Page 182 of Serpent and Shadow

Soon it was burning.

Not long after that, he had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out.

He continued to watch his friend’s eyes, his face and jaw tightening as he fought to control his reactions to the metal searing his skin.

It got hotter.

And hotter.

He could smell his own flesh burning.

He started panting, his whole body tense and clenched as he gripped Jolie and Arcturus’s hands in each of his. He could feel one of them, Arcturus, he was pretty sure, trying to free his fingers at one point. Caelum wouldn’t let him go. He knew, somehow, the kid wasn’t doing it for himself, and Caelum knew this was their only chance.

They had to do it now. It was now, or it wouldn’t happen. If they failed this time, he wouldn’t be able to get there in time. He would be too late.

He grew dimly aware of Arcturus’s voice as he shouted from next to him.

“STOP!” he cried out. “STOP DOING IT! IT’S KILLING HIM!”

Caelum heard the words as if through a long, dark tunnel.

He heard them even as he began to fall.

He fell and fell… like the story Leda had told him once, of a girl and a white rabbit with a pocket watch, both of them falling and falling and falling down a hole and through the world.

He snapped awake.

Gasping. Sucking in lungfuls of damp, musky, and moldy smelling air. He recognized more spells this time, though, the comforting smells of straw, animal hides, sweet grain, and warm breaths.

A groan left his lips and throat before he could even see where he was.

Hands held him on four or five sides, different-sized hands, none of them hurting him. Voices echoed up a high ceiling and walls, but it didn’t sound like stone, or not entirely like stone. It was a few seconds more before he could make sense of what they were saying.

“…oh, thank God he’s alive…” a female voice said, her voice filled with worry and what might have been tears. “…look at his throat… God, look at it… is there any way to do more for him?”

“I don’t have my bag with me,” a different, sad-sounding voice replied. “I did all my magic can do… we’ll need to bring him to a healer, if he’ll let us.”

“No,” Bones said thickly.

“Are his eyes even open,” Joran scoffed. “Is he arguing with us while unconscious?”

“His eyes are open,” a male voice with an Irish accent said. “Can he see us, I wonder?”

Fingers gripped Caelum’s, squeezed gently. “Cal.” The kid’s voice. “Cal? Can you hear us? Wake up. You were the one griping about how we needed to go.”

Caelum struggled to move his throat, to speak. It felt like his windpipe had been crushed. Yet his neck and throat, strangely, also felt light.

His mind circled around that, hope and disbelief warring in his chest.

“Is it off?” he managed to gasp out.

His voice sounded so hoarse, he barely recognized it.

From their silence, he doubted they’d understood him.

He tried to clear his throat, but it burned so badly, he grimaced. He fought to swallow, but couldn’t really manage that, either.

“Is it off?” he tried again, hoarse.