Imdalind 01 - Kiss of Fire

hundred years to come to terms with my new face, so take all the time you need.” She smiled widely at me, but I could tell it still made her a little sad.
    “A hundred years?”
    “Yeah, I am a ripe old lady. I was born in about 1795 and received the marks on July 10 th of 1867.”
    “1795?”
    “Yeah, and exiled before my hundredth birthday. That’s why Ryland didn’t recognize me; we’ve never met, and I highly doubt Timothy ever spoke of me after he marked me. So in a century or so you can tell me if you think they suit me or not.”
    “Wait, what? A century? I can’t possibly live that long.”
    “All magical beings possess some realm of immortality, Joclyn. But it’s kind of contingent- if you don’t use it, you die. So, I guess, no – you won’t gain your immortality unless you actually start to use that magic of yours.”
    I had accepted the fact, almost without question, that Ryland and Ilyan, and even Wyn, had and used magic, almost without question. But in the back of my mind, the idea that I really possessed a magic of my own still felt like some kind of joke.
    “But you won’t be living until the world ends unless your back is healed. I apologize in advance.”
    Wyn lifted my sweater and placed her hand firmly on my bare back and instantly began to spread her magic into me as she checked my spine. I shuddered involuntarily. Her magic felt like ice inside my veins; it was the polar opposite of the relaxing warmth I got from Ilyan and Ryland.
    Ryland.
    “Will Ryland be alright?” My question was that of a child, and I knew it. But, I needed answers; I needed to know exactly what was going on so that I knew how to save him.
    “He will, if we get to him in time.”
    I shivered, my shoulders jerking uncomfortably. I wasn’t sure if my jolt was due to Ryland’s fate or to the icy magic that was moving through me.
    “Sorry,” she whispered. “The magic of a Trpaslík tends to be very cold. Of course most of my kind use their magic to kill rather than to heal, so that may be why.”
    I could almost hear the sarcasm in her voice.
    “A Trpaslík?”
    “Yes, once a very long time ago, my kind were the keepers of the fire magic.”
    Ironically, I shivered as the icy cold of her magic continued to move into me, chilling every part of me.
    “Sorry, I’m almost done.”
    “Why is your magic so cold if you used to keep the fire magic?”
    “I was told as a child it was taken from us by the Skȓítek’s and in the absence of heat we froze, but I don’t believe that anymore. Everyone here is a Skȓítek – I am just the odd man out.”
    “A Trpaslík.”
    “Yep.”
    “So why have different names at all, if you all look so much like humans?” I asked.
    “It relates to our magic. Skȓítek’s are the keepers, or the warriors, of all magic. They were once a powerful army that kept balance over the rest of us, but have since been almost driven to extinction. The Trpaslík are destructive by nature; our magic relates more to earth elements, and we can control them at will. Vilỳ’s were the givers of emotions, and kept the humans from their vices. The names relate to what we do not who we are.”
    “Then why do you still call yourself a Trpaslík if you no longer live with them?”
    “Because I am destructive above all else,” she grinned menacingly. “Trpaslíks are very good at making things explode. I’ll show you sometime.”
    I couldn’t help the shiver that spread up my spine. She enjoyed that reaction and smiled even more.
    “Well, your back feels fine.” Wyn jumped off the bed and flung the covers off me. I still wore the mysterious fleece pants and Ryland’s sweater. I sat and picked at the soft fabric. Thinking of Ryland had made me edgy, like I needed to go run a marathon. My soul called for him, begging him to be okay, to wait for me.
    “Broken back, huh?” I asked quietly.
    “I know, hard to believe isn’t it? It actually broke in two places. Right here,” she placed her hand at a spot right between my shoulder blades, “and here,” her hand slid down to rest a bit above the small of my back. “If it wasn’t for Ilyan you would have died.”
    I only nodded. Ryland had saved me, too. The images of Ryland’s beaten face and my mother’s broken body filled me. I felt my heart constrict again in its futile attempt to control the waves of emotion behind the dam I had built. I tried to push the heartbreak away; I needed her to be proud of me, wherever she