42

The cost for Kleiner’s swift recovery was, in fact, quite high. Every morning Sebastian saw new lines and more white hair as he gazed into his small hand mirror. During his time in Aureum, he had gone so long without using magic that he had almost forgotten its effects on his body. But these past few weeks in Kante, he had been pushing himself to his limits on a daily basis, and it showed.

Or perhaps he was overly concerned. After all, he hadn’t told anyone in the battalion about the cost of his magic, not even Marcello, and no one had remarked upon his changing appearance. It could be that since he was looking for it, the changes he saw seemed more pronounced than they really were.

“Relax, Portinari.” Marcello slapped his back as he hurried past. “You can put down the mirror. You’re still pretty.”

See? Sebastian’s unease was surely the product of an anxious mind. Lots of men had graying temples at seventeen, didn’t they?

So he began another day of work. Currently he was assisting the bricklayers, so he walked down to the stream that lay west of the town. The rest of the men were already hard at work, digging up the dense clay from the riverbank, removing stones and other debris, then shaping it into rectangles. They laid out the rectangles on a large stone slab, and it was Sebastian’s job to cook them into bricks. Since he could heat them from the inside, he was able to do it much more quickly than a traditional oven.

Baking bricks was not particularly glamorous work, but Sebastian found it satisfying. At the end of each day, he could look at the large stack of his handiwork and see progress that was easily measured and indisputable. That was a nice change to the work he had done in Izmoroz, when it had been difficult to judge on any given day if he’d really accomplished anything at all.

Granted, it was not challenging work, either. After the first hour or so of the day, he hardly even needed to think about it. But over time, the cumulative effort did take its toll on his body, and in the afternoon, he would have to take breaks now and then so that he didn’t exhaust himself prematurely. Sometimes he would sit and talk to the other workers. Other times he would simply gaze out at the vast rolling fields of Kante, greener than Izmoroz, yet colder and wetter than Aureum. The clouds overhead were always heavy and gray, yet there were usually hard shafts of sunlight breaking through, creating such a stunning contrast, he sometimes wished he could capture its likeness. He wondered if any of the Viajero were painters, and if they would mind doing it for him. Perhaps he would ask Captain Reyes.

He also found, perhaps unsurprisingly, that heating clay with magic was thirsty work. Thankfully, there was a clear, refreshing stream only a few paces away, so he had no problem addressing that issue as often as necessary. It was on one of those water breaks that he was fortunate enough to run into Fräulein Cohen, who had pulled a small cart of ceramic jugs down to the bank so that she might bring back water for the injured and their apothecaries.

“Good afternoon, Fräulein Cohen.” He crouched by the stream and splashed cold water on his face, hoping it might brighten up his no doubt weary expression.

“Good afternoon, Captain Portinari. So good to see you.” She smiled at him in a way that made him feel quite special, although he was certain she must have that effect on everyone.

“Likewise, Fräulein.” He nodded to the cart full of empty jugs. “May I help you with those?”

Her ever-present smile grew gently teasing. “Surely you have your own, more important work, Captain.”

“It will keep,” he assured her. “And anyway, it’s nothing special. I’m only making bricks.”

Her ice-blue eyes widened. “Not special? Ach nein, Captain. What you can do is like nothing I have ever seen. Heating bricks with your mind? I did not know such a thing was possible.”

“Well, I’m not really heating the bricks with my mind.” He picked up a jug, brought it over to the stream, and knelt down so he could fill it up.

“It certainly appears that way.” She also took a jug and knelt beside him on the bank.

“What I do is mostly instinctual,” he said. “I just have a feeling for the element and act upon that feeling. But repeating the same task over and over has allowed me the luxury of examining it more closely. I can’t say for certain, but I believe that what I’m actually doing is not heating so much as removing the cold.”

“This seems just as miraculous to me,” she said.

“Miraculous?” He had never heard his magic described in that way.

“A gift. Surely that is what you possess.”

“Perhaps so,” he agreed. “Although I wonder why it was given to me in particular.”

“Why not you?” she asked.

“I’m certain there are others more… worthy.”

She gave him a dubious look. “Is any man truly worthy of such power?”

He laughed. “Maybe not, Fräulein Cohen. But perhaps you would be.”

She shook her head, and her expression grew uncharacteristically serious. “Oh no, Captain. I am more flawed than most.”

“I can’t believe that.” Sebastian stood up, intent on placing the full jug back on the cart. “Nor can I imagine any reason why you might…”

He took one step toward the cart, and the world suddenly spun beneath his feet. The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was the cold, wet riverbank rising up to meet his face. His final, oddly detached thought was: At least it’s soft. More than I deserve, really.