Otherbound

9

Nolan had been fading in and out during his history test, worried about Amara, squirming at all the names of dead people listed on the quiz, and—Whoever’s causing this will catch on and try again.

Nolan sat near the back of the classroom, by the window, and stared uncomprehendingly at the road stretching away from the school. A breeze swept sand across the blazing asphalt.

Jorn knew about the blackouts. Was working with the ministers. And—

Whoever’s causing this will catch on and try again.

They were talking about Nolan. Had to be. He’d thought he was dependent on Amara’s blackouts to take control, but did Ruudde’s words mean it was the other way around? What if the blackouts were his doing—Nolan piggybacking on whatever connection Amara’s faulty magic had established and using it instead of letting it use him? She’d suspected her panic had activated the blackouts, but Nolan had panicked just as much as she had.

All around him, pencils scratched on paper. Chairs scraped against the floor. Nolan looked at the classroom, dazed, then at the near-blank quiz on his desk.

“I have to—go,” he blurted. Before Ms. Suarez could answer, he was on his feet, weaving between desks.

You Ok? Luisa mouthed as he passed. They’d done a project together that winter. She either liked him or felt sorry for him—Nolan couldn’t tell which—but they hadn’t talked in weeks, so it wasn’t as if he could find out. He didn’t answer, his mind stuck on Ruudde’s words. If he could control Amara, he could talk to Maart and leave a message. She’d finally know he existed.

“Nolan,” Ms. Suarez said sharply. “I thought your doctor’s appointment wasn’t until later. This is not how—”

“I’m sorry. I’ll be right outside. I just need to …” He stumbled into the hallway and shut the door behind him, muffling Ms. Suarez’s voice. She wouldn’t follow him. She’d tell the principal, who’d contact his parents, who’d say he had a seizure, and that was that. He walked straight to the lockers across the hall, then lowered himself to the ground, the movement flaking off rusty metal behind him—

—Amara was still gathering firewood. Her thoughts raced as much as his, repeating the conversation she’d heard over and over. She didn’t understand half of it. She honed in on what she did understand: that Jorn knew about her blackouts, and that if they continued, he’d bring her back to Bedam. They were close by. It’d only take hours.

And what would happen there?

For all Amara’s thoughts, at least her world was quiet, and her only pain came from splinters and bark scrapes that healed straightaway. That made it easier for Nolan to concentrate.

Move, he thought, staring at her hands searching the forest ground. I need to do this. I did before. If you’ll just—move—

—over one of the classroom doors hung a clock, and Nolan couldn’t help measuring time. Ten minutes. Twenty. He hadn’t moved Amara even an inch. He brushed off a passing teacher’s concern, ignored two juniors staring at his exposed prosthesis.

It wasn’t working.

The door to Ms. Suarez’s classroom opened, and Sarah Schneider stepped out. Her eyes flitted to the bathrooms down the hall, then to him. “You all right? You were in kind of a hurry.”

“Sick.” Nolan had been in a hurry. He hadn’t even stopped to think of an excuse.

“Sick as in, bwaagh, meet my lunch? Or sick as in …” Sarah gestured vaguely. “Seizure?”

“I’m always having seizures,” Nolan said, suddenly tight-voiced. Too tight. Sarah didn’t deserve that. By now, it’d been thirty minutes of nothing but sitting and pushing his way into the Dunelands. Nothing was happening. Slowly, he let his lungs deflate. “Sorry. I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Huh.” Sarah shuffled her feet, as if she wanted to leave but wasn’t sure how. “Those small ones … Luisa said they happen every time you blink?”

“Not every blink,” Nolan lied. “But often.”

“Freaky.”

“People can have hundreds of seizures a day. It’s on Wikipedia.” Nolan couldn’t have people disbelieving him. If anyone realized he didn’t have epilepsy, they’d want to put him through testing that Dad’s insurance didn’t cover, and his parents would pay for it, anyway, no matter how far in debt they already were after all the prostheses and custom shoes and those damn pills.

“And Wikipedia never lies, right?” Sarah looked slightly more at ease.

“Never.” Nolan smiled wanly, his mind still on Amara—who was headed back to the granary as thunderclouds met overhead. Magic backlash, she was sure of it—and tried to pay attention to Sarah, instead. He wasn’t used to this. Whenever people made rare, awkward attempts at small talk, they avoided mentioning the seizures or his leg. Sarah didn’t seem bothered. She didn’t even seem curious, like some of the freshmen who sometimes walked up and gaped; she seemed interested. Nolan went on despite himself. “The small seizures happen most of the time. The big ones come every few weeks or months.” Whenever Cilla hurt herself. Whenever Jorn got angry.

“Wow. Sucks.”

“I can’t complain. I’m safe as long as I’m careful.” He hesitated. “Other people have it much worse.”

“Safe,” she repeated. It had to be an odd choice of words. “And you feel them coming?”

“Yeah. It’s called an aura.”

“Cool. I’ll definitely check out that Wiki page.” Sarah gave a half-assed salute. “Gotta go, or Suarez will bite my head off.” She jogged off before Nolan could answer. He watched her leave, and only when she disappeared into the girls’ bathroom did he realize this was the longest conversation he’d had with a classmate in weeks.

The thought should excite him or bother him—he didn’t know which. He felt neither. That bothered him. He grimaced, rubbed a hand across his face, and returned to the Dunelands.

“The pills aren’t working.” The sooner he stopped wasting his parents’ money, the better.

“It’s a little early to determine that. This medication can take months to take effect.” Dr. Campbell was used to Nolan by now. He’d told her the same thing a dozen times in the past few years. Next, she’d tell him not to give up hope, that all these medications were different and who knew what he’d end up responding to, and he’d sit in that plush chair in her office and try not to let his doctor-smiles turn into doctor-grimaces. He’d heard the exact same thing from Dad the day before, and he was tired beyond anything—

—by now the storm was in full swing, thunder tearing through the skies—

“—a positive attitude. You’d be surprised how much difference it makes.”

“Of course.” Smile. Don’t forget to smile. “You’re right.”

“Any side effects?” Dr. Campbell studied something on her bulky iMac, then wiped at a smudge with her thumb. “We can adjust the dosage if they’re bothering you. Your blood levels came back within therapeutic ranges, but there’s wiggle room.”

“Headaches. Tired. The usual.”

“Any behavioral changes? Nausea? You’ve always been prone to that.”

“It’s fine.” Nolan hesitated. Yesterday’s tryst with the toilet had been his own damn fault, but Dad had said to tell her. “I threw up yesterday. I’m OK now. I just messed up on the dosage, and …” His breath caught.

Sarah Schneider had been right: he’d been in too much of a hurry. Throwing himself into the Dunelands wouldn’t do any good. He’d just figured he could finally do something—but he should’ve paused, should’ve thought.

Why the blackouts now? What had changed?

Two doses too close together. That was what had changed.

This time nothing about Nolan’s smile was faked. “I think,” he said, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears, high-pitched and unusually fast, “yes, thinking back, maybe I had less seizures after that. After I took the extra dose.” He kept his eyes wide open. He didn’t want Amara to yank him back in now. He studied Dr. Campbell’s face for a reaction, something in her eyes, her mouth, to show she believed him.

He had to sound convincing. He licked his too-dry lips. “I might be wrong. I’m probably imagining it. I don’t want to …”

“No, this is good, Nolan. This is great! It’s the first time we’re seeing a difference.”

Nolan had swallowed a pill at lunch, just an hour ago. The moment he stepped out of the doctor’s office, a grin growing on his face, he slung his backpack around to his front and hunted for another.