The Last Talisman

by Licia Troisi

  Only then did she notice the bluish smoke encircling her. A message. From her pouch she removed the stones, recited the spell, and read. His words were brief and to the point. “A burrow in the woods. Come quick.”

  Nihal leaped up, scouring the area for any trace of her friends. She found only one pair of footprints, deep and muddled, as if someone’s feet had been dragged along. She took off running.

  It didn’t take her long to find the burrow. She stuck her head in. “Are you guys down there?”

  No one responded, but in the dim glow she could make out the image of Sennar, crouched next to Laio. All of her vague inklings suddenly resolved into a clear and terrifying picture. She plunged into the burrow.

  “What happened?” she shouted. But her question was futile, for already she had taken in the gash across Laio’s back, the bloodless pallor of his cheeks.

  “There’s no time to explain. I need your help!” Sennar exclaimed.

  Nihal was frozen in a state of shock. She couldn’t tear her eyes from the bloodstain across Laio’s tunic.

  Nihal, beyond these palace walls, more suffering awaits you. I know because I’ve witnessed it. … What you’re feeling now is nothing—very soon, new and more devastating horrors will rend your heart. … The words of Thoolan and Goriar tormented her thoughts.

  Sennar grabbed her by the shoulder. “Are you going to help me or what?”

  Nihal nodded, choked back her tears, and regained her focus. Then she too joined in on the exhausting endeavor of treating Laio’s wounds.

  For hours, Nihal and Sennar did nothing but recite one healing spell after another. Sennar was unrelenting. Even as the sweat ran down his forehead, his eyes remained focused, his hands firm.

  Nihal couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if she hadn’t lost so much time lingering in the tunnel of trees. All the memories she shared with Laio came flooding back: the day they’d met, their time at the Academy, their journey together to see Pewar, the way Laio had found the courage to stand up to his father. She remembered each and every battle, those moments before she descended into the field, when Laio would hand her the sword that he’d so carefully sharpened, or when he’d fasten her armor and warn her to keep her guard. There was a world of difference between the image of him as he was in her memory and the boy now lying beside her in the burrow. This wasn’t Laio, it couldn’t be.

  In the wee hours of what must have been the night—that is, if they hadn’t been stuck in a land where the darkness was permanent—Nihal noticed that Sennar had come to the end of his strength. His head hung low, swaying, and his hands trembled. Only then did she notice his bloodstained arm. He had also been injured.

  “You’d better get some rest,” she said to him.

  The sorcerer made no reply and went on treating Laio, the light emanating from his palms growing fainter and fainter.

  Nihal grabbed one of his hands. “There’s nothing you can do right now, not when you’re exhausted like this. Get some rest.”

  “I …”

  “I’ll look after him. Don’t worry.”

  At last she succeeded in persuading him to take a break, and the moment his head touched the floor of the burrow, he sank into a deep sleep.

  Another lightless day came to the land of the shadows. Sennar was the first to wake. At first, he thought he’d dreamed the entire episode from the night before. Then he saw Nihal snoozing beside Laio, and he realized how truly inescapable reality was. Physically, he was well rested, but in spirit, he felt old and weary. He nudged Nihal aside and checked on Laio’s condition. The bleeding had stopped, but the wound was no prettier, and his breathing was irregular.

  In that moment, Sennar came to a conclusion his heart was unwilling to accept. There may be nothing he could do for Laio. If his magic continued to prove ineffective, the squire’s ghost would soon be fighting among the ranks of the Tyrant’s army. Still, he resumed his treatment. He had promised himself he’d never give in, though he knew it was useless.

  When Nihal awoke, Sennar couldn’t bear to look her in the eye.

  “How’s Laio doing?”

  “It’s too soon to tell,” he said curtly. “Why don’t you go collect some medicinal herbs?”

  “When do you think he’ll wake up?” Nihal asked later that evening.

  Sennar studied the expression on her face. Had she chosen willfully to ignore the truth, to trick herself into thinking that Laio was fine? He could think of nothing to say in response.

  “You still haven’t told me what happened in the clearing,” she reminded him.

  “Laio killed two Fammin. Then the man that was with them struck him from behind,” the sorcerer replied, exhaustion in his voice.

  “I owe him congratulations when he wakes up. By now, he’s proven himself an experienced warrior,” Nihal remarked with a smile.

  Sennar leaned his head on the dirt wall. How long could he keep up this charade?

  “Don’t you think we should try a different spell on him?” she asked.

  “I’ve tried everything.”

  The half-elf’s expression tensed. “What do you mean?’

  “I mean I don’t know any other healing spells. I’ve done everything I can. I’m all out of tricks.”

  “But he’s still unconscious. …” Nihal protested.

  Sennar said nothing, casting her a penetrating glare.

  “There’s no reason to lose heart. Everything will turn out for the best; I can feel it,” she said, though her voice had lost confidence.

  “Nihal, there’s no point in hoping for something that can’t be,” Sennar muttered under his breath.

  “How could you say that? After all the times you’ve saved my life. The wound I suffered back in Salazar was far worse than Laio’s.”

  “Your wound was different than his. And besides, you’re wrong. He’s in far worse condition than you were.”

  Nihal grabbed hold of Sennar by the tunic and shook him. “You’re a councilor, one of the most powerful sorcerers in the world. There has to be something you can do! You know thousands of spells!”

  Sennar’s expression only hardened. “His wound cannot be treated,” he said softly.

  Nihal slapped him hard across the face. “He’s my squire! My friend! He saved my life and I’m not going to let him die!”

  In silence, Sennar turned away.

  Nihal’s fury only flared. “You have to do something! As long as he’s still breathing, you have to help him. You can’t just let him die!”

  “Of course I want to help him, with every inch of my being I want to help him, but the more spells I try, the more I feel his life slipping away. It’s like trying to stop a river with your bare hands.”

  Nihal broke into a muffled sob. “No … I won’t …” she murmured, in a voice that no longer seemed her own.

  On the third day, hope reared its head again. The moment she woke, Nihal noticed two dots of light in the dark of the burrow. Her hand shot down to her sword, in fear that the enemy had discovered their hideout, but then she noticed that the points of light were two eyes, reflecting the dim glow that penetrated down into the hideout from the burrow’s surface.

  “Laio!” she shouted. She sprang toward him and ran her hand over his head. His lips curled into a faint smile.

  “Nihal …”

  Sennar, too, woke, and when he saw the boy alive and conscious, his spirits lifted. All together in that moment, the three of them found solace in hope.

  Laio was considerably weakened and it cost him a great effort to speak. Often his words were cut short by a violent fit of coughing. Before all else, he asked of Vraśta.

  Nihal didn’t know what to say. Sennar, too, was waiting intently for her response, and in the pressure of the moment, she told him that she’d sent Vraśta out to check for enemies in the surrounding area an
d that he’d be back soon. Laio seemed to believe her, though Sennar regarded her with a look of suspicion. Fortunately, for Nihal, there was no time to waste in idle chatter.

  Nihal and Sennar went back to treating the wound with healing spells, convinced that the worst had passed and that soon their friend would be back on his feet. His gash, however, showed no sign of improvement. On the contrary, infection was beginning to set in.

  “Do you remember which herbs you used on Nihal’s wound?” Sennar asked the squire.

  With his eyes closed tight, as if summoning the last of his strength, Laio whispered a few names.

  Sennar turned to Nihal. “I need you to go and bring back as many as you can, along with some water. And don’t let down your guard. There could be enemies in the area.”

  The half-elf slipped stealthily out of the burrow.

  Sennar went back to work, but he noticed Laio seemed distracted.

  “How am I?” he asked suddenly.

  Sennar had been worried he might ask. He said nothing.

  After a brief silence, Laio raised his weak voice again. “I’ve been wounded before, when they tortured me in the prison. But this is different …” He paused a moment to catch his breath. “It’s as if my body is no longer mine. It’s not even that the wound is painful … I feel like I’m constantly on the point of drifting off to sleep.”

  Still, Sennar said nothing.

  “Tell me. Am I okay or not?” Laio insisted, doing all he could to speak up. “I want to know the truth.”

  Sennar went on treating him. “The laceration in your back is extensive and deep, and nothing I’m doing is helping. At this point, the wound is getting infected, and I’m all out of spells to try.”

  Laio was silent for a moment, the muscles in his face tightening. “Will I survive?” he asked, finally.

  “I’m not sure. I think so,” said Sennar, with a forced smile.

  “If I’m dying, you have to tell me,” Laio muttered.

  Sennar thought of the battle in the clearing, of the confidence he’d seen in the squire’s eyes, of how all at once he’d noticed that Laio had become a man. “There’s nothing I can do for you,” he let out at last.

  Laio closed his eyes to hold back the tears, but still one drop slipped through, sliding off an eyelash and down his cheek.

  “If I were a man, I wouldn’t be afraid right now,” said the squire.

  “Only the ignorant don’t fear death.”

  “Nihal has never been afraid of death.”

  “That’s certainly not something she’s happy about,” Sennar said.

  Laio gave a weak smile.

  “You fought bravely in the clearing, not to mention everything you did for us after you were captured. Your fear now does nothing to negate your strength.”

  “I’d like to believe that …” said Laio. Another coughing fit gripped his lungs.

  “There’s no one now that could say you’re not a man,” Sennar avowed. Now he was the one fighting back tears.

  Laio smiled, seeming almost at ease again. “Don’t tell Nihal I cried.”

  “I won’t.”

  Nihal lost all sense of time. It couldn’t have been more than a day or so since Laio had opened his eyes, but then again she wasn’t certain. It seemed like she’d been holed up in that dark burrow for centuries. Sennar had covered the entrance of the hideout with a few dried fronds and reinforced it using magic, sealing the opening with a pale blue field of light. The pile of leaves and branches blocking the entrance allowed no air to get through, and the heat was stifling. Now and again, Nihal had heard the sound of footsteps pattering over the entrance—most likely just some animal scurrying by, but the noise still put her on edge. As soon as the enemy discovered the disaster scene in the clearing, there’d be Fammin on their trail.

  Sennar was curled up in a corner, sleeping. He’d collapsed in the middle of treating Laio. Nihal had never seen him so pale and exhausted. They’d spread an herbal paste over Laio’s gash and carried on with their magic. A sickly yellow ring had formed around the wound and was spreading rapidly across Laio’s back. Nihal went on performing healing spells, her conviction waning.

  Laio’s eyes were closed. “Stop trying to heal me,” he said suddenly.

  “Huh?”

  “Enough with these pointless spells, please,” Laio insisted.

  “How is your wound going to heal if I don’t treat it?” she said, straining to smile.

  “I can’t feel a thing from my neck down. I can hardly wriggle my fingers. … Please, I’m begging you, spare yourself the trouble.”

  Nihal did as told. She lifted her hands from the wound and sat in silence.

  “I came all this way, and for nothing. …” Laio muttered.

  Nihal was on the verge of tears. “Don’t be foolish.”

  “All I wanted to do was help. But in the end, I was only a burden when we were traveling through the Free Lands. Then I went and got myself captured and nearly gave you away to the enemy. And now we’re all stuck here. Why? Because of me.” His words trailed off into a string of heavy coughs. Blood splattered onto the leaves nearest his mouth. When at last he found the strength to speak again, his voice was as thin as a thread. “I came all this way to find you just so you could watch me die.”

  “You’re not going to die!”

  “What I really wanted was to make it to the very end with you, to help you suit up for the final battle, like you said in the letter.” He took a breath. “I’d have liked to see you win, to see you finally happy. I didn’t even manage to protect you.”

  “You saved my life. You stood by my side when I was alone. You’ve been a true friend to me. You’ve done so much. … Sennar told me about the Fammin in the clearing. You’re a warrior. A hero, Laio.” Nihal was crying into her hands.

  Laio smiled, though his expression quickly tensed. “Tell me the truth. Is Vraśta dead?”

  Nihal nodded.

  “I thought so,” said Laio, his voice quaking. For a moment he was silent. “Will you hold me?” he asked Nihal.

  The squire forced a smile, but Nihal could see the fear in his eyes. She lifted him from his bed of leaves and wrapped her arms around his waist. Laio rested his head on her shoulder.

  “It doesn’t hurt. … I’m okay,” he said. He was breathing calmly now, easily.

  Nihal pulled him close and held him like that for a long time, until she felt his body go limp in her arms.

  20

  A Reason to Go On

  Nihal would have liked to honor Laio with a proper knight’s burial—a funeral pyre—as they’d done for Fen, but in the perennial darkness of the Land of Night, to send off even a single spark would have led to their capture, never mind a blazing stake. And so Nihal dug him a simple tomb, something to keep him safe from the enemy. A resting place, there in his native land, the land he’d come to see, one last time.

  They waited an extra day before leaving the hideout, partly because their grief had sapped all will and strength to continue the journey, partly because they could hear the enemy’s heavy footsteps rattling the ground above their heads. They were marked targets, and the Fammin were out in numbers to hunt them down.

  The following morning, Nihal placed Laio’s body in the tomb gently, wrapping his hands around the handle of his sword, the one he’d fought with so heroically only a few days before. Then she sliced off a tuft of his hair and tucked it away in her armor, to keep a part of him with her always.

  When they crept out of the burrow, all was silent in the surrounding woods. The hunt had apparently moved on. Nihal began shoveling dirt down into the hideout with her bare hands. She scraped her fingers, cracked her nails, but still she went on digging, displacing dirt and stones, until the entrance was sealed and Laio’s tomb was secure.

  “That’s enough,” Sennar said suddenly, p
lacing a hand on her shoulder. He sat by the mound of earth, rapt in thought. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. For the entire time we’ve spent with him on this journey, really. If I don’t do something, he’ll become a ghost.” Sennar lowered his gaze. “My magic wasn’t enough to save him while he was alive, but I think it should suffice to give his spirit peace now that he’s gone. Not long ago, I read of a forbidden spell that allows you to imprison the soul of the dead. I mentioned it to Flogisto and he told me to forget about it, that it was the fruit of evil. But I can’t just sit by and let Laio become another ghost in the Tyrant’s army. I’m going to try and place a seal on his spirit.”

  He turned his eyes up at Nihal, as if seeking her approval, but her gaze was impenetrable. “It’s going to take some time, and I won’t be able to perform any magic for a long while afterward. All I ask is that you stand guard.”

  Nihal nodded, and Sennar directed his attention to the tomb, scouring his memory for a spell he’d read only once before in his life. After his foray with forbidden magic in the clearing, he was ready and willing to repeat the transgression in order to preserve Laio’s spirit.

  When he began reciting the spell—a lilting, bone-chilling litany—Nihal lowered her head and covered her ears. The sorcerer went on chanting, his soul replete with hate and despair, until the dark magic succumbed to his will and his fingers began weaving a field of light. Over Laio’s tomb, he was placing a seal that could be broken only with the fall of the Tyrant. If the Tyrant’s power were erased from the world, Laio’s spirit would be set free again. The enchantment cost him an hour’s time and the sum of his magical strength, draining him of the very hope that had kept him going up until then. Suddenly, Sennar felt the energy flee from his body. He felt lost, aimless. His hands cooled and the words of the litany dispersed from his lips.

  “It’s done,” he said grimly.