An Ocean of Lies (AFOS II)

Chapter 30: Jo

Alaric didn't move. His left arm was completely gone, frozen and then crushed by the dragon's relentless icy breath. Jo shook him, softly at first; harder, even harder. Her tears felt like fire all over her face.

Dante placed a hand on her shoulder, softly. "I can hear a pulse, kid, it's weak, but it's there," he whispered. "We should take him inside. See what can be done," he leaned, brushed her tears with a large coarse hand. He had to tug him from her arms. She didn't want to let go.

Her ears were still ringing, her eyes partly blinded by the ice and whatever in Ontur's ass that had been. She'd felt it surge through her fingers, exploding in her veins, like crystals. Seeing Alaric almost wiped by the dragon had stirred a fury in her. There was no controlling that feral magic inside her, that stolen power: she picked up nothing from the hours training with Dante, it was ridiculous to even entertain the thought and they both knew it, at least not in such short notice. One desperate attempt to at least try to control her magic, all an illusion. She could soak up magic at command, but deciding how to use it? Or when to stop taking it? Ha.

She stood up, slowly, shaking the thin shards of ice still stuck to her arms and clothes. Alaric's arm. It had been the dragon's ice, right? Not her. It couldn't have been her. She had focused on the dragon, tried to, but her anger and desperation had blurred the whole process. The ship was reduced to smithereens, at least half of it, floating on the thick fog, shards of the dragon still lingered to what was left of the mast, ribbons of meat and iridescent scales, icy to the touch. She could've killed them all: Alaric was lucky he was only missing an arm. Just. An. Arm. She shivered, it got colder, suddenly.

"Come on kid, you'll freeze," Dante called from the door. The cabin was still intact: something had to go right, at least. A couple of windows were broken, but it could be easily fixed.

"He's not bleeding. He's not bleeding?" Jo ran towards the bed. She didn't want to linger too long on his— where his arm had been. She looked away, focused on his face.

"The ice encased the wound, so at least there's one thing to be glad about, kid. He won't be bleeding to death anytime soon. I see his skin is already regenerating underneath, magical Onturian enhancements are fascinating, just look at that, phew! I've never seen anything like it," he sighed, ran a hand through his beard. He leveled his voice, "are you ok? You don't look ok. Come, sit. I'll take care of him, drink some, oh, where did I put the thing. Here, some firebreath, it'll bring back some life into your body. Alaric will need blankets, enchanted with—" he rummaged on a chest by the feet of the bed, then stopped, suddenly.

"What is it?" she felt the liquid burn into her throat.

"Agh. They're cold. The runes are depleted. No surprise there, considering," he made a gesture with his hands.

"I'm obviously still winging it, badly," Jo sighed. "Did you see what happen? Was it me?" she pointed at Alaric.

"The dragon hit him before you blew it to pieces: beautiful. I'll probably write about it, someday. Your instincts kicked in just in time, kid. Magic is, well, like magic."

Jo scratched her scar. "I distracted him. He turned back to check if I was ok, the dragon took a chance and—" she lost it. That was it; she couldn't pretend to be strong anymore, there were no bad jokes that could save her from breaking this time. She leaned over Alaric, the tears made everything foggy, but she could see him, immobile, hardly breathing. She collapsed, wailing. She didn't care who saw her. It was over, they would die in the middle of the Fog Ocean. She had talked him into it, hadn't she? Or had it been Grandmother? Ugh. It didn't matter anymore. It had been for nothing. At least they wouldn't live to see what Volstad or Laverna would do to the Kingdom. It was someone else's problem now.