Free The Inner Circle: The Knowing by Cael McIntosh Page B

respond he continued. ‘There will be
consequences for this.’ He jabbed a finger at her. ‘Get Seteal to
bed. I’ll go down and try to clean up your mess.’
    Far-a-mael turned and left the
room in disgust. Such foolishness was to be expected from the likes
of Seteal, but El-i-miir should’ve known better than to befriend a
whisp-mutated animal. If Far-a-mael hadn’t been so angry, he’d have
almost been impressed by El-i-miir’s focus in keeping him
affiliated so long. But such a display of immaturity only served to
discredit the young lady. Far-a-mael caught himself wondering if
perhaps Seteal was a bad influence. She was a half-caste after
all.
    Once outside the building, Far-a-mael
headed up the street and shook his head at the carnage spread out
in all directions. Blood was everywhere. The place resembled a
battlefield. As he continued along the street, Far-a-mael was
greeted only by more death and destruction until finally he came to
a place where the devastation seemed to have simply . . .
stopped.
    People were spread out all over the
road moaning in pain or sorrow, but there, where the creature had
ceased its work, most were still alive. Far-a-mael took a moment to
glance about and see if there was anything he could do, but
couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. Turning
sharply, he saw a darkly clad figure staring at him from across the
crowded street.
    The watcher was dressed in a long black
coat that hung well below his knees. With long sleeves and black
gloves, the stranger was almost completely obscured. Only a pale,
angular face could be vaguely determined from within the depths of
a large hood. One distinguishing feature was the man’s
disfigurement, a large hump on his back that forced him to stand
hunched over. The mysterious stranger turned and scurried off
against the setting sun. Far-a-mael paused, staring after him and
wondered for just a moment . . . but, surely his eyes were playing
tricks on him.
    The stranger couldn’t possibly be more
important than the task at hand, so Far-a-mael turned back to the
wounded and offered what little help he could.
    An old man--although probably much
younger than Far-a-mael--sat on the road, his legs spread out and
his clothing in disarray. Far-a-mael concentrated for a moment,
stretching out his mind and touching the familiar energy that
churned around him. The colours within the man’s aura were
scattered and bounced about frantically, reflecting his inner
turmoil. Tendrils of light trickled away from Far-a-mael’s
fingertips, allowing him to penetrate and manipulate the aura. He
eased the erratic motion of the darker colours and pushed them into
the depths where they could be processed later. He carefully
lassoed peaceful blues and whites before encouraging them to the
surface. At last, he found some golden orange and pulled that up
from the depths to increase the man’s strength and resolve. His
aura came to life with feelings of empowerment and a sense of
purpose. He stood up, dusted himself off, gave Far-a-mael a
suspicious look and hurried across the road.
    Far-a-mael shook his head. Surely it
wouldn’t have hurt to show at least a little appreciation.
    A little girl stood a few strides away,
a steady stream of tears running down her cheeks. ‘Why did it hurt
my mummy?’ Her voice was hollow. ‘I want my mummy,’ she sobbed,
without removing her hands from her red face. Far-a-mael shuddered
when he noticed the bloodied corpse fixed in her sights. He touched
her aura ever so gently, intending not to startle her as he
rearranged it: blue, yellow, white, a splash of teal, and some pink
for good measure.
    Despite the toll it took on his aging
bones, Far-a-mael got down on one knee, placed his hands on the
girl’s shoulders, and looked into her eye. ‘Listen to me. I know it
hurts. I wasn’t much older than you when I lost my mother. It’s
going to hurt for a very long time, but I promise you one day
you’ll wake up, the pain