David turned the jar of ointment slowly in his hands. The glass caught the afternoon light, throwing pale reflections across his fingers. It was an alchemical healing paste that did something with mana, but it also could cause the blackening and rot of the wound on Lillie's chest.

  As far as he knew, Lillie wasn’t a magic user like his mom. If her wounds were normal before Mom put the ointment on them, then the rot had to be from the ointment. Maybe she was too wounded to survive anyway? Or maybe Mom used too much. He would have to be careful and stop at the right moment.

  Through the window, he saw mom outside, muttering to herself and sorting through the herbs. He'd never questioned it before, but why was she the only alchemist in the village? Why did they live in a frontier village in the first place?

  He wiped his sweaty palms on his shirt and laid a folded cloth on the table, opened the jar and dipped his finger in the cold and slimy ointment. Nothing happened, so he swirled his finger around and started counting seconds. After a short while, his finger began prickling like tiny needles were biting into his skin. Was that mana or just the ointment doing what it was supposed to do?

  He pulled his finger out and cleaned it on the cloth, then realized he'd lost count of how many seconds his finger was in the ointment. Somewhere between thirty and sixty. He didn’t know why he had the urge to count it in the first place, but it felt like the right thing to do.

  David tried again, dipping each finger of his other hand into the ointment, then removing them one at a time and quickly wiping each clean. He started with twenty-five seconds and went down by five, creating a scale to track the feeling.

  Mom always said mana follows will, and he never understood what she was talking about, but perhaps that nugget of information was the key. The prickling was the strongest on the first finger and the sensation only grew more intense when he focused on it. There wasn’t much to go off of, but focused on each part of his prickling skin in turn. The finger that had only been in the ointment for five seconds, a finger he hadn’t felt anything from earlier, tingled. More akin to feathers brushing his skin than the usual needles. It was delicate, almost imperceptible, but when he focused, he could sense it better. It had to be mana.

  “I'm sorry I snapped at you,” Mom said from the doorway.

  David flinched, shoved the ointment behind his back and turned to face her, trying to close the jar without looking and without dropping it.

  She walked over and brushed his cheek. “I'm just too stressed about tomorrow.”

  “Me too,” David said, slipping the jar into his pocket while her attention was on his face.

  She nodded. “But we'll be fine. We always are.”

  “I’m going to take a walk, okay?” The words came out rushed, too eager, but she didn't seem to notice.

  “Of course, sweetie. Just be back in time for dinner.”

  She went to the kitchen and table and pulled some root vegetables from a sack. David waited for her to start cutting; then grabbed a handful of bandages from the shelf and stuffed them into another pocket. Just in case. He hurried out the door and walked down the road, passed the village square, and circled around behind a big tree near the palisade.

  Beyond the tree, at the far edge of the village, the palisade connected to about fifty meters of dirt fortifications, parts of which were still loose and crumbling, with logs half-buried at awkward angles. A few villagers were working to expand the earthworks.

  “Used to be just goblins,” an older man said as he shoveled. “Little shits.”

  “Right? The boarmen are just too much.” Another man paused to wipe sweat from his face. “Ehh. Goddess damn them all.”

  “Chins up, boys,” a heavyset woman chimed in. “Trust in Brenn. Two years on the earthwork, and we'll know peace again.”

  They didn't seem to notice David under the tree. He took out the ointment jar and opened it, dipped the 5-second finger into it, to refresh the sensation and wiped it on the cool, sharp grass. Then he focused on the faint prickling. Assuming that prickling really came from mana, how could he use it? Did he have to draw it in somehow?

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  The ointment was probably not safe to eat, and the prickling remained only where his skin touched the slimy substance. Mana follows will… he recalled mom’s words yet again. He brought the finger so close to his eyes that it became blurry, and imagined the sensation creep up his skin. The prickling spread up his finger and quickly faded. He still wasn’t sure what he did, exactly, but the result was just like he wanted.

  Mom probably didn’t go around dipping her hands into magical materials each time she wanted to use mana, though. So, where did the mana come from, originally? Mom could perform alchemy seemingly anywhere, so it had to be everywhere. Was it in the air?

  If it was, there would be much less of it, otherwise his whole body would prickle constantly. He imagined the tiny, prickly droplets of ointment suspended in the air like moisture. Then he breathed in deeply, sucking in those invisible droplets.

  Nothing happened. He tried again, imagining those invisible droplets entering his lungs as he breathed. His chest grew warmer and a weird pressure pushed against his lungs, like a tiny ball forming inside him.

  Tired, like after a jog, he took a deeper breath and held it, imagining the ball growing. His chest expanded and the ball grew hotter. If the prickling he'd experienced on his skin was many tiny droplets, this was a fist-sized ball of scalding-hot water under his ribs.

  His whole body began to shake. He thought he might explode. The ball pushed through his chest toward his skin, bringing the heat and pain with it. David gasped, clutching his chest. Finally, the ball of mana reached his skin. Erupted through it.

  He collapsed onto the grass, trembling. His whole body was numb, pins and needles from his chest to his fingertips.

  He yanked up his shirt. In the middle of his chest was a big red bruise, the size of a grownup’s fist, with a tiny, bloody cut in the middle. What happened? He looked around to make sure no one was watching him. Then he reached for the ointment again but stopped himself. Treating a wound that came from mana with more mana would be reckless. He stared at the bruise, expecting it to turn black and rot any second, like what happened to Lillie. But it didn’t. The bruise remained just red and painful. Not life-threatening. Probably.

  David lay under the tree, trying to make sense of it. The bleeding slowed to a trickle, and he took the bandage from his pocket and pressed it against the cut. After longer consideration, maybe this wasn't something he should figure out on his own. He could do himself real harm.

  He had to convince Mom to help him learn. The people working on the fortifications were already gone. The sky was near dark, the massive planet a dark silhouette.

  He staggered to his feet, wrapped his chest in bandages, then started home. Villagers were returning to their huts. A large pile of movable barricades was stacked under the tannery's overhang, ready for the next day.

  When he got home, he took a deep breath at the door, and tried to seem normal. He opened the door and the smell of cooked boraks and burning animal fat wafted from the hut. Dad was sitting at the table, picking at a piece of flatbread, tearing it into small pieces as he ate. Mom was at the fireplace, stirring a pot of soup, her hands just a bit shaky. Everyone was too tense to pay close attention to him.

  “Where have you been?” Dad asked finally. “You're walking funny. Is your fever coming back?”

  “N-no,” David said. “I met with Alicja and we lost track of time.”

  Dad grunted, seemingly satisfied.

  Mom poured three bowls of soup and set them on the table. David sat down carefully, hunched forward so his shirt wouldn't show bandages underneath. The borak soup was steaming hot. The heat scorched his throat and pulsed through the wound in his chest. He stopped himself from wincing and lifted the too-light spoon again to his lips.

  The purplish-red vegetable was a staple of their diet. It was sweet and starchy, with acidic undertones that made his tongue tingle… when all the flavor wasn't boiled out of it.

  “I'm glad you're starting to feel better,” his mom said, watching him eat with a soft smile. “We could really use your help.”

  Dad grunted, not looking up from his bowl. “I can always use a hand at the forge.”

  “I'll do my best,” David nodded. The forge wasn’t as interesting as alchemy, but he was in no position to argue.

  After dinner, Dad grabbed a shortsword from a box by the wall and began sharpening it with a whetstone, his jaw tight and his shoulders tense. The scraping sound merged with the crackling of the fire. Only now did it occur to him, that his parents were behaving oddly. Dad’s stress was understandable since he’d be fighting the next day, but Mom wasn’t one to lose composure.

  “Why are you so worried?” David asked, staring at the table's worn surface. “You weren’t last month.”

  “Darryl found some weird trails—” Dad mumbled.

  “Bert!” Mom interrupted him. “It’s nothing, sweetie.” She walked over and brushed his hair back from his forehead. “It's time for bed. You too, Bert.”

  Dad shrugged, stood and squeezed her shoulder. Then they both started changing into their nightclothes.

  David admired his dad’s muscular build, his broad shoulders and thick arms toned by years at the forge. It made David feel just a bit more safe.

  “Sleep well, sweetie.” Mom tucked David into his bed and pulled the fur pelt up to his chin. She kissed his forehead and whispered, “Everything will be alright.” But her voice was trembling.

  David lay awake long after she'd blown out the candles. Each monthly Long Night left behind many wounded, some dead, and he knew Mom just didn’t want him to be scared… He was way too old for her to coddle him like that.

  Then he felt the prickling again. He hadn’t even done anything, but it covered his whole body snug and warm, like a million tiny feathers touching his skin.