by Liz Craven
“His arm can be reattached.” She struggled to free herself from his grip.
“Possibly, but if not, he will be forced to live out the remainder of his life as an object of pity. The claws of a culia contain a poison that causes muscle and tissue necrosis,” Thane explained. “Instead of living without his arm, he has chosen an honorable death.”
“Honorable? There is nothing honorable about dying for no reason.”
“He incurred injury hunting in the tradition of our ancestors and chooses to join them rather than forgo life as a warrior. His choice is most honorable.”
“You don’t actually believe that?” she demanded.
The Malkia approached the young man. “Tafari, you have been gravely wounded and brought to the heart of your tribe. What is your request?”
“I’ve lost my arm,” the boy managed in a hoarse whisper that the room’s acoustics amplified. “I choose to join the ancestors as a warrior.”
Rhys approached the litter, a naked sword in his hand.
“I can save his arm,” Ilexa shouted, wrenching free from Thane’s grip and running across the great hall before her mind could process her actions.
“This matter doesn’t concern you, outsider,” Rhys snarled, stepping between Ilexa and Malkia with the blade still in his hand.
“I can save his arm,” she insisted. She shoved him out of her way, not breaking stride, desperation lending her strength. If the situation hadn’t been dire, she would have found the stunned expression on the man’s face as he fell on his ass hilarious. Instead, she stumbled, tripping to a stop and landing on her knees. She glared up at the Malkia. “I can save his arm and his life. He will still be a warrior.”
It was a bold claim, especially given that she hadn’t examined the patient. What’s more, this was not the type of injury that would normally receive her healing gift. The injury could be repaired with traditional medicine, surgery and physical therapy. Her old master would have her head if he ever learned of this. But it was a case of life or death, and Ilexa would bend the rules until they broke if it meant she could save the youth’s life.
Her eyes clashed with the glowing green gaze of the most revered woman of the Hakimu tribe. Something flickered in the depths of those green eyes. Something Ilexa couldn’t name, but hope flared in her chest. The Malkia didn’t want to end the young man’s life. Infusing her voice with as much confidence as possible, Ilexa repeated, “I can save him.”
“You swear your life on this?” the Malkia asked.
“No,” another voice shouted, enraged. A warrior with a wild, tawny mane of hair and eyes so brown they appeared black stormed towards Ilexa and the litter. “This outsider seeks to deny my son an honorable death. I won’t allow it.”
The wounded warrior’s father drew his sword, and Rhys, the warrior she’d knocked on his ass, took a defensive position before her. Great. Now she owed the man an apology. Assuming he managed to stop the enraged father from killing her—and his son.
“Hold, Gerund,” the Malkia’s voice rang with authority. “She has sworn her own life. Her honor is entwined with his. I will allow her to heal his arm. Should she fail, he will still have the choice of joining the ancestors.”
“But as a cripple, not a warrior,” Gerund spat.
“In that event, her spirit will answer to the fury and vengeance of our ancestors.” The Malkia turned her glowing gaze back to Ilexa. “You may heal his arm.”
Ilexa swallowed against the nerves dancing in her throat. In truth, she had no fear for herself. If the young man died, he’d take her with him. She felt the heavy weight of all the eyes in the hall. Even without looking, she sensed the disbelief, the doubt that she had the strength to save him—the fear for the young man whose life she held. She feared their disappointment more than her death.
Thrusting her fear and worry aside, she assumed the mantle of a high healer and leaned forward to assess her patient. Relief and concern assailed her when she realized he had lost consciousness. Unconscious meant he couldn’t fight her healing, but he had an unhealthy grayish cast to his skin that caused her great concern.
She turned her focus to his injury. Something had shredded the skin of his upper arm, laying it open more like a slab of meat than a human appendage. She had to focus to make out the torn muscle and shattered bone. Miraculously, whatever had attacked him only nicked the brachial artery, but the blood loss was still severe.
“I need a tourniquet to stem the blood flow while I work,” she said
A beautiful bafta silk scarf appeared, and Ilexa looked up with surprise to see the Malkia tying it above the wound. Her estimation of the woman rose, and she nodded her thanks. Satisfied that the tourniquet was tight enough, she turned her focus inward.
In normal circumstances, she used her gift to encourage the body to heal itself, to tie the spirit tighter to the body, or to convince the body to relinquish pain. To connect with her patient, she would slowly sink into a healing trance before beginning her delicate work. She’d drop her consciousness into the center of her body and pull her spirit together, coaxing it from beneath her skin and rolling it into a ball that could travel into her patient’s body. She had no concept of how she left her body for the patient’s. She just found herself there once she finished gathering her spirit, her chi, into her center.
Ilexa had always found trauma work difficult, although she only used her gift to shore up a person’s psyche, to help them hold on while doctors repaired the physical body. Though tiring, her trauma work only required a minimal trance, one she could slip into within seconds. This injury would require more, much more. Likely, the deepest trance she could manage and a great deal of her personal energies.
She didn’t have the luxury of sinking into the healing trance. The blood loss made the injury life-threatening, and she didn’t completely trust these people not to kill her patient while she worked if they didn’t see results fast enough. She inhaled, then plunged into her trance, ripping her chi from its normal resting place beneath her skin, causing her body to scream in agony as it felt her soul being torn away. A push of energy and she wrenched herself away from her body with a rending tear.
With effort, she kept focused, ignoring the searing pain until it completely faded and she coalesced into a bodiless being. For the first time, she remained aware of herself as she traveled from her flesh into the young man’s body.
She found the experience disorienting and unpleasant. Despite not having a physical form, she still felt cold. The heat from the nearby fire failed to touch her as she scrambled towards the young man. Belatedly, she realized she hadn’t thought to ask her patient’s name.
When Ilexa sank into the chest of her patient, the heat of his sluggish bloodstream provided blessed warmth. His life spark pulsed a fading light and she surrounded it with warmth and wordless reassurance. It took more energy than she wanted to expend, but she managed to convince him to trust her. She couldn’t regret the additional effort it took. Healing his arm would be pointless if he surrendered his spirit.
Satisfied with his will to live, she traveled his circulatory system to the injured arm. She “saw” the tattered remains of his arm and went to work. Time ceased to exist as she focused all that she was into repairing the damage. She worked from the inside out, putting his arm together like she would a jigsaw puzzle, matching pieces to one another. With careful precision, she used energy like glue to seal the underside of the puzzle pieces.
By the time she reached the skin, she had to fight to keep her essence together. She had never worked so long and so hard. Warnings from her early training days clamored like alarm bells. She ignored them, knowing that if she failed, it meant her patient’s life. The very idea of the waste of that life galvanized her to keep going.
She’d only managed the initial skin patch, when she began to fade. Ilexa struggled to finish. The thinness of the layer of skin she’d managed to create to seal the ragged flesh meant scarring that might cripple him. Before she could reinforce the fra
gile skin, she felt herself slip away.
***
Thane kept his face implacable as he faced the N’yotan healer, Marlus, on the view screen. The man’s professional manner and cool exterior did nothing to disguise the seriousness of Ilexa’s condition. Fear and guilt gnawed at his stomach with renewed vengeance.
He’d intended the return of the hunting party—tribal symbols painted on them in the blood of their kill and the gutted carcass they carried—to shock Ilexa into returning home. Or at least to make her rethink her decision to come to Dunia.
Instead, he’d nearly killed her.
“Ilexa is my finest pupil,” the healer said, shaking his head. “I can’t imagine what possessed her to do this. She has always strictly adhered to the Healer’s Canons. To risk her gift—her life—on such an injury may not be a technical violation of the Canons, but it certainly violates the spirit of them.”
“The patient she was saving would have chosen ritual suicide over his injury,” Thane explained quietly.
The gray-haired healer nodded in understanding. “I see. If she was his only hope, Ilexa wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice herself for her patient.”
“She had almost completely healed Tafari, her patient, when she suddenly keeled over. Neither she nor Tafari have regained consciousness.”
“How long since she collapsed?”
“It’s been about four standard hours,” Thane admitted. “Our medics have tried everything they could think of, but there has been no change in either of their conditions.”
“Have you separated them?”
“No, they are both in our medical facility.”
Marlus shook his head. “They need to be as close as possible. Physically touching. It is possible that part of Ilexa’s spirit remains in Tafari’s body. The more distance between Ilexa and her spirit means a greater risk to her.”
“What can we do to draw her spirit out of Tafari and back into herself?” Thane asked.
“If she were here, another healer could help conduct her spirit home, but we have no other healers on Dunia or anywhere close enough to reach her in time. You have no spiritual healers?”
“We have priests who provide spiritual counseling and guidance. Nothing similar to N’yotan healers.”
“Perhaps they could try? Encourage her to return to her own body?”
“I’ll ask.” Thane fought the urge to slump his shoulders. “What about Tafari?”
“The young man should be in no danger.” Marlus turned his head and studied something to the side of the screen. “I’m looking over his medical report right now. His arm will require further treatment to prevent the scar tissue along his arm from drawing up and handicapping him, but he will regain consciousness. Either when Ilexa’s spirit returns to her body…or when it ceases to exist.”
Thane swallowed hard. “We will do our best to save her.”
“We will keep Ilexa and Tafari in our prayers.” Marlus bowed his head formally. “Contact me if you have any more questions or if there is any change in their conditions.”
“I will,” Thane promised and terminated the connection.
He turned to face the Malkia who had remained off screen for the conversation. She nodded to the doctor who had witnessed the conversation, prepared to ask any necessary questions. The doctor bowed and left to relay Marlus’s instructions to the medical ward.
The Malkia fixed him with her ethereal gaze and regarded him silently for a moment. “Ilexa Dhakir came to the Hakimu because I allowed it. Moreover, she has saved the life of my grandson. Contacting her family is my obligation and duty.”
Deity help him, Thane wanted to say yes. He wanted to step aside and let the Malkia contact Talon. He closed his eyes and mentally squared his shoulders. Talon deserved to hear the news from him. “With respect, Malkia, Talon Dhakir is my blood brother. Notifying him of his sister’s…misfortune while in the care of the Hakimu is my responsibility.”
“As you wish.”
To Thane’s surprise, the Malkia dropped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed before leaving the communications office. Her supportive gesture bolstered him and he initiated one of the hardest calls he would ever make.
Talon’s face appeared on the screen immediately with alarm etched into every feature.
“I was just pulled from a meeting with the Inderian ambassador. My aide says Ilexa’s mentor was contacted regarding an emergency. What’s wrong? Where’s my sister?”
Guilt swamped Thane. “She attempted to heal a young member of my tribe. As best I understand, the injury was so severe that Ilexa risked her life to save him. She collapsed when she had nearly completed the healing. Marlus believes part of her spirit may still reside inside him. Without another N’yotan healer, we have no sure way to direct her spirit back to her body.”
Talon ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll get a healer there as soon as possible.”
“Marlus indicated none was close enough to be here…” He let his voice trail off. “He did indicate that Ilexa may manage to extract herself on her own. Our priests will do whatever they can to assist her.”
“She’s been so different lately. So withdrawn. She would never speak of it. If we tried to draw her out, she’d paste a false smile on her face and say she was fine. I had hoped that this experience would restore her happiness.” Talon fixed Thane with a haunted gaze. “I still don’t know why she was unhappy and now…”
The unspoken thought, the guilt of a brother floated on the air, heavy and tangible, mingling with Thane’s own. “I swear to you, Talon. I will do everything possible to bring her back.”
Talon nodded. His voice sounded thick, hoarse when he replied, “Please let me know if there is any change in her condition. Any change at all.”
“I will.”
***
Ilexa struggled to surface. She felt as though she had been laid on a hard, slab of ice. Chills chased across her skin and hoarfrost crackled in her veins. Around her, she heard voices chanting, but she couldn’t make out the words.
She finally managed to pry her eyes apart, enough to create a sliver of space between the upper and lower lids. The light revealed sent searing pain through her head, but she fought to keep her eyes open. A part of her feared that if they closed, she’d never open them again.
The silhouette of a head blocked out the light. “She’s awake.”
“Thank the Deity,” a familiar voice breathed.
The chanting ceased, and the sudden silence made her fear deafness until she heard another voice. “Is she responsive?”
“Ilexa? Can you hear me?”
Relief quickly melted to alarm when she didn’t feel the cool mind-touch of a healer. Could the healer not reach her? Healers always treated healers. Was she so far gone that another healer could no longer touch her? Had her gift failed?
“Don’t let her fade out again.”
“Ilexa! Keep your eyes open. Do you know where you are?”
That voice sounded familiar. She associated it with her oldest brother, but it wasn’t Talon. It wasn’t any of her brothers.
“Ilexa, do you know where you are?”
Fear began to choke her. Had she lost her gift? What if she couldn’t heal anymore? Who was she if she wasn’t a healer?
“Ilexa! Stay with me. It’s Thane. You’re on Dunia. Do you remember what happened?”
Dunia. The IMEP. She was the only N’yotan healer on the planet. The only one in this system. Her gift hadn’t failed her. She couldn’t connect with another healer because there was no other healer. Blessed relief swamped her, pulling her back under—
A sharp crack to her cheek dragged her back to the surface. The side of her face burned, and she pried her eyes back open. This time they focused, and she made out the face of Thane.
Something tickled the back of mind. Something important. Something unfinished…
Prophetess. The boy. His arm. How could she have been so selfish? So worried about herself that she forgot about him?
Had she finished his healing? Or had she failed him? Had they…
“The boy,” she managed in hoarse whisper.
“Tafari is doing well. He woke up an hour ago. His arm is almost completely healed. Doctors say he’ll fully recover.”
She tried to nod and her lids fluttered closed. Tafari, her mind repeated.
“No. Keep your eyes open,” Thane demanded.
Blasted man. Always ordering her around. She lifted her lids solely to glare at him, but from the relief in his eyes, she didn’t think she’d succeeded in cowing him with her rage.
“I’m going to give her a stimulant,” another voice said.
“Hang in there, Ilexa. You’re doing well.” Thane praised her.
She tried another glare, and knew she’d failed again when he beamed at her. A soft pressure against her neck sent adrenaline racing through her veins. Ilexa jerked up, conking her head against Thane’s and making her see stars.
“Shit,” he swore.
Outraged, she slapped him. It was a weak attempt at best, but it still made her feel better.
“You slapped me,” he stated, shock evident on his haggard face.
“You slapped me first,” she shot back, ignoring the fact that they were arguing on a sandbox level. “Where’s my patient?”
“You were losing consciousness again,” Thane defended. “And your patient is recovering. He’s conscious and undergoing skin treatments for his arm.”
“The musculature…” Ilexa struggled to remember the treatment she had administered.
“You did everything but completely heal the skin. Our doctors are amazed.”
She struggled to turn on the hospital bed, to swing her legs over the side. More like a gurney than a bed, getting traction on the slick, cold metal proved impossible.
An older man with the emotionally divorced expression of a doctor caught her shoulders and held her still. “Mistress Dhakir, I am Doctor Eiverin. I’ve given you a stimulant to keep you conscious and assess your condition. However, you are weaker than you believe and must stay in bed.”
“Mistress Ilexa,” another man said, drawing her attention. She turned her head to see a man around her own age with shaggy, sandy blond hair rolling a mobile medical display to her bedside. “You can check Tafari’s status on this.”