Master Atlas gasped. “What is this?” he demanded, turning to the other mages with fury on his face. “His body lives, if barely, but his soul — where is his soul?”
The scene shifted again. Callum was standing in a cave carved of ice. The walls were white, shifting in color where shadows touched them. The floor was scattered with bodies: mages lying crumpled, some with their eyes open, some in pools of frozen blood.
Callum knew where he was. The Cold m******e. He closed his eyes, but it made no difference — he could still see, since the images were inside his mind. He watched Master Atlas pick his way among the murdered, stopping here and there to turn over a body and stare at its face. After a few moments, Callum realized what he was doing. He was examining the dead children, not touching
