~Chapter Seventeen: Restoration and Recovery~

~Eddarn~

Eddarn watched through his mirror as the girl plunged through the air.

He couldn’t follow someone through the library’s third floor. That task was almost impossible, no matter how much the Scholar demanded it. Y’aer-cursed ever-changing maze. Scrying, though? The Scholar, praise be her, had figured out how to make that work, at least at short ranges. So Eddarn wasn’t there, but he had watched the fight. The girl had talent. She was wasting it, but she had it.

His eyes weren’t on ‘Tabby,’ though—he snorted at the idiotic fake name. Not anymore.

They were glued to the cat. Had been ever since it had ripped his leg open.

He’d seen that Y’aer-cursed cat before. It had stalked the fourth and fifth floors since before the Scholar’s Cult had inducted—he couldn’t help but snort at that—him. They’d lost dozens to it. It was worse than a Dalyn and Davek. Worse than a Srilla. It had eaten his lover right out of their bed—ate her, moth-eaten sleeping shift, threadbare blanket, and all, before she could even scream. The blue tiger was a horror story told around the fires at night, except it was real.

Real, and here.

Eddarn watched in horror as the collar around its neck loosened. Runes poured from its mouth. Its jaws opened wider and wider—impossibly wide—and he almost dropped the scrying mirror as they engulfed the falling girl from behind. His lover had died just like this, eaten alive. Now his recruit was going to follow her path. Y’aer curse—

No.

No!

Horror turned to fascination. The cat’s jaws slammed closed, and ‘Tabby’ was gone, but there was no blood. No gore. No ear-splitting yowls or floor-shaking purring. No horror. Instead, the blue tiger crashed through the barrier between floors, flailing to get its feet under it and hacking loudly, and the scryer went dead.

Well, then.

“The Scholar ent going to believe this,” he muttered into the chipped, tarnished mirror. “She ent going to believe this at all.”

The blue tiger was back. And it had bonded with a mage. That was a very…interesting sign. He’d have to report in to the Scholar and the rest of the cult, and the moment he did, he’d become one of its most important members. Maybe even second only to the Scholar herself. His mind’s wheels turned, forming the rough outline of a plan. It’d be a while before they could execute it, but better to get started now.

That Y’aer-cursed monstrosity would be theirs.

All it’d take now was some patience…

Eola woke up hurting.

And hungry. Desperately, ravenously hungry.

She tried to roll onto her side under the blanket, but there was a weight on her chest, and she couldn’t lift it. She struggled for a minute, then opened her eyes. A pair of bright yellow ones stared back at her, and she coughed once—painfully jarring something in her chest when she did. “What did you—“

Atta started to reply, then hacked loudly. “I can’t—not here, not now. Quiet, stupid girl.”

“What?”

The cat didn’t say anything, just glanced to Eola’s right, and she slowly, gingerly turned her head to look.

“Oh.”

She wasn’t in her bed. A single tree—more of a sapling than a proper yew—sat in a brown pot in the corner of a room that made hers feel spacious. There was barely enough room for the tree, the door, and the white-sheeted mattress, plus a single chair. Her armor and sword were nowhere to be seen, and she was dressed in a gray woolen gown instead of the linen shirt, leather boots, and thick wool pants she’d had on under her breastplate.

“Hospital?” she asked hoarsely.

Atta nodded, but didn’t say anything.

A moment later, Mana swelled in the air, and the tree’s branches started to bend violently. Before she could react, a woman stepped from the thin yew’s trunk, dusted her bark-like skin off, and looked down her nose at Eola. “Miss Lemiene.”

“Instructor Clearance!” Eola said.

She tried to sit up, only for the hamadryad to push her down gently, one hand on her shoulder. “Don’t try to move. This kind of healing isn’t simple—even for me—and the best thing you can do is give the spells time to work.”

Eola blinked, then stared up at the ceiling. Half a dozen different runes, none of which she recognized, pulsed with bright green Mana.

“Yes, those are mine. I rarely work with injuries—diseases are more interesting—but for some cases, they request my presence and provide me with a way to move around the place.” Instructor Clearance sighed loudly. “You’re a lucky girl, Miss Lemiene. Your friends said you were exploring the third floor, but the librarians found you on the first. That’s quite a fall, and you were covered in a thin, sticky liquid when they got to you. You should be dead. Care to explain?”

“I…I don’t remember much,” Eola said as honestly as she could. “When I remember more, I’ll tell you.”

“Please do. I’m also curious what has and hasn’t changed in the library’s upper reaches. I can’t go see, for obvious reasons.” Instructor Clearance’s branch-like arms folded over her chest, and she sat in the single chair. “You have visitors. Actually, you’ve had them for the last two days—“

“Two days?” Eola asked. She tried to sit up again, then fell back into the pillow.

“Yes, two days. Now that you’re awake, though, I need to perform an exam to make sure your body’s interacting with my rituals correctly. May I?”

Eola nodded, and for the next ten minutes, fingers that felt like smooth, carved wood gently squeezed, poked, and prodded her ribs, arms, and legs, then wormed their way up every inch of her spine from tailbone to skull. She couldn’t help but shiver, and Instructor Clearance nodded sympathetically. “I’ve been told this is unpleasant.”

“It’s just cold,” she said.

“Indeed.” The hamadryad kept working for another few minutes, then nodded slowly. “Your recovery’s proceeding according to my predictions. A trainee will be in to refresh the basic rituals and change your bandages in two hours. And, Miss Lemiene, if you do remember anything…?”

“I’ll tell you,” Eola said, nodding and wincing.

“Thank you.” A look of relief passed across Instructor Clearance’s face. “Do you want to see your visitor?”

“Yes.”

“Fifteen minutes, then. No more. You need to sleep.” Instructor Clearance walked, not through the door, but into the potted yew, leaving Eola alone.

“Be honest, Atta! What did you do?” she asked the moment they were alone.

The cat’s eyes narrowed. “I literally can’t tell you, and I wouldn’t if I could. You can’t rely on me to save you every time you get in trouble.”

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“But—“

“No. You were stupid, and you almost got killed twice in there. It was a good attempt, and next time, you’ll be less stupid—and there will be a next time. Now be quiet and let me get some sleep before your friend shows up. We’ll talk more about it later.” Atta climbed back onto Eola’s chest and closed her eyes, and no matter how hard she tried to move her, the cat didn’t budge.

Nor did she open her eyes, no matter how much Eola begged.

She was still stuck when Colin showed up.

He looked like he hadn’t gotten much sleep the last two nights or so, and his cloak and robe looked even more disheveled and thrown on than normal. Still, he cracked a smile almost as wide as the door. “Hey, you’re up and at ‘em.”

“Not really. I can’t even move this cat,” Eola complained. “One of those rituals has to be…”