by Meagan Hurst
Grimacing, since she was still undecided on the part where she had healed Midestol, she nevertheless began to explain. When she spoke of the creature that had attacked them, Nivaradros held up a hand abruptly before she could continue and glanced at the Shade. Crilyne’s left brow rose, but he nodded a minute later, and an image appeared in the center of the table over the papers thrown carelessly across it.
The image was about two feet high and was her mysterious attacking creature’s twin. It did look like a bear that walked permanently upright, but looking at this image and comparing it to the one that attacked Midestol, Z knew the one she had seen had been young, since it had been only four feet when it stood up. White fur covered the body, and since the representation she received included the examination of a dead one, parts of the hair had been cut off to reveal how thick it was. It would be hard to get an arrow, spear, or sword through that with ease—telling her again hers had been a juvenile, and she’d been lucky to kill it.
“I take it by your silence that yes, you have seen this before, and yes, this is what attacked you,” Nivaradros inserted softly. “We’ve been fighting them for about a week, but they attack both our forces and Midestol’s. We are not certain where they came from, but we had thought they were only in this area. If you got attacked where you were, then we will have to reconsider our thoughts, and we have a bigger problem than we originally suspected. Or it may be possible that one was transported there for you directly.”
“I think the one that attacked us was a young one,” Z said as she continued to study the creature. “It was only about four feet standing, but it was certainly fast on its feet. I also didn’t have any problem removing its head from it shoulders with Kyi’rinn.”
“That sword is a magically created blade—it is possible it would be enough regardless. Especially since your strength has increased from what it was before. As for the age, the ones that attack us here are about eight to nine feet when standing, and about four feet across at the stomach, so you’re probably right in assuming yours was young, but that’s almost worse. Sometimes the younger something is, the more dangerous it can be.”
The thought had crossed her mind as well and she made a face. “How many people have gotten attacked by them?”
“Forty or so. That number is mostly from the first days when we didn’t realize they were walking venomous creatures that moved much too fast for their size. Since the first day we’ve only lost about six others; everyone else was day one.”
“All of those attacked have died?!” Z’s tone rose sharply as the Dragon and the Shade exchanged a glance and nodded. “But you have healers—you have to have healers!”
“Not one of them has been able to save anyone,” Nivaradros remarked slowly as he glanced at Crilyne. “Not even the Mithane, though that may be due to the Alantaion force’s insistence that he refrain from healing for the most part. They have been able to slow the poison down, but once it starts eating the flesh around the original wound, the victim lasts maybe a day or two more and then passes.” His eyes narrowed as he watched her. “Which one of you got attacked?” he asked in a low tone.
She tried not to squirm under that gaze. “Midestol,” she said softly.
“And he lives.”
“He was still alive when I left him. We split ways as he needed to return to his dungeons to murder a bunch of innocent people in order to reclaim some of the power his injury had cost him, and I wasn’t inclined to follow.”
Crilyne spoke this time. “You healed him.”
She hesitated and stiffened as though she expected one of these two to hit her. To be fair, the Dragon had before, but she could tell her reaction offended him now. “I sort of healed him.”
Nivaradros snorted—smoke appeared for a moment in the tent. “Is that the human way to say you managed to do something no one on our side has managed?” When she didn’t respond, the Dragon whistled in surprise. It was a sound she hadn’t heard from him, and it shocked her to know he could. “I’ll get the Mithane,” he told the Shade and her both before standing up and walking towards the flap. “Keep your eyes down until he gets settled,” Nivaradros advised over his shoulder before both his clothing and the tent flap blew briefly in the wind as he vanished outside.
She could feel Crilyne’s gaze on her while she picked through some of his paperwork. “I am alright,” she promised him quietly.
“I know, but while you are physically alright, you are mentally not at your best, and it concerns me. Especially since Nivaradros seems to have managed to clip your wings to a point. You argue with him, but you have not yet set foot outside this tent, as he requested. Why?”
“Because he is right, Crilyne. Despite all the words spoken over the years, the immortals may find it slightly concerning, and more than a little threatening, that I now have a lifespan that could be eternal. Before the fact I could fight them—any of them—and win was an annoyance, but an asset as well, and a temporary thing. I would eventually die. Now on the other hand—” She fell silent before Crilyne’s hand rose in warning; the Mithane was coming.
“Nivaradros, I am certainly not going to attack her on sight. Is there a reason for your near-death threats?” the Mithane was asking irritably.
“You will see,” was the Dragon’s growled reply as he opened the tent flap to let himself, the Alantaion, and then the wind inside.
Fearful of how the Mithane might respond to her immortality, Z rolled under the table to grab the few papers blown off the table like a coward, but when she had grabbed them, she placed them neatly upon the tabletop with her eyes down-cast. She had no doubt they had changed colors now—she was too uneasy—and she could barely keep her seat with the tension in the room. She felt the Mithane’s eyes on hers and knew he could sense the shift in her presence; he was trying to narrow it down.
“Zimliya, please, look at me,” he asked finally when she kept her eyes lowered. Nivaradros growled softly. “I have no intention of hurting her no matter what has changed, Dragon, but she is worried, and that causes me some concern. Why would she be worried about my response? Why would you be? Zimliya, now.”
The command in the word caused her gaze to rise to meet his. Brown-black eyes held hers keenly, and then the Mithane moved so quickly Z rolled out of her chair and went for a dagger in response. Holding the dagger out between them to keep a space, she watched him cautiously.
“Stay back, please.”
Hands up with palms out in surrender, the Mithane paused. “You’re immortal,” he breathed in a tone that sounded so relieved Z lowered her weapons in a wordless reply. “You’re truly immortal.” He stepped forward carefully and offered her a hand instead of approaching any closer. She eyed the hand for a moment uneasily, and then took a step forward with more caution than she had ever used before—his eyes were still a mixed color.
“Yes,” she managed to say softly at long last. “I am.” She took another step closer to that offered hand, but she continued to watch him for signs of an attack.
He grew tired of waiting. Stepping forward fast enough that her half step back did nothing, he enfolded her in a tight hug as she froze beneath the gesture. “You have no idea how proud I am to see you shed your mortality,” he whispered in her ear before he released her.
Relief clung to her, and she glanced at the Dragon to make sure he wasn’t going to go all protective—or worse, jealous—on her. “She was dying,” he told the Mithane as the Alantaion headed over to the table before her and took a seat. “I wasn’t ready to give up.”
“And here I have been holding a grudge,” the Mithane remarked with a crooked smile. His eyes followed her as she managed to once again find and take a seat. “It fits you,” he added softly.
“Thanks, but I’m still getting used to it.”
“I would imagine it would take some time.” The Mithane glanced at the Dragon. “Now why did you summon me here to see the human you have been hiding from everyone for months?”
Nivaradros e
xhaled with a ribbon of fire attached to his breath. “Zimliya can heal,” he told the astonished Mithane quietly. “And she can heal those dying by those creatures.”
Chapter 18
“You can heal others?” the Mithane demanded in a tone he had never used with her before. Cringing slightly, Z managed a nod, but it only seemed to inflame him further. “How long have you known about this?” And she realized then he had suspected she was capable of this all along. Suspected and managed not to push her, either assuming in the end she could not heal, or knowing better than to bring up something she would not do.
“Since before I left Tenia the first time,” she answered as her eyes closed. The memories threatened to bury her, and she forced them back with effort. Everything she had forgotten or managed to dim had been restored, corrected, or added since she had been granted immortality, and the result was crippling. She’d managed to block the flood until now, and she struggled to regain her previous control.
“I couldn’t handle healing anything.” Her voice barely counted as a whisper, and the healings that had been intertwined with her torture became so vivid in her mind she could even recall the pain they had brought—something she had been shielded from remembering before.
Steady, Zimliya. Crilyne’s tone revealed concern, and she felt his presence boost hers in a way he had only done once before.
Opening her eyes, she gave him a small nod and turned to glance at the Mithane. “I couldn’t use that talent, and even now it is exceptionally hard to call and apply. It is definitely not something I am good at.”
“No,” the Mithane agreed gravely as his eyes flickered to their black-brown mix. “I should have guessed that. With your past, and your flat-out hatred of healers and healing, I am surprised you managed to use your power at all. I am even more surprised you managed to survive it. The ability to use a talent, after all, is part will.” He watched her closely. “Explain how you went about this. Please,” he added when she paused.
Nodding slowly, Z closed her eyes and began to recollect the events leading up to Midestol’s attack. She could feel the smiles in the room over her annoyance at Midestol’s lack of direction, and it lightened the tense feeling the room had acquired. She suspected the Dragon was holding something in reserve, and she knew she didn’t want to know what it was. He was upset about something, and Z wondered briefly at the rumors running through camp.
When she reached the part about the basic treatment of Midestol’s wounds the second time, the Mithane turned his attention to Crilyne. “Are you certain his demise still is threatening to the world?” he asked as his eyes moved to her. He was not pleased with her interference to keep Midestol alive.
“As Zimliya and I have both stated in the past, there is a large possibility that Midestol’s demise would unleash a level of magic that would equal or be greater than the buildup of magic we just faced. His magic is stolen; we have no records that tell us how that power would be released. And, this is Zimliya we are discussing. He protected her; she would have felt the pull to return the kindness.”
The Mithane’s eyes darkened, but he nodded in agreement. “Zimliya, you are withholding things from me. I would appreciate it if you did not. What you’ve managed will assist us in treating current and future patients, but only if you explain things in depth.”
Flushing with embarrassment, she began to describe in detail what she had done. The Mithane’s lips pressed together in thought, and he asked Nivaradros if he could bring someone else into the meeting. The Dragon’s flat ‘no’ didn’t leave any room for argument, but to Z’s surprise neither the Mithane nor Crilyne raised a word of protest over it. Apparently Nivaradros had more power than she had suspected, or his suspicions were correct, and there were some in the encampment who would kill her if they found out she had bridged the gap between mortality and immortality.
The thought wasn’t as concerning as it should have been, possibly because she expected it, but when she resumed her description of what she had done, the Mithane’s eyes shifted deeper into black.
“So, you healed him in a manner that should have killed you without training or control—immortal or no,” the Mithane breathed in astonishment. “Can you summon images like you were calling forth and working from in your mind?”
Only the knowledge that that was the question coming stopped her from snapping at him. Instead Z closed her eyes and did as he requested, but it took work. When she opened her eyes, the layers she had created to heal Midestol were before her, but she didn’t like the way the Mithane stared at them. He reached out a hand and slowly pulled the images around in silence for several tense minutes, but before he could speak his thoughts, another voice interrupted them.
“I see Zimliya is not as far away from us as we are so often told.”
All eyes swirled to the newcomer, but he only had eyes for Z, and they pinned her to her chair as they took in what they were seeing. The Islierre’s eyes widened, but their color stayed pretty safe, and fairly unconcerned. He entered the tent without invitation, but there was little anyone could do now anyways; he already knew the worst news.
“I hope you don’t mind my intrusion,” he told Crilyne politely. “But I noticed the Mithane was invited, so I grew curious about what would require a Shade, a Dragon, and an Alantaion to meet in the Shade’s tent in private. It would have, in all fairness, likely only have happened before now in one of those ridiculous human jokes.” His eyes moved back to Z’s. “I understand completely now. Hello, Zimliya, you are looking much better than when I last saw you, and far better than rumor has placed you to be.” His smile was warm, open, and entirely friendly; she therefore didn’t trust it.
“Islierre,” she greeted stiffly with a polite nod of her head. “How have you fared these past few months?”
“Well enough with my kingdom in turmoil, and rumors of your demise. I am pleased to see they are unfounded.” He watched her briefly, and then shook his head. “In all honesty, Zimliya, this could not have come at a better time. You needed to be immortal; your mortality was crippling your abilities.” Seeing her anger, a small smile appeared. “Child, you were always in the wrong skin. Embrace this change—there is no way to get rid of it, I presume?”
She gave him a curt nod and turned back to the images the Mithane was playing with. She heard the Islierre take a seat at the table, but she determinedly ignored him. She didn’t trust an inch of his mood, but until she could decide how she wanted to handle it, there wasn’t much else she could do but ignore him. The Mithane didn’t notice her attention return, but he was still engrossed in the method she had used to heal Midestol. She was also aware, however, that the lack of notice was half-fake. As if anything really got past the immortal.
The Islierre’s attention was riveted on her though. “Have you considered my offer?” he wanted to know as she tried to determinedly ignore his gaze. Sadly, the question did need to be addressed, and Z turned to regard him with care.
“Which one?” she asked curtly.
The immortal’s eyes held hers. “If I didn’t know you as well as I did I would almost believe I had offended you. Since I do know you quite well, I am tentatively going to say this was not my doing. But if it was, may I ask what I did that bothers you?”
“Nothing,” Z replied shortly.
She had a feeling her eyes had shifted to whatever color represented anger, but she didn’t care. Right now, she was still trying to figure out the Dragon. As well as figuring out how she was going to handle breaking the news to a bunch of beings she had grown somewhat comfortable with that she was immortal. The Mithane, the Islierre, and Veilantras had handled it well enough, but what about the others? The thought of meeting them again was a constant worry. She remembered all of her concerns from the first meetings she’d had with them, and she could only see her apprehensions being multiplied.
“I meant the offer of training you to use your shadow magic,” the Islierre interjected, breaking through her thoughts. “You seem to
be using it more consistently. Would you like to train and tune that power?”
The answer was yes, but she didn’t want to commit to it now. Seeing the Islierre’s smooth expression only confirmed the desire, yet there were only so many times he would offer it—she didn’t want to miss out on that training because she had waited too long.
“I would,” she admitted. “But I do not think now is the best time.”
His smile was his usual one of shadows. “Probably not,” he agreed. “Have you spoken to my son?”
“No.”
“Ah, well he will show up at some point.” But despite his words, the Islierre frowned. “Nivaradros, will you let Zimliya join the battle?”
“No.” Nivaradros glanced over at her for a moment before turning his attention to the Ryelention. “Why do you ask?”
“I am fairly certain my son will not make an appearance until she does, and I have a few things that must be discussed with him soon.”
“Then send him a message. Zimliya is not yet allowed on the battlefield. I don’t need her going through a breakdown because you decided you needed to talk to your son.”
“You are so very protective of her,” the Islierre murmured thoughtfully. Z turned her attention to him as the Ryelention’s attention remained fixed on the Dragon. “I’m surprised she hasn’t chafed at your chain yet. She’s never been very good at following orders.”
Nivaradros snorted. “I haven’t given her any orders, just requests.”
“With death threats attached,” Z muttered under her breath, knowing everyone would hear.