Crowchanger (Changers of Chandris) Read Online Free Page A

nine hours later, you’re dead. It dissolves important parts of you from the inside.”
    “Nasty. Any antidote for it?”
    “Yes. There’s another plant often grows nearby. Boil the leaves up and use it as a tisane. Works, if you catch it in time.”
    “You lived in the desert where next to nothing grows. So how come you know so much about plants all of a sudden?”
    Sylas chuckled. “I’d only seen five or six types of plant before I came here, so I found out more about them. And see what section of the library Master Gwysias always seats me in?”
    Casian turned to check. Sure enough, they were in the section with all the botanicals and herbals—row upon row of leather-bound books about plants and their uses. Realisation crossed Casian’s face, followed by accusation. “You’re meant to be working.”
    “I was. But look at my writing. Everyone else seems to use their right hand, and I don’t. When I learn to make the letter shapes with charcoal, he gives me this stupid thing,” Sylas glared at the brush in his hand as if it offended him. “Why do changers write with brushes? Just because quills are made of bird feathers doesn’t make them wrong, ashini?”
    “I love it when you do that.” Casian grinned at him.
    “Do what?” Sylas didn’t know whether to grin back or be affronted that Casian wasn’t more sympathetic. Easy for him. From the time he could hold a stick, he’d been tutored to make shapes in a sand tray.
    “Use Chesammos words when you get upset or excited. Ashini. That’s ‘you understand’ or something, isn’t it?”
    “More or less.”
    “So how come you can draw with the brush, but not write?”
    Sylas tossed the brush to the desk in disgust. “If I knew that I could write better. Different part of my mind doing it? I don’t know. I concentrate so hard to write and it looks a mess, but I switch my mind off and a drawing comes out.”
    Casian nodded towards the parchment. “Master Gwysias must think you are coming on, though. He wouldn’t have given you parchment to work on if he didn’t think you were making progress.”
    Sylas turned it over to display a piece of work marred with an ugly ink blot.
    “The library copyist ruined this piece, so Master Gwysias said I may as well have a try with parchment and ink. But the ink soaks into the page and makes splotches.” He sighed. If a person knew the marks he had made on the paper were letters they could decipher his writing, he supposed. With prior knowledge of the text. And a copy of the original before them.
    “And does Master Gwysias know that you’ve been drawing flowers all over your transcription work?”
    Sylas’s eyes widened. “Omena’s wings!” His exclamation shattered the quiet.
    Casian laughed. “Another Chesammos saying? What’s that one about?”
    “Now is not the time or place to tell you the story of Omena Stormweaver. Remind me when I’m less likely to be murdered by a librarian.” Sylas licked a finger and tried to rub out a part of the leaf, knowing as he did that it was hopeless. The edge of the leaf smudged and ran into the damp parchment, and the evidence of his crime stayed firmly on the page.
    “That’s never going to work.”
    “Omena’s wings,” Sylas muttered it this time, staring at the parchment and clasping both hands to his forehead in despair. “I’m doomed.”
    Bad enough that his writing looked like it was trying to crawl off the page, but to draw on his work as well…
    “What were you copying?” Casian leaned closer. “An obscure and learned treatise on the nature of kye, by the looks of it. Your version looks like chicken scratches. I’m sure Master Gwysias can only consider it improved by the addition of a weed that can cure headaches.”
    Sylas grasped handfuls of his dark hair. “I promised Master Jesely that I would work hard and now this. How could I be so stupid?” He stopped, staring at Casian. “What’s the matter with you? It’s me that’s going to take