Excerpt from Chapter 1:
Dag stared at the grey walls of his cell and resisted the urge to sigh. If he started, he’d be at it for the next decade. He’d known, just known, that healing someone in this town would get him in trouble. Healing without a license always got him in trouble. He knew this. He really did. He just couldn’t seem to ignore the hopeless cases.
A pregnant woman bleeding out in front of him, that was pretty hopeless.
Looking into her frightened eyes, pleading for help, he couldn’t ignore her. Couldn’t ignore the twins she carried, the lives that were on the brink of winking out. So he’d stopped, he’d healed her, and his thanks for that? Iron cuffs on his wrists and a jail cell.
Damn his luck.
This time, the woman he’d saved was the daughter of a policeman. Whether that worked in Dag’s favor was yet to be seen. Magiens weren’t usually hauled in by regular law enforcement, but it sometimes happened in areas that didn’t have many magien enforcers. Dag had escaped up to Nova Scotia on purpose because this Region hadn’t been stable for a century until recently. He’d hoped that there wouldn’t be much of a magien presence, give him some breathing room.
No such luck, unfortunately. Despite not having jurisdiction over anything magical, the policemen in this area were well versed in magical law and quick to snap him up. He’d been hauled to this damp, small cell quickly enough but he’d also been fed, given a thick blanket to ward off the early spring chill, and hadn’t been beaten. All pluses. He’d take ‘em. He’d prefer, of course, a key to the cuffs and someone looking the other way for five minutes, but barring that, he’d take the nicer treatment.
Sighing, he let his eyes slip close, his head falling back to the cold stone wall he leaned against. He sat on the bed, squeaky metal structure that it was, because it was marginally warmer than the stone floor. Although with the way it creaked and groaned at even a deep breath, he feared it wouldn’t bear his weight much longer. Dag had to wonder, just how many times would it take of him ending up in a jail cell before he learned his lesson?
Mouth quirked in sardonic amusement, he answered himself honestly: At least once more.
The grating of a key in the iron door brought his head back up. The first man through was the father policeman, a nice enough man named Tremblay who had a bad liver from all the drinking. His square face looked hopeful, oddly enough, which in turn made Dag hopeful. Maybe he’d get that key and five minutes after all.
Then another man stepped in behind him. On the surface, a nondescript looking fellow. Rather short, skin like polished ebony, dark hair cropped close, thin frame, not particularly handsome, just average features with startling light brown eyes that looked nearly gold. He wore a very nice three-piece suit in a dark navy pinstripe with a white shirt that made him seem sharp, professional.
He scared the shit out of Dag.
Before he even registered what he was doing, Dag curled up tighter into the corner, pressing his back into the wall hard, subconsciously wishing he’d go right through it. What the hell was Tremblay thinking, bringing a magien in here?! Accusingly, he rasped at the policeman, “I save your daughter and grandchildren and this is the thanks I get? Go to hell, old man.”
The magien lifted both hands in a placating gesture. His voice was uncharacteristically deep and smooth for a man of his small stature. “I’m not here to harm you, I promise.”
Dag stared at him incredulously. “Right. I believe that. Next you’ll tell me the sun will stop in the sky and not rise tomorrow.”
A frown flickered over the magien’s face. “Why would you think I’d harm you?”
“Oh, I don’t know, because every other magien I’ve ever met has either scorned me or tried to strip me bare?” Dag shot back and truly, this man was giving him the willies. He’d never seen such a powerful magien, and Dag had travelled the length and breadth of the North American continent, he was no stranger to magiens. This average looking man would put most of them to shame just walking into the room. He could kill Dag outright and not leave a single ash behind as evidence.
“He’s not here to harm you,” Tremblay promised earnestly, hands and expression encouraging Dag to relax. “This is Magien Stefan Bjorne. He’s Magien of Nova Scotia.”
The reigning magical regent of Nova Scotia’s Region. Shit. This just got better and better. The magical world had leadership that worked hand in hand with a country’s governments. They ruled over anything magical, as the magiens of the world couldn’t be properly judged or contained by normal law. Magien of Nova Scotia was the equivalent of saying he was the Prime Minister. The only man higher than him in this Magical Region was Dominus Leif Anlaf, the ruler of this Region.
Shit on a stick. He literally had one of the most magically powerful men in the world in this cell with him. Under Dag’s terror was a glum realization that he likely wouldn’t survive the day. Poor Tremblay had signed his death warrant and didn’t even seem to realize it. Dag swallowed hard, feeling like a ball of iron spikes lodged in his throat.
From his leather briefcase Bjorne pulled out a white paper back with a logo on it and slowly held it out to Dag, advertising every move before he made it. Dag stared at it in confusion for a split second before the scent of baked pastries hit his nose. Then his stomach growled, loudly, and he flushed a little. Bodies were damn inconvenient sometimes. His eyes flicked up to those golden eyes and found Bjorne smiling at him sympathetically.
“I saw what you did, I figured you’d need more than just the meal they provide here,” Bjorne said encouragingly. “Eat these, and we’ll talk, alright?”
“Did we not feed you enough?” Tremblay asked in open concern.
“Magiens eat far more than the average man,” Bjorne explained patiently to the policeman. “It takes so much energy on our parts to work any sort of magic, and it has to come from somewhere. We eat three times the amount of even the largest man, and sleep twelve hours every night, just to keep up. After healing your daughter and grandchildren, it only makes sense he’s depleted of energy. He needs to eat.”
That was true enough. Dag’s stomach felt hollow as it gnawed on his own backbone. If the magien was offering food, he might not have ill intentions after all? If nothing else, Dag wouldn’t die hungry. He forced his terror aside and really looked at the magien. Huh. Nothing about him indicated an abusive man. Dag couldn’t look at someone and say ‘this is an axe murder’ or ‘this man’s guilty of smuggling’ but still, he could get a general sense of people by studying their life energy. The actions reflected on the spirit well enough, especially on the body housing that spirit. Nothing about this man indicated anything bad. In fact…he glowed brilliantly, like a burning city. Only part of that glow was because of the magic housed within his small frame.
He might regret it, but Dag’s eyes and gut sense said this man could be trusted. He gingerly uncurled and took the offered food. Even through the white bag, he could feel the heat, and realized the pastries were still warm. Unfolding it, he found three apple tarts, sprinkled with white sugar. Dag couldn’t help himself, he bit savagely into the first one, devouring it in three quick bites, then attacked the second two without pause.
Bjorne took advantage of his preoccupation to gingerly settle on the edge of the bed, keeping two feet in between them. Dag allowed this only because the man seemed genuinely anxious to not frighten Dag. He didn’t know what the man’s game was, but he recognized Bjorne wanted something, and he didn’t intend to harm Dag to get it. And that was a sight better than any other interaction he’d had with a magien.
The three pastries satisfied him, not enough, but it took the edge off. Dag folded the bag carefully and placed it on the thin mattress between them. Then he lifted his head and faced Bjorne squarely. “Thank you for the food.”
“You’re welcome,” Bjorne responded, eyes widening in slight surprise. He clearly didn’t expect such courtesy from Dag. “May I ask you some questions?”
Wow. Magien of a Region, and yet he still was polite instead of throwing his not insignificant political weight around? Bjorne was a rare breed. Then again, Dag had heard that Bjorne had only been in power here for two years. Maybe he’d not been in power long enough to be corrupted by it.
Dag had absolutely nothing to lose at this point and nodded permission.
“First may I have your name?”
Well. Not many people started there. “Dag.”
“Just Dag?” Bjorne questioned knowingly.
Sighing, Dag elaborated, “Dag Gates.”
“That…is an unusual name.”
Dag decided not to tell him that he’d been forced to name himself. “I know.”
Apparently realizing he wouldn’t get anything more, Bjorne accepted it with a nod and moved onto his next question. “Have you been tested for magical talent before?”
Ah, finally, the expected question. “Yes. I failed.”
Bjorne pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Did you.”
“Obviously,” Dag snapped at him, “otherwise I wouldn’t be going about healing people with no license.”
Not taking offense at his tone, Bjorne continued in that same thoughtful vein, “I took a look at Officer Tremblay’s daughter before coming here. That was exceptionally done healing on your part. I could barely tell that she’d been injured at all. In fact, under my eyes, I saw the last traces of her injury heal completely. If I hadn’t had very trustworthy witnesses saying that she’d been run over by a car, I wouldn’t believe she’d been in any danger today at all. Any magien attempting that sort of spellwork would be flat on their backs for the next three days, completely drained, and here you sit. Slightly hungry. And you’re telling me that you were tested for talent, failed, and discarded?” Bjorne’s voice didn’t raise in volume but it turned venomous and hard. “Please, do tell me the name of the rasshøl of a fool that made that mistake.”
Blinking, Dag took in the angry tension riding through that body and realized Bjorne was ready to bite someone’s head off. And it wasn’t his. Well, that’s a nice change. “Uh, Olafsson was his name.”
“Olafsson,” Bjorne repeated with despair. “Of course it was.”
“You, ah, know him?”
“Know him, curse him, wish I could bury an axe into his face.” Bjorne waved this away as inconsequential for the moment. “Can I ask what your limitations are?”
What was with this overly polite man? Dag didn’t know how to respond to him. Usually people used fists to get answers, not pastries and polite words. He glanced at Tremblay, trying to tell if this was normal behavior for the magien, and found Tremblay listening just as intently. He seemed to think a high ranking magien sitting on a criminal’s bed and feeding him pastries to be nothing out of the ordinary. And where was Bjorne from? Definitely not from Canada. The accent wasn’t thick, far from it, but the English words were slightly stilted. Scandinavian, maybe?
Again, Dag reasoned he had nothing to lose, he might as well answer. “I’ve got basically four restrictions on what I can heal. I can’t heal the dead, not even the most recent dead.”
Bjorne nodded with perfect understanding, which was a relief, as that was the one point that Dag seemed to have to argue the most with people. They seemed to think he could perform magical CPR on someone. It didn’t work like that at all. If they didn’t have any life energy for him to work with, there was nothing he could do.
“I can reattach limbs, but only within the first three or four hours,” Dag continued cautiously, as he still found this situation very strange. “After that, the limb deteriorates too much, its nearly impossible to attach correctly. I tried it once, the limb developed gangrene and fell off after about three weeks. Nothing I could do to stop it.”
Thin eyebrows shot directly into Bjorne’s hairline. “But you can attach them successfully, with no loss of function, if its within that four hour time frame? How draining is it for you?”
“Depends on how clean the wound is. A neat slice, not too much trouble. If the limb is crushed and needs its own healing, that’s trickier. I can do a few a day, but not many, it’s too draining.”
Bjorne choked on his own tongue. “You can do more than one a day?! How many can you heal in a day?”
Was it that unusual, what he could do? Dag had always been told his magic was inferior to a proper magien’s. He didn’t know what to think of Bjorne’s open astonishment. “Well, depends on what’s handed to me. You give me cases of internal injuries or infections, I can do maybe thirty? As long as I get enough to eat while…ah, you alright?”
Bjorne had both hands over his face, wheezing for breath. No, that wasn’t wheezing, he was swearing viciously, in a language that Dag’s ears couldn’t identify. It took a long minute before he could force his hands down, and even then he didn’t look calm, cheeks flushed with anger. “I’m not alright, but continue. What else can you not heal?”
“Ah, well, hereditary problems?” Dag answered slowly. There was something else going on here, some thread he didn’t see under the conversation, but damn if he could figure it out. “Say, if a person is born blind, or if a limb isn’t formed right in the womb, nothing I can do about that. I can’t grow what’s missing, just repair what’s injured. I can’t do much about mental illnesses, either. Poisons I can do, if I have enough time to work with. Quick acting poisons I generally can’t heal the body fast enough before their heart stops.”
Bjorne visibly reigned in his response, staying calm and in control, although the way his hands clenched and unclenched in his lap gave it away. “What else?”
“Uh, that’s it?” Dag splayed his hands in a shrug, as much as the cuffs would allow the movement. “I haven’t found any other limitations than those. Not that I’ve healed all that much—” lies, he’d healed plenty in the poorer sections, where people didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth too hard “—but that’s the extent I know of.”
“That’s it,” Bjorne repeated hoarsely. “That’s the extent of your limitations. And you can do thirty cases a day, provided it’s within that frame of limitations. That leaves an incredible amount of things that you can heal.”
Dag shrugged again. “Yes.”
“Alright, Gates, listen to me. I don’t know your history with magiens, but clearly you’ve only encountered narrow minded teitings that wouldn’t know talent when it bit them in the arse. I promise you I’m not of that ilk. You have, in fact, amazing talent. Talent we cannot equal. I need to see you in action. If you really can do everything that you’ve just outlined, then I can put in a petition today and get you a license.”
The words didn’t make any sense for a moment. They were too fantastical, something straight out of the childhood dreams that used to haunt Dag, before he knew better. Then they did make sense and it was his turn to choke on his own breath. “A license?”
“It will only be good here, in Nova Scotia,” Bjorne explained, tone apologetic, “and under my supervision, but at least here you can heal without violating any magien laws. I will of course work on getting you properly licensed outside of my Region it just will take more time.”
The only thing that Dag wanted was the chance to make a home for himself. He needed that license to get the chance, and if it was only good in this Region, he didn’t care. It was still a place he could put roots down in. He saw only one flaw to this plan. The magical Regions didn’t occupy the same borders as the countries in the world, but they did mimic them to some degree. He was not Canadian and frankly wasn’t sure if that would hamper Bjorne or not. Technically speaking, the Magien of a Region worked hand in hand with that country’s government, after all. They weren’t completely separate from it. “I’m, um, American though?”
“Are you? I thought your accent suggested such. It’s alright, we can still do it, it just means more paperwork.”
That sounded promising to Dag. He had nothing against Canada except it seemed to have far too much snow for his peace of mind. “What do you need me to do?”
“First,” Bjorne gestured toward the cuffs, “Officer Tremblay will remove those and put you into my custody. Then we’ll head straight for the nearest hospital and I will watch you in action for a few hours.”
Tremblay bent to unlock the cuffs and winked at Dag as he did it, as if to put any fears he entertained to rest. Dag appreciated the effort, as this whole situation was so different than anything else he’d experienced in the past seven years, he didn’t know what to make of it. He rubbed at his wrists, absently healing the bruises the iron had left on his skin.
Bjorne snapped out and caught his hand, eyes trained on his skin. “You can heal yourself?!”
“Well, yes,” Dag answered in confusion. “Of course. Life energy is life energy, mine or someone else’s, makes no difference.”
“It makes all the difference,” Bjorne disagreed incredulously. “Wait, explain to me exactly how your ability works. Do you just put a blanket spell on someone and trust your magic to heal them? Do you work on instinct?”
“Spell? Oh, you mean like magien spells.” Dag ruffled a hand at the back of his head, absently thinking he should get his hair cut soon. He’d not seen a mirror in some time, but he felt more than a little shaggy, what with his hair falling down over his ears. He tried not to focus on the hand still holding his because it felt deliciously warm. The only contact he had with people these days was during a healing, and it left him touch starved as a result. “I don’t use spells. I don’t have the training for it, and trust me, you don’t want me to sing. I can see a person’s life energy when I look at them and what I do is, I transfer some of my life energy into them and then I can manipulate their life force into healing the body as necessary.”
Bjorne sat there like a statue, not blinking, barely breathing. “You. What?”
“Transfer my life energy into them and then use it to heal them?” Dag repeated uncertainly. Had that not been clear? He didn’t know how else to explain it, though.
Abruptly, Bjorne bent over and put his head between his knees, just breathing.
“Ah…I take it I’m not supposed to do that?” Dag offered, staring in bemusement at that dark head.
“How are you not dead?” Bjorne demanded of his knees. Abruptly he lifted up again, repeating the demand as his voice rose an octave. “How are you not dead?! You’re perfectly healthy—well, you’re far too thin, you clearly haven’t been eating enough—but you’re using your own life energy to heal people and that shouldn’t be possible and, and….”
“I can’t actually do anything unless I transfer my energy to them, and its not much,” Dag answered the accusation. Was it an accusation?
“Show me,” Bjorne demanded, hopping to his feet. “I don’t think I’ll be able to wrap my head around this until you show me.”
That seemed reasonable enough. Dag swung his legs to the floor and gestured for the magien to lead the way. “After you.”
Dag stared at the grey walls of his cell and resisted the urge to sigh. If he started, he’d be at it for the next decade. He’d known, just known, that healing someone in this town would get him in trouble. Healing without a license always got him in trouble. He knew this. He really did. He just couldn’t seem to ignore the hopeless cases.
A pregnant woman bleeding out in front of him, that was pretty hopeless.
Looking into her frightened eyes, pleading for help, he couldn’t ignore her. Couldn’t ignore the twins she carried, the lives that were on the brink of winking out. So he’d stopped, he’d healed her, and his thanks for that? Iron cuffs on his wrists and a jail cell.
Damn his luck.
This time, the woman he’d saved was the daughter of a policeman. Whether that worked in Dag’s favor was yet to be seen. Magiens weren’t usually hauled in by regular law enforcement, but it sometimes happened in areas that didn’t have many magien enforcers. Dag had escaped up to Nova Scotia on purpose because this Region hadn’t been stable for a century until recently. He’d hoped that there wouldn’t be much of a magien presence, give him some breathing room.
No such luck, unfortunately. Despite not having jurisdiction over anything magical, the policemen in this area were well versed in magical law and quick to snap him up. He’d been hauled to this damp, small cell quickly enough but he’d also been fed, given a thick blanket to ward off the early spring chill, and hadn’t been beaten. All pluses. He’d take ‘em. He’d prefer, of course, a key to the cuffs and someone looking the other way for five minutes, but barring that, he’d take the nicer treatment.
Sighing, he let his eyes slip close, his head falling back to the cold stone wall he leaned against. He sat on the bed, squeaky metal structure that it was, because it was marginally warmer than the stone floor. Although with the way it creaked and groaned at even a deep breath, he feared it wouldn’t bear his weight much longer. Dag had to wonder, just how many times would it take of him ending up in a jail cell before he learned his lesson?
Mouth quirked in sardonic amusement, he answered himself honestly: At least once more.
The grating of a key in the iron door brought his head back up. The first man through was the father policeman, a nice enough man named Tremblay who had a bad liver from all the drinking. His square face looked hopeful, oddly enough, which in turn made Dag hopeful. Maybe he’d get that key and five minutes after all.
Then another man stepped in behind him. On the surface, a nondescript looking fellow. Rather short, skin like polished ebony, dark hair cropped close, thin frame, not particularly handsome, just average features with startling light brown eyes that looked nearly gold. He wore a very nice three-piece suit in a dark navy pinstripe with a white shirt that made him seem sharp, professional.
He scared the shit out of Dag.
Before he even registered what he was doing, Dag curled up tighter into the corner, pressing his back into the wall hard, subconsciously wishing he’d go right through it. What the hell was Tremblay thinking, bringing a magien in here?! Accusingly, he rasped at the policeman, “I save your daughter and grandchildren and this is the thanks I get? Go to hell, old man.”
The magien lifted both hands in a placating gesture. His voice was uncharacteristically deep and smooth for a man of his small stature. “I’m not here to harm you, I promise.”
Dag stared at him incredulously. “Right. I believe that. Next you’ll tell me the sun will stop in the sky and not rise tomorrow.”
A frown flickered over the magien’s face. “Why would you think I’d harm you?”
“Oh, I don’t know, because every other magien I’ve ever met has either scorned me or tried to strip me bare?” Dag shot back and truly, this man was giving him the willies. He’d never seen such a powerful magien, and Dag had travelled the length and breadth of the North American continent, he was no stranger to magiens. This average looking man would put most of them to shame just walking into the room. He could kill Dag outright and not leave a single ash behind as evidence.
“He’s not here to harm you,” Tremblay promised earnestly, hands and expression encouraging Dag to relax. “This is Magien Stefan Bjorne. He’s Magien of Nova Scotia.”
The reigning magical regent of Nova Scotia’s Region. Shit. This just got better and better. The magical world had leadership that worked hand in hand with a country’s governments. They ruled over anything magical, as the magiens of the world couldn’t be properly judged or contained by normal law. Magien of Nova Scotia was the equivalent of saying he was the Prime Minister. The only man higher than him in this Magical Region was Dominus Leif Anlaf, the ruler of this Region.
Shit on a stick. He literally had one of the most magically powerful men in the world in this cell with him. Under Dag’s terror was a glum realization that he likely wouldn’t survive the day. Poor Tremblay had signed his death warrant and didn’t even seem to realize it. Dag swallowed hard, feeling like a ball of iron spikes lodged in his throat.
From his leather briefcase Bjorne pulled out a white paper back with a logo on it and slowly held it out to Dag, advertising every move before he made it. Dag stared at it in confusion for a split second before the scent of baked pastries hit his nose. Then his stomach growled, loudly, and he flushed a little. Bodies were damn inconvenient sometimes. His eyes flicked up to those golden eyes and found Bjorne smiling at him sympathetically.
“I saw what you did, I figured you’d need more than just the meal they provide here,” Bjorne said encouragingly. “Eat these, and we’ll talk, alright?”
“Did we not feed you enough?” Tremblay asked in open concern.
“Magiens eat far more than the average man,” Bjorne explained patiently to the policeman. “It takes so much energy on our parts to work any sort of magic, and it has to come from somewhere. We eat three times the amount of even the largest man, and sleep twelve hours every night, just to keep up. After healing your daughter and grandchildren, it only makes sense he’s depleted of energy. He needs to eat.”
That was true enough. Dag’s stomach felt hollow as it gnawed on his own backbone. If the magien was offering food, he might not have ill intentions after all? If nothing else, Dag wouldn’t die hungry. He forced his terror aside and really looked at the magien. Huh. Nothing about him indicated an abusive man. Dag couldn’t look at someone and say ‘this is an axe murder’ or ‘this man’s guilty of smuggling’ but still, he could get a general sense of people by studying their life energy. The actions reflected on the spirit well enough, especially on the body housing that spirit. Nothing about this man indicated anything bad. In fact…he glowed brilliantly, like a burning city. Only part of that glow was because of the magic housed within his small frame.
He might regret it, but Dag’s eyes and gut sense said this man could be trusted. He gingerly uncurled and took the offered food. Even through the white bag, he could feel the heat, and realized the pastries were still warm. Unfolding it, he found three apple tarts, sprinkled with white sugar. Dag couldn’t help himself, he bit savagely into the first one, devouring it in three quick bites, then attacked the second two without pause.
Bjorne took advantage of his preoccupation to gingerly settle on the edge of the bed, keeping two feet in between them. Dag allowed this only because the man seemed genuinely anxious to not frighten Dag. He didn’t know what the man’s game was, but he recognized Bjorne wanted something, and he didn’t intend to harm Dag to get it. And that was a sight better than any other interaction he’d had with a magien.
The three pastries satisfied him, not enough, but it took the edge off. Dag folded the bag carefully and placed it on the thin mattress between them. Then he lifted his head and faced Bjorne squarely. “Thank you for the food.”
“You’re welcome,” Bjorne responded, eyes widening in slight surprise. He clearly didn’t expect such courtesy from Dag. “May I ask you some questions?”
Wow. Magien of a Region, and yet he still was polite instead of throwing his not insignificant political weight around? Bjorne was a rare breed. Then again, Dag had heard that Bjorne had only been in power here for two years. Maybe he’d not been in power long enough to be corrupted by it.
Dag had absolutely nothing to lose at this point and nodded permission.
“First may I have your name?”
Well. Not many people started there. “Dag.”
“Just Dag?” Bjorne questioned knowingly.
Sighing, Dag elaborated, “Dag Gates.”
“That…is an unusual name.”
Dag decided not to tell him that he’d been forced to name himself. “I know.”
Apparently realizing he wouldn’t get anything more, Bjorne accepted it with a nod and moved onto his next question. “Have you been tested for magical talent before?”
Ah, finally, the expected question. “Yes. I failed.”
Bjorne pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Did you.”
“Obviously,” Dag snapped at him, “otherwise I wouldn’t be going about healing people with no license.”
Not taking offense at his tone, Bjorne continued in that same thoughtful vein, “I took a look at Officer Tremblay’s daughter before coming here. That was exceptionally done healing on your part. I could barely tell that she’d been injured at all. In fact, under my eyes, I saw the last traces of her injury heal completely. If I hadn’t had very trustworthy witnesses saying that she’d been run over by a car, I wouldn’t believe she’d been in any danger today at all. Any magien attempting that sort of spellwork would be flat on their backs for the next three days, completely drained, and here you sit. Slightly hungry. And you’re telling me that you were tested for talent, failed, and discarded?” Bjorne’s voice didn’t raise in volume but it turned venomous and hard. “Please, do tell me the name of the rasshøl of a fool that made that mistake.”
Blinking, Dag took in the angry tension riding through that body and realized Bjorne was ready to bite someone’s head off. And it wasn’t his. Well, that’s a nice change. “Uh, Olafsson was his name.”
“Olafsson,” Bjorne repeated with despair. “Of course it was.”
“You, ah, know him?”
“Know him, curse him, wish I could bury an axe into his face.” Bjorne waved this away as inconsequential for the moment. “Can I ask what your limitations are?”
What was with this overly polite man? Dag didn’t know how to respond to him. Usually people used fists to get answers, not pastries and polite words. He glanced at Tremblay, trying to tell if this was normal behavior for the magien, and found Tremblay listening just as intently. He seemed to think a high ranking magien sitting on a criminal’s bed and feeding him pastries to be nothing out of the ordinary. And where was Bjorne from? Definitely not from Canada. The accent wasn’t thick, far from it, but the English words were slightly stilted. Scandinavian, maybe?
Again, Dag reasoned he had nothing to lose, he might as well answer. “I’ve got basically four restrictions on what I can heal. I can’t heal the dead, not even the most recent dead.”
Bjorne nodded with perfect understanding, which was a relief, as that was the one point that Dag seemed to have to argue the most with people. They seemed to think he could perform magical CPR on someone. It didn’t work like that at all. If they didn’t have any life energy for him to work with, there was nothing he could do.
“I can reattach limbs, but only within the first three or four hours,” Dag continued cautiously, as he still found this situation very strange. “After that, the limb deteriorates too much, its nearly impossible to attach correctly. I tried it once, the limb developed gangrene and fell off after about three weeks. Nothing I could do to stop it.”
Thin eyebrows shot directly into Bjorne’s hairline. “But you can attach them successfully, with no loss of function, if its within that four hour time frame? How draining is it for you?”
“Depends on how clean the wound is. A neat slice, not too much trouble. If the limb is crushed and needs its own healing, that’s trickier. I can do a few a day, but not many, it’s too draining.”
Bjorne choked on his own tongue. “You can do more than one a day?! How many can you heal in a day?”
Was it that unusual, what he could do? Dag had always been told his magic was inferior to a proper magien’s. He didn’t know what to think of Bjorne’s open astonishment. “Well, depends on what’s handed to me. You give me cases of internal injuries or infections, I can do maybe thirty? As long as I get enough to eat while…ah, you alright?”
Bjorne had both hands over his face, wheezing for breath. No, that wasn’t wheezing, he was swearing viciously, in a language that Dag’s ears couldn’t identify. It took a long minute before he could force his hands down, and even then he didn’t look calm, cheeks flushed with anger. “I’m not alright, but continue. What else can you not heal?”
“Ah, well, hereditary problems?” Dag answered slowly. There was something else going on here, some thread he didn’t see under the conversation, but damn if he could figure it out. “Say, if a person is born blind, or if a limb isn’t formed right in the womb, nothing I can do about that. I can’t grow what’s missing, just repair what’s injured. I can’t do much about mental illnesses, either. Poisons I can do, if I have enough time to work with. Quick acting poisons I generally can’t heal the body fast enough before their heart stops.”
Bjorne visibly reigned in his response, staying calm and in control, although the way his hands clenched and unclenched in his lap gave it away. “What else?”
“Uh, that’s it?” Dag splayed his hands in a shrug, as much as the cuffs would allow the movement. “I haven’t found any other limitations than those. Not that I’ve healed all that much—” lies, he’d healed plenty in the poorer sections, where people didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth too hard “—but that’s the extent I know of.”
“That’s it,” Bjorne repeated hoarsely. “That’s the extent of your limitations. And you can do thirty cases a day, provided it’s within that frame of limitations. That leaves an incredible amount of things that you can heal.”
Dag shrugged again. “Yes.”
“Alright, Gates, listen to me. I don’t know your history with magiens, but clearly you’ve only encountered narrow minded teitings that wouldn’t know talent when it bit them in the arse. I promise you I’m not of that ilk. You have, in fact, amazing talent. Talent we cannot equal. I need to see you in action. If you really can do everything that you’ve just outlined, then I can put in a petition today and get you a license.”
The words didn’t make any sense for a moment. They were too fantastical, something straight out of the childhood dreams that used to haunt Dag, before he knew better. Then they did make sense and it was his turn to choke on his own breath. “A license?”
“It will only be good here, in Nova Scotia,” Bjorne explained, tone apologetic, “and under my supervision, but at least here you can heal without violating any magien laws. I will of course work on getting you properly licensed outside of my Region it just will take more time.”
The only thing that Dag wanted was the chance to make a home for himself. He needed that license to get the chance, and if it was only good in this Region, he didn’t care. It was still a place he could put roots down in. He saw only one flaw to this plan. The magical Regions didn’t occupy the same borders as the countries in the world, but they did mimic them to some degree. He was not Canadian and frankly wasn’t sure if that would hamper Bjorne or not. Technically speaking, the Magien of a Region worked hand in hand with that country’s government, after all. They weren’t completely separate from it. “I’m, um, American though?”
“Are you? I thought your accent suggested such. It’s alright, we can still do it, it just means more paperwork.”
That sounded promising to Dag. He had nothing against Canada except it seemed to have far too much snow for his peace of mind. “What do you need me to do?”
“First,” Bjorne gestured toward the cuffs, “Officer Tremblay will remove those and put you into my custody. Then we’ll head straight for the nearest hospital and I will watch you in action for a few hours.”
Tremblay bent to unlock the cuffs and winked at Dag as he did it, as if to put any fears he entertained to rest. Dag appreciated the effort, as this whole situation was so different than anything else he’d experienced in the past seven years, he didn’t know what to make of it. He rubbed at his wrists, absently healing the bruises the iron had left on his skin.
Bjorne snapped out and caught his hand, eyes trained on his skin. “You can heal yourself?!”
“Well, yes,” Dag answered in confusion. “Of course. Life energy is life energy, mine or someone else’s, makes no difference.”
“It makes all the difference,” Bjorne disagreed incredulously. “Wait, explain to me exactly how your ability works. Do you just put a blanket spell on someone and trust your magic to heal them? Do you work on instinct?”
“Spell? Oh, you mean like magien spells.” Dag ruffled a hand at the back of his head, absently thinking he should get his hair cut soon. He’d not seen a mirror in some time, but he felt more than a little shaggy, what with his hair falling down over his ears. He tried not to focus on the hand still holding his because it felt deliciously warm. The only contact he had with people these days was during a healing, and it left him touch starved as a result. “I don’t use spells. I don’t have the training for it, and trust me, you don’t want me to sing. I can see a person’s life energy when I look at them and what I do is, I transfer some of my life energy into them and then I can manipulate their life force into healing the body as necessary.”
Bjorne sat there like a statue, not blinking, barely breathing. “You. What?”
“Transfer my life energy into them and then use it to heal them?” Dag repeated uncertainly. Had that not been clear? He didn’t know how else to explain it, though.
Abruptly, Bjorne bent over and put his head between his knees, just breathing.
“Ah…I take it I’m not supposed to do that?” Dag offered, staring in bemusement at that dark head.
“How are you not dead?” Bjorne demanded of his knees. Abruptly he lifted up again, repeating the demand as his voice rose an octave. “How are you not dead?! You’re perfectly healthy—well, you’re far too thin, you clearly haven’t been eating enough—but you’re using your own life energy to heal people and that shouldn’t be possible and, and….”
“I can’t actually do anything unless I transfer my energy to them, and its not much,” Dag answered the accusation. Was it an accusation?
“Show me,” Bjorne demanded, hopping to his feet. “I don’t think I’ll be able to wrap my head around this until you show me.”
That seemed reasonable enough. Dag swung his legs to the floor and gestured for the magien to lead the way. “After you.”