him. He had energy he must release.
He turned down a narrow side passage, found himself alone. A small maintenance room provided privacy. The energy could not be allowed to do harm. He wanted no one to detect it, no one to question him. Yet if he could just release some small piece, he hoped he would be able to wait through the Circle's meeting until Elric returned.
Releasing his energy in the attack on Elizar's chrysalis had brought him no relief, but Galen could think of nothing else to try. If he did not expend some of the energy burning through him, he feared it would slip out of his control. And if some conjury slipped out, no one could alter or dissolve it but him. He felt feverish, racked with chills.
He was ashamed of his conduct. The anger he'd tried to bury after attacking Elizar's chrysalis had welled up out of him again-a great anger at everything that had happened, an anger much deeper and more intense than he'd known. And with it he had struck out at the one person who had tried to help him. He had yelled in public at Elric-Elric, to whom he owed everything. He must not do so again. He must bring himself back under control.
What had happened was his fault, more than anyone else's. His choices, his failures. If there was anyone he should be angry at, it was himself. If there was anyone the energy should strike at, it was himself.
He would bring the energy down upon himself. Perhaps it would shock him back into stillness.
He regularly scoured his scalp, cheeks, and chin of hair, in a limited way re-creating the experience of his initiation. The pain was intense but brief; he had grown used to it. To release a greater amount of energy, generate a higher level of pain, he would scour his entire body. He would leave his head untouched, so there