The Tales of the Wanderer Volume One: A Book of Underrealm (The Underrealm Volumes 4) Garrett Robinson (poetry books to read TXT) 📖

I reached down and brushed her hair out of her eyes, and then I closed them. I fell forwards onto my elbows, my forehead planted in the mud, and my tears spilled to freeze on the ground.

Oku whined and edged forwards. With his muzzle, he prodded at her broken fingers. When she did not move, he pushed harder, lifting her hand to rest on her lap, like he was trying to get her up. When she still did not move, he licked her hand, cleaning off some of the blood.

“No, boy,” I said, choking on the words. “She is gone. Sky save us. I should never have taken her from Northwood. I wish I had never left Strapa. I wish I had never met—” I stopped, for I could not quite bring myself to say it.

And then Mag’s body jerked.

She gasped, the sound of her breath wet and bubbling through punctured lungs. Her back arched until I thought her spine would snap. Her head barely touched the ground. Every limb jerked and spasmed, her hand striking me in the chest. I could only stare at her in horror.

“Aaahhh!” she screamed from her ruined throat.

“Mag!” I cried.

Dark below. I had been sure she was already dead. This was even worse. Now I would have to sit with her through her agonizing last moments, and I would have to watch. It was Sten all over again.

And then I saw her fingers.

With sickening, wet cracks and pops, they bent back into shape. I saw the bones sliding beneath the skin, muscles and tendons tensing, squeezing, twisting. In a few moments, the hand had returned to normal, though it was still covered in blood and cuts from Kaita’s bladed skin.

Then her slashed arm began to seal itself together. Fresh blood poured from every wound, but slowly the flow was stanched as the skin rejoined, covering them over.

I hovered my hands over her, wanting to help but not knowing how. My wondering gaze went from wound to wound, the gaping holes in her chest, the slit in her throat. All of them were healing. Her sealing wounds pushed out the splintered wood from her shield. Then the gaps closed to hide the blood and flesh beneath.

Finally, the wounds were gone, leaving nothing so much as a scar.

Nothing so much as a scar.

And then, all at once, many things made sense for the first time.

We were in the mountains of Tokana, and Mag and I had found our first troll. Dark take her, she had taunted it, accusing it of working with the Shades. The troll roared and slammed its hands into the earth before storming towards her.

“No chance of peace, then,” said Mag. “I suspected as much.”

“Mag!” I cried, but too late. She crouched and leaped towards the thing.

It struck her a backhanded blow and sent her flying over a nearby house.

She landed where I could not see her, among the debris of another destroyed home. Her spine snapped. Broken, jagged beams from the wrecked house pierced her side and her leg.

Mag gritted her teeth and stifled her scream as best she could. Her arms were useless, and her spear and shield fell to the ground. For a short while, she sat there, heaving agonized breaths through her teeth.

Then her spine cracked and popped, pushing itself back into place. Mag cried out as she felt her bones rearranging themselves inside her, her nerves reconnecting to flood her mind with agony.

She could use her arms again. She reached up and seized the jagged end of the wooden spar. As she pulled herself off it, she whimpered at the feeling of the twisted wood ripping through her insides.

The wounds were already sealing when she fell to the ground on all fours. Soon there was no hole in her side. The slices along her palms vanished.

Shaking, she got to her feet and inspected herself. Scooping up some dirt from the ground, she scrubbed at the fresh bloodstains until they were dry. Then she snatched up her weapon and shield and ran back towards me and the troll. By the time she found me, there were no signs of injury. And in my panic at the troll, I did not notice the new bloodstains in her clothes.

We were in the mountains near Opara. Shades had ambushed Mag, Tuhin, and me. Mag had gone running off with Oku beside her, hunting the Shades in the dips and crags of the land. She had killed three already, and they were starting to figure out she was among them.

A Shade heard her coming and drew. Mag rounded the corner, and his arrow took her in the eye.

Her body went limp in an instant, like a puppet with cut strings. Oku howled in rage and leaped at the man. The Shade dropped his bow and drew a long dagger, trying to fend Oku off. They danced around each other, neither managing to land a blow. Oku paced around the Shade, growling, while the man tried to find a chance to plunge his blade home.

Behind him, Mag’s body shuddered. Slowly, she got back to her feet. She gritted her teeth as she seized the arrow and pulled it out.

Her eye was still healing when the Shade turned, too late, and saw her. His face filled with horror as she plunged her spear into his heart.

She fell to her knees, shaking her head in a futile attempt to clear it of the pain. Tears poured from her remaining eye at the horrific feeling of her brain repairing itself inside her skull, and then of the bone growing back into place. As her mind started to clear, she probed the Shade’s body with shaking hands. Her fingers found a waterskin.

“Thank the sky,” she muttered, voice wobbling. She poured the water over her face and head, washing away the blood as best she could.

By the time she returned to me, I thought the blood covering