been soundly beaten within an inch of his life.

Yet, he felt stronger than he ever had in his life. Better even. It felt as if every strand of muscle fiber was perfectly aligned and in sync. Earlier, he’d accidentally splintered a wooden mug when Modran had given him a drink of water when he first awoke under the manifestation of his healing talent.

But this was more than a simple healing.

Sensations of what other people felt in his body had plagued him for far longer than he had ever realized, but now it was more potent. He felt the tiny twangs of the squirrels’ hearts beating in the trees as they darted around in the brush. Birds wings beat as a robin took off in flight, and he felt the jolt of its nerves.

He was aware of so much more than he ever had been before.

Terror and longing filled him as he continued to follow what he hoped were his ambushers’ trail. Alanna had control over blades, whether she wielded them with her hands or her will. Modran had some bizarre talent for death or whatever it was, but he’d seen her kill obviously to sustain herself.

So it stood to reason that he could heal others. Not only could he heal others, but once he figured it out, he could probably hurt others too if needed. He just had to practice and then he’d never need to worry about getting ambushed again.

It didn’t escape his thoughts that if he’d ridden with Modran still in the saddle that she would’ve been caught in that ambush with him. She could have died then come back in front of the entire caravan. Who knows what would happen then?

Would the Order be interested in him too? He shivered at the thought.

A part of him also felt vindicated.

Sure, he’d almost shot Isidora, but those instincts had been correct, just not at the right time. His childish ambitions of using a staff only or a bow and arrows were behind him. He smiled as he leaned his hand down to rest on the fine sword that Modran had loaned him. It was time for a man’s weapon.

Maybe an axe or a hammer, or a sword. Any of them would do really, it wasn’t like he would need to be careful in the future or anything once he mastered his talent.

He wasn’t even too worried about what he would do if he couldn’t find Nightfire or another horse fit enough to ride in the races. It was always an option to change one’s Pageship-elect status to another. If he figured out his talent enough in the next few days to use it a bit reliably, then he could do either trade or duel. But it still pained him that she was lost. Would they realize her value and try to capture her or not?

It likely depended on whether or not they were actual bandits or just page-elects.

Regardless, he had options now that he hadn’t before. Even if he failed, he’d be able to pave his way in the world. If nothing else, grandfather could use his talent in his clinic or he’d be able to handle himself well enough in a ring. Especially in a match of attrition or surrender. Wastes, if he wanted to go back home to raise horses he might even be able to alter them to be stronger, faster, and better than any other stock.

Theo’s smile stretched to a smirk as the double trail of hoofprints became an absolute mess of trodden wildgrass and bushes. Broken sticks and twigs littered the flattened ground. It was pointless to guess how many horses had been led through here, but it was far more than the two who had attacked him. Anxiety warred with grim excitement.

He was tired of feeling weak and getting the shit beaten out of him at every turn. Ambush by bandits. Getting cornered after nearly shooting Isidora, which was admittedly terrible, but still. Then the sheer disrespect and dismissal he faced as a simple bumpkin in the Lordwright’s Manse. It wasn’t until he acted like a spiteful Lordship’s whelp that he was treated with fear, not even respect, but it was something. Then, then, he was ambushed. If it were bandits, at least he could sort of understand, but if they were page-elects?

He’d gladly cull the herd either way. As long as he could get a horse, he’d be able to advance. If he reached Aethel before the deadline without a horse, he could still try out as another type of Page.

*

*

*

Night fell over the disorganized disaster of a camp. Theo observed from his roost in the tree he’d climbed to avoid the attention of the poor sentries they’d posted. Tents fluttered weakly in the breeze as they sagged on their lines and pegs. He’d watched them for about two hours at this point, as he maintained his meditation to build the light of his talent to a shining gleam.

Despite being awake and hiking for miles all day, he was as refreshed as if he’d just rolled out of bed. Meanwhile, they’d had two days of hard riding, making and breaking camp, and Aleyr knows what else. Not to mention all of their ambushes that they celebrated around a cookfire where a pot of stew boiled.

A herd of horses were hitched to a picket line at the far end of the camp where a few more sentries stood guard. He spotted Isidora’s Silverwind and a few other horses that appeared to be worth their weight in chips, but he couldn’t see if Nightfire was there. Ironically, she blended in too well with the night. He’d have to head down there personally if he wanted to recover her or another horse.

Theo was at a loss. He had two quivers with twenty-four arrows each that he’d bought from the caravan quartermaster along with a new bowstring that he’d already replaced it with. He had a few knives, plus the sword Modran had lent him. Of course he had his staff, but that wouldn’t help him that much up here.

None of it was enough, even with his talent. He probably wouldn’t come back like Modran. You couldn’t heal death, so he’d almost certainly be done like anyone else. So, a frontal assault would be beyond foolish.

Obviously.

He frowned as he watched the five or so people gathered around the cookfire divvy up their stew and talk in a babble he couldn’t make out. Two more were at the picket lines. Maybe a few more standing guard around the loose perimeter?

A part of him still itched to descend upon them with the wrath and devastation of a wasteborn, but he knew that was just a spiteful fancy. They’d be around his age though, so at least skills were taken off the table.

No… he couldn’t just attack them and hope for the best. They still might have talents, and that wasn’t something to take lightly based on his personal experience with his own and Modran’s. Not to mention Alanna and her family. If someone down there had some sort of defensive talent like that or something else then he’d be fucked.

He frowned as he continued to watch with his gaze averted from the campfire, so he could try to get a more accurate count of their numbers while he waited.

Modran would’ve been helpful right now, or Alanna if she would’ve been able to help, but he was all alone. He slipped his hand into his pocket to snack on some heavily salted beef he had rationed out along with a tough heel of bread.

Fanciful plan after fanciful plan was imagined then swept aside for being too bold, too idiotic, or just plain impractical. It was too bad he wasn’t of age yet so he could see what skills he’d have available to him on top of any archetypes, but his birthday wouldn’t be until fall right after the Pageships anyways.

Stop delaying. Theo chastised himself as he began to climb down the tree with slow, careful movements. A slight draw from the gathered light of his talent kept the ache of exertion from becoming anything worse until he finally reached the ground as quietly as he could. His muscles didn’t even tremble or anything.

No wonder Tyren and his family acted like they owned Fremr. Manifested talents were a real gamechanger.

As he stalked around their camp towards the picket line, he thought about possibilities with his talent. Healing wasn’t very straightforward, especially once he started to practice healing people. His talent was directly manipulating biological matter as well as enriching it, right? So, what if he could make alterations to his body or other people’s? Or would that stray too far into the territory of being a skill?

He mused on this as the line of horses came into sharper detail. Perhaps he could change his eyes so they could see better in the dark or farther away, or even do something similar with his other senses. Make it so that his body is more streamlined to need less sleep or to capitalize on the amounts he could get.

If he could do something like that he’d make an absolute killing in chips.

Aleyr’s sake, win or lose the races and he could either join the Order or pledge his services for a few years for the training then he could set up shop in Dontos or Romada. Maybe work at grandfather’s clinic. At the thought, a pang of guilt snagged him for thinking about planning a future without Alanna or Modran, but if his healing worked the same for others the way it did for him, he’d become famous down the line without any extra uses of his talent.

Did he even need to do this? He didn’t really care about glory for the sake of glory. He just wanted to prove that Nightfire was as good of a horse as they knew all along and to ask for Alanna’s hand in marriage.

But it wasn’t like Alanna had even said anything about his proposal to begin with. Maybe last year had been only for fun? Nothing more? If that was the case he had to think about his own future.

“Excuse me, but what are you doing?” asked a timid, young voice. Theo whirled to stare down at a short boy barely fourteen years old wearing a full length gambeson and he held a sword perfectly fit to his size.

“Walking.” Theo said lamely as he noticed the black ribbon wound around the hilt of the boy’s sword.

“I don’t recognize you…” He frowned as red light flashed around him in a nimbus with a bright glare emanating from his eyes, ears, nose and mouth. “Are you Chevron? I heard the Lady sent you and someone else out to ambush some village brat yesterday, but only Jev and Ulren returned.”

They’re here? Theo grew furious. They nearly killed him and either lost or stole Nightfire. If he could figure out his talent he could— “Oh really. We got separated.”

“I see, I see…” the boy nodded as he led Theo away from the picket line and closer to the rest of the camp. Theo warred with his rising panic. Try to subdue this kid and run for the horses? Maybe set them free and try to steal whichever one he could? “Your heart is beating so loud. It’s distracting.”

Theo gasped as the kid turned around to face him. Sweat dripped down his face. Steady heartbeats pulsed from the boy compared to Theo’s own bumbling rhythm.

“Oh. You’re not Chevron.” The boy stumbled away in sudden fear as Theo’s nimbus assuredly sprang to light around him. I can’t let him sound the alarm! Theo lashed out with his staff to crack against the boy’s head with a spray of blood and teeth.

He collapsed in a tangle of limbs. Theo felt his heart rate spike then slow as blood pooled around him in a growing puddle. Theo shivered as phantom sensations wafted off the boy. His skull cracked and agony writhed through his broken molars and assaulted gums.

Wastes, even his neck screamed from the whiplash of being brained.

Theo fell to his knees as he vomited right next to the writhing boy. His heart pulsed in an uneven tempo, so unlike his placid rhythm before Theo freaked out and potentially murdered him.

He wiped his mouth on his sleeve as he glanced around him and checked with his talent. They were alone, for the moment. He could escape, maybe check for Nightfire or steal whatever horse he could and return to Modran and the caravan. There was only about a day left now to reach Aethel. Maybe even leave for Aethel straightaway with time so short now.

Or he could do what was right and heal this child that didn’t even scream when he realized Theo hadn’t belonged with them.

He winced as he realized he’d never used his talent on someone else. Fuck, he’d barely used it on himself knowingly. Could he even heal someone else yet? Would he even be able to? He knew next to nothing.

Theo set his staff down beside the trembling boy who was currently in the throes of a seizure. Bloody froth dribbled from his mouth as lightning danced through his nerves.

Did it matter? He had to try.

Theo knew in that moment that he wasn’t a murder or someone who would be willing to hurt or kill. His competitors might’ve tossed their honor aside for riches and prestige, but that didn’t mean he had to. He crawled closer to the boy as he drew deeply on the source of red light that blazed inside of him until it surged through him like a wellspring of life.

It soothed and healed Theo as he kept the crimson energy flowing through him, but it refused to spark from him to the boy. Theo yanked at it even harder until he could see his own nimbus roar around him like a cyclone of red mist.

He grimaced as he grabbed the boy’s hand and nearly jumped out of his own skin at the sudden clarity of the boy’s body. Theo felt the nooks and valleys of each and every pore of his skin, the pliable cartilage that coated much of his skeleton. He felt the slowing whoosh of his blood that pumped through his veins and capillaries.

Theo pushed the red tide of his talent through his hands and tried to shove it out of his body into the boy’s he sensed so clearly. It was like trying to force a drop of water through a glass window with his bare hands.

“Heal!” Theo growled as he squeezed the boy’s hands until he could feel the bruises he was leaving behind. He pushed and pulled at the mental image of the boy’s body as he tried to force the red of his talent through the image to put the pieces back together, but they fought and slid against that metaphorical glass no matter what he tried.

“By Aleyr who turned the rot of the wastes green, who erected the white walls of the Chalice, who fashioned talents for humanity, please help me save him…” Theo intoned as he whispered the familiar prayer through his hoarse throat that was already healed from his sobs. He shivered as he felt the boy’s heart slip out of rhythm even more. Heartbeats pulsed from the men and women surrounding him.

Theo glared at the plumes of red light that streamed and sparked off his skin. He felt like he’d almost had it, but he didn’t understand how he could’ve healed him otherwise before he ran out of time.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the farmerboy.” Isidora called out as she followed behind the tall muscle bound Dontrosi man she’d snatched into her entourage back at the Manse. Both him and Isidora glowed with nimbuses of their own, as well as the four others who surrounded him on all sides. “Are you ready to swear that oath you owe me?”