Gabe hauled himself off his barrel and stalked toward the command tent. Ruben and Vendaval stepped out just as he reached it.
“Gabe,” Ruben said, grinning. “Tibercio and I are going to the front to pick up a prisoner. Care to come?”
“What prisoner?”
“Some boy who’s only pretending to be a soldier. He was discovered yesterday, but in the aftermath of the ambush he was sort of forgotten about. Apparently Colonel Cabrera doesn’t want to have to spare any of his mages to escort him here, so it’s up to us.”
Rafe. There couldn’t be too many young men pretending to be soldiers. “Why does he need to come here?”
“Is it your place to question the orders of a colonel?” Vendaval snapped.
Ruben glared at the Air Mage, then said to Gabe, “He’s hurt. Cabrera wants him healed so he’s fit for questioning.”
“Fine. Bring him to me as soon as you get back. I want him done and gone before the wounded start arriving.”
Vendaval sneered. “Didn’t you hear? We’ve won. The Alarians are pulling back. There won’t be any wounded today, or tomorrow.”
“I heard,” Gabe said, pushing past the Air Mage. “Forgive me if I don’t have your faith. I guess I’ve seen the results of good news too many times to keep believing it.”
“Gabriel,” Ruben called. “This is good news. Just relax.”
Gabe ignored him and stomped into the command tent.
“Yes, Mage?” Clerk Dulce looked up from a desk covered in papers and scroll boxes.
“I’d like a word with Captain Meraz.”
“I’m sorry but the captain is in a meeting. I can see if she’s free after lunch.”
“I’d really rather see her right now. I might have forgotten what got me so cranky by then.”
“I can’t just interrupt the captain because you’re cranky.”
Gabe began backing out. “Oh, that’s all right then. I’ll just go punch Lieutenant Botello and sort myself out that way.”
The clerk began to smile, then stopped as if remembering the last time Gabe had gone down swinging. She stood. “If you would just care to wait here a moment, I’ll see if the captain will talk to you now.”
Making a big show of giving in, Gabe sat in a chair like a good little military man. Dulce checked on him several times during the short walk from her desk to the partition to Meraz’s office. Once there, she scratched on the canvas, listened, then ducked in quickly. A moment later, she was back and holding the canvas aside for Gabe to go through.
Ismael was with Meraz, sitting primly in a chair, a small leather bound book of the writings of Saint Ciro on his lap. The most militaristic of all the saints, Ciro’s writings had never appealed to Gabe. They were all about strategy and weapons and, of course, how to balance the scales in any bloody affair. It was no coincidence Ibarra was usually the victor in any conflict it entered into.
Behind her desk, Meraz looked as relaxed as Gabe had ever seen. Dress jacket off and hanging from the back of her chair, she lounged back, one booted foot up on the corner of her desk, her hair free of its usual confining bun. The grey mass, curly and bouncy—a word Gabe would never have associated with the captain before—hung past her shoulders in an untidy tumble, as if she’d just released it and hadn’t run a brush through the thick tresses.
“Feeling pugilistic again, Mage Castillo?” She waved him into a seat.
“I don’t know about that but I sure feel like punching someone.” He sat.
“Ah, Mage,” Ismael said, “but pugilistic means—”
Meraz laughed. “He knows what it means, Dean. He’s just trying to be funny. How can I help you, Mage Castillo?”
“Well, I thought perhaps we could discuss a few changes as to how things are done with the wounded.”
“Changes?” Ismael repeated. “The systems in place are those found to be the most efficient and successful over many, many years and several conflicts. You’ve been here two months and you wish to make changes?”
“With no due respect, Ismael, those systems were concocted by military minds, none of whom, I’m fairly certain, were a Bone Mage. I mean, you don’t even put a compliment of Bone Mages or Sacerdios on the front line. All the wounded have to be transported to a supply camp in order to be healed.”
Meraz dropped her foot to the floor. “It’s been found that keeping all support personnel, including healing, away from the front is the safest procedure. We have fast transportation and the numbers of soldiers lost when the support camps were moved back from the front was negligible.”
“Negligible still means there was a difference.”
Ismael moved his book from one hand to the other. “But since you arrived here, Mage Castillo, not one of the wounded brought here has been lost.”
“A feat you all compliment me for when it suits you, and scold me for the rest of the time.”
A fact Ismael neither confirmed nor denied. Meraz seemed willing to let the Dean have his say, sitting back and cleaning her spectacles.
“And I do hope you don’t take this the wrong way, Mage Castillo,” Ismael continued, “but I have to ask if you have considered the cost your efforts are having, not just on you, but on your patients as well.”
“If you’re wondering if I feel guilty for healing them so they’re fit to return to the front line, yes, I do.”
“Returning to duty is an honour for de Ibarra soldiers.” The simple belief Ismael held in this statement was unarguable. It wasn’t passionate propaganda as far as the Dean was concerned. It just was.
Gabe sighed in irritation. “Then what, Ismael? Please, tell me another thing I’m doing wrong.”
Meraz slanted him a slightly disapproving glance but Gabe ignored it, not terribly worried about the Dean’s emotional balance at the moment.
For his part, Ismael didn’t react to the sarcasm-laden words. “It’s nothing wrong, as such. Just something I think perhaps you should consider more often. I understand your drive to save lives and it is commendable, and yet the fact remains, perhaps there are some who shouldn’t be saved.”
“No.” A sudden upswell of guilt made Gabe’s tone hard and forceful. Had Nothing deserved to die? Any more than any other soldier Gabe had saved at the expense of his own sanity? Despite his actions toward both Gabe and Dina, Nothing had proven himself honourable by saving Corporal Rayen par Torin. Gutted and yet still alive. The least Gabe should have done was try. Nothing shouldn’t have died. “It’s my duty to heal. If I can, I do.”
Ismael put a gentle hand on Gabe’s arm. “Wrong choice of words, I’m sorry. I was talking more of spiritual wounds than physical. In this world we have Bone Mages to heal our physical bodies, but spirits must return to the Shadows to heal. I speak with all of the grievously wounded once they are released from the hospital. It is my recommendation that sends them either to the front, or home. There have been perfectly fit men and women I have sent home, honourably discharged from service. All of them have been... missing something from their spirits. A vital spark. All of them have been amongst the worst of the wounded. All of them people Head Sacerdio Dina has assured me other Bone Mages would have let go.”
Gabe stared into the middle distance, Ismael’s meaning clear. From a purely spiritual point of view, he could almost agree with the Dean. He’d healed those so close to death he could feel the weight of the abyss, drawing his patient away, reaching even for Gabe. What if the patient’s spirit was already gone? Or even partially? Was Gabe doing more damage by healing a body only to trap a broken spirit within it?
And yet...
“The captain told you what I did in Ibarra,” Gabe whispered. “Doesn’t that prove you wrong?”
Ismael’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Didn’t factor that into your considerations, did you. She wasn’t just wounded. She was dead, Ismael.” His chest constricted at the memory, at the agony that had threatened to crush him at the sight of her lying in the straw, blood staining the material of
her blouse around the mortal wound. “I know some people think she wasn’t. Maybe just close, closer even than some of the poor wretches that come through here. I know death. During training, all Bone Mages have to put their left hand on a dead body. Not something we do lightly. The magic binds the mage to the patient. It’s how we know what needs attention and how to do it. The magic binds us to living and dead alike. Can you imagine what it is like to feel death so intimately? As if it is your own. The hollowness, the darkness. It’s like a weight chained to your ankle, dragging down and down. We call it the abyss of death. Perhaps the Shadows lies at the bottom of the abyss, I don’t know. What I do know is that I brought her back. Whole. Intact. I loved her, Ismael. I would have known if something was missing. So, whatever was missing from those soldiers I healed it wasn’t their spirit. Perhaps it was their faith.”
The Dean lowered his gaze. Even Meraz couldn’t look at Gabe, brow furrowed in confusion. She’d been told the details of Gabe’s actions, as well as Abbess Morales’ deductions. Gabe didn’t know Meraz’s honest feelings about them, but he did know she’d treated him better than he’d feared. He respected her for that and didn’t like seeing her unsettled, hated that he was the cause. It hadn’t been his intention to question their beliefs.
“Either way, the argument is academic now,” Gabe said into the uncomfortable silence. “I let a man die last night. I even helped him die.” And because he couldn’t stop himself, added, “Happy now, Ismael?”
The Dean jerked back, horrified. “No. Of course not.”
Her uncertainty vanished, Meraz snapped a glare at Gabe. “Mage.” Her tone was low, warning.
Knowing he deserved it, it was Gabe’s turn to look away. “I’m sorry, Ismael. That was mean of me.”
After a long, tense moment, Ismael reached out and gave Gabe’s arm a supportive squeeze. “I understand. I’m sorry you had to do that.” There was no hint of hurt in his voice, just sympathetic compassion that twisted in Gabe’s guts. “I know how strongly you feel against this protective campaign. But you can rest easy knowing you haven’t failed anyone by allowing that man to die. He rests easy in the Shadows now. And I know you would not have let him go without trying all you could.”
Gabe removed his arm from under Ismael’s hand. “I didn’t try anything to help him. I gave up before that. I was too tired. All of us were. We left patients untouched last night because none of us had the strength to close even a small wound. That is what I wanted to talk to you about, Captain. If there was even a couple of Sacerdios on the front it would help me so much. Once the healing process is started, it doesn’t take much to complete. A significant amount of my strength and magic goes into beginning the healing. If there was someone at the front who did that, only that and only on the simple cases, a single Bone Mage in a supply camp could easily finish it all off and not fall down unconscious each night.”
“Might I remind you, Mage Castillo,” Meraz said sympathetically, “that of all the Bone Mages in the supply camps in this campaign, you are the only one working yourself to exhaustion each night.”
Emotions already raw, Gabe had to work hard to bite back a snarl. “Maybe if any of those other Bone Mages were real mages and not just military-trained balancing acts, they’d be having this exact fucking conversation with their captains.”
The compassion fled and Captain Meraz was once more the stern, steady woman he’d come to know.
“Due to your unique circumstances, Mage Castillo,” she said with deliberate calm, “I have allowed you a certain amount of leniency. After the incident with Smith Martillo I could have had you whipped for misconduct, but I chose to be understanding of your situation. I’m only going to tell you this once. My understanding goes only so far. Another outburst like that and I’ll happily see you disciplined.” She stood and stared at him over the top of her spectacles. “Do we have an understanding?”
Gabe took a steadying breath. “Yes, we do. And I’m very sorry, Captain. I didn’t come in here with the intention of getting angry.”
“I didn’t think you did, but I have to admit, I much prefer our conversations when your jaw is too sore to say much.” She sat but didn’t lose her stern expression. “I do think there is some validity to what you’re saying. Your idea of building a hospital was a good one and I do often wonder if we in the military might benefit from outside opinion. Might I suggest in the future that when you have such ideas, you go for a run before coming to talk to me.”
“I did offer to go punch Botello but Dulce wouldn’t let me.”
Meraz smiled tightly but it didn’t reach her eyes, which let him know his attempt at levity had choked on its last breath.
“Is that everything, Mage?”
“Are you going to talk to Colonel Cabrera about getting a Sacerdio or two for his encampment?”
“No.” She held up a hand to stop his protest. “With the retreat of the Alarians in this section of the front, our positions here are in question. It’s highly likely Negron Battalion will be moving on shortly. Policy changes of such a small nature have little importance at such times. Once we are settled again, I will pass on your idea to the command base.”
Gabe frowned. “Just because they pulled back some of their cannons and troops you really think they’re in full retreat?”
“Cannons are not easy things to move,” Ismael said. “When you start hauling them about it’s not usually a feint.”
Standing, Gabe said, “All the same, once I’m done with this prisoner Ruben and Vendaval are bringing back, I’m going to have a sleep. Rest up for when the wounded arrive.”
Ismael stood as well. “Perhaps you should show me where the dead soldier is. I would like to perform a final blessing and prepare him for transportation home and interment.”
“He’s in the death-hut,” Gabe said and turned to leave.
“Mage,” Meraz said.
He faced her again. “Yes?”
“This soldier who died. Who was it?”
Finally, someone who cared enough to ask. “He wasn’t a soldier. It was the black-coated bastard who laid me out on the airfield.”
Meraz sucked in a sharp breath. “And he’s dead?”
“I injected him with enough opio to down a bullock.”
Ismael and Meraz exchanged quick, startled looks.
“What?” Gabe felt sick. “Don’t tell me he was someone important. Did I let the wrong person die?”
Meraz nodded to Ismael but said to Gabe, “Perhaps you should go check your dead man. Maybe you haven’t reduced yourself to a military-trained balancing act yet.”
“What does that mean?” Gabe asked as Ismael dragged him out of Meraz’s office. “Ismael, tell me what she meant.”
Dulce frowned at them as they went past.
“Do you know what she meant?” Gabe asked her but she didn’t get a chance to answer before Ismael hauled Gabe outside.
In the bright sunlight, Gabe broke free of Ismael. He straightened out his coat. “I’m not moving until you tell me what’s going on.”
“I can’t,” Ismael said. “I believe this is something you should see.”
“Just tell me,” Gabe moaned but Ismael was already trotting away.
With an inarticulate grumble, Gabe followed.
At the death-hut, resigned to ‘seeing’ it, Gabe pushed back the roughly woven hanging over the doorway. A shaft of sunlight fell across the body.
The Dean knelt and drew back the amshad. He looked the body over, swallowing hard as the gaping, cavernous remains registered. The smell of blood and raw meat was thick in the air.
“Looks pretty dead to me.” Gabe hooked the hanging back so they would have light to see by. He went to the far side of the body and crouched.
Swallowing again, Ismael said, “I didn’t think he would still be... wet.”
“If it’s any comfort he won’t be for much longer. He’ll start to rot soon. Different smell. You should come back tomorrow. Nice and ripe then. Especially in t
his heat. He’ll have maggots by then, most likely, and the partly digested food in his guts will—”
Ismael scrambled out of the hut. Gabe waited through the first, wet heaves of Ismael losing his breakfast, then he stood and stepped over the body. His foot slipped and, catching his balance, he saw a slick of bright blood oozing out from under the corpse.
Outside, Gabe crouched by Ismael. A dribble of yellowish vomit trailed down the Dean’s chin.
“Head between your knees, Dean. Deep breaths. First body, huh?”
“No,” Ismael moaned. “I’ve presided over many embalmings. But I’ve never seen one so... so...” His shoulders heaved with a dry retch.
“So raw,” Gabe said bluntly, knowing he shouldn’t take such glee in Ismael’s discomfort but after the discussion in Meraz’s office Gabe wasn’t feeling very courteous.
Ismael heaved again and Gabe rubbed his back, sending a little trickle of magic in to settle his stomach. While he waited for Ismael to recover, he thought about the body. It was still very raw. The image of the fresh blood came back to him.
“Fucking saints,” Gabe gasped and almost fell over in his haste to get back inside.
He studied the open wounds. The man had been lying here for half a day, dead, and yet he bled. It wasn’t right. What blood remained should have clotted into a thick, solid mass hours ago. He shouldn’t be bleeding.
“Told you,” Ismael said softly behind him.
“He’s still alive.” Gabe fell back from the body... the man. “He can’t be. I mean, how can he be?”
“Magic.”
Gabe shook his head. “Bone magic can’t do this.”
“Not bone magic,” Ismael said. “Just magic. Don’t you realise who this is? Gabriel, this is the Immortal Soldier.”
“The Immortal Soldier is just a myth.” But even as he said it, Gabe realised it explained so much. A man with no name, who could survive the most horrendous of injuries, appearing in times of great turmoil. He swallowed hard. The Immortal Soldier had punched him. And Gabe had thrown him out with the trash.
Dead Bones Page 21