By Moonrise

by Jackie Dana

He began to sweat. “My dear, I have never lied to you. Not about this, or anything else.”

  “Then you will not lie to me now. Swear it, Rynar. I trusted you, and I made sure no one hurt you today, which wasn’t easy to do. You should know—these men would have killed you immediately if it hadn’t been for me. So don’t make me regret what I’ve done.”

  With remarkable confidence, he replied, “They would not have killed me, my dear. I am Aldrish. They do not dare harm me.”

  “Want to place a bet on that, Aldrish?” Fantion stood in the doorway. “It is sunset. If that boy dies, according to the promise I made to her earlier today, your life is forfeit to me. And I would take great pleasure in bringing about your demise.”

  “Fantion, the Senvosra—” she whispered.

  “They have been suitably distracted.” Just then he noticed his friend sputtering and gasping for air, and he ran to the table. “Ah, sweet Kerthal. Nyvas is dying, and Sander isn’t back yet.” He looked to the door. “We thought we’d have more time.”

  “It’s okay. He’s going to heal him.” She nodded towards Rynar.

  “The Aldrish? Kate, don’t be daft. He can’t heal anyone.”

  She pointed at Fantion’s belt. “Give me your knife.”

  He raised an eyebrow, but did as she asked. “Good plan, Kate. Cut his throat, though not too deeply just yet—I wish to see him die slowly.”

  “No,” she replied, annoyed at his eagerness. “It’s for the ropes.” She knelt down and cut the rope around Rynar’s legs. “Okay. Now swear you’ll do this for me, Rynar. I really don’t want them to kill you, but I’ll stand back and watch if you don’t agree to heal Nyvas right now.”

  Rynar swallowed hard once, and then nodded. “Aye, very well. I’ll do what I can to help him.”

  “Swear it.”

  He closed his eyes, and licked his lips. “Fine. I swear, under the watchful eye of the Hidden God, that I will try to heal the fhaoli Nyvas.” He looked at her with an odd combination of anger and admiration. “Will that do?”

  She was surprised that he chose to make such an affirmation, knowing that he didn’t personally believe in the Prophet’s preachings, and was about to challenge it when Fantion answered in her place. “Bah, that Hidden God nonsense again.” He circled around and bent down to stare Rynar in the eye. “Swear to Kerthal as well.”

  Rynar scowled.

  “Just do it.”

  “Fine.” He paused, and closed his eyes. “I swear in the name of the blessed goddess Kerthal that I shall do everything in my power to heal the fhaoli Nyvas.” He glared up at Fantion. “Happy now?”

  “Aye, that’s enough for me.”

  At that cue, she sliced the remaining ropes. After a very brief moment spent rubbing the feeling back into his hands, and wriggling his blood-deprived toes, Rynar stumbled on still-numb feet over to Nyvas. As she and Fantion watched, he lifted the dying young man into his arms, and gently placed him on the floor. Then he took a series of deep breaths, and kneeling beside the fhaoli man, began to feel for injuries. Fantion knelt at Nyvas’s feet, his mouth wide open in disbelief at the care the Aldrish was providing to his friend.

  Kate, meanwhile, sat cross-legged opposite Rynar, and took one of Nyvas’s hands in her own. “What can I do to help?”

  Rynar’s eyes fluttered open for a moment. Rather than dismiss her offer, he flashed her a grin, and then instructed her, “imagine him alive, and whole. Don’t wish it; fix it as a real, definite thing in your mind. As strong as you can imagine him being, make him so, putting aside your knowledge of how he is now. And don’t let go of his hand.”

  She nodded. Even though it wouldn’t actually do anything tangible, she was willing to at least offer her efforts as moral support.

  As Rynar touched Nyvas’s wounds, and his hands lingered on his face, on the broken nose, and then traveled to the belly, he frowned. She saw the Aldrish’s face just before she closed her eyes, and wondered if Nyvas was actually too battered to be saved. She had seen him take a couple good punches in the Vosira’s chamber, but she didn’t know what might have been done to him before that meeting, or afterwards. She did know how internal injuries would turn out if untreated. In fact, it was incomprehensible how Nyvas had lived this long, or survived the ride out of the keep.

  What it did remind her was that he was strong, and he had clung to life despite all odds. She fixed that concept in her head. Hadn’t he stood up to the Vosira, despite the pain? He also had walked up those steps from the dungeon. Anyone else would have needed to be carried. A smile twitched on her lips as she remembered meeting him, and how kind he had been, and how confident. She recalled his smile, his gentleness, his long eyelashes blinking over bright blue eyes. He could be like that again, she imagined: smiling, confident, strong. No, she told herself, he would be—he was, even now. She felt his presence strongly, and clung to the sensation, trying to collect her own energy to share with him, to reinforce his strength.

  Time passed slowly, but she remained still, holding her friend’s hand within her own. All of her energy, all of her thoughts, were focused on him being well and whole again. She replayed memories in her head: meeting him in the inn back in Bhoren; his standing up for her to Arric; his fear for Lysander when his friend rode out to Ryvenor, and then again when he was injured; his assistance when her shoe came off; his amazed expression when he heard Arric play the flute. It was all real in her mind. From memories, she visualized him sitting up, then standing, then mounting a horse outside the house and riding back to the forest, as if nothing had ever injured him.

  “Kate,” she heard her name called out from a far distance. When she didn’t reply, she felt a hand shaking her shoulder.

  “Yeah?”

  “I think he’s gone.”

  Her eyes snapped open at Fantion’s announcement.

  She still held Nyvas’s hand. Then she looked at his face, half-twisted into a smile. He was completely still—not moving, not even breathing. “No!” she insisted to Fantion, who now crouched beside her. She then looked at Rynar, whose head was buried in his hands. “No.” She repeated. “I can still feel—”

  A commotion at the door stirred both her and Fantion, although Rynar did not move. Fantion was on his feet instantly, his sword drawn. Then the door slammed open, and Lysander ran into the room, immediately collapsing to his knees beside Nyvas, at Rynar’s left shoulder. Remarkably, he didn’t seem to notice the Aldrish at all, and ignored everyone other than Nyvas himself.

  “Oh, you dear boy,” he moaned, his face suddenly drained of all color. Without hesitation he cupped Nyvas’s head between his hands as he closed his own eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” Rynar whispered, first to Lysander, and then to Kate, sitting across from him. His eyes were bloodshot, and his words seemed genuine. “I did everything I knew how to do. His injuries are just too much for any healer.”

  Lysander shook his head in defiance of Rynar’s conclusions, and then he opened his eyes and focused on the Aldrish. Viciously, he snapped, “what are you doing here? You’re no healer.” For a second his fiery gaze contemplated Kate, but then he lifted his head towards Fantion. “What is this? Why is this man anywhere near Nyvas?”

  “There was no one else,” Fantion said softly as he knelt across from Lysander. “And to his credit, he did try. She ensured his cooperation.”

  “But—Nyvas?” He leaned over his companion’s chest, listening for a breath or a heartbeat. Hearing none, he grabbed handfuls of Nyvas’s bloody shirt in both hands and buried his face in his chest, sobbing lightly. She realized she had never truly understood what it meant for someone’s heart to break... until this moment.

  Everyone else in the room was silent, bearing witness to Lysander’s despair. The fhaoli named Kels had been pacing beside the small fire burning in the hearth, his long strides fast and noisy, all betraying an underlying anxiety. With Lysander’s appearance, however he had abruptly stopped walking to and fro. Now, seated at the table, he h
ad buried his head in his arms. Rynar remained next to Nyvas, as he had been from the start. Now, however, his arms were crossed and his head bowed so low his hair hung over his eyes and his chin rested on his chest. Even though Fantion had hovered over Rynar the entire time, watching the Aldrish for any hint of duplicity and keeping a hand on the hilt of his knife, now, with nothing more to be done, he had relaxed his guard slightly, and stood with his eyes cast to the floor and his lips pressed tightly together.

  Her eyes spun back down to Nyvas. It was all too unreal to consider that, after everything that had happened, he still had died. At the same time, however, she discovered that she was unable to descend into grief, or anger, or any other intense emotion that the death of such a friend might inspire. There were no tears, no sighs. Had she already shed all her tears back in the dungeon? Was there no more grief and despair left? Usually so demonstrative and emotional, her lack of any suitable response to the events actually unsettled her.

  Even though it was dirty and crusted with dried blood, she reached out to touch his black hair—to make one last connection with him. “I’m sorry,” she said silently, forming unspoken words on her chapped lips. “This should never have happened to you.” She visualized the broken body of her friend being hoisted onto the horse, and all kinds of questions flooded her mind, things she wished she could ask Nyvas now. Why did you think your Goddess would protect me? She let you die. Why am I still here?

  Her thoughts suddenly shifted back to him physically restored, as if the healing had worked. She wasn’t sure why, but somehow his survival mattered, beyond the friendship she had made with him, beyond his relationship with any of the others. Perhaps it was because of all he had endured, but suddenly she realized how he symbolized everything that Arric was trying to accomplish. By being at the very heart of things, his demise marked failure—but his survival would restore hope. She barely understood any of the political machinations of this land its people, but she had no doubts of the sincere goodness of this young man, of his true heart. Never had anything felt more wrong to her than his death under these circumstances. This was a man who deserved to die a hero, in pursuit of something greater than himself—not as a victim of a senseless beating by a soldier.

  «Damn it!» she cried out in her mind, her heart near to breaking. She wanted to scream words of anger to the gods of this land or anyone who would listen. «This is not right!» Fury consumed her, and she would fight anyone who would try to take him away from them now. With only the vaguest of awareness that she was doing so, even as Lysander released him, she scooped Nyvas up in her arms and pulled him close, as if daring someone to take him from her. Defiantly, she shouted in her mind: «You can’t have him yet. This isn’t over. You will not let him die, not here, not today.»

  She felt hot winds whip around her, causing her to perspire, but she held on to her friend.

  «This is not your battle to fight,» someone replied.

  «If not me, then who else is there? If I am to have a purpose, then let this be it. His story is not yet over. If I am to play a part in this, then so shall he.»|

  «You are bold, to demand this.»

  «Perhaps. But it’s the right thing to do.»

  She felt like she was floating out of her body, adrift on a sea without water, floating in a void. She was alone, and could hear nothing, feel nothing. The sensation seemed to last hours, as if she herself had died and passed into another realm. Was this all there was to it, she wondered? Had her rescue just been a dream, and now she and her friend were dead?

  ***

  A large hand came to rest on her shoulder, abruptly concluding the dream state into which she had so quickly fallen. “Don’t blame yourself,” the voice said, but again, it sounded far away. “You did more than anyone to save him.”

  She cracked open one eye, and saw the lifeless face of her friend at her cheek. It was darker in the room, as the sun had set and no one had moved to light candles. Realizing she still embraced Nyvas within her arms, with extraordinary gentleness, she eased him back to the floor, leaving her palm resting protectively on his chest, as if she feared he might disappear if she broke all physical contact. Then she tipped her head to look up at the man speaking. She squinted as she brought Fantion’s face into focus. She didn’t want to reply, lacking any words that could suffice at that moment.

  Her dilemma was quickly resolved with an exclamation from Lysander. “What was that?” he cried out, desperately motioning towards Nyvas. “Look!” His pupils were wide, and he waved his arms wildly. “Fantion, did you see?”

  Although everyone leaned over to see what Lysander was talking about, none shared the same excitable demeanor.

  “Calm yourself, man. I’m sorry for it, but he’s already passed on to Yoren,” Rynar said, exhaustion buffering the harsh tone reserved for the many people he disliked. It was a rare unguarded moment, and he slipped by making a reference to a god he had publicly forsaken, but no one seemed to notice. His bloodshot eyes, tousled hair and facial pallor made him look like he had gone without sleep for a week. “There is nothing else to be done.”

  Lysander was undeterred. “Just look. Kate?” he begged, and then he began to rub Nyvas’s cheeks rapidly. “Do you see it?” He leaned over and put his ear to his companion’s chest. “I swear, I didn’t even try—” he began, new tears filling his eyes. “I couldn’t—healers don’t dare, once someone is dead—but now, look!”

  “Nay, he has already left us,” Rynar said softly. “I could even sense it at the end.” He placed a hand—a kind hand, a healer’s hand—on Lysander’s arm. “I am so sorry.”

  Disregarding Rynar’s comment, Fantion circled around to crouch down beside Lysander. “What is it?”

  “Just look, will you, please?” Lysander pleaded.

  A moment of utter silence stretched out for a lifetime as they all watched Nyvas, uncertain what Lysander had seen.

  Then—a breath. It was impossible, but there it was all the same.

  “Blessed Kerthal, he’s still with us!” Fantion confirmed.

  One moment he was still, with no signs of life, and then... Nyvas was suddenly breathing again. Not only breathing—what came next were strong breaths, without any of the earlier rattling in his chest that set off his coughing. In fact, every physical ailment seemed to have been reversed, leaving him in a deep, comfortable sleep.

  Chapter 40

  “If you’ll just return my personal items and sword, we’ll be on our way,” Rynar announced.

  With the crisis inexplicably averted, he had quickly gotten to his feet, as if to escape before anyone had second thoughts. His confident swagger was neatly back in place. He could not hide the fact that he was physically exhausted from the day’s events, for his posture was sagging and his eyes were red, but even so, he acted as though nothing unusual had happened. He stood beside the door, and with a sharp jerk of his chin gestured for her to join him.

  She was still sitting beside Nyvas, and found it difficult to release his hand, even know she sensed he was going to be okay.

  Something had happened a short time ago, and although she struggled to put words to it, to explain it to herself, comprehension defied her efforts. Her friend had almost died, but somehow he hadn’t—and it wasn’t simply a matter of injuries or healing. There was something much more profound about the event, and although she did not comprehend the role she had played, she recognized that she had done something.

  “I hate to rush you, my dear, but if you’re strong enough, we need to return before the entire force of the Senvosra descends on this neighborhood.”

  “Oh.” It hadn’t occurred to her that she might return to the keep. She didn’t move from her spot beside Nyvas. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  “Aye, of course. They’ll be waiting on us. If we don’t return, the Vosira will send every man he has to find us.”

  Fantion watched their interaction from a seat on the stairs. At Rynar’s comment, he snorted loudly in amusem
ent, and the sound caught the Aldrish’s attention. Angry looks were exchanged between the men, and then Rynar turned his eyes back to her. “Come, Kate. Let’s go.”

  “Begging your pardon, Aldrish,” Fantion said sarcastically as he walked down the steps, “but I don’t think you’re in any position to give orders here.”

  Rynar rolled his eyes. “Fhaoli, you are fortunate I haven’t already called the Senvosra on you all,” he reminded the outlaw. “One word from me and this house will be up in flames.”

  “Ah, think that if you’d like, but you know full well there hasn’t been any sign of the Vosira’s men since sundown.” Fantion grinned as he stepped around the banister. In one hand he held Rynar’s sword, still sheathed, and casually swung it back and forth, as if it held little value. “Why should she go back with you? Your Vosira ordered her execution, and she was spared only because Bedoric sees some value in your filthy hide.” He unsheathed the sword, and he lowered the tip until it hovered a few inches from the floor. “You know she’ll be implicated in your abduction and Nyvas’s release. Why in Kerthal’s name would she want to return to face all of that?”

  “Her safety is not your concern,” Rynar said, his eyes narrowing, but he could not ignore the sight of the naked blade.

  “Aye, it is indeed my concern,” Fantion countered. “Whether you like it or not, she’s one of us now.”

  Puffing out his chest, Rynar’s anger was reaching the surface, and he barely held it in check. “She’s no fhaoli,” he spat, his words as caustic as lye. “Kate?” he called out. “Will you come?”

  “Leave her alone,” Lysander said, his own rage simmering as he stood to face down the Aldrish. “After everything she’s done today, you have no right to tell her what to do. None of the rest of us would even dare. She willingly put her life on the line to save both you and Nyvas, and in the end she saved you both, and condemned herself in the process. So you can posture all you want, but you have no authority here, no power whatsoever. Back in your world—back in the nice warm keep, with your soft beds and food and music—you may command others to do your bidding, but here, you’re nobody.”