The little nook created by a bluff under the roots of an old oak wasn’t ideal, but he’d run out of luck today with the weather. His clothes were soaked through, and the air was chilling. He should have considered turning around and heading south again. Maybe further west to avoid the mountains and everything beyond them.

Just not there.

Never again there.

His feet started to tingle, numb from the cold ground and still hurting from his escape. He’d had to make another cut just yesterday, fearing that a part of the spell would fuse back together if the scar wasn’t deep enough to keep the markings apart. He’d cried and shaken for hours, the healing taking progressively longer these days.

He tucked them under as best as he could and leaned against the dry wood, trying to shield himself from the dampness of the drizzling rain. His forehead burned under his clammy hand, and his cheeks were hot. Could it be a fever? He tried to remember when he’d managed to steal bread and if anything was left in his bag, but thinking hurt his head. He was so tired.

Kuo melted into the rough bark and hoped tomorrow would be a warmer day in the north. After a while, he dozed off. He didn’t hear the approaching group, even when they stopped directly on the road above his little bluff. He also didn’t react when he was gently picked up and passed along to a stronger person who could carry his lithe body to the wagon, already waiting with a thick felted blanket and some water to quench the burning in his throat.

“Boy, you need to drink,” an old, gentle voice said, holding something cold to his cracked lips. He gulped down some, and his head lolled back. It was just too heavy.

Kuo heard some murmurs and felt a gentle rocking. Maybe he was going to be alright. Otherwise, he’d have to flee again once he regained some strength. But today wasn’t going to be that day.

***

The protection lines were busted like a bull had barged through them. A magical bull, that is. Everything was torn, and the land was opened up to the beasts. It happened often and kept the Mages busy, but this one felt different. Aro swiped his hand through the meagre residue of magic, still trying to work the protection. He felt something. Something faint but powerful, and he was curious about who had ripped the spells so effortlessly, most likely without realising it.

The old Spark looked around, trying to figure out where the intruder might have gone in their mindless path of destruction. There was a trail, barely there and already fading, and he guessed that the person wouldn’t have been so sloppy if they were less busy getting away. But from what exactly? Cashundo? Worse?

“We will take that route. I need you, three enforcers and the wagon.”

Caroll huffed about the inconvenience. She looked up into the endless cold drizzle and calculated how much more of her Page’s spark she could use to stay dry.

“I hope they are worth it,” she muttered. She stomped off to prepare for the little detour they would make, bumping shoulders with her compeer in a silent goodbye.

“Fix this. I’ll find the source,” Aro said when Aik approached. The tall Mage didn’t need further instructions, and he trusted the headmaster of Gimma’s Pages enough not to ask any questions.

Aro grabbed his staff and started trudging, deep in thought, into the forest. The soil made a squelching noise under his feet, and he hoped the wagon, bare of any additional load, would make it through the rain. The terrain was uneven, and he didn’t want them to get stuck in an unfortunate part of the forest for the rest of the day or night.

Caroll joined him to check the perimeter, and he was grateful that he could concentrate on the trail without worrying about a wolf - or worse, a cashundo attack. They moved slowly and cautiously through the hardwood forest, straining to keep an ear out for what might be hiding from the rain in the undergrowth. This part of the woods was untouched by man; oaks were old and impossibly tall, and old stumps and fallen trees were covered in heavy carpets of moss, forming and reshaping the landscape over hundreds of years. Aro felt a little sizzling here and there in his fingers, spark lees so strong he found himself both excited and curious about the stranger.

“It’s a Spark, huh?” Caroll murmured, eyes trained ahead.

Aro was a little surprised that she had picked it up, but Caroll was more sensitive than she let people know, and perhaps she had already noticed it in the fields.

“Yes.”

“Something for your collection?”

He smiled at the implication. “We always need strong Sparks, and I hope everybody remembers that the wonderful and interesting inhabitants of Gimma keep the monastery safe.”

“You didn’t say human.”

“Well, some aren’t, and I didn’t want to leave them out. Now, hush.”

He stopped in his tracks and looked around. The drizzle fizzed, buzzed, and hissed with crashes and splashes on and off the vegetation. Finding what he was looking for by ear would be hard. Aro bent down and dug his fingers into the wet, loamy ground, tapping into the ley lines.

There was… something. The forest tingled. It was not only a Spark; it was something more, something outrageous, like Dawid telling him the moon had fallen from the sky and plunged into their garden. He had only met one once, a lifetime ago and only by accident. You wouldn’t meet them otherwise. These creatures didn’t belong in the harsh human realm at all.

They were too precious.

He followed the low hum of the magic that tried to weave itself around the intruder and soak up any morsels of spark. Aro saw an old oak tree, which had taken its place on a steep embankment at the path's edge, rooted deep into the ley lines and humming softly with magic.

Aro hunkered down and peeked over the edge of a thick root, checking the embankment, but he could see absolutely nothing. Nevertheless, they had to be here. He could feel it. Even the tree felt it.

“Caroll, you need to climb down. See if you can find them. They might use glamour, so if you can’t find them, try feeling around. With your hands. No poking around with a sword.”

Caroll sighed and looked down. The embankment was not ideal for climbing. Some of the exposed clay was slippery as a prostitute’s bosom, and she anticipated snagging her ankle on some of the exposed roots if she wasn’t careful.

She tucked up the front and the back of her skirt and looped the ends through her belts, securing the garment so it wouldn’t hinder her descent and, hopefully, the ascent. She could easily grab the shaft of her sword over her shoulder, but the cloak had to go. She’d get wet and grimy, but Thean had wasted so many hours on the bloody cloak that she couldn’t forgive herself if it ripped or became unusable.

Caroll hopped down and instantly held onto the wet roots, her feet trying to find any purchase in the rain but already slipping.

“Fucking hells,” she muttered, and her eyes went wide when she saw the… kid.

They were a young man, really, only some years younger than Thean, and he appeared to be sick and unconscious. What frightened her were the roots that had started to hold him up and keep him in position under the canopy of the massive trunk. The tree held on like its own life depended on it.

“Uh…” was all she could manage.

Aro frowned. “Did you find them?”

She looked up, eyes still wide and full of questions, and Aro wondered what she had seen. “Yes. But… damn, you need to see this, but the ground won’t support you. There’s a boy… a young man? He’s sick. The roots have started to hold him in place. He’s sat under the trunk like he’s on a… a throne, really.”

She sounded puzzled, and Aro wished he could go down and see what she saw, but his old bones would be unforgiving, and the sight might not be worth the risk of imminent death.

“Can you move him? He cannot have been there for more than three hours.”

Caroll touched the boy and, although the roots kept moving at a snail’s speed, nothing whipped her away immediately. The logistics of hauling an unconscious body up the embankment, though…

“I need rope.”

She unclasped her main belt and carefully tied it around his chest. The guy was burning up, his skin blazing hot under her touch. She felt sorry for him. He looked like he’d been through all hells and back.

The end of a rope fell down. Caroll checked and saw that it was looped over a thick branch. She deemed it good enough; the rain made the branch just slick enough to avoid too much friction on the rope. She carefully secured the belt to it and tugged.

“When I tell you to pull, be careful. He is unconscious.”

The boy’s head lolled forward, and he managed a tiny, miserable groan when she cut away the smallest roots that had already wound themselves around his arms and legs. She moved swiftly and carefully, his spark lashing out randomly like a hissing cat and leaving nasty, burning scratches, but she understood the sentiment and wouldn’t hold him accountable.

“Pull!”

Lifting him up and out of the embankment took only minutes, but it felt like hours. Thankfully, he was frail and weighed no more than a skinny goat, and the five of them managed to get him into the wagon quickly.

Caroll knew this boy would be trouble. Aro would try to keep him in Gimma, and she wasn’t sure anybody would match his power. Once the wagon picked up its bumpy track again, she knocked against the back panel.

“What is he?”

“A Spark,” Aro replied.

“Aro. What is he?” She was insistent and she likely angered the headmaster, but she didn’t give a fuck when it came to the security of her home. She killed creatures when needed. And she needed to know if this could be a potential danger.

“He’s a… a special Spark. They get strong. Very strong. But he’s not a danger. They usually stay away from people. We’ll have to cloak him when we reach the monastery. I don’t want the whole of Gimma to be aware of his presence.”

Aro tugged on the thin and torn-up tunic. The boy’s skin was mostly unmarred, which was a good sign. What made the old man pale, though, were the boy’s feet. The soles were covered in cuts and scars. Too deep to be an accident, and some were not even properly healed. These types of wounds would cause excruciating pain with every step. His forehead crumpled in dismay and empathy.

“He’s on the run.” His fingers hovered over the soles, making the boy twitch and groan. “There’s grey magic involved. You can’t tell Aik or the others. Until I say otherwise.”

Caroll harrumphed her displeasure about potential trouble into the misty rain. “Whatever you want. Straight to the infirmary?”

Aro looked down at the feverish boy, now snugly bundled up in the woollen fleece blanket. Probably his first warm place in a long time. “No, straight to the Page quarters. I’d appreciate it if you could bring him to the guest room above the sewing rooms.”

Caroll nodded and fell back, quietly signalling to the enforcers that things were okay. These men kept to themselves, spooked by the headmaster’s ability to track the boy so accurately and wary of the Mages in general.

As they should be, Caroll thought to herself.

She didn’t give two shits about them, and they gave less about her; the animosity was always barely kept under the surface. She wouldn’t mind punching one or three if they mouthed her off, but Thean kept her from being too mean to them. She wrapped her cloak tighter around her neck, her Page’s spark like a caress, and she was happy to be home soon.

The rain didn’t stop for the rest of the day.