All Chapters of Foundling: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

Pain rooted him to the bed. His gut churned. Gathering the moisture from her tears, he made it hard, cold, a slap of ice. She jerked back. There was slack given to his braids. The pain lessened, and the two ponytails slid from her loosened grip.He wrapped himself again in shadow and silence and went to escape through the door, but she would not allow it. The door was reinforced from opening by ki, and fire flicked across the walls pull wrenching him from shadow.Though she had not been unveiled, her capacity to use ki was greater than his, and there was no way he could overcome her with that.“The others will be here soon.”“Do you wish to see blood spilled!” he implored.“Do you wish to spill blood!” she demanded.He could feel them, the weight of them, of their minds, closing in. The blanket burst into shreds, and with a thought she slammed the door shut. Hunter just barely stopped himself from slamming into it. He was starting to panic. He could feel a cluster of minds comin

Hunter moved quickly and surely, avoiding some, giving signs of himself to divert others from his true objective, and when he had been trapped, every arrow that had landed he had felt their pain as a palpable blow, but he would not allow that empathy to overwhelm him.He wanted to scream his frustration, cut the ache from his heart. He had come to honor the discipline and teachings of the School, the values it espoused, its objectives and goals for the New Land. Now, all that was now lost to him. He was pariah, murderer, his life forfeit, and, worst of all, he had lost his friends. His plan was simple: make it to the valley. Once he got there, he could elude his pursuers. His only concern was Poe and the wards that bound his powers. He did not want to hurt anyone else, have more blood laid at his feet, but he would not be captured.Then a wave, more a wall, of emotions welled up from within him. It was frightening, disconcerting, how they strung him, keyed him, dampened him, doubled

He smelled them before he came upon them. Clustered, marbled scents packed together. He could parse some scents from the herd but not all. Hunter used his remaining ki to give the mirage substance and texture as he had before and sent it forth like a bird on wing. Only this bird’s wings grew and swelled, and with each flap the light in the corridors retreated. Even Hunter was blinded by this casting, but he smelt their perspiration, heard rustling cloth, felt hot breath.The onrush shocked the hall, hit them with a blow the weight enough to knock wind from lungs and in that moment something cold and detached lit those purple eyes with a fervor not to be resisted. Dispassionately, heartlessly, Hunter disabled with blows that broke arms, legs, hips. Pain disrupted concentration, retarded pursuit, hindered the enemy, reduced numbers. Screams erupted.Past them Hunter took up a heavy cloak and was through the door, into the courtyard. He would need it until his body adapted, his old self

From most of the Magi in the stalls, there were only hard-eyed stares and very little sympathy. In a few, there was compassion and consideration. In others doubt and uncertainty, but would that uncertainty outweigh the pressure to find Hunter fully accountable. There had to be a full consensus, and one dissenter would impede judgement. If there were one dissenter, only his ability would be severed, and he would not slain. That delay could also allow for further investigation of Hunter’s claim that he had been attacked in some manner. Hunter gave one last attempt.“All that I ask is an investigation of the truth of my claim. It has to do with the seat of my home.” Hunter looked to Poe sitting in front of him. “The rift. There, find the truth.”The mask waivered, and Poe frowned for only Hunter to see. Too late, though, as murmuring took up root in the gallery and began to spread.The Magister’s stern baritone halted its spread. “Is there any who will speak for Hunter?” he asked, gaze

Everything Hunter had attained was all for naught. He was once again that strange, fey youth of the soulless eyes, different, a great unknown synonymous with the mystery and opportunity afforded by this land.“You are none of those things.”“How am I not, Master Poe?” The sadness and hopeless despair in Hunter’s voice became light, nostalgic. “You are the closet to being able to share, to feel the heart of a thing.”“Only through you Hunter.”“No. I think that is who are. Have ever been. Tete once shared the thought of it.”That struck them both. It was the first time Hunter had spoken of his den mate in several years.“A useless gift.”Hunter knew his Master did not mean it. It was a jab at something beyond them both.“No gift is useless. So it is said.”“If used to appropriate ends.”“So it is preached.”Contrary to the note of despair permeating every vine of conscience and unconscious thought, the mood had shifted to something light, less daring.“I did not think it to end so soon