Chapter 32 - Reparations

“Let’s just agree that we were both in our own heads a bit too long and leave it at that.” I say as I extend a hand to Clovis as a peace offering.

“Absolutely.” Clovis says as she meets my hand with hers. “If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it properly. The attack proved that our needs are immediate and practical, but it also proved that you have the latent knack for Incantations.”

“Healing isn’t the only application of Incantation magic.” she continues, as she steps back grabbing a piece of chalk and writing on her chalkboard. “There are enhancement spells, which boost a person’s natural capabilities which you have already seen and done, body augmentation spells that can temporarily alter physical forms, and Illusion spells, which manipulate a target’s perception.”

She stops and turns to me, her crimson eyes pinning me in place. “We’ll be focusing exclusively on healing and enhancement. They will be the most critical in supporting the Town Guard should another attack come. You’ve already shown an aptitude for healing at the gate, but it was… uncontrolled. I’m going to teach you how to keep your emotional state more level, to channel it instead of letting it consume you.”

The praise feels double-edged, a compliment wrapped in a critique of my own instability. 

“Keeping a level head isn’t about feeling nothing.” she clarifies. “It’s about separating the desired outcome from the storm of your own feelings. You said you’ve done plays before right?”

“Uhm yes that’s right, with my parents.” I say half-consciously as I try to remember the backstory I told.

“Well think of it like you’re an actress, there is a difference between emulating an emotion for your role and actually feeling that emotion. You can utilise the same technique in an incantation. As long as you stay in control of the emotion, the conviction and the emotion can remain separate.” Clovis’s wisdom shines through her explanation.

Her advice is surprisingly astute. I give a head shake, in recognition of the information as it’s a method I am already familiar with. 

“Good.” she says, seemingly satisfied with my silent agreement. 

She walks over to her work bench and selects a small dagger, its steel blade gleams coldly. “Let's put that knowledge into practice.”

Without another word, she turns back to me, holds out her left forearm, and cuts. It’s not a deep or ragged wound, but a deliberate, clean line about three inches long. 

She does it without ceremony, a quick, precise drag of the blade across her skin. Dark blood, almost black in the dim light, immediately wells up, forming a perfect trail.

The scent of iron, sharp and metallic, slices through the herbal aroma of the cottage. 

The image is too close, too familiar.

“I’m going to have you practice the same healing spell you used on the guard at the gate.” she says, her voice calm and even, as if she hasn’t just sliced her own arm open in front of me. “Once you can do it successfully, without collapsing, I’ll teach you the enhancement spell I used on Hakota at the barracks.”

I stare at the blood dripping from her arm onto the floorboards. A small, dark pool is forming at her feet. My hands begin to tremble.

“Come on, Shikara.” she prompts, her voice gentle but firm. “Focus. What are the words?”

The words. I can’t remember them.

“O, flesh… be still… the body’s art…” The spell dies before it can even form. 

The cut on her arm continues to bleed freely.

Clovis lets out a soft, patient sigh. “You’re trying to remember the exact script. Don’t. The words themselves aren’t a magic key. They are a structure. It’s the conviction and emotion behind them that matters. As long as you believe in the outcome, as long as your intent is pure and focused, the precise phrasing is secondary.”

It’s not about just saying the right words. I’ve got to heal her. To stop the bleeding. To mend what is broken. To ease her pain because I know what it’s like to hurt like that.

I take a shaky breath, and close my eyes for a moment to shut out the sight of the blood. I find my anchor. A quiet river.

I have to try again. This time, I won’t try to recall old words, I will let new ones form, shaped by my immediate, desperate intent.

As I speak, I take on a cadence that comes naturally, I allow my memories to guide me. 

“Broken flesh with skin that’s torn,

I see the path where pain is born.

The blood that flows, a weeping red,

A wound that fills with daunting dread.

A wall is breached, a gate undone,

Where vital warmth is forced to run.

I know the sting, I feel the shock,

A broken memory in a living clock.

But fear will fade and doubt will cease,

I offer now a gentle peace.

Let blood be calmed and skin be bound,

A perfect whole, both safe and sound.

I call the flesh to mend its part,

With all the body’s knowing art.

Let living threads now weave you true,

And make the broken whole anew.

With no faint trace of what has been,

Let perfect health now be seen.”

Faint, light, like new spring leaves, emanates from my palms. It’s weaker than before but more controlled. It’s tender and warm as it encroaches upon Clovis’s wound. 

I’m enchanted, as the light envelops her wound. The edges of the gash pull toward each other, the bleeding slows to a trickle, and the torn flesh knits itself back together, leaving behind only a thin, raw, pink line.

I did it, I made my first spell all by myself! The relief is so profound it almost brings me to my knees. I feel a little hazy but nothing compared to the hollow feeling I had from my last experience.

I watch Clovis examine her newly healed arm, turning it over in the light. A flicker of astonishment or maybe respect, crosses her face before she schools her features back into a neutral layout. I can see that she is impressed, but she’s trying her best not to show it.

“Better,” she says, her cadence is thin and professional, though I can hear the surprise she’s trying to suppress. “Much better. But you’re still letting it take too much from you.”

“Here.” She walks over to a small, lidded jar on one of her shelves and pulls out a small handful of what look like large, dark nuts. She holds one out to me. “A little pick me-up I use when I’m feeling drained after a long session. Here, try one.”

Hesitantly, I take one. The shell is dark but not hard, it’s actually surprisingly squishy. I peel it open between my fingers, revealing a kernel the colour of rich honey.

I pop it into my mouth. The flavour is immediate and overwhelming. A wave of sweetness, rich and deep like caramel, washes over my tongue, followed by a nutty, almost buttery creaminess that coats my palate. 

Despite the squishness of the shell, the nut itself is incredibly crunchy, the texture a satisfying contrast. As I chew, a gentle, pleasant warmth spreads through my chest, chasing away some of the emotional emptiness.

“What are these?” I ask, as an ardent wonder takes over my voice.

“Caocio nuts.” Clovis explains, popping one into her own mouth. “They’re hard to come by, they only grow in sun-drenched parts of the valley to the south. But they’re one of the perks of living here. They help lift the spirits when you’re feeling low. A small piece of warmth to replace what the magic takes.”

The simple shared act of eating seems to help both of us get over the intensity of today. 

She sees the price her magic asks for, and she’s showing me a way to pay it without going bankrupt.

She leans her head towards the door, “Alright, apprentice. Let’s not waste the daylight. Come outside. It’s time I taught you how to feel a little lighter on your feet.”